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kiljoius-writes · 2 years

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Uprooted - Chapter 1

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Chapter 1: Jump Up, Heart Sunk

Pairing: Sasuke Uchiha/Hinata Hyūga

Summary: All Hinata really knows is that she’s not quite fond of Fugaku's son. Her eyes land on Itachi, who is standing between the two men. No, not that son.

The other one. The one who is awkwardly sidled up in the opposing corner of the room. He’s always so aloof, as if he’s too good for everyone else around him. He just wasn’t the type of person she could find it in herself to respect.

Sasuke was no friend.

For the SasuHina discord server challenge: Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: T

Today, Hinata is 20.

It’s not the lavish birthday bash that Hanabi is destined to have, but it’s still quite a nice party.

“’Ey Hinata.” Kiba swings around her front, almost losing his balance. Hinata automatically grabs at him to keep him steady and he flashes her a toothy smile. “Think your cousin over there’d be interested in me?”

Hinata looks over her shoulder to find whom she recognizes as Hikari, a branch member with beautifully long, dark green hair. She looks back at Kiba and lowers her eyes at him disapprovingly. “Is my celebration a good time to pick up on women, Kiba?”

“Ah, c’mon—”

"She is right." Shino approaches him from behind, causing Kiba to instinctively throw his fist backward. Shino's quicker and knows Kiba well enough to catch it in his hand before it lands a hit. When he sees who it is, he lets out a groan of frustration. Shino releases the fist and pushes his glasses back up his nose. "It is what some might call 'inappropriate’.”

Hinata’s always found Kiba and Shino’s interactions to be some of the funniest.

“You guys are boring,” Kiba huffs childishly, folding his arms, “never let a guy have any fun.”

The group naturally settles in a corner of the grand hall they’re partying in. Even though it’s Hinata’s birthday celebration, it’s really just a façade for clan politics to take place. She doesn’t care much, it’s not like she really wants a party anyway. But, as always, father gets what father wants.

“You guys know why I’m single?” Kiba interjects, bringing a glass of sake to his lips to throw down his throat. He shudders and coughs slightly before setting it on the table next to them. “Women are intimidated.”

“Intimidated?” Shino questions quietly, and Hinata knows he’s blinking in disbelief behind those sunglasses. She smiles as she looks back at Kiba.

“Yep, by my power.” He thumbs towards his own chest, then swipes at his nose. “Guess I gotta tone it down a little.”

“Yes, please,” Hinata teases him gently and he glares at her, but she knows it isn’t serious. “No glaring. I don’t want you scaring the pretty ladies away with your power.”

"Ah!" Kiba barks a laugh, patting her roughly on the shoulder. She stumbles a bit but rights herself easily. "And what about you, Hina? You single cause all the men are intimidated by that crackling force in those palms?"

Hinata blushes at the over-the-top compliment, shaking her head. “No, I am single because I want to be.”

“Sure ya do.” He rolls his eyes, and her smile quickly fades to a frown.

“What do you mean by that?” she nearly snaps, but it comes out even and controlled.

“He means nothing by it.” Shino’s tone is warning and Kiba recoils from it. Hinata’s smile returns as she turns to lean against the wall with them.

The three quietly observe the crowd before them. It’s a typical Hyūga event, with Hyūga servants bustling around haughty clan leaders and politicians. She catches a glimpse of her little sister with her ear being talked off by one of those haughty clan leaders or politicians' sons. She feels bad for Hanabi, always expected to entertain whatever noble's son decides deserves to command her attention. But she plays the part quite beautifully, now. Just a few years ago, her byakugan would flash on and off as she internally debated whether to close any chakra points. Now, she's 14 and has fallen into her role well.

Then her eyes bounce to a man who matches her father in height as they speak, Fugaku Uchiha. It’s typical for the Uchiha to be here, the clans visit a few times a year, and an event like this is a perfect opportunity to ‘chat’. Hinata didn't like to concern herself with whatever that meant, it wasn't her place. Besides, she didn't really want to know, anyway. All she really knows is that there is both understanding and animosity between the clans, and that’s enough for her.

She also knows she’s not quite fond of his son. Her eyes land on Itachi, who is standing between the two men. No, not that son. The other one.

The one who is awkwardly sidled up in the opposing corner of the room, drink in hand, other arm folded over his chest, by himself. Hinata squints at him. He's always so aloof as if he's too good for everyone else around him. They'd been around each other plenty, and it was never particularly pleasant. At best, awkward silence filled the space between them. At worst, he was making snide remarks toward her and she would do her best not to let him know how little she thought of him.

He just wasn’t the type of person she could find it in herself to respect. People like Kiba, Shino, Naruto, Chōji, Tenten, Lee. Those were people she could respect. People who were kind without the expectation of anything in return. People who lifted others up, no matter what. People whom she thought of as friends.

Sasuke was no friend.

So, when his eyes cast up and lock with hers, almost immediately, she frowns and turns away. Kiba picks up on it and looks where she had been. She peers up from the corner of her eye to catch Kiba giving a mocking wave towards the Uchiha, then his hand flips around and his middle finger is up. She almost gasps and tells him to ‘put that away right now!’ but just as her eyes find Sasuke again, he’s glaring his mean glare back and his middle finger is up, too.

She almost laughs. Then Sasuke puts down his drink and raises his hands in front of his chest, flopping them around and sticking out his tongue like a dog panting. He’s mocking Kiba and it can go nowhere good.

It takes both Hinata and Shino grabbing both of Kiba’s arms to keep him from stomping up Sasuke. Both of them know Kiba’s no match for him, and to pick a fight at a Hyūga event would be disastrous for all involved.

“Fucking asshole,” Kiba seethes, yanking his arms out of his respective teammates' grasps as his temper cools, slightly.

Hinata breathes a sigh, reaching out to wipe at his jacket. “Control yourself, Kiba. Remember, that power.”

A laugh leaves him and that’s what gets him back to normal. His hand roughs through her hair and she swats at it.

“He’s approaching,” Shino informs them in a whisper, and Hinata whirls around to find that Sasuke is indeed strolling over to them.

It always has to be something, doesn’t it?

“Tell me, Inuzuka,” Sasuke says loftily as he approaches, his stride lazy as he carries his drink in an equally lazy way, “do all the members of the clan smell like dog, or is it just you?”

Hinata lets out a tired breath as Kiba’s face turns red enough to match the markings on his cheeks. “The hell crawled up your ass and died, Uchiha?”

“This sad celebration,” he deadpans and Hinata squints up at him.

“Can we help you, Sasuke?” she asks, hoping to redirect him away from her dear friend who is ready to explode.

Kiba’s resolve is admirable right now, though, she must admit.

"Yeah, I guess you could." He turns his attention to her, and she slowly takes a step back. She's pleased when his footsteps match hers to follow, and she continues luring him away as if he's her prey. He holds out his arm towards her and she looks at it questioningly. He points at a spot in his bicep that she recognizes as where a chakra point lies, and he taps it. "Close this one, then, hopefully, I'll black out and escape this terribly boring party."

Hinata sighs. She expects nothing less of bratty Sasuke. “Very funny, Sasuke. If you are so terribly bored, why don’t you simply…leave?”

Sasuke smirks down at her and she glares at it. “Don’t you think I would have—a long time ago—if I could?” She presses her lips together, unwilling to answer that. “No, the best I can do is entertain myself somehow. Your dog teammate is an easy target, and that’s his fault, not mine.”

Hinata finds that she can’t argue that point with him. Kiba’s always been too hot-headed for his own good. He is an easy target. But she won’t simply stand by and let Sasuke of all people bully him in her own home. So she darts her eyes around for a brief moment before they land on a main family member she knows for a fact is smitten with Sasuke, despite how Hinata has lamented her distaste for the boy. She smiles as she taps her on the shoulder. “Emiko?”

The girl whirls around to meet Hinata, then her eyes falter to Sasuke, and a deep blush takes over her cheekbones. She bows. “Oh, Hinata! And Sasuke! Hello!”

“How long has it been since you two have been acquainted?” Hinata questions in mock innocence, slowly taking a step back. “Emiko, Sasuke has been interested in finding the perfect sugar cookie recipe. Perhaps you may enlighten him?”

“Oh, really?” Emiko brightens up, stars in her eyes as they settle on Sasuke, who has a deep grimace on his face.

It suits him, she thinks. He rarely looks genuinely happy anyway, she thinks his face is frozen into a grimace often enough that it’s the default look of Sasuke Uchiha.

Another step back and his dark black eyes flash over hers, filled with irritation. “Not exactl—”

Hinata cups her mouth, and whispers to him, "her secret ingredient is cayenne."

This makes his grimace grow and she steps back again, Emiko set down the path Hinata had planned for her, and now she’s returning to her team.

“That—” Kiba points at Sasuke and Emiko, then looks back at Hinata. “That was devious.”

“Diabolical, even,” Shino agrees, tilting his head down at her.

She smiles, proudly. These are not insults from Kiba and Shino. They are compliments.

“Why, thank you.”

Nearly a week after her celebration (read: political meet and greet), Kō finds her while she’s shopping to summon her. She tilts her head curiously at her former caretaker. It had been a while since he's had to come to collect her for one reason or another, and she's actually interested to see what it could be for.

Nothing could prepare her for what she was about to be told when she was led to the Uchiha district.

“E-Excuse me?”

When Hinata lost to her sister in the bid for the heiress of her clan over 10 years ago, she never expected this.

“What she said.”

Hiashi and Fugaku shared a look briefly before looking back at their respective children.

“Do not act so surprised, Sasuke.” Fugaku waves a hand. “This is the way forward for our two clans.”

“But—” Hinata’s lips thin to a harsh line when her father’s eyes shoot into her like an arrow. The elder doesn’t have to say much to quiet his eldest.

But Fugaku isn’t as lucky as Hiashi, it seems. “This is ridiculous.” Sasuke pushes his palms onto the table before him, shoving his chair back. He begins walking away, and it’s Hiashi’s voice that recalls him. Hinata keeps her head forward, watching her father’s icy gaze bore into Sasuke’s back. “What is it, Lord Hyūga?”

“I would not be so eager to attempt refusing this proposal.”

Hinata’s teeth clench.

Marriage.

An arranged marriage.

“And what if I do?” Sasuke dares, and Hinata turns to find him looking over his shoulder, eyes squinted in a scowl at her father.

“It’s not up to you, boy,” Fugaku adds, and Hinata looks back at him. She can see him sucking his cheek in, something she’s noticed Sasuke do before, too.

Her head turns back to Sasuke when she hears him chuckle sarcastically. “What are you gonna do? Oust me from the clan? Go ahead, not like it matters to me anyway.”

Back to Fugaku. “No. I’ll simply have Lady Hokage revoke your title as jōnin.”

“Yeah, right, Tsunade would never—”

“Don’t test me.”

Hinata inhales through her mouth, exhales through her nose. She’s never been comfortable with tension, but she can at least deal with it if it’s between her and another. This tension is a whole new level of uncomfortable.

Now she’s turned back to Sasuke again, and she watches his head hang, fists ball up. Her own fists are curled into the fabric of her pants, too, her entire body feeling as tight as his looks.

“And what about you, Hyūga?” Her eyes find his when he looks back at her, eyebrows low. Her throat feels dry as she attempts some sort of response.

“Seems Hinata has more respect for her family than you do, Sasuke,” Fugaku responds on behalf of her.

Whether that was true or not is debatable. Hinata doesn’t have strong feelings one way or the other towards being ousted by her clan or losing her title of jōnin. No, the one thing her father does hold over her is the caged bird seal. She’s unsure of whether she’s willing to risk receiving it by defying him.

“Typical,” Sasuke mutters curtly, and he’s moving away now, concluding the heated interaction.

Slowly, Hinata turns back to the two men before her, two men who have always intimidated her for different reasons. Both of their eyes set on her simultaneously, and she’s surprised to see Fugaku’s mouth turn into a taut smile. “He’ll come around.”

“If I may…” Hinata ventures a question, trying to sit up as straight as possible and hold her head high. “What brings this on…now?”

Hiashi shoots her a warning look and she wills herself not to recoil from it. Fugaku speaks for them, “a contract signed long ago, around the time your title of the heiress was relinquished to your younger sister. With your 20th birthday passing, it comes into effect.”

Hinata swallows and nods. Her fate had never been her own, anyway.

Hanabi swings her legs as Hinata complains.

She’s been complaining for nearly an hour straight.

Hanabi inhales through the straw of her iced tea until that horrible sucking noise starts bubbling and Hinata stops to glare at her.

“I’m out,” Hanabi sighs, crushing the paper cup between her fingers.

Hinata’s glare deepens. “Have you no sympathy, sister?”

"Kinda hard." Hanabi shrugs, pulling the straw from the cup to put in her mouth, chewing. Hinata instinctively reaches out to pull it from her and Hanabi huffs, annoyed. "Elder sister! Look, it sucks, and I do feel bad. But, arranged marriages are fashionable right now, and lots of clans are doing it. And you know I’m in the same boat, right? Father’s gonna marry me off when I turn 20, too, and I have to be clan leader.”

Hinata softens. She hadn’t quite thought of that in the time she’d been ranting.

“At least he’s hot, right?” Hanabi wiggles an eyebrow and Hinata’s sympathy fizzles out, lips pulling into a purposeful frown. “What! It’s true. You know how many girls would be falling over themselves to be in your position?”

Hinata wants to make a snarky remark, as Kiba might make but restrains herself. "Looks are not enough for me, unfortunately."

Hanabi shrugs, swiping the straw out of Hinata’s hands. Hinata lets out an annoyed grunt and tries to grab it back, and soon they’re in a petty slapping fight over this stupid straw.

“Sisters shouldn’t fight,” a lazy voice drawls near them, a voice she’s becoming far too familiar with once more. Hinata lets go of the straw out of reflex, feeling a little ashamed that Sasuke’s stumbled on her in the middle of a squabble with her sister.

“Heyyyy Uchiha.” Hanabi chomps down on the straw and kicks her feet up on the table outside of the café they were enjoying tea at (enjoying being subjective, of course).

Hinata watches as Sasuke nonchalantly plucks the straw from her mouth, then grabs at her ankles to pull her feet off the table. Hanabi whines. “Don’t you have manners, little Hyūga?”

“Hey!” Hanabi huffs, folding her arms in a pout as Sasuke pulls up the chair between them.

“He’s—” Hinata catches herself. She was about to point out that Sasuke was correct in his assessment that she was being rude but can’t bring herself to say it aloud. At this point, his ego is the last thing she wants to encourage.

“Scram, brat.” Sasuke nudges his head to the side, and Hanabi laughs, loudly.

“Think you can talk to an heiress like that?” Hanabi quirks an eyebrow, daring him.

“Thought you didn’t like that title, Lady Hanabi.” There’s no humor on Sasuke’s face as he says it.

“Don’t be jealous,” Hanabi berates, leans forward, and wags a finger in his face, "'cause you're just the runner-up in your own clan. Runner up in inheritance, runner up in looks, runner up in power—"

“Hanabi!” Even Hinata can’t stand to listen to this any longer, because she sees Sasuke’s eye twitch, and it’s one of the few times she witnesses it. Her sister is one of the few people that can bring a rise out of him, and she doesn’t care to have it happen right here and now.

“Fine, fine.” Hanabi heaves a dramatic sigh as she slams her palms on the table, gathering herself to her feet. She shoots Hinata a look, eyelids low. “I meant what I said though…” She glances at Sasuke, who is looking at her with the faintest hint of curiosity. Then, she glances down at his lap and finishes in a cryptic fashion, “I heard the rumors are true…”

Hinata rolls her eyes as Hanabi begins skipping away, humming and oh so pleased with herself. Sasuke turns his body to her, rests his arm on the table, and looks at her seriously. "What rumors?"

“Oh, you know…” Hinata says, vaguely.

There were no rumors. It was just her sister playing with Sasuke. Hinata decides she’d like to play with him, too. It wasn’t her who started it, anyway.

With an irritated grumble, he shakes his head and it makes her smile. He waves a hand in front of his face. “Anyway, I have a plan.”

“A plan?” Her interest is piqued, now.

“To get us out of this ridiculous arrangement.”

Hinata tips her head up, then turns her full body to face him. She nods at him to continue, hands clasped in her lap, ready to listen.

“We go over the top.”

She blinks. “Over the top how?”

“Affection.”

Her heart sinks. “Excuse me?”

“Like now.” He reaches out to set his hand on hers and it’s…uncomfortable. She automatically pulls it away and he rolls his eyes, annoyed. He grasps it again and slots his fingers between hers. Her face goes bright red and her mind goes cloudy. “Everywhere. Here, middle of the village, on missions, in front of our dads. Especially our dads.”

“I—I’m not understanding,” she breathes out, hand tugging from his. His grip tightens.

“Really lay it on thick,” he continues, “make them regret ever trying to pair us up. Basically, embarrass the hell out of both our clans.”

Her hand finally relaxes and she can focus on the way it feels. She’s surprised that his hand is actually warm, not icy like she’d imagined. Not that she’d ever really imagined what Sasuke’s hands would feel like…but it was interesting. Collecting her thoughts, she responds, “how do you figure that will make them call it off?”

“Think about it,” he responds, leaning in closer, “both our families are uptight. Having the children of the leaders acting ‘unbecoming’.” He pulls up his other hand to air-quote. "Neither of our dads wants us to be happy, not really. It’ll sicken them to the point they’ll have no choice but to separate us.”

Hinata ponders this plan.

It’s a ludicrous idea, she thinks, but she has nothing better to offer. It was like he could read her mind when he tells her, “feel free to throw out your own brilliant ideas.”

She huffs, looking away, eyes landing on their interlocked hands. It’s a very strange sensation to have Sasuke’s fingers interlacing with hers. “I have none.”

“Not surprised,” he scoffs, leaning away from her now. “Then you’re in?”

She bites her lip as she looks back up at him. He has a smirk on his lips, and it irks her that Hanabi’s right. He’s objectively hot (not the word Hinata would use) but his ego is far too big for his head and that is not hot (to her, at least). However, she can’t help but agree to this ridiculous plan. She truly had no better ideas, and she supposes it’s worth a shot. “Fine. We’ll try it, I suppose.”

“Good.” He nods approval and his other hand lifts to beckon her with his index finger. “Now kiss me.”

Hinata pales. “Excuse me?!”

“You’re in, right?” He raises an eyebrow, asking as if his command was as normal as telling someone to smile. She nods, reluctantly, and he curls the finger again. “So…kiss me.”

Hinata darts her eyes to the side. There are quite a few people around, many of whom she recognizes, and that makes her shudder. Unfortunately, that’s the point and that’s why he’s telling her to do it now. So, she sucks in a deep breath.

Hinata leans forward to press her lips to Sasuke’s. It’s a close-mouthed kiss, it’s short, and it is not romantic.

But then the hand that was beckoning her finds the back of her head and keeps her there, and a little gasp escapes her for it.

She does her best not to activate her byakugan, the overwhelming desire to close his main chakra point creeping up on her as his lips move against hers.

When she’s finally able to shove that urge back, she chooses to focus on how his lips feel against hers. She’s not the most experienced in kissing outside of a few clumsy moments as teenagers, but even she has to admit Sasuke might actually be…good at it. He’s not too rough in the way she feared boys would be, but he’s not entirely gentle, either. His lips move naturally against hers, and they’re soft, slick, and…strawberry flavored?

Does Sasuke Uchiha use strawberry-flavored lip balm?

The thought is quickly squashed when a panicked voice calls out. “HINATA?!”

Then Sasuke is being torn away from her, and her eyes fly open to find her cousin’s cascading, long brown hair towering over him.

“Neji!” she gasps out, eyes landing on his veiny ones, looking ready to seal each and every one of Sasuke’s chakra points.

“Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing, Uchiha?” Neji snaps, one foot coming to rest on Sasuke’s chest. Hinata whips her head around to see Tenten, mouth covered in shock, and Lee, who is quickly coming up behind Neji in an attempt to subdue the man.

Sasuke smirks smugly up at Neji, propping himself up on his elbows. “Kissing my fiancée. What are you doing, Hyūga?”

Neji stops at that, and Hinata swallows, chest feeling horribly tight.

"Neji…" Lee's voice calls him back, and Neji turns his head to meet his eyes with Hinata’s. The veins around his eyes relax, but he's still glaring.

“Hinata?” Neji’s asking for clarification, and she has no choice but to give it to him. Neji is aware of the marriage, but obviously has no clue about this plan Sasuke has concocted.

She clears her throat, and pulls her shoulders back, projecting confidence. "He’s right, Neji. I was kissing my…fiancé.”

With that Neji removes his foot, but not without shoving it into Sasuke’s chest briefly, causing him to groan and clutch at it. He moves away from Sasuke and turns his body to her. He comes closer and leans over her, in a hushed voice. “Really, Hinata?”

Her lips press into a line as she nods, quickly. He sighs, shaking his head.

“I didn’t think you’d cozy up so quickly,” he whispers, eyes darting to the side to catch Sasuke’s conceited look as he pulls himself to his feet. He returns to her. “Very well. Just…will you be a little less…”

“Horny about it?” Tenten interjects. Hinata recoils, not realizing she had flanked her from the other side. “Don’t give your poor cousin a heart attack.”

“I apologize.” Hinata bows her head, and she knows her face is beet red.

“Come.” Sasuke holds out an indolent hand for her between the two, and Hinata bites her tongue at his commanding attitude. No different than when they were children.

Neji tilts his head at Sasuke, his glare never leaving his expression. “Ask nicely, Uchiha.”

Sasuke clicks his tongue, eyebrow perked at the man. Then he looks back down at Hinata and her heart skips at his words, “come with me, Lady Princess Hinata Hyūga, loveliest, most breath-taking woman in the entire Land of Fire.”

Tenten laughs, loudly. Lee looks at him in confusion. Neji breathes an aggravated sigh.

Hinata’s jaw flexes as Sasuke continues, “please. Is that better?”

Neji doesn’t respond, nor does Hinata, but she takes his hand, regardless.

As he leads her away from Team Gai, she tries to control her breathing.

“Now where is it we’re going?” she asks, quietly, letting their fingers intertwine once more. She’s well aware of the questioning stares they’re receiving from the village folk.

“Dinner with the Uchiha,” he responds nonchalantly, not looking back at her, “time to become acquainted with the family again.”

Hinata’s stomach flips uncomfortably.

It had been a while since she’s seen his entire family together.

Next Chapter ->

#sasuhina #sasuke uchiha #uchiha sasuke #hinata hyuga #hyuga hinata #hyuuga hinata #hinata hyuuga #sasuke x hinata #sasuhina fanfic #naruto fanfic #my fic #uprooted #hinata being snarky #sasuke being a shit #hanabi also being a shit #uchiha!survive #neji!survives #arrange marriage au

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pandoraboxlife · 7 months

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Ideally, when the temples make a match between two individuals, it usually ends in a happy betrothal and successful marriage. This ideal, is only reached like half the time though.

Most of the family heads nowadays are in a successful relationship with those that the previous Temple of Amor set up several generations ago. Some families hit the jackpot when it came to the matchmaker game. Nolan and Azura Brooks are a prime example of this.

They have a near perfect relationship with one another and all three of their children are in stable, albeit infamous, marriages. Heir Caden Brooks and his wife Amelia have been married for quite a while and have four children together. Their oldest daughter Visha is married to Heir Irbin Moss and they have two kids. Even their youngest, Florence, has been married to the wealthy Bryant Family and has four kids with her husband Oswald.

Their bloodline is secure, family wealthy, and are living their best lives with people they genuinely seem to love.

Amos on the other hand.....yeah. I don't want to dig too deep on that one.

Some say it's a curse placed on them for not taking care of the Temple of Amor as well as they should've. Others say it's a blessing from the god Amor (yeah right but okay).

Either way, Lord and Lady Amos are the only living pair of the family to have a stable relationship with one another and not have cheated on one another.

Their eldest has twelve children from three different women, but this is nothing compared to their youngest's twenty children and of four women, two of which are married. The middle child, strangely turned out to be the best, despite still having two brides and ten children.

Needless to say the only "blessing" they got from this was the near endless amount of political unions they can make from marrying off the ludacris amount of children their sons fathered.

Not all hope is lost though. Sebastian Amos, third in line for the head of house, has been in a steady relationship with his betrothed, Maviette Dazarali, for four years now, despite the age difference. (Still an issue for me but they both seem happy, not like I can go against the words of Amor)

That being said, Major and Minor Families are having the same issues as the Amos Family, though to a lesser extent.

I've mentioned the piece of work known as Seth Zhao before, right? The nineteen year old with a betrothed who he cheats on all the time. Honestly it wouldn't be so bad in my eyes had he'd been more tactful about it. He's young, goodlooking, and famous so of course he's going to sleep around a bit.

But seriously, he could not do it when his fiancee is standing right next to him. Maybe not so publicly with her cousin no less?

Messiah, my sweet angel, if you see this, please, drop his ass.

Did I make this post just to complain about Seth? Yes, yes I did.

#Drama #Marrage #Betrothed #Matchmaking #contor #complaining

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queerofcups · 1 year

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Dear Yuletide 2023 Writer

Hi Yuletide writer! This is my first time doing Yuletide, so thank you SO much for the fic you’re gonna write. It probably doesn’t exist yet, but I already love it. Please don’t take my chattiness as directives (other than my DNWs), I’m really just putting you in the general arena of stories I wanna read, go wild from there.

Requests: Worlds Beyond Number (Podcast)

I know Word of God is that Suvi, Ame, and Eursulon are faaaaamily, but I think it’s legal to think the kid you went to summer camp with turned out to be a hottie actually.

There’s so! much! tension! Between these three and its nearly all unspoken and I think that’s very sexy and interesting

OT3 endgame, but totally fine with pre-endgame hookups & feelings between any two members of our little party

Plotwise, go nuts here, I’ll take anything from silly falling into bed together to the serious, hard work of making a relationship work with people with VERY different politics, or even the aforementioned, “oh damn, such and such got hot???” fic. I just want more of these three together.

The Bear (TV 2022)

Carmy and Sid hooking up would be a TERRIBLE idea, professionally speaking, and probably also emotionally speaking. I want to read about the ways that it could go wrong and why they do it anyway. Do they keep it a secret? Do they fail at keeping it a secret? Is it incredibly obvious to the rest of the crew?

I’ve read a lot of very sweet fics where they fall in love and all is great, and those are wonderful, but I think messy power dynamics are hot and interesting and they’ve got bad idea written all over them.

Bonus bonus points if you engage with what food, cooking and meals mean to both of them.

Barbie (Movie 2023)

Let Barbie be gay!!!! Greta Gerwig was trying to tell us something with all that Indigo Girls and Birkenstock and I wanna read someone picking up what she’s putting down. Barbie’s first gay hookup! Barbie’s first, third and fifteenth u-haul! What does it mean for an idea that’s an icon of heterosexuality to become a person who…isn’t straight!

Whether it’s funny or deadly serious, I’m interested in what people imagine might happen if Barbie turns out to be a lesbian, specifically.

Joy Ride (2023)

I can’t be the only one who saw some sexual tension between Lolo and Kat. Do they become rivals for Audrey’s affections? Is it a competition to see how many people they can sleep with (and then they end up sleeping with each other?). Does Kat realize that her hubby is great, but actually can’t keep up with her and has to outsource? The world’s your oyster here, anon!

General Likes:

Emotional introspection from characters

Descriptions of setting, food, sensations, etc

Messy lines between friendship, romantic relationships and sexual relationships

Messy & fucked up power dynamics - Not necessarily dead dove, but any semi-realistic takes on people who, due to their positions, really shouldn’t be doing this

A lot (most?) of my request involve at least one person of color. I like fic that acknowledges that those experiences mean something. I don’t need an anti-racism TED talk or anything, it’s just nice to know that someone’s thinking about that kind of stuff.

