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thedemoninme141 · 1 year ago

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Blade Of Miquella Chapter 10: Remember Me My Woe.

Summary: A life spent with Wednesday... but a death left unshared. Warnings: ANGST! HEAVY ANGST! HeartWarmingMoments, EmotionallyWhippedWednesday!!! Previous Chapter 👉 Here Blade Of Miquella Chapter-List 👉 Here "Would you mind if I sit here?" You opened your eyes to see the braided girl. A playful smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you leisurely unfurled your eyes, acknowledging her with a glance. "Yes, I would mind." you retorted in a jesting tone, a smirk playing on your lips. "Pity, It seems fate has already conspired against your preferences." Her words carried an undertone of amusement as she settled herself beside you, seamlessly claiming her place in your tranquil haven. "You aren't like the other students," she remarked, a wisp of nostalgia in her voice. It was a playful attempt to recreate the memory of your initial encounter, a memory that you held dear. "Neither are you." You smiled. Her next words bore a hint of whimsy, a spark of lightheartedness that underscored the gravity of her statement. "It seems the threads of fate have woven us together, doesn't it?" The distance between you closed as she leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss, a silent affirmation of the bond that had steadily grown between you.

It has been a week since you were discharged from the hospital, and Wednesday remained a constant presence by your side. Her typewriter found a new home in your room, a testament to the intimacy that had taken root between you. Since you had one less period than her you waited under your maple tree that had become both of yours since she also spent the lunch time with you there.

As Wednesday felt the gentle weight of your head against her shoulder, a rare sensation of lightness enveloped her. The touch of your skin against hers never failed to stir a warm feeling within her otherwise cold and unyielding heart. Even within this moment of tranquillity, her thoughts meandered back to the private conversation she had shared with your brother the previous night.

The moonlight had cast a soft glow as they spoke, the gravity of the topic hanging between them like a shroud. John, your steadfast and devoted brother, deserved to be informed, despite the heavy burden of truth it carried. He had the right to know. "So... you think there is no cure for her?" John sighed. "I can't claim certainty, but it appears more likely that it's neither a malady nor a curse. Y/n and this entity Malenia... their souls are intricately intertwined, each reliant on the other's existence," Wednesday's voice carried a weight of sorrow. The truth pained her as much as it did him, but the revelation was necessary, he was risking his life to find a cure after all. "Did you tell her yet?" John's inquiry cut through the heavy air, his concern mirroring her own. "No, I couldn't, I..." Wednesday couldn't find the right words. "Because you're not ready to shatter the hope she clings to." John's words held a profound understanding. "And neither am I," he added "So, would you still tell her?" Wednesday's question hung in the air, a plea for guidance, a plea for your sake. "I don't think I have the strength to do so." he confessed, his voice tinged with the burden of his emotions. He looked at Wednesday, "You don't have the strength either, right?" He asked, Wednesday looked down and nodded. "What are you going to do now?" she asked. "Even if there is no cure for her, the Golden Order still poses a threat to Y/n," John replied, determination entering his tone. "They'll continue their pursuit to get to her." "How will you stop them then?" She inquired. "By getting to them first." He answered.

"Would you come with me to the train station Wednesday?" You got her out of her thoughts, "For you, I would traverse the ends of the world," she replied, her words filled with a sincerity that resonated in the air. The smile you directed at her ignited a warmth within her heart. "Is there anything you wouldn't do if I asked?" you inquired, affection glittering in your eyes as they met hers. "No, there isn't," Wednesday answered without hesitation, her voice a steady affirmation of her devotion. "Then I ask you this one thing – remember me," you implored, your hands gently finding hers as you moved before her, your head tilting to rest atop hers. Your whispered words, a plea for a promise that carried a weight beyond their simplicity, hung in the air. Confusion flickered in Wednesday's eyes, her brow furrowing in question. "What do you mean?" Your hands tenderly found hers, and as you moved in front of her, your head gently met hers, a whisper shared in the fragile space between you. "Just promise me that you will remember me as much as you can." Wednesday found herself hypnotized by your touch, her heart resonating with the sincerity in your gaze. Your words resonated in the air, etching a promise into her very being. "I promise," she whispered On the journey back from the station, Wednesday wanted to remove that sad look from your face that had seemed to settle there after saying goodbyes to your brother. Right when she was about to drop you off in your room, she finally asked, "Do you need me to stay with you tonight?" She needed more time with you, She needed You. She knew you would accept, or that's what she thought. Your hesitation was palpable, a flicker of uncertainty in your eyes that tugged at her heartstrings. Inwardly, Wednesday questioned herself. Why? Did she do something wrong? Was it too early to ask to spend the night with you? Enid told her it's something that couples do together. She cursed herself for listening to Enid. "I am scared." You whispered. Confusion deepened, her brows furrowing in concern. Scared? Scared of what? The emotions that danced within your eyes were a complex array of emotions she struggled to interpret. "I am scared that I might.. hurt you in my sleep. I might lose control in my sleep, I don't want to hurt you like I did to my mother." Your vulnerability was a raw wound, and in that moment, Wednesday understood the depth of your apprehensions. Without hesitation, she drew you into an embrace, her presence a shield against the fears that threatened to consume you. "You won't, you didn't when she had full control of you, instead you protected me. That's how I know, you are the one I would follow." Her voice, soft and unwavering, was a testament to her unwavering faith in you. As you looked up at her, your eyes shimmering with hope, Wednesday's heart swelled with a mixture of emotions. She held you tighter, as if trying to convey through touch the depth of her commitment. "I am sorry. I.." "One day at a time." Her words cut through your apologies, "One day at a time is fine by me. As long as those days are with you, One day at a time is all we've got." She said.

One day became One week,

"Just BE NORMAL WITH HER!" Enid said pushing Wednesday out of the door. "And don't you dare even think about suggesting a graveyard for your date!"

Confidence had always been her ally, but now, as she stood before your door, her heart pounded with a nervous fervor that she had never before experienced. 3 knocks. Then she waited for you to open the door with her heart trying to jump out of her chest. When you did open, however, She was pretty sure it did jump out of her chest, you stood there in a black dress, a bit brighter than her own but still black enough, She couldn't move. Though she had always recognized your profound beauty, tonight, you were a revelation, a goddess in human form. "Wednesday," your voice carried a tender note, a shy vulnerability that only served to heighten your captivating charm. Inwardly, Wednesday longed to offer a compliment, to convey the depth of her admiration in a mere phrase. Yet, her thoughts tangled like a web, her attempts at articulation falling short in the face of your resplendence. How could mere words encapsulate the grandeur that stood before her? Enid's lessons in compliments seemed woefully inadequate in the face of your magnificence. You seem to notice the reddening in her cheeks as you smiled. "So which grave are we going?" You asked jokingly taking her hands as a hint for her to guide you. She smirked. "Not a grave," she answered.

Vulnerability of emotions was a foreign terrain for Wednesday, a territory she had spent her life avoiding. The concept of being open and exposed had been anathema to her existence. But now, as you lay beside her near the tranquil lake in the heart of the jungle, a location she had meticulously chosen for this very purpose, you spoke of your past and your preferences, sharing fragments of your life that wedged their way into the cracks of her defenses. You opened up to her and she found herself captivated not just by your words, but by the way the moonlight played upon your features, casting an ethereal glow that matched the enchantment of the surroundings.

She realized that this was a different kind of vulnerability – one she willingly embraced. The walls she had built, fortified by years of detachment and isolation, seemed to crumble in the face of the connection she shared with you.

In this moment, beneath the star-studded sky, Wednesday acknowledged that allowing herself to feel vulnerable for you wasn't a weakness, but a profound testament to the strength of what you both shared. It was a vulnerability she was willing to explore, for in your presence, she found a sense of solace that no amount of morbid detachment could offer.

One week turned into a month,

"Would you mind if I sit here?" You heard the voice of your love as a smile formed on your lips. "Would you mind if I hold your hand while you join me?" With a tender gesture, you extended your hand toward her, a silent offer laced with affection. "Never." She said as she accepted your hand, settling down beside you. This time, her head found a comfortable resting place on your shoulder, a touch that conveyed an unspoken intimacy. "Semester is almost over. Enid and the others are planning to go home." You said. "Good, that means we will finally have some peace from their obnoxious chattering." Wednesday quipped. A soft chuckle escaped your lips. "You do realize you're free to leave too, don't you?" you said. "To exchange the quality moments I can have with you for my clingy soul-sucking family? Pass. The only torment I relish is the affectionate one you bestow upon me, not theirs," she quirked, her lips curving into a playful smile. "But what if they miss you? And your brother?" you inquired, your curiosity genuine. "My decision is already made. Pugsley is welcome to visit whenever he pleases." "I guess, I would love to meet with him." You said. "He is weak. He always needed my protection." "Wednesday!" You reprimanded smiling. "Do you think I am weak too?" you mused, your head finding a place atop hers, your cheek resting on her hair as your fingers intertwined. "Quite the opposite, Your courage in the face of adversity often leaves me envious. Not that I lack bravery, but your fearlessness, coupled with your innate kindness, makes you the most exceptional person I know. While those imbeciles fleeted, you went against the storm. You stood against a threat you had no idea of just to protect this school." Her response was swift, yet brimming with honesty. You gently lifted your head from its resting place atop hers. "I never did it for the school," you confessed. Wednesday raised her head from your shoulder, her eyes meeting yours. You gazed into her eyes, darkness encircling a core of unwavering affection, a love as unique and profound as she was. "I did it for you. And I would do it all over again, just for you." You said.

In that moment, as the weight of your words hung in the air, even after she hurt you back then, you still risked your life to protect her. Wednesday found herself drawn further into the depths of your unwavering devotion. Your confession resonated with a sincerity that was undeniable, and as she gazed into your eyes, she saw nothing but the truth of your feelings reflected in their depths. The allure of your love was irresistible, a magnetic force that tugged at the very fabric of her being. Without a word, Wednesday closed the remaining distance between you, her movements deliberate and sure. The atmosphere between you was charged, a palpable energy that seemed to envelop you both. And then, your lips met in a gentle, tender kiss – a moment suspended in time, a fusion of emotions and desires that words could never adequately capture. The kiss was a silent promise, an unspoken vow that affirmed the depth of your feelings and the sincerity of your commitment. It was a moment of vulnerability and intimacy, a shared space where your souls danced in harmony, entwined by a love that had a light inside it surrounded by a dark shadow protecting it. As the kiss came to an end, Wednesday felt a sense of clarity settle over her. This was a new beginning, a fresh commitment to her love for you, a love that she knew she would share with you in life... and in death.

One month turned into One year.

"IF YOU EVEN ENTERTAIN THE THOUGHT OF CONJURING ANOTHER PATHETIC PRANK LIKE THAT WRETCHED DISPLAY YOU UNLEASHED LAST YEAR, I SHALL TAKE GREAT PLEASURE IN PEELING YOUR FLESH FROM YOUR BONES," Wednesday's voice carried a chilling cadence, her words laced with a macabre promise that sent shivers down the spines of Lucas and his hapless companions. She still feels guilty for not going with you to last year's Raven dance which you were looking forward to, however, she also was quite relieved as she knew how badly you might've reacted to the pathetic prank Lucas and his friends pulled. But this time, since she has plans to ask you to the dance, she had to make sure they won't even think of doing anything like that again. Not just them, anyone. She pretty much sent a silent threat to everyone who witnessed her berating Lucas and his friends. Of course, her strategy was precise, her execution meticulous. Dispatching Enid as her proxy, she ensured you would remain blissfully unaware, a calculated move in her symphony of protection and intention. "Would you mind if I sit here?" She asked your resting figure as always. "Only if you ask me a question about a certain dance," you responded with a mischievous glint in your eyes, playfully challenging her. Wednesday took the sit beside you, under your maple tree, which had grown bigger than before, blossoming with scarlet red leaves. Her dark eyes remained fixed on yours as she gathered her courage to speak, her voice a blend of vulnerability and determination. "Would you do me the honor of being my partner at the upcoming Raven dance?" A playful smile tugged at the corner of your lips, and you couldn't help but tease, "Ah, but there might be some formidable competition." A flicker of amusement danced in Wednesday's eyes as she responded, "It seems my collection of knives will finally see some action after quite a hiatus." A genuine laugh escaped your lips, the sound mingling with the rustling of the leaves overhead. "Yet how can these contenders hope to match someone who resides leagues above them?" You said. "And who might that exceptional individual be?" Wednesday decided to indulge in your playful banter. "A certain Raven who holds the key to my heart with her smile." You said.

