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ℭ𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔬𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔲𝔰 𝔖𝔫𝔬𝔴

Oxytocin | One act of kindness from a peacekeeper may be your salvation or your doom. Possibly both.

no body, no crime | Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

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🥀 Traps With Baited Jaws 🥀 Prince Paul x Reader || 14.8k words || Part III

Summary: There’s a snake in the palace garden. Blood spattered on Catherine’s shrubs. Reader learns that Ruling all of Russia comes at a gutting price- (TW so much subby!Paul smut, violence, mentions of gore/death)

Suka - Term mostly used for women, meaning ‘Bitch’

Mudak - Term used for men, it mostly means asshole, pig, basically a derogatory term for a man.

General Abramov was practically pacing long groves, in the parquet floors outside your quarters.

The doors were closed. No signs of life stirred behind them. None. Stone cold dead. Quiet as the grave.

It was a quarter past ten. The Tsarevich was due half an hour ago, to join Minister Panin in negotiations with the Turkish Ambassador. Who famously was of a grizzly temper, and didn’t like to be kept waiting.

Subsequently, the man now had a face like bottled up thunder. Sat across the table tapping his fingers on the wood. His aides were getting twitchy and pissy. Scurrying to his side to whisper more snide discontent in his ears in their mother tongue.

They offered wine and cakes. They offered vodka. They almost offered some agreeable plump-thighed courtesans. But it wouldn’t sway the bastards. Sharp brown eyes scratched glares like arrow tips across the table.

Abramov volunteered to leave the huge echoing room. Snappish. Tensions swimming down tight like a noose on the Russians. He politely said he’d hurry the Prince along. The ambassador gave him a chilly stare. Gaze packed in frost.

You do that.

Find out what’s so important to that insolent Boy Prince, to keep us waiting.

The General bowed jovially in parting. Waddled his portly way the hallways to Paul’s chambers. Sword clattering at his rounded side. He scooted along. Sweat beading under his wigged brow. Matching his red cheeks.

He’d knocked loud enough to wake the hounds of hell. And then he decided enough was enough. He jiggled the handle and it twisted.

He let himself into the private lounge. The rooms where the Prince would dine. A lounge where they’d light the fires. Masculine port reds soak heavily on the walls. Golds and creams layered daintily on the furniture, like whipped cream dolloped on a dark cake.

It goes beyond the General’s notice to spot a wriggled pair of stockings thrown over the back of the settee. Cushions squashed from the previous crush of bodies. A suspicious wet patch sullying the silk. One pair of mauve ladies heels cast across the floor.

Evidence of a salacious night the evening past.

Catherine’s silky miniature greyhounds are in here. The maid let them in. The mutts were thieving the food that hasn’t been yet cleared by the servants. Leftover essences of last nights dinner.

Blue cheese and French bread. A bowl of ripe grapes, apples and oranges. Two used glasses of wine. One knocked over, broken. Crimson blooms into the persian rug. Bleeding expensive Portuguese wine. No one will care.

The dogs are thieving bread crusts, fruit, and leftover bones. Munching on the plushy pink centres of cut open figs and gnawing ham bones. They yip and sprint away licking their spoilt greasy chops when Abramov came storming in.

The pocket doors to the bedchamber are half closed. Pushed up but not shut. The General is walking too angrily and too quickly to stop and devour the noises coming from behind those doors.

The room filled with wet sounds sneaking from the spaces where your bodies vigorously net.

“Your Majesty.” He begins as he determinedly cuts through Paul’s quarters.

When he rounds the open doors and sees what’s happening on the bed, mortification roundhouse punches him in the stomach. His glaring pink cheeks get pinker - eyes blow wide like spode saucers.

You and Paul, not at all covered the twisted cotton sheets laying limp to the mattress.

He’s laying back. And you’re riding him. Winding your hips to slam down on his cock.

Head thrown ceiling bound. Hair wild and kinked down your back. Cheeks red. Body rendered in shimmering sweat. His hands clutch the cradle of your hips. Fingertips digging dips into the meat of your skin.

He’s in the same state. Sweat licked skin. Eyes so dark they’re black tar stuck on the sight of you. Brown curls damp at the brow. Cheeks all rushed red. It spreads down his neck too.

You love when it does that. You drag your nails over the blush. Leave white lines raked through.

General Abramov is a witness to the way you grind your hips, all to make your husband buck and writhe below you.

Paul’s eyes widen just a little at being caught. Too wrapped up in the bliss of your cunt to fully care.

He almost goes to grab the damp sheets. Or move. Or rectify, or-just, something. Yell and tell him to get out, when he can manage to find his churlish tongue.

Because, fuck, your hips were just that good. He’s drunk on you.

You shove a hand flat to his sternum and make him stay down - your breasts jolt as you ride your husbands cock. You don’t care if the General sees you. Even more than he’s already undeservedly glimpsed.

The man flounders on the spot for a moment. Caught in the ragged chafing space between embarrassment and mortification.

You twist, panting and look the General right in the eyes where he stands gawping. Long coils of hair sticky and clinging on your forehead.

Narrow your bladed eyes and cut his skin with a look that’s all displeasure and amusement. Prickly as a pretty rose bush. To be adored, admired, but make no foolish mistake, your thorns will prick out blood.

It’s true what they say about you. You are all slicing knives, coated in bitchiness.

You look displeased. Yet you smile. It’s all manner of brazen. Lips way too red and wet from sucking on your husbands cock before the position you find yourselves in now. You’ve no shame.

“I’m not done with him yet.” You insist.

Ultimate authority in your tone. Purring sultry breathy words like the sex kitten you are.

“Now, fuck off Abramov. You may have him. When I’ve finished.”

Unspoken threat follows sharply after your carefully plucked but nettling words; Kindly fuck the hell off so I can cum.

He stumbles through an apology to your majesties and bolts from the room like his heels are lit on fire. Like hell hounds are snapping at his coat tails too.

You hardly hear the receding footsteps. General Abramov’s bright red face glowing as he chuffed in displeasure and made a hasty retreat. Good. Tubby old letch.

Paul chastised you.

Overlapping his cross chide is the slam of the door that rattled the air. “That mouth.” He growled in fondness.

“The mouth that you had wrapped around you not too long ago. You were saying very different things about it then.” You point out.

You shift your hips and resume your pattern. You had been edging him for nearly an hour now. He’s all blushy and ready to blow. Just a little longer.

He sits up, chest mashed to yours, and shuffled your hips further on him. Hands scooping under your ass and bringing you close as was possible.

And then he doesn’t care at all, cause he’s smothering his mouth over your breasts and your perfectly hard nipples, and they bounce to his lips where you continue to ride him to a full gallop.

Those hips of yours should be outlawed. Fucking divine.

He’s licking your nipples and letting them fall into his open, searching mouth. Moving his head to time with your thrusts on and off his cock. Plucking with lips and tongue.

You get sweet. Soft on him maybe

Decide to lean back and let his hot mouth and seeking lips wander the sweat trails on your skin.

So dirty. This prince of yours had some of the filthiest desires you’d ever known. Debauched. Debased. He’s always ready to lap you clean after a hard fucking. Beg on his knees. Let’s you choke on his cock for hours, if that’s what you so desired. Prostates himself on the altar of your dignity.

You purr moans right now as he licks at your nipples.

Your interruption was paid no heed. He’d deal with it later. Much later. After you’d finished having your wicked delightful way with him.

Your nails are scratching up the nape of his neck. Tugging the brown locks in a mean fist. You bring his head up to watch his reaction when you clench down on him.

“Seeings as you find my behaviour so objectionable. Perhaps I should stop?” You judge.

Thrusting your hips forwards in a silky sway that gets his mouth going slack. Buried between your shoulder and your neck as he hiccuped a sob.

“Would you rather I cease, my prince?” You ask.

Twist of the knife. Salt rubbed in a gaping wound. You ask so sweetly. Yet still you roll your hips.

There’s a little glaze of fiery hatred in his eyes. But he knows if he doesn’t behave he won’t get a single thing.

“Please. Don’t stop. Please. Never stop.” He begs. His voice crawls into that soft broken territory between pleading and desperation. Hands palming your dewy hips as he nudged his nose against your shoulder.

He’s weary and sweaty and rubbing himself all over you like a cat in heat. Sweat licked skin. Desperate pretty boy with his lashes draping a long flick of burnt umber onto his cheeks, as he bites his lips and begs begs begs.

You’d kept up this soft teasing for hours. Especially last night.

At dinner was when you started. Afterwards during the Opera was when you kept it going.

Sat next to him in the red and gold encrusted box and drove him wild.

You started by caressing your fingertips just up his thighs. Over his tight white breeches. Palming his cock over them. Making him close his eyes and whine like a kicked puppy.

You’re a cruel cruel mistress with it. Every time he hummed, or moved, or adjusted, shyly asking for more, with a shove of his hips forwards to your hand, you pulled away.

Diamond bracelets rattling on your wrists. The way you looked so smug. Had his teeth grinding to dust.

Desire spurned with so much love and hatred it could swallow the blazing sun whole. Loathe at first sight and all that-

You watched the stage religiously as the Aria from the Soprano tripped into a stunning high C. Pitching higher and higher as Paul’s hips squirmed to your touch. And then-the horrible awful wretched burn of-

Nothing.

Leaving him to fester in the ache of a punishment. Hand pulled away again.

He had to swallow and bite his knuckles. You could see tears shimmering in his eyes. You wondered if he’d summon that bratty tongue and give you orders soon.

Listening to him breathe unevenly, all choppy, staring at the chalky opera scenery and fucking Greek marble plinths and columns on the foggily lit stage, with his cock pressed hard and painful up against the falls of his breeches.

You fan yourself and know he’s watching your hair swirl in the breeze. Your diamonds blazing in the dull light, linked around your neck.

The way they shift up and down with your every breath. Clasping your collarbones and fuck now he’s envious of a bunch of stones for being able to kiss your skin and he cannot?- torture.

He looks to your amused face for answers. Puppy doe eyes - slipped with tears-melting all genteel at you.

You give him that look. That knowing wifely look of ‘you will not cum until my say so.’

And how he knew it.

Trying to get you to budge would be like trying to move this entire palace over three feet, merely by pushing at the brick walls with your bare hands.

You scrape your nails up his thigh to dig in. A sting. Just a little pain. He could take it.

His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. Sweet rouge on his cheeks absolutely nothing compared to the real merlot blush underneath.

His jaw was tight, knowing that if he utters so much as one peep of a word, those fingers and that blissful touch of yours would flit away. Back to your own lap.

Poor baby boy prince.

He leaned over and hissed into your ear. Clutching your hand where it laid over his cock.

This opera is going on for far too fucking long.

It’s a German opera my love. It may well last for a week.

He curses in his mother tongue.

When it does finally blunder to a finish? Oh he’s ripping you out that seat and out the box door before the final note even reaches top pitch. Before the velvet curtains slam together.

He practically ran you to his rooms he moved so quickly, so recklessly. Sweaty palm clutched hard and painful on yours. He’s tugging you along and you do let him. Spilling love-drunk into the night

The pair of your shoes clipping harsh on the parquet floors. It snaps to the high moulded ceilings. Along with the smoke that flickers from the flickering candelabras. You laugh when he shoves you into the alcove by by his doors. He kisses you like he wants to win you over.

Again. You let him. You let him devour your mouth like a sloppy teen with a fat clumsy tongue whose never even kissed a girl before.

You grab his cravat. Fist the tied cotton in your nails. Tumbling backwards on horny limbs through the doors to your chambers. Entwined.

Lips joined and roving over hungry plump mouths, passion bruised, burned alive as you bumbled your way, tangled legs, knocking knees, and into his bedchamber.

Your arm hooked around his neck. His took fists of your skirts and hauled you closer. Like a spoilt child clutching at his favourite toy.

“Please, please” He began. Your poor husband was treading softly on eggshells, the slightest kiss or the tease of your body against him giving him a hard-on he couldn’t get rid of. He aches. It hurts- he wants to sob already.

You decide to grant a little clemency in the middle of your fun.

You pull him in and push him onto the settee in your rooms. Shove him back til his legs give way. Making him crash down.

He drank this behaviour in, fucking flourished on this kind of attention.

He’s sprawled out. Cheeks red. You hook your fingers into, and then throw that stupid pompous ceremonial wig on his head across the room. You yank his trouser falls down one handed.

You saw the resulting grin that followed. The dark eyes clutched with lewd lust. He wanted to admonish you for stripping him of his courtly dress. But then you won’t give him what he needs.

Being married to you has been a lesson in biting his tongue. He both loathes and loved it in equal measure. No one can treat him like this but you-

Before he can even try asking and begging again, you’re wrapping your skilful lips and talented flicking tongue around his thick cock. Swirling around the head. Sucking deep. Swallowing him down.

Choking on his girth as his hands twitch to just bury themselves deep in your perfectly arranged, silky-sweep of hair. All coils and pearl pins. Refinement. Elegance.

And yet here you are with his cock buried in your mouth til your gagging. Like some common Parisian whore with smeared rouge.

You let him just clamber to the peak and then, you’re leaving him dry, pulling back with a hum, and a satisfied pop where he slicks out your mouth. Drool stringing down your tongue to his length. Hard cock shiny with your spit.

