⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

The storm shows no sign of letting up, and the cold wind whistles furiously, weaving through the cracks in the tent and sending a shiver down your spine. In the center, the flames of the fire dance lazily, casting long, flickering shadows on the canvas walls.

That soft crackle creates an intimate refuge, a suspended nest that isolates you from the chill and darkness of the night. You move closer to the brazier, reaching out to capture its amber glow "Cold, huh?" a deep voice breaks the silence, startling you. You whirl around.

It's him, Duncan. Your heart skips a beat, and you feel your cheeks on fire; you find yourself smiling at him, unable to compose yourself "Oh, yes... quite a bit." you reply impulsively, quickly withdrawing your hands to hide them in the folds of your robe.

He's soaked, head to toe. He's stayed out late practicing for the upcoming tournament, and you can't help but feel a pang of pity. You hear his still-ragged breathing as he heads for the nearest table "I better get all this off my back, or I'll get sick... and that's really not the point." he murmurs.

At those words, the blush on your face deepens. He's such a disarmingly handsome boy, and the intimacy of that tent makes everything more intense. You jump up, shaking out your skirt with shaking hands "Do... do you need help?" you ask in a feeble voice.

As you wait for his answer, your mind wanders to your first meeting. Being the daughter of a humble farmer from the nearby village, he had sent you there as a helper for the days of the great tournament, and that was the least you could do.

You still remember how your legs shook when you saw him arrive on horseback, followed by a child you'd guessed was his squire. You'd stepped forward with your head down "Do you need help?" you'd asked, leaning in a little closer to get a better look.

"Oh, yes, thank you. Very kind" he'd replied, with his usual awkward manner and a small smile that had won you over. You'd nodded and disappeared, leaving him there for a few minutes before returning to say "Follow me." and he'd followed you into this tent.

Since then, you'd been his servant, but Duncan had never treated you like one. He spoke to you as an equal, worried about your well-being, asked if you needed anything. It was the first time anyone had treated you this way, and you were deeply surprised.

"No, don't worry. Thank you" he said now, giving you another of those smiles that took your breath away. Unable to meet his gaze, you turn your back out of politeness, but he notices "Oh, there's no need." he murmurs, starting to undress.

You feel him struggling against the buckles of his chest piece, his fingers numb from the cold. The wet leather resists, but with a firm tug, Duncan manages to undo it. He lifts the metal plate over his head, releasing a trail of icy water that trickles down his neck, and drops it to the floor with a dull thud.

The padded tunic, soaked like a sponge, has stuck to his skin. He writhes, crosses his arms, and yanks it up forcefully, peeling it away from his body. He tosses it into a corner, leaving him shirtless. A slight shiver shakes his shoulders, but he finally seems to breathe deeply.

That's when you see it. A gash opens on his chest, a wound from which a trickle of dark blood drips down to his waist. It's not deep, but it's still ugly. Your breath catches in your throat. You take a step toward him, your gaze wide with concern.

"I-I didn't see that..." you say in a trembling voice, placing a hand beside the wound. You look into his eyes, panic taking over "Let me help you, please." Duncan stares at you for a moment, surprised by such urgency, then tries to play it down.

"It's nothing, really..." he smiles at you, but you know you instantly worry about even the smallest cut, and you just can't help but help him. You begin to move frantically around the tent, looking everywhere for something to cover and clean the wound.

"Here!" you exclaim, retrieving a long strip of white linen that you washed and cleaned that very morning "This should be fine" you whisper, walking back to him with quick steps "Sit down and stay still." surprisingly, he obeys your command. You stare at him for a split second before dipping the cloth into a nearby glass filled with wine.

"I know, it’s not great... but this is all we have" you say, feeling your cheeks burn as you squeeze the cloth. You move closer and place the cloth over the wound, trying to be gentle.

Duncan doesn’t let out a single moan so as not to scare you, but you notice his fists curling into his knees until his knuckles are white, and his chest muscles tense from the burning "Sorry..." you whisper, moving the cloth slightly to clean the cut "I’m almost done, just a second."

After about half a minute, you walk around him and slide the bandage around his torso, tying the two ends at the back in a tight little knot. You return to him "How was it?" you ask, meeting his gaze. Duncan raises his eyes to yours and flashes a funny smile.

"Well, not bad, I must say" he starts to stand up, but you immediately stop him, planting a hand on his shoulder "No, no, no you're not moving from here, okay?" you look at him with a firm gaze, pointing a finger at him "Just wait a moment."

The wind outside continues to whip, but the air between you has now suddenly become thick, warm, almost electric. Your hand on his shoulder feels every single vibration of his breath. Duncan doesn't move. He sits there, his gaze fixed on yours, that half-smile slowly fading into something much deeper.

