theheartwants-what-itwants - Tumblr blog

theheartwants-what-itwants · 4 hours ago

Text

Paper Cut

A/N: Hello! This is the first thing I've ever posted on Tumblr, so I'm hoping this goes well🤞 Also, this fic was originally inspired by an old Irish jig so I'll attach a URL if you wanna take a listen.

Summary: After expecting yourself to spend the entire winter break in solitude, you get an unexpected request to visit your potions master. (Works with any gender)

Warning(s): My writing skills...

Word count: >2,300

https://open.spotify.com/track/32AoNRoaOV2xb4YZcFaqi2?si=7_rYzfPCSY6Bp4p-WeHdhw

If you had thought rationally for even a single second before going to the shore, you would've been able to add two and two together. In other words, you would've realized that it would be far too cold to accomplish any form of finger picking, either good or bad. Unfortunately, rationality was far in between with you these days, and those fingers of yours were left hovering over the steel strings of your guitar without an occupation. “Stop shaking,” you demanded yourself, scrutinizing the uncontrollable tremor of your hand. “You're not even cold.” Clasping your hands together in an attempt to worm them up, you looked at the distant family from the corner of your eye.

A father with his two young sons walked along the rocky shore with thick layers on, each of the boys trying to prove who could get closest to the crashing waves without getting their shoes wet. You narrowed your eyes at the father, questioning his parenting skills. You shook your head and let out a huff of discontentment, whispering to yourself, “It's fucking freezing and this is where you choose to take your damned kids?”

What I would give to use incendio right now…

The sleeves of your jacket were going to have to suffice for the meantime. Though, clinging the hems of the sleeves into your tight fists didn't achieve much other than putting only a small amount of feeling back into your fingertips. You were beginning to think the family was never going to leave and the wand you had brought with you would be of no use to you.

The murmuring of the two boys suddenly grew louder but not due their closer distance to you, but instead due to their enthusiastic reactions to a distant black dot flying just above the water. Upon realizing what exactly the spot of blackness was, you understood why they'd be excited about it. It's not often you see a black owl flying amongst white seagulls. Especially when you consider that the only black owl in the U.K. belonged to Professor Snape. While one child had an untamable grin on his face, the other hid behind his father as the three of them watched the owl land atop the log you were sitting on.

“What's the reason for this, huh?” You asked the bird, though he remained unphased much like his owner even as you reached over to grab the letter next to his claws. You rested your chest over your guitar as you opened the envelope, your attempt causing you to yelp in pain. “Ack-” As you pushed your thumb beneath the envelope's tongue from one side to the other, the edge of the paper unpleasantly sliced the skin over your knuckle. A second later, blood was already leaking out of the wound and a small drop fell onto the letter before I could prevent it. You quickly placed the small cut in between your lips as you pulled out the letter to read it, the few words hardly obscured by the damp blood stain.

“See me as soon as possible.

S.S.”

You skipped the part where he wrote ‘Hope your winter break is going well’ or ‘Sorry for the unwarranted interruption to your free time’. Maybe he meant to write it and forgot.

Shaking those nieve thoughts aside, you glanced back at the owl, meeting his dull gaze with a raised brow. “Right now?” Even if Snape's owl could answer your question, he wouldn't stick around long enough to do so, leaving you with no choice but to pack up your guitar and find somewhere secluded enough to apparate back to the castle.

– – – – – – – – – – – –

What little frustration you once had quickly melted away as warmth immediately enveloped your body, somehow making your ‘warm’ layers suddenly feel cold against your warming skin. Looking around, you found yourself right back at Hogwarts, within the walls of the potions classroom and as you stood idle, you took note of the professor's absence within his own classroom. You'd be lying if you said you weren't already imagining yourself having to play a game of bloody hide-and-seek just to find the man.

The heat that pleasantly warmed the left side of your body, however, prompted you to look towards his office, the opened door and faintly flickering light from within suggesting that a game of hide-and-seek wasn't going to be necessary. Walking over, you found him sitting at his desk with his head leaning against his propped up hand and a pile of opened books in front of him. He had the fireplace lit, likely due to the dungeon's natural cold temperatures being drastically augmented by the winter. “Professor,” you said as you stood just outside of his office. “I got your letter.”

When his gaze shifted up from his books, he noticed multiple things at once, first being your muggle attire, second being the large guitar shaped luggage you carried with you and finally, the blood stained letter you held in your other hand. “Did my letter find you in the midst of a brawl, Y/L/N?” He asked dryly, noticing the blood on your thumb.

“No,” you responded just as dryly as you took slow steps inside of his office to bask in more of the fire's warmth.

“Why have you not healed it yet?”

You tilted your head in confusion and in turn, he nodded to the cut on your thumb. “Ah- Well, I was around muggles when it happened. I got it when I opened your letter.” You stood your guitar against the wall before walking further into his office, making your way to the chair in front of his desk. “So did you need me for something?”

“Not exactly.”

Once you sat down, he took the bloodstained letter out of your hand and placed it to the side before gently pulling on your wrist so that your hand would be closer to him. He frowned in disapproval as he felt just how cold your skin was. “I take it you were outside.”

“I was.”

“Not leisurely, I hope?” When you didn't answer, his eyes shot up to yours for a brief moment, giving you a scolding glare. “Foolish child.”

With his hand still around your wrist, he lifted his other one to your thumb, his pointer finger keeping it slightly elevated while his thumb pressed against your nail so he could closely inspect the injury. “How did you manage to cut yourself by opening a bloody envelope?”

“It can't be that hard to imagine how.” You were slightly taken aback by his commanding assessment of such a minor injury but nonetheless, you indulged his concern, taking a mental note on how warm his fingers were against your cold hand. “This is why people use max stamps, Professor. Think about all of the people you've sent letters to who've gotten paper cuts because you refuse to use wax stamps.”

“This is evidence of your clumsiness, Y/L/N, I assure you. Not the benefits to using wax stamps.” He released your thumb but kept his grip around your wrist to keep your hand from moving as he casted a cleaning spell on the small wound. Gradually, the dried blood surrounding the area began to vanish and the distance between the edges of skin began to close, leaving only the faintest red line as proof of the cut's previous existence. After a quiet moment, you took your hand back and rubbed the newly healed skin on your knuckle, your thoughts slipping to the lingering warmth around your wrist where he had held it. When he heard you mutter a ‘thank you,’ he simply nodded in acknowledgment, letting a comfortable silence fill the air between the two of you. He didn't seem all that eager to enlighten you on his reason for having you here, instead, he quietly allowed the warmth of the fire to engulf your cold self while he started putting his books away.

“Has your Christmas been pleasant?” You asked as he was turned to his bookshelf. When you got no response, the air became awkward and you assumed you didn't speak loud enough. You faced the fire with slightly flushed cheeks, too embarrassed to repeat yourself.

“It's been bearable.” He placed a small box on his desk. Its surface was a matte black and lacked much character. “Open it.”