"Would you mind if I held your hand in there?" The question slipped from your lips with a delicate blend of hope and trepidation, your heart fluttering with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. The party hall's entrance loomed before you, a gateway to an unfamiliar world. "I've.. never been to any parties before. I feel so nervous in crowds of unknown people." You confessed. Wednesday's expression softened as her hands met yours. "I am pretty sure if there's anyone succumbing to unease, it's the unsuspecting souls on the inside. They'll find themselves awestruck by your radiance, a brilliance that effortlessly outshines the mundane. It's a spectacle they won't be prepared for. And as for your answer, I don't want to hold your hand, I NEED to hold your hand, my desire to grasp your hand is not a mere whim; it's an imperative. A declaration to the world, a proclamation of possession. I want them to see that you belong to me, and me alone." She smiled. And that was enough to let your nervousness go away, soothing the tumultuous waters of your apprehension. Once again, you found solace in her unwavering presence, a light in her darkness, a radiant beacon cutting through the obscurity of your doubts. With her by your side, you knew that life's challenges could be confronted and conquered, one step at a time.

"One day at a time." She reminded you again.

"One day at a time is all we've got." You answered smiling.

With a graceful gesture, Wednesday extended her hand toward you, her pale fingers delicate against the backdrop of darkness.

"Would you honor me by giving me this dance?" She said.

You took a step forward, your fingers intertwining with hers, and the world around you seemed to fade into the background. The dance floor became a universe unto itself, a realm where only your presence and hers held significance, cocooned in a moment of shared intimacy.

Come to me now And lay your hands over me

As you moved together, the dance became a slow, intimate conversation, an unspoken exchange of feelings and emotions that words could never capture.

Even if it's a lie Say it will be alright And I shall believe

Wednesday's gaze held a depth that stirred something within you, her usually guarded eyes revealing a vulnerability that resonated deeply. The realization of how much she yearned for your presence, for your companionship, was poignantly evident in the earnestness of her eyes. It was a silent plea, an unspoken confession.

I'm broken in two And I know you're on to me That I only come home When I'm so all alone But I do believe

Her presence was both comforting and electrifying, and you found yourself drawn into the dance with an innate sense of belonging. The world outside the ballroom seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in a timeless embrace.

That not everything is gonna be the way You think it ought to be

You found yourself clinging desperately to this moment, your heart fiercely determined to seize every precious second shared with Wednesday. The fear of losing her gripped you like a vice, urging you to hold onto her presence as tightly as you could. In the midst of the dance, there was an unspoken understanding that time was fleeting, and the fragility of the connection you shared was a reality that couldn't be ignored.

It seems like every time I try to make it right It all comes down on me

Then again, Wednesday's gaze gave you hope, Amidst your worries and doubts, her gaze became an anchor, grounding you to the promise of a lasting bond. Her unspoken commitment encouraged you to have faith in the connection you shared, dispelling any lingering doubts.

Please say honestly you won't give up on me And I shall believe

Wednesday felt so lost, so hypnotized by your eyes, the sensation of your fingers intertwining sent a thrill of electricity through her. The world around you seemed to blur, leaving only the two of you in a slow, entrancing dance.

Open the door And show me your face tonight

With every turn and sway, she allowed her guard to slip, revealing the vulnerable core that lay beneath her stoic exterior. But she knows, it's all worth it, as long as you are glued to her. This gave you enough reason to believe. As your eyes met, a silent understanding passed between you, stronger than any words or uncertainties.

I know it's true No one heals me like you And you hold the key

Her gaze remained fixed on you, a mixture of intensity and vulnerability that left you breathless. Her touch was gentle, her hand resting against your shoulder with a tenderness that belied her reputation.

Never again Would I turn away from you

Never, she would turn away from the feelings she holds for you again, She is ready to confront the emotions that have long been concealed within the shadows of her heart. You made her ready.

I'm so heavy tonight But your love is alright And I do believe

She can see the fear of the uncertain future in your eyes, she hated to admit it, but even she was afraid of that.

That not everything is gonna be the way You think it ought to be

There might be something worse awaiting you and her in the future. Something that might hurt you...

It seems like every time I try to make it right It all comes down on me

But Wednesday knows she will protect you, She has already committed her life and soul to your protection. As she grasped your hand and guided you through the dance's deliberate pace, just like she would do in every step of your life, her eyes remained fixated on yours, she can see the unspoken vow being communicated, a plea being exchanged.

Please say honestly You won't give up on me

There was a sense of shared vulnerability, a willingness to confront the challenges together. As long as you are with her, she can hope, you can hope. Despite the unpredictability of life, despite the challenges and doubts, both Wednesday and you were choosing to believe.

And I shall believe

One year turned into two,

John came back, He did it, he killed every single one of the golden order, You could live safely now, with no threats, no danger to your life. Yet both he and Wednesday knew you had the right to know, they were afraid that you would break down after knowing there is no cure to this curse of yours, they were afraid they would lose you to grief and sorrow again. As John and Wednesday sat you down to convey this bittersweet truth, their eyes clouded with apprehension, your response was surprising. Instead of breaking down, you bore the weight of the revelation with a resilience that left them speechless. It was as though you had already walked the path of acceptance long before they even laid out the truth before you. Wednesday watched you with a mixture of awe and concern, her heart aching for the strength you displayed. "Thank you for not giving up on me," you whispered, your voice carrying the weight of years of shared experiences and unspoken support, hugging him dearly. Tears glistened in John's eyes as he held you close, his embrace a testament to the depth of his love and his unyielding determination to protect you. But it was your next words that reverberated through the room, echoing in the hearts of those present. "I know you tried. I know you already knew that there was no cure. Yet you didn't give up. I've already accepted that there is no cure for me. I've already accepted that my time is limited." Your voice carried a calm resignation, a sense of serenity that belied the gravity of your revelation. Wednesday's heart clenched as she absorbed your words, a mixture of admiration and anguish swirling within her. It was a bittersweet truth – your acceptance was a testament to your strength, but it also hinted at the fragility of the time you had left. "Don't go again, please," you implored, your grip on John's shirt tightening as though he were your lifeline. Wednesday's heart clenched at the vulnerability in your voice, at the raw fear of losing yet another person you held dear. Your plea echoed in the room, a testament to the depth of your emotions and your desire to hold onto the few constants in your life. But then, you continued your words a soothing balm for her conflicted heart. "I've accepted this already. You don't have to keep searching. You've already kept your promise, John. You are my cure." you pleaded. It took all of Wednesday's strength to contain the tears welling up in her eyes, her emotions a turbulent sea within her chest. Your acceptance, your gratitude, and your plea resonated with a melody that seemed to strike the deepest chords within her. It was a reminder of the stakes, the fragility of time, and the love that bloomed amidst the darkness. A sigh escaped Wednesday's lips, carrying with it a mix of emotions that were as complex and intricate as the person before her. The weight of her feelings was a burden she was willing to bear, for you had become the beacon of light that had illuminated the darkness of her existence. In the silence that followed, as you and your brother shared a moment of understanding and connection, Wednesday felt an unspoken promise take root within her heart. She would be there, by your side, through every moment that remained. The love she held for you, unconventional and profound, was a force that could not be diminished by time or circumstance.

"I am not going away anymore." Your brother promised you,

So did Wednesday.

Two turned into three,

Your affinity for the natural world had always been apparent. The way you found solace in the embrace of flowers and trees was a testament to your connection with the living, breathing entities that adorned the world around you. It was no surprise that you aspired to become a florist, a guardian of nature's beauty, using your skill to heal even the most ailing of plants. That's how you were handed a pot of a small plant that seem to be sick by Wednesday, "Found it on the street. I wanted to save it," she said, her voice carrying an unusual softness. You smiled, even though it was very un-Wednesday-like, but you thought nothing of it. As you placed the potted plant on a nearby table to examine it, you noticed signs of distress – the leaves were wilting, and the soil seemed to be in poor condition. A deeper instinct guided your hands, and you carefully removed the plant from its pot to inspect its roots. Your suspicions were confirmed – root rot had taken hold, threatening the plant's very survival. As you examined the roots within the soil, something unexpected caught your attention – a glint of metal, a spark amidst the decaying roots. You carefully removed it from the roots, it was a ring. You put the plant down and turned back to Wednesday, "Wednesday why there is a.." Wednesday didn't let you finish. "I have a problem, You see... I am not sick of you, I am honestly pretty much in love with you, hopelessly, helplessly." Your heart swelled at her admission, the authenticity of her emotions washing over you in waves. It was a confession that laid bare her heart, her fears, and her desires. "I don't know how much time we have left," she continued, her voice a blend of raw honesty and determination. "But whatever time it is, I want to spend it with you. Having you by my side is enough for me, if that's enough for you." In that moment, words seemed inadequate, insufficient to convey the maelstrom of emotions that surged within you. With unshed tears in your eyes, you found yourself drawn to her, your heart guiding your actions. And so, with a tenderness that spoke of all the love you held for her, you leaned in, your lips meeting hers in a soft, delicate kiss.

Four, five, six, seven years have passed, One day became seven years.

Seven years etched their stories into the tapestry of your shared existence, a life painted with hues of love, fortitude, and a quiet understanding that bound you and Wednesday together in an unbreakable bond. The roots of your relationship grew deeper, intertwined with the passage of time, weathering storms and blooming with the promise of a shared future.

Through the ebb and flow of life, your relationship evolved into a haven of comfort, a refuge against the chaos of the world. From the cozy apartment that you and Wednesday called home, to the shared moments of laughter over breakfast and the whispered secrets exchanged beneath the moonlit sky, your love story unfolded with a quiet intensity.

Wednesday of course continued her writing profession, the darkness that once cloaked her was now transformed into words that resonated with readers, her narratives a mirror to her journey of self-acceptance and growth. While Wednesday crafted tales of introspection and mystery, you nurtured your love for nature into a flourishing career. Your flower shop, a sanctuary of vibrant colours and delicate fragrances, stood as a testament to your nurturing spirit. Each bloom found its place under your care, blossoming into radiant displays that reflected your deep connection with life.

As the sun cast its golden hues across the horizon, you found Wednesday in the living room, engrossed in one of her journals. You approached her, your smile playful. "What's the enigmatic Miss Addams writing about today?" Wednesday's lips quirked up in a faint smile. "Jotting down observations on the human propensity for chaos." You chuckled, taking a seat beside her. "Ah, yes. Chaos seems to be a common theme in our lives." Her gaze softened as she closed the journal. "But amidst the chaos, there is a solace I find because of someone." "And who might that be?" You asked knowing the answer, "A certain florist." She smirked.

In your flower shop, Wednesday observed you arranging a vibrant bouquet with an air of fascination. "You have a remarkable affinity for breathing life into these blooms." You grinned, placing the finished bouquet in a vase. "Well, I did promise to bring life to anything that needs it." Wednesday's eyebrow arched, a playful smirk gracing her lips. "Even to a walking corpse like me?" You turned to her, your eyes dancing with affection. "Especially to you." She stepped closer, her fingers brushing against the petals. "Then I suppose I am in good hands."

A rainy afternoon found you and Wednesday huddled by the window, sipping tea and watching the droplets dance against the glass. The pitter-patter of raindrops created a soothing backdrop to your quiet conversation. "I always found solace in the rain," you mused, your gaze fixed on the world outside. Wednesday's eyes gleamed with a hidden emotion. "Rain has a way of cleansing the world, washing away the dirt and revealing the hidden truths." You turned to her, captivated by the intensity in her gaze. "What hidden truths have you discovered?" Her lips curled into a half-smile. "That even amidst darkness, there's beauty to be found. Just like in you." Wednesday cringed at her own words but it was worth the smile on your lips, Trying to avoid becoming her mother, she ended up like her father. As you both wandered through a local art gallery, Wednesday's eyes fixated on a particularly macabre painting. She turned to you with a small smirk, her dark eyes glinting mischievously. "I think this one would look splendid in our living room, don't you agree?" You chuckled, knowing her affinity for the morbid. "You really have a way of finding the most unique pieces, Wednesday. I'm sure it'll add quite the atmosphere to our home." She raised an eyebrow playfully. "Atmosphere? Is that your polite way of saying 'spooky'?" You laughed, your fingers finding hers as you leaned in. "Well, I've learned to appreciate your unique taste, and I do love how it reflects your personality." She smirked, her lips brushing against yours. "Just don't be surprised if we start getting visits from ghosts."