"Just a moment, huh?" he repeats in a lower voice, almost a whisper vibrating in your chest. You only now realize how close you are to him. The heat of the fire behind you envelops you, and the smell of rain on his skin mixes with the tartness of the wine.

The skin on his shoulder is goose-chill from the cold, but it burns where you touch it. The muscles of his torso, sculpted by hours of training, rise and fall rhythmically. A sudden sense of embarrassment takes your breath away. You start to pull your hand back, frightened by your boldness, but Duncan is faster.

His hand, large, warm, and rough, rises and grasps your wrist. His touch is gentle but firm. He doesn't squeeze, he simply holds you, pinning your fingers just inches from his face. The contrast between your skin and his, marked by the sun and fatigue, makes your heart beat twice as fast.

"Don't run away" he murmurs, his eyes sliding from your lips until they meet your gaze again "You were so determined a moment ago." the blush that had previously barely touched your cheeks now spreads down your neck, reaching below the neckline of your dress.

You try to formulate a coherent sentence, to act like a sensible servant, but the closeness of his body erases all thought "I... I just wanted to make sure you were okay." you find the courage to whisper, your gaze inevitably falling on the white linen sash swathed around his chest, just above his heart.

Duncan tugs gently on your wrist, forcing you to take a step forward until your knees brush his. Now you're forced to lean slightly closer to him. You can feel the heat emanating from him, the masculine, primal scent that makes your head spin.

"But i told you that I'm fine" he whispers, and his free hand slowly moves up your arm, leaving a trail of fiery shivers on the light fabric of your sleeve. His fingers rest at the nape of your neck, brushing the strands of hair that the wind has ruffled.

"You're shivering... and I don't think it's from the cold of the night." His thumb caresses the line of your jaw, lifting your face slightly. You feel Duncan's warm breath on your lips, a silent invitation that collapses any remaining distance in the tent.

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𝑩𝒍𝒐𝒈 𝒏𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

Your eyes are practically closing, and you can't keep them open for half a minute "No, absolutely not." you whisper, with a tired smile and a half-yawn. He looks at you puzzled, before leaning in and giving you a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Well, then I'd say it's time to say goodnight. You look like my brother when he's trying to fight off sleep while sitting on the toilet first thing in the morning." a spontaneous smile played on his lips, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Come on, I'm not that bad" you pat him on the head, and push him off "I'm not sleepy anymore, thank you very much." you say sarcastically, holding back a yawn. You sit on the edge of the bed and look at the clock on his bedside table.

"It's 1:37 a.m., not bad" before you can get up, his hands move quickly around your waist "Come back here" he murmurs, pulling you back towards him "Rodrick!" you try to wriggle away, but you don't have the strength to even try.

"Ugh, do you always have to act like this?" he looks at you sideways, letting you go for a few seconds "Only with you." he whispers mischievously before grabbing your arm and pressing you against him. His lips are quick, reaching your neck in an instant.

"No, no, Rodrick! you're tickling me!" you can't stop laughing before you grab his arms and stop them in mid-air "Enough..." you whisper, exhausted "Come on." he says, moving his arms and freeing himself from your grip.

You notice something different in his demeanor, as if he's more vulnerable "If I told your brother how you act towards me, he'd probably want to throw up." you laugh, teasing him. His face immediately turns serious, returning to his usual mocking look.

"Don't you dare..." he warns. The last time something like this happened, he didn't speak to you for about a week and a half "What's the matter, Heffley, are you afraid of your little brother?" you prod, grinning.

He watches you without saying anything, only when you move and finally get up from the bed, does he start to stir "You little-!" you try to reach the door as quickly as possible, but he's faster and catches up to you in a flash.

"What did you think you were doing, huh?" you laugh, turning to him "Exactly what you thought." he pulls you towards him and you both walk to the bed, until he throws you on it.

"Do you remember how it ended last time? I didn't speak to you for..." he pretended to think "Two weeks?" you look at him, raising an eyebrow "Not exactly, it was like a half." and you throw the pillow closest to you at him.

It lands right in his face unexpectedly, and he looks at you as if you've done the worst thing in the world "You want to put it that way? Then watch." he jumps on you and grabs your wrists, bringing them above your head. You move, but his body has you pinned down.

"Nice shot, Heffley." you whisper, leaning in and kissing him on the lips. It's a slow, sweet kiss, just how he likes it. You pull back and see that his cheeks are slightly red. His grip on your wrists loosens, and he slides his hands down your body. You can't help but let out a little squeal of excitement.