With a puzzled expression, you met his gaze before looking down at the box, your hand slowly reaching for it. “What is this?”

“What does it look like?” He asked with a raised brow.

Is it not painfully obvious?

You took the small box in your hand, giving the professor one more glance before lifting the lid. Within the box was a bracelet. Its design was simple with its shape resembling a thin three stranded braid made up entirely of a dark metal material. With a slightly widened grin, you looked up at your professor who was still on his feet, intently watching you. “You got me a gift.”

“I gave you protection.”

His line of words came out like a sudden embrace, the implications of his desire to have you protected feeling slightly jarring, though undoubtedly assuring. “Is it charmed?”

“Yes.” He finally sat back down. “Protego Maxima.”

After putting the box back on the desk, you slid your compressed palm through the narrow bracelet, observing it as it dangled around your wrist. “Well, you gave this to me on Christmas, so it's definitely a gift.” Your bashful smile was presented proudly to Snape and he could feel himself wanting to mirror it. “Thank you,” you said.

“Merry Christmas, Y/L/N.” He actually let the corners of his lips lift into a subtle grin.

“Merry Christmas, professor.”

You looked back down at the bracelet around your wrist as you turned it around with your other hand, the texture of the small braid feeling pleasant against your skin. “If I'd known we were exchanging Christmas gifts, I would've brought yours.”

“There's no nee-”

“Actually,” you interrupted, standing from your chair. “I'll just get it now.” Before he could say anything, you apparate away and his office was enveloped with silence once more.

Upon apparating back into your family's house in Galway, you immediately felt the difference in temperatures which caused a chill to run down your spine. You rushed into your old room and found the narrow, dark brown box containing your professor's gift laying on the window sill. As you walked towards the window, the sound of the cat caught you off guard, his ‘meow’ amplified by the quietness that consumed the house. He laid peacefully on the pillow you were clinging onto when you woke up this morning and you started to feel guilt slowly tearing at you. The cat usually shared this house with the rest of your family who were currently spending the holidays at your grandparent's house in Scotland. Even if you felt like you were just his cat sitter, you were still the only other warm body in the house.

And you had the nerve to leave him to his lonesomeness.

“I'll be back soon, boy,” you assured regretfully, petting the underside of his chin before taking the box and apparating back into the professor's office.

Snape was just as he was when you left, his gaze lingering over the flames and his thumb gently tapping against the wood of his desk. When he heard you return, he looked over and let out an inaudible sigh when he saw you'd come back with a box in your hand. “Give it here, then.”

You sat back down on your chair that was still warm and placed the box on his desk, sliding it closer to him with a certain mischievous glint in your eyes. His distasteful gaze studied the box as it inched closer. “When you see it, just-” You paused. “The timing is a coincidence, that's all.”

After giving you a suspicious glare, he took the box in both hands and used his two thumps to pop the lid open. Upon seeing what the box contained, he felt a tug at the corner of his lips. It was good timing, indeed.

“A wax stamp.”

“Look at the design on it,” you said, trying but failing to calm the grin on your face as you pointed to the head of the silver stamp. His reaction was just about what you could've expected.

The professor placed the box down with the stamp in his hand and he turned it over to see the finely engraved design of a two headed snake. “Where did you get this?”

“I found it at an old thrift shop near Galway.”

“A thrift shop,” He repeated almost condescendingly. It was another muggle thing he wasn't entirely familiar with.

“It's the kind of shop that sells whatever people have pawned off or donated.” You silently watched him for any signs that he was pleased with the gift, but his face was too difficult to read. “And if you still prefer to send letters without wax stamps, I'm sure it would sell nicely.”

Hearing your absurd suggestion, he narrowed his eyes at you. Even if he wasn't already planning on using it, he wouldn't be so insensitive as to sell it for mere coin. There was too much value in the simple fact that you had given this to him. And considering your hands would likely benefit from using it, there was no question. “Nonsense. If it means you'll no longer be giving yourself paper cuts, Y/L/N, I'll make good use of it. Consider your clumsiness my incentive.”

“My thumbs appreciate it.”

The two of you shared the space in comforting silence, letting the fondness that came from exchanging gifts with each other sink in. If not for the fact that this was your first real social interaction since the beginning of winter break, this moment may not have felt as uplifting to you, not to mention a little daunting. You would've never believed that you'd be spending Christmas day with the potion master and, undoubtedly, it felt rewarding having grown this close with him.

47 notes · View notes

theheartwants-what-itwants · 23 days ago

Note

Is there anymore difficult woman coming soon🫣👀

Title: Through Gilded Bars

Summary: Caught between passion and betrayal, a young wife struggles to reconcile her resentment with the unexpected warmth of her husband’s love.

Pairing: Karl Hoffmeister × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Author's Notes: I finally managed to finish this chapter 😮‍💨

First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, Seventh, Eighth and Ninth part here.

Also read on Ao3

The next morning, the house was cloaked in a rare, serene quiet. The rhythmic patter of rain on the windows had softened to a gentle drizzle, and the faint scent of damp earth wafted through the window of your shared bedroom. You stirred awake, the warmth of the duvet enveloping you as you became aware of the solid presence beside you.

Karl was still asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily, the faint gray light of dawn casting soft shadows on his chiseled face. The gray hair at his temples glinted in the light, his mustache twitching faintly as he dreamed. His strong arm was draped possessively across your waist, holding you close as though even in sleep, he couldn’t bear to let you go.

You gazed at him for a moment, your mind replaying the events of the night before. The intensity of his touch, the vulnerability in his words—“I love you so fucking much”—lingered in your memory like a brand. You had never imagined this dynamic, this strange pull between you and Karl, could evolve into something so intimate, so tender, and yet so consuming.

Careful not to wake him, you slipped out of bed, grabbing a robe from the chair and tying it loosely around your waist. Your legs felt weak, your body sore in unfamiliar places, a reminder of the night’s passion. A soft blush crept up your cheeks as you glanced back at Karl, his face relaxed in sleep, looking younger and almost innocent.

You padded quietly to the bathroom to freshen up, splashing cold water on your face to steady the whirlwind of emotions still coursing through you. As you toweled off, a thought struck you��what now? What did last night mean for your marriage, for the tenuous relationship you had been navigating with this man?

The answer seemed both simple and impossibly complex. You couldn’t deny the connection that had formed between you and Karl, but what terrified you was the depth of it. How quickly the walls you had built around your heart had crumbled under the force of his devotion.

When you returned to the bedroom, Karl was awake, propped up on one elbow, his hazel eyes tracking your every move. His gaze was soft, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips as he watched you.

“Good morning, liebling,” he said, his baritone voice rough with sleep but warm with affection.

“Good morning,” you replied, your voice quieter, still unsure of how to navigate this new intimacy.

Karl patted the space beside him, his smile widening slightly. “Come here,” he said gently.

