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dragons-bones · 4 years

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FFXIV Write Entry #15: Fussing

Prompt: ache | Master Post | On AO3

Pure indulgent projecting. It was a really shitty day.

The house was eerily quiet when Aymeric arrived home. Synnove had the day off, and normally on such a day the windows would be thrown open to let in the breeze, an orchestrion merrily playing away while she did chores or prepped dinner and the carbuncles clattered throughout the house and yard.

He opened the door and stepped inside carefully, eyebrows rising a bit at the late afternoon shadows that filled the interior. Faintly, he could hear the orchestrion, but the volume was too low to make it out. He hung his coat on the rack and toed off his boots, then shoved his feet into his house slippers and padded further into the house, in the direction of the den.

The door to the den was cracked, just a hair, and he rapped his knuckles against the wood. “Synnove?” he called quietly.

An absolutely miserable groan was his answer.

Aymeric pushed the door further open and peered inside. Almost immediately, he felt his heart give a pang.

Synnove was stretched out on the couch, chest flat against the seat but her hips twisted so her legs, twisted around a blanket, were sideways in the way that meant she was trying to relieve pressure or pain in her lower back. Her face was wan and her skin pale, and she cracked an eye open to stare at him, bleary and pained. Most telling about her current state, however, was Ivar pressed up against her pelvis and purring furiously, with little Amandina plopped on her head, right on her temple, and doing the same.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said fondly, padding over to her. Once he reached the couch he bent over, reaching behind Synnove to press his knuckles into her lower back while he kissed her forehead. She groaned in relief as he roughly massaged the tense muscles, ruthlessly loosening them.

“Fuck monthlies,” his lady growled.

“Hit you like a rampaging behemoth this time, hmm?” he said, massaging harder. Amandina headbutted his cheek, and he tilted his head to kiss the little carbunclet on the patch of red between her ears.

“Behemoths can be reasoned with,” Synnove muttered. “Was going to make a chocolate-hazelnut cheesecake after lunch to have for dessert tonight, but…”

Aymeric stroked her hair. “Another time,” he said. As much as he adored her cheesecake, he would much rather she rest when her internal organs decided this was the month to wage war. “Where are the other three mischief makers?”

“Down to the market to fetch some things for dinner.”

“I’ll handle that, then. Would you like to keep this orchestrion on, or would you rather I switch it out for you?”

“Could you put one of the comedies on? Doesn’t matter which.”

“Of course, love.” Aymeric kissed her forehead once more, and gave both Amandina and Ivar scritches behind the ear (Amandina peeped happily, Ivar grudgingly mrowled), before he pulled away.

Once the orchestrion roll was changed to one of the comedic performances put on by one of the local theater troupes, he tiptoed out of the den and headed for the kitchen. Once there, he rolled up his sleeves, washed his hands, and set to dinner prep. No doubt what Tyr, Galette, and Roksana returned with would be easy to cook, but that gave him time to set the table and get the side dishes ready. And perhaps dessert.

By the time Tyr trotted through the kitchen door from the garden, Galette on his heels and Roksana in one of the panniers slung over his back, he had rice cooked and strawberries for dessert washed and halved, and was beginning to wilt and sauté spinach.

Hi, Papa! all three carbuncles chorused.

“Hello, children,” Aymeric said, glancing up from the spinach. “What did you find down at the market?”

Tuna steaks! Roksana cheered as she hopped out of the pannier, a package containing fresh sachets of peppermint tea in her mouth. Tyr held while Galette opened the pannier on the opposite side and carefully pulled out a large package of waxed paper.

Aymeric came over to help Tyr step out of the panniers and while Tyr put them away, he accepted the package from Galette, who headbutted him before trotting off to the den. “Well done,” he said warmly. “These can marinate for a few minutes while the spinach finishes cooking.”

Roksana clambered onto his shoulder, loafing happily as she watched him fetch a large bowl and fill it with a mix of soy sauce, sesame oil, and fresh grated ginger. Her nose twitched curiously as he unwrapped the steaks and set them in the bowl. How long will they take to cook? she asked as he moved back to the spinach.