A chilly winter morning, you both found yourselves sipping hot cocoa by the window, watching the snowflakes fall. Wednesday's fingers traced delicate patterns on the rim of her mug, her eyes distant. "You seem lost in thought," you observed, concern lacing your voice. She turned to you, her gaze softening. "I was just thinking about how different my life has become with you in it. You've brought warmth to my world, more than I ever thought possible." You reached over to grasp her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "And you've shown me a depth of love and understanding I never knew existed. We've come a long way, Wednesday." She smiled, her fingers interlocking with yours. "Indeed, we have. And I wouldn't trade a single moment of it."

However within all those warm moments, Some cold ones lingered. Cold ones that increased rapidly as time went on. Your tormented soul awoke you with a gasp, a lingering nightmare's grasp refusing to let go. Almost as if sensing your distress, Wednesday's arms enveloped you in an instant, her touch a lifeline in the abyss of your fear. Her voice, a soft, soothing melody, broke through the darkness. "Hey, it's okay," she whispered, her words a tender caress against your tumultuous emotions. "You're safe, I'm here." Tears swelled in your eyes, a testament to the terror you had just experienced. You clung to her as if she were the anchor holding you against the storm, your body trembling against the remnants of the night's horrors. Your voice trembled as you tried to put words to the maelstrom within you. "I can't… I can't control it. She's getting stronger." Wednesday's hold on you tightened, her grip a symbol of unwavering need for you in her life. Her voice, soft but resolute, cut through the darkness that threatened to engulf you both. "We'll face this together, just like we always have."

Days turned into weeks, and the heaviness of your curse only grew. It wasn't long before another unsettling incident unfolded, leaving Wednesday's heart racing with worry. She entered the house, finding the door already ajar – a sight that struck fear into her heart. "Y/n?" Her voice quivered with urgency as she called out, dread coiling in her chest when there was no response. She hurried to the bedroom, her heart pounding like a drum. The sight that greeted her was enough to send a shiver down her spine – the bathroom door stood wide open, and there you were, standing frozen in front of the mirror. "Y/n!" She called you again, but only if she knew what you were seeing in the mirror. Malenia.

"Y/n!!" Her voice seemed to jolt you from the grip of that sinister trance, and you collapsed to your knees. The world around you refocused, but the horrors of what you had seen in the mirror still lingered. Wednesday was there, her arms wrapping around you protectively, her presence offering solace amidst the chaos. "It's okay," she murmured, her voice a gentle balm against your shattered nerves. "I am here. She won't take you. I won't let her take you." Your heartache poured out in sobs, the fear, and the darkness that threatened to consume you finally finding release. Wednesday held you close, her words and touch a lifeline that pulled you back from the brink. The pain in her voice, the unyielding determination to protect you, it all echoed the depth of her love. "We'll fight this together, Y/n," she whispered against your hair, her vow a testament to the unbreakable bond that had sustained you through every trial.

"Y/n please stop! It's me, your love, Wednesday." Wednesday screamed, begging you to stop, but you didn't, flying high with your delicate wings, letting the Goddess of Rot control your body fully, you take over the sky once again with your Scarlet flower of Aeonia. Ready to take over this world by your Scarlet rot. Then, like a comet hurtling toward its destination, you descended, a blur of crimson and despair, you went down on her, you went down on your love Wednesday. With a sudden jolt, you awoke from the nightmare that had ensnared your mind. Your breathing was ragged, and your eyes darted around the room, trying to discern reality from the phantasmagoric images that had haunted your sleep. Beside you Wednesday slept peacefully, she always had slept peacefully by your side. As your gaze settled on your own hands, you saw the faint traces of Scarlet roots emerging, tendrils of your curse that nearly brushed Wednesday's arm. The realization hit you like a lightning bolt – you had come dangerously close to repeating the tragic fate of your mother, infecting someone you loved with the rot that dwelled within you.

One day at a time, Wednesday used to say.

No...

You won't risk the most important thing, the most important person in your life, not for one more day.

As the first rays of sunlight painted the room with warmth, Wednesday stirred from her sleep, her eyes searching for you on the bed. Confusion quickly transformed into worry as she realized you were nowhere to be found. Her heart raced, fear clawing at her as she called your name, her voice echoing in the emptiness. Her eyes fell upon a letter resting on your pillow, a silent messenger that held the truth she wasn't yet ready to face. Trembling fingers reached for the paper, her heart pounding in anticipation and dread. With each word she read, her world crumbled further, the weight of your decision pressing heavily upon her chest.

And so, she found herself retracing the steps that had led to this moment. The place where it had all begun – the maple tree, the witness to your first meeting, now a sentinel to your final act. The sight that met her eyes tore at her heart – there you lay, surrounded by delicate petals, an ethereal contrast to the tragedy that had unfolded. "Would you mind if I sit here?" The words escaped her lips, carrying a tremor of sorrow. Her voice quivered as she spoke, the depths of her grief threatening to consume her. Oh, what Wednesday wouldn't give to see you smile and look up to her, accepting her offer, taking her hands. She settled beside you, putting her head on your shoulder, clutching the letter in her hands, The promise you had made years ago echoed in her mind, its significance now clearer than ever. "Promise me that you will remember me as much as you can." In that moment, Wednesday understood the weight of your plea, the plea that had driven you to make the ultimate sacrifice for her sake.

As tears blurred her vision, she leaned into you, her heart heavy with the realization that she would have to carry on without you by her side. The mornings would be colder, the talks quieter, the smiles and kisses a distant memory. But she clung to your promise, the symbol of your love, believing that one day, beneath its embrace, she would be reunited with the soul that had captured her heart so completely.

"My beloved Wednesday, I love you with all my heart and soul and I hope you can understand my decision.

Our love story has been unconventional, marked by darkness and curses, yet you have been the beacon of light that guided me through the shadows. From the moment our paths crossed, I felt a connection that transcended the boundaries of life and death. You became my sanctuary, my home, and my reason to endure the trials that fate hurled our way.

The years we spent together have been a tapestry woven with laughter, warmth, and shared dreams. Your presence has been the salve to my wounds, the answer to my silent prayers. Every touch, every smile, and every stolen moment etched into my memory like precious jewels. Even as the darkness within me grew, your love remained unwavering, a steadfast pillar that held me upright when I faltered.

But I can no longer ignore the truth that has become painfully evident – the curse, the rot, it has taken a stronger hold on me. I've seen glimpses of a future I cannot bear to subject you to, a future where the darkness consumes me completely. I refuse to let that happen. Our love is too pure, too precious, to be tainted by the curse that plagues me. You are too pure to be tainted by my curse.

I want you to find solace in the knowledge that my decision is not born out of despair, but out of love. Love for you, for us, for the future we could have had. It's a choice I make willingly, as the only way to protect you from the grip of this curse. I need you to remember the promise you made me under our tree, our beautiful scarlet red maple tree that has borne witness to our love... where you can find me...

Please don't grieve for me, my love. Instead, find happiness in the memories we've created, in the love we've shared. You deserve nothing less than a life filled with joy and love and maybe some horror too.

As the sun sets on my time in this world, know that I carry your love with me into the next. I've seen that our souls are bound by a love that transcends even death, and I will be watching over you, cheering you on from beyond the veil.

Thank you, Wednesday Addams, for being my love, my anchor, my haven, my everything. You've given me a lifetime of love in the few years we've had, and for that, I am eternally grateful. Remember me till the day we will meet again my beloved woe.

With all the love my heart can hold,

Y/n" Author here, This is my last fanfiction ever, I have to stop writing because I have some personal issues going on, That's why I poured my heart into it, I would really appreciate if you guys tell me how much you liked it, It's been an amazing journey with you all- Love , Celine. PART 11 EPILOGUE: Reunited With Woe. The lines used on the Raven dance were from Sheryl Crow's I Shall Believe song. The inspiration behind this ending was, some you might have already guessed it, "The Haunting of Bly Manor" ending.

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hanayori89 · 1 year ago

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To The Arbiter’s Grounds

* Ordon Village *

A spritz of fog quilted the early morning air of Ordon Village. You awoke with a sense of newfound zeal towards your mission within the light. In truth, you were also eager to escape Ordon for a little bit. You found that when you spent time in the quiet confinement of nature, you were one with the light. Paradoxically, it was its inhabitants that made you feel oddly ostracized.

Aside from Link and Telma, whose kindness did not go without merit.

Yes, you were tired of the verdant flurries of leaves that fell from the Ordona trees and the synthetic smiles that the residents wore. Then there was the looming wedding of Link and Ilia, which was a mere few days away. What had you hoped for by telling Link you wanted him to react to your "date" with Aryn? He didn't even react to the statement itself.

He gave you a simple "I see" as he polished off the rest of his water glass. What did he see? You may have never experienced a kiss before, but from what you read, isn't that what almost happened yesterday?

What if Link pities me? Or worse yet, if he was presented with my Twili form, would he still have wanted to kiss me? And how could I kiss an engaged man?

You got out of bed, stretching your fatigued body from all of the hustling that took place at the bar. You weren't just receiving a monetary benefit from working, but also a physical one. If you were expected to keep up with the Hero of Twilight, you would need to improve your stamina.

There will be no more silly pandering thoughts of Link. He is a vessel for me to complete my conversion. Nothing more. You developed steadfastness when it came to mentally repeating mantras that opposed your feelings for Link. Whatever they may be.

The foolish pandering thought himself interrupted your mental tirade. He lightly knocked on your door, his voice drifting beneath it. "Y/N? Are you decent?"

"Decent in what regard?"

There was a slight pause. "Are you dressed?"

Ah, decent does not just mean respectable in morality but also in wardrobe. Their interesting spin on words will never cease to amaze me here.

Your voice had just returned, causing it to slip out slightly gravelly. "Yes, I am dressed." With that announcement, Link gave the door a gentle swing and let himself in.

"Good morning. Today's a big day, isn't it? The journey officially commences. I know you don't own a lot of clothes. I figured you could borrow some of mine to protect you from the sun. I do worry about your eyes. Gerudo Mesa is quite glaring, even for my human ones."

Link evaded your gaze as he continued on. "In the top drawer, you'll find an outfit I prepared for you the other day. It'll be great for dessert travel and covering your markings. I know that's important to you. Whenever you're ready to depart, I'm downstairs. I made us some fruit to take on the road."

You didn't have time to respond. Link was already thudding down the stairs with the door shut behind him.

It seemed the discomfort of the desert heat wasn't going to compare to the awkwardness that had made its way in between you and Link.

You strolled downstairs, robed in the outfit Link had created for you. It was a heat-resistant tunic. He had chosen a drab burgundy color, along with beige pants to layer beneath it. You recognized them as his own pants- the ones he wore with his green tunic. You created a brown headscarf out of one of the linens he had nestled in the top drawer with the outfit. Luckily, you came to this realm with sturdy walking boots. You wouldn't have an issue traversing the sandy mounds of the Gerudo Desert. It wasn't the most flattering outfit, but you felt protected from the elements. Once again, Link managed to touch you by taking the time to craft something for you to wear, all the while considering your markings.

Link gave you a once-over, devoid of the incinerating passion he usually held within his eyes. Here you were taking everyone's advice, trying to talk about what you felt, only for it to create unwelcome stress. No wonder people in the light acted so emotionally constricted.

His smile was smothered on his face in a contrived attempt at friendliness. "Looks good."

You had to fix this somehow. You simply wouldn't ride through the desert in the weird state he was in. You tried to lighten the mood. "Will there be cuccos we can sand dive with?"

Link studied you for a moment before giving you a stringent response. "No cuccos. Just this guy." He gave a gentle slap on a metal apparatus he was fiddling with. Its circular shape was studded with 10 nodules sticking out around it. You tried to jog your own memory from the stories Midna told you of her own visit to the Arbiter's Grounds. You stood there with a dazed look as Link continued to tinker with it. He felt your blank stare fixate on him.

