Artoria didn't resist as Woot's arms wrapped gently around her from behind. She let herself lean back into him, her posture relaxed in a way that would have startled any knight of the Round Table. No tension. No guard. Just the quiet clink of silverware as she began to eat—slowly, as though honoring every bite.
She made no comments about the food’s temperature, nor the rich mushroom cream of the julien. She simply ate, savoring the care more than the flavor. Occasionally, her hand would rest over Woot’s where it lay across her stomach or ribs, fingers curling lightly—not to remove it, but to hold it in place.
After the last bite, she set down the fork and sighed—not with fatigue this time, but with something softer. Wholeness.
Then, without turning her head, she spoke.
“You waited for me today… but I want you to know—I came home for you.”
The firelight flickered, shadows dancing on the walls as her words settled in the air like a vow.
She stayed in his arms, content, and silent for a while.
Woot is aggressive he touches her chest and lewd. but he pushes her down.
he puts himself in laying secure position.
>I know…. Artoria stiffened for just a moment as Woot’s hands explored boldly, her breath catching—not from fear or resistance, but from the sudden intensity. Then she exhaled, slowly, her body relaxing again beneath the pressure of his embrace as he pushed her gently down and secured himself close against her.
"I know…" he said, voice low and rough like a whisper through silk.
Her gaze flicked sideways toward him, lashes lowered, her golden hair pooling like starlight on the pillow beneath. She didn’t speak—didn’t need to. Her eyes, softened and knowing, met his without flinching. She saw him—not just the hands that held her, but the hunger behind them, the yearning to belong somewhere more than a throne or a battlefield.
She shifted only slightly, just enough to let his head find its place against her chest, her hand resting on his back in a slow, comforting press. Her heart was steady, beating beneath his ear like the war drums of old, only gentler now.
“…Then stay there,” she whispered at last, “and feed your heart first. The rest can wait.”
The fire burned low, shadows flickering across two figures locked in the quiet of something deeper than desire—something that had nothing to prove.
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