Gay shit! Similar to the note above, I’m not looking for a TED talk, but I like fics to contend with what it might mean to be a queer person in the world (if its a canon where that matters)

Smut wise: public sex, sex pollen, ABO (if you’re gonna say something thoughtful about sex/gender/sexuality), casual kink, edging, descriptions of sensation

Tropewise: I like curtainfic, I don’t mind an AU (love mail-order bride AUs, arranged marriage AUs, anything requiring people to get used to each other)

A note on femslash: I’m not interested in fic that’s gender swapped men. Also, I love fic about trans women, but I’m not interested in futa fic.

Hard Nos: * Noncon (Dubcon is fine, but I need there to be clear signs of the no becoming/being a yes) * Underage * Major Character Death (in which they stay dead) * No scat, no puke, no pee, I feel neutral about blood, sweat, spit, etc. Race play, racial slurs being used in non-reclaimed way

General Dislikes: *Purely sweet, fluffy fics *Grimdark, dead dove, trauma for the sake of trauma *High School AUs *Crossovers w other media *Kink being formally negotiated on screen *Kidfic *Pregnancy fic (but I am fine with dealing with an unexpected pregnancy) *Gen fic *COVID mentions are fine, but no COVID plotpoints

#yuletide 2023 #sorry about the long post #i do not know how to do cuts on tumblr anymore apparently #don't mind me

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xorax · 4 years

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❝Their marriage is one of constant collaboration and trade-offs; teaching each other every trick they’ve kept hidden until now.❞

#to kill a kingdom #tkak #alexandra christo #queen galina #princess yukiko #yukiko x galina #tkakedit #lira x elian #wlw #wlw rep #I want a book about these two #political marriage between two women? yes please!#my edits #sasha luss #elian midas

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emmywrites-blog · 2 years

Text

our duty

pairing: prince paul (catherine the great) x fem!reader

word count: 5.2k

genre: angst, fluff, & smut

summary: your brief marriage to Prince Paul of Russia has consisted of minimal interactions between the both of you. you decide that confronting your husband was the only way to come to a conclusion of what your marriage would be.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI. cursing, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (f recieving), fingering, dirty talk.

a/n: this is my first time writing smut so PLEASE leave some feedback, it is very much appreciated.

You had spent the past month in preparation for your marriage to Prince Paul of Russia. It wasn’t a marriage you had any say in, not that most women did. Your parents were happy enough to marry you off to a wealthy man, let alone a Prince. It guaranteed them financial stability and a high reigning status. In their opinion, it was a win-win for everyone involved. They no longer worried about their reputation, you fulfilled your duty as a woman, and Paul would eventually receive an heir.

Your interactions with Prince Paul were minuscule and brief, consisting of simple introductions and hello’s. You couldn’t say whether you liked the man or simply tolerated him. Your opinions of him surrounded his seemingly tasteless personality. Paul was quiet, but not in a way that would conclude him as shy, no…it seemed as though he only interacted with those that he deemed ‘worthy’, and you? Well you had no idea where you were placed on that list. Surely not high.

Even on your wedding night, you barely spoke after the ceremony. The longest conversation you had was when Paul decided that you two would be retiring for the night,

“I believe we both have had enough of these affairs today, we might as well retire for the night.” Paul spoke, his hands clasped behind his back as his eyes scanned the room, landing anywhere except your face.

You weren’t surprised, he hadn’t even made eye contact with you earlier that day as you both stood in front of the priest. He had caused many thought’s to rush through your brain while the priest's mumbling echoed through the columns of your ears, ‘Was I pretty enough? Did he like my dress? God, my makeup must be horrid’. All the while, Paul kept his eyes on your cheek.

You nodded at his request and gave a polite smile to the people around you, “Yes, of course.” You responded and let him lead the way to your bed chambers.

It had been a whole week since the wedding, and the only words you exchanged were in passing. Paul spent most of his time in his office, working with finances or whatever it was a Prince did. You attended the introductions, meeting people of high standing. It was quite boring. At the end of the day you both would retire to your separate bed chambers, the only thing separating you was the large wooden door that connected both of your rooms.

You were now pacing the hardwood floors of your room, thinking of a way, any way, that you could get Paul to like you. It was clear he didn’t, he couldn’t, not with the amount of time he spent away from you. You slid your hands down the front of your dress, as though it was a fragile piece of linen.

It was an expensive gown, made of baby blue fabric that had a subtle shine to it. It was nicer than any other dress you ever had at home. Strands of your hair fell along your chest, detached from the bun you had diligently been forced to wear earlier that morning by your dressing maids.

You took a deep breath and took the few brief steps towards the door that connected yours and Paul's room. You lifted your hand, placing a rhythmic knock along the hard wood with your knuckles.

“Yes?” You could hear spoken from inside, causing your mind to flood with all the possible annoyances you had already caused Paul. Was he annoyed by the mere sound of your knock? Would he be annoyed by the sound of your voice?

You cleared your throat before speaking, “Can I come in?” You asked through the door, feeling as though it was silly to be acting like this with your husband. You were having a conversation through a door. After not hearing an answer, you snatched the door knob in your palm and turned it, pulling the door wide open.

Paul was stood by the desk in his chambers, hands fiddling with multiple, seemingly important, papers. He was dressed as he would normally be in his boldly coloured suit, the decorative sword hanging from his hip. He lacked his obnoxious wig though, his soft brown curls on display.

Paul looked up almost immediately when you opened the door, raising a brow on his pale face, “Is there something I could be of assistance with?” He asked, clearly not feeling the need to have a casual conversation with you. It wasn’t shocking.

You shook your head and clasped your hands just below your breasts as you took a few steps into his bed chambers, your heels clacking softly, “We just haven’t talked much, or at all, really.” You began, your voice a bit shaky with unsurety, “I wanted to confirm that I hadn’t done anything wrong, to anger you. It’s just- I find it strange…”

Paul placed a hand on his hip and held his papers loosely in one hand, staring at you. You were framed perfectly in the large doorway, causing him to hesitate before speaking, “You find what strange?” He inquired, “I don’t have time for silly games.”

Your mouth gaped open for a moment, not entirely expecting the attitude that was radiating off of Paul’s figure, “I find it strange that we haven’t spent time together,” You admitted, shaking your head a bit, “And I don’t just mean having dinner together or drinking tea, you haven’t even…we haven’t…” You trailed off, hoping Paul would know what you were getting at.

He let out a low groan and threw his papers on his desk, both hands on his hips now, “Use your words, woman.” He demanded.

Your face grew red, the embarrassment of what you were going to say rushing through you as though it was in your blood, “We haven’t consummated our wedding.” You stated simply, picking at your fingernails anxiously, “Why?”

Paul tilted his head to the side as he listened to you speak. This was the first time that you actually felt as though he was listening to you, looking at you, and of course it had to be the one time you mentioned sex, “So that’s what you want? To have sex?” He asked you. It almost sounded as though he was teasing you. Amused at your expense.

You shook your hand and breathed deep, causing your breasts to push against the neckline of your dress, “No,” You challenged, shaking your head, “Why did you marry me? Did you even want a wife? It feels as though you see me as nothing more than a stranger.”

Paul took slow and steady steps towards you, but he kept a fair amount of distance, “Did I want a wife?” He asked, clarifying your question, “It doesn’t matter if I wanted a wife, does it? It is my duty to marry, and you are the one I married.”

You dropped your hands to your side, looking up at Paul's face, “I am nothing more than a duty?” You tested, letting the small amount of anger slip past your lips in a hiss, “That is not how a marriage works, Paul. Not how it should work. My duty is to give you an heir, so why haven’t you touched me? You haven’t even held my hand!”

Paul watched you as though you were a toddler throwing a tantrum, a brow cocked in amusement, “You are a fiery woman.” He stated simply, his eyes examining over your body swiftly, “Our marriage has no need to consist of those things, not until it is necessary.”

You knitted your brows together, causing a crease to form between them, “Until it is necessary?” You repeated, shaking your head softly, “Without any care, you have subjected both of us to a life without love? Why won’t you try, Paul? Can you not see yourself loving me?”

Paul suddenly stepped closer to you, a gentle grasp making its way around your jaw. It wasn’t aggressive, not like how you would have expected from Paul, it was calm and soft, “Have I said that I do not love you?” He asked, his brown eyes gazing into yours for what felt like the first time.

You shook your head and felt yourself shudder slightly under Paul’s touch, “You haven’t said that you do…” You whispered, your breath cascading over Paul's hand that held your jaw, “You do not act like you love me. You refused my gaze on our wedding night. You haven’t had a conversation with me that has been anything more than formalities. You sleep in the room right next to mine though you have yet to come visit me. You expect me to believe that you love me?”

“You want that from me?” Paul inquired, moving his hand so he was cupping your cheek, “You want me to tell you how intimidated I was by your beauty? How I was sure you must have had a love back home, someone you were longing to hold again? How every night I dreamt of the way you looked in that white dress?”

You felt confusion invade your features, spilling itself across your forehead, “You dreamt of me?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You saw the pure expression of admiration on Paul’s face, the way his eyes wandered over your sparse freckles, occasionally splitting down to your collarbone.

“Everynight.” Paul repeated, nodding, “I believed you wouldn’t want me to touch you, or to even look at you. You were so beautiful at our wedding…Like an angel.” Paul's demeanour had seemed to switch swiftly from that of teasing and mockery, to pure longing.

You reached up, letting your hand fit perfectly against Paul's jaw, your thumb stroking against his skin, “Why didn’t you just try?” You asked him, noticing the quick splash of fear in his eyes.

“A forced marriage isn’t exactly a woman’s dream.” Paul joked, letting his hands mould onto the waist of your dress, bringing you closer to his body with a careful tug.

You couldn’t help but smile at his stupidity. He believed you wouldn’t want him? Had he seen himself? You tilted your head to the side, “Are you telling me that you do indeed love me?” You finally coaxed.

Paul leaned into the touch of your hand, “Completely.” He whispered before leaning forward, securing your lips in a long awaited kiss. His lips were soft like silk as they moved against yours, his hands tightening themselves on your waist, “I’m sorry I left you waiting.” He apologized through kisses.

Your stomach fluttered as his sudden display of longing, the way his hands grabbed at you as if you were his life line, “You’re here now.” You replied before slipping your hands to his jacket, pushing it down his shoulders so it hung at his elbows.

“Eager.” Your husband spoke with a hint of playfulness, causing you to gently push his chest. Paul took off his jacket and let it hit the floor before slipping his hands to the back of your dress, his fingers playing out over the buttons that secured your bodice, “They make these as difficult as possible…”

You looked up at Paul before turning around so your back was facing him. He lifted his hands to your neck, pushing away the stray strands of hair that had fallen from your bun. He leaned over you, placing a delicate kiss where your collarbone and shoulder meet. Paul worked his fingers down the row of buttons, swiftly getting them undone so he could push your bodice down.

You blushed at the circumstances, feeling as though this was too much work, it would have been easier in your nightgown, “I should have visited you later tonight.” You whispered softly as another gentle kiss landed on the back of your neck, causing you to let out a content sigh.

The cold air hit your chest, leaving goosebumps behind in its wake. You helped Paul push your bodice down your body, your skirt following. The material hit the wood floor, leaving you in your undergarment and heels.

“No, now was the perfect time.” Paul responded, his breath moving across the back of your neck and along your shoulders. He placed his hands on your covered hips, the only thing separating his calloused hands from your soft skin being the thin material of cotton you wore. Paul pressed his chest to your back, pressing his lips to the spot just behind your ear, “You’re so beautiful…”

You turned in Paul's arms, looking up at him with those soft eyes he had fallen for the moment he saw you for the first time. You smiled sheepishly, “All I wanted was to be in your arms. To have you hold me.”

Paul raised a brow and looked down your body curiously, “That’s all?” He teased before taking your hand, leading you closer to his bed. He swiftly pushed your thighs against the edge of his mattress, causing you to fall back onto his bed, “I find it hard to believe that all you wanted was for me to hold you. You came in here raving about sex, surely that has to do with it as well, no?”

A tint of red quickly spread across your face as you rested on your elbows, allowing yourself to look at Paul from where he stood by your legs, “I…I was just confused…” You challenged nervously, shaking your head at the notion that what you wanted from him was sex. You wanted him, all of him. You wanted the longing gazes and the tantalizing touches. You wanted your fingers to be interlocked as you walked the halls of your home.

Paul’s hands gripped one of your ankles before pulling off the heel that had been torturing your feet all day. His hot breath ran along your calf before he placed a clean kiss to your ankle, “Confused? Or curious?” He asked for clarification, but his tone held an underlying tinge of taunting.

Your husband moved on to your other leg, taking off your painful shoe before placing a similar kiss to that ankle as well. He took his time to appreciate you, letting his undoubtedly hungry eyes scan your body similarly to the way he scanned boring documents. Paul snaked kisses along your calves, appreciating the silkiness of your skin.

Your eyes gazed at him, taking in his appearance. He looked like a painted portrait, the kind you would see in an age-old palace. The sun shining in from the windows illuminated his skin with a warm glow, his brown hair was effortlessly unstyled, and his bottom lip was pulled gently between his teeth as he focused his chocolatey brown eyes on your body.

“Paul,” You started, your voice breathy and unsure, “I find it…unfair, that you are completely dressed.” You sucked in a deep breath, almost as though what you said was wrong, not something you were supposed to say. It was incredibly normalised for women to talk about how little they enjoyed their husbands touching them, how they simply let them get off as soon as possible, how they laid in the bed and let their husbands have their way, but you wanted to like it, love it even.

Your husband didn’t attempt to hide the smirk that formed on his face at your discovery, “Well yes, you’re quite right.” He stated before gently letting your legs drop to the bed, his hands now sliding up the length of his torso. He started at his vest, unbuttoning it with delicate yet efficient fingers, throwing it to the floor once he was done. He was left in his cream undershirt and incredibly obnoxious green pants. Paul's hands slid under the hem of his pants though, pulling out his shirt so it was untucked.

You craved him, the feeling growing in the pit of your stomach. You were aware of the intricacies of sex, not that you had ever experienced it, but spending your time as a rebellious young socialite had allowed you to hear some things along the way.

You lifted yourself so you were sitting and moved closer to Paul, now kneeling on the mattress. Your hands lifted to the collar of his undershirt, playing with the frayed strings and loose stitching, “Do you want this?” You then inquired, letting your unsurety get the best of you, clouding your thoughts with unnecessary questions, “Do you want, or desire, to have sex with me?”

Paul’s eyes gaze down at you as though you were insane, his brows knitted across his forehead in a confused expression, “Do I want to? Darling, I’ve dreamt of this.” He admitted, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face.

You instinctively leaned into his touch, looking at him through your lashes, “Then make your dream come to life…” You whispered, barely loud enough for either of you to hear, but Paul did, he heard you.

And with that, he pressed his lips to yours in a passionate and hungry kiss, his other hand coming around your body, holding you close to him. The kiss alighted butterflies in your stomach, swirling angrily yet excitedly. Paul’s tongue along your bottom lip only made the feeling heavier, initiating a soft sigh to escape past your lips. Your tongues moved in sync, happily fighting as you tasted each other for the first time.

Paul lifted your chemise, slowly pushing it up the length of your body, exposing your skin to the temperature of the room. You let him lift it over your head and immediately tucked your bottom lip between your teeth while he leaned back, taking you in.

His eyes gazed at every inch of you, the whole of your body exposed to his longing eyes. He settled his hands on your hips, his rough fingers squeezing softly at your supple skin, “Even more beautiful than I had imagined…” He revealed, causing your heart to race.

You moved your hands to Paul’s pants, unbuttoning them swiftly, “Take them off.” You commanded, earning a cheeky smile from your husband. He did as you said and took off his pants, sliding them down his legs before stepping out. His undershirt conveniently covered his groin, stopping at his mid thigh.

Paul wrapped his arms around you and laid you on the bed, making sure to softly set your head on a pillow. He attached his lips to the column of your throat, leaving sloppy and wet splotches wherever he went. Paul neared your ear, his hot breath causing your body to shiver, “I like when you’re bossy.” He whispered, his words throaty.

You moaned out as he nipped at your ear lobe, shifting his hips in between your legs. You could feel his growing erection as it pressed against your cunt, the wetness of your arousal spreading onto the length of it, “Paul…” You shuddered, his lips attacking your collarbone.

He just hummed and moved his lips down your body, coming to your breasts. Paul sucked on the base of your breast before slowly taking your nipple into his mouth. He looked up at you with those beautiful brown eyes while continuing to assault your breast with his tongue.

You moved a hand to his hair while your other rested on his shoulder, your fingertips digging into his skin, “Ah, fuck…” You moaned out, your eyes fluttering closed as your back arched. Paul swirled his tongue around your nipple, lightly nipping at it occasionally, eliciting gasps from your throat.

“Open your eyes my love, look at me.” Paul urged, reaching the hand that wasn’t playing with your other breast, setting it on your jaw. He swiped his thumb along your bottom lip before pushing it past your parted lips, “Suck.”

You immediately did as he said, wrapping your lips around his thumb, swirling your tongue along the tip of it while he tended to your other breast. Your moaning was muffled into hums as you watched Paul, his cheeks caving slightly while his lips secured themselves around your nipple.

Paul placed a kiss in the middle of your chest and placed both of his hands under your knees, pushing your thighs closer to your torso as his plump lips moved closer to your clit.

You gasped softly as the realization hit you, the realization of what Paul was going to do, “You don’t have to…” Your shaky voice offered. You knew men didn’t attend to their wives needs, just got on with what they wanted and finished quickly. Surely Paul was the same.

Paul looked into your eyes from where his lips were connected just under your belly button, “Have to?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow before moving lower, his lips just above your clit, “No baby, I want to.” And with that, he placed a small kiss to your clit, a gasp immediately passing your lips.

You tangled your fingers into his brown curls, “Yes, yes…” You moaned as Paul flicked his tongue out, lapping at your clit hungrily. He was acting as though you were his life source, as though if he didn’t please you as much as he could, he would surely turn to dust.

Paul sucked on your clit before moving his mouth down, pushing his tongue in between the folds of your pussy, happily cleaning up any of the arousal that was lingering at your entrance. He left one hand on your thigh while the other moved to your pubic bone. Paul flicked his thumb against your clit, causing you to arch your back.

“You are so pretty,” Paul started, his breath running over the sensitive skin between your legs, “I love hearing you moan.”

You smiled lazily at his words and connected your eyes with his, “You’re so good.” You praised, earning a smirk from your husband.

Paul played with your clit slowly before lowering his hand, pressing the tip of his middle finger to your entrance, “I can be better. I wanna hear you moan my name.” His middle finger pushed all of the way into you, his index and ring finger pressed against the lips of your cunt.

You gasped and threw your head back at the unfamiliar feeling. You had never had anything inside of you, and you had never expected it to feel this good. You looked back down at Paul and moaned at the grin he had on his face, watching you revel in the way he could make you feel, “Paul, please.” You moaned.

Paul slowly pulled his finger out so only the tip of it was inside you, “Please what?” He asked, the power of making you feel good getting to his head, “You have to tell me what you want me to do.” His request made you whine, feeling embarrassed at the thought of saying what it was you truly wanted.

“I want you. I want you to make me feel good, please.” You begged, your voice going up an octave to Paul’s delight. He slowly pushed his finger back into your sopping cunt, feeling the way you welcomed him and pulled him in. Paul began his torment, pushing his finger in and out of you at a slow pace, “Faster.”

Paul kept his pace, refusing your request all while pushing in his ring finger. You arched your back and gasped, your breath shuddering at the feeling, “Ask properly. Use your manners.”

Paul’s attitude made you even more aroused. The way he demanded things from you while he pleased you in a way no other man could. You could just tell, he fucking loved the way he was making you feel, “Please go faster.” You finally breathed out, your breath turning to a moan as Paul quickened his pace.

A knot started to build in your stomach at the pace of his fingers, the way he curled them inside of you, the way he pressed gentle kisses to your clit. Paul flattened his tongue against your clit, causing you to pull his head closer if that was even possible. His fingers sped up on their own, his lips wrapped around your clit as they sucked harshly.

“Come on my love,” Paul spoke softly, feeling the way your walls clenched around his fingers. He could tell you were close, just by the way you moved your hips against his hand and whispered his name, “Cum for me.”

You did just as he asked and moaned out loudly while your body shuddered, cumming all over his fingers, “Yes, Paul!” You called out, tugging at his chocolate curls. You panted, your legs shaking as Paul pulled his fingers out of you, slipping them into his mouth, “Fuck.”

Paul smirked and watched your reaction to his actions, slowly crawling up your body until his face was hovering over yours, “Such a filthy mouth.” He teased before leaning down, securing your lips in a short but sweet kiss, “You want me?” Paul asked and pulled the hem of his shirt over his head, throwing the fabric to the floor.

His body was finally revealed to you, his toned chest and abdomen, the trail of brown hair that led to his erect cock. It was huge, definitely bigger than you had expected. You hadn’t ever seen a man's dick, so you didn’t know what to expect, but this…this was something else.

As if sensing your concern at his size, Paul placed a hand on the side of your face, making you look at him, “We will go slow.” He assured, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of doubt, anything that told him you no longer wanted him, “Tell me to stop and I will.”

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around his neck. You pulled him in for a kiss, your brows furrowing at the pure admiration you felt, “I want you,” You told him, your tone full of surety, “Don’t you want me to…well…” You trailed off as your face grew hot, turning beet red.

Paul looked down at you with a confused expression before understanding what you were saying. He smirked at the embarrassment evident on your face, finding it cute, “Do I want you to blow me?” He asked, his assumption being confirmed as you shyly nodded, “No, no. Today is about you.”

You gazed at the man hovering over you, feeling love filling your chest. He just wanted to make you feel good. He didn’t care about receiving anything. You felt as though Paul was truly the most perfect man, fighting all of the judgements you had made about him. He wanted you to be happy, that was the exact reason he had avoided you all along. He never believed he could be the reason for your happiness.

You kissed him swiftly and cupped his face in your hands, attempting to pour all of the love you felt for him into that one kiss. Paul kissed you back, one hand holding himself up while the other settled on a comfortable spot on your waist.

“Show me.” You breathed, shifting slightly underneath Paul, making sure that you were comfortable.

You felt Paul’s confused look on you, “Show you what?”

You smiled and ran your thumbs along his cheeks lovingly, “Show me you love me.” You requested, moving your legs so they were wrapped around Paul’s waist.

Paul’s expression turned to that of blissful happiness before pressing a kiss to your lips. He reached between the two of you, swiping his thumb along your clit. His mind became cloudy with lust as you moaned into his mouth.

You looked down as you felt Paul push the head of his cock against your entrance, “Tell me if you need me to stop.” He spoke from above you before swiftly sliding the head of his erection into you.

You gasped at the feeling, the way your walls immediately tightened around him, leaving you with a burning feeling as he slid deeper into you. You were about to tell him to stop, to give you a moment, until you heard the groan that came from Paul’s throat. It awakened this need inside you, the need to hear it again.

You slipped your hands around his waist, pulling him closer to you, “Please,” You whispered, turning your gaze up to him, “I want to feel all of you.”

Paul obliged and pushed himself into you, as far as he could go until his balls were pressed against your ass. He rested his face in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily, “You feel so goddamn good,” He shuddered, pressing a sloppy kiss to the side of your neck.

He gave you a moment to get used to his size as you let out shaky breaths. The pain of him soon turned to pleasure and you pushed at his chest, “I’m okay, please,” You nodded, gulping as you looked down where you two were joined together, “Love me, Paul.”

Paul readjusted how he was sitting. He knelt on his knees and placed his hands on your hips, beginning to slowly move back and forth, taking his time with you. He let out a shaky moan as he sped up a bit, “God, you are so good.” He whispered, looking at your face as he thrusted into you.

You moaned, reaching out so you could take one of the hands he had on your hips. You interlocked your fingers while your other hand gripped the sheets on his bed, “Paul,” You felt another climax building already, so quickly after your last orgasm.

Your husband started to pound into you, the sound of your bodies connecting echoed throughout the room. He lifted your interlocked hand to the space next to your face, holding your hands there as he gripped your hip with his other hand. The tips of his fingers dug into the skin on your hip, just causing you to moan even louder than you had been before.

Paul threw his head back as his pace sped up, “You’re so beautiful,” He started, his words coming out as a moan, “You feel so good around my cock. Perfect.”

His words made your body flush and your back arch, your belly knotting once again, “I’m gonna cum, Paul…” You whispered out, embarrassed at how easily he made you feel good.

“Yeah? You’re gonna cum from my cock?” He asked, moving his eyes to where you connected, a growl escaping his throat, “You look so pretty when you cum.”

Paul’s words caused you to gasp, gripping his hand tighter as your legs shook, the orgasm taking over your body. Your husband just continued to pound into you, groans filling the air around you. His own orgasm was building quickly, his hips moving inconsistently while thrusting into you.

“Fuck, yes,” Paul moaned as he pushed all of his length into you, releasing his cum inside of you. White streams flowing inside of you. He leaned down and placed a slow kiss to your lips, both of you breathing heavily, “You were so good, my love.”

Paul soon pulled out of you and rolled onto his back next to you, lifting an arm to rest behind his head. He turned his gaze to you, taking in your appearance. How strands of your hair stuck to your neck, how your body gleamed with a thin sheet of sweat, how your hands rested on your stomach.

“Come here,” Paul suggested before slipping his arm around your torso, pulling you to him. You intertwined your legs, his cock pressed softly against your thigh while your arm wrapped around his waist, your head resting on his chest, “Sleep my love, we’ll have an early breakfast tomorrow. Go for a walk around the garden.”

You looked up at him, a content smile spreading across your lips, “Together?”

Paul nodded, placing a kiss on your forehead, “Together.”

#prince paul angst #prince paul fluff #prince paul x you #prince paul #prince paul x reader #smut #prince paul smut #prince paul fic #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x you

824 notes · View notes

punk-in-docs · 2 years

Note

hello, how are you? I hope you're having a good day. I was the anon who sent the ask about joe quinn's characters, happy that you took a liking for prince paul and tom. Erm, I do have a request for prince paul, like we start with enemies to lover trope, reader thinks that prince paul hated her coz prince paul always contradicts her but sweet and polite to other women then after a while another noble took interest on her, planning to court and propose to her for marriage. prince paul gets to know this info and he's livid then he confronted and confessed to the reader about his love, how he wanted them to be together then it turned smutty? I will leave this up to you how you want this story to turn out. thanks for reading my ask yesterday, love lots.

🥀 Pick Your Poison 🥀 Prince Paul x Reader || Part I || 9.2k words

Summary: You have Mother Russia melted deep into the marrow of your bones, and you’re not afraid to grit your teeth and have a scrappy fight. Draw out a little of that pumping hot slavic blood you’re so proud of.

“Charmed.” You smile at him with your perfectly rouged lips. You sneer him like a viper. Like you’re another one of the delicious black widows formed from these courtly, poison-skated walls.

He stalks off and Minister Panin bows to you all. Scurries along after him like a puppy. Catherine isn’t displeased or discouraged by her sons frosty behaviour. She was expecting it.

You watch him stride away. Sip your champagne and drag your eyes over his back.

He must store such tension in those reedy shoulders. Keeps it stored under that ridiculous wig maybe.

All of Russia is owed to him by birth and he’s kept a hairs breadth from clutching it.

Warnings: Very much smut, a little dub-con-ish, hate sex, piv, fingering, oral, enemies to lovers.

Author Notes: Nonny, I sincerely hope you enjoy this, turned out a lot darker/meaner than I had intended. Maybe even a little satirical. Catherine is a bitch, and paul is a moody lost puppy. Reader is caught between. Enjoy-

Some people are an elixir; others are a venom. Choose wisely my child-

“Weak chin. I always thought.” Sniffs Catherine next to you. In that haughty dismissive way she does. Eyes stone cold. Wrists held crossed in front of her so serenely, as she scathes at the painting.

You’re stood with her. Unkindly surveying the huge velvety swirled oils of her husbands portrait, that glowers with glory off the buttery yellow walls of the Grand palace.

