God Sent Gypsy

Intoxication (Male Esmeralda X Reader) Epilogue

~Author's Note: Surpriseee haha. Thanks so much for being great supporters :)

~Reminder that they're speaking ROMANIAN: Lyuba=love~

Warmth...

That enveloping, lulling warmth. You revel every possible second within it you can, memorizing its spiced scent, what it tastes like with every sigh, how it feels of silken skin against your body. It's your warmth-your life, your love, the very essence of your enamored heart.

Swelling with infatuation at the mere thought, you awaken with a weary smile, your (e/c) eyes met with what has become an all too welcomed sight in the mornings. Your husband, his ever unruly hair curling about his face in raven spirals, sleeps peacefully at your side, his arm tucked beneath your shoulders in innate protectiveness. His lips are parted a margin, but only the softest sigh accompanies the even rising and falling of his bare chest. You simper gently and reach out to caress that russet plane above his steadfast heartbeat. A glint draws your eyes to the silver band on your fourth finger that mirrors his own-the symbol of his devotion to you and the life you've built, and a solemn but unforgiving apology to the life you've left behind. Choosing you, a non-Romani, as his bride was the riskiest thing he could've possibly done, and yet Esmeraldo fought for his future with you to the point he'd forfeit his high stature in his Gypsy 'family' to have you. (You're more than grateful it didn't have to come to that.) The day he presented you before the elders and announced your engagement, his hand has never held yours tighter as he declared that he'd marry you whether they gave their blessings or not.

You pleaded him not to say something so brash, but he stared directly into your eyes with the most somber, determined look and said, "You are my home, (y/n). Not even a King can take that from me."

And to think that was nearly three years ago, you muse fondly, tracing the hard lines of Esmeraldo's face that have yet to yield to time, even though he's a mere twenty-four now. Twenty-four, and he's still the most beautiful man I've ever seen.

"You're acting as though you've never seen me asleep before," he suddenly mutters, mouth faintly creasing upward though his eyes remain closed. His voice has grown in depth in such a short amount of time, settling into a grating, sultry hum whose appeal is indescribable.

You laugh. "Sorry," you say.

Esmeraldo makes an amused, tired noise and gestures for you to move onto him, to which you eagerly lay your head in the dip between his pectoral and arm. He rests his chin in your hair and inhales deep. "What were you thinking about?" he asks quietly, eyes still closed.

"How beautiful you are," you whisper across his skin in slight embarrassment.

He chuckles and shifts you closer till your body lies atop half of his. "I thought I was the one who usually has such thoughts," he mutters after a sigh.

You fidget when his fingers begin idly gracing up and down your spine. "You were asleep," you point out.

Esmeraldo's spring green eyes slide open enough to contrast brilliantly through his dark hair. He stares down at you from beneath raised brows. "I can't think about how beautiful you are in my sleep?" he asks. You blush at the playful accusation before he cups the back of your head to bring your face up to his. "I dream about you more than you'll ever know, lyuba."

You slide your arms around his neck. "Even when I'm fifty?" you jeer. Smirking at your stubbornness, Esmeraldo pulls you in for a long, fervent kiss to make a point.

"Even when you're ninety," he breathes, resting his forehead on yours, "I will always dream of you, my beautiful, precious girl. It's the only way I can convince myself you truly exist."