Watch him drop his head on the puffed up and plump settee cushions with a damn near pitiful, aroused whine. Hips shifting.

“Be good." You warned. You rose up and bit his lower lip in an aggressive kiss. Voice like harsh thunder. He sits up and drinks as much of a kiss out the cup of your mouth as he dared.

You back up to a stand. Pushing up with your hands from the furniture. Paul just looked up at you from his thrown position on the settee, all sprawled crashed limbs and hope worn naked on his face.

Pulling off what of your dress you could manage on your own. Making him watch your crude undressing. Brocade silk cast to the floor.

You lock eyes with him as you strip your clothes. Shoes kicked off. Leaving you in your stays, chemise and stockings. Anything else required more elaborate undressing. And time you simply didn’t have right now.

Every scrappy second was devoted to this man before you. Stood up, peering down on the lovely sight of him

“Are you going to behave for me, my Tsarevich?” You asked him, cupping his chin between a thumb and forefinger.

He’s quick to nod. Head bobbing like a wild lunatic obeying your commands.

“Going to follow my every command?” You check. You slip your hand off his chin.

Again. A nod.

“Knees. Now.” You bark out at him.

“Yes. yes.” He couldn’t twist his clumsy tongue around the words fast enough. He struggles off the settee and his knees crashed to ground - hard. Cock bobbing where he moved.

You take his place. Laying back. Spreading your knees wide. Pulling up your chemise until your slick pussy was exposed.

He swallowed. His pupils blew wide at the sight, enchanted. Tongue wetting his lips. Fingers itching to move.

“Lick-“

He dove into you.

Licked and sucked, nibbled, flicking skilfully against your clit and running the point of his tongue right up and down your slit. 

So enthusiastic, so greedy.

You reached over and soothingly grabbed a handful of his brown hair with a sigh, rocking your hips against his mouth.

He groaned into your folds and took it.

Lolling his head forwards as you ground your clit against his nose and slicked up his chin and all over his cheeks with arousal. 

“Finally putting that bossy mouth to good use, Hmm?” You moaned. Bucking into his searching mouth.

That voice that barked at his army. And often at you. Or scathed at his mother. And here he is being such a good boy with it. Like he was trying to eat you from the inside out.

He slurped at you as best he could. Hazily content to let you use his lips. Chocolate-drop eyes glassy, gazing with sheer dumbed bliss and awe up at you.

Contentment churned with gratitude, that you’re finally letting him get his mouth on this holy grail of your lush pussy. Feeding it to him.

“You getting all thoughtless my sweet?” You cooed, heat pooling in your gut at the sight of his face squished between your doughy thighs.

“Love eating me that much do you?” You murmur.

He hummed his answer into you.

“Mmmhmm.” Long and low, like hot drawling treacle, nodding, fingers bunching your skirts as you rocked against him.

The only thought behind those doe eyes, is that he desperately needs to make you cum.

Drunk on pussy. He’s making those moans. Your favourite kind. Eyes flicked back in his skull. Lost in your taste, and the sensory thrill of puffy wet lips gliding against his tongue.

Sweet submissive little noises endlessly trip out his mouth.

You can feel that low-gathering heat bunching up in your gut. He’s tonguing you into an orgasm so quickly. Sensation like fire sneaking up from your ankles up your thighs. Almost like an agony. Bliss stacking up in your bones ready to tip over.

“Mmm. Paul.” You groan all breathily. Your hand clutched hard in his hair. The other over your head and scratching nails into the settee silk.

A warning. A good kind of warning. One that meant he was pleasing you. He thrummed with bliss, neglected cock throbbing, and he’s licking harder.

Fuck, you were close. So very, very damn close. He got you there quick.

You sway your hips up and down to push against his sloppy lips. “Gonna cum. Right on your tongue. Would you like that, my darling?” You ask. Voice all high.

He nods. Furiously nods. It makes lewd wet sounds squelch out from between your thighs.

You start to pant with the way your orgasm rips through you like a devastation. It starts to uncoil and then it’s unleashed.

A natural storm that swelled and tugged and transformed. Legs shaking around his head. Knocking into his ears. Throwing your head back and crying out one long wail. Wetness of your climax seeped out of you and onto the silk of the settee seat. Smothered his chin and mouth.

“Paul. Oh, Fuuuck. Fuckkk.” You tug on the back of his hair and it must be mashing his face so deep into you, nose into your clit so that he could barely breathe-

He didn’t look the slightest bit bothered about gulping down air. Not when he was busy gulping down you.

You spilled into his mouth and he eagerly lapped you up. He finally took a breath as he rested his cheek against your thigh. Dozy grin on his dopey lips as you came back from your high.

Seeing this man shiny cheeked with your arousal. All blushy and slumped against your thigh, ye gods, it was almost as good as the incendiary sex the two of you have.

The future heir of all Russia. Slumped into you, brainless from eating you out. Will wonders never cease.

“Get me out these fucking stays Paul. And I will make you cum and cum until my legs give out.” Is your next order.

Laying back and purring at him from your resplendent sex-frazzled position.

He very obediently stands up and acquiesces instantly. Tearing your stays laces open. Stockings off and thrown over the settee back. Mouth hungrily sloppy slanted on yours.

Bed. Now. Wife.

He ripped your stays. An unfortunate casualty in the end. You couldn’t even care.

This is where it wound you both up. The morning after. You’re riding his cock and making him late to meet with the Turks.

You smirk when you think what they will ask Abramov on his return, and what his answer will be.

“Now. Be a good Prince. Lay back so I can fuck you properly.”

“This isn’t properly?” He asks with disbelief.

You reel him in and kiss him before you pull back and carelessly shove him down. The way he liked. Hand to sternum. And you shove-

He sprawled back on the mattress with a pretty grin that split his face in two. Hands sliding up your knees.

“Want me to fuck you or not?” You ask.

“God please. Please. I will throw myself on your mercy.” He begs.

“Go ahead. I don’t have much to contend with.” You warn him sharply.

Watching how he moans and drops his head back. Gasping and grasping at the sex mussed sheets. You start to swivel your hips. Figures of eight relentlessly. Cruelly.

“You’re so-“ The words evade him. He can’t decide if he wants to curse your blood or sing your praises.

“Careful. Or I won’t be generous. I’ll pull off. Leave you here to fist yourself in your own hand. Spill over your chest like an adolescent.” You sneer.

“You wouldn’t.” His lip trembles with some real horrific fear that you might leave him aching.

His fingertips seek for your legs. Clamping you onto him. Never leave. Ever.

He can’t even let you sleep in separate beds. Not even when you vex each other and snipe like fishwives over something inconsequential at court. Something you don’t see eye to eye on.

Even then, he goes off to his chamber to take a drink and calm down. Yet, come an hour later, and he’s climbing under your sheets with you. Pasting himself to your back with his face in your neck because-

His pillows smell like roses. Of course. They’re soft as anything in heaven. But what they don’t have, is the smell of your peachy perfume lingering on them. He needs that merely to drift off to sleep.

On nights like those, you tend to hate-fuck the aggression away. Take it out on each other. Bear scratches and bruises and tired half moon eyes the next morning. It’s worth it all to share that secretive dirty smile over a crowded room.

You both can’t forget that this crazy twisted path which ended up leading to love, did start in seething hatred and explosive enemy territory. You vexed him, he shoved you back. You kicked, he clawed, you scratched.

You loathed each other bitterly before you ever considered it could actually be passion, prevailing, blazing between you. Some nights you’re reminded of that fact and in the morning neither of you can walk properly. There’s bliss in it you could never give up. Not for all of Russia.

You run your fingers down his chest. Dig your nails in just a little. Press your fingertips over his taut nipples to get a whiny reaction. You smile when it comes.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You slide back down on him so he can feel how wet you’re getting.

“Your cock feels too good, my Prince.” You slam on him again and let him feel how you crush your walls in a tight squeeze on him. Choking his thick fat cock. Pleasure and pain in equal portions.

He’s laying back. All lip bites, blushy cheeks and stumbly moans. Unable to tear his shining eyes off you.

You give him so little all night, and took and took, and then you heap everything back upon him. Like now; riding him so fast you knew he wouldn’t be able to resist it for long.

You were slamming yourself to his hips and grinding right up against his soaked thatch of curls at the base of his cock. It had him close to tears. Your clit is almost numb with how much sensation you’re grinding out of him.

The wet slapping-slick sounds of your cunt sheathed tight around him echo obscenely in this bed. Crude as hell and so loud. It’s making him shiver to hear it.

You’re so wet he can feel you slurping against his body. Mess dribbled down to the inside of his own thighs.

“My love. Oh my- love my-your cunt is incredible. I can’t do it. I can’t hold off. I- hmmm.“ He blabbered. Pitchy. He can’t even round off his jagged little words. Throat corded and tense and veins wriggle and push up under his skin with the strained effort.

His body is jolting from how hard you’re riding him. You can feel him coiling tighter and tighter under you. His belly tenses. He’s thrusting his hips up to meet you. It batters that spot rooted far inside that makes your whole belly flutter.

You moan with pleasure and he’s eating it all up.

You adore the way the bed is slamming hard, knocking into the wall from the roll and knock of your hips.

“Better break this damn bed frame putting a baby in me.” You order. Dig your nails into his ribs again.

“Going to fill me up, Tsarevich? Hmm? Leave me dripping?” You enquire. Sultrily cooing the words at him. Liquid sex skated on your voice.

That did it.

His nails bite into your legs and he starts to chuff breaths like he simply can’t believe you. Can’t wrap his mind around your indecipherable form. Eyes wide and dazed. You catch them for barely a second before they flip back in his head.

You wreck him. You drive him to ruin. And he offers himself up to you for more. Push him right to the brink of abyss and snatch him back. You’d always snatch him back. He was yours to do so with.

You feel his cock pulse hard inside you. Spurting and blooming that delicious push of warmth low in your belly.

He whines when you won’t stop winding your hips in big wide circles to get every pulse of pleasure out of him. Capture every drop.

He cries for mercy. Throat bared as his head is all the way back to the sweaty mattress.

You eventually decide to give it. But not before succumbing to your pleasure. Throwing your head back and riding hard hard hard. Moaning for anyone to hear and you didn’t care who did.

Then you’re drenching-gushing in his lap when you cum. Gummy walls rippling down on him in a fluttering series of squeezes that make his brain wipe blank.

His hands are sweaty clamps on your waist as he watches in awe. Cup of his sweet pink mouth gaping. Oversensitivity brushing against his cock but, lord, this view of you he gets to have is entirely worth it.

You float down from your high. Sticky skin pasted to his where you flop into his chest. Thighs shivering with the strain. Feeling the warmth of his soft cock inside you. Messy where your bodies meet.

You indulged him in a kiss as he rakes his hands through the sweat dampened hair at the nape of your neck.

“So good for me. Always so good.” You pant against his lips. Biting his lower lip with a tigers proud smile. Heart clashing terrifying beats against the trap of your ribs. Same as his.

He’s quiet. Just gazes at you. Equally terrified and utterly beguiled by the fierceness of this hold you have over him. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. Every day in this court he treads a knifes edge that something will take you away. Something he can’t stop. Something he’s powerless against.

Then what will become of him-

Bliss is now furring up his tongue and stilling his head. All you can hear is the aggressive ram of your hearts as you lay atop him.

Dipping your fingers into his collarbone. Dragging them in patterns that smear his sweat over his torso. Down his slight pudge of a belly. The soft scratch of his happy trail. Up over every bump of his ribs.

You roll on your side and hiss when you shift up and off his cock. Almost sore from the rough ride you gave but you don’t divulge that. That would be admitting weakness and there’s no soft spots you can expose, not in the rough hyde of your ‘supposed’ scaly dragon skin.

Slick-creamy spend of him spills down your thighs. A ring of it left at the base of his cock. Shining wetly on the thatch of his dark pubes.

You smile with sight of it as you roll on your side and cuddle up close to him. Leg thrown over his hip. Hand a reliable weight resting on his sternum.

Wedding ring shining a bright snatching gold and glimmer of diamonds. Sweat wriggled down your chest and over your nipples and he’s hungry to stick them in his mouth again.

He skates his hands up your leg. Looking at you with a weepy and dazed expression.

You watch him a second. Before shuffling naked to sit up. You reach over and press your thumb into the space between his brows. As if you can rub the creasing frown away.

“Why the face my love?” You ask.

Because of course you eternally have your fingers hovering on the pulses of his every mood and want. The vital string of him deep inside you loved to toy with? You know it better than anyone ever has. It’s infuriating. Yet somehow incredible.

You can feel when something isn’t right. It’s eerie but you just can. Can judge what’s up with one flick of your eyes across his expression.

To you, he’s like those long daunting books you devour in the library. You trawl your diamond tip eyes over every secret line of him, and can easily read when something isn’t right.

Hysteria slams into his chest. Mangles his still throbbing heart that doesn’t, that can’t, calm down. He drapes his hand over yours on his ribs. Turns to meet your eyes.

He loves you. Proper honest to god, biblical, soul-deforming, aching perfect love.

And that frightens the hell out of him.

And he’s not just stumbling to this realisation because you’ve pushed him around into submission, and ridden his cock like an absolute champion. Well, not entirely-

You tilt your head and await his response. So many things unsaid sink into the plush bed of his tongue;

He’s so thankful his conniving draconic mother brought you here. Summoned you from Rostov to entertain him and get him off her back.