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the belt of your robe, but the vulnerability in his expression softened you. Slowly, you crossed the room and slid back into bed beside him. Karl immediately pulled you into his arms, his embrace firm and comforting, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“How do you feel?” he asked, his tone laced with genuine concern.

“Sore,” you admitted with a shy smile, your cheeks flushing as you avoided his gaze.

Karl chuckled softly, the deep rumble of his laughter sending a pleasant shiver through you. “That’s to be expected,” he said, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along your arm. “But I meant... in here.” He placed a hand gently over your heart, his hazel eyes searching yours for any hint of unease.

You swallowed hard, your gaze dropping to where his hand rested against your chest. “I don’t know,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. “Last night was... a lot.”

Karl’s expression softened even further, his hand moving to cup your cheek as he tilted your face toward him. “I know,” he said quietly. “And I want you to know that nothing has to change unless you want it to. You’re still in control, schatz. Always.”

The sincerity in his voice took your breath away. For a man who was so used to control, to power, Karl’s willingness to let you lead this new dynamic was both surprising and deeply touching.

But the soft, tentative warmth of the morning faded the moment you shook your head and slipped out of Karl’s arms. The air seemed to chill between you as you adjusted your robe, the knot at your waist tightening with the same tension building in your chest. You turned away from him, your shoulders stiff with resolve.

“What’s wrong, liebling?” Karl’s voice, rough from sleep, cut through the quiet. He sat up fully, the sheets pooling at his waist, his hazel eyes narrowing as he studied you.

You glanced at him over your shoulder, lips pursed. “What’s wrong?” you repeated, your tone sharp as you crossed the room to the window. The drizzle outside mirrored the storm inside you. “What’s wrong, Karl, is that I let myself forget who you are—what you’ve done.”

Karl sighed heavily, the sound carrying both frustration and a hint of guilt. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the weight of his body causing the mattress to creak. “I thought we were past this,” he said quietly, his baritone voice laced with weariness.

You turned sharply, your arms crossing over your chest as you faced him. “You thought wrong,” you snapped. “You’re still the man who destroyed my father’s business—my family’s livelihood—just to get to me.”

Karl’s jaw tightened, his hazel eyes darkening with emotion. “I wanted to do things differently,” he said, his voice rising slightly as he pushed himself to his feet. He towered over you, his chubby frame imposing but somehow softened by the vulnerability in his expression. “I wanted to court you properly, but your father wouldn’t let me near you! He called me unworthy, threatened to send you away.”

You scoffed, stepping closer to him, your chin tilted defiantly. “And that justifies what you did? Manipulating him, ruining everything he worked for? You didn’t just hurt him, Karl—you hurt me. You took away my choice.”

Karl ran a hand through his gray hair, his frustration evident in the way his fingers raked through the strands. “I rebuilt his business,” he shot back, his voice rough with defensiveness. “Your family is one of the richest in the region now because of me. I made things right.”

“It’s not about the money, Karl!” you snapped, your voice trembling with anger as you stepped closer, the intensity between you crackling like a live wire. “It’s about your manipulation. You didn’t ‘make things right.’ You decided what was right without considering anyone else—without considering me.”

Karl’s eyes dropped to your lips, his breath hitching as you leaned closer, your voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. “You can’t buy my forgiveness, Karl. You can’t undo the damage you caused just because you feel guilty now.”

His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer until your bodies were nearly touching. His hazel eyes burned with a mix of anger and desire, his voice dropping to a husky growl. “You think I feel guilty? No, liebling, I don’t feel guilty for wanting you. I’d do it all again if it meant having you in my bed, in my life.”

Your breath hitched at the intensity in his gaze, but you refused to back down. “And that’s exactly why I can’t forgive you,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “Because you don’t see what you did as wrong. You think wanting me justifies everything.”

Karl’s grip on your wrist tightened slightly, his other hand moving to cup your cheek. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he murmured, his voice softening as his thumb brushed against your skin. “Everything I did, I did because I love you.”

“You don’t love me, Karl,” you shot back, your voice firm even as your body betrayed you, leaning slightly into his touch. “You love the idea of me. You love the control.”

He growled softly, his thumb tracing the curve of your bottom lip, his hazel eyes locked on yours. “You’re wrong,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you. And no matter how many times you argue with me, no matter how many sharp words you throw my way, I can’t stop loving you.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding as his lips hovered dangerously close to yours. “You can’t win this argument, Karl,” you whispered, your voice trembling with both defiance and something deeper, something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

His lips curled into a small, self-deprecating smile, his breath hot against your skin. “I know,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “I never can. You’ve always had the upper hand, liebling. Always.”

Your lips parted, ready to fire back another retort, but Karl closed the distance before you could speak. His mouth captured yours in a kiss that was equal parts desperation and surrender, his hands pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

You hated the way your body responded, hated the way his touch made you weak, made you forget every reason you had to push him away. But as his lips moved against yours, as his hands roamed your body with a possessive tenderness, you couldn’t deny the pull between you—the magnetic force that always seemed to bring you back to him.

And Karl, for all his faults, knew he was powerless against you. Even as he tried to assert control, to bend you to his will, he found himself hypnotized by you—by your strength, your fire, your lips that could silence him with a single word or ignite him with a single kiss.

He pulled back just enough to whisper against your mouth, his voice a low, breathless growl. “You drive me mad, liebling. Do you know that? Every time you argue with me, every time you defy me, it only makes me want you more.”

You smirked, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, “Good. Maybe you’ll finally learn that you can’t always get your way.”

Karl chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin as he rested his forehead against yours. “With you,” he murmured, his voice full of reluctant admiration, “I never stand a chance.”

Karl’s baritone voice rumbled with satisfaction as he kissed you deeply, his strong hands sliding over your body with renewed hunger. “You’re mine, liebling,” he murmured against your lips, his tone thick with desire as he eased you back onto the bed. The warmth of his body enveloped you as he pressed his weight into you, one hand loosening the belt of your robe while the other tangled in your hair.

“Karl,” you began, your voice breathless but stern, “we shouldn’t—”

He silenced you with another fervent kiss, his mustache brushing tantalizingly against your skin. “Hush,” he growled, his hazel eyes dark with a primal intensity. “Let me worship you properly.”

The cool air kissed your bare skin as your robe fell open, and Karl’s large, warm hands roamed over your curves with deliberate care. He lowered his mouth to your neck, his lips and teeth teasing the sensitive skin there. “I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered, his voice rough as his lips moved lower, tracing a heated path down your chest.

You arched into his touch, your body betraying the protests on the tip of your tongue. “You’re insatiable,” you scolded, though your voice lacked conviction, trembling as Karl’s mouth found the peak of your breast, his tongue flicking over your nipple.

Karl chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your skin. “When it comes to you, yes,” he admitted, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, his touch firm and possessive. “You’ve ruined me for anything else, schatz.”

He shifted, aligning himself with you, and you gasped as he entered you in one slow, deliberate motion. The fullness of him was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain that left you breathless. Karl groaned, his head falling to your shoulder as he began to move, his thrusts deep and unrelenting.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “So tight, so perfect for me.”