“Not long at all,” Aymeric said, reaching up to rub the top of her head. Roksana purred. “Just a quick sear on either side.”

Once everything was finally ready, and a pot of peppermint tea brewed, he sent Roksana off to fetch her mama while Tyr assisted him with plating everything. Dinner was a quiet affair, with everyone focused on simply eating and keeping Synnove’s tea mug full; Aymeric took the chair next to Synnove tonight, instead of their usual cornerwise position, so he could wrap an arm around her and let her lean against him in between bites of food. Ivar was on Synnove’s other side, his tails draped across her lap and against her stomach.

Dessert was strawberries with clotted cream. Aymeric ate his serving quickly and then stood, kissing Synnove’s kiss cheek as he did. “I’m going to draw you a bath,” he murmured.

His lady huffed tiredly, drooping over her bowl. “You cooked, I’m supposed to clean,” she grumbled.

“And today is the type of day where you are allowed to be a useless lump,” he said fondly.

Aymeric ended up needing to carry Synnove to the washroom, though it meant Ivar could curl up on her and knead her belly during the walk; barely past sunset and she was exhausted from pain, but unfortunately the only pain potions effective on her cramps also left her nauseous. As much as he hated to see her simply grit her teeth and bare it, keeping her hydrated and fed was important. And Ivar, thankfully, didn’t require refilling like a hot water bottle did.

The constant pain was also beginning to make his lady crabby, and so he didn’t linger in the washroom; there was an art to judging when his fussing was too much, and based on her wordless grumbling while he set her down, any further offers of assistance would be taken poorly. Instead, he double checked that she had fresh towels and a change of ratty-but-comfortable clothes for bed, and left Ivar to keep an eye on her while he went to clean up in the kitchen.

Bedtime was thus a little earlier than usual, but not even the twins complained, though they requested an extra chapter from the book he was currently reading to them. Galette tucked in with the girls for the night, ears flicking softly while she chimed a lullaby for her sisters, and Ivar crawled into the banked coals in their room, passing out almost as soon as he curled into a ball.

When Aymeric slipped in his and Synnove’s room, Synnove was face down on the bed, groaning with relief as Tyr kneaded her back. Her spine made the occasional disconcerting crunching sound of popping cartilage—Tyr was clearly taking the opportunity to deal with her absolutely atrocious case of scholar’s back in addition to the lower back pain that struck during her exceptionally bad monthly courses—but the massage and hot bath had finally resulted in the loosening of the tension she had been carrying throughout the day. Aymeric flicked the lights off and joined her on the bed; the trio eventually settled with all three on their sides, Synnove in the middle spooning Tyr and being spooned in turn by Aymeric. Tyr snuggled back against his mama and began that deep, engine-like purr of his that had Synnove going limp in relief.

“Mmmph,” she said, flopping her head down on her pillow. “Thank you both. Love you.”

Love you, Mama. Go sleep.

“I love you, too, Synnove,” said Aymeric, kissing her temple. “I hope you feel better tomorrow.”

“Me, too.”

#ffxivwrite2020 #final fantasy xiv #aymeric de borel #aymeric x wol #aymeric x synnove #oc: synnove greywolfe #synnove's carbuncles #dt's writing

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the-witch-and-her-husbands · 3 years

Text

The Officer In Charge

Days became nights became days.

Gradually, she began to settle into her new home, her new routine.

To her great surprise, the man who was her new Master had treated her with nothing but kindness. She had her own room, fashionable yet comfortable clothes, access to books and television, as much food as she wanted, and more toiletries and cosmetics than a chemist’s shop. She could eat and bathe at will, without having to ask his permission, as long she kept herself clean and presentable. That was one of his rules, as well as making sure she was adequately hydrated and nourished. She was supposed to read for at least an hour a day, but more was tolerated and even encouraged.

The only thing she couldn’t do was leave.