He’s so happy for every sneer you give him. Every shared look that sent shivers, cast over a ballroom swimming in good golden candlelight and the other half falling into spots of shadow.

He’s so soothed when he comes back from another argument, locking antlers with his mother, and you’re there in his quarters.

In your exotic plum silk dressing gown, hair down, soft, no angles present, pouring him wine and pulling him in for a plump kiss to chase the sour-sharp words off his tongue.

He doesn’t know how to speak kindly or softly. He’s been raised in the opposite of all those things. In every manner. By the same token, so have you. You’re perfectly matched in that regard. Tongues like sandpaper. Bred with barbs left on your dark souls.

Is there a hole where our hearts are do you reckon.

Yes my love. Black and terrible deep ones.

And it couldn’t be more right.

He leans over and softly lets his lips spill onto yours, and kisses you. Because these feelings just burst out of him, and he needs somewhere to direct them. He cups your face and won’t stop drinking in your lips like he needs them merely to survive.

You smile when he lingers so long kissing you like he’s still aroused. Lips wet and tasting faintly of you. Pushing and taking. When you pull back, your lips are spit wet.

“Aren’t you now terribly late to go and meet this ambassador?” You enquire in a soft voice still laced in giddiness from his kiss. Fingers still splayed on his sweaty skin.

He shakes his head at you with a trace of a flirty smile. “Good thing I don’t entirely care for the Turks.”

“You’re welcome, my liege.” You grin. Looking like a honey eyed vision. Like that sly fox in old fables.

It suits you. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

~

A tea party. Another bloody insipid tea party.

All you seem to do is take tea, or lunch, put on dresses, or a strand of pearls or a diamond clasp. Plan yet another tea party, and lay in wait to hear the latest snippets of gossip. It does grow into tedium, you’ll admit.

But then, that’s what the ladies of the court love to do.

They do remarkably little else.

Aside from fucking, reproducing, and bitching. But, silver lining. With these parties, atleast there’s cake.

Paul remarks that those silly affluent ladies don’t have the brains to do anything else. They do as they’ve always done; as they were taught and raised by their own ridiculous mothers.

Prance daintily around with their fluffy little lapdogs, their silk dresses and their powdered wigs, they wag their tongues like it’s a sport. And their usefulness really does end there.

You sit in Catherine’s spacious rooms. The ones she entertains in. The walls are slaked in deep rich paints. Mossy greens and flower vines twining in opulent golds with jewel coloured petals. Dazzling Prussian blue velvet swallows the light on the furnishings. Dark like her wicked taste in all things.

You’ve got one of her little Italian greyhounds cushioned in your lap. Malvolio. The naughty tempered grey one. He sits there chuffing as you scratch behind his ears.

You watch the Empress cackling with mirth as she points out the window beside Lady Orlova, showing off the pair of peacocks in her gardens that drift through, pecking at the lawn. Feathers skirting fluffy behind their steps like a brides train.

They were a gift from the Emperor of the Mughal Empire. All the way from the Agra Fort.

You’re sat on the rococo settee with Milena. She wore a dress the colour of vivid lemongrass, with a gold and emerald necklace ringing her throat. You saw to her having a good maid - at last. And access to as many jewels and silks as you did. She smelled like rich vanilla soap and damask roses.

You wore your mulberry purple silk dress. Rubies set in squares and icy silver cling to your neck, and drape from your lobes. A single teardrop of a pearl dangles off the necklace. To sit at your clavicle.

Both dressed in your court finery. Heeled feet propped on the low table being very unladylike as you dipped into Earl Grey tea - her into the wine - and scoffed down tiny, pretentious pink cakes. Slathered in too much sugar and fondant icing.

“I cannot believe it is expected of us to do this twice a week.” She griped.

“Here, here.” You mope in agreement.

“That’s cause not a single one of them, save for our glorious Empress, has ever read or touched a fucking book.” Milena explained as she shoved a much too big cake into her mouth.

“Probably wouldn’t know how to open one without instruction.” You jape.

It made her smile around her mouthful. She vulgarly sucked her fingers clean.

“You know, I heard that in Europe, There is a popular movement. It is being called the enlightenment. People meet in coffee houses and read journals and pamphlets. An exchange of ideas and liberation.”

At that precise moment your attention is called across the room to where the Ladies flock like hens to one noble who was proudly showing off how the new snuff box she’d been gifted, had been painted with a miniature of her spaniel. And isn’t that stunningly clever. Have you ever seen anything so ingenious? I declare not.

The Patriarch Archbishop, stood and clapped his hands in wondered awe at the spectacle. How wonderfully Marvellous.

“And then the there’s us-“ You comment drily as you watch the exchange with barely veiled horror.

“Stuck in the dark ages.” Milena agrees.

“Be careful lest we be burned at the stake for that kind of talk.”

Lady Petrova scurried past you, talking shrilly a mile a minute, about her new lilac lace parasol. How wonderful the fabric was. And how she simply must demonstrate it’s perfection right away.

She puffs up her parasol like she’s putting on a show and gets a dainty round of applause. Noises of awe from her companions.

“Fuck this. Have you a pistol?” You murmur in agony.

Milena snorts.

“If I’d have been lucky enough to be carrying right now. Half the idiots in this room would have some extra ventilation in their heads courtesy of me.”

“Start with the Patriarch.” You consider. Smiling all saccharine at the man. He was a horrible old letch. Pious to the most harsh degree.

He unnerved you with his constant toadying towards you and Catherine. When you’ve heard him snipe from corners when her back was turned how German turncoats and sexually liberated women like her, should be horsewhipped.

It makes you wonder at the manner of this frivolous court life. If everyone slaps on a smile that’s purely fake to glide through halls. Then, crept in the dark gaps of bright candlelight the smiles drop and true natures come sneaking free. This place felt like a writhing-seething snake pit on the best of days.

Milena tilts her head at you. “Patriarch is a solid choice.”

His nature was entirely contrived in front of Catherine and Paul. You and Milena received scathing comments from him in moments when no one could overhear. As far as he was concerned she was a sapphic hell-spawn who should rot in hell. He saw you as the royal bitch of a broodmare only fit for breeding. At least you were a true Russian though.

By gods grace that was the one thing he did like about you.

Both your moods plummet to the earths core when he decided to wander your way away from the courtesans and their lace umbrellas and fucking dog painted snuff boxes.

“Tsarevna. You do look well.” He rubs his slimy hands together. Horrible glint in dulled eyes the colour of grey marble stone like the cold walls of church he loves. His voice is chalk dry and grating. A sack full of broken metal that scraped against your ears.

“Patriarch.” You greet. Your smile is stiff.

“Still not with child I see? Are there problems upon the royal marital bed? As a holy leader of this country, I take great interest in the state of our leaders familial prospects.” He raised one thinning brow. Your jaw clamps.

Keep fucking walking. You think.

“Though I hear you’ve no problems with opening your legs for our dear royal Prince. Like a true Voronsky.” He insults with a beam traced on his lips.

Milena turns to you with a sneer. “Bet you wish I had that pistol now.” She starts darkly under her breath.

“Tell your little spies to keep their beaky noses out of my business or my bedchamber. I’m a terrific shot. I’d hate for anything to come to harm. They may get their pretty feathers bloody.” You peck out. Stroking your lapdog.

Milena chuckles. Popping another cake in her mouth. Cackling as she enjoyed it. Not taking any care to be ladylike.

“Lady Dimitrova.” He hissed with his teeth clenching. Milena’s hand curls into a fist.

She narrows her eyes. Smiles sickly. Daydreaming about putting a bullet right through his greasy balding head. It was her soothing lullaby most nights.

“Heavenly Father.” She cooed all flirting.

“Still delighting in your depraved inverted sins?”

“On a daily basis.” She sucks her fingers clean of icing with a too loud suck. Sucking the end of her middle finger, and plainly aiming it right at him.

“Still on your knees praying yourself black and blue? More fool you-“ She sniffs derisively. Running her tongue inside her lower lip. Entirely unbothered.

You can see him bristling to say something else. Jaw clenched. You cut him off.

“I would be very cautious of saying too much more, Patriarch. One day I will be mother to the next heir of Russia. I will have sway in this court and this country will belong to my children, and my husband before that.” You make plain.

He folds his hands behind his black cassock back. Cross swaying heavy and obscene weighty gold on his chest.

“Insult me or my Lady in Waiting any further in any manner, and I will happen to discover that you have vehemently voiced ill-will against the future King of Queen of Russia. Repeatedly. I think that may even border on treason.” You state easily.

A very real fear and loathing is woven into his eyes. Everyone knows what happened to Svenska when she dared threaten you at a soirée one night.

Paul’s devotion to you was laced in ferocity and any words levelled against his Tsarevna would answer harshly to the crime. Pay in blood and pain.

“And you. You pathetic little worm. Will be ground into the mud and left for the birds to rip to pieces. I’ll make sure of it.” You sip your tea. Diamond eyes sharp over the rim of the dainty rose pattern china. Set the cup back into the saucer.

“Such a vision of beauty.” He bows and takes his leave. Eyes throwing pools of acidic scathing at the pair of you.

He stalks away and into the folds of court to stir discontent with the Lords. Black cassock flapping around his feet as he takes his leave.

“I love when you do that.” She chuckles. “Put the dogs back in their place.”

Malvolio shakes his head in your lap. As if he knew he was being discussed. Settles his paws on your knees.

“Soundly whipping them into shape.” You smirk. You pucker a kiss at the Patriarch as he daggers a scratchy glare at you through the crowds.

“Besides. I far prefer being sat here with you. My scary Serbian bitch.”

She’s amused at that. “Mongrel remember. Not an ounce of pedigree blood in this unholy body. Unlike you, you pampered bitch.” She sneers.

You laugh together and she shoves a cake at you. “Come on. You’ll need energy to be a broodmare ready for the stud to hump later on.”

“You’re such a cunt.” You speak through a laugh at her. “And I wouldn’t have you any other way as my Lady in Waiting.” You pat her leg with your hand.

“Stop flirting or I’ll do something to you that will make the Patriatch blush in anger.” She threatens.

“I don’t think it would be wise for us to cross the boundaries between friends to lovers.” You decide with teasing.

She tilts her head. Scans you up and down. “You haven’t seen what I can do with my tongue.” She curls it out at you in a scooping motion.

“Must I have you hosed down? Mongrel?” You ask. Eating the cake she gave you.

You pluck the cherry off the top and bite it- plump sweet red clamped between your teeth. She looks salacious.

“Always ready to do my depraved things to anyone- Oh. For fucks sake.” Milena began. Turning away from you and hissing.

You tittered laughter. She cursed under her breath as Svenska came trotting into the room with her train of even more vapid ladies in tow. Even the stupid tottering click of her heels was somehow annoying.

All ridiculous brushed wigs, and low cut dresses. Svenska with her cleavage bulging out of her dark fern silk dress. A little yippy snuffling dog on a lead. With a flat face, lolling tongue, and bulging eyes. Ugly fat beast of a thing.

“I’m astounded she managed to find the door without help.” Milena bit out.

Her and Svenska famously did not get along. They grated like powder versus lit fuse.

Svenska was all highly-inbred noble stock and entirely no brain.

As the saying goes, if it was raining brains, that woman wouldn’t even get wet.

Milena was the polar opposite. Too many brains for her own good, and plenty more besides. She had no noble silver spoon childhood. Her father was a penniless Baron and her mother was a scullery maid. Quite the scandal to blossom from out under.

She rose, through hard plucky grit and bootstrap enthusiasm, and took her years to rise to become a Lady of Catherine’s court. She earned her place here and married only for gain, and you respected her greatly for it.

Svenska had her cushy comforts slung at her, like everything else in her spoilt life.

You were the same. Most of your life had been handed to you on a plate. You’d been trained for this occupation of marriage. Look at where you’re sitting now because of it.

Lady Svenska and her harpies always seemed determined to needle your friend for the manner of her upbringing. Spiky with the fact she wasn’t raised in these noble circles, like them.

Milena had known strife and penury. Overall you think that makes her far more interesting. She wasn’t bred for court life from the very second of her conception.

Now, Svenska’s distaste, it appears, had spilled on over to you, by mere association.

Good.

The woman was a venomous snake, who had tried on many occasions to slip into Paul’s bed and earn title as his Mistress. Even after you were married.

She was always trying to dig her claws in. Angling herself for a dance. Draping her hand over his elbow if she can snatch him alone, at a ball or one of his mothers soirée’s. Always hovering herself on the edge of his notice.

Your scratchy eyes never missed a thing. You kept them on her. You had your sources around this palace. Keeping you informed.

She makes a beeline for you. Expression dipped in venom. She had to come and bid her greetings to you. You were of rank. It was expected.

“Svenska.” You awarded. You didn’t really wish to engage any more than was necessary.

“Harpies.” Milena greets to them with no hint of shame.

“You should really have that mongrel companion of yours muzzled, Tsarevna.” Svenska trilled all chirpy. Smiling. Hateful bite in her words.

You can feel the air crack with tension. Milena bristles with it. Snarl kept at bay in her throat.