All stained in gold, pomp, and circumstance. Scrolls and frescoes and chalky painted scenes etched on the pretty walls.

Walls that have housed such debauchery, broken glass, and bloodshed. Court full of vipers. A nest of writing spitting rattlesnakes. Ladies of her Queens court whose tongues wag and lash sharp, like cat-o-nine tails.

“Unattractive fucker isn’t he? Do you remember?” Countess Praskovya digs a sharp elbow into her majesty. She’s the only one who could dare so such a thing.

“He really was.” Cackles Catherine. Smile a mouth full of razors.

She means it literally and you laugh as you sip your lovely little glass of champagne. Maybe it was in poor taste to find it funny.

Crystal cut glass with flowers and pretty patterns on the rim that digs into your rouged lips.

“Is it much of a likeness?” You ask curiously before you sip, and peer over your glass. There’s no two ways about it. The man in the oils was fucking ugly.

“Sadly. Yes.” Catherine smirks. “Can’t say I can remember much about the man I did find pleasing.” She offers.

“Not even his cock?” The Countess goads with a chuckle.

“A shrivelled little pink shrew.” Empress answers. They laugh.

Bite your lip. Taste the champagne sting. You guard your tongue. Something people here, simply don’t do.

The Empresses’ shimmering Italian Greyhound’s are zipping around your skirts chasing each other, yipping, as you stand there alongside her and the Countess.

You’ve found some friendly crux in their embraces. They leave cloying lipstick kisses on your rouged cheeks. Tell you what colour silk dress to wear. What wine to drink. Who to flirt with. How sweet and young you are- like sugared violets. They dote on you.

Catherine brought you here, heavily curried favour to pave your way. She wanted something to stop Paul from his whining. Not someone, something.

A prized little sacrificial lamb with a silk ribbon around your neck, shoved into the wolves pit. That was you.

You’d travelled all the way from Rostov three days ago. She knew your Father. He was a Count.

You weren’t stupid. You saw her impish curl of grin as she asked after things. Particularly that of your Father. How is the stubborn old boar.

You impolitely knew that meant he had won favour by fucking her a while back. When Peter was still alive.

You were from a good noble family. Rich enough. An estate to your name. You played chess. You studied military strategy and languages. You hunt, shoot and ride, like the men do, if not better than. There’s pure Russian stoicism kicking in your blood. You were punchy, savage smart.

You are so exactly like me when I was your age.

She told you that last night over dinner. Tucking a finger under your chin and nudging your head up. Cooing at you maternally like you were her own child. Candlelight travels like smooth satin across your skin. You were a pretty little thing. A pretty insect encased in amber. She bopped her fingertip to the end of your nose.

Buckets and buckets of champagne and a whole table stuffed with cold slimy seafood had sat before you for feasting on. You ate little, and drank lots and danced until your toes were throbbing sore.

Quite enjoyed the way soldiers eyes wandered over you like you were fresh juicy meat. Ready to be devoured. Many glistening pairs of new male eyes, rolling over your drunken steps, in the gold candlelight.

You went to bed alone though. Too drunk to do anything else but sleep. Woke up to be bathed and powdered, laced into another rich dress. You didn’t forget why, and for whom, you were really here.

You rose early to let Catherine show you around, herself. You’ve learnt things about her very quickly. Grasping them close like loose threads.

She simply doesn’t have the time for anyone or anything that isn’t as cutthroat as she is. She’s harder than the clutch of sharp diamonds always choking around her neck. Colder than them too.

She does have these little moments where she peels away icy skin to let you see there is some beating warmth within. Some love. She saves none for people, or men, or her son. It’s all for her country. The one she plucked right out her husbands undeserving hands.

Paul and her get along about as well as a naked flame introduced to a barrel of gunpowder. Powder versus fuse: There’s sparks and a mean amount of friction between them.

In a nutshell, he wants power, and she will give absolutely none of hers away.

She clutched it tight in fistfuls and doesn’t relent. She eats men. So some say. Eats them alive and doesn’t even spit out the bones.

Footsteps slap into the room behind you. Harsh on the shiny tiles like whip cracks. Two pairs of booted feet.

“Mother.” A petulant voice cuts through your girly interjections of his fathers portrait.

You look over your shoulder and there he stands. The future heir to all Russia. Your goal.

“Paul, my darling son.” Catherine turns and sways towards him with a puckish grin. Full of cold plotting and intent. Her peacock blue skirts scraping the floor.

She holds out her hand as a gesture for him to step closer. The man beside him stays put. Minister Panin.

“Come meet my beautiful friend.” She croons.

He steps to her gently. Hands fiddling with a gold ring on his finger. Twiddling it round round round.

His cheeks are all pink rouged, his white wig all coiled and curled. He wore a emerald coat and a red royal sash around his chest. His lips are full, boyish and succulent pink like he’s been biting them all nervous.

She links an arm through his and lopes him across to you. He goes stiff when you smile at him. Frown deepens. Lines on his pretty face age him.

She introduced him to you. You flick your lashes downward and curtsey to him. All politesse. You bow your head.

Oh. She’s very good. You heard the Countess congratulate you in a murmur that was almost to herself. It nearly sounds like she’s flirting with you.

Can I keep her? The Countess jokes. Eyeing you voraciously from the corners of her coppery eyes like she’s a hungry tiger. She’s omnivorous. She’ll have anyone. Swallow them down, crunch them up like her Empress does.

Your dress is very low cut. The sugary colour of tea roses. Red ribbon tied around your neck with a fine jewelled broach. You know it hangs between your breasts.

You also know he’s seeing that. And the way they’re clasped up high in your corset.

You think he’s much more handsome than his father. Cherubim beauty. He has this natural magnetism. All doe deer wet eyes and flicking brown lashes that burn with umber at the long tips.

Those roe deer baby eyes glare so fierce and unsure- especially when aimed at his Mother. Like he doesn’t know quite what to make of her. Unpleasant and mercurial woman that she is.

He does have Catherine’s eyes, you’ll dare say that.

Something about the way she can look like a clever hawk, about to slice up a rabbit to bloody strips in her talons. Top of her food chain. Ruthless and all mirror sharp edges designed to cut.

His eyes are softer, but the same viciousness lurks. That greatness to rule living and twisted in their same shared blood.

It’s the Russian way, you think. That immovable, stout, hardiness. It’s the way you’re all bred. Maybe it’s because of the bitter stodgy landscape that sustains you. Or the vodka.

Probably the vodka.

“She’s here to visit me a while. You should get to know one another. I knew her Father. Count Voronsky. You remember…“ She instructs.

“I’m sure you do.” He aims with meaning. Aims to wound. Tongue like a sabre. That must run in the family too.

He looks at you like you’re a bottle of nightshade stood tall in front of him. You may have been stunning. Wrapped in girly pink silk like a daring naughty present to tempt a man. But he won’t be moved.

Even if your perfume does smell like peaches and you look reminiscent of heaven itself. And he’s heard whispers in court that Voronsky’s are rumoured to be the best lovers of all.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Your royal highness.” You keep your tone soft and light. And all flirt. Stick your eyes in his walnut gaze and are contented to leave them there. Bold.

You curl your rouged smile and try your best to look beguiling. It has the opposite effect to the one you intended.

He rips his arm out of his mothers.

“I don’t need a toy. In case you hadn’t noticed I am not a child anymore. I don’t need you to pick whom I surround myself with.”

He scowls. And then he turns. His displeasure spilled over onto you. He looked haughty. Ready to wound.

“I bid you good day, Miss Voronsky. Go back to Rostov. I have no use of you or your kind here.”

He steps in so close and says it to you, spits at you. You can feel the warmth of his breath. The wet fierceness of those doe eyes, why, he looks like your greatest challenge. And you don’t shrink from challenges when accosted.

You should be scared but you’re just not.

He doesn’t scare you. He’s a whelp in a princes costume. His mother, now there is a terrifying woman. Of her you are most certainly scared.

This man is just stuck up the wrong way. And he seems to want to take it out on you. He’s got the world, this empire, grazing at his fingertips and it simply isn’t enough. He’s clinging to the shadow of her skirts. And she casts shade wherever she stands.

His cheeks flush the longer he stands and looks at you. Stepped toe to toe.

You step up. Even closer. Eyes diamond hard. Fuck, you’re daring.

You’ve got one hell of a firecracker spirit. Let him challenge and insult you. Let him see how far he gets-

You have Mother Russia melted deep into the marrow of your bones, and you’re not afraid to grit your teeth and have a scrappy fight. Draw out a little of that pumping hot slavic blood you’re so proud of.

“Charmed.” You smile at him with your perfectly rouged lips. You sneer at him like a viper. Like you’re another one of the delicious black widows formed from these courtly, poison-skated walls.

He stalks off and Minister Panin bows to you all. Scurries along after him like a puppy.

Catherine isn’t displeased or discouraged by her sons frosty behaviour. She was expecting it.

You watch him stride away. Sip your champagne and drag your eyes over his back. He must store such tension in those reedy shoulders. Keeps it stored under that ridiculous wig maybe.

All of Russia is owed to him by birth and he’s kept a hairs breadth from clutching it.

Is it any wonder he’s a spoilt brat.

“That boy doesn’t half have a poker up his ass.” The Countess barks in a laugh.

“Just like his father.” Catherine agrees drily.

They sway away to take a walk in the gardens, and pick at good looking men like starlings.

“Come, petal.” Catherine coos at you

Like a good little lamb, you follow along in tow. Whippets on your heels. You’ll be requiring more champagne.

Paul gives you a wide berth. You don’t offer him the same.

Whenever you turn your eyes to him. Or glide past with the Countess talking about gossip, or last nights vivid lover. You’re met with a scowl, or straight shot of ignorance.

His mother seats you right next to him at the Opera. You fan yourself and pray to god it makes your perfume curl across to him. Judging by the way he clenched his fists, knuckles cracking, whenever you so much as moved. You’d say your plan worked.

He kept shifting in his seat. Moving his coat to hide the growing bulge in his lap. You’d smirked like a devil. He left wordlessly.

You wandered close where he was playing chess in the library the other day, with a Lord you hadn’t yet met. Obolensky, you think.

Just to needle the boy, you swayed up and smiled all prettily at the Lord. A lecherous old perv you’d been warned. He’s already groped your ass during a dance. You keep light and snappy on your feet and you’ve learned to lock your doors at night.

Utilising your best coquettish gaze. This Lord now undressed you with his eyes. Left them in your cleavage rather than making eye contact.

“My lords.” You’d purred.

You angled your body just so to lean over the table. Made sure they were both looking. Your breasts practically shoved in their faces. You plucked up the Lords chess piece, and moved it to play check mate against Paul.

“Enjoy your day gentlemen.” You preen. All wily lashes and tease.

He’d looked at you like thunder as you pouted a sickly smile. Grabbed a book. And sashayed away to your rooms. Laughing at him.

“Voracious little Voronsky slut.” The Lord leered as you left.

“Get her on her back. Teach her some manners. Show her the mighty wrath of Russia, Tsarevich.” He gestures to Paul’s crotch by grabbing his own. Cackling away.

“She’ll be panting like a cowed bitch in heat for more. Mark my words.” He sips his red wine all haughty.

That flashed scandalous, indecent images in Paul’s head, to his shame, not for the first time-

His fingers knotted throughout your curled hair. Your elbows folded up on those fine pillows in his bed. You’d be all silky limbs and peachy soft skin. Head thrown back. You wouldn’t need rouge here.

Your screams sailing out that pretty pink mouth taking the shape of his name, as he slams his hips into the soft of your plump round ass. Fucks you open on his cock, like he isn’t a crowned prince.

Like he’s some small-folk peasant. Hands clawing in your skin as he looks down at you with all the power he’ll ever need.

He wouldn’t let you cum until you choked out his name. Eyes rolling back. He’ll fist a hand around your lovely arched throat. Make you cry out ‘Your Majesty’ in your bliss. He wants pleasured tears splashing from you as compensation, when he screws your brains out.

He swallows. That image causes his mind torment enough. Imagining shutting up your insolent mouth.

He’s dug his heels into his bed, and fucked raw the slick mess of his fist, to that deliciously debauched image of you and him entwined. Mingling somewhere between pleasure, passion, and sheer hatred.

Sweat glimmering in the pool of his collarbones, cause he’d not been able to get past the way you sneered at him earlier that very eve.

He can’t help it. You have a nasty habit of curling your fingers in, and plucking at this vital string inside him. Something that’s twanging all relentless and mean.

“I don’t require counsel in these matters.” Paul shunted out harshly to the Lord.

“I detest that girl.” He held out. Eyes flicking to the shape of your back. The nape of your neck. That shade of your hair he knows by heart.

“Beg your pardon, but that’s not what it looks like.” The Lord surmised.

Paul glared.

He’s surrounded by people he hates. His whole life it’s been that way. What’s one more?

What if there’s something about the way your electric stunning eyes spark this roiling fissure of red hot heat inside him. Splashes up his stomach and leaves him aching. Fists clenched. Cock throbbing in his infernal tight breeches. Too much blood caught up in the trap of his ribs.

He hates the way you move. Hates the way your perfume smelt so inviting every time you drew near. He just wanted to grab your hair and shove his face in your neck. Keep you to himself like a caged creature. Bar your windows and keep you contained. All for him.

The way you lick your lips and dance and flirt with other men. You drink too much champagne, always, and your too loud laugh gives him goosebumps. You’re too much. You’re foul. Intoxicating. You’re never enough.

You had tried to approach him last night, after dinner. Thaw the ice. You held your skirts up primly and started in his direction. He wasn’t having any of it.

He scooped up his wine glass and left the room abruptly. Slamming doors after him and you knew better than to try and follow. His doors were heavily guarded.

You were getting nowhere fast and it was evident that he didn’t wish to engage. You didn’t want to think about what it meant for the rest of your indeterminable stay here.

The wrath of his mother was what you dreaded the most if he remained unhappy.

The other day you were coming up the steps in the gardens. Beautiful day out. Powder blue gossamer skies with clouds like spooled white cotton. The air dances with the fine scent of his mothers pet rose bushes. Trimmed groves of trees to wander down for privacy.

It’s impossible not to notice you.

Your silk dress is golden yellow like sunflowers. His eyes followed you like you were the sun.

A big thick strip of white silk ribbon was tied in a ridiculous bow around your neck. He wanted to fist it and hear your breath catch. Watch you break out into a perverted smile as he choked you with your own pretty silky things.

The dainty tie of your shoe had come undone. The laces slithering open.

You turned to the man you were walking arm in arm with. Orlov’s fucking son.

You pointed it out all pithily. Like you were some brainless slip of a girl. Who couldn’t possibly bend over to tie her shoes. Get your dainty lace gloves all dirty.

When you saw him watching you complain to your handsome suitor. Your lips gathered up into a cruel smile. A crowding storm coming in. Put on a show.

Cherry red mouth as sharp as a knife box.

You scrunch your skirts all the way up in one hand. Lifting them to show him the entire sculpted shape of your leg. Your white stockings tied with striking yellow ribbons ending at the knee. You flash him the supple length of your silky round thigh.

His eyes want to scan up and up. More. He knows a blush is scrawling up his already rouged round cheeks.

You’re not watching your suitor bend at the knee in the mud to fix your shoe. You’re keeping your eyes pinned on him. You tilt your head across at him. Daring.

Like what you see? Your excellency?

All he can think about are your fucking legs. And what’s between them.

How much he wants to wrap his hands around your ankles and pin them to his shoulders. He wants to rut you so deep it will feel like he’s fucking your throat.

He will be rough. No doubt about that. He will take out every single warped aggression he carries, on you. In you.

He will leave your ass smacked sore. Spit into your sweet cunt and shove his fingers inside. Spit in your mouth and make you swallow. Make him thank you when he spills his fine royal seed in your womb.

Doesn’t care if his touch rolls into dark bruises or hurts like Hellfire slaps on your skin. He would cruelly mark you as his and not stop til he is satisfied. However long that may take-

He will clench your throat in his hand. Make those dumb lust-drunk eyes of yours that he hates, stay on him through the whole thing.

You are worming your way under his skin. Wearing him thin so you can peer in and laugh at what’s inside. You are a parasitic, peach scented thought that preys on his brain and he can’t set you aside. You are a new brand of torture.

He decided in some hateful way to get his own back.

One night after a card game in the parlour. You’re stood in the corner. Giggling with some oaf of a Count. Hand on his arm and he’s whispering to you about something that makes you blush.

Tilting his square jaw into your neck to whisper scandalous sordid things in your ear. Yanking you closer by slipping his hand along your curvy waist. You preen like an exotic songbird for him. Blushing like roses.

You tip your head back like you’re succumbing to pleasure and that’s the final straw.

Paul takes clever opportunity to nudge a passing footman right in the back. Who in turn trips and spills the entire tray over you both. Glasses of port all down the front of your pretty butterfly blue dress.

Glasses smash to shards. Silver tray clatters. The whole room grinds to silence and flickering candles burst their shapes all up the walls. Orange and then daggering black. Eyes blaze from every corner.

You look across the ballroom, shaking with anger and pushing sopping wine soaked hair out your eyes. It dripped down your face like sticky rivulets of black cherry blood.

The front of your dress is blooming to vivid wine red. Like some macabre wash of sunset or a messy death. Crushed glass littered at your pretty silk heeled feet. Sparkling like blood soaked diamonds.

Cut across the crowds. You see him. Doe eyes. Brattiness. Smug.

It’s the first time you see him smile. It’s sharp white teeth flashing at you. He had eyes all venom dark and piercing.

Just like his mother.

The hunt was afoot. You crash through the spiky pine trees in your steady footed silk boots. Listening out for the rustle and crack of your fellow man around you. Stalking for the deer. Your rifle in hand.

Russian mud is thick and unrelenting squelching almost black under your toes. You love it. The stench of it. The summer is a warm one but a biting autumn will soon be on its way to snatch up the heat. The frigid bitch of winter after that.

You stalk quietly through the blue trees that climb so high they must scrape the tip of heaven. Pricking into the sky with their tops. Disturbing God.

Where you’ve batted away the tree branches, rain clings to your coat shoulders. Draped on your hat and wetting the ends of your hair. Mud is brushed across your cheek.

You leave the frippery of court behind you in the trees as you walk. Far away beyond sight. You’d veered off the path. Away from the hoard of finely dressed lords and ladies sat astride their mounts long ago.

These woods are wild and barren. You lose yourself in the dark majesty of them.

Footsteps crash after yours. They try and cling to silence but they cannot.

You’re scanning the trees for your prize. You will have it. You’re ignoring the fact you may have a pursuer hot on your heels. You don’t need a man to do this.

You hear a crack. A stomping shift of a hoof. You gasp softly.

You crouch and peer around in the clearing. Spy the brown Hyde of a deer stopping to nuzzle the plants and chew the undergrowth. Ears twitching. Cleverly hidden amongst the dead wood of a fallen tree.

You temper your breathing. You don’t dare even move your feet by one inch.

“You’ve strayed too far, Voronsky.” Comes your least favourite voice. Needles and pins. Whiff of petulance and snobbery.

Paul.

You aim your gun. Back arched. Head high. Finger on the trigger. Ready to pull and take your kill shot.

“What are you doing? Do you even know how to handle a gun, you foolish girl.” He digs. His mouth slithers heat over the top of your ear. It makes you shiver.

“Or are you going to go over there and tear it’s throat out with your long teeth?” He mocks.

“Do be quiet.” You hiss at him. You don’t dare turn your head. Your eyes locked on your prey, pumping pulse ringing in your ears, like the feral scratchy lioness that you are.

Fierce leather gloved hands yank in your sides and slam you around. Tight to your ribs. Twists you to face him. His grip hurts.

He’s put nothing but yards between you and now suddenly he’s all over you. Talk about sugar and vinegar.

Your body skips with flame where his hands are on you and you can’t figure out why.

“Don’t speak to me that way.” He seethes. His teeth grit at you when he finished snapping words.

“Stop telling me what to do.” You crowd closer and stare him square in the eye. Unafraid.

He’s taller but you crane your neck and let your eyes slip into dripping venom.

“I am the future ruler of Russia. Girl. I can tell anyone in this fucking court what to do and they will jump to do it.” He boasts.

You snatch your gun back.

“I’m not in your court. I’m in your mothers. You’re not the Emperor. Not yet.” You sneer. Fully nasty. You gnash your teeth.

As if he needed reminding. It’s hammered into him on a daily basis.

You hear the deer scampering through the trees far away. Clopping away to freedom unscathed. Your hisses and shouts could rightfully wake the dead after all.

“I don’t want you here!” He fairly yells. Snobbery in his tone.

You get right up in his face to yell back. Storm up to him with a gun clenched in your hands. Damn this little prig.

“You’ve made that perfectly clear, your highness.” You spit.

“Why did you come then. To torment me like she does?” He shouts at you. Pointing an accusing finger at where you’d left his mother, and her party of harpies and perverts, through the trees.

“It wasn’t precisely my choice.” You argue. “It was hers and my fathers greed for money. So perhaps you could stop glowering at me and spitting fury and understand, my lord, that I am indeed just as trapped here as you.”

You prod a finger into his chest. Stab into him with it.

He swallows. Snickering crack of bones where he clenched his teeth again. He did that a lot around you. Like he was trying to bite down on words that had yet to be birthed past his teeth.

“You don’t seem to have difficulties finding your fun.” He mocks. Essentially calling you a whore.

Orlov’s son. Lord Obolensky. Your sniggering Baron Ivanov from the gardens.

“You clearly do.” You point out. It’s a low dig but it was stone hard truth.

You’ve heard the rows he’s had with his mother. The smashed vases. Throwing trays of food scattering off the polished tables in sudden bursts of rage, that she screeched at him, until the doorways rattled, that he was acting just like his cunt of a father.

He pushes the gun out of your hands. It falls in the mud. He has you crowded up against the nearest tree. You don’t know if you let him back you there out of fear- or out of something else entirely.

He’s dropped what he was holding too. Clatter of wood to the floor, guns abandoned with foolish care. Crossed in the dirt. Forgotten. Your bodies crash against the tree.

His hips flush into yours. Chest squashed to your own. His hands are pressed to your sides. Compressing the whalebone and silk of your corset. He’s crushing. It feels good.

“I loathe you. Voronsky.” He snarls every single syllable.

Sparks glittering in his dark eyes. Hatred blended with pure lust. It sparkles like precious gold gems lost to shadow in those doe depths.

“I can’t fucking stand you, either. Highness.” You growl.

You stand here pressed against him, feeling his sword and buttons on his coat dig into you. And that wasn’t the only hard thing jutting into you.

Your noxious little Prince feels big. Well hung. Even through his breeches. That’s a sizeable bulge to be contending with.

You look at him and he’s panting. As are you. Eyes flicked to your mouth. Yours to his. Scanning up his face. That wasn’t rouge sat painted on his cheeks.

“For once in your life. Shut your mouth.” He commands.

You chew on a scathing retort. But it quickly dies when he smothers your lips with his in a kiss. Hot and hungry.

A fiercely firm kiss.

You hate him for how he’s got you pulling him in closer. Hand on his coat shoulder. Fisting it in. Dragging his sultry mouth to yours.

The kiss is animalistic. As you thought he’d be. Full of fiery hate and pent up rage. Slightly tainted with the need for love and sex.

Like you should both be rutting and grunting in the mud. Snarling like beasts. Your cunt slapping wetly with his hard stabbing thrusts.

“My mother knows how to pick a decent whore for me. I’ll give her that.” He insults.

Before he bites the skin under your jaw to make you yelp. You claw the back of his neck. Digging in your nails.

You’ll scratch and bite back. You’re no meek girl.

You roll your hips against his hardening cock. A slow grind. It’s all push and shove and neither of you back down.

“I haven’t lifted my skirts for a single one of those fuckers.” You curse. Heaving for breath. Words stumble sharp as arrows out your mouth.

You lips are spit shiny wet from him. He wants to suck on it. Devour it. Bite it. Eyes blown all dark.

“Why should I believe you.” He snarls against your swallowing kiss.

“Touch me and you’ll find out.” You tease.

He’s spoilt and you’re stubborn. You’re knotted and tangled here like a ball of veins. Russian born serpents with dripping fangs exposed. And mark your words, there will be blood-

He grunts and his hand scoops under your pretty skirts to find your thigh. You moan when he hitched your knee up. You yelp with sudden surprise and it’s good. No space spared.

Cold leather hands sliding up your thigh. Hiking it over his hip. He pressed into you harder. Didn’t care if it hurt.

You moan louder, head thudding for the scratchy tree bark, when his hand leaves your ribs and dives down for the hot secret of your wet cunt.

Spitting a glob of white onto his hand first of all. Then he’s shoving three broad fingers in your pussy. Knuckle deep. Heel of his palm grazing your clit.

Wet soft leather and you’re writhing with it.

You didn’t think he’d be brazen enough for this- You’re harsh and unyielding. Never a creature to roll over and surrender normally. But here? You were awfully glad you were proved wrong.

The way you squelch for him as he fucks you open with his hand, makes his knees knock into yours. Poor baby bird.

You grip the back of his hair - that ugly wig hooked above your fingers - you snatch his mouth back to yours. Let him groan into the warm cup of your mouth. You flick your tongue along his teeth and take his very breath.

He is dying to know how warm and tangy sweet you are. Spread you open at the thighs and lick at the rich juices that spilled. Like peaches, ironically enough.

He wants to take your spilling breasts in his hot mouth too. Lap at them with lashing tongue like a greedy child. Those globes pushed in your corset have been taunting him for days and days.

His vicious and his movements are quick and curling. His mouth slanted to yours as he makes hungry impatient little groans.

You bite his lip, don’t care if he bleeds, and drag him deeper. Tugging him in like a seeking tar pit. Your eyes flick back with the way he curls his fingers against a spot inside that warps and burns-

More more more, Paul.

“They told me about you Voronsky’s. All natural born sluts, so they say.” He pulls his mouth off yours and sucks your neck again.

Right.

Your hand slithers down between your bodies. There’s little room but you get to where you want to be. The poor boy is leaking all over the inside of his very tight breeches.

You palm the wet spot at his tip. Cup him. Drag your hand right up - up and up - the length of him.

“I’m not the only one enjoying this. That must make you a slut also, your highness.” You say slyly.

Your mouth skates up the side of his neck. You purr into his ear like a wild cat and bite at the lobe. He presses his body all the way into you. A desperate keening noise trapped in his throat as he allows himself some friction.

You wrap an arm around him and you both clash into each other.

You’d been doing that since your arrival for heavens sake- but this is some sort of healthy catharsis. Burn the hate to crumbled cinders and let passions curl to take its place.

Damn this biological - all rugged animal - response you had to him. Made you mindless. Melted your head to inconsequence. It was body to body. This pressing need to crave another so deeply.

And by the cursed fucking bowels of some portion of hell, you were so fated to collide with him. Clash like angry stars, and rain and bloom burning pieces, down from space.

You tell him harder and he gives it. Meets every degree of your wants and your cunt is spilling crudely down his fingers. Wetting his wrist. Every piece of you shrieking his name.

You draw blood - an offence punishable by torture. But you just can’t help it. When you cum on his hand, you bite his lip and bring back the taste of coppery pennies.

You’re clutching onto him like a lost thing. Hands bunched in his coat shoulders. His free hand slipped around your back and settled in the slope there. You both slow your wild rutting. He smells the perfume and powdery tones of honeyed soap off your neck. The sweat beaded to your hairline smears on his lips. Passion.

He screws his eyes shut. Just for a second. You were heaven.

He dares take a look at you. Admiring the way this lust craze seems to have tamed you. All hazed hooded eyes and lips raw like red meat from his unpractised mouth. Rouge smeared to your chins from messy teeth clacking kisses.

He’s got a feeling this is the first time you’ve been struck dumb. There won’t be a second.

He untangled himself from you. Shuffling his coat over his swollen hard on. You smile and go to paw at his trouser fastenings but he steps out of your hands reach. He’ll have to deny you.