While he was at work, she was expected to take care of a few household chores, but she was hardly Cinderella slaving away at the hearth. She realised after a few days that she would like to be able to learn how to do something, sketch perhaps. When she expressed this to him, he rushed out and purchased boxes of supplies: pastels, paints, pencils, and a large sketchbook. He told her she was free to pursue any interest that might occur to her, she had only to say the word.

It had been approximately two weeks now since she had come to live with him.

As she was washing the dishes that morning, she reflected that he had yet to so much as touch her. Inappropriately, anyway. He would sometimes touch her arm, or her back, or stroke her hair gently. But it was nothing that would be inappropriate if it came from an elderly family member, for example. Strictly careful and platonic.

She remembered how he’d laughed at her during their first day together, when she’d all but leapt out of her skin every time he approached her.

‘Do you think I’m going to rape you?’ A slight frown had crossed his face, to be quickly replaced by a smirk. He’d moved close, so close she could feel his breath on her ear. ‘I have no need to do anything so barbaric. Soon enough, you will be begging me to fuck you.’ And he’d leant back with a satisfied smirk, before changing the subject completely.

‘Do you need anything? I’m leaving in ten minutes.’ His voice came from the main entryway.

She quickly dried her hands before going to see him off at the front door. ‘No, I think I’m good today, Sir.’ She smiled. ‘Thank you though, Sir,’ she added. That was new.

He looked as surprised by her sudden addition as she was. In the moment, it had seemed as natural to her as breathing.

‘I won’t be late.’ He leant forward to gently kiss the corner of her mouth, and then he’d gone out the door.

The rest of the day had passed in a blur. It was a day when she wished she had more chores to occupy her, so she didn’t have to keep thinking about his sudden kiss. It was maddening. Try as she might to distract herself, she kept coming back over and over to how it had felt to have his lips lightly brushing her skin.

‘Get hold of yourself, girl. It was hardly a kiss,’ she’d muttered aloud in disgust at one point.

He was due home soon. She found herself nervous all over again, but it was for a completely different set of reasons. When getting herself ready, she’d taken extra pains with her hair and make-up. Would he even notice, she wondered.

‘Hello, darling.’ He was all smiles to see her kneeling by the door that evening, as she was supposed to be doing when he arrived home. He reached a hand out to help her to her feet. ‘You look very pretty this evening.’

‘Thank you, Sir.’ She was positively glowing from his words of praise. ‘May I bring you a glass of wine?’ He would often have a glass while the evening meal was prepared. Sometimes she cooked, sometimes he did, and sometimes they cooked together. Occasionally, she was allowed to have one as well. ‘Or shall I run you a bath?’ She got down again to help him remove his shoes.

‘Yes, wine would be lovely. And pour yourself a glass as well.’ He smiled down at her while she was kneeling at his feet.

She tried, and failed, to hide her pleased expression. ‘Of course, Sir.’ His shoes were placed into the rack next to the door before she headed straight for the kitchen.

He shrugged off his suit jacket before following her, loosening his tie as he went.

He wasn’t a bad looking man. In fact he was actually rather handsome, she noted, as she passed him his glass. There was no need to ask him what he wanted, she had his favourite vintage already memorised, as well as the way he took his coffee and what his favourite meals were.

Hazel eyes sparkled from behind his glasses as he took it from her with a nod of thanks.

She found out over dinner that he used to be a professor, and that he played the piano. Sadly, the house did not currently have an instrument. She would have loved to have heard him play. He reckoned that he was only a passable musician, but she believed that he was just being modest.

A sudden idea occurred to her. ‘Sir?’

‘Yes, my dear?’ He took a sip of his wine, face fixed in a pleasant expression as he studied her.

‘Do you think you could teach me to play? If you had a piano, I mean. I…I would love to learn. I’d love for you to teach me.’ She looked down at her hands folded tight in her lap.

‘Teach you, hmm?’ He sounded amused. ‘I suppose I can look for a small upright….’

Her head shot up and she smiled at him with delight. ‘Oh, thank you Sir! I promise I’ll practise every day!’