"This is called a spinner. It will be necessary for us to ride over some of the treacherous quicksand spots as well as the wall rails. Did Midna ever tell you about it? We received it after we defeated Death Sword."

"Is there one for me to ride on?"

Link stuck his eyes back down on the spinner in his hands. "There is only one. We'll have to ride together." Knowing well enough that your cheeks would betray you, you walked past a distracted Link to the outside.

When all was said and done, Link and you were ready to bring your A game to the Arbiter's Grounds. He offered to help you mount Epona. Still perplexed by his lack of acknowledgment with your confession, you turned him down. You felt foolish for letting yourself be vulnerable. Here he was asking you to describe how you felt, yet when it came to himself, he was clogged like a drain. The last thing you needed was to be close to him, which was proving impossible thanks to the ride on Epona.

And now the spinner.

You held on to his waist loosely, not allowing yourself to rest on his back.

"Y/N, would you like an apple?" He asked, not bothering to turn his head in your direction.

"No. Thanks." You answered dully.

You were instantly taken back to when you both first rode to Castle Town. How did you go back to that same miserable discomfort? You didn't have an answer. But you did know one thing for sure.

The spirits in the Arbiter's Grounds would provide you with more camaraderie than Link in his current state would.

*Gerudo Mesa*

Little smears of pink sky were oppressed by the gray smudges of clouds that hung low among the top of Gerudo Valley. Link could feel Epona's exhaustion with each sinking hoof print in the sand. Y/N only exchanged conversation with him when it was necessary. The weight of her statement was crushing him.

She wanted him to react. In Link's mind, the only logical reaction she could hope to gather was jealousy. She wanted him to be jealous.

Well, she got her wish because goddesses, was he ever.

But of course, Link couldn't admit that. He concealed his emotions, always making sure they were thoughtfully hidden. His emotions were locked in a chest and stowed away where no one could reach them. It wasn't that Link wasn't flattered beyond comprehension at Y/N's statement. The last time he ever felt such happiness was when he defeated Ganondorf.

He was elated. Giddy, even.

So why had he clammed up? He sat there like a blithering fool, simply answering her with a nonchalant "I see." It was evident to Link, through Y/N's crying jags, that there was a plethora of emotions beneath the surface. She could feel. But she couldn't make sense of what her feelings were. The very issue he seemed to struggle with himself. He was so similar to Y/N, almost to the point of being repellent. It was clear to Link what was going on. They were repelling each other with their veiled emotions. Link was certain; what they felt was the same. The real question was, who would make the first move?

But he couldn't think about any of it now. There was much to be done. There was Y/N's conversion, which Link was secretly beginning to dread. Y/N had captured his heart the way she was. Another scathing secret he kept hidden. If Link wanted a Hylian, he would go be with one. He wanted Y/N, the outstanding Twili with eyes that burned crimson like a blood moon. He wanted to learn Twili, the language that baffled him and intrigued him all the same. He wanted her to wear clothing that showed off the magnificence of her markings, which had sunk their roots down her spine. He wanted to listen to her hum in the kitchen while she cooked Moblin guts. He wanted to watch her eyes devour all the wonder of everything around her, like she had in Lake Hylia.

Hylia, he just wanted her.

Maybe, for as much as Y/N wanted to be part of the light, he secretly wanted to be part of the dark. Zelda did know Link too well. Link noticed the familiar six columns of the Arbiter's Grounds protruding upwards in the distance. There were many memorable moments during his time here. The one that would never fade for Link was the distinct architecture the grounds held. It was an old prison, housing only Hyrule's most despicable criminals. With its archaic colosseum, you would think they made the criminals duke it to the death here.

I should take Aryn here. He snorted to himself.

"Link?" Y/N's frail voice emerged from behind him. "Is that it in the distance?"

"Yes." Link concurred rather abruptly. He hated how he was acting. He knew if he answered Y/N's statement, he wouldn't hold back. It was going to be torture to have her body pressed into his when they rode on the spinner.

I just need to see Mayor Bo. I need to get this wedding revoked. I told Y/N to share her feelings with me. Ignoring her feelings because I can't ignore my own isn't fair.

"Halt!" Link straddled Epona into a hasty stop. He patted her head, gently strumming her mane between his fingers. "Good girl. Here. Epona, wait for us. Take your rest. You deserve it." He withdrew a few carrots for her to nibble on. He hopped off, walking around, feeling for a tough area of sand. When his feet found a sturdy spot, he bent down and created a mini-well. He whipped out a canteen and filled it with water for Epona to refresh with.

He looked Y/N's way. Her body was drenched in the desert dusk. She was preoccupied by the vision of the Arbiter's Grounds in the distance. Link's heart began to mumble all the things he wanted to say to her with each beat.

He soaked up the image of her in the Gerudo light before making his way over to her and Epona.

"Y/N, would you show Epona where her drinking well is? I'm going to get the spinner ready. We'll ride it over to the grounds."

She gave Link a dubious nod as she dismounted Epona. He didn't bother to reach his hand up to guide her down. He knew she'd refuse. He missed the warmth of her body pushed against his back as he rode. He created the distance between them. The only thing he could do at the moment was respect it.

He caught notice of Y/N picking at her nails.

She's nervous. Why wouldn't she be? I need to support her through this.

Link set the spinner down with a raucous thud in the sand. He hopped atop it, reaching his hand down to her. "I know you're nervous. I would be lying if I said I wasn't either. But I promise, we go through this together. You and I."

She delicately placed her hand in his. She seemed to hesitate as she stood in front of him, uncertain.

"It's alright to hold on to me. Tightly." He added.

Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, tucking her head beneath his chin. He wondered if she could hear his heart picking up speed now that they were near.

Like the almost kiss in Castle Town. The new thought plaguing him every second of the day.

Link had to sheath his romantic fantasies along with his sword. The Arbiter's Grounds were swarming with potential danger.

Link wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her close. A surprised breath escaped her lips from the sudden, brash contact, tickling Link's throat. He reached his other arm up, gripping the hilt of his sword.

"I've got you." He whispered.

"And I'm never letting go." He stashed that thought away in the chest of his locked emotions.

A/N: Edited 1/13/23

Even though things between you and Link are awkward right now, you will enter the Arbiter's Grounds side by side. Or, should I say, within each other's arms?

What wisdom will the six sages depart? And perhaps more importantly, what danger still lurks within the grounds?

Check out my other completed OOT Zelda work- No Woman Beyond

#legend of zelda #link #loz #fanfiction #wattpad #link x reader #romance #the legend of zelda #fanfic #fanfic on tumblr #loz twilight princess #twilight princess #action #midna twilight princess #hyrule

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djmarinizelablog · 3 years ago

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Bet on It : Iori Utahime x Gojo Satoru

Utahime sees Gojo flirting with a stranger, much to her dismay. She feels the need to teach him a lesson. [Jujutsu Kaisen/JJK fic]

cw: smut, nsfw

Five steps to the bathroom and Utahime sees Gojo Satoru necking another girl on a corner. There they are, his lips tracing a stranger's jaw as they make out in private, albeit a public show for one. Desire fuels their movements: eyes hazy and dizzy with lust, mouths hanging open then pursing into a kiss.

Utahime is hoping her colleague knows what he's doing. He probably does.

"That's it, yeah," Gojo says, his dark shades up in his hair, "You like this, don't you?"

The stranger giggles, and Gojo hands are everywhere on her. He's pretty good with this, which makes Utahime's hands ball into fists. His height towers over this person, but at least, he knows when to bend, where to kiss, how to move with such rhythm anyone could get lose in his mouth for hours.

Then there's Utahime who wants to retch at the sight. She's here in the bar to let herself loose because teaching has been stressing her out lately, but now she feels like something in her wants to combust.

Later on, Gojo will probably boast to her that he's had several summer flings during the break. The same number of breakups that he's had within that period. He will tease her that she can never square with him, can never compare. Utahime will probably want to poke his eyes out, smack him on the head, maybe punch him on the face, or if worse comes to worse, bleach his eyeballs clean.

"Assholes like you deserve nothing," Utahime finally blurts out once the other girl realizes she and Gojo are no longer alone.

Gojo lets go immediately and straightens himself up. He tells the stranger that's the end of it, and the statement earns him a good slap on the cheek.

"Good fucking riddance," the person says, reeling her anger in, hands on her hips. Once she's completely satisfied, the girl finally leaves.

Then it's just him and Utahime now.

He chuckles to ease the tension, hand nursing the sting on his face. "I suppose I do." Gojo takes a step forward and cranes his neck towards the bar, motioning her to join him for a drink. "Order anything you want. My treat," he says. He puts his hands inside his pockets, a certain glint in his eyes.

But Utahime remains steadfast. Calm. Composed. As much as the fury deep inside her wants to rage out, Iori Utahime doesn't let it take over. She doesn't think Gojo would go for her, anyway. No, not in a million years. Gojo only charms those he can lure into his trap, a predator amongst the sheep. Utahime is no sheep. She may look like one, but she certainly doesn't act like one. Her demeanor fends people off.

"What's in it for me?" She's fiercer than anything, far more than anyone. Gojo would be scared to shit if he ever dared touch her without her consent.

He merely shrugs. "Just some good company."

But tonight she's here to enjoy her Friday⁠—maybe one night wouldn't be so bad to forget that she has exams to check, modules to cram, papers to read.

So she obliges.

"I just don't understand," Utahime begins after the bartender serves them their orders, "why do you keep on preying on girls who fall fast and hard, only to leave them hanging when they finally catch your drift?"

The bar is pretty much empty save for a few people on the other end. She watches him like a hawk, her eyes stern as Gojo rests his mouth against the rim of his drink.

"You think?" He lets the curl of his lip stay on the edge, and it's damn sexy. "You think that's all I want?"

Her eyes flash at the slyness of his smile. "What do you want?"

"You."

"Try again, asshole." Utahime knows the game has begun. "I'll bet you a hundred bucks you won't even last that long."

"Would you now?" Gojo is dancing with his words, and they're teetering off the edge. "Even teachers like us need a good break from time to time."

There's a click of her tongue. "I guess it's not that easy to hide."

"So... I take it you're in?"

Utahime tries to weight in her options. She can either go back to checking the students' papers for tonight, or she can try to tame this wretched son-of-the-gun in bed and have fun while they're at it.

"Watch it," she finally says. "You're driving a hard bargain right there."

And so they do it.

Fifty bucks Utahime's wagering she can tame him. Another fifty if they finish in less than an hour. Gojo takes her to his apartment and immediately pushes her against the wall once he closes the door. He does his same old routine he's done with other women: he runs his hand down her face and trails his nose against her neck. "Relax," he says when she shudders.

But Utahime isn't one to fall for that easily, so she pushes him back and they slide off the floor. Gojo takes her in his arms and kisses her on the mouth completely. Utahime can taste the liquor in him, and knows she wants more. The frenzy has her going for it. She slides in her tongue, and kisses him back, kicking off her shoes in a state of stupor. Gojo smirks, thinks he's got her. Utahime is quicker though, the way she's already unbuttoning his shirt, her hand running through his chest down to his torso. He's built like a god, one that is known for tricks and deception, but Utahime can't be bothered to dream of anything else aside from the fact she's actually touching Gojo right now, even when she's tried to hold him off for so long.

They roll over and now it's Utahime straddling him on the floor, her knees digging into his carpet. She presses her palms flat on his chest and looks up. His unit is both chaos and cleanliness on its own. Gojo's black sofa is pure leather, but the throw blanket is wrinkled and used. In the kitchen are pots and pans on the counter, cleaned but still drying for now. If Iori squints past the living room, she can see part of his bedroom where his sheets are made, but his pillows are undone. It suits him, Gojo, that is. He's probably the only person who can pull off something so disorganized and so orderly at the same time.

"Don't," she says when Gojo tries to touch the bridge of her nose, right where the patch of skin is blemished. People always wonder about the reason behind that scar, although Iori usually provides the impulse to lie that it's a birthmark. But Gojo can tell whenever she's lying anyway, so it's futile to hide the truth from him.

"Have I ever told you how hot that scar is?" He brushes his thumb against that faint line where the scar on Utahime's face begins. "You're so beautiful, you know that."

"Shut up," she spats, and kisses him again.