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as you moaned his name, the intensity of his movements leaving you trembling beneath him. Karl’s lips found yours again, his kiss bruising and hungry as he drove you both toward release.

When the two of you finally collapsed into a breathless heap, Karl pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his chest heaving with exertion. “Stay in bed, liebling,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’ll have Liselotte bring you breakfast.”

You nodded weakly, too exhausted to argue, and Karl dressed quickly before leaving the room, his expression smug and content as he descended the stairs to the dining room.

Karl entered the dining room with a spring in his step, his usual commanding presence softened by a rare smile. Johann was already seated at the table, sipping his coffee, while Elisabeth sat stiffly across from him, her face pale and drawn.

“Good morning,” Karl greeted warmly, taking his seat at the head of the table. He exchanged a knowing look with Johann, who raised an eyebrow in silent question.

“Did you sleep well, Karl?” Johann asked, his tone light but laced with curiosity.

Karl smirked, reaching for the coffee pot. “Indeed,” he replied, pouring himself a cup. “And I’ve had a wonderful morning, too.”

Johann chuckled, shaking his head, but before he could respond, Elisabeth abruptly stood, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. Her face was flushed, her expression unreadable as she excused herself hurriedly.

Karl’s brow furrowed as he watched her leave, concern flickering in his hazel eyes. “What’s wrong with Elisabeth?” he asked, turning to Johann.

Johann shrugged, feigning ignorance. “She hasn’t been feeling well,” he said vaguely, though his tone suggested there was more to the story.

Karl frowned, waving over Anna and Liselotte, who had been standing nearby. “Anna, find out what’s troubling Elisabeth and prepare some tea for her,” he ordered, his tone firm. “And Liselotte,” he added, turning to the younger maid, “take breakfast upstairs to my wife, along with some ointments to help with any soreness.”

Both women nodded quickly, hurrying to carry out his orders. Karl leaned back in his chair, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of Elisabeth’s sudden departure and the lingering satisfaction of his time with you. He took a sip of his coffee, his hazel eyes flickering with a mixture of concern and smug contentment.

As Johann continued to watch him with quiet amusement, Karl couldn’t help but smile, his thoughts drifting back to the woman resting in his bed upstairs. Whatever challenges lay ahead, he knew one thing for certain: you were his, and he would do whatever it took to keep you by his side.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Liselotte was bubbling with excitement. As she helped you untie your robe and guided you toward the bathroom, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"You must tell me everything!" she exclaimed, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “What was it like? Did Herr Hoffmeister treat you well?”

You felt your face grow hot as you stepped into the shower, the warm water cascading over your skin, washing away the tension and soreness of the night. “There’s nothing to tell,” you said quickly, your voice wavering as you tried to maintain your composure. “It’s none of your business.”

Liselotte let out a dramatic laugh, covering her mouth as if to stifle her amusement. “Oh, don’t be modest, ma’am! The whole house heard you last night—and this morning too!”

Your hands froze mid-lather, your heart dropping into your stomach. “What?” you asked, turning to gape at her through the steamy haze of the bathroom.

“The walls in this house are thin,” Liselotte said with a smirk, her tone teasing but not unkind. “Anna and I could hardly believe it—Herr Hoffmeister’s bed is notoriously quiet. But with you, well…” She wiggled her eyebrows.

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands, wishing the floor would swallow you up. “I can’t believe this,” you muttered. “It’s humiliating.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Liselotte said, her tone softening as she handed you a fresh bar of soap. “It’s perfectly natural. You’re married, after all. And, if I may say so, Herr Hoffmeister is a very lucky man. You’ve made him happier than I’ve ever seen him.”

Her words only deepened the flush on your cheeks. You busied yourself with rinsing your hair, avoiding her gaze as she chattered on. But eventually, her persistence wore you down.

“Fine,” you said with a sigh, leaning against the cool tile wall of the shower. “If you must know… Karl was kind. He was careful and gentle. He made sure I was comfortable.”

Liselotte’s eyes widened with delight, and she clasped her hands together. “I knew it! Beneath all that sternness, Herr Hoffmeister has a heart after all.”

You gave her a wry look. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. He’s still the man who ruined my father’s business and forced me into this marriage.”

Liselotte tilted her head, studying you with a thoughtful expression. “Does it feel different now? Between you and Herr Hoffmeister?”

You hesitated, unsure of how to answer. The warmth of Karl’s touch, the sincerity in his voice, and the way he had held you last night lingered in your mind, complicating your feelings. “I… don’t know,” you admitted finally. “I still hate him for what he did to my family—and to me. But not as much as before.”

Liselotte nodded, her expression encouraging you to continue.

“I hate feeling like a prisoner in this place,” you said, your voice softer now. “But somehow, it doesn’t feel as oppressive anymore. Karl… he’s not as cruel as I thought he’d be.”

Liselotte smiled knowingly as she handed you a towel. “Love works in mysterious ways,” she said, her tone teasing yet warm. “Maybe Herr Hoffmeister isn’t the villain you’ve made him out to be.”

You sighed, wrapping the towel around yourself as you stepped out of the shower. “Or maybe he’s just a villain who happens to be good at kissing,” you quipped, though the faint smile on your lips betrayed your conflicted emotions.

Liselotte laughed, helping you into a fresh dressing gown. “Either way, I think you’re beginning to see that life here isn’t so bad,” she said, her voice gentle. “And who knows? Maybe you’ll find a way to be happy.”

You didn’t respond, but as you made your way to the bedroom for breakfast, you couldn’t shake the strange feeling that she might be right. Whether you liked it or not, Karl had begun to chip away at the walls you had built around your heart—and that thought was both terrifying and oddly comforting.

The morning sunlight streamed softly through the lace curtains of your bedroom, casting a warm glow over the cozy space. You sat in bed, a tray balanced carefully on your lap. A small feast had been prepared for your breakfast: freshly baked bread, an assortment of cheeses, slices of cured ham, and a steaming cup of coffee. Beside the tray sat a small collection of jars, their labels handwritten in elegant script. You picked one up, examining the thick glass and its contents, curiosity piqued.

“What are these?” you asked, holding the jar up for inspection. You removed the lid and sniffed the contents, the sharp scent of mint filling the air.

Liselotte, busy rifling through your wardrobe, glanced over her shoulder. She held a flowing cream-colored dress in one hand and a light blue one in the other, her brow furrowed in concentration. “The ointments are to help with the bruises and soreness, ma’am,” she said absently, her tone almost casual, as though this were an everyday occurrence.

You raised an eyebrow, your hand instinctively brushing over your hip, where Karl’s firm grip had left a faint ache. “Bruises?” you asked, chewing on a piece of bread.

Liselotte smirked, setting the cream dress aside and holding up the blue one against the light. “Well, I heard the headboard was doing most of the heavy lifting last night,” she teased. “And judging by how loud the two of you were, I’d say Herr Hoffmeister wasn’t exactly gentle.”