‘You’d better.’ He got up from his seat to go into the lounge. ‘I can be a very…exacting teacher. If I am going to give you lessons, I expect you to take them seriously. If you are not progressing as you should be because you are slacking, then I will have to discipline you.’ He kissed the top of her head in passing.

She shivered. She knew all too well from the list what that meant. She followed the rules that he had laid out for her, or else there were clear consequences and punishments. So far, she had been good. He hadn’t had to punish her. But she supposed that it was only a matter of time. One of these days she would slip up, and then she’d find herself getting a spanking. She’d never been given one before, not even as a child. The thought made her shiver again.

Once the dishes had been placed into the sink, she went to join him. As was customary, she started to sink down to sit at his feet. His hand on her arm stopped her. She looked up at him, surprised.

‘Sit here.’ He patted the space next to him.

She took it, settling herself carefully into the space. This was new.

‘Relax.’ He smiled, reaching up to play with her hair.

A heavy sigh escaped her, as she released a breath that she didn’t even realise that she was holding. Her senses were on high alert, but his hand in her hair DID feel nice. Instinctively, she found herself leaning into his hand, craving more of that gentle touch.

‘What a good little girl.’ His tone was low, soothing. He continued to card his hand carefully through her tresses.

Yes. To have him touch her like this, she found that she wanted to be his good little girl, indeed.

‘Do you like this?’ he rumbled, still stroking softly.

‘Oh! Yes, Sir.’ She sighed happily, closing her eyes.

‘Good. I want you to make you feel good. I will be firm with you at times, yes, but I can be kind as well. I don’t want to use force, to do the things I want to do to you. I would much rather have a willing little plaything,’ he explained.

‘Yes, Sir.’ She nodded, opening her eyes to look at him. Other than the first few days of their acquaintance, he’d never been deliberately cruel to her. And that was because he was doing his job. Since then, he’d given her no reason to distrust or fear him. Besides, he was her Master now. It was expected that she was going to submit to him sexually sooner or later. At least he wasn’t beating her, torturing her into compliance before getting into her bed uninvited and pressurising her into unwanted acts night after night.

‘Good girl.’ He moved his hand, running his thumb along her cheekbone, before carefully tracing along her jaw.

She wanted to purr aloud from how good it felt. As he caressed her, she released exactly how touch-starved she currently was. This was like offering a small sip from a flask to someone who had crossed a burning desert. It was delicious, and yet not nearly anything like enough.

Would he try to sleep with her that night? It wouldn’t be entirely unwelcome. She was technically still a virgin. He knew that, in one of the more embarrassing interrogations in the beginning. And now he would be the one to deflower her. Like anything, it was mostly the fear of the unknown that made her nervous. Would it hurt? Hopefully he would be gentle with her.

‘Relax.’ He smiled at her again, going back to stroking her hair.

Something of the turmoil of her thoughts must have been visible on her face. She smiled guiltily, fighting the urge to blush. He couldn’t read her mind, after all. There was no way that he could have guessed she was thinking about him bedding her.

He made no further moves on her that night, simply content to comb a hand through her hair as they sat and watched the television together in companionable silence.

Was she relieved? Disappointed? It was difficult to say.

Soon, he had decided that it was time for them to turn into the evening.

‘Sir?’ She turned to give him one last look over her shoulder before she disappeared into her room. Alone.

‘Yes, my dear?’ He leant against the door frame, arms folded over his chest. The dim lighting reflected off of his glasses.

‘Have you…have you ever had a slave before?’ She swallowed over the sudden lump in her throat. Perhaps she was just one of many, nothing particularly special at all. For some inexplicable reason, the thought seemed too painful to bear.

‘No. You are my first. Bonne nuit.’ He smiled faintly as he closed the door behind him.

So she was his first, as he was to be her first. That was welcome news. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about being compared to someone else, and perhaps coming up short. Reassured, she got into bed and got comfortable.

That night, she slid straight into sleep.

#drabble #v:I Don't Think We're In Narnia Anymore #tw:master/slave

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