“I tried. But she bit the handler quite viciously.” You explained. Still stroking Malvolio. Self assured smile on your lips. Stroke and smile like a fresh faced daisy.

Milena sipped her wine and thereafter bared her teeth in a grin.

“Man needed his wounds sewn shut.” She widened her eyes. Unflinching eye contact with Svenska.

“Best not get too close. She may be rabid. I haven’t yet had her checked.” You warned. Stroking the dogs silky ears like you hadn’t a care.

“Good day Svenska. Have some cake.” You stretch her a wide smile like heaven was too perfect for you. Angels feathers and clouds.

She bobs a curtsey and departs with a sickly smile that snaps off her face when she turns away at her rude dismissal.

She side eyes Milena who winds her up, making a growling noise and then barked and flashed her teeth.

Makes the woman scurry away all the faster in her dainty heels.

You smile together and clink your glasses. Tipping the rim of your saucer to her wine glass.

“Stuck up prig.” Your friend scoffs into her wine. Watching her back as she departed. Ridiculous pampered dog wadding after her.

“Maybe she wears her hair too tight. Could that be why she’s so unpleasant?” You ponder.

Milena snorts her brusque laughter. “Not like it’s strangling a brain. She doesn’t have one. Maybe it’s the wig? Too heavy perhaps?”

“Ladies.” Comes a harsh hyena bark from in front of you.

It’s very telling that Malvolio yips a whine and zips submissively off your lap at Catherine’s looming appearance.

“Empress.” You both nod at her with due politesse.

“Behaving yourselves I should hope?” She lowers her sharp sherry hawk eyes to burn into your faces. Eye contact always so shrewd.

Milena bites her tongue. Tries to hold back a face of amusement.

“Not even remotely.” Comes your answer.

Catherine gives a dry chuckle. “Would you give us a moment, Lady Dimitrova?”

“Of course, Empress.”

Catherine hefts her saffron orange skirts up. Milena vacates her seat for the Empress to take her place.

“I do so hate to be bossy. But I needed to see you.” She insisted.

Catherine loved being bossy. That was such a blatant mistruth. She craved it.

“You and I fully appreciate, compromise is not your strong suit. It’s not even in your repertoire.”

“Not yours apparently. If the spoiled Turkish ambassador meeting I’ve heard about, is anything to go by.”

She needles you with a look.

You allow yourself the small sneak of a smile.

“May I give you one small piece of advice, petal.” She says with a thinning smile.

“Of course, Empress.”

“All these air-headed idiots may vex you terribly. But it’s good to keep them in agreement. Nettling as they all are.”

“Was my displeasure so evident?” You ask.

Not entirely sorry that it was showing so much. Your face was stale and sour with it. Putting up with the frippery and frivolity.

She rolls those dark-sherry eyes over to you. Tucks her cold bony fingers into yours. Rubies and amber rings on her fingers. Her perfume slides off her skin and slinks across to you. Red pomegranates and lilies. Spicy and vibrant as she is. Harbinger of blood. And how ironic it is that she’s scented won’t the flower that reminds most of death.

She beckons the servant over with two crooked fingers and cradles a glass of wine. Scarlet red.

“It pains me to even say it, but a woman in power needs to occasionally rely on the absolute idiocy that envelopes her at every turn.”

She takes a moment and scans around the room as she sips her wine. Fuck the tea.

“You scare them.” She tells you as she looks across the crowds. Squeezing your hand like she’s proud.

“Because I would rather hunt, ride and shoot. Then sit here and sip tea. To be alongside Paul when he attends his meetings. Not shut out and expected to embroider. To possess a sharp mind and budding intellect. Not some empty headed noble who gets excited over an umbrella in fucking November.” You smile through clenched teeth.

You bite the words out so hard it stings your tongue. You consider that perhaps you opened up too much.

“Exactly my darling.” She answers.

“I should be less- terrifying?” You ask. Really you don’t know any other way to be.

“Heavens, no.” She winks.

“Goddamn right they should be scared of you. You’re the Tsarevna. You live in the shade of my terrible image. That thought should strike fear unto anyone.” She sneers. The jewellery on her wrist rattles where she squeezes your hand harder like a great wrapping boa.

“To be in power in Russia. You must be more than a woman. More than your meagre bones. More, even, than a man. You must be like a God.”

You smirk. “Like a god? Busy elsewhere?”

It makes her laugh. It’s a bright musical sound that doesn’t happen often.

“It’s hard fucking work believe me. And a task few would envy. But you must tread a fine line. With Paul. With the nobles. Don’t be a wet blanket by any stretch. But there are times when you must proceed more softly than I know you’re probably used too.”

You nod. You do see sense in that. Doesn’t mean you agree with it.

“I would be by his side for whatever he wishes. I think he’s perpetually scared I will usurp his rule.“ You inform her.

“I did set a precedence for that.” She beams at you.

“A dangerous one. Sometimes the way he looks at me, like he’s worried I will one day follow in your footsteps. I think I scare him in that way when I’m too forthright.”

“Good. Keep the boy on his toes.” She urges with a sickly grin. “It’s not in my nature to take it easy on any man.”

She pats your knee and rose to her feet. A great waterfall of saffron silk rustling as she stood. The slash of her tulip red lips. She towers tall over you.

“Any word on my heir of yet?”

The warmth is sucked from the sun. Your belly shrivels. She’s good at that. Making you shrink down to about two inches tall.

She can wither anyone to crumpled cinders with those eyes and her words. She roots out any spec of shame and dissects it in front of you.

“No word yet. But you’ll be the first to hear if anything changes.” You insist with as much geniality as you can stroke on your tongue. You hold your jaw firm and set you eyes like the hard diamond tips they can be.

She leans down and kisses your brow.

She lingers with an afterthought on her lips. “By the way. I must warn you, keep your guards close-by. I will be adding three more to your usual watch. There’s been rebellions against us in Omsk. Last week two men tried to break into the palace gardens. Be watchful of your pretty back, my dear.” She urges. Nudges a finger under your chin.

And in a great sweep of silk she’s out the room. Guards on her heel. Flying away back to her cutthroat rule. You’re left sat there with a daunting hole burning it’s way into you gut. Price for being royalty already chalked on your head. Being chided slyly for the fact you weren’t with child yet.

You take a deep breath. It’s not deep enough - it feels too shallow. Milena thumps down back next to you on the settee. Shoehorns a glass of your favourite wine into your slack hand.

“I had a feeling this would be needed after the Dragons visit.”

“My guard watch has been doubled.” You told her. Lifting the glass for a sip.

The taste of it soured on your tongue. Too sharp and spiky. It was so sour, you could barely stand to swallow it down. Your stomach roiled at the taste. Throat left chalky.

Milena’s face fell at your news. “Is that dangerous?”

“Looks as if Catherine has been busy of late.” You suggest flatly. Stirring up her usual amount of rebellions and distaste.

And then you wince. “That wine tasted disgusting. What vintage was that?” You ask in vehemence. The cloy of it sat on your tongue making you feel ill.

She frowned at you. “The Portuguese one you love.”

You handed the glass back.

“Come on. Let’s go have a ride or shoot something. I grow weary of tedium.” You insist. Clutching your skirts and rising gruffly to a stand.

~

Paul was sat leisurely at his escritoire writing his letters. Leafing through sheets and sheets of bureaucracy inked on thick white cloth like paper.

Unawares as to the storm happening in other parts of the palace.

His eyes were store from trying to make out the squiggled hand. Head swimming from the amount of political jargon swirling around his head. Ink stains on his hands. Cramped fingers.

You’d left not half an hour ago. All bathed and powdered. Rouged up and sent off all pretty, smelling of peaches and cashmere wood soap, wrapped in your cream silk dress and a cloak for a walk around the frigid Autumnal gardens with your maid.

You looked so pretty in silks with diamonds shimmering in your ears. It seemed a strange parallel that not half an hour previous, he had you on all fours on his bed ramming his cock into you, until you sobbed.

It was almost unbelievable to equate the two images of you in his mind.

He gets you as the pretty regal Tsarvena in diamonds, in court being perfectly divine by his side. All elegance. Then in private, he gets you as the most debased woman. When you look at him as you’re laying there naked on the bed. Eyes glazed. Beckoning him over with two curled fingers for more-

You glided over to where he was sat writing. Back to the room. You sling yourself around him and kissed the back of his still sweaty neck. Told him you liked it when he was all rumpled and undone. No buttons polished. Shirt untucked. You ran your gloved hand down his chest.

You then squealed as he flipped around and tugged you across his lap on his desk chair. Hands up your waist as he kissed you deep.

Your maid knocked at the door. Too timid to come in. She’d been burned by that before.

He pulled back and rubbed his nose briefly into yours. Laying it alongside yours. Examining those scratchy-diamonds of your eyes he adores. Extending the touch for as long as he could.

Then he hauled you back upright on your feet. Told you to get out of his way and don’t be troublesome. Swatted your ass and watched you smile with it. Lip bite.

“I’m always troublesome.” You insist as you stand near. His kiss worn pressing on your lips.

“Enjoy your promenade. Tsarevna.”

It never dawned on him until later, how those could be the last words he said to you.

You kissed him once more. Softly. White lace gloved hands slipping off him. Flowers and sweet blossoms coating your palms. He watched you slip out the doors. Swathe of pretty silk slipping through his fingers.

Usually it was a walk you reserved for Milena, your lady in waiting. But she was currently in bed hungover and she was too stubborn and grizzly to be contended with this morning.

She’d sent you a note with two short words scrawled on it telling you her answer.

Scurrilous was a word that seemed entirely crafted for your Lady Dimitrova.

He turned to his papers and the morning sun slanted over his desk. Displaying the lateness of the hour. Burning over the walnut wood as he worked. The maid brought him tea. In his working daze, it grew cold.

Time crawled on until something far greater came to disturb.

He could hear her coming. He could hear his mother a mile away. Always.

The tell tale stab of her heels on the wooden floors looming closer. Closing in like a predator on hunt with blood in her nose. Stab-stab-stab. Slaps to listen to her footfalls. Summed her up perfectly.

What wasn’t usual was the drum beat of many many soldiers walking alongside her. He twisted his head to the doors.

She didn’t stand on ceremony. She threw open the doors when she got to them. They slammed the walls. Rattled the floors. Shook the doorcase. Rage filled the room and it’s entirely hers- powerful and terrifying like the way lightning takes up the sky.

The air she feeds into this once calm space feels damned.

He stood from his desk at such an ungodly, not to mention, noisy intrusion.

Catherine’s hawk eyes are scanning his rooms. They narrow to rusty blades at him. Some way relived.

“You’re safe.” She says it like it’s a minor convenience.

“Where is the Tsarevna?” She orders to know.

The guards flanking her file into the room and fill it up. Hands poised over their guns ready to aim and fire. Faces stoic.

Paul feels his gut plummet to his toes. “Walking in the gardens. She left half an hour ago.”

Catherine’s lips purse.

“You are not to leave these rooms. Do you hear me?” She seethes.

Before turning around, and walking her terrifying rage somewhere else. Flicking her sherry coloured eyes all poison-filled, in another direction.

Two of the guards flank the doors. The others trail after her like violent shadows.

“Mother!” He snaps after her. Demanding to know what was so twisted about all that. About why he suddenly felt sheer clammy panic. Shimmering it’s nasty way along under his skin like a vile serpent. It’s gripping onto his bones and he can’t shake it loose.

“What is happening? Explain.” He snapped. His voice clapped harsh off the walls. His throat strained around his shout. Eyes ablaze.

Catherine didn’t even try and temper him. She turned and caught his eyes. Doesn’t mince her words.

“She’s in danger.”

Ice fills his blood. His heart hurts where it beats. Trembling in fear. So much fear fills his face, he looks like a shiny eyed boy again. His lower lip trembles.

“No-“ He says. His voice is a quiet bleeding wound. Born on skipped choppy breath. Not you.

“Paul. Stay. Here.” She threatens. Voice falls as hard as knife blows. She leaves blood weeping behind.

She’s just pulled out his guts out and splayed them twisted at his feet. Stomped on his heart the way one would a weed.

Paul has never wanted to disobey her more.

~

Your Autumnal walks did fill you with such joy.

It was yours and Milena’s time to bitch or laugh away from the always poised ears of the stifling court. Where apparently every corner and nook and cranny had both eyes and ears.

You don’t see why you need a chaperone still. You were married. And your usual guards had swapped shift when you departed the house. The new men coming into duty were General Abramov finest - so he said.

You found them passed out in the company of a naked plump whore with a ratty wig. Empty bottles strewn around the pit of their room. Clearly they didn’t care overmuch about your safety when there was vodka and fucking to be had.

You rolled your eyes. You weren’t waiting on another set of grunting shaved monkeys to ready themselves.

So fuck it. You made the executive decision.

You and Darya strode out into the dark heart of the gardens, alone.

Your maid was much sweeter than your friend. More timid wet bunny than a rabid long-toothed mongrel. She pranced gingerly along beside you, tiptoeing like a nervous baby roe deer.

She didn’t talk much and mostly hung off your words for fear of displeasing you. You never snapped at her. You weren’t that heartless. She worked thoroughly hard. She was a diamond in the coal mine of ladies maids. She was good with hair too. Worth her precious weight in gold.

