wriorae wednesday today (ㅅ´ ˘ `) <33433333 wriorae you are stability and security to me!!! all the little things that can make me feel better!!!! not just me, but anyone at all. the little constants in our lives!!!!!! that hold sm more meaning than we think to give!!! a warm cuppa out of the same cup every morning, the creaky hinge of a door that’s greeted us for years, a book from childhood cracked many a time in the spine, the tree outside the window that was there before us and will still be there after!!!!!!! a love as horizonless as the ocean and as steady as the moon that tugs at it every night!!!! infinite and fruitful ♡
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mid-august, eventide light filtering through tall, arched windows. the air smells faintly of floral soap and aged wood in this quaint little home in a quaint little town along the coasts of fontaine, where RAE [birthday warm, cheeks tinged pink and hair sun-flecked] leans against the edge of the bathtub, elbows resting lightly on the porcelain rim. steam curls around her like a soft, invisible shawl.
WRIOTHESLEY [wolf-eyed, but with hands impossibly gentle] kneels behind her and watches her with quiet reverence, a tender sort of smile curling up his lips as he notices noting the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders, the way her lashes catch the candlelight when she blinks, her curious gaze following the water trickling from the faucet with muted and echoed ting tings!
his fingers press into rae’s scalp with a firmness that is deliberate yet feather-light. fingernails scratching just enough to coax tension from muscles she hadn’t realised were taut. a low, almost imperceptible humming escapes him, a tune half-forgotten but wholly familiar, vibrating softly against her nape when he leans forward to lay a kiss there.
knots in her hair give way under the warden’s hands, each pull precise. never harsh but always measured to comfort rather than control.
rae closes her eyes, letting herself rest beneath the meticulous care of every motion.
WRIOTHESLEY: [softly] that better?
RAE: [half-smiling, eyes still shut] much… thank you.
wriothesley hums, a note lingering as his fingers smooth the final strands down the length of her hair. occasionally, he tilts her head to rinse shower gel from the roots, each movement careful. ritualistic. with a rhythm so slow and deliberate in a way that’d make one think that time itself bends to this quiet act of devotion.
in the mirror’s reflection, he catches her--her cheek pressed lightly to the tub’s edge, her eyes half-lidded and love-glazed and unfocused and dreamy. every detail seems sacred to him.
a faint smile tugs at the corner of wriothesley’s lips, unseen but felt in the gentle pressure of his fingers.
WRIOTHESLEY: [quiet, almost to himself] happy birthday.
her shoulders shift at that, leaning into him like sunflowers do the sun. there is no need for her to dignify him with a response, for the weight of trust and contentment speaks more than language ever could. rubbing the water from her eyes, rae tilts her head to look up at him with a smile so tender and blithe that wriothesley thinks it might tear his heart into two. he leans close, almost imperceptibly, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face, letting his thumb linger against her temple.
WRIOTHESLEY: [softly and resolute] i’ll take care of you, always.
rae can’t help but shy away from his eyes at that, her heart stirring with happiness in her chest, like a sugar cube caught in a whirlwind at the bottom of a teacup. steam curls in lazy spirals as he stands behind her for a final moment, running palms over her hair once more, ensuring that every strand is cared for, every tangle undone, every tension coaxed away.
the sunlight has given way to a twilight hush, pooling in corners and along the polished tiles. wriothesley is kneeling behind rae once more, this time with a warm towel draped over his hands as he gently squeezes the water from her hair.
WRIOTHESLEY: there, all taken care of.
and there he goes, doing it again, humming the same soft tune as before, letting his lips brush the crown of her head with such delicateness that she can’t help the tears that spring unto her lashes. this love that comes like a knife and cuts into her cake of a heart and pervades her slowly beneath the milky light.
it is a very happy birthday, indeed.
— @sleepyqinfei 🥹💘 many happy returns to my darling tulip of the meadow… my fawnkin… my sweet tender rae妹!!!! i hope and wish and pray that all the love the universe holds finds you. and i hope and wish and pray that you find happiness within yourself too. to have met u is truly one of my life’s greatest pleasures, and i will never get tired of telling you how much you mean to me. but for now i will just say that i love you to the very end!! and that this was inspired by a post you made one time where you said a recurring wriorae thought you had was him washing his hair for you, so i hope this does that justice ;u; love you forevermore my rae girl <33
@sleepyqinfei (ˊo̴̶̷̤ ̫ o̴̶̷̤ˋ) hullo, permission to show you a wriorae-coded video i saw on pinterest a while back...
perhaps mayhaps envisioning a moment of you having pushed back from your textbook-laden desk on bare feet and following the soft clink of a spoon against ceramic down the hall, and there’s your wriothesley. in the kitchen wearing his grey sweats and a thin shirt and hair still damp from his shower with only the little light above the stove on that paints him in a gentle yellow while he waits on the kettle.
it doesn’t take you long at all to cross the tile without a word and fit yourself to his back... arms slipping around his middle and pulling him in until there’s no space left between you, cheek pressed to the warm cotton between his shoulder blades, and you simply breathe.
breathe in the smell of his soap and his skin, in the simple animal fact of him being solid and here and entirely yours. he stills the way he always does for you, as if the rest of the world can wait, and his hands come to find yours where they rest against his stomach. both at once, lifting them slowly up to his chest and folding his own over them there so that you can feel his steady metronome of a pulse under your palms. tips his head back until it settles atop yours, and exhales and smiles. doesn’t ask what's wrong, he doesn’t need to.
the kettle begins to whistle behind him and he lets it, lets the whole night narrow to just the feel of your arms around him and his hands over yours and his weight gentle against the crown of your head. because whatever is breaking quietly in you right now can be held, and he is indeed very good at holding.
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