He moves his mouth down to your neck again, but this time he doesn't tickle you. You feel his teeth sink lightly into your skin, before leaving hickeys on your flesh. A sudden moan escapes you and you run a hand through his hair, pulling him towards you to kiss him again.

When he pulls back, his lips are slightly swollen "Your filler is nice" and you laugh, kissing him all over his face. He frowns and smirks "Mhm, sure" and he snuggles up next to you, one hand moving up and down your side "I think-" he yawns.

"That I'm really sleepy now." and he looks at you as if he's drunk. He's already gone, his eyelids fluttering shut, and within five minutes he's snoring. You smile, rolling onto your side and stroking his messy hair until you fall asleep.

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From the same series:

⤷ 𝘍𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴 (Warnings: none. Synopsis: You want to sleep but Rodrick keeps keeping you awake.)

𝑩𝒍𝒐𝒈 𝒏𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The house is immersed in a dense silence, broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Sleep weighs on your eyes as you cross the foyer that leads to his study. You wear a simple cream-colored nightgown, with small flowers embroidered on your breasts.

A light draft of cold air makes you shiver as you walk barefoot across the dark wood floor. You glimpse a dim light passing under the study door and you shake your head, thinking about the late hour. You pause in front of it before knocking once, softly "Who is it?"

His voice comes out with a slight tired tone, marked by sleepless nights "It's me, can I come in?" a few seconds pass before he answers "Yes, come in." you open the door slowly, and close it behind you a moment later.

The room is decidedly warmer than the rest of the house, and you let out a sigh of relief as you step onto the first rug you see. Tommy sits at his desk with a burned-out cigarette between his fingers and his gaze fixed on a pile of ink-stained documents.

The ashtray beside him is practically full, and you can't think of anything other than the fact that he's been smoking a lot these past few months. His vest is open, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up... his glasses perched on the tip of his nose, and his hair slightly messy.

The glass of whiskey is half-empty to his right "It's late" you say. Your voice seems too soft for the room. He makes a sign with his pen, then another. Only then does he look up at you. He looks at you as if you're interrupting something necessary - but not more important.

"Just a moment" you approach slowly, without touching anything. You simply stand there, in front of the desk, close enough for him to feel your presence "You said that an hour ago." Tommy exhales slowly, following it with his gaze as if searching for an answer in its swirls... then he puts down his pen.

"This stuff doesn't sign itself" "You don't rest alone either." silence, and it's in that silence that you really see him: the dark circles under his eyes, the clenched jaw, the way he keeps everything under control only because he knows no other way. The war has never gone away, it's just changed form.

"Come to bed" you say finally. It's not an order, not even a desperate request, but a statement of fact. Tommy leans back in the chair and studies you "That nightgown looks good on you." he says as he takes a last drag before putting out his cigarette.

You look down instinctively, barely adjusting the bottom hem "In five minutes" he whispers, but you shake your head "No, now" his lips lift suddenly, and he laughs softly "You're really stubborn, Mrs. Shelby." His voice gives you goosebumps, it's so provocative when he calls you that way... and he knows exactly how it affects you.

"Come here" he motions for you to come closer with his hand "Come on." you move slowly, walking around the desk. He moves back slightly with his chair and places his hands on your hips, lifting you slightly so you can sit on his lap. Damn, you love it when he treats you like this.

You can feel the muscles of his thighs holding you firmly in place, the heat of his chest, and his gaze on your breasts. You wrap your hands around his neck "I thought you were supposed to finish signing, right?" you smile, stroking the back of his neck with your fingertips.

Suddenly your anger disappears, as always "I guess so, but I think there's something more important than signing papers now..." he looks up to fix you with those ice-blue eyes of his, and you can see a spark of arousal. His hands move slowly over your body, the heat seeping through your nightgown as it rises to your breasts.

When his thumbs rest on your nipples, you gasp. Even through the fabric, the sensation has the same effect. You bite your lower lip, holding back any more sounds "I-I think it's best if we continue in the bedroom, don't you?" you whisper, blushing slightly. He leans closer to your ear "And why not here?"

He bites your earlobe, and his hands now rest on your ass, pushing it against him. You can feel his erection against your groin, and you rest your forehead on his shoulder. His lips move towards your neck, leaving small, wet kisses and nibbling the soft skin.

You let yourself go for those few seconds of relief before pulling away. You're panting, your throat dry "Come on, let's go to bed." you laugh and stand up, taking his hand and pulling him with you towards the door. These are the little moments of satisfaction you prefer, when he's giving you attention.

He comes closer to you and wraps his arms around you, kissing your head "I love you." and in that moment you realize he's probably ignoring you to protect you, to keep you away from that ugly world he works in.