When you glance up from hungrily eyeing up his cock. There’s this unreadable expression on his face. It’s sadness.

I cannot keep things I like around me. It always ends badly.

He doesn’t say any of this to you. Of course he can’t.

He sinks his dark whiskey eyes to yours for a second. Frightened roe deer with blood on his lip.

Then he’s turning heel and crashing through the crush of green-black undergrowth. Away. Gone to the trees. Swallowed by forest. Leaves you all alone.

Your prey slips your snare yet again.

You gather yourself and pet your mussed hair back into place. You don’t even stop to gather your weapons. You slink back to the party, dazed. Your sticky thighs are trembling still.

Catherine almost seems impressed. She huffs an amused sound at you. “Bend you over a fallen tree did he? That’s my boy.” She winks.

You say nothing.

His Mother summons him to her breakfast table two days afterwards. Rings the bell and in comes her minion. Like a servant, or a trained lolloping puppy

They’re expecting a Swedish Prince and his delegation in two days time. She wants an alliance for trade. Hungers for it. He can see it in her eyes.

Tells Paul to share nicely and not throw his toys out the pram. Let the other children have and do whatever they want at court. Like he could stop them.

They’ll bring in only the finest painted whores if they want them. Vodka. Only the best, from Samara. Roast boar and lobster. Silly girls who need husbands and their diamonds and dowries. Stuff the space with amusement and hold riotous lavish parties.

She’s half talking to him, half writing her letters. Sat there, unrouged and tough looking even in her simple silk dressing gown. Eyes and cheekbones all angles, and her face bare. No decoration or jewels here in her private chambers.

It’s like seeing a proud golden lion go about without its mane. It appears wrong.

Then she says something that makes his heart crawl up the inside of his mouth.

“I need to keep the Swede sweet. We cannot afford to lose their trade corridors. I may let him have Voronsky.”

What?

He knows he must’ve said it out loud because she stops and peers up at him. She detested repeating herself and being questioned.

“Voronsky.” She says again.

“I do like the girl. She does amuse me, such a fucking tongue on her. Whip smart too. She is of the finest noble stock Russia can boast, but I cannot have anyone dwindling idle in my court.” She says it like the imposition lands on her.

You are a little possession. Brought here to entertain. To be fucked or married.

A china doll to be passed around and made to pose. Have your hair petted and arranged. Something tells him you’d hate that.

“If you don’t want her Paul. Then I will give her away.”

He can’t bring up the words. But they rattle in his mind. He wishes they had the temerity to climb out his mouth.

But I do want her.

The Swede arrives the next day. Young, stupidly handsome with a bladed nose and a fine chiseled jaw. Dark obsidian hair and piercing blue eyes. Taller than Paul. Just as ineffectual and skinny. Threaded with the uncertain confidence of an ingenue. A prize child thrust into the role of royalty. Paul recognises it as the same traits he has.

He’s all homegrown Nordic handsome too, which doesn’t help. White white dazzling straight smile. How he brightens to attention when he sees the flock of pretty Russian girls ready to meet him. Pounce on him.

Paul stands back and watched you get introduced. You wore that plum coloured dress that he so adored on you. You wore a dark red choker. Velvet. Looked like a slash of blood like someone had dared slice your throat to ribbons.

The countess painted deep waxy rouge on your lips. Told you to wear the dress low for your beloved. Wear the Parisian perfume.

Smile like a tart. Secure him my dear, he’s virile as a horny dog, and rich as anything.

You don’t smile too much. You fold your hands. Almost look, meek. Only Paul knows how much of a lie that is. Your meekness is the trap.

Step carefully. He thinks. She bites.

You curtsey. You state a crass joke that has the Prince belly laughing out loud.

He flatters you. That was a mistake. You eat men’s flattery of you for breakfast. Still picking it out your teeth, in fact.

You split a veiled grin. It’s just this side of mocking.

“Being pretty only counts for so much, Highness. I’d rather be considered ungovernable. Maybe even detestable. It’s so much more interesting.”

“Catherine is rubbing off on you.” He insists.

The Empress laughs loudly, because she likes it when people think her impossible.

They’re right. Because she is.

He thinks you’re brilliant. Savage Russian girl more brutal than the vodka you love. It may actually run in your veins. That liquid smooth bite. Your smile is gouging.

Swede is finding you’re made up of silver savage sword edges. He could cut himself on them if he isn’t careful.

You’re being pushed from pillar to post. Shoved, pummelled, manoeuvred and you bear it all - somehow - angelically. Though you still occasionally flash your teeth, glare, and spit poison when needed.

Told where to go and what to be. Who shall you be tonight? Let the Countess and Paul’s mother pick out your character for you like they would clothes. The touchy flirt. The vivid dancer who steps and twirls til she drops. The drunk girl with mischievous stars in her eyes.

He thought you were freed of this crushing place, but apparently, it’s just as swallowing for you, as it is for him.

In the end, this palace and this life will consume you all. You’ll die for it. One way or another.

It makes Paul itch when you’re left with the Swede. Thrown together left, right and centre. Cobbled as one like two puzzle pieces.

You shoot and hunt together. You ride out to see the forest and share a picnic like those silly couples in fanciful novels.

It lasts for nine hellish days.

For those treacly slow days that pass he cannot get you alone. He sees your skirts whipping away in the corners of the gilded door cases when he comes near.

He catches the back of your head. The bleached ghost of your perfume in the empty room he’s just walked into. Milky corner of your eyes at Dinner. The turn and twist of your neck as you look away.

You try not to look at him. But it’s like trying to avoid the sky. Or the ground. He’s wherever you tread.

He snuck out of his duties to watch out the window. The pair of you take a simple walk in the gardens past the spitting spray of the fountains. Emerald lawn crushed under your neat steps.

He twiddles the gold ring on his finger as he watches as you seat yourself on a stone bench. Leaves curling to dead brown in the once green canopy above you. Papery and rattling on the wind.

Autumn and it’s chill picks up fast here. You’re wearing fur on your collar and coat cuffs. Ruby red wool garbing you. A stupid hat with a ridiculous plumage of a milky ostrich feather that won’t keep you warm in the sneaky cut of the wind. Like everything else about Russia. It slices like knives.

He can’t watch but he can’t tear his eyes away. The swede takes to one knee on the grass. He can’t. He can’t.

Paul stomps away from the window and locks himself on his room. He shouts to the maid for wine. Vodka. Anything that’s strong. Anything that will numb-

This is it. You’ll be whisked away to Sweden to be a nubile bride. Off to have scores and scores of blue eyed babies. The thought of that cunt between your legs and rutting into you makes him retch. You deserved better.

You’d be taken away from him. Away from vipers and the barking hyena laughs of his acerbic Mother.

He can’t bear it.

He stumbles downstairs for dinner. Drunk and he’s no shame in it. He lives on the edge of the room nursing a glass and chasing his food around the plate. Some boned little bird with its wings ripped off. Eating none of it. His stomach squirmed.

The swede appears and you don’t. He does find that odd.

Weren’t newly engaged couples supposed to put on a show with it. Swan with joy. Prance down and flounce around to be pecked at with congratulations from everyone.

His mother finally seems to spare a second for him. She snips at him. “You’ve got a face like a smacked arse.”

Paul isn’t in the mood to dip his tongue into sour words to retaliate. He tips a bottle back to his lips. More wine flows. Less feelings come.

He sits there slumped, and watched everyone dance and swirl around. Dragging silk and clap of heeled feet on shining parquet. All ineffectual blurs to his drunk eyes. The candles squirm like orange worms in his vision. He hates this cruel world. He really does.

She tired of him and strode off to eviscerate someone else. Dig someone else’s guts out like she usually does.

Then he noticed something. Swede is dancing with someone else. Someone that isn’t you.

He hears gaggles of gossip. Some of it slips at his ears as couples pass him.

She wouldn’t have him. One scoffs.

Fucking proud Voronsky bitch.

Jilted him. This afternoon, apparently. Sent him packing. He’s gonna have to screw the Vassiliev girl instead.

Paul feels his heart glow hot and slippery like coals. You jilted a Prince.

He watches the Countess scurry across to mother. Whispers through that pursed rouge mouth into her ear. When she pulls back, Catherine’s eyes dim to dull obsidian. She curls a snide smile. Tips her head.

“Shame.” She bites out.

Paul doesn’t stay to see the rest. He finds his clumsy feet. Finds the door. And the next, and the next. Coppery hawk eyes watch him stumble his leave.

He has to find you.

He checks everywhere in the cursed palace. Turned it inside out to seek sight of you. It’s pretty hopeless until he decided to venture into the moonlit gardens.

The tree tops skimmed with sickly silver. The grass beaded in dew drops that wink like jewels.

He does manage to find you.

It’s savage cold out here. You feel at home. He can see the silver drift of his breath as he runs. Shoes slipping skating. He’s not wearing enough layers or his courtly white wig but he can’t give a fuck now.

He finds you. Delicately curled in on yourself. Sat on the steps to one of the many gazebos dotted around the gardens. He hears your sobs first of all. The choke and drag of your lungs. The slosh and clink of Möet against glass.

Half full bottle of champagne in your hand. Another empty one littered at your feet. You were swigging from the neck. Tears ribbon their etchings of salt down your cheeks.

You’re wearing a deep blue dress. Navy in the cold blue wash of night. No torches or light reaches out here. Just the ghostly fingers of the moon.

You wear a black ribbon tied around your neck. A silver broach with a rose suspended bloody in the oval black glass. Your lips are red raw and rouge is painted around the bottles neck. You’ve been slurping and crying out here on your own.

You turn back to him like a startled creature when you hear the wet crush of his footsteps on the lawn.

“Are you not cold?” He asks softly. Had he a jacket, he’d take it off right now to drape it over your shoulders.

“Fucking frozen.” You gleefully admit.

Swigging back more golden champagne. Your whole body is swimming fizzing gold with it. You’re very drunk.

He steps closer. Dares to crouch in front of you. You watch him. Only your eyes move. They glitter bitterly with the moon.

“Ask me nice. I might share.” You bite.

He tenderly takes the bottle off you and drinks some of it. It’s cold and your hands are trembling. He edged down next to you. Your skin is ice.

“You’re not coming inside?” He checks. “It’s warmer.” He says.

He almost sounds, soft. He reaches over and curls a knuckle to skim at the round of your shoulder.

“Your mother terrifies me.” Is your answer.

That may be the first thing you actually agree on.

“Me too.” He admits. Sounding small.

“Not going to Sweden, then?” He just wants to check.

“Not.” You confirm.

You sway into him. Nudge your head on his shoulder. Peaches washed over him. Bright and fat sweet. He feels calm and ridiculously happy.

You sit up all sudden and shoot him daggers.

“I’m offended you think I’d marry a fucking pickled herring stinking swede.” You growl lowly. Raising your fangs at him.

“There she is.” He peers across at you. And there’s that rare smile. He cups your face and he’s pulling you close.

“It is cold out here.” You accept. His other hand slips for your skirts.

“Think we should do something about that Voronsky?” He asks crudely. Yet somehow he sounds all puppy eyed innocent with it.

You split your thighs and he pushes up your skirts. Nestles between them. You gasp when he settled between them. Hikes them up and grins at you.

“Only if it pleases, your majesty.” You simper.

Only you could make obedience sound like insolence.

He draws up your skirts so he could see your soft thighs. Your slick pussy is right there for him to take. As he wishes. So he does.

You weren’t expecting him to shove his shoulders under swathing blue silk and wriggle his tongue inside you. But you’re not complaining.

You lay flat on your back and your thighs frame his face as he laps you up. He pushes the silk up so he could watch you intensely as he ate you out. Suckling your clit. Spitting boldly into you and chasing it around with the swirling tip of his tongue. You want to ask how he got so good at this.

Brown eyes searching all over for the way you move and jerk. Curse his name every blazing profanity under the sun. You fist his short curls you groan for him. Hair feathering through your fingers. Hips smacking his face. Even against this, you fight him for power.

Fuck. Paul. Yes. Fuck-fuckfuck

“You and your foul mouth.” He hums. His nose pressed right up against the mound of your cunt as he eats you sloppily. Relentlessly.

“Been wanting to taste you since the other day. You came all over my favourite pair of gloves.” He bitched.

It’s so absurd. That you chuckle.

But not for long cause, oh, this boy prince was determined to wrench this orgasm from you. Whether you wanted to give it or not.

You curl your fingers tight and your hips roll to that boyish face. He seems to delight in tasting deeper. Keeps licking. He’s not doing this for his means to an end. He’s doing this to learn you- to savour the taste.

He’s so rough and getting rougher. Slurping you up cause yes you just are that wet. It sounds obscene.

You cum and you sob. Muscles clenching down in his tongue and fluttering for him. Your yelp shatters off every leaf and trunk in the gardens and bounces back all distorted like broken glass.

Paul’s smile and chin is all wet when he clambers over your thighs to come kiss you. Your taste painted in his lips. You drag him in. Greedy for it.

Your pretty prince. You feast and peck at his lips again and again. Again. Smothering him with your mouth.

“You better give me your cock this time. Tsarevich.” You smirk at him. Bite your lip. Panting for more.

“You’re getting it right now.” He explains. Impatient.

As he sits back on his heels and shuffles his hands over his trouser fastenings. Flapping back and ripping them open. Finding his cock in hand and tossing his head back to moan as he strokes himself.

You curl your leg around his ass and tug him in. One hand slips up your thigh and sneaks under your stockings. The other guides himself down so he can slip into you.

He drives to the hilt. You wrap him up in your legs pressed to his sides cause sweet blessed fuck, he’s bigger than you thought he would be.

“Fuck.” Stabs out his mouth as he punched into you with short hard thrusts that knocks into the very cup of your womb. You grit your teeth through the sting. He was your first after all. He’s splitting you in two.

You tip your head to the cold stone and let him take you. Ecstasy frozen on your expression. Like every rut will stab into your heart and you’ll die out here under the stars, wrapped in him.

He leans in close and loses himself in your molten warmth. The shooting pips of pleasure taking you both from head to toe. Your walls suck him deliciously tight. You scrape your mouth against his and you taste like rose rouge, tangy Möet and salt.

His sharp hips barrel into you. Snapping relentlessly as he fucks you into unforgiving stone. Clasping your knees around him. No space is left. You smirk against his mouth and let him rut you like a beast.

His thumb sneaks for your clit and he watches your face pull down into sheer bliss. Your cunt is crushing him so tight he can’t breathe.

You roll your hips for him all silky, desperate for that gut punch, and he can’t hold back. Pleasure rolling up and mounting in his spine. Ready to tip.

You cum. He does too. His cock spits a blooming warmth inside you.

You lay there, limp. All swallowed in each other with a sultry kiss slanted on lips. Messy clothes all twisted and undone. Shaking limbs and gasps that fade as you lie there. Cooling in basted sweat. High on pleasure.

He cups your face and stares down at the stars in your impossible, wonderful stubborn eyes. Lips raw from his kiss.

“Can we try that in your bed now.” You ask him as you scrape your clawed nails through his hair.

He huffs laughter You really were going to kill him. He’s sure of it.

Countess Bruce scurries inside from the gardens and back to her Empress’ side. An open curl of an arm awaiting her. Tucking her in.

“It worked.” The Countess loops her arm through Catherine’s. Smiles winningly. Steals a chocolate off the table and scoffs it down. Sucks her fingers clean. Sweet dried violets and Belgian chocolate. The best.

Catherine chuckles drily.

“Fucking men. You tell them they can’t have something. It suddenly becomes the first thing they want.” She chuckles cruelly as she slurps her wine.

“On the bright side, atleast now you’ll have a grandson. Or grandaughter.”

Catherine looks amused. “Let us pray for a girl.”

Paul was so easily managed. Now she had him contented, maybe he’ll stop being a pain in her ass.

Her neat little plan had been nicely wrapped up. Shiny satin ribbon bows. She had to wrestle the added hassle of planning a royal winter wedding.

Could be worse. Now she had to think how to dispose of someone else for the Swede. Her mind ticks over with new fresh possibilities. Maybe she could just have the fool killed-

An Empress’ work is never done.

Mayhaps you’d like a gander at the sequel? 🥀👀

Tagging some Prince Paul/JQ babes, cause you never know, sorry if not your thing: @creme-bruhlee @corodedcofin @emmywrites-blog @youaremyfamiliar @the-suburban-blues

#i would die for this man #joseph quinn #punkwrites #prince paul #prince paul x reader #prince paul x oc #OC’s name is Voronsky #catherine the great #paul tsarivich #angst #smut #prince paul smut #this is for you nonny #i held nothing back #hope you enjoy #this has been rotting my head for the last two days #Paul is a little bitch #moody spoilt bitch #but we love him

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incorrect-koh-posts · 2 years

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If Baldwin IV had a wife, it would likely have been a Byzantine princess as his uncle and father had...Baldwin III and Amaury. No romance, just a royal alliance. Consummation sealed the deal. Leprosy was not a cause for annulment, and spouses still had to honor "the marital debt."

Alright, let's talk realism for a minute.

Well, yes to the "marriage as a means of political alliance" part - we are in the middle ages, after all. While they had the concept of courtly love - which was outside the bounds of marriage - genuine romantic love between spouses was quite a rare thing and not something you married for or expected upon entering a marriage. Marriage was mainly to ensure alliances and the continuation of the family line via children. For most people, it certainly wasn't the dramatic affair that it is often presented as in medieval-themed fiction and film: though they may not have loved each other, spouses had to rely on each other in many aspects of daily life, so it was in the best interests of both partners to make the marriage work. It was, in general, not an instrument to suppress women or deprive them of their rights - in fact, in the 11th and 12th centuries marriage customs were changing and the church (yes, the church) actively encouraged granting women the right to agree or disagree to an arranged marriage.

While leprosy may not have been a cause for annulment or non-consummation of an existing marriage, I'm pretty certain it would have been seen as a valid reason to not enter into marriage negotiations in the first place. For one, men afflicted with leprosy tend to have fertility issues, so what would be the point in a marriage to a man who, in all likelihood, will not be able to produce an heir? And two, I imagine the prospective bride would have had a word or two to say on the subject of having to marry and sleep with a fellow who looks like a rotting corpse. I mean, I'm sorry for being shallow for a minute, but even if he had the nicest character imaginable, I would not be able to bring myself to touch a man so covered in sores and rashes. Sorry, but no. For that, you'd have to tie me to the bed - or forcibly drag me out of the nearest monastery medieval me most certainly would have fled to.

Also, as long as the vows had not yet been spoken, parties could withdraw from the marriage contract - with consequences to be expected for the offence given, yes, but it was possible. They didn't even have to give much of a reason. One example of this from the crusader states would be the failed negotiations for a marriage between Raymond III of Tripoli's sister Melisende to the Byzantine emperor Manuel I Comnenus in 1160 or so, during the reign of Baldwin III. The Franks, expecting the marriage to take place, raised a large dowry for Melisende, made a ton of preparations ... but the Byzantines delayed, delayed, delayed, until after a year, it was eventually made clear that the marriage would not take place after all, and Manuel married Maria of Antioch instead. As a result, young Raymond went into rage mode, equipped the ships he'd originally had built for his sister with pirates and criminals and let them raid the Byzantine coast. Which is one of the reasons why I think the Byzantines would have looked a little askance at another marriage proposition from the Franks, at least for a few years after that.

So, when trying to imagine a possible marriage for Baldwin, I think a lot of it comes down to the question of when the marriage would have been arranged. I'm not a historian, of course, so if anyone knows better, please feel free to correct me. But I somehow can't see marriage negotiations with the Byzantine empire taking place during Baldwin's childhood (before the leprosy was known), not with his mother in the picture who had effectively been replaced by the Byzantine Maria Comnena, and certainly not later when Raymond was regent during his minority. From that point in time on, the leprosy was also an issue; and when Baldwin was finally old enough to make his own decisions, it wouldn't be long until the Byzantine empire began to spiral into decline and its own problems with the ascent of the child-king Alexios II and then, not much later, Andronikos I seizing power and slaughtering the Roman Catholic inhabitants of Constantinople. So I'd say, all in all, that during Baldwin's lifetime, a marriage with a Byzantine princess would have been rather unlikely.

I think if Baldwin had married, it would probably have been some noblewoman from Europe, and I suppose they would have had to be betrothed from early childhood on, with the wife's family - for some reason - not reneging the prospective marriage once the leprosy was found out. Tbh, though, if I were to write a story about Baldwin (which I am not because there are so many Baldwin fics and novels out there already), I'd probably not give him a wife and opt for a sort of mistress- or courtly-love-arrangement instead, because a proper marriage in his case would, in medieval terms, be largely nonsensical.

Again, sorry for the rant - I hope this makes sense.

#asks #kingdom of heaven 2005 #baldwin iv #raymond iii of tripoli #manuel comnenus #maria comnena #yes i probably gave this ask more thought than it warranted #i hope it's not altogether idiotic #but on the bright side: i am done with my thesis and am going to hand it in next week #my supervisor has already had a look at it and said she's very happy with what i've done #so i'm exhausted but happy #anyways #i better answer the remaining asks in my inbox #sorry again for the long wait folks

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wri0thesley · 3 years

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Nat. NAT. I just saw your concept about naoya "training" his wife by just throwing her in the room and just watching her struggle to defend herself... Until she ofc breaks and begs him to protect her🙈 you have a MASSIVE brain, the biggest and horniest brain nat can you please write this concept for the event😭😭 maybe w 45 and any other dark or spicy add ons that you see fit!

traditional discipline - naoya x fem!reader (3.3k)

naoya has had enough of you, and resorts to an unusual method of discipline.

warnings: not sfw/minors dni. DARK CONTENT. unhealthy relationship/marriage. fearplay, dacryphilia, finger-sucking, cock-sucking, punishment, threat of violence and death. dubious consent. afab reader with fem pronouns.

[a/n: this concept literally wouldn’t leave me alone. i’m sorry to all of the readers who are naoya’s wife i’m always so horrible to them]

The room goes quiet as Naoya hauls you out of it by your upper arm.

It’s an easy mistake, a simple slip-up; accidentally talking over your husband. But it’s one in a slew you’ve been making recently, despite Naoya thinking that you were polite and well-bred and knew your place. He’s sick of it, to be quite frank; he doesn’t have time to be correcting you when you should already know how to behave.

You’ve done accidental, small things since the two of you were married. Denying him when he rolled you onto your back at night. Not standing quite as far behind him as you should. Pouring tea for other people before him. He’s given you swift reprimand with both his words and his hands, but . . . it’s clearly not sinking into your pretty little head, is it?

He warned you about this.

“Next time,” he’d growled to you, when you’d laughed too loud at a joke that one of his brothers had made and not laughed at one of his, “I’m going to teach you a real lesson.”

He tells you about the ‘training and discipline room’ on the Zenin estate later that night. A room that the family use for honing cursed techniques, both for practising and for learning purposes, when someone needs to be brought down a peg or two. It’s full of cursed spirits – all the way up to grade two, which makes your blood run cold.

Of course, you have cursed energy. You even have a careful little technique; one that would wrap your enemies up in vines, if you’d ever been allowed to train to use it for anything other than keeping your well-appointed garden neat and orderly. Naoya would not have married someone without either of those things, lest they not bear him fruitful children--

But you have never been allowed to use it for anything more.

The women of your clan are pretty decoration, with no need to learn anything other than how to behave and how to please their masters-and-husbands. You would be useless, thrown into the den of the wolves like that.

“Please don’t,” you’d said to him, your voice all soft and gentle, trying to be appeasing. “Please. I promise I’ll try harder.”

Naoya had taken your chin between thumb and forefinger, the grin across his face very sharp as his light eyes took in the pleading in your own gaze. You remember how the light had hit his earrings, the look of satisfaction at your begging and having you utterly and completely under his thumb.

“Be good,” he’d breathed, all slow and drawling. “And I won’t have to, will I?”

And he’d bid you to get on your knees for him and show you just how good you could be. Starting with your mouth.

So you know where he’s dragging you, down the labyrinthine halls of the estate. You try and pull back, feet sliding on the tatami mat, your voice pitching as you say;

“Naoya, please, I’m sorry--”

“Women should be seen and not heard,” he says to you. “Don’t make a fuss like that. You earned this.”

Your eyes are filling with tears, hot fear clawing its way up your throat.

“I’ll do anything,” you say to him, despite knowing that it’s a dangerous bargain to give him. He almost considers it for a moment, pausing – but then, his fingers just dig harder into the softness of your bicep (you’re going to bruise), and he tugs you.

“You’re making a scene,” he says. “If you don’t stop, I’ll leave you in there even longer.” You try to wrench your arm out of his grip, all of your self-defense mechanisms going into overdrive as you recognise the door he’s leading to you too. You’re breathless, so frightened you think that your heart might stop.

Naoya opens the door and pulls you in. You almost stumble at the flight of stairs, but he clicks his tongue at you in annoyance.

“So clumsy,” he drawls. “And here I was, under the impression I was marrying a graceful, lovely, credit to her family--” More steps, until he’s gotten you in the middle of the floor. He gazes around him, and you hear the low hum of a hundred cursed spirit’s voices murmuring the same things, over and over again. “The only time you’re a credit to them is with your legs spread.”

“Naoya,” you whimper, torn between pushing yourself into him for the comfort and protection that you know he can offer, or trying to tear away from him and escape the room yourself. You know the second option won’t work – he’s far faster, far stronger than you – but it’s hard to think of anything when you feel like your very survival is teetering impossibly over your head.

“If you run,” he says, still in that cold, uninterested drawl, “I’ll break one of your ankles.”

You don’t think he’s bluffing. Naoya says a lot of things, yes – but he’s also reckless and proud enough to mean them. You stand there, next to him, feeling yourself begin to tremble.

“W-why aren’t they attacking yet?” You ask him, voice very small. He looks at you pityingly.

“They’re afraid of me, obviously,” he says to you, very slowly, like he’s explaining it to somebody very stupid. “I didn’t get this good at everything by not training myself, darling.” He lets go of you, finally, a whistle escaping his pursed mouth as he rocks on the balls of his feet. He’s supremely unconcerned by your fear. “When I’m gone, they’ll come out for you.”

Your eyes fill with tears.

“What am I supposed to do?” You ask him, desperation leaking into your cracked voice. “I can’t—I can’t protect myself--”

Naoya narrows his eyes.

“You should have thought about that before you were such a pain,” he replies. And, without further ado, he turns around and begins to ascend the stairs again. You turn with him, moving forward, stumbling in your haste and ending up sprawled at the bottom of the stairs with your hand pathetically fisted into the hem of his hakama.

He looks down at you with a disgusted sneer on his face, and you hate that even with that expression his features are still unmistakably handsome.

“Let go,” he says. “Have some dignity.”

“Please,” you repeat. You can feel a fat tear spilling from the corner of your eye down the curve of your cheeks. You know the ‘dignity’ statement is a dig; the fact that you’ve heard his family members calling your clan power-hungry undignified gold-digging whores, but you can’t bring yourself to care when you can see the beginning of shadows spilling out too far into the main floor of the room. “Naoya. Please.”

He kicks out at your wrist, face twisted in distaste, and you let go to avoid it being stood on and crushed under his strength. You cradle it against your chest, looking up at him still all desperate and afraid.

“If I helped,” he said to you, “you’d never learn your lesson.” He takes a step up and turns away completely from you, as if you’re nothing more than an ignored child on the street. “It will be good for you, beloved wife. Character-building.” You hear the smirk in his voice and you hate him.

You want to strangle him. You want to beg him to protect you. You want to tear him limb from limb, but you want him to let you bury your head in his chest as he dispels the spirits with ease. You want--

The door slams shut behind him. He’s too cheerful as he throws behind him;

“Good luck!”

And you are left alone.