The way he says it is music to her ears. Gojo's breathing is ragged, his voice low, and it turns Utahime on in many ways she has never known. He tries to remove her clothes, but she slaps him on the wrist and takes off her shirt herself. Gojo laughs at her insistence. Maybe strong, independent women like her are his type. Then again, he'll take anyone, she thinks.

When they're both naked from the waist up, he finally leaves the floor and hoists her up in his arms, his gait strong and sturdy. Utahime doesn't dare to break their kiss and wraps her legs around his waist. Gojo is looking up, the light right behind her, and all Utahime can do is comb a hand through his hair, wild and untamed, like alabaster stone, but soft like feathers.

He finally takes her to bed and lays her down on the mattress. Utahime watches as he discards the rest of his clothing, every bit of him an aphrodisiac to her sense. Before he climbs the bed, he pulls down her skirt and Utahime feels vulnerable, naked. How many times has he done this to others? How many have lain in the same spot where she is? She wants to ask him, but Gojo spreads her legs and caresses her folds for starters.

"How..." she tries to speak, the sensation comes to her like wildfire and Utahime has to stop herself from coming too fast.

Gojo puts his free hand on her knee. "Tell me if you like this or not."

Utahime manages a moan, and it's quite embarrassing. Gojo finds it sexy, though, because he inserts another finger inside her and starts pumping faster, so fast she can see the stars. Something in her breath hitches when he leans and kisses once more, this time trailing her neck down to her shoulders, taking his sweet time between her breasts and ribs, until his mouth replaces his fingers in between her legs. Her hand flies to her mouth to stifle another sound when Gojo eats her out.

"Satoru," she sighs his name and repeats it, likes the way he can make her come undone. Never has she imagined herself lying down on his bed, with him tasting her like it's his last meal. She breathes his name again and again until he stops right when she's in the brink of pleasure. Gojo grabs a condom from his bedside drawer and prepares himself, but Utahime knows two can play this game. She gets up and pushes him down the bed, her thighs bracketing hips. Her hair is now in disarray, the ribbon already sliding down. She removes it and puts Gojo's hands up together above his head, the smirk evident on his face.

"Go for it," he says, and Utahime binds his wrists together and secures it to the slot in the headboard. She admires her handiwork for a while. How the tables have turned, she thinks. Gojo looks magnificent like this. A predator trapped by his intended prey. This time it's her turn to make him wait. Utahime grazes her teeth against his jawline, his neck, down to his collarbones, and Gojo strains against his bonds, until he cusses her name when he gets carried away. "Shit, sorry."

Not wasting the moment, Utahime finally rides him, hands pressed against his chest as she maneuvers herself into Gojo. Deeper and deeper, she can feel the spasms in her walls, the feel of Gojo inside her. He buckles his knees and pushes his hips so he can go all the way in, has Utahime moaning his name once more. She tries not to imagine what their colleagues would think should they find out about this. It's going to be a secret she'll take to her grave. Utahime's eyes are delirious at this point, but she can't care any less what she looks like anymore, not with Gojo staring at her like she's the only one in the world.

She finally reaches her peak like a wave crashing down on her and Gojo follows not long after. Their pants fill the room for a moment. Once she unties his wrists, she joins him on the bed, staring at the ceiling while she presses her forearm against her forehead.

"A hundred bucks huh?" Gojo laughs in the silence. "Never knew you'd be a wild one in my sheets."

There are a million comebacks she can give him, but the exhaustion in her bones hasn't fully sunk yet. She moves towards Gojo and plants a kiss on his lips. "Oh, you're not off the hook yet." ##

*jazz hands* I haven't seen JJK, but I'm already a Gouta/Gojohime stan

view the fic on ao3

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #iori utahime #gouta #gojohime #fanfic #fanfiction #mine #djmarinizela #gojo x utahime #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen satoru #satorugojo

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girlpornparadise · 5 years ago

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At Your Doorstep

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo/f!Reader (Narcos)

Word Count: ~4000

Warnings: I Smut. I only smut. My brain is that cavern in the Little Mermaid, but instead of being full of thingamabobs, it’s full of smut. But maybe it’s a bit soft too. I dunno.

Personal ramble: Don’t have much to say about this one. I was just in a mood. An I want a sexy murder husband in my life and this is what came out mood. Maybe it’ll be your mood too if you read it.

It's late when you hear the rap on your door. You're tired and a visitor is not welcome at this hour, but you pad to the entrance all the same. The knock didn't have the insistence of an emergency, but rather a hesitation to it, as if maybe they realized it was late and didn't want to disturb you after all.

When you look through the peephole there's a figure standing there clad in green, looking down and to the left. It's the same man who occupied your evening yesterday.

***

"Just one drink, I promise." That was always his promise, and it was a promise he never kept.

"Not tonight Javi, I'm too tired." You knew he wouldn't be deterred so easily.

"Please, I need your help." Intrigue. This was a new tactic.

"What could you possibly need my help with outside of work?" You asked with a tinge of exasperation.

Javier Pena was a sweet talker. You knew it as well as everyone else at the embassy. Most of all he knew it, and he was quick to leverage his charm to get what he wanted. A peek at a file, a scrap of information, a favour under the table. And occasionally a date when he was bored with the locals he cavorted with.

"I need backup." He stated flatly.

"Don't you have a partner for that?" You asked, wondering what game he was playing at.

"Not that kind of backup. The social kind. The kind only a beautiful and charming woman such as yourself could provide." He smiled as he leaned over your desk.

Appealing to your sense of vanity AND intrigue. Smart.

"So who's the mark this time?" You asked tentatively. You'd played this game before. It was usually a low level diplomat or a friend of a friend from stateside. Never anyone dangerous or unseemly. He knew better than to involve the embassy in those kinds of dealings. You agreed to these dinners or drinks because you knew you'd end up somewhere nicer than you could afford on your salary and he'd pick up the tab.

"You'll like him. I promise."

"That's what you said last time and he was a walking sedative. In fact, I don't know why I ever say yes, I never like them that much." You said shaking your head.

"You can't expect them to live up to the bar I've set." He said with a wink.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that you had been new to Colombia. Before you knew better. Javi had hounded you then, much the same way, but after a handful of unsuccessful dates you had landed somewhere between colleagues and friends.

You considered your options. There were cold leftovers waiting for you in your fridge.

"Ok." You acquiesced, making a bigger show of it than you actually felt.

"Great, I'll come grab you at 5. I promise, he's a good one."

"You always say that." You called after him as he strode out of the office.

The rest of the day passed quickly as you transcribed notes and prepared reports. It was a busy time with the hunt for Escobar escalating and the recent formation of the Search Bloc. There was so much information to process that most days ended with a long shower and a dumb tv show to reset your overworked mind.

At the agreed upon time Javi came by your desk to gather you. You had put the finishing touches on today's file and snuck off to the washroom to brush your hair and touch up your makeup. There was no time to go home, so you took off your jacket, unbuttoned the top button of your blouse and tried your best to flatten your skirt with your hands. It would have to do.

When you got to the bar you sat down at the booth and Javi slid in next to you. It was nicer than your usual haunts, but not the top tier you'd hoped for.

The waitress brought you some water and you drank it as something to do. You were running out of small talk with Javi when the mystery guest arrived.

You saw his figure before you could place it. A grey polo shirt and khakis were approaching, carried by a strong and commanding gait. You followed the dark hair down to a serious expression. You gulped. It was him.

"Over here." Javi said, catching his attention. You sank down in your chair slightly, intent on disappearing.

"Colonel" you managed to choke out after a moment, unable to conceal the surprise in your tone.

He smiled politely and sat down. You regarded him in a daze as he and Javi exchanged pleasantries, or what passed as such between two men whose work was so difficult.

As your panic subsided and your focus returned, you heard Javi making his excuses about having a date and leaving the table. Your heart sank into your stomach. As you watched him leave, still in disbelief, he mouthed the words "You're welcome." Before disappearing from view.

Your crush on Colonel Corrillo was the worst kept secret in the office. The handful of times he had come into the embassy you couldn't help but take him in with a sense of awe. Though the reports were largely dry and factual, they painted the portrait of a hero to you. A strong, steadfast, no nonsense leader who got results. A man morally uncompromising and determined in his mission. You thought meeting him would burst that bubble, but it had only added a handsome, rugged, sculpted visage to match the myth you had built in your mind.

After your first encounter, you found yourself tapping your pencil against your lip when you came across his name in a report. It was always accompanied by a smile to yourself and an ache in your chest. You'd hope to hear his commanding footsteps come up behind you so you could steal a peak at his arms straining on his uniform before he disappeared into one office or another.

Each time he passed your desk you smiled a little too widely and blushed a little too brightly at him. Though his demeanor was always serious, he smiled back, and you melted a little in your seat.

Now here he was, sitting across from you, you thought to yourself.

"What would you like to drink?" He asked.

"Depends, is Javi footing the bill?" A bit of mischief played at your lips.

He smiled and ordered a couple of drinks from a higher shelf than you're used to, mercifully saving you from making a decision for yourself.

You babbled a bit awkwardly at the start until the alcohol hit you and you started to find your groove.

The small talk revolved mostly around work, as it seemed his life generally did. He was polite, but distracted the entire evening and you couldn't help but feel disappointed that you couldn't hold his attention. You felt like this was a mistake. Maybe he just owed Javi a favour. Maybe you were as boring as you feared.

At the end of the night he offered to walk you home, more out of concern for your safety than any desire to be invited in for a drink you surmised. He smiled politely and excused himself at your doorstep and you went to bed feeling a bit disillusioned and empty.

***

But here he is, standing at your door again one day later.

You grip the silk robe you're wearing tightly to your chest and unlock the deadbolt and open the door. He looks up with a hesitation on his face. You weren't sure what you were expecting, but it wasn't this.

He smiles a half hearted smile and looks at you, considering. Somehow he seems smaller and less intimidating than yesterday. Maybe because this was your home and you had the advantage of the familiar.

The confident man who strides through your office, commanding a room by his mere presence is not the man standing before you. For the first time ever he looks unsure of himself.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come." He says apologetically.

He turns to leave but you reach out and touch his arm. He hesitates.

"It's late and I didn't mean to disturb you."

"It's fine." You say, concern filling your expression. "Please, come in."

He crosses your threshold and for a moment, neither of you are sure what to say. You look into his eyes, searching for his reason, trying to decipher his intentions.

His expression has its normal hardness to it, but behind his gaze is something unsure. Wavering. He wants to tell you why he's there. He wants to find the words, but they don't come.

He sighs.

You see a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and he's on the verge of collapse. It's coming up on midnight and he's obviously come straight from work. The lines on his face spell out an impossibly long day.

The tension rising across the country is palpable and here stands a man at the center of the storm. You can't imagine the sense of responsibility he must feel and as your heart reaches out to him, so does your hand. An instinct takes over you and you grasp his palm in yours.

"I'm sorry" he starts "I...", but you place your other hand over his, sandwiching his strong calloused hand between your delicate fingers. It silences him and steadies you both.

Staring into his eyes you see a man who has run out. He has run out of energy. He has run out of cigarettes and drink. He has run out of the mental fortitude to spend endless hours listening to tapes of his nemesis, distilling scraps of information into hard won knowledge. But most of all he has run out of the willingness to bury his men.

You know the burden of an exhausted mind and are flooded with empathy. In your heart you feel what he has come here for, even if he can't articulate it.

Still gently holding his hand in yours you squeeze it ever so slightly to bring his attention to the present moment.

"I was just about to take a shower. Join me." You say it softly. It wasn't a suggestion so much as a statement of things to come.

You notice his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly, but you maintain eye contact. He nods almost imperceptibly. As you look away to lead him down the hall, his gaze follows you, entranced.

You lead him to your bathroom. He doesn't protest, but follows obediently. You put down the toilet seat and sit him down. You kneel to look him in the eye, making sure he's comfortable and proceed to unlace his boots. You slip them off, followed by his socks and place them carefully to the side. He watches you silently but intently.

You turn to the tub and fiddle with the knobs until they reach the spots where the desired temperature should flow from. The sound of the running water visibly soothes him, and you rest your hand on his knee to ground yourself to him.