“Lovely day.” You comment. Hiking up your skirts to step over a squelching patch of mud.

“Indeed it is Tsarevna.” She copies your lead.

“You don’t need to call me by my title every time, Darya. It doesn’t exactly trip off the tongue.”

“Yes, Tsarevna.”

You roll your eyes. Really, she won’t be won over.

“I hope the chef makes apple cakes tomorrow. That, or something with yellow pears. They are my favourite fruit this time of year.”

“Mine too, Tsarevna.”

“With cinnamon and brown sugar?” You add. Determined to coax more out the girl.

“Yes. Tsarevna.”

You sag your shoulders down. She wins. Milena would have told you three salacious sex stories by now. And two shreds of reliable gossip.

You stroll along and you introspectively marvel at the slowly deadening trees. You didn’t actually mind the companionable silence.

Autumn here did remind you of home. In Rostov. Your father and his love of roasting nuts over the fire embers at night. Buttery chestnuts and smoky air lacing together.

The prick of frost on your cold cheeks. The loping mist that accompanies a frigid bitch of a blue dawn morning. The way you and your sisters used to collect apples in the orchard. Rusty rosy flesh. Gather them in your apron pockets. The way you had to warm your toes by the fire before bed some nights.

You were more at home bedecked in furs, and being in horse drawn sleighs over milky frozen lakes. White as a swan feather snow.

You liked this type of cold that was creeping in. You put that down to your entirely slavic blood. Sustained on frostiness.

You like it how it is now. An array of golden toffee leaves being tidied into corners by the gardeners. Scuttling papery things being blown everywhere. Tumbling and sticking across the wet grass. You idly wondered in the back of your head why the guards weren’t at their posts.

That thought didn’t sink into the proper full dawning place it should have.

You skimmed your eyes along the clipped hedges. The way the frost knifed at the copper beach groves was stunning. Spiderwebs it’s clawing ice across each and every one of the leaves. The air is ungovernably sharp with cold. Blue silk drape of a sky with a searing mustard sun.

Breath leaves your mouth as a silver wisp. Each drag inhale burns the walls of your throat. You watch birds dip and swoop in the sky above. Through the frost thinned branches.

You walk with your eyes turned skyward for a second. And when they come glancing back down to earth- your steps come grinding to a halt.

You fist Darya’s cloak. Getting her to come to a sharp halt. You tuck her behind you. Your hand a grating pain on her wrist where you held so tight.

There’s blood spattered on the frosty copper leaves.

You’re just coming to the clearing in the groves. There’s a fountain with a Greek statue decorating the space ahead. You know it well. Deep in the heart of this garden. The water in the mossy stone pit, is thick and glossy still with ice.

The guards lay dead, heaped beside the fountain. Slumped dark shapes of what used to be men. Throats laid open from ear to ear. Crimson ribbon cuts draped over their throats.

Darya splits the air with a scream, muffled through her hands clamped to her mouth, tears shaking from her terrified eyes. You catch on what tore that scream from out her mouth.

One of them isn’t dead yet. But the man who just ripped a knife across his throat from behind, unleashed a vivid spill of red. Like he was a boar on a hunt and not a royal guard.

Wide glassy eyes, choking splutters. That dreadful expression as his own blood fills his throat. Choking.

The men holding the knives are not of nobility. There’s two of them. They wore dirty coats and mud smeared faces. Shaggy stubbled beards, and hands and eyes that have never known finery or riches. They’re smiling as they kill.

Catherine was very well hated after all.

Darya’s screams draw too much attention. You try and silence her lest she ends up the same manner as the guard. But then her eyes flick back and she drops into your side. Dropped like a dead weight. Fainted. Perhaps that was a mercy.

Their eyes swim to you.

Without care you’re kneeling in the mud and checking she’s alright. Calling her name but she just lays there limp. You yank hair out her face. There’s mud on your hands. You don’t mean too, but it smeared across her cheeks.

Breath fell silver from your lips as you rasped her name. You refused to let panic crawl up your throat and thicken your voice.

Suddenly there’s a grubby hand fisted in the back of your neck. Cold steel - bloodied - resting at your throat. You will down your bile.

“Up. Suka.” Comes a sniggering voice from behind you. Laughter.

Charming.

You try to breathe as you rise to your feet. They pull you up fast. Shoving you backwards against the grove. Leaves and frost scratch the back of your neck.

“Pity that small one fainted. We could’ve had one each.” One says, tone pure filth. Rakes his eyes over your heaving tits. Not even fully addressing you.

They’re animals at best. Beasts that dared to crawl upright from the mud. Dirt ringed around their fingernails, blood spatters on their brown coats. Shirts yellowed with sweat. Hands red.

The way they’re both looking at you is like you’re a plate of bleeding lamb chops before a wolf.

One is lanky and still brushed with youth. Short shorn hair. He licks his lips as he looks at you. Eyes so deep they’re black.

The other one is shorter, older. Hair blonder and shaggy. Down to his shoulders. Eyes paler but no less spurned, entirely wrapped up in blood lust- pure hatred.

“I’m Russian you Mudak.” You spit out at them cursing at you thinking you won’t understand your native tongue.

The young one grabs your cloak in a fist. Clenched the fabric. Rips it off to see more you. Silk ribbons slither free and they cast your fine cloak into the mud. Get a better look at your dress and bodice.

“Look at that- fuckin beautiful.”

You blaze with a furious blush as he drags the knife tip under your diamonds pushing up so the gems grew tight around your neck. Choking a little. Choking you on your riches like the pampered bitch you are.

“The diamonds or the tits?”

“Both.” He guffawed back like a hyena.

You bristle. Caused the younger one to prick the slimy knife deeper into your throat. It burned. Grazed skin.

“Behave girlie.”

You can’t keep to silence. You can’t. Your pride is unleashing it’s jagged monsters. You’re snapping your fangs without thought.

“Fuck you.”

The knife pushes in more. You felt the scrape of it pushing at your rage slicked heartbeat.

“Keep your fucking tongue still unless you want it cut out.” The older one slithers a smile at you.

You spit at him. It lands right on his chest. Streaking down his coat.

“You’re going to regret that Suka.”

“Doubt it.” You snap.

Then he gets closer and his filthy hand grabs your chin. Hard. Squeezes your bones.

“Shame that. To leave a pretty girl without a tongue. It’s all you must be good for, Suka.”

You glare. Eyes threaded with steel. Your backbone rigid.

“If you’re going to keep calling me Suka, you better put start putting royal before it, scum.”

The young one fists his hand in the back of your hair and forces you to arch your neck. It burns. His foul breath washes over your face. His lips are chapped. His teeth are twisted black and yellow.

“Who might you be then?” He wonders aloud.

“Too smartly dressed for a maid.” The older one proposes.

“Maybe she’s a Whore. Opens her legs and keeps her cunt wide open for the nobles or the Prince.”

“What whore would have a maid?” The young one asks.

A beat of silence. You swallow

“The Tsarevich’s wife would.” The older one grins. It’s deadly.

Bile fills your neck like acid.

“We’ll go and find your pretty prince when we’re done here with you.” The young one taps your cheek with his fingertip.

“Slit his stupid throat. Leave you gutted open here. Two little presents for that Empress cunt.” The young one keeps his hand in your

Then he chuckles and it’s sick. Looking down your body. “Maybe you’re already carrying the Empresses’ heir huh? That princes babe in your belly.”

He makes a face that you could only describe as coldly flippant.

“Shame.”

You barely register anything else save for the way he swings his arm back and goes to bury the blade in his hand deep in your belly. The older one watches on.

You brace for the hot mean slice. Your hand vices for his wrist. But no pain comes. It didn’t penetrate your skin.

You flick your eyes down and see the blade hasn’t even pricked beyond the whalebone of your stays. Stuck on the thick close fabric of it. It only ripped the silk and left blood that wasn’t yours.

You act so fast you can’t believe it. Your hands are shaking. Time slows to honey.

You twist his wrist hard enough to potentially break it. He screams. Too slow.

You grab the knife and tore it onto his lanky throat. Ripped it across his neck and push him away. You hear his grunts of pain that churn into wet sloppy chokes.

You’re a sight. Red spattered across your cream silk and those fat diamonds. Droplets across your face and cheeks. Dripping off your hair darkly. It’s like there’s red rose petals on your dainty lace gloves.

You sneered at the expression on his face. Eyes glassy wide and blown with disbelief. Shock. Blood sheeting down his grubby clothes as his hands scrabbled for his neck.

The older one comes for you in rage. Which makes him clumsy. He pushes you into the mud and used all his weight to try and choke you with his bare hands. Where he felled you, the knife scattered out your hand.

Greasy blonde hair falling in front of his rage flushed face. Muddy clothes and the horrid weight of rutting man like a stocky boar above you. Spittle wet on his lips.

He’s cursing your name. You’re grunting and trying everything in your gritty scrappy power to overcome.

He gets his meaty hands around your neck. You scrabble your fingernails at his dirty coat. He slaps you to keep you subdued. Cheek stinging. Mind reeling into base animal instinct.

You twist and reach for it. The knife you dropped. Your fingertips barely reach the handle. A desperate stretch. An empty slip to the frosty muddy grass.

Your world starts trickling into punchy static swirled stars. Blood pounds white and black over your eyes. Pulsing with the craving for air.

Not for long.

Where he pushed you and climbed on top of you, your skirts were up around your knees. And with every painful pulse of your brain. You reach for the slither of a dagger you keep in your garter.

You get your slippy fingers around it. They drift off. Blood smeared over your thighs and your breath is starting to wane. Trickling out dry past your lips. Paul’s face flashes in your mind. Last thing you can think of. Those brown eyes and the corner of his pink smile caught in candlelight.

You could sob with the agony of it. You really could. Your lip trembles.

But then something else roundhouse whirls into your chest like a furious storm that can’t handle your bones. Rage. Love.

Tears squeeze out your eyes that feel ready to burst as you gape up at his furious face. Digging his nails and thumbs into the meat of your neck. The burn of blood rose furious in your throat.

You slam your knife down into the soft of his back. Three times. You stab and stab down down hard until pure terror seizes over his face. Until he’s weak enough that you can knee him off you and grab the back of his neck. Fist his dirty collar in your hands and grit your teeth.

“Rot in hell.” You curse at him before you slam the sticky steel knife into his throat too.

Gurgles and frothy pink blood. More red blooming down into your dress. Sour metal in your nose. Too many warm pennies. It’s gummy on your hands. Sticky.

You hate the smell of blood even on a hunt. It cloys on your furs and matted and made you feel sick. You never hated it more than now.

You kick him off you and scramble to your feet. The weight of him off you. You’re upright and legs trembling like they won’t hold you.

Skin too small. Your veins wriggle like flames. Your steps shivered. Body bowing pathetically. Every muscle sore and still pulled taut with adrenaline.

There isn’t enough air and all you can taste is blood. You spit it out your mouth but it doesn’t leave. Bile tries to force its way out but you just breathe. For now. Just try and locate the thin air.

You brace a crimson hand on your stomach. Stained lace. Mud and blood smeared on your dress. You cannot hear the sweet call of birds or the wind rattling it’s whisper through the trees. All you can focus on is the fierce drum of your heart. Lungs swelling in the trap of your ribs.

You stand and stare down the centre of the copper birch groves. Trees lining the way in your vision. Back to that terrible palace. You just stare because everything is still ringing in your ears.

Guards are furiously running in their swathes towards you. So many of them. Rifles aimed. General Abramov in the centre enfold of stocky columns of uniforms that were his men. Barking his orders that you cannot hear. It’s all swirling mute to you.

Paul is there. Surrounded by a cluster of soldiers. In his untucked white shirt, undone jacket. Hair a smushed mess. Pistol locked in his hand.

Your face is oddly stoic.

He stalks towards you- terrified eyes scanning the bodies slumped around you. Your maid. The guards. The blood. The knife still dripping in your hand.

You’re covered in it. He doesn’t know if he’s out his wits with fear, or wanting to get on his knees and pray his thanks to the heavens, til his lips hurt.

Wrap his hands around your hips and kiss your belly. Chide you and love you in the same breath cause you scared him to death.

You barely see him when he comes up to you. Calls your name. Cups your face. Doesn’t care for the mess all over you. He needs the snap of your diamond eyes meeting in his.

He drops his pistol cause his hands are around you. All over you. A scuff of material catches rough on his palm. Grazed jagged silk.

He looks down and sees the knife sized hole that had been stabbed into your stomach. His breath lays in his throat and it’s too thick to reach.

Even in your hard prickly angles, your glassy steel countenance, and they’ve cut through your brambles and laid their hands on you. Hurt you.

You finally say his name. “Paul.” It’s not even above a raspy whisper.

Tears shine in his eyes and you don’t know anything else than how to clutch him and hold onto his hand over your belly. You chuck down your bleeding dagger. Will the blood ever come away.

You wait until he reels you into his chest and cups the back of your neck to cry. Fear finally gets to you. Hands cold and scrabbling for his hair. His warmth. The smell of his shaving soap. Safety.

For now, it’s enough.

~

Night fell swift. Catherine was furious. Seething spitting nails at everyone who crossed her path. Livid at being disobeyed.