It takes a moment before anything slithers out from the shadows, and you clap your hand over your mouth to stop yourself screaming. The first cursed spirit is a hunched over creature with the face of a Pierrot clown, mouth stretched impossibly wide with gaping black abyss where eyes ought to be. It’s whispering something over and over to itself, but the wide mouth is so crowded with teeth that it comes out as an incomprehensible noise, dripping drool as it begins to move horrifically slowly towards you.

Oh, God. You’re not supposed to look at them, are you? You dimly recall something about many sorcerers wearing glasses so the creatures can’t tell where their gazes are, but this one has already got the scent of you; those dark pits staring at your crumpled form.

Everything you’ve ever been told in passing about jujutsu and cursed spirits and cursed technique just seems to flow out of your mind to be replaced by mind-numbing fear. You’ve not been trained for this; when your clan had arranged your marriage with Naoya, you know that they’d expected fine silken kimonos and traditional food and you being a pretty trophy on the arm of the future leader of their clan. You know they’d be horrified if they saw what was happening.

More of them are melting from the shadows, the whispering and moaning reaching a terrifying crescendo. You’re trembling. Your heart is beating so fast inside of your chest you think it might break free of your ribcage and sputter out onto the floor.

The Pierrot monster is close enough that you can see the six hands it drags on the floor are all tipped with claws that are sharp as blades. You scramble up the stairs on your ass, too afraid to turn your back on the creatures. You realise you’re shouting, but it seems just as blurred as anything that the cursed spirits are saying. You’re crying, too – howling, whimpering, so scared you’re surprised any noise is able to come out at all.

You’re going to die.

It hits you with cruel certainty as you reach the top and throw your weight at the door, only for it to not give an inch. You scramble at the heavy wood, not caring about your careful manicure (Naoya wants you to be a credit to him, and that means manicures and facial treatments and a fancy bathroom full of soaps and creams that he expects you to use and that he slathers, too, on himself). You hear a nail break but you can’t bring yourself to worry about that when the Pierrot monster is dragging itself up the flight of stairs, one step at a time. It makes a hideous sliding thump, like it’s both wet and heavy – and you notice, too, the scent of blood invading your senses.

Your tear-blurred eyes can see all of the other monsters, too – not quite as close, but still too close for comfort. Too many eyes and not enough eyes, too many legs, claws and teeth and misshapen bones and blood leaking from holes. What are you supposed to do?

Naoya has left you here, alone, to teach you a lesson. You hadn’t realised the lesson would culminate in your death, but with all of the spirits so close to you, you cannot see any other way.

All of the fight goes out of you and you sag against the door, a broken sob escaping your lips. Your throat is dry from hoarse screaming.

You are going to die. You hope it will come quick; you hope the Pierrot monster will tear you limb from limb and you’ll die in instants from the shock. Your voice whispers Naoya’s name one last, hopeless time.

Will he find another wife? Will they even bother covering up your death, or will they spin some rumour or lie to your family and the whole of jujutsu society that you brought it upon yourself?

You would do anything to be rescued right now. You would crawl on your hands and knees behind Naoya for the rest of your life, refer to him only as ‘Master’, fulfil every single thing he ever asked you with no more than a meek nod of your head. Pull out your tongue so you couldn’t make any more mistakes.

But the time for pleading seems to have gone entirely, and you are useless and stupid and weak as you run out of tears, eyes burning. All you can do, you think, is wait for death.

The door swings open behind you and you’re dragged backwards, onto tatami, by powerful hands gripping your shoulders as it closes once more with a massive clunk that echoes in your ears--

And you find yourself strewn out on the floor, face caked with dried tear-tracks, a trembling, pathetic mess looking up at your husband’s face.

He leans against the door, listening to you scream. He can hear his name mixed in with sobs and screams and pleading; saying that you’ll do anything, you’re sorry, you’ll never disobey him again you’ll take any punishment he metes out with a smile on your face, if he just helps you. He hears you call yourself weak and pathetic and useless around the tears clogging your throat; he hears the thump of you hitting the door and the sound of your nails scratching down the wood, uncaring of anything other than getting away from them.

Yes, he thinks as he opens the door for you and you fall, shivering and sobbing, in front of him. Yes, he thinks you’ve learnt your lesson.

You’re so pretty, he thinks, closing it once more (he sees the cursed spirits begin to creep back to where they came from at the very sight of him, now their preferred victim is protected), with your eyes all glassy and wet. You’re extra pretty looking at him like he’s a conquering hero who’s saved you from certain death – which he supposes he is.

You cling to his arm, pulling yourself up, burying your face in his chest as your hands cling to him like you’ve been lost and he’s the first familiar thing you’ve seen in months. Your tears soak his kimono, but . . . he finds himself not really minding, as big, lean hands pet you gently on the back.

“It’s alright now,” he soothes you, murmuring low. “Your husband has you.”

“Please, please, ‘m so sorry--” You’re mumbling into him, whimpering, your shoulders shaking. “Please never m-make me, again--”

“Shhh,” he continues, gently beginning to move towards his chambers. You cling to him, adrift in a sea of your own fears. “It’s better now. You’ll be better now, won’t you?”

He receives a fierce nod for that, your fingers twisting into his clothing. It’s nice, having you so wrapped around him; seeing him as the strong protector that he knows he is but you needed reminding of. You’re still mewling little pleas into him even as he unlocks the door to his bedroom and gently pushes you in. Letting go of him even for a moment seems to cause you physical pain--

Good. You should feel like that. You should feel incomplete without him at your side. Naoya rewards you with a rare, soft smile.

“You know why you had to be punished like that, don’t you?” He purrs to you, petting your hair and carefully drawing back so he can look at your face. Your lips are all swollen from crying and biting; he thinks you’ve never looked quite so kissable as you do right now.

“Yes,” you nod, fiercely. “I’m sorry. I’ll do a-anything, I promise. I . . .” You swallow, your eyes filling with tears again. Naoya has been hard since the moment he heard you call out his name from inside the training room, your voice filled with choked tears, and watching them well up again does nothing for the stricture against the fabric. “I needed you.”

“And I saved you,” he says, arching an elegant brow – to which you nod again, and your hands drift towards him like you’re aimless without him in front of you to serve. “I’ll protect you, darling, as long as you learn your place.”

“I will!” That’s said with such conviction that he can’t help the smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I will. N-Naoya . . .” Your voice trembles a little. “’m willing to do anything for you. J-just please . . . not again.”

“Shh,” he reaches out and deigns to touch you, to gently and soothingly rub his thumb over your cheek, where the tears have dried. “If you’re really going to be so good for me, I won’t have to, will I?” You stumble forward onto your knees and Naoya’s brows shoot up in surprise as your hands tug at his hakama.

“Please let me show you how grateful I am,” you whisper, your eyes wide and bright and desperate. “Naoya, please, please, please--”

Oh, there’s something so gratifying about you like this, begging to suck his cock. It stirs between his thighs again, reminding him that he’s painfully stiff; and you are here, a willing mouth, scared out of your skull and desperate to please him. He’s smirking at you but you do not register it as such; all you see is the smile of your rescuer.

Your protector.

Your husband.

“Say what you want to do to me, darling,” he tells you, keeping his voice as sweet as he can make it. “You’re a big girl. You can use your words. What do you want to do, to show me how grateful you are that I saved your paltry life?”

You’re pouting; your mouth is sweet, pretty. He wants to pry your jaw open and fuck the back of your throat, and his body roars as your fingers tug on the hakama again and your meek, soft voice whispers;

“Please let me suck your cock.”

“You have a dirty mouth,” he coos to you, leaning forward to brush a finger over your lower lip. “Not befitting of a woman of your station. I suppose that means that it’s up to me to keep you quiet, hmm?”

You obediently open it, letting his finger gently rest on your tongue for a moment.

Desperate to please, your mouth closes about it, your tongue gently swiping over the pad, your cheeks hollowing a little as you suck on the digit inside of them. Naoya’s smiling again, the victorious grin of someone who’s gotten exactly what they wanted. He pulls his finger out and thrusts back in with two, whispering to you;

“Do you think you deserve my cock, after what you put me through today?”

You shake your head, but you don’t stop lavishing attention on the fingers in your mouth, a string of drool falling from the corner of your mouth as he presses his third finger inside of it. So warm, and wet. He needs his cock to be inside of you or he thinks he may embarrass himself.

The fingers are pulled out, wiped on the hakama fabric, before he says (the carefully adopted tone almost disinterested);

“Take them off, then. Don’t make your promises empty words. I wouldn’t appreciate such thoughtlessness in a wife.”

You’re eager, stripping off his clothes. Your mouth practically waters at the sight of his cock; elegant, flushed, hard and straining with a light upwards curve that he knows will hit you in the right place at the back of your throat to make you gag.

“Wait,” he says, as you lean in to bring him to your lips. “What do you say, darling?”

Your eyes (still brimming with tears, he notices – and fuck, he loves how you look teary-eyed and pouting. He has to make you cry more often) meet his, but the look in yours is worshipful so he doesn’t chide you for having the insolence to meet his gaze directly.

“Thank you,” you breathe. “For saving me. For letting me suck your cock. For everything.”

Naoya is smiling.

“Good girl,” he says, placidly, as you place a delicate kiss on the head of his cock and slowly envelope it in the warmth of your mouth. “Very good.”

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Text

Initiative - aka NMJ and JYL get engaged - ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2

Jiang Yanli’s first engagement had been announced when she was three and a half years old – there had been a big party, festooned in color, exquisitely and meticulously planned out in advance, and she’d been obliged to stand on stage next to a baby in a cradle that had done nothing but cry and spit as all the adults around her congregated and congratulated each other on the excellent match.

She hadn’t enjoyed that at all.

Her second wedding announcement was simultaneously more casual and more noteworthy, and she enjoyed it tremendously.

Madame Jin had sent several invitations to Jiang Yanli to come visit Lanling in advance of the hunt planned for Phoenix Mountain, speaking of how beautiful it was and how much she looked forward to seeing her good friend’s daughter – talking about she’d always regretted how Jiang Yanli had been obligated by circumstances to take shelter at the Unclean Realm rather than in Lanling City, although she’d been pleased to hear from her son that she was doing well – all the right sort of words. The words might have been more welcome if Jiang Yanli hadn’t known that Madame Jin was still intent on securing the marriage she had arranged.

If she hadn’t been engaged, she would have accepted the invitation, hoping to form an alliance for her sect through a close relationship with Madame Jin even if she didn’t have one with Jin Zixuan (no matter what Madame Jin hoped), but as she was, in fact, engaged to another – even if it hadn’t been formally announced – it would be inappropriate to go. So she instead played ignorant and responded graciously, protesting that she couldn’t possibly impose, that the rebuilding at the Lotus Pier needed her, but that she would of course be happy to attend the hunt alongside the rest of her sect.

She arrived at her brother’s side, smiling all the while.

Her second engagement was announced like this: Sect Leader Jin, using his newly legitimized son as his mouthpiece, had brought forward some ghastly ‘entertainment’ that involved shooting at helpless prisoners, tied up in chains. Jin Zixuan had complied, but Wei Wuxian had marched out and disrupted everything by showing off to a ridiculous extent – Nie Mingjue, who had been watching with a black face full of rage but unable to speak due to propriety, had started applauding very loudly and very enthusiastically – and Sect Leader Jin had ordered the prisoners taken away.

“Well, then,” he said, clapping as if he had impressed himself: as if they hadn’t just been subjected to a powerplay under the guise of hospitality, as if everyone would be over-awed by his might now that they had seen him abuse the helpless while they were all forced by the rules of etiquette to say nothing or else risk carrying the blame for trying to start another war. “Absent anything else, we should proceed to the hunt itself, where await you only the finest of prey and the sharpest competition among your peers.”

For the further display of the power of the Jin sect, he meant.

“Actually,” Nie Mingjue said, interjecting in a moment in which Sect Leader Jin had paused to take a breath so that it was technically not an interruption, “there is one thing. A request, in fact.”

Sect Leader Jin’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he maintained his false smile. “Of course, Sect Leader Nie. What can I do for you?”

“I’m getting married,” Nie Mingjue said. “The bride is Young Mistress Jiang, of Yunmeng Jiang, and I would like –” He raised his voice to overcome the abrupt explosion of talk that had erupted. “– I would like to have her accompany my sect in today’s hunt. I hope that doesn’t interfere with your plans for a competition between the sects?”

There were those who said that Jiang Yanli’s chosen husband was bad at politics, and they might even be right. But it didn’t really matter in the end if he’d thought of the idea on a whim or if it’d been a prearranged plan by Nie Huaisang, who was cleverer than he liked to let on to people, Jiang Yanli’s future husband had still wiped away in a single sentence all memory of the farce they’d all just endured and of the hunt that was yet to come, ensuring that the only thing anyone would remember about today was the shocking news of the engagement of the leader of one Great Sect to the sister of another.

(And if everyone remembered that at the last celebration hosted by Sect Leader Jin, he had proposed to resurrect the marriage between Jiang Yanli and his own son, instead, forcing her to publicly demur on vague terms…well, that just made it all the more satisfying.)

Now it was Sect Leader Jin’s turn to scowl and glare, and Madame Jin’s expression looked no less thunderous, but in the end Jiang Yanli got to go with the Nie sect on the hunt.

“You know I’ll only slow you down,” she said to Nie Mingjue, who snorted.

“No more than Huaisang will,” he said, and if his face was stern and his voice gruff then she still thought she detected fondness and humor beneath it. “Besides, it’ll be a good opportunity to measure you.”

It turned out that he meant that more literally than she might have thought.

Jiang Yanli was promptly whisked away to the back of the Nie retinue by a small cadre of Nie disciples, men and women both. She was presented with a number of training sabers shaped out of wood and made to hold them in a variety of positions as they murmured things about stability and reach and balance as if they really, truly thought that she would actually use the saber they were preparing for her.

“This one,” Nie Jiahui, a steely older woman with silver in her hair and fierce eyes, eventually announced, and the practice saber Jiang Yanli had been waving around was taken away. She was then presented with one that was twice as heavy, for “practice”.

“Do you always practice with something heavier than the actual thing?” she asked, and Nie Jiahui nodded.

“Strengthens the shoulders,” she said, curt but not standoffish. “Have some candy.”

Jiang Yanli blinked, but smiled and accepted the offer. It was licorice, which she liked.

“Do you often carry candy with you on night-hunts?” she asked, listening to the sound of fighting from up ahead. Every so often, a disciple or two would trot by carrying the corpses of larger and larger creatures, slain in the fighting; it seemed that the Nie sect was not, in fact, being slowed down in the slightest by her presence.

Of course, she also wasn’t being tended to as if she were their chosen lady, either, as she might have otherwise expected – all pomp and flowery language, Nie Mingjue by her side at all times to show her around as if they were on a pleasure stroll – but in all honesty that would have been a little bewildering. It was very much not the Nie sect’s character, all practical and straightforward, and she found that she preferred it that way.

“It’s important to have something to replenish energy,” Nie Huaisang said, having dropped back to join them from the front. He looked tired and grumpy, but his saber appeared to have been put to some work; he immediately climbed up into the carriage that people were taking turns riding and started cleaning it. “And licorice candy clears the lungs.”

“Clears the lungs?” Jiang Yanli asked.

“It’s good for more than that,” Nie Jiahui said. “But that’s one of the uses, yes. Do you ever feel like your chest is too tight, especially when you move too much? Leading to coughing, shortness of breath, your lips turning blue?”

Jiang Yanli blinked. “Yes,” she said. “But that’s just because I was born with a weak body.”

Nie Jiahui scoffed and Nie Huaisang laughed. “Good luck with that,” he said cheerfully. “I was born with muscles that didn’t keep their tone: too flexible, incapable of gathering strength, requiring more energy to do less, making me twice as tired twice as fast – even sitting up straight can be a struggle in some extreme cases, though luckily not mine. And do you think that helped me one bit in getting out of saber training? It did not.”

“Early childhood intervention is best,” Nie Jiahui said. “But the next best is starting today. I’ll show you some low-impact exercises that you can start working on to strengthen your shoulders and stomach, as well as some balance movements to center yourself and improve your posture – that way, by the time your actual saber is ready, you’ll be able to take it through one of the basic routines.”

“I’m happy to learn whatever you have to teach,” Jiang Yanli said, ignoring Nie Huaisang’s dramatic cry of ‘And here I thought you’d be on my side!’ “I only regret troubling you.”

“Not at all,” Nie Jiahui said. “It’ll be good to have someone watching the Sect Leader’s back on night-hunts.”

Jiang Yanli felt a surge of terror and excitement in her belly. “He would trust me with that? You would trust me with that?”

“I did tell you that you’d need to keep up with him,” Nie Huaisang said mildly, and it was true, he had, only she’d assumed it was a bit more metaphorical. “You don’t have to fight or even walk too much, if it doesn’t suit you – my grandmother was lame in both her legs from a childhood illness, she rode everywhere, scariest woman I’ve ever met by far – but you do have to be there. Someone needs to be able to tell my brother to stop. Someone he’ll listen to.”

And wasn’t that something of a thrill to think of?

Jiang Yanli wasn’t someone anyone listened to – not her parents, not her brother, not her sect disciples. She’d always been the one who comforted them afterwards, who supported them; she made them food and tried to convince them to be kinder to each other, and sometimes they even tried for a while before getting into another tiff. They would kill for her if she so much as hinted at it, tear down the sky for her, but it was more in the nature of indulging her rather than actually allowing them to guide her.

Yet here was Chifeng-zun, a war hero and a sect leader, one of the most powerful men in the world, a man admired by men and sought after (even if only in their hearts) by women, and his family was telling her that he would listen to her.

“If you say so,” she demurred, but they insisted, and by the time the hunt was over Jiang Yanli was surprised to realize that she hadn’t needed to resort to sitting on the carriage more than twice the entire time.

“We’ll send Auntie Jiahui to the Lotus Pier after today’s hunt is done,” Nie Huaisang chattered cheerfully in her ear as they headed back towards Jinlin Tower. “She’ll work you through your paces, believe you me, and all the supplemental things, too – making sure you eat the right thing, take medicinal baths to improve your meridians, apply massages to loosen your joints…those parts are nice, actually. Take care of your body as you would your saber, take care of your saber as you would your wife! That’s how the saying goes. Trust me, you’ll be regretting the whole thing soon enough.”

Jiang Yanli didn’t think she would. “You seem very confident that A-Cheng will allow you to do as you please, even in the Lotus Pier.”

“I’ll tell him it concerns secret Nie sect marriage rituals,” Nie Jiahui interjected. “When two women are involved, men tend to run away when the words ‘marriage’ and ‘secret’ are combined.”

Sadly, she was probably right.

“Show me those exercises again,” she requested, and Nie Jiahui climbed up on to the carriage to show her the ones she could do even while sitting down.

Jiang Yanli might never have had the opportunity to strengthen herself before, and she was moderately certain that she wouldn’t have too much success now, as the various tricks Nie Jiahui had taught her were largely body refinement, barely reliant on qi, and her cultivation was still as low as ever.

But she was good at devoting herself to learning something when she wanted to, and as soon the hunt at Phoenix Mountain was over and they had shifted over to the various feasts and meetings that Lanling Jin had planned for the rest of the week, she began her efforts at self-improvement in earnest.

The weak body her mother had always despaired of might always be weak – Nie Jiahui had been quite blunt on that subject, making it clear that nothing she was suggesting was some sort of miracle pill, and furthermore that there was nothing wrong with being weak as long as she made an effort (Nie Huaisang had been the recipient of several pointed looks there) – but Jiang Yanli was determined to at least demonstrate that she was trying.

A gesture of good faith, perhaps. Some small show of initiative.

Nie Huaisang had said that Nie Mingjue appreciated her initiative.

“A-Xian,” she called one morning, only a few days later. “A-Xian, are you going out for a walk? Let me come with you.”

“You’ve gone on a lot of walks recently,” Wei Wuxian laughed, but allowed her to take his arm as they walked into the crowd. “Do you like Lanling City so much?”

“It’s the exercise I’m after,” she said, smiling at him. “The Nie sect is a martial sect, remember? I’ll be going on more night-hunts in the future, if all goes well, and I’ll need to keep up.”

“Oh, but surely they’ll bring a carriage..? I don’t know if you really need to go on night-hunts –”

“I want to! It’ll be nice. Don’t worry about me so much, A-Xian –”

Wei Wuxian was shaking his head, smiling, and he wasn’t looking where he was going; perhaps that was why he bumped into the young woman.

But then she looked up at him, and he looked down at her, and he froze.

“Wen Qing?”

#mdzs #jiang yanli #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #wei wuxian #my fic #my fics #initiative #the untamed #includes my medical HCs for JYL and NHS #but no actual medical incidents

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queenshelby · 3 years

Text

ME AND THE DEVIL – PART TWO

Featuring: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Words: 6,459

Warnings: Smut, Mention of Domestic Abuse and Racism

Tag List (Tommy Shelby):

@lilymurphy03 @deefigs @theflamecrystal @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @captivatedbycillianmurphy @fookingshelby @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall @elenavampire21 @hanster1998 @mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-my-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa @littlewierdalien @sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder @themissthang @0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback

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@l0tsofpennies @margoo0 @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee @daydreamingnymph

-------

The Charity

Usually, you didn’t accompany your husband to political events but, tonight, was different. It was a big night in Westminster.

One of the judges from the Queen’s Bench invited several members of parliament to a charity ball. The ball was hosted by the judge at his rather large mansion which he inherited from his father who was a well-known politician before he passed before the First World War.

The judge was a smart man but had recently fallen under the spell of your husband. He favoured national socialism after the stock market crash in the previous year and your husband’s ideals aligned with his.

It was of the upmost importance for your husband that you attend this function with him. It was all about appearances and, since the judge believed in the value of marriage, Oswald wanted to present himself as the perfect husband to his young wife.

Most importantly, the judge wanted to fund Oswald’s campaign with the view to gain power if your husband’s movement gained enough traction. Oswald wanted you to befriend the judge’s wife to ensure that the funding would be forthcoming.

The judge’s wife was a lady and rather wealthy herself. She was also involved in charitable organisations and you had her before, but only briefly.

Despite some familiar faces, there were also people who attended the ball who, apparently, you hadn’t met before. Or have you?

Just after you entered the large mansion and were greeted by the host, your husband introduced you to his acquaintances, one of whom in particular caught your interest.

‘Y/N, may I introduce you to my acquaintance Mr Thomas Shelby, the deputy leader of the British Union of Fascists’ Oswald said, causing your heart to skip a beat. You knew from Ada since your last encounter that Tommy was a politician. But, you had no idea that he was a fascist and member of your husband’s party.

‘Mr Shelby, this is my wife, Y/N Mosley’ he added in which moment Tommy’s looked at you as if he had seen a ghost.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs Mosley’ he said after clearing his throat. It was obvious to you that he had to quickly collected his thoughts.

‘Likewise, Mr Shelby’ you said as you shook his hand. You remembered his large and masculine hands. In fact, you remembered them very well. They were doing amazing and pleasurable things to you.

‘Would you like me to get your wife a drink while you arrange the meeting with Judge Kutchner. I could introduce her to my wife and they could talk about the upcoming charity event, eh?’ Tommy asked your husband as he had been inundated by several invitees of the host.

‘That is very thoughtful of you, Mr Shelby. I would appreciate it’ your husband said politely.

‘Alright then. Follow me, Mrs Mosley’ Tommy said as he took your hand like a gentleman and walked with you towards a group of women who included his wife Elizabeth Shelby and the judge’s wife Marianne.

‘Did you know that I was Oswald’s wife when you made an advance towards me?’ you asked curiously as he walked with you across the dancehall.

‘Of course not. Otherwise, I would not have touched you’ Tommy said with a serious face and somewhat flustered, causing you to giggle.

‘What’s so fucking funny, eh?’ he asked.

‘Nothing. It’s nothing’ you said, still giggling.

‘I don’t see the humour in this Y/N. What you are doing is dangerous. Your husband is a dangerous man. But I am sure you know this’ Tommy said firmly as he stopped near the champaign fountain before handing you a glass of champaign.

‘What I am doing is it dangerous? If I recall correctly, it was you who kissed me first’ you said.

‘Yes, which I did before I knew who you were married to. You could have fucking told me, eh’ Tommy said.

‘Well, if it’s any consolation to you, I didn’t know you were my husband’s acquaintance in business. In fact, I didn’t really take you to be a fascist when I met you. What is it that you are doing for the orphanage anyway? Wiping clean your conscience after supporting racism and cheating on your wife?’ you asked sharply as you quickly drank the entire glass of champaign.

Tommy grinned at you. He was carrying a sheepish smile across his face.

‘I don’t have a conscience Love. I do bad things. That’s just who I am. But, by listening to you, I take it that you do not support your husband’s cause Mrs Mosley?’ Tommy said as if he was asking a question.

‘Well, Mr Shelby, despite of you what you are telling me here, I don’t think that you do either’ you said firmly, but Tommy ignored your comment entirely as you finally approached the group of women he was intending to introduce you to.

‘I would prefer if our little indiscretion at the library could stay between us eh’ Tommy whispered.

‘Agreed’ you sighed quietly just before Tommy introduced you to his wife Lizzie.

You talked to Lizzie for a quite some time and you could tell that Lizzie and Tommy had problems of their own. Their marriage was a marriage for show just like yours and Oswald’s marriage. Lizzie hated to be at this event just as much as you did and you soon became to learn of her past from your husband, who felt it necessary to tell you. He also saw the need to tell you that, many years ago, he slept with Lizzie when she was still a prostitute and you became to wonder about Tommy’s motives involving himself in the fascist movement. How could he work with your husband after your husband acted the way he did, rubbing his past relations with Lizzie into Tommy’s face every chance he got.

But, perhaps Tommy didn’t care. After all, it was evident to you that Tommy had married Lizzie simply because he had to. Their child was born just after they were married and in a position like his, you could not have children with someone who you weren’t married to. It was the norm and common practice.

In some way, you were thankful that you weren’t able to conceive even following many attempts by your husband to get you pregnant. At least this way, you were hopeful that, once your husband’s party gained power, he would decide to leave you for another woman. Divorce was less frowned upon if you didn’t have children. After all, who could deny an important man like him to have children of his own if his wife was infertile.

With these thoughts running through your head, the remainder of the evening went somewhat uneventful and you and your husband left at around midnight.

After you went to bed, he arranged for a prostitute to come by the house. This wasn’t unusual and it didn’t bother you. In fact, you switched off to the sounds he made when sleeping with another woman in your house. Sometimes you felt as though he was doing it in order to hurt you since you weren’t a very attentive wife. But you didn’t care. In fact, that night, your thoughts were lying entirely with a different man. His acquaintance, Thomas Shelby, by whom you were intrigued by despite his association with the party.

Little did you know that, soon, you would meet him again in a familiar location.

The Library

It was a week after your last encounter with Tommy at the charity ball that you decided to continue your work at the orphanage library.

You’ve been stacking books on shelves all day until, at 4 o’clock in the afternoon, you saw a familiar face.

‘Mr Shelby, what a surprise’ you said as you finished packing up the last of the books and noticed Tommy walking towards you through the library hall.

‘Good Evening Mrs Mosely’ he said as he approached you.

‘Good Evening….What are you doing here?’ you asked politely.

‘I had a meeting in the area and thought I would stop by to see how the library is coming along’ Tommy said, keeping his distance from you this time around.

‘Oh, I see, your conscience is playing tricks on you Mr Shelby, eh?’ you said sheepishly, causing Tommy to laugh.

‘Perhaps…’ Tommy said before taking a pause. ‘This is for you Y/N. I thought you might like it’ Tommy said as he handed you a book entitled ‘Changing the way we think – A contemporary view on the Revolution’.

‘Well, thank you Mr Shelby. But please enlighten me as to why are you are gifting this to me? I am sure you know that this book favours communism’ you asked.

‘It became obvious to me that this would take your interest and I suppose that I have a conscience after all. In fact, I felt as though I needed to apologise to you for my actions during our last encounter here at the library’ Tommy said.