When you're satisfied with the flowing water, you take his hands delicately and stand him up. His stance still has a military air about it, but he has begun to relax in your presence. You place your hands on his broad chest and look into his eyes. There's a trusting innocence there that he normally keeps locked away. As he takes in your features you glide your hands up to his collar. You carefully unbutton his uniform, breathing steadily as you untuck his shirt and undo the last button. You slide it off of his firm shoulders and hang it on the hook behind the door. You touch his arms and he raises them over his head so you can remove the green undershirt that clings to his torso. You do so carefully, as if tending to a wounded man. You are in a way doing just that.

His belt takes a little more effort and he helps you remove it from his waist. After tossing it aside, you unzip his pants and kneeling again, pull them down. You reach up and hook your hands in the waistband of his boxers and gently tug them to the floor. He steps out of the pile at his feet.

When you stand up again you can hear his breathing and see his chest rise and fall. He's not quite panting, but his mouth is slightly agape and as you step towards him you feel his hot breath against your skin.

You cup his jaw in your hands and he puts his hands on your waist. You moisten your lips and plant a soft kiss on his mouth. He relaxes into your kiss and pulls you in tighter to deepen it, but you don't give into his wanting.

When you pull back, he releases your waist and you untie your silk robe and let it drop to the floor, revealing your naked form. He draws his breath inward sharply as his eyes feast upon you and you smile softly as he admires you. He licks his lips hungrily, a man starving for your touch.

As you cup his face again and pull his mouth to yours, your hands push their way back into his hair. You feel the day's work in it, sweat and dirt from the physicality of his job. His rough hands on your back pull you closer in return, pressing your naked breasts against his body. He savours your warmth and you tingle as his growing erection grazes your stomach.

His tongue circles yours, slowly and purposefully and with your eyes shut, you breathe him in. His scent is musky and grounded, born from the earth and the streets he had been running today. You knew from the report that had crossed your desk before you had left work that it had been a hard one with heavy casualties. When you pull back and look into the deep pools of his eyes, you can see the toll it has taken on him. The pain he has come here to forget.

You continue to be gentle with this solid block of granite before you. You know he could easily throw you down and take you if he'd wanted, but he needs something softer, more nurturing in this time and place.

When you break your kiss he searches your eyes once more, craving the contact you now deny him. You take him by the hand, gently guiding him once again, into the shower.

As the warm water hits him, he is rejuvenated and his lust finds life. You kiss him again and taste the salt running off of his body as your hands wrap around to his back. His hands seek you as well, finding the small of your back, and trailing down to your cheeks, which he palms and grasps tightly, thrusting your hips into his fully erect cock.

He has found his desire and it won't be easily quelled. You're crushed against him as his skin seeks as much contact with yours as possible. He is trying to consume you now with his hungry mouth, press your flesh to his until you become one. There's a desperate need to have you rising within him, and he expresses it by pulling you into him even tighter.

The pressure his muscular body exerts on you becomes too much and you push him back to break away. The force with which you do it concerns him, and he looks to you for reassurance that he hasn't hurt you. You give it gladly with your gentle smile and his desperation ebbs momentarily.

Instead of returning to his fever pitch, you take control of the tempo by grabbing a washcloth in your right hand. You pour a small amount of liquid soap on it, and wring it into a lather. You press it gently to his shoulder and as you massage the knotted muscle straining beneath it he relaxes into your touch. His breathing slows.

As you massage his aching muscles with one hand you run your other thumb along his jawline, feeling his days worth of stubble. He leans into the touch and as your thumb reaches his bottom lip, he kisses it gently.

Moving the same hand down to touch his arm, you indicate that he should turn around and he obliges. He gratefully lets you scrub his back and you work your way across the broad canvass with care and patience. As you remove the sweat and dirt from his tense but exhausted body, his knotted muscles relax under your touch. He sighs and it sounds like he's releasing his thoughts and pain with the air in his lungs. He flexes and relaxes as you erase the day from his skin and sinew. You watch the water run off of his beautiful topography and hope it washes away any doubts he had about coming here this night.

When you finish he turns to face you again and his expression has softened. As your hands reach out to guide him once more, so does your heart, and you are filled with a deep need to protect the peaceful bubble you have ensconced the both of you in.

As you both step out of the tub and you turn off the water his hands rest on your hips. He doesn't want to let you go for fear that this is some dream his stress addled brain has conjured. You turn and rub his bicep reassuringly and then stroke the back of his neck, just at the hairline.

You grab a towel off the hook and dry off his torso carefully. He watches your small hands work their way across his body with care. He takes the towel from you to dry his legs and you grab a second towel to dry yourself. You again work slowly, so as not to upset the calming rhythm you've established. He stands once again mesmerized by your hands and when he finishes drying himself takes your hands in his. He regards them as sacred instruments, capable of healing his cracks and breaks.

As you gently drop his hands from yours you glide to the exit. You go to leave the room but turn around in the doorway.

"Come to bed." You beckon.

He follows you as he has done all night and you sit him down on the edge of the bed. Standing above him, you run a hand through the waves of his short damp hair.

"Let me take care of you, Colonel." You say, kneeling between his legs.

He takes your hands in his once more and looks into your eyes with a softness you had spent the night earning.

"Horacio" he says.

"Horacio" you whisper back.

You let the intimacy of the moment wash over you.

You stroke his thighs slowly and he throws his head back and closes his eyes with a gasp. Bending forward you take his length into your mouth and gently suck. He murmurs as he hardens in your mouth.

You twirl your tongue around his tip, and he sucks in air with a sharp gasp. You grasp his length with your hand and continue to tease his shaft with slow, languid strokes while the warm moisture and hot breath in your mouth massage his throbbing head.

As you feel his legs tense you look up at him, mouth still firmly wrapped around his hungry cock. He looks down at you with awe. A man so unused to relinquishing control, completely at your mercy. His trust settles deep within your chest and you feel powerful, but benevolent.

His breathing quickens and the throbbing between your own legs feels more urgent as well. You rise from between his legs and straddle him. He looks up into your eyes with a desperate need, a craving of intimacy you can't deny him.

He grabs his shaft and guides it into your center as you lower yourself onto him. You both let out strained cries as you feel your bodies intertwine. He pulls you close to him, his hands on your shoulder blades and his elbows resting in the small of your back. In return you pull his head into your chest, gripping his hair.

You rise and fall with his slow, rhythmic thrusts. He takes his time, savouring the tight pull of your walls around him. You pull back his hair to tilt his head up to you and plant your parted lips on his open mouth.

As you feel the heat swell at your core, he slows and cruelly pulls away from you. You whimper at his loss. But his strong hands guide you downwards, and he lays you on the bed. He slides himself into you once more and it makes you feel complete.

You stare into his eyes and he stares back, you've both lost yourselves in each other. You feel his weight on top of you, the heat radiating off of him, and he kisses you again. This time it's soft and caring. He studies you trying to find your pleasure.

He wants to please you, needs to please you. Needs to repay all of the kindness and solace you brought into his life tonight. He thrusts his hips slowly, incrementally increasing the pressure, trying to find your release. As he feels your chest heave harder and your body begin to tremble beneath him, he quickens his pace.

He draws the orgasm from your core and you squirm and twitch beneath his mass. You cry out his name as you reach your peak. To him it is a prayer, something sacred that he feels deeply and it brings him to his end.

He crashes into you and as he cries out he releases himself. Releases his pain, his anguish, his responsibilities and cares. As he spills into you, he lets go of the months of pressure that had threatened to break him, and is met with the sense of peace he so greatly desired.

As his spent body finds its place next to yours you smile and study his face. His shield of indifference has been lowered. He looks back at you with reverence, you are someone to be worshiped. To him you are the angel of mercy who welcomed him into her home, and welcomed him into herself.

You place your hand on his chest, and his heartbeat slows and steadies, not in the forced way like when his training takes over him, but in an organic way that he so seldom feels.

He shifts to wrap his strong arms around your waist and pull you tight to him. This man who washed up on the shores of your body, seeking refuge in your curves and coves, now nestled against your chest.

He mumbles something in Spanish and though you can't make it out, it feels tinged with gratitude. He holds you tightly and you run your hand across his wet hair, and cradle him to you. He drifts off in the safety of your home, your bed, your body. As the world rages outside around you, you have both found peace in each other.

#horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo x you #maurice compte #fic #smut

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illidria · 7 years ago

Note

Hello! For the prompts could I please have Olivier and Miles /shippy/ no.8 ''You're seriously like a man-child'? Thank you!

My dear! Finally!

I’m so sorry for the long wait, but this one, urgh, it wanted to change course three 3! times! And not only a bit, no, it wanted to be radically different, always prompting me to start it over :D

But at the same time it was really fun to write, especially when it finally decided what it wanted to be^^

Soooo, I really hope that you like it and it is what you hoped it would be :D

And sorry again for the long wait!

“Why are you looking like that?”

She was smiling at him, blonde hair in aloose braid, weekender slung over her shoulder and wrapped canvas in hand. Anold picture of her dancing with her father, she couldn’t be older than six,repainted in vibrant colours. Oil on linen, sixty coffees and two temper tantrums.He smirked.

“I honestly thought someone would open thedoor for us!”

Soft laughter, like bells in the distance.Led him inside without hesitation, the mansion not only big from the outside,but from the inside also. Bustling with people, running from place to place,carrying an array of normal and rather weird things. They went unnoticed, untila shout had almost all people stop at once.

“Oh, you’re finally here!”

Cleaving through the throng of people, allof them quickly moving again, was a woman walking towards them.

Tall, blonde hair also put up loosely,wearing a pair of loose cloth-pants and a fitted blouse. There was nojewellery, only little make-up and a big smile on the woman’s face. It matchedOlivier’s, as did the eyes and even though he didn’t need these details tounderstand that this was the head of the house, the confirmation through thewomen hugging each other tightly helped.

“I’m so glad you could make it my dear,with the hold-up and all of that! I missed you terribly!”

He watched, a little bit nervous, but alsoquite touched. It was not often that Olivier returned affections of people, notlike this. And that she seemed to have missed her mother was clear, hugging hertightly back, small quiet words exchanged between them, making him almost feellike an intruder.

Suddenly, he was in on the fray.

“And this is Miles!”

It had his cheeks redden a little, when sheintroduced him with the proud tone. Saw her mother’s eyes raking up and downonce, quickly, before smiling at him, extending her hand. Took it, bowing alittle, lips ghosting over its back.

A giggle.

“My, you’ve been brought up well, weren’tyou? Augustina Philippa Armstrong, but I guess you know that, huh?”

He was a bit struck, but regained his witsagain fast. Worked with this woman’s daughter for too many years, to be put outby the displayed natural authority. Reminding himself to stand straight, hesmiled.

“Nice to meet you Mrs. Armstrong. Ifthere’s anything I can be of assistance with, do not hesitate to ask.”

Another giggle, though not in demeaningmanner. Eyes turning to her daughter, almost a look of disbelieve in her eyes.

“Now this is certainly a step up from whatI usually hear about!”

“Mother!”

“Oh what?! He’s chivalrous! You don’t findthat often!”

“Mother!”

“And he’s charming! Not that you ever hadbad taste, you’re coming after me in that regard, but I remember thatClaudio…”

“Mother!”

The increasingly embarrassed look onOlivier’s face was worth the trip alone in his opinion.

Her mother riled her up, quickly, though hethought the woman’s talk to be rather endearing. Seemed to do it on purposetoo, good at coaxing her daughter out of her icy shell.

Turning on him quickly, apparently tryingto test him, too.

“So dear, while I appreciate your offer,there’s nothing left for you to do I guess. But you two must be awfully tiredafter the hold-up with the train and we want you to be fit for tonight. So howabout you get your things to your rooms and relax a little?”

She waved lazily, a middle-aged manappearing at her side seemingly out of nowhere.

“Galahad, if you’d be so kind to show thetwo to their room?”

He heard a snort to his right and saw thestern-faced man flash a smile for a split second.

“Mother, I know where my own room is!”

Another giggle.

“Well, your gentleman here could go ahead.I guess the big thing is your gift? We’ll get it settled in the ballroom. Comeon!”

Her mother turned brusquely, dragging herdaughter behind with a hand firmly wrapped around her wrist. Olivier only ableto wave at him and mouth an “until later”!

He followed the man called Galahad, ofcourse introducing himself first.

Still a bitstruck.

“Wasn’t that your adjutant a few yearsback?”

Stayed cool at that question, simplybecause she’d been asked it a hundred times over.

“He was indeed, but he transferred under adifferent command a few years back, helping with the restoration of Ishval.Took us some time to figure things out.”