She chucked wine glasses. She threw priceless vases at the walls. Shrilled til her throat hurt. Shards of broken things less spiked than her displeasure. The countess could barely calm her down.

She cast her eyes over you as Paul walked you back from the gardens. Soldiers flanking you entirely and the General on your heels.

You stepped inside and she was ready to draw some blood of her own. And then she saw you. Red spattered face and dress. That metal scent living on your skin and you were dying to scrub it away. You wanted that harsh scratch from a hard wooden brush. Bristles on your skin until it barbed to pain.

You meet her eyes. You don’t back down.

She almost had the balls to look impressed. Intimidated even-

“Go get her cleaned up.” She orders gently to the maids.

The first time you’d ever heard anything gentle come out her mouth. Crossed with respect. She nods at you. You feel blessed in some ways.

And here you were. No longer trembling. In the piping hot bath in Paul’s quarters. Water slicked over your skin. The bath water still ran pink even now. Even after they sluiced it off you with cold jugfuls before you got in the tub.

Your throat is stinging. Eyes bloated and sore from salty tears. You weren’t angry. Or sad. It went much deeper than that. Roots clinging. You’re not entirely certain why you spilled tears. Maybe it was that one thing you swore you’d never show;

Fear.

It’s fully matte dark and the room is only licked by flames. The orange of the fire and the spin of the gold from the candle holders. You turn and turn a wedge of soap in your palm until your fingertips were pruned. Your hair sticks down your back. Wet silk that sticks into the water.

Blood still in your mouth no matter how much you swilled with tea or water. The wine still tasted bad. It will be a while before you can stomach swallowing claret.

The maid knocked on the door. A harsh rap that disturbed your silence. It seemed almost too much. Overwhelming. You flinched.

That wasn’t you.

You were at peace with the crack of the flames and logs shifting in the half. The swish of the water around your naked limbs. The smell of your tuberose and cashmere wood soap. That was all you wanted for now.

“A little longer, Tatiana.” You call out. Not unkindly. Dazed maybe. You didn’t have the energy spare to be a sniping viper tonight.

The door opens anyway. You don’t bother to cover yourself. The waterline only just hid your nipples.

When you look up. Paul is stood sideways in the door. “I took the liberty of dismissing your maid.” He tells you.

“Did she say how Darya was.” You ask.

“Awake but she was very shaken. The doctor attended her. Gave her a draft.”

“Poor kid.” You sympathise. Scrubbed the soap bar down your arm.

You feel Paul bristle at that. You just know. When you look over at him the sides of his mouth are taut. Pulled firm with anger.

Catherine does the same. When the lips purse, that’s when you know- run.

“My concern is elsewhere at present.” His voice is stiff. Tamped with stomping brat and anger.

“Do not think to lay the blame at my feet. I went for a fucking walk.” You hold firm. Eyes gazing into his. Too tired to be slinging vitriol back and forth.

But you won’t dare let him forget you have sharp snarling teeth. They may be tucked away. But just because a panther sheathes it’s claws doesn’t mean it’s lost use of them entirely.

“I don’t lay blame at you. I’m just trying to wrestle with the idea that I could have lost you today.” He snaps out louder than he intended. Voice reed thin.

Stood at the end of your bath in his big baggy shirt and breeches. Barefoot and stripped down to nearly nothing. Rubbing his forehead and trying not to let fear bleed into his voice. He failed.

He looks so young. So stricken with fear as you sat there. Watching candles flicker jerky flame across his satin cream cheeks and those wide brown eyes.

You say nothing. “You want to be angry with me.”

“I’m not angry. I’m livid.” He hissed out.

I’m terrified. Is what you hear.

“Those men meant harm. They killed four guards.” He tries to strike fear. You’ve had enough of it today.

“I’m sat right here proving their plans otherwise.” You insist.

“Because you got lucky.” He snips.

“Not really. I’m always armed.” You insist.

He softly uses your first name. He never does that.

“Try and take what I’m saying seriously.” He pleads.

You look at him for a silent beat. He’s lumping all this on you and you’re just trying to sit here and manage to breathe.

“They said they wanted to hurt you.” Another swish of water. Swill of soap over your palms. Chalky and white woody petals.

“They told me. They were going to gut me and leave me in the gardens like a stuck boar. They were going to come and slit your throat. Leave your mother our corpses to find. A present.”

His face falls into distress. He’s spurning with so much anger and sadness it’s starting to rule his expression. His eyes twirl with it.

“So before you sit there and rightfully rip pieces out of me, Paul. I ask you this: What choice did that leave me.” You say it so softly. But your meaning is backed by steel.

He soaks in your words. Drinks them in.

He can’t cross the room fast enough.

In four quick strides he’s on you. Uncaring for the soap suds still on your skin or how your hair is dripping. His face is in your neck. His arms wrapped around you and yanking you to the edge of the tub. You’re dripping spots onto his white cotton sleeves.

His fingers rake through your hair. Wet beading on his fingers. He tilts your face up and just traces his thumb over the stinging welt that animal left.

“I don’t want to be without you.” He whispered softly.

That’s what it comes down too. When everything else is stripped away.

“I’m a bitch with sharp teeth and lots of knives. My Angel. I’m not going anywhere.”

You pat his cheek. Slide into an easy plump-lipped kiss. He pushes his mouth onto yours. Strokes his fingers gently down your naked wet back. Those melty chocolate drop eyes by candlelight you will never get enough of gazing at. Or into.

“Your fierceness today astonished me. I’ve never known you do anything so physically Russian.” Ghost of his smile returns.

You take a breath. Something swims on the tip of your tongue.

“I believe It wasn’t just myself I was being very Russian in defending.” You admit.

His face is thrown into all realms of bewilderment. “My love?”

You tilt your head at him. Smile like you’re the gatekeeper of sacred secrets.

You take his hand and slide it under the bath water to your belly. Fully soaking his sleeve. You press his palm onto your warm flesh.

There you fool.

“You-“ He gasped.

Fell on his knees. Mouth gaping. Doe eyes wide. You stunned him like a deer caught out in the open on a hunt.

“Congratulations. Tsarevich.“ You smile. “And may the Lord fucking help us.”

~

My taglist for the babes; @ceriseheaven @indouloureux @stiegasaw @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @starbxcks @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @poppy-metal @munsonswhore86 @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-tittie @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos @2clones-1kamino @edsforehead @chcolateeyelver @seven-glass-kids @forever-is-not-for-everyone @creme-bruhlee @bkish @wayward-rose

🥀- lmk if you want to be added or removed. drop a comment to join taglist. This is the most up to date tag list I will be using on all my JQ stories going forwards I don’t wanna miss anyone out ! 🥀

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kinktober 2023 masterlist

☠︎︎ day 1 ➯ pegging, nathan drake ☠︎︎ day 2 ➯ choking, steven grant ☠︎︎ day 3 ➯ quickie, harry potter ☠︎︎ day 4 ➯ cock warming, charlie swan ☠︎︎ day 5 ➯ nipple play, anthony bridgerton ☠︎︎ day 6 ➯ dry humping, preston garvey ☠︎︎ day 7 ➯ face fucking, sam drake ☠︎︎ day 8 ➯ almost getting caught, cullen rutherford ☠︎︎ day 9 ➯ size difference, paladin danse ☠︎︎ day 10 ➯ breeding kink, steve rogers ☠︎︎ day 11 ➯ mutual masturbation, steve harrington ☠︎︎ day 12 ➯ public sex, maccready ☠︎︎ day 13 ➯ mommy kink, wanda maximoff ☠︎︎ day 14 ➯ face sitting, john "soap" mactavish ☠︎︎ day 15 ➯ keeping quiet, bigby wolf ☠︎︎ day 16 ➯ toys, natasha romanoff ☠︎︎ day 17 ➯ thigh riding, bucky barnes ☠︎︎ day 18 ➯ orgasm control, johnny silverhand ☠︎︎ day 19 ➯ 69ing, john hancock ☠︎︎ day 20 ➯ cock worship, rafe adler ☠︎︎ day 21 ➯ spitroasting, gavin reed and connor (rk800) ☠︎︎ day 22 ➯ gavin reed, hatefucking ☠︎︎ day 23 ➯ virginity loss, edward cullen ☠︎︎ day 24 ➯ primal play, arthur morgan ☠︎︎ day 25 ➯ humiliation, könig (modern warfare 2) ☠︎︎ day 26 ➯ sensory deprivation, wanda maximoff ☠︎︎ day 27 ➯ cuckholding, iron bull ☠︎︎ day 28 ➯ dub-con, android!gavin reed ☠︎︎ day 29 ➯ somnophilia, edward cullen ☠︎︎ day 30 ➯ corruption, shane (stardew valley) ☠︎︎ day 31 ➯ sex pollen, peter parker

surprise! i swear i'm not ignoring my askbox 😭

@illusioninfnty and i are doing the same kinks, if you wanna check out her profile ;)

read on ao3

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Can I please ask for a yandere chuuya with a Yui komori darling that is still traumatized even after escaping the makami sakamaki brothers but she is still a kind and sweet person and deeply cares for chuuya even though he kidnapped her

But one day he comes home and he can't find her anywhere and thinking she escaped but soon found her in a closet shaking and crying because of a nightmare of one of the brothers finding her again and using her as a bloodbag

And when he manages to calm her down she tells him about her past and Trauma and even though he kidnapped her she still loves him and feels safe around him

That's why she never escaped or tried to fight back because why would she try to run away from someone that treats her nicely and loves her

Sorry if this is too much or it sounds weird

tw kidnapping, Stolkholm syndrome

yan chuuya x yui komori (could be read as a self insert)

556 words

Chuuya was irritated and tired when he got home. He hadn’t expected to be home early today but things didn’t go his way and it was around 2 a.m. when he got back. All he really wanted was to see his girl. 

His girl.

It had been about a year in a half since he met her, and about a year since he took her. He couldn’t help it. He would even argue that he needed to take her. When he first met her she seemed fine, normal. Then things started getting weird.

“They’re gonna get me”

She would never say who. No matter how many times he asked or how many times he told her it would be okay. He would never let anything happen to her.

“I have to leave this place.” she told him one day.  

He couldn’t allow that, he had barely known her half a year. So he kidnapped her, she would be safe from whoever she was afraid of and she wouldn’t have to leave him.

She wouldn’t have to be afraid ever again.

It took only a few months for her to get used to her new life. The first few weeks he had her locked in the basement, he didn’t want to but she was terrified and he didn’t want her trying to get away while he was at work. 

He was patient, and tried to be as loving as he could be with her. To help her adjust, he didn’t want her to hate him forever.

Eventually she was let out of the basement, now that doesn’t mean there weren’t problems because there most certainly was, but there was progress. If she misbehaved he would threaten her with the basement and that seemed to work enough, that was the meanest he would be. Other than those rare times he was a very attentive partner. 

He was so good. He was so patient, so why isn’t she here?

She was supposed to be in bed, so why isn’t she here?

All the windows and doors were locked, from the outside, so where could she have gone?

“Ren? Where are you darling?” 

No response. He could feel his patience running thin, he thought she was finally happy with him. Then he heard it, if he wasn’t listening very closely for her, for anything, he wouldn’t have heard it. Tiny whimpers from the wardrobe. 

“Darling, are you in there?” he asked while slowly opening one of the doors. 

Then he saw her, she looked so small, so weak. 

“What are you-” 

She looked up at him, her eyes were puffy and cheeks red. Had she been crying this whole time? He knelt down and grabbed her face with both his hands, he wiped her tears. 

“Tell me what’s wrong, darling. Let me help you.” he whispered.

She looked him in the eyes and she sniffled. 

“I had a nightmare.. of them and you-” she sniffled “you weren’t here and I got scared and-”

“Who did you dream of? Who was it?” 

She shook her head, refusing to answer. He sighed and brought her in for a hug. 

“You’re safe, I promise you. Nobody will take you from me, you’re safe.”

She was shaking. 

“You weren’t here, and I-” she paused for a moment. “I needed you, I need you Chuuya.”

#fanfic #x reader #bsd #yandere #yandere chuuya #chuuya #chuuya nakahara #drabble

[melensolo]

no one understands I NEED count Vronsky

[melensolo]

im too lazy

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one of my fav writers reblogged two of my imagines so im gonna take that as a sign i need to start writing again!

[melensolo]

Tulips

Yan! Chuuya x gn! reader Tw: implied murder, implied stalking, kidnapping, implied drugging

You didn’t know how or why he chose you, you don’t know why Chuuya took interest in an ordinary cafe worker; but he did. 

Every day he would walk in, three o’clock sharp. He always brought flowers, chocolates, or other gifts of the sort and gave them to you. He’d request that you make his coffee too. At the time you didn’t know he was in the Port Mafia. How would you know?

On one particular day, he had waited for you to get off work. You don’t know why he was waiting, and frankly you didn’t want to find out. He was nice and all, but you weren’t looking for a relationship. You had just been presumingly dumped. Your boyfriend of six months ghosted you out of nowhere about a month ago, and honestly you can’t find yourself to care that much.

You tried to leave without the ginger man noticing you, but he was watching you the whole time. “Hey, Y/N!” he shouted, catching up to you. Once he was walking beside you he asked if you liked the flowers.

“They’re nice, tulips are my favorite. Thank you, I have to go.” you said quickly, trying to leave.