‘I am delighted to hear that you are taking some responsibility for what happened between us Tommy’ you laughed. ‘And, I accept your apology’ you added with slight giggle before asking him whether it was ok for you to call him by his first name when your husband wasn’t around. You hated formalities.

Tommy agreed and told you that he had to leave shortly. According to him, he had business matters to attend to.

‘Can you stay for one drink at least? I have Whiskey’ you said.

‘Sure. I suppose why not’ Tommy said as he sat down on a chair near the desk in between the stack of books that haven’t been sorted yet.

You pulled out a small bottle of Irish Whiskey and two glasses from behind one of the shelves.

‘My husband doesn’t allow me to drink anything but champaign at public events. However, unbeknownst to him, I would, occasionally, indulge on a glass of his very expensive whiskey after work with your sister Ada’ you said sheepishly as you poured you both a glass.

‘Well, don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me’ Tommy smirked as he took one of the glasses from your hands.

‘Now, Y/N, I am intrigued. Did you actually choose to marry Oswald Mosley?’ Tommy asked.

‘No, I didn’t. But he chose to marry me. My father is the chief of police in London which should explain to you why I was his chosen wife’ you explained. ‘Although, no doubt, you are also aware that he would, on occasion, choose other women to keep him company as well’ you said shyly.

‘I’ve heard your stepmother is one of those other women he chooses to interact with privately on occasion. Is that true?’ Tommy asked sheepishly.

‘You know it is’ you laughed.

‘And it does not bother you?’ Tommy asked.

‘That my husband fucks my stepmother, my sister and every second whore in London? No, it does not bother me. At least this way he keeps his hands of me’ you said with a laugh.

‘I consider your husband’s taste when it comes to women rather questionable’ Tommy chuckled.

‘And why is that?’ you asked.

‘Because he’s got you. What does he want these other women for, eh?’ Tommy said.

‘Because he likes variety. Despite, I cannot give him a child. He said I am not worth his attention or effort’ you said after taking a deep breath.

‘The bruises, on your arms and neck, was this him then?’ Tommy asked, causing you to nod, small tears beginning to run down your face.

‘Yes, we argued and when I do not agree with him then this is what happens’ you said rather upset.

‘I am sorry’ Tommy said as he handed you his handkerchief so that you could wipe away your tears.

‘Are you? Because you seem to be reinforcing his ideals and you aren’t exactly faithful towards your wife either’ you said.

‘Perhaps you have gotten the wrong idea about me Y/N. And, for what it’s worth, me and my wife have an arrangement in place which permits me to be with other women. I would never hurt her. Also, no doubt you are already aware as to why I married her, eh?’ Tommy asked.

‘So, you don’t love your wife?’ you asked.

‘No, I don’t love my wife. But I trust and respect her and I promised her that I will agree with her request for a divorce after the elections. Perhaps your husband would be prepared to do the same’ Tommy said.

‘I think you know my husband better than that Mr Shelby’ you chuckled. ‘He will never let me go unless I am buried in the ground’ you said.

‘You might be surprised Y/N. I know that he’s taken an interest in another woman who supports his ideals’ Tommy said.

‘Well, perhaps there is hope for me then Tommy…’ you said before taking a deep breath.

‘You know, I often overhear Oswald talking, over the phone. He recently made allies in Germany and he is getting involved with the right-wing party over there which seems to be gaining popularity. I am not sure whether you are aware of this Tommy’ you said.

‘Why are you telling me this Y/N?’ Tommy asked, his face serious.

‘Because I can help you’ you said.

‘Help me with what, eh?’ Tommy asked.

‘With information. I have researched you after our encounter at the ball and, in the course of my research, I met a woman named Jesse Eden who was present in Birmingham during the assassination attempt on my husband. The man they believed to be the shooter was in France with you and, unlike my husband, I do not believe in coincidences’ you said.

‘What you are alleging is absurd and you need to be careful when dealing with Jesse Eden. You should not involve yourself with the communists behind your husband’s back’ Tommy said.

‘Thomas, my husband beats me and treats me like a common whore. I have nothing to lose’ you said.

Tommy took a deep breath following your comment. He was speechless over the lack of fear in your eyes.

For some reason, he trusted you and you reminded him a lot of his late wife Grace when he first met her. You were young and determined to do the right thing and, looking at you, took Tommy back in time when he allowed himself to become vulnerable and let his feelings control him.

It wasn’t something that Tommy wanted to admit to himself, but he cared for you in the most obscure way. After France, this was a rare occurrence but, in this moment, Tommy’s feelings of guilt and desire for you took over his reasonable thinking mind.

‘Can you get a copy of the call records from the phone at your house from the directory?’ Tommy asked, causing you to nod.

‘Alright, then perhaps we can help each other, eh? Meet me tomorrow at 7 o’clock at the steel factory on Watery Lane’ Tommy said.

‘If my husband is home, I cannot leave at that hour’ you responded.

‘I will make sure that he won’t be home until the early hours of the morning’ Tommy said.

You agreed with Tommy’s request and, over the next few days, you were carefully collection the records he had requested.

The Factory

At 6 o’clock, your husband left the house to meet with a woman. You were certain that Tommy had arranged this, but you didn’t mind.

You quickly put on your coat and got into your Bentley which was parked behind the house.

The drive took you thirty minutes and you arrived at Watery Lane slightly early.

The factory door was open and you walked inside, making sure that no one saw you.

‘Did anyone follow you?’ Tommy asked after he greeted you, causing you to shake your head.

You followed Tommy through the building. Not a single person was inside. It was only you and Tommy and Tommy was quick to take you to his office on the upper floor.

His office was large with a brown cedar desk in the middle of it and a dark red leather lounge, a brown cedar table and two leather chairs on the side beneath a large window.

He had lidded the fire in his office and it was obvious to you that he had been working from his office for quite some time before you got there.

You sat down on the lounge and took off your coat, placing it over one of the arm chairs.

‘You are hurt’ Tommy said as he observed another large bruise on your arm.

‘It’s fine Tommy, I am used to it. Perhaps I am just weak’ you said as some tears were running down your cheeks as you opened your bag and pulled out a piece of paper.

You handed the paper to Tommy. It contained the phone records from the last three days.

‘I will make this right Y/N. I promise’ Tommy said as he sat down next you.

Tommy handed you a glass of whiskey and took the piece of paper from you before wiping your tears away with his thumbs.

‘Jesse Eden was right’ you chuckled as you took a sip of the whiskey he had given you.

‘About what?’ Tommy asked.

‘That, deep down inside, you are a man with morals’ you said as you gently touched his cheek, catching him by surprise.

‘And you are stronger than you think Y/N’ Tommy said before giving you a gentle smile which was somewhat unusual coming from Tommy.

In that moment, you remembered your kiss and the short period of intimacy between you several weeks earlier, an accident of some sort and an escape from reality for you.

Where would things have gone if he didn’t ask your name and if you never knew his? Would you have broken your vows again by now, the vows that meant nothing to you?

‘You know Tommy, I just want to feel something for once in my life. Feel desired, loved and wanted. Perhaps I am just being selfish fighting this fight against my husband but I want more from life than just being married to a man like him’ you said.

‘Y/N, this has nothing to do with being selfish. You are doing the right thing. It’s for the greater good of many people. You will be free of him one day and, when you are, you will get to experience everything that you deserve. Desire, love, everything you want. I promise’ Tommy said as he cupped your face gently.

‘Tommy, the truth is that I don’t want to wait any longer to feel all these things. I know that I might not actually get out of this alive if my husband finds out that I betray him and I don’t want to miss out’ you said.

‘So, what are you suggesting?’ Tommy asked.

‘Make me feel desired Thomas, please’ you said with need in your eyes. ‘I know you want to be with me. I’ve seen it in your eyes and I felt it that day at the library’ you said.

Tommy knew that this was a very bad idea, but he wanted you as much as you wanted him. He wanted you since the day he met you at the orphanage. You intrigued him just the way Grace intrigued him when she first started to work at the Garrison.

After taking a deep breath and unable to hold back his desire any longer, he leaned in and kissed you gently but passionately.

His soft lips pressed against yours while his hands caressed your face gently. It was unlike any other kiss you had ever experienced.

‘Is this what you want?’ Tommy asked as he broke the kiss for a moment.

‘This and so much more Tommy, please’ you said as you crashed your lips back onto his.

You had only ever been with one man before and this was your husband, who was brutal and hadn’t pleasured you, not even once. It was all about him when he forced himself on you and, luckily for you, the last time he made you sleep with him was almost a year ago.

With Tommy, you could feel desire. It was mutual desire for each other.

‘Alright…just another secret to add to our list of secrets, eh?’ Tommy smirked after he broke the kiss and placed a blanket and some pillows onto the floor in front of the fire place.

You looked at him curiously before he took your hand and guided you over towards the fire place before kissing you again gently.

‘I will give you what you want. But this needs to stay between us Y/N’ Tommy said as a soft smile ran over his lips.

‘That goes without saying Tommy’ you smiled while Tommy removed his suit jacket, gun holster and shoes.

You also slipped off your shoes but did not know what to do next, looking at Tommy full of questions.

But, within a split second, your questions were answered by Tommy’s actions. He caught your body to his, and you wrapped your arms around him, pressing your breasts into his chest.

Not knowing what to say, you reached up and pulled his mouth down to yours again. The touch of his warm lips brushing against yours caused a thrill of excitement to rush through you once more. His kiss was soft, gentle, and then became more urgent as you opened your mouth to accept his tongue. Your heart pounded so hard it hurt as you kissed him back fervently.

‘You are beautiful’ Tommy said as your lips drifted apart before kissing you again, deepening and lengthening it all the more, showing just how much he wanted you. This was the first time you were told this by a man and it felt amazing coming from him.

After your lips finally drifted apart, he simply smiled at you. The smile that crossed his face warmed your trembling limbs and hid your excited nervousness. You smiled in return, not trusting your voice. Of course, you wanted this every bit as much as he did. You wanted him more than anyone you had ever known, but now you felt somehow unstable when finally faced with having sex for the first time with a man you had actually chosen to be with.

The bravado you usually wore like a shield seemed to desert you, and even though you remained fully clothed, you felt naked under his heated gaze. You suddenly worried about your inexperience, your body and if he would still look at you in the same way once you were stripped of your clothes. God, this was a mistake. He couldn't want you the same way that you wanted him. You didn't know how you had managed to convince yourself that this could work.

Tommy saw the panic of insecurity rise in your eyes, and he reached out to gently push a stray strand of hair behind your ear and grazed your bottom lip with his thumb before bringing his mouth to yours again. It was a slow kiss, deepening as his desire built even further. He knew he needed to go slow with you, take you gently after all you’ve been through.

A hot rush travelled through your body as you responded to his kiss and felt him toying with the buttons on the back of your dress. One button at a time popped open under his fingers, and the cool air wrapped itself around your shoulders as he slid the bodice of the dress down to expose to his gaze the lace bra that you wore. You gasped as you felt him nuzzle into your neck and trace your collarbone with his lips.

Tommy groaned at the sight of you, trailing his fingers over the delicate white lace bra.

‘Are you wearing panties that match?’ Tommy asked with curiosity.

‘Yes, of course’ you moaned as he brushed his fingers across your lace-covered nipples. They surged under his caress and sent piercing streaks of arousal to your pussy.

His caress was like a hot spark through the fabric, and his touch excited you like you hadn't believed possible from your past experiences.

You didn't know how you would withstand his hands on the naked skin of your breast as you felt him reach behind you for the clasp. You felt the pressure of the material release, and without the slow unveiling you had expected, he pulled it away quickly and your breasts spilled out, ripe and firm, as the lace garment fell to the floor.

‘God, you're beautiful’ Tommy said again. But this time, his voice sounded more than husky, scratchy even, as if it was raw with the heat and lust he felt for you.

You felt a blush creep up your neck in response to his comment. The urge to cover your chest with your arms was strong, but you resisted.

Instead you decided to take the words he had uttered and bolster your flagging self-confidence to ask for what you wanted now.

‘Touch me please, Tommy’ you groaned. You'd hoped your voice would sound strong and self-assured. Unfortunately, you couldn't pull it off, and it shook with pure anxiety.

‘You couldn't stop me now if you tried’ Tommy groaned, cupping your breast and leaning down to swipe his tongue across one hard nipple.

‘Oh god Tommy’ you whimpered, as he teased the hard, little bud with his lips and rolled the other stiff nipple between two fingers. Your legs felt like they might collapse under you.

‘Maybe you better lie down eh’ Tommy grinned as he guided you onto the blanket and pillows on the floor.

Tommy was quick to remove his shirt but left on his black suit pants for now before leaning down over you and kissing you once more.

His lips soon trailed down your neck and returned to your small naked breasts.

There was intense look on his face as he took one of your thus-far neglected breast into his warm mouth. He licked and sucked, alternating between the two stiff peaks, until you trembled and gasped on the edge of something you'd never experienced before. You felt feverish with excitement. Your mouth was dry, but your body was more alive than it had ever been before. Without him having touched your pussy, it was wet, yet felt as if it was on fire and throbbing with need.

Shivers of anticipation shot up your spine, and you sucked your breath in raggedly as he dragged his insistent tongue down, letting it trail over your belly and to your navel. He pushed down on the bottom half of your dress, and you lifted your hips off the bed to help him remove it. Tommy took his time exploring your body, trailing his fingers and mouth over your belly and thighs, before running them teasingly over the lace of your panties, making your moan loudly.

‘Take off your panties. I want to see all of you’ Tommy said. His voice was thick with longing.

The panties were moist, evidence of your excitement, and you were certain that he could smell your arousal as you hooked your thumbs inside the waistband of the lacy white panties and wriggled out of them. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but also incredibly excited by the expression on his face, as he watched you offer your body to him. His expression showed eagerness, pleasure, even greed, you thought. There was no sign of the trepidation you had expected to see there.

Without taking his gaze from you he stood up and opened his belt and the zipper of his pants and finally shoved them down his legs with his underwear. He kicked them off and stood before you.

You couldn't stop the gasp that escaped your lips. Tommy's body was well-toned, with a broad chest and slightly tapering waist. Short hairs nestled between his nipples and ran in a thin wisp upwards towards the top of his chest which was covered with some army tattoos.

But it was his cock that held your attention. It stood, swollen and erect, thrusting out from his dark pubic hair. Your breath caught in your throat. It appeared impossibly thick and long, with distended veins running along the shaft. Your pussy throbbed at the sight of it, but your stomach churned in repressed fear. None of the intimate male parts you had seen before had ever looked quite so imposing. Could you take it? Would it fit? Oh God, you would have to stop him... Would he let your stop him now?

As he joined you again on the blanket in front of the fire place, his hands moved slowly and tenderly over your body, pushing the anxiety from your mind as they wandered over your contours and cupped your pussy gently. You groaned softly as his fingers caressed the lips, wet with your arousal, and then slid between their moistness into the entrance of your pussy. Tommy buried his face against your neck, kissing it gently.

You moved your pelvis in time with his probing fingers. They were curious and insistent and were creating marvellous sensations in your pussy.

You groaned and spread your legs wider, allowing him easier access.

‘Oh God, Tommy, that feels so…’ Your voice faded as he took immediate advantage of your pleasure, dipping his finger deeper inside your wetness. Your hips jerked suddenly at the familiar but yet pleasurable sensation of being penetrated by is thick fingers.

Tommy felt the heavy beating of your heart. Its rhythm matched his own, but the throbbing in his cock was wilder than he could remember. It took every ounce of his willpower to restrain himself and not plough into your immediately. The sight of you, naked beneath him, drove him crazy.

Unable to restrain his need to taste you properly, he kissed down your body again so that he could let his tongue slide through your glistening labia and taste your delicious essence as his lips sought out your fleshy clit.

‘Oh, Tommy! Oh, shit!’ you moaned, squirming under his mouth.

No one had ever kissed you there, in your most intimate area.

Your nails dug into his scalp to hold him there. You didn't want him to ever stop. His tongue was creating sensations in your that you had never experienced before. Masturbation had always been good for you. You knew how to use your fingers expertly to bring yourself to climax, but this was different. It was warmer, wetter and more teasing, with an intense build up that made you want to thrash around and cry out in pleasure and frustration. You rocked your pelvis against his mouth, your inhibitions fading into the background of the sensations he gave you. You moved with him, demanding more as he licked and explored you.

A squeal of pure pleasure tore from your lips as your spasms started deep inside. You trembled and gasped at the sensations that raced through your body to your pussy and exploded in a wave of pleasure that radiated back throughout your body again. As the waves of sensation crossed each other, you swore you would pass out. You held on to the here and now, enjoying the wild ride, and when you opened your eyes at last, you found him smiling at your, the edges of his mouth glistening with your juices.

‘Holy fuck, Tommy’ you said as he moved back up towards you which is when you boldly reached out to caress the rigid cock pressed into your side, eager at the thought of giving him the same pleasure he had just given you.

It was hot and hard in your hands, and a small trickle of precum dribbled from the tip. Moving to a better position, you bent your head and tentatively stroked the velvety shaft against the side of your soft cheek, before dragging the tip of your tongue over the crown. Very gently, you drew it into your mouth and sucked slowly, lovingly, savouring his meaty thickness. You were surprised by your own enjoyment of this. You hated doing this to your husband when you were required to, but with Tommy, it was different.

‘Fuck, I'm hanging on by a thread here, Y/N, and I won't be able to hold out if you do that much longer’ he grunted after about ten minutes of you pleasuring him and as he watched your latch your soft lips onto his throbbing hardness. You moaned, overcome with the sensation of having him in your mouth and the taste of his excitement.

‘Then don't. I came, so come for me, Tommy. I want you’ you said after lifting your lips from his cock and looking up at him through hooded lids that only served to stoke the fire of his desire to even higher levels.

‘No’ he groaned and pulled you from his cock, pushing your back onto the blanket.

‘The first time I come tonight will not be in your mouth’ he grimaced.

A rush of adrenaline shot through you as he moved between your thighs. You felt the heat coming off him as he nudged himself against the moist outer lips of your pussy.

You spread your legs, and he rubbed the head of his cock over your slickness.

He hesitated for a second as he struggled to get himself under control then, leaning forward and supporting himself with his arms, he pressed ahead, pushing himself into your wetness.

His attention was focused on the warm, wet feeling of your lips surrounding his cock. They opened slowly to him, and he slowly pushed himself into the velvety depths of you.

‘Oh, Tommy’ you moaned. Your voice was tremulous and shaky as he filled you and stretched you beyond what you had known.

Hearing your tremulous moan, he thrust forward sharply and groaned as he slid all the way up inside you.

You winced and bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from crying out.

Your breathing was fast and shallow as your pussy opened and stretched to take all of him.

Despite the soreness and feeling of being overfull, it was a wondrous moment for you, finally knowing what it felt like to be with a man who you desired.

It wasn’t long until you became accustomed to the amazing fullness, yet he struggled to accustom to you.

‘Fuck, you're tight’ Tommy gasped at the snugness of you, barely holding onto his self-control. Now that he was in deeper, surrounded by your wetness, he was careful not to move, to let you get used to the feel of him inside you.

It almost killed him not to plunge repeatedly into you. His cock felt harder than it ever had and your cries of pleasure, knowing no one had ever made you feel like this, made him feel more virile, more potent than he ever had.

‘I'm okay Tommy. You don't have to hold back’ you said as you breathed into his neck, clinging on to him tightly.

You wrapped your legs around his hips and raked your nails down his back as he sunk deeper into you. The eyes looking down at you were tinged with concern and fire, but you wanted his desire, his passion, to feel beautiful in his arms. You wanted him to make love to you, but you also wanted him to fuck you.

Tommy moved his hips slowly, sliding his cock back and forth inside you, letting you get used to the rhythm.

You moved with him, intuitively pushing your pelvis upwards as he slid into you. Each time he buried himself in your pussy, your clit was trapped against the upper side of his shaft. You moaned loudly at the exquisite sensations and ground your pussy up against him even harder, pumping back faster, until the sounds of your bodies slapping against each other and the squelching sound of your passionate fucking sent a wave of need and pure lust through him.

‘Oh yes Tommy’ you gasped, licking his neck and biting at his shoulders.

‘Don't hold back. Please, I need you to fuck me’ you gasped again, unbelieving that you had said the words that chased around your brain out loud.

your words caused the blood to rush through his veins and pound in his head. He stared into your desire-filled gaze but, when his eyes locked with yours, a deeper connection hit him with more force than he had ever known with any woman since Grace.

‘Fuck Y/N’ Tommy moaned. Your name tore from his lips as he plundered your body. His tongue drove into your mouth, sweeping inside, tasting, commanding, and taking what he needed. He could no longer restrain himself and he let himself go, fucking you the way he'd wanted to ever since you had appeared in his life. With a growl of pure lust, he pumped his hips, plunging into you over and over. He couldn't get deep enough.

‘Oh god Tommy, don’t stop’ you moaned as he drove into you. Your body arched and undulated under his fevered lovemaking. The muscles of your pussy clenched and spasmed around his cock as a great bubble of pleasure rose up from your toes, engulfed you and burst into shards of explosive release that had you shuddering and sobbing.

‘Fuck’ Tommy moaned at the sight of your pleasure. Your face and torso were flushed, your breath raspy, as you writhed beneath him and clawed at him while your body peaked again.

You cried out his name once more, and he lost it. A roar exploded from him as his body crested and he toppled over the edge. His cock throbbed and pulsed, spilling his anguish and a steady stream of cum into you.

After he came down from his high, he collapsed on you gasping, trying to regain his breath.

After he gently pulled out of you, you could feel some of his warm cum leak from your most intimate part as he rolled to the side, lying next to you.

He held you close as your head was resting on his chest.

‘I am sorry for the unpleasantness of the location and the hard wooden floor’ Tommy chuckled.

‘There is no need to be sorry Tommy. You’ve just given me more pleasure than anyone before’ you said, causing Tommy to smile.

‘I promise that, next time, we will fuck on a bed, eh…a comfortable bed’ Tommy smirked.

‘So, this wasn’t a one off then?’ you asked.

‘It doesn’t have to be, if we are careful’ Tommy said, thinking that, how much worse could it possibly get. You are already conspiring against your husband together so, when you meet to exchange information, you might as well sleep with each other.

But little did Tommy and you know that your husband may soon find out about your indiscretions when nature takes its course.

#Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #thomas shelby #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x y/n #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine

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persephoneyss · 3 years

Text

Doomeds.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x f! Reader. Ft. Bts.

Genre: Yandere, dark themes, anguish, suspense.

Summary: ❝We are doomeds, wandering in eternal suffering.❞

Warnings: Yandere behavior, obsession, stalking / stalking on cameras, humiliation, unspecified forced marriage, n*n-c*n explicit sexual relations (on the reader), abuse of power, implicit murder, drug use, kidnapping, hitting, manipulation, dating previous trauma, alcoholism and depression (in Yoongi), accusations of infidelity, dub-con (in Yoongi's case), the reader is in school but is of legal age, death threats, really strange facts. Possibly this would qualify as dark fantasy since everything is so unrealistic.

Number of words: 10,000+

︙Author's note: *sighs* This is the longest fic I've ever written, and I honestly don't know how it turned out because I didn't read it twice like I always do before publishing it. But my beautiful baby helped me correct, I hope you enjoy it and please read the warnings well, I do not want lawsuits. Thanks for being here!

(Sorry for any mistakes, my first language is not English and I am not fluent either.)

Puedes leer este fic y más aquí en español.

If they ever had to ask the reality of events it would be ... Unbelievable. Thinking of how just a simple action changes everything in an already established and perfect environment.

A life.

Your minutes, hours and days were the same under your criteria and eyesight, you study in the mornings, you work in the afternoons and you attend to your homework at night. It was a good routine that used to be repetitive at times, it was fun to follow, even more so in your part-time job.

You could meet many people working in one of the best cafes in the city, your classmate insisted too many times that you work with her saying that could recommend you and you should not even pass a test, they would only accept you for her.

It was a good opportunity and you accepted it with a smile, although she was long gone from work, you were still grateful for the good salary and health insurance that they gave you every month.

"An American coffee with a spoon of sugar and a green tea cake with cream on top." Your mouth and hand move in sync, the client nods silently. You smile, pointing out other details before asking what name you would give the order.

With a sigh, he name came out like a gust of light wind. "Min... Min Yoongi."

You write his name on the screen, the little receipt paper comes out of the machine. You hand it to him by brushing his hand with yours, strangely cold and pale. A chill runs through you but you ignore it, continuing with your work.

"Good Morning _____!" One of the employees greets you kindly, you correspond still concentrated on serving the mysterious stranger's coffee. "Do you have a request for me?"

"Oh, uh... Yeah, this is for table four."

Yun smiles taking the tray with Yoongi's coffee and cake, arriving at his table. The man's expression can be dazzled even under his black mask that covers half of his face, his eyes look for you before colliding with you. YYou refuse to play along, continuing with your work, you had a lot to do and wasting time flirting wouldn't really help you make money.

However, it became pointless trying to ignore him when he kept coming back day after day. Week after week. Tormenting your head, Yoongi was not the first nor the last handsome man you would see coming often, your work establishment was literally in a strategic area and not cheap, you knew that many men and women with money frequented them to drink a coffee or eat some delicacy, even sometimes they only came in to sit for a few hours attending to their affairs over the phone.

It was fine, it was comfortable. You weren't expecting too much, sitting behind a counter, always having to fake a smile despite being tired.

Perhaps it was the constant visits that led you to start a conversation with him. You had about an hour of rest, you prefer to spend those few moments sitting in front of the window of the premises eating any cake that was a few days before expiring to avoid paying for consumption, you felt comfortable in that place that seemed so far from all the other clients.

Until his voice interrupted once, he seemed as calm as ever. His gaze lost from you elsewhere avoiding making contact with you, nervous apparently. His rough and austere tone was changed to a bolder and lower one, asking if he could sit next to you for a few minutes.

"Sure, sit down... he's not busy." It was your answer without having any problem in sharing your place so secret, so comfortable. It was still just as safe even with him present.

And in much the same way, everything became a silent routine. You heeded his order, you took your rest next to him and then you both left at one point. The talks became more common, he being the first to ask about such insignificant things as the rise in the market in the country and how prices should start to rise in coffee as well.

You laughed, you really did it by getting his attention and sharing your reaction.

They both started laughing at how strange it all started, and it was always the perfect anecdote to tell their friends about how they met.

Everything was perfect, like a painting by a great artist, what you would see would be beautiful and cheerful colors, adorning both of you possibly holding hands with a smile and a loving expression from the man who was now your partner. Her pale skin and angelic face represented on beautiful thin paper, presented to the world as a painting that reflected a symbol of love between two souls met in a casual cafe and who wanted each other so much. Too much.

Yoongi was the clear representation of an ethereal person, casual and elegant, polite and kind, protective but not possessive. Simply to the target.

Your routine didn't change much after starting your relationship, you kept walking to your school in the mornings, you attended the cafeteria in the afternoons and you rested at night. Perhaps the only significant thing that you would get out of your boring schedule was your boyfriend's proposal about moving with him to the house of his best friend, almost a brother as he described it, and avoiding paying for your little apartment. You had made one and a thousand excuses, making Yoongi shut them all up.

"Jin is my brother, he would never take advantage of us. I already mentioned the proposal, about you... I have been living there for a few weeks, I assure you that you will be like family."

Family?

Your face relaxed for a few seconds, you had abandoned that feeling and sensation long ago since you moved from your home in your native country. Your mother used to call you every night but little by little that habit was lost, she also had her own problems and being aware of you as if you were a child was ridiculous.

"It's fine." It was your final decision, nervously you moved your hands in the air explaining what you would not accept.

Do not invade your privacy.

You had spent days thinking about how to introduce yourself to them, because apparently there would be more than just Jin, Yoongi and you in that house. Your things were scattered in boxes, you stood in the middle of the almost empty room still nervous about meeting new people and friends of your boyfriend.

That they were now family. Literally family.