Your cheeks flushed crimson, and you quickly lowered your gaze, fumbling with the jar in your hands. “I don’t need a play-by-play,” you muttered, though the corner of your lips twitched in amusement despite your embarrassment.

Liselotte laughed softly, finally deciding on the blue dress. She laid it across the chair by the vanity before turning her full attention to you. “If it helps, the ointment works wonders. Anna swears by it—used it after her back gave out from scrubbing the floors last winter.”

You nodded, uncapping the jar again and dipping your finger into the cool, smooth substance. The minty aroma was soothing, and as you rubbed a small amount onto your wrist, you felt an immediate cooling sensation. “It’s nice,” you admitted, setting the jar back on the tray.

Liselotte clapped her hands, a playful grin on her face. “I told you! Herr Hoffmeister spares no expense when it comes to your comfort.”

You rolled your eyes, not believing Liselotte’s exaggerated claims, but you humored her with a small smile, tearing off a piece of toast and handing it to her. “Here,” you said, shaking your head. “Take this and hush. You’re like a hen clucking in my ear.”

Liselotte accepted the toast with a mischievous grin, but she wasn’t deterred. If anything, her enthusiasm grew. “Oh, no, no, ma’am,” she said, biting into the toast and waving a hand for emphasis. “You don’t understand! Herr Hoffmeister went mad preparing for your arrival. He wanted everything perfect.”

You arched an eyebrow, leaning back against the headboard as you sipped your coffee. “Perfect?” you repeated skeptically, giving her a pointed look. “Karl Hoffmeister doesn’t strike me as the sentimental type.”

Liselotte let out a dramatic laugh, nearly choking on her toast. “Sentimental? No, perhaps not. But determined? Oh, absolutely. You should have seen it, ma’am. The whole household was in a frenzy! He had the entire garden replanted just for you.”

You blinked, taken aback. “The garden?”

“Yes!” Liselotte exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement. She set the rest of her toast down and moved closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “Do you think those roses just magically bloomed overnight? No, Herr Hoffmeister ordered them all imported—imported, ma’am—from some fancy place in Holland. He said they were the finest in Europe, and only the best would do for his bride.”

You stared at her, unsure whether to laugh or roll your eyes again. “You’re making this up,” you said, though your tone was more amused than accusatory. “Karl Hoffmeister doesn’t strike me as the type to fuss over flowers.”

Liselotte’s jaw dropped, her expression a mixture of shock and playful outrage. She set down her toast dramatically, brushing the crumbs off her hands before marching over to the bed. “You don’t believe me?” she gasped, clutching her chest as though you had wounded her pride. “After everything I’ve told you?”

You smirked, leaning back against the pillows. “Liselotte, it’s not that I don’t believe you,” you teased, “but Karl Hoffmeister obsessing over flowers? It’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

Liselotte let out an exasperated sigh and grabbed your hand, pulling you out of bed with surprising strength. “Enough of this nonsense!” she declared, her cheeks flushed with determination. “If you won’t take my word for it, I’ll show you myself!”

Laughing, you stumbled out of bed, clutching your robe around you as Liselotte dragged you across the room. “Liselotte, for heaven’s sake!” you protested, though there was no real anger in your voice. “I’m not even dressed!”

“Hush, ma’am,” Liselotte replied, waving off your complaints as she placed you firmly in front of the bedroom window. She pulled back the lace curtain with a flourish, gesturing dramatically toward the garden below. “There! Behold the fruits of Herr Hoffmeister’s labor!”

You rolled your eyes at her theatrics but humored her, peering out the window. The garden stretched out before you, a sea of vibrant colors and carefully curated blooms. Roses in every shade imaginable lined the pathways, their petals glistening with morning dew. Tall, stately tulips swayed gently in the breeze, their colors so vivid they looked almost painted. A wisteria vine climbed gracefully over an ornate archway, its purple blossoms cascading like a waterfall.

Liselotte pointed to a cluster of delicate white flowers near the fountain. “Those are snowdrops,” she said, her voice brimming with pride. “Imported directly from Holland. And those over there—” she gestured to a bed of vivid orange blooms “—are marigolds. Hans himself planted them!”

You blinked, surprised by the revelation. “He did all this… for me?”

Liselotte nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes! Herr Hoffmeister was very clear. He wanted everything to be beautiful, perfect, and meaningful. He said you deserved nothing less.”

You stared out at the garden, your fingers lightly gripping the windowsill. You had looked at this view dozens of times before, but it had always seemed like part of the prison Karl had built around you. The beauty of the flowers had been overshadowed by your resentment, their colors dulled by the bitterness in your heart.

But now, as Liselotte pointed out each bloom and explained their significance, you found yourself seeing the garden in a new light.

“Those roses,” Liselotte continued, her voice softening, “he said they reminded him of you—strong, beautiful, and resilient.” She gestured toward the wisteria arch. “And that wisteria? It’s a symbol of devotion. He insisted it be placed where you’d see it every morning.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you took it all in. The meticulous care that had gone into every detail, the thoughtfulness behind each choice… it was overwhelming. For the first time, you truly saw the garden, not as a gilded cage, but as a gift—a testament to Karl’s effort to make you feel at home, to make you feel cherished.

Liselotte’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You’re not a prisoner here, ma’am,” she said gently. “Herr Hoffmeister didn’t build this place to trap you. He built it so you’d feel like the queen of this estate.”

You turned to her, your eyes wide with emotion. “I’ve been so blind,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been so angry with him… I never stopped to notice.”

Liselotte smiled warmly, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder. “It’s understandable, ma’am. But now that you see it, perhaps it’s time to let go of some of that anger. Herr Hoffmeister may be stubborn and overbearing, but his heart is in the right place.”

You nodded slowly, your gaze returning to the garden. The vibrant blooms seemed to shimmer with a new brilliance, their colors brighter than you had ever noticed before. You felt a small, unfamiliar warmth stir in your chest—a tentative hope that perhaps, just perhaps, Karl’s actions weren’t entirely selfish.

As Liselotte continued to point out the different flowers and their meanings, you found yourself smiling, truly appreciating the beauty of the garden for the first time. And for the first time, you allowed yourself to wonder if there could be more to this life with Karl than you had ever imagined.

Meanwhile, in her own bedroom, Elisabeth buried her face in the pillows, ignoring the tea Anna had carefully placed on her bedside table. The fragrant steam curled upward, but she didn’t care. Tea wouldn’t soothe the ache in her chest or silence the echo of Karl’s voice calling out your name.

Elisabeth curled her fingers into the soft fabric of the pillow, her nails digging into the material as if it could somehow absorb her frustration. Karl had broken her heart again without even realizing it, his obliviousness cutting deeper than a deliberate slight ever could.