He put his arm in front of you, stopping your movements. “Woah, wait a second-”

“Excuse me?” you said, offended he was blocking your path. You just wanted to get home.

“Sorry, I was hoping we could talk?” He put his arm down. 

“Sorry but I can’t-”

For a second his face turned dark. “Please, Y/N.”

You sighed, you just wanted to go home. 

“Alright.”

The whole conversation that he was so eager to have with you was the reason you find yourself in this unfamiliar room. Unable to leave. 

He had confessed his attraction to you, and you told him you weren’t interested. You didn’t even know anything aside from his name. You should’ve known he wouldn’t leave you alone. 

The next day, he came late. He came right at the end of your shift, at 6pm. 

He had a box of chocolates and an apologetic look on his face. “I’m sorry about yesterday, I didn’t mean to come off like that.” He handed you the box and you took it. You would’ve felt bad if you hadn’t. It also helped that you loved chocolate. 

When you got back to your small, one-bedroom apartment, you noticed your window open. That was odd, you usually shut it. You shut and locked the window. You opened the box of chocolate and took just one. You bit into it and it tasted amazing. He always got the best chocolate you must admit. 

You went to your bathroom and got your daily bath ready. Your body started feeling tired and your head was aching. You could feel yourself begin to sway as your eyesight started getting hazy. Before you knew it, you couldn’t stand and you fell. You could hear the bathroom door open and the last thing you remember seeing was a pair of black shoes in front of your face.

When you woke up you were terrified. There was no light, it was pure darkness. You couldn’t move your hands, something was restraining you to some sort of board. You were laying down on something comfortable, a bed. 

You started yelling for help. None came.

You had no time on what day it was, when you got here, or even what time it was. You felt yourself start to cry. 

That’s when you saw a sliver of light and a creaking sound come with it. A few moments after that the lights came on. It took your eyes a second to adjust to the sudden light. Then you saw him, the guy you had rejected the day before. 

“Chuuya.” you attempted to sound strong, but it came out more as a weak croak from your crying just moments before.

He looked at you, satisfactory evident on his face. 

“Chuuya, please help me.” you pleaded. 

“We both know I can’t do that.” He said as he started walking towards you. 

Realization hit you. “Did you do this to me?” 

He bent down and got close to your face. He moved your hair behind your ear before kissing your cheek. Dread pooled in your stomach.

“I know you’re gonna want to run away, so I had to cuff you–but you can gain my trust over time, okay Love?”

“Chuuya,” you whispered

“Hmm?” “If you let me go, I won’t tell a soul– I promise.”

He stood up. “I can’t.” 

A tear slid down your cheek and he wiped it away, he looked at you with pity. “You’ll learn to love me and accept this, my lovely.”

He turned to walk to the door, “I’ll be back later, I promise. I have to go finish up some stuff with work, okay?”

“Chuuya.”

He stopped and looked at you. “What is it?” 

“People are going to notice my absence, they’re gonna look for me.. And you’re gonna face heavy consequences if you don’t let me go! Please for you and me..”

He laughed at you. 

“Like how they noticed your boyfriend’s absence?”

Time seemed to stop. He couldn’t have, could he? You felt sick, you wanted to die.

“Cheer up, your eyes are going to get puffy.” he joked.

Then the lights went out again.

What did I do to deserve this, you asked yourself over and over again.

You didn’t ask for this.

You didn’t want this.

#chuuya x you #chuuya headcanons #yandere #yandere chuuya x reader #yan chuuya #yandere chuuya #chuuya nakahara #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya nakahara x you #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fanfic #bungo stray dogs fanfiction #x reader #tw.kidnapping

[melensolo]

when ur least thought out fanfic/imagine is also ur most liked post. I’m js gonna stop trying 😔

[melensolo]

Open Arms

Yan! Dazai x Reader

tw: kidnapping, drugging

Every second of every day, of every year; Dazai had felt like he was losing his mind. He was losing his sanity every waking moment. His thread of hope, of life, was wearing thin. He was ready to quit, ready to end it. 

He wishes he could say that it ended two years ago when he started seeing you. But that would be a lie, because it didn’t. The pain continued. The nightmares continued. 

However, as time went on with you, it made the world just a little more bearable. You never judged him or felt like being with him was a burden. You accepted his flaws, as he accepted yours. Life isn’t easy, but it was easier with you.

When things felt too hard, and he felt he was holding you back. He broke things off. He felt it was better for you, you can grow without him holding you back. When he saw you less and less, he realized it felt harder to breathe. He broke down at your front door, you accepted him with open arms.

He loved you, and that scared him. Bad things happen to the people he realized he loved; and he loved you. He wanted to be with you, every second of his life. He’s a sinner and you were his redemption. 

When he told you of his past, you accepted him immediately. Bringing him into your embrace. You understood him better than anyone. You knew he was a monster; his life was monstrous. Yet, you stayed. 

Dazai doesn’t know if you love broken things, because no one else has loved him as you had. 

No one.

He never wanted to lose you.

One day he found himself with you atop the Detective Agency. Lay side-by-side, watching the stars. 

“Sweetheart, I’m so tired. I’m falling apart. It doesn’t make sense to me, I really don’t know why you lay next to me, wherever I go.”

His breath hitched at your response.

“Is it hard to believe that I see you and I wish to love you, like no one has before?”

“You’re making me crazy; you know that I’m a madman?”

His heart is pounding.

“That’s alright with me, as long as you’re with me. Just the two of us.”

That day forward he watched your every move. He was afraid that harm may come your way. One day he convinced you to come over and gave you  a little drug, nothing harmful. It was just to help you sleep. 

Once you fell asleep on his couch, he couldn’t help but admire how pretty you were. He took a few pictures before he carried you into your new shared bedroom. 

He knew how feisty you could be sometimes, so he handcuffed you to the bed. Once he can trust you to behave, then you can have access to the rest of his apartment. However, you would never have access to the outside world, unless you were with him. It was safer that way.

His precious, his everything. He wouldn’t fail you like he failed them. 

Please forgive him for locking you away, you’ll understand his ways one day.

#dazai osamu #osamu dazai #dazai #osamu #dazai x reader #dazai/reader #yandere x reader #tw.kidnapping #yandere dazai #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #bsd #anime #fanfic #fanfiction

[melensolo]

ICYMI, there was fear that companies were scraping public AO3 fics to train their AI without the consent of AO3 or its users. That fear has been confirmed.

AO3 has written about what they’re doing (and what they’re not able to do), and they recommend restricting your work to AO3 registered users only. [Instructions here]

This gross misuse of the archive by techbros is why I’ve locked down my fics for the foreseeable future. I recommend the rest of you do the same.

[melensolo]

Novi Val chap. 4

previous chapter masterlist draco x fem reader 

Training with ‘Dumbledore’s Army’ has gone well to say the least. You trained every day, for weeks. You learn a lot every practice. You also felt closer to your peers. You started to hang out with people other than Luna, and you don’t mean that in a bad way. She’s nice and quirky and honest, but it’s nice to have other people to hang around with. 

On free days you would find yourself hanging out with Hermione, Ron and Harry when not with Luna. The three of them were a joy to be around and they made you feel included as best they could. It wasn’t when you were with Theo and his friends. Theodore forced you in, and the trio made you comfortable enough that you could come if you wanted; or didn’t want.

It’s a shame that you would split up with them during Christmas break, you had to go home and they were going who-knows-where. You would much rather be with them or Luna over break, but that wasn’t an option for you. Your father made that very clear in the most recent letter he sent you. 

“..it is of utmost importance that you and I have a talk once you arrive at the manor.”

It wouldn’t surprise you if your father had caught wind about your newfound friends and doesn’t approve. It was no secret your father loathes anyone who is not Slytherin, including you. When you were sorted into Ravenclaw it wasn’t only your brother who was disappointed, it was your father as well. After your first year he had threatened not to send you back. You had to plead with him to let you go back. Promising that you’ll prove yourself to him and keep your grades up, and you did. 

“Y/N.. you should visit us during break.” Ron said, breaking you from your thoughts. You started eating breakfast with the trio when Luna wasn’t there. Which was often. 

You looked at him with a sad smile, “I would love that.. but I’m not sure if my father would allow me to do that.. I’m sure you know how my family is.”

“That’s true, Y/N, now thinking about it you’re different from the other pure-blood families..” Hermione said, before looking at Ron “ Uh, the death eater ones I mean.” 

You felt weird now.

“My father.. Isn’t a death eater.” 

The air was tense. “But he was? Wasn’t he?” Hermione countered.

“Well I mean.. Yeah, but that doesn’t define me.. Or my brother.” 

God, you need to get out of here.

It was quiet until Harry finally spoke up, “Well yeah of course, not. Not you at least, but your brother-”

You cut him off before he could finish. You abruptly stood from your spot. Whatever he was about to say you didn’t want to hear it. “Excuse me, I need to get ready to leave.”

You’d be a liar to say you weren’t ashamed of your father’s past. It left a stain on you and your brother. Things are different now. Right?

Just because your brother is Slytherin and one of Umbridge’s henchmen now doesn’t make him a bad guy. Just because he and Draco’s gang has tried countless times to catch ‘Dumbledore’s Army’ in the act, doesn’t make him a bad guy. Honestly, it's a wonder he hasn’t seen you yet. Those Weasley twin’s smoke bombs work wonders.

 Theo’s still the big brother that comforted you after mother’s death. Even though you should have been the one to comfort him. He was the one that saw it. He’s the one that defended you from father’s wrath after he heard you were put into Ravenclaw. He was so sweet, he could never follow down the wrong path like father once had. He’s different.

When you were walking away from the table you heard Ron scold his two friends “Great going guys, she hates us now.”

That was wrong. You didn’t hate them. You hated yourself. You hated Draco, who would snicker whenever you walked past. You hated that your parents had you at such an old age. You hated the whole pure-blood versus muggles and half-bloods thing. You hated the war and everything that came with it. You hated you-know-who. 

You hated how life was cruel.

You hated that you should be grateful for your privilege. You just wish it was given to someone else.

You found yourself sprinting to go collect your luggage from your shared bedroom, wanting to leave as soon as possible. You grabbed your stuff and quickly walked through the groups of kids that were wishing each other farewell. Eventually you found yourself in front of Hogwarts, looking for your brother. He was the only one you wanted to see right now. Then you saw him, he was standing by a train with his luggage on the ground next to him.

He was standing with Draco and Blaise, no surprise there. You walked over to them and did something you couldn’t imagine yourself ever doing before. Lest it kill you from embarrassment. 

You embraced Theo in a hug, dropping your stuff on the ground next to you. You dug your head into his chest. After a few moments the boy wrapped his arms around you. You missed this, you missed him. You missed when life was easy. 

You didn’t care if the two other boys were giving you weird looks, or if they weren’t. You don’t care if everyone in the vicinity was watching you, or if they weren’t.

“What’s wrong, Duckling?” he whispered, so that only you could hear. That was a name he hasn’t called you in years. It came to be because you would always follow him around the manor, like a lost duckling. 

You hugged him a little harder.

“I missed this.”

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

You didn’t sit by your brother on the train ride back. He had already told Draco, Blaise, and Pansy that he’d sit with them. You would rather die than sit with them. At first, you were alone but then the familiar trio found their way to you.

“We’re really sorry about earlier.” Hermione said after knocking and opening the door to your car.

“Yeah, we feel awful.” Harry added.

You couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything negative towards them. Even if you had wanted to, which is good because you did not want to. 

“It’s okay, I think I overreacted anyway. I even went all the way to embarrass myself afterwards.” you felt yourself heat up, post-embarrassment finally sinking it. It honestly felt nice in the moment, but you wish you waited until you were back at the manor to do such a thing.

Ron laughed, “The hug thing- yeah we caught sight of that, it was-” 

Hermione shut him up by smacking his shoulder. 

Harry cut in, “I thought it was sweet actually.”

You awkwardly laughed. “Do you guys want to sit here?” you said while moving your belongings out of the way.

“That would be nice, thank you.” Hermione said, as she came in. Ron and Harry followed suit. 

With them here, this ride will surely go by fast. “So, about your offer of visiting you guys during break..”

“Offer still stands, we can even come get you ourselves.. and if we need to break you out, we can do that. Ask Harry!” Ron joked. 

“I’ll definitely let you know if I need an escape.” you laughed. “I would love to be with you guys, it’s so boring at my house and my father is so strict with me!”

“Well it can’t be so bad, you seem like a family person.” Hermione chimed in.

She wouldn’t know what it’s like to have a father you constantly have to prove yourself to.

“I guess you might be right.” you laughed sadly.

 The rest of the ride consisted of the four of you laughing and enjoying each other’s company. Before you knew it you found yourself at the steps of the manor you grew up in. It was a four story brick building. It had bushes and trees that outlined the walkway.

Your brother started walking to the door, and you followed closely behind. 

Why was there no one to greet you two? Usually there was a maid here to welcome you guys back home. Today there was nobody.

When you finally walked through the door, you saw all the house elves working quickly to tidy up. You only saw them work this diligently when your father was going to be hosting a dinner with some other families. 

Suddenly one of the house elves noticed the two of you. 

“Welcome back, Young Master Nott and Lady Nott.”