Three years in fact.

She visited Ishval once a year, he the Forttwice after the railway-construction was completed. And each visit hadboundaries slipping, chipped some of the ice away. Hadn’t known what to make ofit, when he’d told her that he’d never come back to be her adjutant. Neitherwhen he’d told her that he’d like to be at her side in any way she desired. Hadoffered him only silence for a few minutes after these statements, untilfinally catching on. Faintly remembered Scars yell of triumph in the backgroundof the memory.

And now they were one, however far apart,steadfast as the mountains of Briggs. He came up when he could, she down whenshe could. Grumman had made peace possible, she soon becoming the main liaisonfor any Drachman contact. Miles was a solid part of the Ishvalan government bodytoo by now, especially as Mustang had moved back to Central after three years.Talk of a soon coming presidential election ringing in her ears constantly now,plenty of people testing the waters with her, curious if she was interested.

She’d not lied when she’d said that theseat was too exposed for her liking.

“And how long have you figured those“things” out by now?”

Knew that her mother was curious, that shewas secretive. Glad that there was no bad blood because of that, onlyunderstanding. She’d heard of Miles, but only met him today, was of courseinterested in her wellbeing. His too, if he treated her right.

“About a year and a half now I guess, thoughI have to admit it feels longer.”

The canvas found a place on the already setgift-table. Everything would be put there, though not opened publicly. It wouldbe done only with the family around, probably tomorrow and as she’d be there,she’d not attached a name-tag. He’d identify her style immediately anyways.

“I guess you knew a lot about the other,working so closely before?”

Half-expected to see wiggling eyebrows whenturning, but being met with her mother’s rarely shown serious-face when inprivate.

“Looking back on it, I think I’ve beenblind.”

Almost a tad too honest for her, but hermother had never been one to accept lying.

“So, it’s serious.”

“Quiet.”

“How serious?”

“I wanted to ask dad for grandma’s rings.”

Her mother gasped.

The Grandmother Jedda, her father’s mother,had been a strict woman. Adamant, often called a devil by many. She called herspiritual successor as a kid. You were buried with your wedding rings as anArmstrong. They’d not be kept, nor given away. It was tradition instead, thatthe grandparents picked out rings, fitting the characters of theirgrandchildren, for them to use later on.

Rose gold and a single white pearl.

She was engulfed in a fierce hug.

“Oh, gods Olivier, I’m so happy for you!”

And she hugged her mother back,unbelievably happy too. Would never have thought to come so far, to feel sostrongly and yet here she was. Bringing Miles into the dangerous waters of herfamily, of the social pitfalls of her father’s sixtieth birthday celebration.

Not doubting that he would prevail as theydid.

Her mother, always a bit taller than her,took her face in her hands and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead.

“Does he know yet?”

She laughed.

“I hope not.Wanted to have him cornered when I ask.”

“I’ve seen you before, are you the newusher? What were you doing in these rooms?”

On his way up, he’d met all of her sistersin quick succession, all of them eyeing him, yet all of them friendly. Tellinghim how they were looking forward to getting to know him, happy that he’d staythe next few days. Him returning those words.

Knew Amue to be a rather important localpolitician in Central, Strongine a modiste. Catherine still living at home,though no official occupation known to the wide public, but remembering thatOlivier had said something about alchemy and to never startle her.

But her father, and there was no doubtingthat this was him, he hadn’t met yet.

Had hoped that she’d be by his side whenthat happened.

“Speak up boy, or a you a dirty-handedlittle thief? What were you doing inside my daughter’s rooms?”

There was little chance to get a wordin-between the man’s accusations. His wits were slow, the train-ride and thelong hold-up due to a collapsed tunnel taking its toll. They’d both not sleptwell, were rather dirty, needed a change of clothes and at least he thought tohimself that he smelled awfully of sweat. He wanted to shower and he wanted anap.

Most of all, he wanted Olivier by his sideright now.

“Probably brought in the luggage, father!”

He’d have hugged and kissed her, if heweren’t so certain that it would worsen the situation.

“So, you brought your own servant withyou?”

“Boyfriend it is.”

For a second he saw the man’s angerdeflate, just to have it blow up again at her words. Eyes ghosting over himagain, taking in his skin, the stubble on his chin, the wrinkles in hisclothes.

And then he scoffed.

“This guy?! A dirty-handed, unkept leech?He looks like he wants your money!”

He coughed, tried to get their attention,but that seemed almost impossible. While he was the subject of the ensuingfight, he had little part aside from that in it.

“This is Colonel Miles of the AmestrianMilitary father, treat him with respect!”

“I don’t care who he is! He’s here with youand you’re an Armstrong!”

“What is that supposed to mean?!”

“That you don’t just pick someone from afilthy street-corner and expect him not to know that you’re a really goodcatch!”

He tried to butt in, said sentencescompletely going unheard.

“So, I come here, to introduce him to youproperly and you get hung up on what exactly?”

“You know what they say!”

“Enlighten me!”

And then Miles witnessed a bit of sensereturning to the furious man. Saw him stumble over words, knowing that what hewanted to say was wrong. Things ingrained to the mind since childhood, deemedwrong a thousand times over and yet still there. Understood rather suddenly,that he wasn’t the problem. Well, he was, but he would’ve been whatever helooked like.

Mr. Armstrong feared for his daughter’sheart.

She simultaneously didn’t for his plight.

“I thought so! Anything else you want tosay?!”

The man turned on his heel and walked away,expression hard to read, Olivier all the while, was seething with anger.

“How can he?!”

Her question directed at him, had him raisehis hands up in a defensive gesture.

“Liv, I guess he was just surprised.”

“He called you slurs!”

“And he immediately regretted it.”

She hid half of her face in a hand, anexasperated sigh slipping from her mouth.

“How can you stay so calm?”

“Worked with you for a decade. I hadworse.”

Laughed when she pushed him into the roomsof her childhood, something between angry and tired.

He’d talk to the man after a long shower hedecided. Introduce himself properly, congratulate him on his birthday, becauseapparently nobody had as of now.

Looking at aclock on the wall, happy that the ball was still so many hours away.

He knocked on the doorframe, trying not toshow his insecurity.

“Excuse me, Mr. Armstrong?”

Silence for a moment, the man not turningfrom his stance at the window, looking out of it.

“Come in Colonel and please close thedoor behind you.”

He did so, carefully, his gut clenching atthe man’s serious tone.

“I guess that you wanted to talk withme, concerning my earlier words?”

Steeling himself, he stood at attention,voice strong.

“Partially Sir, though I’d ratherspeak with you about my relationship with your daughter.”

A sigh, and then the man turned, handsstill folded behind his back.

“I would like to apologize firstthough, my words have been uttered in rage, were inconsiderate and as we bothknow, prejudiced too.”

There was true remorse in his eyes, thoughMiles had not thought the man to mean such words at all in the first place. Hadidentified many of Olivier’s tales of outrage at her father’s behaviours forwhat they were: worry. It did not justify anything, but it was a reason nonetheless.

“Accepted Sir, but my question is ofanother nature.”

Philip Gargantos Armstrong sat down in hischair, with as grand a gesture expected from such a huge man. Motioned for himto sit at the opposite end of the desk. Miles felt that it would be rude todecline and sat down, the knot in his gut not yet resolved.

“I think we have not been properly introducedyet Colonel, but I’ve heard much about your good work in Ishval!”

“Thank you, Sir, it wasn’t easy atfirst and neither is it now, but worth every second.”

“And you are in a relationship withOlivier for how long?”

He gulped, though not audibly, but had afeeling that this was the prep-talk with your girlfriend’s father that everybodyalways went on about. It was too late to mourn not having listened.

“More than a year now Sir, though Ihave to admit that it feels longer.”

A chin propped up on folded hands and anintense stare, not unlike Olivier’s.

“And you’d say she is happy?”

He would marvel later, how fast the answercame to him.

“She laughs more than I ever heard,takes her time during the days. Is relaxed, paints again. I’ve never seen herlike this before.”

Was not looking at Mr. Armstrong, but slightlyto the side, not seeing anything. Thinking about the way she smiled while doingthose things. Missing her own father’s smile.

"And you’ve not yet introducedyourself to me?”

Took the challenge, countering it with thetruth. If the man was anything like Olivier, he could sense a lie anyways.

“Olivier demanded to introduce meproperly and personally and with my work in Ishval and the peace negotiationsin the north, making time was rather difficult.”

Satisfied the man smiled at him, somethinglurking in his eyes.

“And you indented for more than justgetting to know me now?”

Heard the man continue, feeling found out.

“You know, love never came easily toOlivier.”

Took in the almost wistful words of afather, again not getting a word in between.

“You want her hand?”

He retorted, quickly.

“I want to offer you a place in myfamily-line.”

Stunned silence for several moments, beforethe big man started to raucously laugh. Not demeaning, not belittling, butapparently charmed by his gal.

“Now I see why she likes you so much!But tell me, what do you mean by that?”

Pulled out the box he’d gotten out of hissuitcase before, setting it down onto the table.

“In here is a traditional sash of myfamily. A valuable thing to offer to anyone outside of it, meaning that you areinvited into it. With accepting, you’d allow me to join our families.”

Armstrong senior turned thoughtful, thoughseemed intrigued.

“And your family-line isimportant?”

“Illustrious.”

He was met with another laugh.

“So, if I accept, you’ll want therings from me?”

Nodded, familiar with their traditions, onpurpose seeking to mix them.

“I cannot answer you right awayson.”

The sigh spoke of honesty, of a fatherfeeling like he was about to lose a daughter.

“I will think on it though, will watchyou for a bit. If Olivier is willing to show me her face ever again. She’srather good at bearing a grudge, especially when she holds it for good reason.”

He stood with the man and took his hands.Pocketed the box again.

"Thank you, Sir!”

“It’s Philip to you now!”

Returned the smile and turned around,leaving the room. He’d not won the man over yet, but he’d not lost any groundeither.

Hoped that it would at least stay likethat, asking a maid for directions to Alexander Armstrong’s rooms.

Ready to showhis worth in a tuxedo too.

He was not given the chance to leave hisstudy, before his eldest came in, beautiful and strong-willed, foregoing the typicaldance of curtesy. He’d always admired her for it.

“What do you want Olivier?”

He knew her to still be angry. It showed inthe way she held herself, back straight, hands balled into fists. The way shebreathed in a controlled manner, almost inaudible. The way her eyes were ablazewith fury.

She did not dance around the subject; hisown behaviour having ridded her of every shred of polite conversation sheprobably had stored in her body. Which had never been much to begin with.

“The rings grandmother put aside forme!”

He marvelled at the determination in hervoice.

“Is it not proper anymore, to ask foryour fathers blessing?”

The hurt tone of voice came unbidden, yethe couldn’t supress it. Knew her answer before she said it. Dealing with herhad always been his weak-point, her emotions so strong, so unbridled. His wifehad been able to get along with this, never trying to reign her in, ratherriding the moods out with her.

“You made your opinion clear!”

He’d indeed done so, too many times in herlife, always telling her what he thought about the things she wanted to do,whom she wanted to be. Wondered why he’d never learned to keep his mouth shut.Why he’d never allowed himself to doubt his own convictions.

“I cannot give them to you Liv,I…”

Voice wavering, he looked away, unsure whatto say. He did not want to hurt her more, had done so too often, but also notwanting to spoil made deals. And when the awaited screaming did not come, therage, the righteous anger, he dared to look her in the eyes again.

Watched, as for the first time his daughterseemed to be devoid of an answer, looking at him shocked, stunned and sad.

“He may not be your choice father, buthe is mine. I thought you’d respect that!”

Not loud, but almost quiet she talkedsuddenly, voice barely above a whisper.

He had no answer to her, sincere apologyfor all his mishaps not in his mouth, nor the will to ruin her loves plans.

“I love him father, enough to show theworld!”

Dangerously close to a plea she came andhis hand grabbed the corner of the desk, knuckles turning white.

Left without ananswer, she stormed out.

“Oh, you got to be kidding me!”

She sat on the bed, legs folded underneathher, book in hand. Clad in a pair of fuzzy sweatpants and one of his worn-outshirts she used as pyjamas. Looking up and smiling at him shortly, beforelooking back into her book again.

“Hey Miles.”

“Why are you not dressed?”