It was cruel to love a man who didn’t love you back—crueler still when that man looked at another woman with the kind of devotion Elisabeth could only dream of. He didn’t see her. Not as a woman. Not as someone who could match his fire, his passion. To him, she would always be the little girl who trailed behind him in the gardens, begging to ride horses and hear his stories.

The memory made her stomach churn with humiliation. She could still hear the teasing affection in his voice as he ruffled her hair, calling her mein kleines Mädchen—his little girl. It had been years since then, and Elisabeth had grown. She was no longer the child he remembered; she was a woman now—a woman with desires, with ambition, with the determination to claim what she wanted.

And what she wanted was Karl Hoffmeister.

Elisabeth buried her face deeper into the pillows, her lips trembling as a fresh wave of tears threatened to spill. But amid the heartbreak, there was a spark of defiance, a smoldering flame fanned by the memory of something Karl had said to her days ago.

"All’s fair in love and war."

The words rang in her ears, looping endlessly in her mind until they became a mantra. At the time, she’d thought nothing of it. Now, the phrase took on new meaning, seeping into her thoughts like a poison—or perhaps an elixir.

If all was fair in love and war, then she wouldn’t give up. She wouldn’t stand by and let you win Karl’s heart without a fight. Karl might not see her now, but he would. She would make him see her—make him crave her—no matter what it took.

Elisabeth pushed herself up from the bed, her tear-streaked face hardening with resolve. She smoothed her dress, the silk clinging to her figure in a way she knew was alluring. Standing before the mirror, she studied her reflection, noting the flush in her cheeks and the brightness in her eyes. She was beautiful. She was desirable. And Karl would realize that soon enough.

But how? How could she make him look at her the way he looked at you? How could she shatter the image of the little girl he’d once known and make him see the woman she had become?

The answer was simple: she would seduce him. Slowly, deliberately, she would chip away at his defenses until there was nothing left but raw desire. She would play on his weaknesses, his unspoken fantasies, until he couldn’t resist her. And when the moment came, she would make him hers.

Elisabeth licked her lips, imagining the feel of his calloused hands on her skin, the weight of his body pressing her into the mattress. She could almost hear the growl of his voice, low and commanding, as he whispered filthy promises against her ear.

"You think you can tease me, mein Schatz? Think again."

Her breath hitched at the thought, heat pooling low in her belly. Karl was a man of control, but she had seen the cracks in his armor—the way his hazel eyes darkened with lust, the way his mustache twitched when he was holding himself back. She wanted to push him to his breaking point, to make him lose that ironclad restraint and take her the way she knew he wanted to.

"Do you know what you’ve done to me, Elisabeth?" she imagined him growling, his large hands gripping her waist as he pulled her flush against him. "I’ve been dreaming of this—of you—for far too long. Now that I have you, I’m never letting go."

Elisabeth shivered, the vivid fantasy leaving her breathless. She knew Karl would resist at first. He would try to cling to his sense of propriety, to the idea that you were the only woman for him. But she was patient. She would wear him down, inch by inch, until there was no room in his heart—or his bed—for anyone but her.

"You’re mine now, mein Liebling," she murmured to her reflection, her lips curving into a sly smile. "All’s fair in love and war, remember?"

With renewed determination, Elisabeth turned away from the mirror and rang the bell for Anna. There was much to do, and she couldn’t afford to waste time wallowing in self-pity. If Karl Hoffmeister wanted a war, then she would give him one. And this time, she had no intention of losing.

The kitchen was alive with the usual morning hustle. The warm scent of freshly baked bread and brewed coffee mingled with the faint aroma of herbs wafting from the simmering pots. Gustav, the head cook, worked with the precision of a master conductor, directing the staff like an orchestra.

Anna leaned against the counter as she polished silverware, her sharp eyes glinting with mischief. "I tell you, Gustav, with all the racket the bosses were making last night—and this morning too—it won’t be long before we see little ones running around here."

Hans paused in the middle of meticulously arranging a tray. He turned to Anna, his expression a mix of disapproval and exasperation. "Anna," he said sternly, his voice low and clipped, "it is highly inappropriate to comment on the personal lives of Herr Hoffmeister and his wife. Show some decorum."

Anna rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed by his reprimand. "Oh, lighten up, Hans," she retorted, waving a hand dismissively. "You’re acting like I’ve committed some great sin. Everyone knows the bosses are finally getting along. That’s reason enough to celebrate, don’t you think?"

Gustav chuckled from his position by the stove, shaking his head as he stirred a pot of soup. "I think Anna’s just eager to see babies crawling around the halls, making a mess of all her hard work."

Anna grinned, not the least bit offended. "And why not? This house has been far too quiet for far too long. A couple of chubby little Hoffmeisters would do us all some good."

Hans sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You’re incorrigible," he muttered, shaking his head. "First I’m chasing Frau Hoffmeister through the gardens at Herr Hoffmeister’s orders, and now the two of them are… rolling around in bed like a couple of lovesick teenagers. It’s confusing."

Anna’s grin widened, and she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Confusing? Oh, Hans, you should’ve heard them. It wasn’t just the bed creaking. I thought the headboard was going to come clean off the wall!"

Gustav let out a hearty laugh, nearly doubling over as he stirred the soup. "Anna, you’ll be the death of me," he said, his voice booming through the kitchen. "Poor Hans here looks like he’s about to faint."

Hans’s face turned a deep shade of red, and he straightened his posture, his composure slipping under the weight of Anna’s teasing. "This is a respectable household," he said stiffly. "We should not engage in such… crude speculation."

Anna smirked, unbothered by his admonishment. "Crude? Oh, come now, Hans. Even you must admit it’s nice to see Herr Hoffmeister with a smile on his face. He’s been brooding for months, and now he looks like a man who’s just won the lottery."

Hans opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. He closed it again with a huff, shaking his head as he resumed arranging the tray. "You’re impossible," he muttered under his breath.

Anna’s grin only widened as she picked up a cloth and began polishing the silverware with exaggerated vigor. "Call me what you like, Hans," she said, her tone playful. "But mark my words—before long, there’ll be little feet pattering through this house. And you, my dear butler, will be chasing after them just like you chased after Frau Hoffmeister."

The image of Hans, red-faced and flustered, running after mischievous children caused Gustav to laugh so hard he had to set down his ladle. Even Heinrich, the older stable hand who had just entered the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee, let out a deep chuckle.

Hans sighed again, though this time there was a faint, reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He didn’t understand the dynamic between you and Karl—the constant push and pull, the fiery arguments followed by moments of intense passion. But one thing was clear: whatever was happening between the two of you was shaking up the household in ways no one could have predicted.

Upstairs, Liselotte was still bustling about your room, her chatter filled with excitement as she helped you dress. But even her enthusiasm couldn’t drown out the faint echo of laughter and clinking dishes from the kitchen below—a reminder that the staff had their own opinions about the newfound warmth between you and Karl. If only they knew how complicated things truly were.