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𝑩𝒍𝒐𝒈 𝒏𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

The smell of cigarettes fills the office before you know it, a light mist seeping through the curtains of the windows overlooking the lake. The afternoon light falls on a pile of documents on your husband's desk, Michael.

Thinking about it, you're no longer sure if he's really your husband... the old him vanished a long time ago. You take a few steps forward, keeping your gaze down and folding your hands in your lap.

The only sound is the ticking of the grandfather clock; you turn your gaze to watch it slowly swing from left to right. He sits behind the desk, leaning forward slightly to sign a paper. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed, a sign of intense concentration.

He hasn't even noticed your presence, or perhaps he's simply ignoring you. You, in there, almost seem like an intrusion... it's a world built for him, not for you. The light from the lamp reflects off the polished wood, cutting the contours of his face in two.

You stop in front of the desk, your hands even tighter "Michael..." your voice comes out low, like a whisper... you hate yourself for how fragile it sounds "I need to talk to you" he doesn't look up immediately, he leaves you there, feeling the weight of your own voice as if he wanted to teach you the right measure of words, then finally he says softly "I'm listening."

You take a step closer... you don't know why your heart is beating so hard - perhaps because you still love him, perhaps because you hope the man you once knew will return "I need to know. Everyone's talking, saying things... about you, about your family. I... I can't go on living like this."

He doesn't answer right away, simply looking up from the paper and placing the pen next to it. He shifts back in his chair so he can cross his left leg over his right. He folds his hands in his lap, just like you are doing right now "Do you know what your problem is, darling?"

His voice is low, almost affectionate... almost "It's just that you think the truth is your right, but that's not the case. The truth is a burden, and I keep you away from that burden because I love you. You have the right to live a quiet life, not to get your hands dirty... that's your right."

At that point, he slowly raises his eyes to you, that gesture - just that - is enough to make you take a half-step back. You feel trapped even though there's no chain holding you back. Your now sweaty hands stretch to the sides of your dress, tightening it slightly.

Michael exhales slowly as he rises from his chair, walking around the desk to come toward you. His hands end up in the pockets of his black pants "I'm not lying to you, I'm protecting you" you bite your lower lip before murmuring "I just want the truth, Michael." the sound of the clock sounds like a gunshot in the silence.

He pauses, inhales again, and looks up at you once more. Those eyes, so dark, so calm... no tremor, no flash of emotion "The truth," he repeats "You want the truth." he takes a hand out of his pants and runs it over his face, as if to erase the anger building inside him.

His voice lowers to a tone that hides something more dangerous "The truth would destroy you, you really don't want it" you stop, but you've gone too far to turn back "you can't decide what I can handle!" your words come out louder than you intended, and you immediately regret it.

"Every time you ask me about my business," he says "you ask me to show you the part of me I try to keep away from you" driven by anger, you take a step forward, pointing your finger at him "I don't-!" the slap came from the side, suddenly... a sharp blow.

The noise cracked in the air like a whiplash, and you remain still... your cheek burning. It wasn't so much the pain that struck, but the humiliation. Tears blur your vision as you touch your cheek, in disbelief: you didn't think it could hurt this much, and not just physically.

"See what you're forcing me to do?!" he yells at you as he rubs his hands together to ease the pain of the blow "Every time you insist, every time you don't listen to me... you push me further." the words slip through you like poison.

Suddenly, the feeling of fear and humiliation seems to have disappeared... now you understand, the Michael you fell in love with is gone forever. Old memories come to mind, the beautiful summer days when he took you to the beach, by the sea.

"Good..." you whisper, wiping away the solitary tear that has fallen down your cheek "Do as you wish, Michael, but from now on, you and I are done" your voice sounds like a snake's hiss, bitter "I've waited so long for you to change, but apparently it hasn't happened. Stay with your stupid family; let them curse me for what I just said, I don't care."

You take a few steps back, toward the door "Find another woman, there will be plenty of them who want you." a half-smile of hatred escapes you "You ruined me, and I, who deluded myself into thinking we could have had a better future together. One day I'll leave when you least expect it, and that moment will come soon enough... and woe betide you if you come looking for me; I never want to see you again."

You've finally managed to say everything you've never been able to admit, not even to yourself; you feel at peace, so to speak. His face is expressionless, but you know he's still confused. There's a hint of concern in his eyes, as if your words came from someone else's mouth, not yours.

You've always been so kind and polite that he would never have considered retaliating. He doesn't say anything, probably knowing it's the best thing to do to avoid further escalating the situation. You turn away from him as your feet move quickly across the office parquet, ready to escape the hell that has confined and manipulated you for far too long.

© Xoshize 2026

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