The tuxedo fit, his hair was done. Onlyfeeling a little uncomfortable before stepping into the room, now his gutclenching. Something more had happened, something he hadn’t been there for.

“I’m not going.”

She seemed too calm for his liking.

“It’s your father’s birthday Olivier!We travelled half the country for it, beneath us are hundreds of people,pouring into the ballroom!”

All he got was a shrug.

“Oh Olivier, you’re seriously actinglike a man-child!”

She looked at him now, fiercely fixating himinto place, over the rim of her book.

“He called you a dirty-handed servantand a leech, unwilling to apologize!”

“I talked to him Olivier, it’s fine,really!”

“And I talked to him too! And let metell you, he not acted like a man approving of you!”

“Since when have you ever cared aboutapproval!?”

“This is my family Miles; theiropinion means something to me!”

He stopped his hand millimetres before itcould burrow into his slicked back hair.

“Why is it suddenly so important what theythink?! Didn’t you always end up doing what you wanted?”

“You’re more than just my will Miles, you’vegot your own! And I want them to respect that and to respect you!”

“Well, we won’t achieve that when we stayup here, sulking!”

The book landed pages first on the bed, heranger knowing no bounds.

“I’m not sulking Miles, I just don’t wantto subject you to the tattle! The room follows my father’s opinion, whicheverit is!”

Did not know where his calm came from.

“But Liv, please trust me when I say thatI’ve talked to him. Spend time with your siblings and mother at least, all theother people you haven’t seen in such a long time!”

“And you?”

“Well, you can rub me directly in his faceif you want to, too. Show me off without shame, dance with me and kiss me whenhe can see.”

And now he’d gotten her mood to lift alittle, had her chuckling at least.

“You want to swagger with me on your arm!”

“Maybe a little.”

Winked at her, smiled widely.

“And you’d really be fine with it?”

Worry was in her repertoire too, though shehid it well, kneeling on the bed with her arms crossed, loose shirt and fuzzypants.

“I’m the onealready dressed, am I not?!”

Her daughter made him wait.

It was in good tradition that the men weredone earlier than the women, simply clothing themselves, then meeting for acigar and a brandy.

The women on the other hand, needed helpwith pulling their dresses on, with make-up and hair. She’d paid a hairdresserto come into the house and be at the ready, prepared a room for her girls tocluck in beforehand.

Catherine and Amue had been down first,announced to the crowd. Whispering to her soon after, that Strongine was stillbusy with getting their oldest sister in her dress. All the while Milesstanding in the grand foyer, waiting beside the stairs to the sibling’shallway.

They’d thrown him out of course, told himthat he wasn’t allowed to come nearer then this.

And when she finally caught a first glimpseof her daughter, on the last shred of fashionably late as it was, she breatheda sigh of relief. She’d heard about the rather ��eventful” morning, wouldn’thave been surprised if Olivier didn’t choose to attend. Philipp would beoverjoyed to see her now, so ashamed for what he’d said already.

On top of the stairs she stood, the dashingIshvalan on her arm and when the whole room turned, she saw him loose his cooland her icy shield fall into place.

Strongine had outdone herself.

Dark-blue flowers of lace covered herdaughter from neck to wrists and from there to her feet. Below her knees thedress flared, golden shoes peeking out underneath, fitting scattered petals ofgold in the pattern. And between the flowers, it looked like there was nothing.Only little specks of skin showed of course, but all over they did, sometimesin places that left eyes searching. Knew that nothing would show thatshouldn’t, yet could hardly take her eyes off it too.

The dress was fitted perfectly, followed abody somehow beautifully shaped by a lifetime of war. The up-done hair and thelong golden earrings, simple in style, yet elegant, accented her long neck.Lips, no more than their natural colour, forcing the people to look into hereyes. A bit of black and specs of gold, nothing more was needed.

Felt a surge of pride when she saw herdaughter embrace her femininity, making it her very own, the rumours about herbe damned.

And Miles, the sweet man, was staring ather too, seemed awestruck. Handsome himself with his strong face, shaven andclean. Hair slicked back, bound at the back of his head. Tuxedo ratherstandard, but the cummerbund usually going with it exchanged for a traditionalIshvalan sash. The one from his family she learned after chatting with him inthe foyer, a traditional garb only worn when you wanted to show someone theutmost respect.

Realised rather suddenly, that Olivier hadapparently asked Strongine to make the dress this exact shade of blue, just sothey’d fit.

“My, you look gorgeous!”

Embraced her daughter after thisexclamation, grabbing her shoulders and looking her up and down.

“Gine did everything, so you should praiseher instead. But thank you!”

Let her daughter go on, talk to hersisters, all four of them looking beautiful tonight. Winked at Miles, who stoodin the middle, apparently the centre of attention, wanted or not.

Her husband had managed to anger all their daughtersbefore tonight, all over the course of a week. It took skill and his very ownbrand of foolery to achieve something like that, seeing as only her two eldestgirls had a flaring temper, Gine and Cathy rather calm instead.

Amue and he had fought over her girlfriendand her will to move in with her.

Strongine had voiced the want to travel fora bit, alone, feeling the need to draw inspiration from other sources, as wellfeeling the need to be free for a while. Her husband was against it of course.

Catherine wanted to further her alchemicstudies, wanted to seek out a master. Out of the question this was for him, atleast it had been two days ago.

And Olivier had brought a man home, afirst, with her mind set on marrying him and a love strong enough to prove it.A man he’d foolishly insulted first thing upon meeting him and fumbling with anapology too.

Yet, they were all here. Would dance withhim, from youngest to oldest, like it was tradition. Chat with the guests, eatand dance. Get to know each other again, time spent apart often too long.

And sooner or later, they would get theirwill.

She blamed the stubbornness that has beenpassed down through the Armstrong family-line through generations for that.

“Why looking so lonesome?”

He came up behind her, free fromcongratulators for a few moments, arm looping through hers. A smile in hisvoice.

“Not lonesome, but watching our girls. Thepoor lad is practically torn apart verbally.”

Both watching a bit as Colonel Miles,blushing and laughing and also looking a little bit uncomfortable, stoodbetween their daughters. Quiet obviously the matter of discussion and the buttof every joke, yet not fleeing Olivier’s side. Alex would be glad for therespite offered to him from his sisters.

She spoke again, lowly, honest question onher mind.

“You really won’t give them your blessing?”

Felt and heard him grumble.

“I told him that I want to think about it. Wantto get to know him a little first. This is Olivier we’re talking about hereafter all. She’s never brought a boy home.”

“Yeah, but why insult him?”

“He came out of her room and I was quitesure that she’d been in it at the time. Looking dishevelled. I felt like I didback when she was fifteen, finding here snogging that Claudio behind thestables!”

“The first man to have called PrinceClaudio a Casanova, but not the last?”

They laughed amongst themselves, watchingas their daughters dispersed.

“She’s not fifteen anymore Phil and I’mquite sure she isn’t just bringing him here to rile you up.”

“I know that Tina, I know. But you knowwhat they say: Never let your daughter marry the first man she brings home…”

“…except for when they’d beenchildhood-friends.”

Sighed, the rule so outdated in truth andyet common word amongst the people she talked too.

“If this would’ve been Mustang…”

“The only way she’d have brought him as herpartner is in a body-bag!”

Which was a truth, met with laughter again.

“She’s over the moon with him Phil, believeme.”

“It’s not her I’m worried about!”

Grim, unsatisfied and yet wistful. Herhusband had never known what he wanted, always tried to meet every expectationand losing sight in the process. It was her that brought him back on track.

“Take your time, watch them tonight. I canpromise you, someone who’s worked with your eldest for almost a decade andstill wants to be with her, is quite sure what he wants.”

Never took too well to her advice, butanswered with a sigh anyways.

“We’ll see.”

His arm thoughnever leaving hers, pulling her onto the dancefloor.

She had fun, lots even, though she wascareful to put on a sour face when passing her father.

Had felt exposed in her dress at first, atthe same time marvelling at Gine’s craftmanship, yet worried that her ownwishes were coming back to bite her in the ass.

“Iwant his eyes to pop out of his head!”

And her own had at first, standing stillduring the tedious process of getting into this thing, over forty goldenbuttons following her spine, all latched closed by hand. Doubting that this hadbeen a good idea, yet walking down the stairs with faux confidence, waiting forhis reaction.

Had been sure that she could’ve convincedhim to go back upstairs again with her, if push came to shove.

His reaction had chased everything fauxabout her confidence away.

Talked with people, avoiding those she knewto be not worth their time anyways. Danced with Miles as often as she could,roasted him a bit together with her sisters. They ate and drank, laughed andwhispered sweet nothings and sweet naughties to one another.

Face only crunching up again, when the timefor traditions came.

Each son or daughter in law would firstsing a song for him, or show a sketch, anything that could even remotely beconsidered as artsy. As he had none as of yet, this part got glossed overquickly.

The daughters dance though, he had plentyto show with that.

Catherine had gone first, looking like afairy-tale princess in her dress, dancing energetically with her father.

Strongine next, then Amue. They were tallerthan him, dresses cut to become their tall figures. Both had their own troubleswith him, all of them had, but they were so much better at hiding it.

She envied their ability to reign theirtemper in when she hardly could, being led onto the dancefloor.

Was too preoccupied with keeping a straight,dignified face, to notice how gracefully Miles released her arm, giving herinto her father’s trusty hands. Let herself be led away, not caring for themany eyes, nor perturbed by them.

She’d first done this with barely six yearsold after all.

They danced elegantly and effortlessly. Nottalking for the longest time.

“I’m sorry for having reacted the way I didLivvie.”

Barely above a whisper, yet honest. Didn’t stumble,but was shocked anyways. He’d never apologized before.

“He is a good man and you seem to be sohappy with him. I’ve never seen you smile so much.”

Remained quiet, let him talk. The faces aroundthem a blur as they swirled.

“I always had a lot of trouble with thefact that you were growing up. You’re my little girl after all.”

Broke her own rules when she answered.

“But I’ve grown up by now dad.”

Looked him in the eye, taking in the way hesmiled, like a man who couldn’t decide if he was feeling happiness or pain.

“Yeah, you have. Into a beautiful woman. Buta father never forgets the first time he understands that, so forgive me mywords please, my hesitation.”

Felt herself whisper, before thinking longabout it. He’d never sounded like this before, so wistful, so sad. So sorry.

“All forgiven.”

Heard the music end, felt her face takeninto his hands, a kiss pressed to her forehead. Closed her eyes, smiling. Would’veturned to go now, would let him step into the spotlight alone to give hisspeech, but felt his arm loop through hers.

He led her to Miles again, handed her overproperly, smiling. In front of hundreds of people, meaning clear, traditionsforgone for one night.

“She’s all yours now.”

The words carrying something they’d beenlonging for.

And while she watched him step onto thedancefloor again, smiling and gesturing in a grand manner, she felt unshedtears sting her eyes. Miles warm hand on her arm, squeezing tightly, shakingslightly. Exchanged a warm look with him, red meeting blue, the water standingin his eyes too.

Rested her hand on his shoulder softly,eyes trained on her father, listening to his words.

Fingers snakingup to hers, intertwining.

The cool air was a godsend.

With so many guests in the ballroom the airhad grown a bit stale, almost stuffy and when she’d noticed, he’d found himselfled outside by her, knowing every secret escape.

Breathed freely, feeling her eyes on his.

“Olivier, what you father said to me…”

“He approves of you!”

Smiled at him, held his hand softly inhers. Cutting into his sentence with the known brusqueness.

He laughed. Caught his breath under hergaze, feeling the words tumble from his mouth before thinking properly, beforeremembering his plans, she doing the same thing at the same time.

“I offered your father a sash!”

“I asked my father for the rings!”

Stunned silence that held longer than a fewmoments, stretched into minutes. Hands holding the others tighter.

Then the sound of the balcony-door opening.

“Oh, there you are! We were searching allover for you! Come back in soon, we want to take the family photo!”

Shut again with a bang you wouldn’t expectfrom Catherine Armstrong’s slight body.

And then she started to laugh, sound clearlike bells. Eyes closed, the specks of gold glittering. And he waned himselfentranced, answer and question given at the same time, to booth of them. Tookher face in his hands when the laughter died down, drowned in her eyes.

Lips pressing against hers, sealing the promise.

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