The morning sun broke through the clouds, bathing the Hoffmeister estate in a soft, golden light. Inside his office, Karl sat at his mahogany desk, a thick pile of documents spread out before him. These were contracts and accounts from his factory—papers he had neglected for far too long. But now, with the estate quiet and his cousins in town, it seemed like the perfect time to focus.

Except he couldn’t.

Karl leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. His hazel eyes kept drifting to the door, his thoughts wandering upstairs to where you were resting. He had left you alone, wanting to give you time to recover and process everything. But the pull to check on you was growing stronger with every passing minute.

With a frustrated sigh, Karl tossed the pen onto the desk and pushed himself to his feet. He needed a break, and he needed to see you. His heart was a strange mix of concern and anticipation. He made his way upstairs, his heavy footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. Reaching the bedroom door, he knocked softly before pushing it open.

The room was empty.

Karl’s chest tightened as a sense of déjà vu washed over him, memories of your attempted escape flooding back. He was about to call for Hans when Anna appeared in the hallway, carrying fresh linens.

“Anna,” he said sharply, his baritone voice tinged with urgency. “Where is she?”

Anna blinked, startled by his tone, before offering a reassuring smile. “She’s at the stables, Herr Hoffmeister. The puppy got himself into a bit of a mess playing in the mud. She insisted on washing him herself.”

Karl exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relief coursing through him. “Thank you,” he muttered, his voice softening. He turned on his heel and headed downstairs, a wry smile tugging at his lips. Of course, you would be at the stables, caring for that little troublemaker.

The closer Karl got to the stables, the more he could hear your voice. It was soft but firm, tinged with amusement as you scolded Mouse. “Stay still, you little rascal! If you keep squirming, I’ll just leave you muddy.”

Karl chuckled under his breath, stepping carefully over the muddy puddles that dotted the path. As he entered the stable, the sight before him made him pause. You were crouched beside a wooden trough, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly damp from the humidity. Mouse, the tiny puppy, was a muddy mess, squirming as you tried to rinse him off with a bucket of water.

“You look like you’re losing this battle,” Karl drawled, his baritone voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Startled, you turned to see him leaning against the stable doorframe, arms crossed and a playful smirk on his lips. “If you’re just here to tease, Karl, you can leave,” you retorted, though the corner of your mouth quirked up in a smile.

Karl pushed off the doorframe and walked toward you, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. “Nonsense. I wouldn’t dream of leaving you to handle this alone.”

Before you could protest, Karl crouched beside you, his larger hands easily holding Mouse in place. “Now, you focus on cleaning him. I’ll keep him still,” he said, his tone commanding but not unkind.

You huffed but obliged, scooping water from the bucket and pouring it over Mouse’s muddy fur. The puppy let out an indignant bark, shaking vigorously and splattering both of you with water and mud.

“Mouse!” you exclaimed, wiping your face with the back of your hand.

Karl let out a deep laugh, the sound rich and warm. “I think he’s winning,” he teased, his hazel eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Oh, really?” you shot back, grabbing a handful of water and flinging it at him. The droplets hit his shirt, leaving dark, wet splotches.

Karl’s eyebrows shot up in mock offense. “You dare?” he growled, scooping a handful of water from the trough and splashing it at you.

A shriek escaped your lips as the cold water hit your chest, soaking the front of your dress. “Karl!”

He grinned wickedly, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Fair’s fair, liebling.”

But you weren’t one to back down. Grabbing another bucket, you flung its contents at him, drenching his shirt completely. The fabric clung to his chest, revealing the broad, solid frame beneath.

Karl’s laughter rumbled as he retaliated, and soon the two of you were engaged in a full-blown water war.

The stable air smelled of hay, earth, and faint traces of rain. You and Karl were laughing so hard your sides ached, your laughter mingling with the sound of Mouse barking and darting between your legs. The bucket of water you had hurled at Karl left his shirt clinging to his broad chest, the wet fabric outlining the strong frame you’d been too angry to appreciate before.

At the back of the stables, Heinrich smiled to himself as he finished brushing a chestnut mare. His weathered hands moved in smooth, practiced strokes, his eyes glancing occasionally at you and Karl. The two of you were soaked, splashing water at one another like children, Mouse bouncing around and barking gleefully. The dog’s antics made Heinrich chuckle softly.

“Come here, Mouse,” he called, his deep, gravelly voice calm and familiar. Mouse hesitated for a moment before bounding over to him. Heinrich scooped the muddy pup into his arms, giving you and Karl a knowing smile as he exited quietly through the back. He’d leave you to enjoy this rare, unguarded moment.

With Mouse gone, Karl’s hazel eyes flickered with a mischievous light as he turned back to you. Water dripped from his gray hair, and his mustache was damp, giving him a slightly disheveled but oddly roguish appearance. “Now, liebling,” he drawled, his baritone voice low and teasing, “I believe you’ve drenched me enough.”

You raised your chin defiantly, unable to suppress your grin. “You deserved it,” you quipped, stepping back slightly, but your soaked dress clung to your legs, limiting your movement.

Karl’s gaze darkened as his eyes roamed over you, the wet fabric leaving little to the imagination. Your dress, now nearly transparent, hugged your curves, the swell of your breasts and the soft lines of your thighs clearly visible. His throat worked as he swallowed, his voice rough when he spoke. “You’re testing my patience, schatz.”

You arched an eyebrow, your lips curving into a playful smirk. “Oh? And what are you going to do about it?”

Karl didn’t answer with words. Instead, he lunged forward, his large hands gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him. The heat of his body contrasted sharply with the chill of your wet clothes, making you gasp. His hazel eyes burned into yours, and his voice dropped to a husky growl. “You’ve made quite the mess, liebling. Now, I think it’s time you cleaned it up.”

Before you could retort, his mouth captured yours in a searing kiss. It was rough, demanding, and full of the passion that had been building between you. His hands slid down your hips, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress as he pressed you against one of the wooden support beams.

“Karl,” you murmured breathlessly when he broke the kiss to trail his lips down your neck. His mustache tickled your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You tried to maintain your composure, but the way his teeth grazed the sensitive spot below your ear made your knees weak.

He chuckled against your neck, the sound vibrating through you. “You can’t tease a man like that and expect to walk away unscathed,” he murmured, his hands sliding down to your thighs. With a swift motion, he lifted you off the ground, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

“Karl, we can’t,” you protested weakly, but your hands tangled in his damp hair, betraying your words.

“Why not?” he growled, his lips brushing against your collarbone. “No one’s here. Just you, me, and this stable.” His hands roamed your thighs, pushing your dress higher as he carried you toward one of the empty bays filled with fresh hay.

The world outside faded as he laid you down gently on the soft hay, his large frame hovering over you. His hazel eyes locked onto yours, filled with a mix of desire and tenderness that left you breathless. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he traced a finger along your jawline.

Your heart pounded as you reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over the faint stubble on his cheek. “And you’re insufferable,” you whispered, though your tone was soft, almost teasing.