The moving truck was parked in front of a large house, it had two stories and an incredibly large garden. More like a forest than an ordinary garden, you got out of the car trying to clean your clothes as much as possible and look presentable. Although it was difficult when your whole body was covered in dust after lifting the boxes.

"I'm not ready, Yoon." You say, containing your anxiety that vibrates to the surface of the skin within you.

Her hand gently brushed your cheek, giving you a bit of reassurance. "You look beautiful, they will accept you anyway." Her lips came up to yours, giving you a quick and soft kiss. "I just remember that I love you, and I know all my brothers will too because you are perfect."

You thanked the little compliment in a whisper, the door of the house opened just after the two of them left, you automatically showed a friendly smile approaching the first person to leave. He was a tall and rather handsome man, he seemed very well dressed to be indoors on a Sunday, more like he was going out to an important business meeting. He looked flawless and elegant.

"The suit was not necessary, Nam!" Shouted your boyfriend behind you mocking, the man laughed showing all the charm of him to your eyes.

"I'm Namjoon, Yoongi's friend. Nice to meet you... _____, right?"

"Yes, it's me. Sorry to see me so disastrous, it was a tiring day with the move."

Namjoon seemed like a very nice and incredibly understanding guy, his presence made you want to meet your boyfriend's other friends. You opened the door entering the house after Yoongi asked you to find your room to start carrying the other things, Namjoon stayed behind to help him, leaving you alone on your unknown route. You walk all over the place and you are surprised that you only walked through the living room, your eyes straying to a noise in the kitchen.

Curious.

You ignore it, continuing your way up, you read every name on the doors. Jin, Namjoon, Yoongi, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook. All written brilliantly on each different door, you walk a few steps to one that says your name and you thank it with a sigh.

You weren't surprised by how big it was, everything inside that place seemed to be exorbitant and out of the ordinary.

"Oh, it must be you." You are surprised to hear a voice behind you, you turn around in fear before remaining calm. You recognized her face from a photo Yoongi had on her phone.

"Jimin?" You ask with fear of being wrong.

"It's me, it's nice to finally meet you. Jin-hyung said you're moving in a few days, I didn't think it would be so soon." His voice seemed to be calm but there was a hidden question. Why? Why were you there?

You take a few uncomfortable steps back. "It really was, but ... I thought it would be better to do it today that I don't have classes, plus Yoongi doesn't work this day and it seemed like the right thing to do. I'm sorry if bother you."

"No you don't. it's okay, Welcome." With that one simple word he left.

You thought you would have a longer talk with him but you weren't expecting too much, they didn't even know each other and you plan to chat with him like they were old acquaintances. Well, naive.

It seemed strange to you that no one else showed up in the whole house, even when you were uploading the last boxes of the move no one seemed to be a little curious to meet you. Aside from the already friendly Namjoon and the reserved Jimin.

"Yoon" You get his attention, he smiles at you taking the sheets out of your suitcase and making your makeshift bed ready for the night. "Do your friends work today?"

"I guess so, they really don't spend a lot of time together or at home." Explain without noticing your downcast face. You nod, putting the issue aside and concentrating your eyes on arranging your clothes. "Hey... Okay, you can meet them all at dinner today."

Your chest clenches in anguish, "Dinner?!"

"Yes, darling. It's the only time they meet all day, when Jin-hyung cooks for us especially on days like these where we have pleasant surprises."

You purse your lips annoyed, Yoongi smiles kissing your forehead so carefully and lovingly that it melts your senses. The mere presence of him made you want to continue with him forever, you relax for a few seconds hugging his body in silence. They both stay like this, with nothing to say but telling each other everything at the same time.

The thought of ever letting go scares you.

You wait several hours, still sitting in the same place where Yoongi left you. You should be presentable for dinner, you take a quick shower before running to change into a nice comfortable dress, you try not to overdo it but also not show disinterest. From the stairs you hear everyone's mixed voices, chatting animatedly.

"Honey, come here." Yoongi watches you, being the only one to notice that you were peeking in the shadows still unsure of interrupting.

You say hello by walking a few steps until you reach your boyfriend's side, you present yourself the best you can. Everyone falls silent, Namjoon smiles at you just like he did before. Jin interrupts the moment where no one seemed to have anything to say about you, or if he wants to want to introduce himself.

"Today we have a special guest, the dear girlfriend of our brother. I introduce myself, I am Jin the official cook of this family." His body bends down with an exaggeratedly long bow, proud of his words. Jimin rolls his eyes, while his other siblings just choose to tease. "On Yoongi's orders we made her favorite dish, so I don't want any complaints of any kind about the food. I'm looking at you Jungkook."

You are surprised how well everything is going, you feel praised when your favorite food is in front of you. She looked just as elegant, as if you were eating in a five-star restaurant and at a luxurious table with silk tablecloths.

Jungkook still stayed away from the talks, preferring to eat quietly and fiddle with his phone. Hoseok was more animated, asking about you and exaggerating anecdotes that happened with his childhood friends. He moved you that he will still remember all that after years. Namjoon vaguely drew your attention with book recommendations when you commented on your love of reading, Jin quietly continued eating in complete tranquility, Jimin thanked the food and just left.

Taehyung... He seemed interesting to you, he was looking at you all the time with narrowed eyes and when Jimin got up and walked away, he followed closely with a small and almost hidden smile.

You had a strange feeling inside what they called home.

"I-I... I need to use the bathroom." You say goodbye by wiping your lips with a napkin before quickly walking behind them both. Something attracted you to want to know more, as if they were leaving clues knowing that curiosity killed the cat and that you wanted to be the one.

Your steps were quiet, even more so when you tried not to be noticed . You went upstairs listening to their voices whispering and then... An obscene moan was clearly heard, Jimin seemed to laugh in the air.

Your hands shook thinking of opening the door and seeing what was happening. And without knowing it, you had fallen into the same network of attraction as them.

You curse yourself biting your tongue and cheek until they bleed, sure that you were going to make a big and heavy mistake. Minutes later you are going down the stairs back to the table but no one is waiting for you anymore, the table was just as spotless and clean. You are pleasantly surprised to learn that they don't treat you like a guest and that they don't wait too long for you. Maybe they had things to do, however you feel a chill when silence comes.

Where were?

You look around the yard, but no one is outside. Neither in the kitchen and less in the room where you had already walked twice. You catch the sound of drums in your ears rumbling loudly, you close your eyes in a daze for a few seconds until in an instant it goes away, and then everything comes back to itself. You hear their voices upstairs, chatting animatedly for the second time.

"Where were you sweetie? Are you okay?"

You nod still confused. How did they... When was that... You were really fine? You refuse to fall into paranoia and lie down next to Yoongi, as they continue their conversation with each other. Your head keeps spinning with the fresh memories you have, but they seem to disappear second by second and it scares you, you open your eyes without wanting to fall asleep yet but it is as difficult as breathing.

You fall into the dark abyss of sleep, feeling the same chill.

Your gaze is lost in the gray sky, you are cold and your body is swaying. Your eyes move restlessly observing that you are under the snow and a person holds you in his arms through the forest, walking at a slow and safe pace.

It's fine. Are you okay.

Wake up. Yoongi greets you from the door of your now room, you try to regulate your breathing thinking that he would notice your overwhelmed state and he would worry, but no. He is as calm as ever, relaxed even.

"Good morning beautiful, it's time for breakfast. Jin-hyung made your favorite." And with that last sentence she is shifting away, closing the door behind he.

You go down the stairs ready to go, your backpack resting on your shoulder. The table is just as full as at dinner, Jimin seemed very tired trying not to fall asleep, you watch him for a few seconds before looking at Taehyung who ignores you taking his cup of ... Coffee. You approach making him recoil alarmed and disgusted, you check the cup realizing that it is the same recipe that you use in the cafeteria.

Like them?

You look up noticing that, you were uncomfortable, Taehyung takes a few steps away from your body almost leaning against his, still sitting in his chair. You apologize to him making me sigh irritated, still ashamed you apologize again without eating or serving anything, just leaving through the front door.

Your journey is reflective. You forget, dream and recognize, that was the pattern you were following, everything seemed so strange and deep down gloomy, you feel the already casual chill running through your entire body almost like a warning.

Your seat in class was empty waiting, ready for you. Ari greets you, being your table companion and friend.

"Hey, intense night?" She jokes, you look shaking his head. She laughs pointing your neck. "You have... something there."

She frowns even more confused, her face leaves her smile aside and she starts looking at her things until she takes out a small mirror and she hands it to you. You look with horror at a large red bruise painting on your skin, it seemed painful but you had not even noticed or felt it. You touch it still scared and nothing, it doesn't hurt or it seems real.

You take a deep breath before lying with silly chatter, "I had an accident, but I'm fine. I had forgotten I was there, it was nothing serious."

Ari seems worried but in the end she forgets it by returning to the same kind and joking attitude of her, but her gaze drops from second by second to your neck making you cover yourself uncomfortable. Who? It can't be Yoongi, he was always very calm in that regard. You think terrified, your hand goes up to touch it and this time you manage to feel a sharp pain.

You have to cover it with the collar of your shirt so that no customer will notice it and avoid staining the reputation of the cafeteria, you smile nervously taking orders as fast as you can and avoiding looks. Yun greets you like every day, arriving at his work time. You spend hours begging for the clock to advance faster, the night sky appears and the doors close, you clear the last counter before you can finally show your neck again and breathe.

"That's a big problem." Yun whispers looking at the horrible mark, you nod with a sigh giving the same stupid excuse you told Ari. "You should use a little makeup to cover it up, I think it will help you a lot."

You think about it for a few seconds before deciding what you would do. You bow to him with a bow after he offered to close in your place and finish the remaining work for you.

You come home with a smile, you greet Namjoon who is reclining on the couch in the living room watching something on TV. You wait a few seconds but you do not receive a small or accidental look, you approach a few steps to repeat it again but you only get him to get up and go upstairs closing the door of his room apparently with a door slam. What the hell? You think covering your face with your hands looking for some comfort.

Everything was happening inside you, it was like a whirlpool sweeping away your sanity. Were you going crazy? Or you were just thinking a lot about nothing.

You try to draw a picture of your situation, but the only thing that repeats is the constant painting of Yoongi and you together.

"Yoongi!" You say to yourself with a smile, you drop your backpack running towards his room, wanting to see him after such a day.

Your hopes fade like air, everything within the space him screams 'he', but he is not there. You check the safe time that he should be home at that moment. You hear Jin's voice screaming from below about dinner ready, you sigh losing your appetite at those moments.

You lie on your bed checking your cell phone in case there was a message from Yoongi warning about he delay but nothing. You feel empty for some strange reason, but there was nothing different about it now.

If I had been more attentive and conscientious, you would have noticed that two more people other than Yoongi and you were missing from the table. Jin smiles sitting in his same place leaving your plate not caring without you being there with them, his smile never fades even when all his brothers are sitting silently eating and looking at your empty place so intensely that it was terrifying, he squeezes the cutlery in his hand without wanting to break the tradition in his family.

Dinners are sacred and no one should be missing. There will be no discussions or complaints, that's what the rest of the time is for.

That was what her mother said, sitting at the table in her old home containing her anger at seeing her husband so calm after having been unfaithful once more. Not on the table, not on the table.

Not on the table, honey.

Jimin opened the last bottle with a little satisfaction, poured another glass before handing it to his friend who was only glaring at the ground.

"She's not like that... I know her." Repeating the same stupid prayer for hours, Taehyung rolled his eyes trying to calm his annoyance, looking at his other friend insisting that he help him.

"Yoongi-hyung you saw it yourself, she had that... That mark. you didn't do it, maybe Tae is right and she-..."

"Not!" I scream interrupting what to him were lies. "_____ she's my girlfriend, she's not like that. I know her ... she loves me! She loves me! Do you understand?" Says exalted, holding the shirt of his friend who closed his mouth immediately, Jimin noticed that same reflection of anger in him and knew it was better to leave it for now.

Taehyung pushed the drunk Yoongi away from his side, making him release him and repeat the same phrase as in his state, he tried to believe himself.

The door to your room was opened and the smell of alcohol invaded you, making you look disgusted. You closed your eyes without wanting to see him, his body fell to the side of your bed approaching your body so slowly that the anxiety inside you doubled.

"I'm sorry..." He whispered.

His hands rested around you, giving you that warmth so familiar and comfortable in your gray days. A sob was heard while you lost yourself in your own thought, you watch it melt into your arms crying and without wanting to tell you why.

"It hurts." It's the only thing it says. But... Why?

You wake up. Just like a week ago, days had passed and it seemed like your skin kept accumulating horrible marks all over the place. You even went to consult a doctor but he only insisted that something... Or someone did them with such fury that it was incredible that a piece of skin will not be torn off by the force of his suction.

You touched the last mark that came, it was dangerously close to your crotch, you try to hide the others with makeup but they were still visible at a short distance.

You went down the stairs to see them all again, you greet with regret taking the first thing you find. Your mug had your name written on it, it was a rather curious gift from Jin after your melancholic night with Yoongi days ago, he apologized explaining that he felt bad after hearing all the sobs and apologies. For a moment you thought it was something exaggerated but he kept insisting that he felt bad about himself, not with Yoongi who was almost his brother or with you, with him.

You accepted it without wanting to show your dislike for his selfishness and narcissism, thanking him so softly that he hardly heard you.

The special drink that morning was coffee... Americano. You felt insecure to drink it, and you just put it aside.

Same recipe.

Yoongi looked at you for a few seconds before smiling fondly, and you just looked away, leaving him with a confused face as you walk out the door so quickly that he can hardly feel you.

He sighed before being drawn to Jimin's grin-adorned face, he shrugged, hinting at his silent opinion. She is not faithful to you Yoongi, why do you keep waiting for something good? Only looks at her body, her attitude and who she surrounds herself with, it is a classic of womens. You will know that she is a fox hidden under her sheepsuit, just observing her more and you never leave her.

The marks on your body, your cold attitude made him more and more suspicious and fall for Taehyung's profound words. She bit his lip, refusing to spy on your life away from him... Out of his sight.

But he really wasn't doing anything wrong, just observing. In his now dirty head, everything was valid if he could know the truth.

You did the same thing you always told him on his nights where they stayed up talking about his heavy days. You went to school, to work, and then home. Nothing changed your version.

I try to focus on your friends, there was only one girl you spent more time with in your classes and after them. He researched everything about his life, but he had nothing to worry about after learning that he had a boyfriend. He passed your work, standing outside for hours waiting to see you do something dirty or guilty, but you never seemed to move.

You just served the orders and then kindly said goodbye to the customers. He felt guilty for doing something so low to you, until he saw you.

To you.

Your smile grew when one of the workers who was your partner approached your place in the box to whisper something in your ear, you left your place following him towards the warehouse.

Anger consumed him quickly, refusing to continue standing there observing the obvious, possibly he was being irrational and he knew it but the constant insinuations of Jimin. The conversations with Taehyung, his words, his suspicions, the pleased looks from they when he fell back at his feet asking them to tell him what to do with you.

With his damn relationship.

Where were you and him. Not them. You and he.

He opened the door to your room and started going through your things like a degenerate, something must have made him sure that you were cheating on him. Something, a letter, a note, a gift from him, or a simple cheap jewel.

This was your Yoongi? You were clearly looking at another subject.

"Yoon..." You started, his eyes coldly piercing you. He looked different, he was looking at you but you didn't feel safe being so close. "What are you doing?"

"What do you think I do?" He asked how else he will not point to the obvious, for a moment you thought that even if it was, out of respect or dignity, he would try to deny it or find another explanation for his actions so offensive to you. "Where is?"

"Where is what?" You claim, starting to get angry, his eyes leave you again as he continues searching through your drawers, dropping everything to the floor with thudding noises. You get closer trying to push it away but you only get rejection. "Stop it, Yoongi."

"Not until you say so."

You freeze without knowing what he meant by the latter, you take his arm to stop him but you only receive a push that makes you back away this time scared by the force of his attack. "Enough!" You claim this time by making him look at you with his cold eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about and why you're doing this, but enough."

"Then say it..." You shout again that you don't know what he wants you to say, you even curse furiously making him come closer to support your shoulders with his hands bringing you closer to his face. "Say it damn it! Say you're cheating on me with that bastard son of a bitch!"

You feel the pain of his grip, you sob, begging him to release you but are ignored as he continues to ask you to say so. You refuse to lie, especially with something so degrading.

Jin hears the screams as he continues serving the dinner desserts, Jungkook strangely puts aside his phone for a few minutes to thank him with a small toast and a smile that was rarely seen on him.

"The dessert tonight is sweeter than usual."

Jimin raises his glass with a bright smile, Namjoon adjusts his tie tied perfectly around his neck as he sips from his glass, Hoseok laughs eating the delicious cake with enthusiasm.

Curious, a green tea cake with cream on top.

"It's a shame Yoongi-hyung misses out on dessert." Taehyung speaks pretending a pout on his lips, playing with his spoon with the cream on her plate. "It is especially exquisite today."

"Stop playing already, when will you do it? I'm looking forward to getting started." Jin snaps angrily, pushing the cake out of her sight as he drinks from her wine glass.

Jungkook laughs, turning his phone back on to continue playing as usual. "So impatient, hyung." He says he with a click of annoyance.

Jin rolls his eyes, following her gaze to Jimin who is innocently cowering in her chair. Ignoring how completely obsessed Jungkook is with his games, it really was not his business,for something his youngest friend had his parents, who were too busy with their work, they ran the largest electronics factory in the country, leaving his son in the background just giving him everything he asked for without objection. Always showing a smile when little Jungkook came before them demanding a new console or the best phone.

"It only remains to wait..." Whispering, he released a patient Hoseok. His smile as charming as ever. "For her to decide what to do and then... Plot! She fell into the wrong well."

"I hate when you describe and talk like that, but I can't expect much from a Jung... like you."

However, Hoseok never stops smiling even when anger is consuming his mind causing him to clench his fists under the table and bite his tongue inside his mouth, hidden by his gleaming and visible teeth. Namjoon smiles at her, knowing that she managed to provoke him but that she won't do anything to shut him up.

"Pathetic."

Motherfucker.

Jin breaks the tense silence, shushing everyone with a snap. That silence. Nobody hears anything from you or Yoongi, for a moment they feel the anguish that something bad has happened or that his friend has lost a bit ... The hand. But just seconds later you're rushing down, wearing the same clothes and your face covered in tears. You don't even look at them when you run to the door, leaving a trail of emptiness behind you.

"Hm, intense." This is Jungkook speaking, his eyes still lost on the phone screen of him playing a silly online championship. "She will be fine after hours."

"Jungkook is right, now we must move with Yoongi."

Namjoon gets up walking to your room, surprised that everything seems almost the same as it was before their fight.

He smiles when he manages to see his friend laying on the floor sobbing, and like that children's book called Pinocchio, he feels good being that cricket-shaped voice of reason. Only this time that sweet and serene voice, released one and a thousand blasphemies that would contaminate even the most devout by his beliefs.

He managed to convince Yoongi's easy to manipulate mind, blurting out words almost like a song. Playing with the naive self of hes that still lived and breathes inside him.

You had come home after days of spending with Ari and her boyfriend away from him. You really didn't want to set foot in that house again in years, a small irrational part of you believed that it was all his fault, your real problems started when you set foot in that damn place.

You open the door observing the room in the same way, empty. You try not to make yourself feel ready to go to sleep, without having been able to do it in days, but now you doubted that it would be different here.

You remain static in view of everyone, you had forgotten that at that time they were having dinner together. They only met once a day and it had to be right there.

"Good evening, sorry to interrupt." You ignoring Yoongi's gaze that, he's trying not to get too excited about your return, even though she causes he to euphoric whirl. "Carry on, I'll just go to my room."

"Please no, sit with us."

"I'm not well."

"I insist, sit with us. They were difficult days but I know they can fix it." Jin puts a plate in front of one of the empty chairs, you refuse to sit down but you do it out of compromise.

Everyone seems to be exclusively quiet, dinner was gray, like a black and white painting. Remember the first dinner, where everyone seemed to have so much to say and now that was left behind, Jungkook continues to play with his phone sometimes moving his plate by accident, without touching a single silverware with the intention of eating. Jin eats in peace, so slowly that he is strange. Namjoon reads a book in his hand, eating so cleanly that it's amazing.

Hoseok looks at you playfully from time to time, with a smile that almost makes you smile the same. Jimin and Taehyung seem to communicate silently, they both look at each other with slight grimaces and smiles.

"We can talk?" Yoongi whispers, you feel her breath next to you and instinctively you walk away scared. Still hurt by her actions and attitude, you give your vow of silence by standing up and without saying goodbye, you walk up the stairs.

"How rude." Jungkook interrupts, keeping an eye on his screen lighting up his beautiful face. "He didn't even taste the food."

Yoongi looks at Jin, her oldest friend and the one she trusted the most, seeking some advice. But just gets the same treatment as always, a look insisting that go with you and try to fix her mistake.

However, it was late. You had packed a makeshift suitcase by going down as quietly as you could, exiting through the back door like a thief or a fugitive.

You spent days thinking about your cowardly way of running away, but in the same way you felt better and even more so when you did not receive any message from him. Maybe it wasn't that important to him, it hurt but it also relieved you.

You knew it would be awkward to see him in the face again, but you should go back and get your things over with as soon as possible. You naively thought of forming a friendship, a very distant one, but in the end it would be the healthiest thing for both of you.

"______?" Asked the person who opened the door after you barely managed to ring the bell due to nerves, he was clearly confused.

"W-good morning ... Jin." You greet by taking a few steps back to get a better look at it, you had forgotten how tall it was. "Sorry to bother I just wanted to -..."

"Talk to Yoongi? I'm sorry but he's already better without you, he even met someone new." You were surprised by his austere, sour tone and trying to intimidate you. "And you better go, you are not welcome here."

"No ... No, I-I came for my things but I'm glad to know that it's better now, and that ..." The words stayed in your mouth, almost as if it hurt to admit it. "I was able to find someone, I hope we can be friends. Also with you, I'm sorry I left without explaining or saying goodbye properly."

You waited what seemed like ages for her response, and you expected more than a simple nod of the head, letting you pass without a hitch. You searched your room quickly, trying not to have any contact with any of them for now. You opened the door that had your name on it but you were scared by what you found inside, the whole room had been painted blood red, a very dark color that managed to give you such familiar chills.

"What is this? Where are my things?!" You turned around ready to go and claim but the door closed behind you with a stormy noise. You ran to try to open it but it did not move an inch, you searched the whole room for something useful to help you but it was completely empty, and alone.

You sobbed in fear, not understanding what was happening and why it seemed that the walls were getting narrower every second. You fell to the ground, trying to stay calm and without losing your goal, hours and even days passed for you, you waited to hear at least one noise but everything was so quiet that you had to avoid going crazy, you played with your hands trying to distract yourself and think positive things, you had read many books about stressful situations to know that thinking a lot about those things caused even more stress, you lie on the floor sure that a nap will calm everything down, if it was a nightmare you wanted to wake up and if not , you wanted to dream that it was.

A lock, you hear that particular noise and you wake up. You open your eyes as fast as you can lifting your body, the door was slightly open as if someone was exiting. You scream for help but it closes, you fall back into sadness and despair screaming even more for your freedom.

You didn't deserve this.

You look with regret at the delicious food they left for you, for a moment you think about going on a hunger strike but your stomach demands you not to be so stupid. The same would not change anything. Regardless of manners, you eat as fast as you can, dropping quite a bit of food on the ground in your rush.

It had an exquisite taste, and you could recognize it everywhere. It was one of your favorite dishes, you felt disgusted to compare it to your mother's food, but as magnificent as it was, it reminded you so much of her.

You wait for something to happen, but minutes go by in which you just look at nothing, letting your head fly. Thinking of a thousand things, playing with the spoon and singing in a low voice.

You feel hot from one moment to the next, your vision becomes cloudy and the door opens again. You just stay in the same place, you don't care about anything, not even how they hold you by helping you walk into another room.

"You were right, she is very calm now."

You look at him, their faces so familiar and you try to place them, but your head is flying away at that moment. You close your eyes laughing, and drifting into unconsciousness.

You wake up. You open your eyes and you are tied, you struggle with the ropes that hold your arms while the bed below you makes your body bounce. You touch the sheets realizing that they are extremely soft, you are in an unfamiliar room surrounded by scarlet red, with elegant and shimmering decorations. You try to stand up but your legs, like your hands, are tied.

And you're still quiet because of the rag in your mouth.

You fight the bindings furiously, screaming into the cloth as much as you can get sick of being locked up again.

You think of Yoongi, although at that moment it was irrelevant you wonder where she is and if she knew that she was being kidnapped in such a way, would she help you at least? Resignation covers you completely, fighting the bonds again with such force that you feel like they burn your skin every time you move.

You sob, just as he did one fall day.

Yoongi watches you from the monitor in another room, Jin is talking to Namjoon to the side while Jungkook is still sitting in a corner entertaining on her phone. Jimin, Taehyung, and Hoseok seem reluctant to look at each other despite facing each other.

Remember the day, the one in the past, when he met them. Jimin and Taehyung were already friends playing in one of the children's castles, with their hands pretending to be weapons as they ran around. Hoseok was sitting next to his mother, talking and apparently they had a lot to say. Namjoon did not detach from the side of his father who urged him to go up to the games, while Jin was busy collecting Flowers in a basket that his grandmother was holding.

They were all strangers and even more so he, felt out of place surrounded by so many games and away from home. His parents had freed up a whole day to spend together in a decent park, it was several hours of travel from Daegu to Seoul only for his son to play in a beautiful park surrounded by luxurious buildings.

He dropped down next to her mother, hugging her without wanting to let her go.

"Min Yoongi, we didn't take this trip just for you to sit there all day, son."

"I'm scared..." he whispered, biting her lip and hiding her face in the neck of his beloved mother.

"I see... but the games look so much fun. Run and try them, love."

He nodded still uneasy, walking over to one of the swings where he sat rocking so slowly that he seemed still. He felt hands pushing his body from behind, scared he looked at the boy behind him, he had a smile on his face and waved him with a hand.

"Sorry, I thought you needed to be pushed." He spoke and did not seem at all nervous.

"I'm fine, but thank you..." There was a momentary silence before he interrupted again. "I am Yoongi."

"Hoseok, although my mommy calls me Hobi."

He smiled, offering himself this time to push the swing, they spent minutes like this just helping each other take a walk pleasantly. He didn't even think about it when Hoseok offered to talk to Jimin and Taehyung about how they'll all play together in teams.

Now in the present, he smiled again remembering how he met Jin that same day, he had collided with him when he was running so as not to be caught by Jimin. His older friend was flushed with anger, screaming for her flowers and his dirty clothes. His grandmother teased him a bit making him deny even more, he followed Yoongi for several minutes until the chase because of her desire to hit him became a game.

They both fell to the ground tired, laughing before Hoseok introduced himself to Jin. Namjoon arrived shortly after, curious about the commotion and why he had gotten bored of sitting for so long, as he explained later. Besides that his father didn't have the best conversation starters.

He cried so much that very day when he had to go home again, promising to return soon.

"We have everything ready, are you ready?" Jin stood next to him, his eyes looked at him but he couldn't recognize his childhood friend. The same one that he offered to organize his birthday parties when his parents could not afford them, the same one that he never took advantage of his money to lower it. The one who hugged him as many times as he could when he came out of his therapies after his parents died.

Who was this man?

"Y-yes." He murmured still stunned. He got up, following in his footsteps with his head lowered.

They opened the door showing him, you were distracted biting the cloth in your mouth and trying to move your hands to free them.

Your body felt the same repetitive chill making you look at them feeling their presences so... uncomfortable.

"Enough." Jin ordered as you continued your insistent useless movement, trying to free yourself. "I'm not playing around, stop."

Me neither, idiot. You clench your teeth as much as you can at not being able to say it out loud, you stubbornly keep moving even faster than before. Your hair falls on your face from your busy tossing and you stare at him, challenging his patience and judgment.

