When enemies are at your door, I'll carry you way from war
The shriek of pure, unfiltered delight she unleashes punches a laugh straight out of him as she launches herself into his arms. He catches her without thought, as if it's instinct to take her in, to hold her and keep her and cherish her. His arms lock around her, threading beneath her thighs to keep her up and held to him as her weight sinks against him, so familiar now his entire body strains to cradle her in full. He stumbles half a step with the force of it, breath loosened to a startled, joyful yell before he steadies, grinning so hard his face aches. “Flor—”
He doesn’t finish before the sound dissolves into low chuckles, glee rising like a cresting wave and then breaking into a seafoam spray that pops and fizzes beneath every kiss. She sends them everywhere, frantic with the inability to cover him all at once, each one a starburst of tingling sensation that echoes every bright, full feeling. He turns his head just enough to catch her mouth properly between the chaos, pressing a kiss back that’s all steady warmth and spent breath, certain he's been on a light headed high since she first said yes.
When she finally pulls back, perched in his arms and glowing like her heart has finally turned on and proven to be incandescent, he looks up at her like he might never look away again. “Say that again,” he murmurs, voice thick and honeyed with awe, his breath still coming fast as if his body hasn’t caught up to what just happened. “Your...what?” He’s already smiling too wide to pretend he doesn’t know, and where the word has already sunk into him, he feels something new take hold. Not heavy, but anchoring. His chest feels too full for a moment with it all, but every breath shoves out what he no longer has room for—fear, doubt, insecurity. What shadows remain don't take any shape from her, or her past, not anymore.
“My wife,” he repeats, softer now, like he’s tasting all the different ways he might say it. His thumb brushes against the curve of her ass in his palm, forehead rolling against hers. "My wife," he says softly, but there’s nothing gentle about the way it lands. The sound catches low in his throat before it can escape cleanly, carrying a possessive resonance that curls through the space between them. His fingers firm around her and he jostles her higher into him as he turns, stepping towards the bedroom out of memory rather than view. His arm bumps against the counter, staggering them off it and he chuckles into the slope of her, the sound falling away to a kiss that he folds into her, slow and lingering. Another follows, then another, until every footfall is a sweep of his mouth brushing devotion against her jaw, her cheek, her throat, breath warm and unhurried. They have forever now, after all.
He doesn’t finish before the sound dissolves into low chuckles, glee rising like a cresting wave and then breaking into a seafoam spray that pops and fizzes beneath every kiss. She sends them everywhere, frantic with the inability to cover him all at once, each one a starburst of tingling sensation that echoes every bright, full feeling. He turns his head just enough to catch her mouth properly between the chaos, pressing a kiss back that’s all steady warmth and spent breath, certain he's been on a light headed high since she first said yes.
When she finally pulls back, perched in his arms and glowing like her heart has finally turned on and proven to be incandescent, he looks up at her like he might never look away again. “Say that again,” he murmurs, voice thick and honeyed with awe, his breath still coming fast as if his body hasn’t caught up to what just happened. “Your...what?” He’s already smiling too wide to pretend he doesn’t know, and where the word has already sunk into him, he feels something new take hold. Not heavy, but anchoring. His chest feels too full for a moment with it all, but every breath shoves out what he no longer has room for—fear, doubt, insecurity. What shadows remain don't take any shape from her, or her past, not anymore.
“My wife,” he repeats, softer now, like he’s tasting all the different ways he might say it. His thumb brushes against the curve of her ass in his palm, forehead rolling against hers. "My wife," he says softly, but there’s nothing gentle about the way it lands. The sound catches low in his throat before it can escape cleanly, carrying a possessive resonance that curls through the space between them. His fingers firm around her and he jostles her higher into him as he turns, stepping towards the bedroom out of memory rather than view. His arm bumps against the counter, staggering them off it and he chuckles into the slope of her, the sound falling away to a kiss that he folds into her, slow and lingering. Another follows, then another, until every footfall is a sweep of his mouth brushing devotion against her jaw, her cheek, her throat, breath warm and unhurried. They have forever now, after all.
Kaisel
If you need help, I'll shut down the city lights
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