Karl smirked, leaning down to kiss you again, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that made your body arch against him. His hands explored your curves, his touch firm but reverent as he peeled the soaked fabric of your dress away from your skin. Every inch of you that was exposed to the cool air was soon warmed by his touch, his lips following the path of his hands.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with need. “Every inch of you, mine.”

You shivered at the possessiveness in his tone, your own desire flaring as your hands worked to unbutton his soaked shirt. The fabric clung stubbornly to his broad shoulders, but you managed to push it off, revealing the strong, slightly weathered body beneath. Your hands roamed over his chest, the warmth of his skin igniting a fire in your belly.

“Karl,” you whispered, your voice trembling with both anticipation and need.

He silenced you with another kiss, his hips pressing against yours in a way that left no doubt about his intentions. His movements were deliberate, slow but confident, as he aligned himself with you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. When you nodded, giving him silent permission, he entered you with a slow, deliberate thrust that left you gasping.

The intimacy of the moment took your breath away. Karl’s usual dominance was tempered by an unexpected tenderness, his movements careful and controlled as he worshipped every inch of you. The hay beneath you was soft, the scent of earth and horses mixing with the faint saltiness of his sweat as you moved together, your bodies finding a rhythm that felt both natural and exhilarating.

His hands gripped your hips as he thrust deeper, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was almost desperate. “I love you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice raw and vulnerable. “I love you so damn much.”

Your heart ached at the sincerity in his words, and you found yourself whispering his name like a prayer as the tension between you built to a crescendo. When release finally came, it was overwhelming, your cries mingling with his low, guttural groans as you clung to each other, your bodies trembling with the force of it.

For a long moment, the two of you lay tangled together in the hay, your breaths mingling as you slowly came back to reality. Karl brushed a strand of hair from your face, his hazel eyes soft as they gazed into yours. “You drive me mad, liebling,” he said softly, his voice filled with both amusement and affection.

You smiled, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “Good,” you murmured, your voice still breathless. “Someone has to keep you on your toes.”

Karl chuckled, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “You’ve done more than that,” he said, his tone serious now. “You’ve changed everything.”

As you lay in his arms, surrounded by the scent of hay and the fading warmth of your passion, you couldn’t help but feel that he was right. Everything had changed—and for the first time, you weren’t entirely sure that was a bad thing.

Karl’s body kept you warm, his broad chest rising and falling against your cheek as his lips brushed over your shoulder in slow, tender kisses. His mustache tickled your skin, drawing a giggle from you, though your mind was only half-focused on his attentions.

Your gaze wandered to the other stalls across from you. That’s when you saw it. The horses. They stood there, large dark eyes fixed on you and Karl, their heads poking out over the stall doors like curious spectators. One mare flicked her tail, her ears swiveling forward, while a large stallion gave a loud snort, shaking his mane as if in disapproval.

You froze, heat rising to your cheeks. "Karl," you hissed, your voice urgent but quiet.

He hummed lazily, clearly distracted as he kissed the curve of your shoulder. "Hmm?" His baritone voice was a deep rumble against your skin.

"Karl!" you repeated, a little louder this time. You grabbed the edge of the blanket he'd draped over the two of you, clutching it to your chest and trying to shield your bare body from view.

"What is it, liebling?" he asked, finally lifting his head to look at you, his hazel eyes still clouded with contentment.

You nodded toward the stalls. "The horses," you whispered harshly, your voice rising in pitch. "They're staring at us!"

Karl turned his head slowly, his brows furrowing in mild confusion. Sure enough, the horses remained unmoving, their unblinking eyes fixed on the two of you. One of them gave a soft whinny, as though in agreement with your observation.

Karl blinked, his expression blank for a moment. Then, to your disbelief, he burst into laughter—a deep, hearty sound that filled the stable. He leaned back slightly, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe the absurdity of your concern.

"Karl!" you hissed again, your embarrassment deepening. "It's not funny! They're... they're watching us!"

He chuckled, his broad shoulders shaking with amusement. "Liebling," he said, his voice thick with laughter, "they’re horses. They don’t know what we’re doing."

"How do you know that?" you shot back, your tone defensive as you gestured wildly at the equine audience. "They look far too interested for my liking!"

Karl raised an eyebrow, clearly struggling to keep a straight face. "What do you think they’re going to do? Write a report? Tell Heinrich?"

You glared at him, your cheeks burning. "It’s not about what they’ll do, Karl. It’s the principle of the thing. They shouldn’t... see this!"

He turned to look at the horses again, this time with a more serious expression. He studied them for a moment, his hazel eyes narrowing slightly as if he were considering your point. Finally, he let out a mock sigh and shrugged. "Well," he said, his tone deadpan, "I suppose I could have them moved to the other side of the estate if it bothers you that much. Perhaps Heinrich could arrange for some privacy screens."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "This isn’t a joke!"

Karl leaned closer, his warm breath brushing against your ear. "Oh, but it is, liebling," he murmured, his voice rich with amusement. "A very funny one."

You peeked at him through your fingers, your glare only making him laugh harder. His whole body shook with mirth, and you couldn’t help but feel a tiny, grudging smile tug at the corners of your lips, despite your mortification.

Suddenly, a sharp cough interrupted the moment, and you both froze. Your heads whipped around to see Heinrich standing in the stable doorway, Mouse tucked under one arm and a bucket of water in the other. His weathered face was impassive, but his gray-blue eyes twinkled with barely concealed humor.

"I see the two of you have been... busy," Heinrich said, his voice gruff but tinged with amusement.

Karl cleared his throat, quickly pulling the blanket up to cover the both of you more modestly. "Heinrich," he said smoothly, though the faint pink tint in his cheeks betrayed him, "what can I do for you?"

Heinrich raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between the two of you and the very muddy patch of hay you were lying on. "Just thought I’d bring Mouse back," he said casually, setting the puppy down. "Didn’t mean to interrupt... whatever it is you’re doing."

You buried your face in Karl’s chest, groaning in embarrassment. Karl, for his part, simply gave a small, sheepish smile. "Thank you, Heinrich," he said, his tone as dignified as he could manage under the circumstances.

Heinrich nodded, tipping his cap. "I’ll leave you to it, then," he said, his voice carrying a faint chuckle as he turned to leave. As he exited, you swore you heard him mutter, "Young love... always causing a mess."

Karl looked down at you, his hazel eyes filled with both amusement and tenderness. "Well, liebling," he said, his baritone voice low and teasing, "it seems we’ve given everyone in this stable quite the show."

You groaned again, swatting at his chest. "This is all your fault."

He laughed, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your temple. "I’ll take full responsibility," he promised, his voice warm with affection. "But I must say, it was worth it to see you like this."

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but smile, your earlier embarrassment fading in the warmth of his embrace. "You’re impossible," you muttered, though your tone lacked any real bite.

Karl chuckled, his hand gently stroking your hair. "And you, liebling, are irresistible," he murmured, his voice soft. "Horses and all."

90 notes · View notes