You try not to tremble when he approaches you with intentions that deep down manage to scare you. But you continue, the bed moves as fast as you do until his hand falls against your cheek causing a gasp to come out of your gagged mouth.

"Hyung!" Yoongi claims holding her hand to prevent her from trying to hit you again, you feel the particular burning on your right cheek and the tears growing back in your eyes. "Please, no blows. That was not what we agreed on."

Jimin cleared his throat, a satisfied smile on his face, "We never specified anything, actually... Yoongi-hyung."

"Jimin is right, you never specified any kind of restriction for her and us." Namjoon clarified making you look at them confused, it was as if they were talking in terms of employment or contract.

But you had never signed anything.

"B-but they can't do that, they'll never accomplish anything if they force her." He tried to persuade him but Jungkook sighed, dropping his phone to the ground and then stepping on it like it was worthless. "She will just hate them."

"She will do it anyway, if we let her off her or try to convince her to stick with sweet words she won't think twice and she will run away ready to report us for kidnapping."

"In addition to the damages that she suffered here." Namjoon continued to condemn Jungkook, uplifting her surname and her family's status.

"You are in this with us or against us, there is still a free place in the basement for you with chains just as heavy."

Again, the same chill ran through you causing you to cringe in your place. These men were insane, they were capable of betraying each other, and worse, they could possibly also consider shooting themselves in the back when they weren't looking at each other. All for you, as if you were some kind of prize for winning and owning.

After moments that seemed eternal, Taehyung was releasing your mouth as you began to complain about what they were doing, how they dared and demanding freedom.

Really a classic, so much so that it was witty and hilarious that you said it literally.

They forced you to kneel on the ground with your hands on your legs still perfectly tied. More questions filled your mouth not knowing what they were planning, all you could do was look at them so scared it was adorable.

"Uh... Well... I guess one should go first." Jin says, taking a few steps away from your crouched figure.

Jimin stepped forward, standing in front of you causing you to look up from your spot below him.

"What are you doing?" You ask weakly, you try to drag yourself away when his hand struggles with his pants to remove it but Jin holds you in place. Getting on his knees to speak into your ear softly.

"You better take a breath instead of trying to run away, honey. I thought you were smarter... hm?" He laughs mocking your scared face, you refuse to open your eyes and mouth making him stop laughing in annoyance.

Jimin sighs taking your face in his hands so roughly that they will surely leave a purple mark on your skin. He was still dressed, I was hoping I could humiliate you more and then fuck your mouth until you suffocate while his hyung explains everything to you. How it all started, his obsession, his plan, they had planned everything so perfect that it was terrifying, everything monopolized on one board.

Soon as soon as possible you will just be a cute housewife and you will forget your life before that day. Not for nothing did they have a closet full of cheerful and homely outfits ready for you, they wanted to destroy you and then put you back together just to serve them.

You would be his wife, of everyone.

"Come on, little bitch..." Jimin started, reaching over to kiss you on the lips even though you refused to do so. You really no longer had a vote or a word of objection in his plans. "Open your eyes darling, you don't want a stray bullet to land in your mother's skull, do you?" He threatened making you obey even more scared than before.

"P-please don't hurt my mother!" You sob, clasping your tied hands in supplication.

"Oh, we won't.... yet." He whispered kissing your lips one last time before imposing himself on your kneeling body. Her cock came out of her pants, stroked a few times before guiding it to your lips. Your stomach contracted, and you pulled your face away as far as you could before Hoseok held you by the hair tightly pulling you close again. "Take it, baby. Everything will be fine if you just obey."

"I hate them, they disgust me" You whisper before Jin forced you to open your mouth making you take it, you fight for a few seconds but her hips are already moving making you choke and gasp. His moans are so loud they make you squirm but his hands hold your head close to him.

"I told you you'll take a breath, but you're a dumb whore." His breath is hitting your neck directly, your skin crawling trying to distract you from anything other than Jimin's cock in your throat causing you to gag and vomit. "I bet you're wondering why, what did you do, and nothing really. Or if Yoongi!"

You do not look at your boyfriend before, you only focus on Jin who smiles, caressing your body with his hands, almost exceeding your limits. However, what did it matter if he did it, there was nothing you could do for yourself.

"You were only here, I think we all loved you from the first moment we saw you. We spent many nights wondering what was special about you, many of us had dated women before but you... You were so different, you had something that attracted us and it made us go crazy. " His hands squeezed your breasts causing you to gasp on Jimin's cock who moaned with pleasure, continuing his steady and hard rhythm. "Taehyung got involved in the matter. "

Jimin smirked when your eyes went up to him, your eyes showing how angry and helpless you felt. And it was exquisite.

"I bet you didn't know about your beloved boyfriend's background,locked up in a rehab center for alcoholics for two years. Three years taking therapy for his depression after the tragic death of his parents, quite strong actually." His words had such a strong past but from his mouth they came out as if it were not so important. Something common for him. "I'm surprised he loved you so much and didn't tell you."

You cried unable to turn your face to look at him, deep down you wanted to put Yoongi aside and not hate him for this. But it seemed almost impossible when he was there, doing nothing, so calm that it was unreal that he had ever looked at you directly and declared his love to you over and over again. For months.

"He really was fine for a while until we decided to make him fall again, one drink after another... First trust him, then question their relationship and finally make them argue." A laugh left his lips, it was almost uncomfortable that he was the only one doing it. Everyone else was so quiet just watching. "But I can't give myself all the credit, let me introduce ourselves well, my dear."

Jimin walked away from you letting you breathe again, you had almost forgotten that he had been doing that act against you. Your tied hands help you hold off the ground by not being able to breathe properly, you feel so weak that you are about to pass out but you refuse to look weak in front of them.

"Kim Seokjin, son of the best chefs in the country and heir owner of thousands of five-star restaurants, inside and outside the country." His body crouched down, making an extremely long bow. Namjoon stood next to him, with the same smile from the day he met you. "Kim Namjoon, the only and adored son of the best lawyers and mayoral candidates, future presidents if occasion permits." There was a strange tone behind his voice, with a knowing wink. "I thought you can guess what Hoseok's parents do, but I'll tell you just in case. Great psychiatrists recognized for their countless achievements outside and within the country, having a tradition from generation to generation, capable of manipulating even the cleverest mind like yours."

Hosoek smiled at you, but this time his smile showed malice and pride. All that time you were surrounded by people who wielded a certain power and influence, oblivious to the fact that they could ever use it against you.

"Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung... Maybe you heard about their surnames on the news two years ago? Families specialized in medicine, their knowledge dazzles science and biology. Before allies and now both surnames are enemies competing for the market, but who would say that their children would meet secretly and use their same knowledge to retain a precise treasure." His hand stroked your hair causing you to recoil angrily, with a grimace of disgust and resignation. "Well... Finally Jungkook, son of the best technology creators in the country. Capable of creating anything, millionaires obviously, like everyone. Faithful lovers and devoted to he son, giving him everything he wants. " He stopped for a moment and then brought his hand to your ear taking out one of your earrings, you looked at him confused before he opened it showing a tiny device that lit up. "Even creating a more than wonderful device, a tracker of the smallest size."

You opened your mouth completely petrified, looking at each and every one of them. Most of them had a firm and conceited posture, but your eyes only looked at him.

"Were you in on this?" You ask by moving your body slightly, Yoongi only remains silent, avoiding looking at you at all costs, even if it is out of mercy you demand a simple word. "Speak! Tell me! Tell me!" You scream completely out of control, letting out all your frustration and anger with him, just him. It's all his fault. "Tell me now! To finally be able to completely hate them all... Please tell me, I just want to stop inventing and fooling my head trying to justify why you are standing there doing nothing for me" You sob almost exhausted, " Without helping me, when before you said you love me."

His eyes meet yours a few seconds before Jungkook chimed in, completely certain that you were trying to play your manipulation cards to get rid of them. Funny, they had done the same to catch you, their hyung could sometimes be so... credulous. That it was ironic that she was older than him.

"Good enough talk for today." He demanded, causing you to hide your head again in fear. You were so scared, even with the pain in your cheek and jaw from being forced by Jimin, you would never give up on them.

Your mouth felt dry, you couldn't remember the last time you drank water alone. As if they could read your thoughts, Taehyung appeared with a tray with a glass of water and a purple pill.

"Take that away from me." You scream when he tries to put the pill in your mouth, backing up as far as your bound legs will allow.

He sighs bored, as if he doesn't have the patience to deal with it, "If you want water you'll have to do this."

"What is it?" You ask almost breathless from the lack of water in your body, he smiles before bringing the pill to his face to look at it rolling it on his finger.

"Hm... Vitamins." Respond after hesitating. "Everything you need in one compact little pill. It was an invention by Jimin and me, we were hoping you would be the first to try it."

A few seconds ago you remember hearing about the reputations of both families, they were specialists who probably passed that knowledge on to their children. If they knew what they were doing with them, they would be shocked. Your reasoning tells you no, to throw it away and try to run away but your head and body can't take it anymore, they demand water and a rest.

"I-it's okay." You accept, removing the pill and the glass of water from the tray angrily. You put the pill in first, then the water so hard your mouth hurts from the force.

You return the glass silently, eyeing him suspiciously before sitting back down and walking a few inches away. You wait for everyone to do something, but they stay so still as dolls that it scares you, everything about them and their attitudes was creepy.

I wish you had noticed earlier.

And now you feel it, it was not pain, nor anxiety. I was just calm, the noises seem to decrease and your vision does not blur but you feel so relaxed that you do not seem to be affected by any drugs. You could feel it all, but you didn't care.

It was relaxing but you weren't far this time, you remember the previous scenes. When you ate the food they gave you, it was similar but as if it had been modified so that you can remain docile and obedient, but at the same time you know what they are doing.

Your body falls on the bed, you don't even try to get up. Your brain isn't thinking about that, it just gets distracted by the decorations around it, but it clearly perceives one of them nearby. Namjoon is behind your body lying face down, half is on the bed and your legs are still kneeling on the floor. You feel his kisses so desperate on your neck, his hands touching your breasts and stomach trying to lower himself further, anxious not to wait to fuck you as he always wanted and should have been.

You do not fight when his legs open yours with force and speed, you just stand still, thinking with your head glued to the soft sheets of the bed, deep down you can slightly feel your desire to push him and push him away furiously, you want to do it but not you do. You feel so confused that you sob into the sheets in released frustration.

"I thought I heard from you, that her wouldn't refuse anything with his stupid pill." Jin whispers, disgusted seeing you struggle with yourself in search of reason.

"I don't see her deny it." Jimin retorts, crossing his arms with a small victorious smile.

Yoongi stands aside, not wanting to accept this but likewise, like you, does nothing to avoid it while Namjoon sinks deep inside you causing you to writhe overwhelmed and let out a groan of pain, your mouth opens to complain and probably ask him to stop, but he instantly closes again only releasing more gasps and squeals.

They spend minutes with all eyes on you, taking the cock of her friend who abuses your sore pussy from overstimulation, this time you are crying and begging for mercy to stop. Even in your unconsciousness you continue to feel all the pain and also the pleasure that is now almost non-existent.

"S-stop!" You cry between gasps of exhaustion, your hands had been released by Jungkook seconds ago so that you can hold on properly. However, you only use them to try to ward off Namjoon who is holding you against the bed by slamming his body against yours with obscene noises. The bed squirms like you, colliding with the wall in sync.

"A little more baby... Just a little more... And I'll fill you with my cum, so fucking tight. You like that, hm?" Her breath very close to your cheek makes you react, you squeeze your eyes almost suffering from your next inevitable orgasm. You scream making everyone watch you fascinated by how your face contracts with pleasure and pain, you try to walk away when the moment of ecstasy recedes, but he continues to fuck you bareback hard, selfishly chasing the release of him against you.

You spent hours repeating the same routine, sometimes sometimes even more hours than you can remember or count.. Your body was completely covered with bruises and marks not only made by them manually, you had discovered in the worst way that Hoseok had a great fetish to make small cuts to any animal or person that had skin and that glistening blood came out of those wounds, red as hell and as sweet as ambrosia.

A delicacy, truly a true delicacy blessed by God.

Jin could not stop laughing at your overwhelmed face, sometimes he would sit next to you while your body was fucked uncontrollably, watching your face move on the sheets with the constant and hard movements of his friends.

"Do you enjoy it, you dirty bitch?" You knew he was making fun of it, not only because it denigrated your dignity, but also because you couldn't answer correctly and the only thing that moved was your head up and down from the thrusts. As if you were affirming his disgusting words. "You like it right?" And again. "I bet you will enjoy it every day from now on, do you want to marry us, little bitch? Be ours forever, that we fuck you every damn day like that, that we also fill you up that you would get pregnant, you would have our children , and you would gladly. Do you accept _______?"

You did not want to know where he managed to get your last name, nor your full name and less because he thought that after the effect of whatever they had given you, you would really accept being his damned wife.

But he just stands there, watching Jungkook abuse his new power against you and taunt him.

I just wanted to wait for everyone to leave, so I could hug you, heal you, and ask for forgiveness.

He couldn't save you if he was chained to the basement like they threatened to do. He was afraid of his own friends, who looked at him madly when hours before he thought of withdrawing from the plan, Hoseok as charismatic as he always claimed to be able to cut his neck so easily if I took you away from them.

Now, they were doomeds.

The painting lost its color once more.

343 notes · View notes

ijustwant2write · 4 years

Text

A Secret Romantic-Benedict Bridgerton x Reader x Eloise Bridgerton (Platonic) (Part 2)

(GIF credit to @elenawinchstr)

Part 1

Masterlist

Tags: @marvel-ousnesss @myficplace @yelenas-lova @lavxnder @s-unflowxr

Summary: Benedict and Eloise both anticipate Lady (Y/N)’s social event, as does their mother, causing tensions to rise and panic to ensue. Benedict doesn’t want his mother ruining what he may have with (Y/N), asking Eloise for her help, who gladly plays the role of a good sister.

Characters: Benedict Bridgerton x Reader, Eloise Bridgerton x Reader (platonic), mentions of Anthony Bridgerton and Violet Bridgerton

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

(Y/L/N)=Your last name

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, fluff

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Benedict hastily moved around the house, avoiding his mama at all costs. She called out his name repeatedly, growing frustrated at his childish manner. He was supposed to discuss a plan with her about how he should prepare to court Lady (Y/N), but he knew better; his mama knew nothing of (Y/N) (he admitted, he still had much to learn about her too), and he didn’t want his chance to slip away. Although he was confident at her house when he called upon her, there was a sickening doubt looming in his mind that if he did anything wrong, another suitor could easily take his place.

“You have no where else to hide brother.” Anthony smirked, his eyes skimming over the top of his newspaper.

Benedict sighed, accepting defeat. She would find him in a matter of minutes, especially since Anthony’s office was the last place she would look.

“Please, just let me stay her for a few moments.” Benedict begged.

Anthony chuckled, putting down the papers as he reclined in his chair.“Oh dear, I see things are turning serious quite quickly.”

“Yes, which wouldn’t be a problem if mama wasn’t making this such a big ordeal.”

“But it is to her.”

Benedict knew this.“I know that, because someone hasn’t found a woman to marry, so it then falls onto my shoulders.”

“I haven’t seen you so anxious before. Sit down, try to relax.”

Benedict took his offer, practically collapsing into the chair on the other side of the desk. Anthony stood, pouring out a drink each and handing one to Benedict. Though not one to drink in the early afternoon, he gladly sipped at it, wishing he would just calm down.

“Besides mama, what is going on in that head of yours?” Anthony asked.

He genuinely wanted to help. He felt a slight guilt knowing that his mama was more excited about this possible partnership, seeing as he never gave her the satisfaction of even socialising with women.

“I worry that I may not be enough for (Y/N).” he said.“Of course, I have talked to women, I know the right things to say, but I also know that I will not want to engage in further conversation. Whereas with (Y/N), she intrigues me, so much that even after we danced and talked for hours, I still felt like I hardly spent any time with her. I thought about every word I said, listened intently to everything that poured out of her mouth. There are no other women like her.”

Anthony didn’t speak for a few seconds.“You should write poems alongside your art work.”

Benedict groaned, about to stand when Anthony stopped him.

“I am teasing you brother. Look, it’s extremely obvious that you have fallen for this woman. Putting feelings aside for a moment, she also comes from a well off family with a respectable background, so you’ve done very well in that department. This art exhibition will allow me to also see what Lady (Y/N) and her family are like, as well as keep mama away from you both as much as I can.”

“You would do that for me?”

“You seem shocked. I will pretend not to be offended.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I know that you too do not like to be....bothered by mama at these events. No doubt she’ll talk to you about my potential courtship all night.”

The door opened as he finished speaking, Violet popping her head in. Her smile widened when she saw both her sons in the same room, now able to speak with them both about Lady (Y/N). Anthony and Benedict shared a look, knowing they would be there for some time.

Elsewhere in the house, Eloise was suffering through a conversation with Hyacinth. As Daphne had to endure, Hyacinth was questioning her older sister, wanting to know everything there was to know about the balls they attended. She wanted to make sure she had all the knowledge she needed when it was her turn to debut. They never spoke of these things in front of her or Gregory and she wanted all the answers. However, Eloise was not revealing anything, and making it seems that everything to do with debuting was awful.

“Go away and pester somebody else.” Eloise huffed as she descended the stairs away from her sister.

“Why are you always so mean to me? I’m just asking questions!” Hyacinth protested.

Eloise felt guilty, especially since Hyacinth was still young and didn’t understand many things about the world yet.“I’m sorry, but I’m not the best person to ask these questions.”

“Why don’t you want to get married?”

“If I explain, you won’t understand.”

“Yes I will!”

“You won’t Hyacinth.”

“You’re so mean!”

The young girl stomped off, having a tantrum to herself. Eloise did feel bad for being so snappy with her sister, but she really didn’t like talking about these things, doing all she could to avoid it where possible. It just made her feel miserable. And who wants to dote on a topic that eliminates all happiness from them?

However, Eloise did find that she was excited about the art exhibition. She was curious as to how (Y/N) and her brother’s encounter would go. For a moment, she felt like her mama. It sent shudders down her spine. It was nice to have the pressure and attention off of her, and to see her brothers in the spotlight. She knew too many friends with brothers who had it easier than the women of the family. Of course they had certain expectations, but Eloise did not see any men parading around in uncomfortable, tight dresses, with over the top embellishments and feathers.

The remaining days leading up to the art exhibition were filled with dress and suit fittings, lessons on the (Y/L/N) family, and making sure everyone knew how important this day could be. Benedict grew more and more nervous as it approached, his mama making him realise that this could be a turning point in his life. Before this was all about him being excited to see (Y/N), to be in her company again, now it was as if he was proposing to her.

Eloise stepped out into the garden, welcoming the warmth that was still lingering at this time of night. She couldn’t sleep, knowing what was on her mind, but not wanting to admit it. She wasn’t surprised to see Benedict already on the swing set, secretly smoking as they had both done before. A small smile appeared on her face as she approached him, making sure to create some sort of noise as to not startle him.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one being kept awake.” she said as she sat down.

“I haven’t even tried to sleep yet.” Benedict said before inhaling through his cigarette again.

“Is someone nervous?” she wasn’t teasing him, she was concerned.

“Yes.” he surprisingly said.“I’m nervous because mother has made me believe everything is depending on this next meeting. Yet she forgets how long Daphne took to decide who she was marrying.”

“You shouldn’t be nervous.”

“And why is that?”

“Because (Y/N) likes you.”

Benedict chuckled."Ah, I forgot you were the expert on such topics."

"I may not know a lot about...feelings and love, but I am not a fool. I saw the way your eyes lit up when you first saw her. (Y/N) was practically speechless too. But not like the other women who fawn over the Bridgerton name, she actually liked you for your face, for some reason. I don't know, it just seemed that there was something natural between you."

"Eloise Bridgerton, what a doting thing to say."

"I am trying to be nice to you brother."

"I know. And I appreciate it, but...I feel at ease with (Y/N), and I don't like the thought of mother's eyes burning into the back of my head. Anthony has said that he will do what he can to help, but I fear that mother will not be totally distracted by him. She’ll know his sudden interest will be fake.”

Eloise had an idea, and even if she didn’t want to go through with it, she knew it would help Benedict.“I will regret saying this, but I shall help too. I will make sure mama is paying attention to me, I’ll let her drag me around and indulge in hideously, dull conversations.”

Benedict had been shocked for the second time that day. Two of his siblings, both detesting the thought of marriage, had offered to suffer through this social event in order to give him time with (Y/N).

“What has happened to you two today?” Benedict asked.

“We are merely being charitable. Hopefully you return the favour in future. God knows I’ll be in need of saving soon.”

(Y/N) was all a flutter on the morning of the exhibition. Her mother had bought a new dress just for this, wanting to impress the Bridgerton family, prepping their halls and rooms for the exhibition for the last week. (Y/N)’s father was proud of what he had created, and that his daughter may be on her way to marrying a family who were held highly in their society. (Y/N) couldn’t focus at all, relieved that her maids were the ones in charge of getting her dressed and ready for the day; if left to her own devices, she surely would have put her dress on backwards.

Guests streamed in, but (Y/N) was only on the lookout for one person. She remained polite, trying to stay in the moment as more and more people arrived. However, she still kept an eye out for Benedict, also staying on her toes. She had many things in mind to say to him, and she wanted to keep them in her mind. There was no way she was going to humiliate herself.

Her heart started beating a thousand times faster when she saw Benedict enter the main hall, the one holding the biggest and most expensive pieces of art. She smiled, and somehow it grew even bigger when he made eye contact with him. His smile was so sweet, it made you fall for his charms even more. Benedict felt his stomach twist in anticipation, desperate to have just a few moments with (Y/N). Alas, that did not come when his mama latched onto his arm, steering him in (Y/N)’s direction. Although he wanted to speak with her, he found it all rather forceful, especially when (Y/N)’s parents suddenly appeared behind her.

Formal introductions were made, each set of parents making small talk about the last time they were in each others company. (Y/N) and Benedict were silent, nodding along with what was being said as they sneaked glances at each other. The conversation was dragging for them, they knew their parents wanted to figure out if this could be a potential arrangement. It didn’t seem that they were going to stop talking at any point, neither child wanting to be rude, until Eloise intruded.

“Pardon me,” she started, sending a subtle smile to Benedict,“mama, I have been looking everywhere for you.”

“Ah, another Bridgerton. The next daughter to find a suitor, I presume?” (Y/N)’s mother beamed.

Eloise hid the urge to frown. Luckily her mother stepped in.“Yes, this is Eloise. I’m sorry darling, I did not mean to leave you stranded.”

“Yes, well, shall we?” Eloise tugged at her mother’s arm.

“Alright dear. It was lovely to see you both again.”

As Violet eagerly followed Eloise, (Y/N)’s parents also dispersed. Benedict and (Y/N) were now finally together, just as they had wished; so why did it suddenly feel awkward?

“Well, that seemed to easy.” Benedict cleared his throat.

“What was?” (Y/N) asked.

“Getting rid of them.” he grinned, holding out his arm.

(Y/N) smiled back, happy to hold onto him.“I was trying to come up with something to say that would not be rude, but would also mean we could leave. I hope that it wasn’t obvious I wanted to leave.”

“Even if it was, I doubt they would care too much. We both know they are over excited.”

“Oh how right you are. I’m assuming your mother has been acting the same as mine this whole week?”

“Overbearing? Overthinking? Over-”

(Y/N) giggled.“Yes, yes, I do not wish to dote on the memory. I am happy that you are here though Benedict.”

“You are?”

“I am.”

The pair’s arms stayed linked as (Y/N) guided Benedict around the art work. Sometimes they joined other conversations, though liked to keep to themselves. It was easy to bond over artwork, especially since it was a passion both of them had. There were no pauses or silences after a few minutes of talking, conversation flowed naturally between them. Men and women also searching for suitors were jealous; a Bridgerton boy had been swept up all too quickly and (Y/N) had been a popular choice amongst the men. However, people could not deny they made a fitting pair.

"Come, let me show you something." (Y/N) muttered to Benedict, easily slipping away from the crowds and leaving the room.

"We really shouldn't be alone (Y/N)." Benedict said, even though this was all he had been wanting.

(Y/N) had a cheeky smile on her face as she tugged on his arm, her steps gradually getting quicker. Benedict didn't even take in her elaborate house, only looking at her beautiful face every time she glanced up at him. They stopped before two grand doors, which (Y/N) cautiously opened, slipping inside with Benedict close behind her.

In the middle of the room was a huge painting covered by a fine piece of cloth. Benedict was confused why (Y/N) brought him to this, until she let go of his hand (him instantly missing the feeling), and theatrically pulled the piece of fabric down. Benedict's jaw dropped as the piece was revealed. He had never seen a painting like it.

It was a large, landscape painting of a ballroom. It captured dancing pairs in the middle of some sort of waltz, musicians huddled in the corner whilst the other guests stood watching; and it was so intricate, Benedict guessed it must have taken the artist months to complete it. All the colours, the detail, it almost looked real.

"This is amazing." he breathed out.

(Y/N) was happy when she saw Benedict's shock."Isn't it? It's supposed to be revealed later, but I wanted to see your expression properly."

"Who painted it?"

"I don't know. Father said he is going to inform everyone later, but it is a new artist. I just think they're work is dazzling to look at. I become mesmerised."

Benedict's focus changed back to (Y/N)."Yes, that does tend to happen."

She didn't notice that he was referring to her, nodding along in agreement. Her smile faltered slightly, which Benedict was able to see immediately.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he neared her, hating the gap that was created

(Y/N) covered her slip up, as her mother had told her."I'm sorry, it's really nothing..." she started, but found herself relaxed, and wanting to tell Benedict all her problems."It's only that...I used to paint frequently, well, I sketched more, though I enjoyed both. Like all girls, my mother told me to stop that and focus on becoming the most desired lady in society. I shouldn't have even told you about that when we first met."

"That's what made me desire you (Y/N)."

She blushed, realising how intense his gaze was."Oh, Lord Bridgerton-"

"What's with all the formalities all of a sudden?"

"I-I don't know. I don't want to ruin anything and it's only our second meeting. Third if you count when you called upon me."

"And I called upon you for a very good reason."

"I was wishing that everyone else would leave, so I could spend more time with you."

Benedict loved hearing her say that."As did I."

Subconsciously they had moved closer, though they both knew what they were doing. Benedict reached down to tenderly hold her hands, causing her heart to beat erratically. (Y/N) had no idea what to do, she only had experience from the books she read. It seemed simple enough to kiss someone, but also the hardest thing in the world. How much pressure should she apply? How long should they kiss for? Where would she put her hands? Where would he put his hands? She didn't have anytime to think as he was already leaning in towards her.

Eloise and Anthony were finding it extremely hard to keep the fake smiles plastered on their faces. Benedict was really in for it once this was all over. Their mama had kept a tight grip on them both, because as soon as they saw their chance to flee, they would. Both had to suffer through extremely long, boring and repetitive conversations, listening to parents boast about their children's achievements. Everyone knew how this worked, yet they all had to pretend to be happy about it.

"Where is Benedict? He's been away for a long time." their mama pondered as they took a break for refreshments.

"He's probably wooing Lady (Y/N), just as you wanted." Eloise slurped on her drink.

"Do not fret mother, he knows what he's doing. He truly likes her and will be doing all he can to...well, yes, woo her." Anthony said.

"I suppose you are right. It feels strange that one of my children are making an effort for once."

Eloise huffed."Oh, do not chastise us mama. We've been doing this all afternoon, haven't we?"

Violet squinted her eyes at them, suspicious that they were up to something. She was about to question it, but stopped herself. They were doing what she always wanted, finding someone to spend their future with. She wouldn't jeopardise that. Lucky for them, a servant announced that Lord (Y/L/N) requested for everyone's presence inside. The guests were intrigued, following orders and grabbing full glasses of whatever quenched their thirst. Eloise and Anthony had got away with their plan for now, they just hoped Benedict and (Y/N) had had enough time together.

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