You knew the elf meant well, but you can’t help but bring yourself to hate when you are called ‘Lady Nott’ instead of ‘Miss Nott’ it is a sore reminder that your mother is dead, and you are the lady of this house; until Theodore marries someone that is. 

You were brought back to reality when Theodore asked where your father was. 

“He is in his room, Young Master Nott.”

Theodore thanked the elf, before having him bring both of your luggages to your rooms.

“I think father is having a.. work.. dinner. I’m sure we’re gonna be expected to be there, so take some time to rest.” he paused for a second, seemingly deciding what he was going to say next. “And.. we can talk about what’s bothering you later.” 

You gave him a slow nod, to acknowledge his words. You now greatly regret your actions earlier in the day. Your emotions definitely got the best of you. 

Quickly, you went up the stairs to find your room. It looked just as you left it. Minus the suitcase that is sitting next to your bed from the house elf.

Your room was spacious to say the least. It had many windows and a king-sized bed. You wouldn’t say your room was boring, but it definitely wasn’t your personal taste.

You decided to go to your desk, from a drawer you pulled out paper, ink, and a quill. It hasn’t even been two hours and you already wish for your new friends to come save you. This house was suffocating to say the least. 

Dear friends,

Is that too formal? You scrunched that piece of paper up and threw it aside.

Hello guys, 

That just sounds too.. weird. You scrunched that one up too, and threw it with the other. 

Save me asap. I beg you. 

Your friend, Y/N

That will have to do. It’s small but they won’t care. You folded the paper up and stamped it with the signature Nott family crest seal. You would have to wait to send it after your father’s dinner. If they showed up to get you before the dinner then your father would notice your absence and would surely punish you for it. 

You hadn’t even realized it but three hours had already passed. Dinner would be soon, usually your brother would come to escort you when it was time. You quickly dug through your wardrobe for an appropriate dress. You settled for an all black, knee-length, dress. 

Once, you showed up not dressed as “ Lady of the house” and your father lashed out at you after the dinner was over. Ever since then you did your best to live to the expectation he wants.

You threw on a simple sterling necklace with a blue sapphire. A little reflection of your Hogwarts house. 

You quickly put your hair into an easy hairstyle. You would wear makeup, but your father despised it. When you were adding your final touches, you heard three melodic knocks at your door.

Only your brother knocked at your door like that. 

Quickly you threw on a pair of heels and then opened the door. Your brother smiled and then offered you his arm. You wrapped your arm around his and the two started walking to the dining room. 

“I talked to Father..” he started. You looked up at him, urging him to continue. “..a few kids from school will be there tonight, but there is something else you need to-”

You stopped him. “Who’s gonna be there?”

“Pansy Parkinson, Balise Zabini, the Greengrass sisters, Draco Malfoy, and some others.”

Parkinson, Zabini, Greengrass, Malfoy..

Those are all names of pure-blood families. Death eater families nonetheless.

Whatever tonight’s dinner was for, you didn’t think you wanted to know.

#draco #draco malfoy #fanfic #fanfiction #draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #harry potter #harry #ron #ron weasley #hermione #hermione granger #luna #luna lovegood #theodore #theo #theodore nott #slowburn #enemies to lovers #hogwarts #x reader #reader insert #y/n

[melensolo]

Problem

JJ x Reader x Rafe imagine

no tw

“JJ, what are you doing here! It’s three in the morning..” you angrily whispered at the blond boy.

It was three in the morning when you were woken up in your sleep at rushed knocks at your window. At first it scared you. Who would come here this late? To make it worse your boyfriend, Rafe, was sleeping next to you. 

“Y/N.. I’m sorry.. I just-” he kept stuttering. Something was wrong, you could tell.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, eager to find out why he had come here. 

“Nothing’s wrong, I just needed to see you.. I miss you.” he pleaded.

You sighed, “You aren’t allowed to miss me, you’re the one that cheated. You were the one that left. Clearly you weren’t the one that moved on. I am, so I need you to leave. Please.”

You started to shut your window but he stopped you. “I’ll do anything. Please.”

You glared at him. “JJ, I am not doing this right now. My boyfriend is right there, don’t you realize that?”

“I don’t care about him, please princess..” 

Your heart panged when he called you the little pet name he used to call you when you two used to be together, but that feeling quickly changed to disgust.

“You are not allowed to call me that anymore. Nor are you allowed to show up into my life whenever you want! I forgave you and agreed to be friends again, and I meant that. Nothing more and nothing less.” you could tell your words hurt the boy but you couldn’t care, who was he to do this to you have you finally moved on? “That being said, I think it’s time for you to leave.”

Months of you crying over JJ while he was happy with some other girl, months of you wondering what you did wrong, months of you blaming yourself for him cheating on you. You finally found someone that treats you right, and JJ comes back threatening to ruin that. 

But you’re not the same naive girl anymore, you learned to put yourself first.

“Goodbye, JJ.”

You shut the window and closed the curtains. Only assuming that he left. You climbed back into bed with your boyfriend, only after comfortably cuddling up to the man did you finally shut your eyes and drift off to sleep. Rafe was your safe place.

#jj maybank #jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #rafe #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x reader #obx #outerbanks #rafe/reader #jj/reader #kie #sarah cameron #john b #pope

[melensolo]

Novi Val chap. 3

chap 3/?

previous chapter

masterlist

draco x fem reader

SLOWBURN

When you and Luna got back to Hogwarts it was already time for dinner. The two of you quickly found your spots and sat down. You talked with your fellow Ravenclaw about classes and meaningless gossip. You cannot lie about how you found the gossip of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson possibly dating very intriguing. They were perfect, she always followed his orders and he seemed to like that.

You were intently listening to the gossip until someone suddenly grabbed your shoulder and forced you to turn around. When you looked up you saw your brother. 

“What the hell Theo!” you shouted, brushing his hand off of you. The kids around you stopped talking, all watching the scene before them unfold. The attention was on the two of you now.

“Do you know how worried I was? I spent thirty minutes losing my shit looking for you before that blond asshole decided to tell me he saw you sneak away with Loony Lovegood!” he reprimanded.

Who was he to scold you in front of your peers? To openly insult your only friend while she sat right next to you? Does he expect you to say that you’re sorry?

“Her name is Luna and I don’t understand why you care so much! You seemed to be enjoying laughing at everyone that walked past you, but I’m not like you-.” before you could finish Theo cut you off. “Not like me? What is that supposed to mean? We’re the same flesh and blood.”

“It means I’m not an asshole!” you seethed. The male hummed and nodded in response, jaw clenched as if he was stopping himself from saying something he might regret, then went back to his spot at the Slytherin table. You could tell he was upset. 

You felt guilty, you never meant to argue with him. He was just scared that he lost you, and you knew that. You only put up a fight because you were in front of your fellow classmates and he was openly scolding you. 

You didn’t want them to think you were some girl who’s older brother had to look after or keep in check, because you weren’t. You were as responsible as him, if not more.

You felt someone’s hand on yours, Luna. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. We argue all the time, he was just worried.” you paused and looked Luna in the eyes, “I’m so sorry about him calling you that. I’m sure he didn’t mean-.”

“It’s alright, I’m used to it.” she smiled at you, in comfort. After Theo’s outburst there was silence and it was soon followed by nearby whispering. You knew they were talking about you and Theodore but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Once you finished eating you promptly removed yourself from the tense atmosphere and returned to your bed. Sleep takes over your body as soon as you lay down, ready for another dreamless night.

The following day you found yourself not wanting breakfast, opting to just stay in the Ravenclaw common room until it was time to go to your first class. If you could, you would lay in bed all day. The embarrassment from dinner last night finally sinking in.

Reluctantly you got out of bed and changed into your school attire. You just prayed this day, and the upcoming ones will go smoothly. 

You had the same first hour as Theodore and you found yourself dragging your feet. As you walked into your Charms class you saw the older boy sitting next to his normal seatmate, some Slytherin girl you didn’t care to learn the name of.

You took a deep breath in-and-out then approached him. When he notices you coming towards him, he looks at you suspiciously. Rightfully so.

“Theodore.” you say in greeting. 

“Sister, have you come to apologize?” he smirked at you, but not in a mean way.

“Well I-.”

“Apology accepted, now go on, Professor Flitwick will be here any minute.” he said, hand motioning to your seat. You stared at him a little longer before reluctantly heading to your seat. Once you sat down, as if on cue, Professor Flitwick strode into class. Thus your school day officially starts.

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

A week has passed since you last spoke to your brother. You and him were on good terms but always seemed to have some sort of disagreement when together, so why ruin it? 

The week was a normal week, aside from the fact that the pink monster Umbridge seems to be taking over the school. Not only that but Luna came to you asking if you believed if Lord Voldemort was back. You couldn’t give her an answer. Despite that, she asked you to accompany her to Hogsmeade to meet with a few students. 

You agreed of course, it was the least you could do.

So now you find yourself in a small room with a couple familiar faces. Cho Chang, Dean Thomas, and the Weasley twins being some of the ones you recognized.There looked to be around twenty people here.

What kind of meeting is this?

When you heard the door open, you turned and saw Harry, Hermione, and Ron walk through together. 

“Um hello everyone-.” she started as she looked at everyone that was here “you all know why you are here-”

No you do not.

“We need a teacher. A proper teacher, one with real experience against the Dark Arts.”

Oh. So that’s what this is about. They want to rebel against Umbridge. You could understand why, she is horrible, but rebelling? You support them but you cannot stand with them. She’s from the Ministry and messing with the Ministry and bad news. Not to mention your father is also with the Ministry, so wouldn’t rebelling the Ministry also be rebelling against your father? If Theo found out then surely your father would too.

“Why?” asked some blond boy you’ve never seen before. 

“Why?!” repeated Ron “Because you-know-who’s back, you idiot.”

The other kid argued back “Yeah, so he says” referring to Harry.

“So Dumbledore says.” Hermione countered. 

You really didn’t want to hear this. He couldn’t be back, could he?

Another kid you’ve never seen before joined in with the blond “If Potter would tell us more about Diggory’s death then..”

Before he could finish, Harry stopped him. “I am not gonna talk about Cedric. If that’s why you’re here then you can leave.”

Nobody moved. Harry looked as if he wanted to leave. This was a waste of time, but you couldn’t leave Luna here alone.

Suddenly Luna spoke up, “Is it true you can produce a Patronus Charm?”

Harry stared at the girl next to you, as Hermione answered for him “Yes.” Harry and Hermione looked at each other then back to Luna. “We’ve seen it.” 

Suddenly Dean Thomas spoke up “I didn’t know you could do that, Harry.” 

Did any of us?

“He also killed a Basilisk with a sword from Dumbledore’s office!” Neville added.

“It’s true, in our third year he fought off a hundred dementors at once.” came from Ron 

“And last year he really did fight you-know-who in the flesh.” Hermione finished

Yet after hearing all of that, you still find yourself trying to deny it. Deny, deny deny. Ignorance is bliss. 

Harry suddenly spoke up “When you guys say it like that, it sounds great, but the truth is that I was just lucky. I didn’t know what I was doing most of the time and I almost always had help.”

Before he could say more, Hermione interrupted, “He’s just being modest.”

“No, Hemione, I’m not.” The dark haired boy looked around at everyone then said “Facing this stuff in real life is not like school, in school you can try again if you fail. In real life you only have one chance.” Harry sat down, and looked at the ground. “When you’re a second away from being murdered.. Or your friend- you don’t know what that’s like.”

Hermione spoke up once again “You’re right Harry, that’s why we need you. If we want a chance of beating.. Voldemort..”

Voldemort. You can’t bring yourself to deny it. You’re Ravenclaw, you should be wise. 

Finally you broke your silence. “So he is really back then?” You looked at Harry and he looked back at you. A silent yes. That was all you needed before you found yourself, and everyone else in that room signing a paper that was titled ‘Dumbledore’s Army.’

next chapter

#draco #draco x reader #draco/reader #draco malfoy x reader #harry potter #theodore nott #luna lovegood #ron weasley #dean thomas #cho chang #fanfic #y/n #x reader #reader #theo nott #hogwarts #slowburn #enemies to lovers

[melensolo]

Novi Val chap. 2

chapter 2/?

previous chapter draco x fem reader

slowburn

When your older brother said he would make it up to you by taking you out to Hogsmeade, this is not what you expected. You had not been expecting to see yourself surrounded by Draco’s gang. 

This whole trip consisted of you feeling like an outsider even though your brother tried endlessly to include you in their antics. 

“Right Y/N?” Theo would say after cracking a joke about someone or something. You would nod your head as a reply and continue searching for an excuse to leave. Theo better find a real way to make-it-up to you. Why would he think I would want to hang out with the same kids that bully anyone that breathes the same air as them, you included.

While Draco’s gang of puppies were laughing at some poor kid far away, you saw your opportunity to leave when you saw Luna leaving Hogsmeade in the direction of Hogwarts. You cautiously fell behind the group and ran to the blonde girl. 

“Luna, wait up!” you shouted when you were in earshot distance. She must’ve heard you because her steps faltered and she turned to face you, she lifted her hand and offered a tiny wave. She waited for you to reach her before she spoke. “Y/N, what are you doing at Hogsmeade?”

“Oh, I was just out with my brother and his friends.” you replied and turned to the direction you came from; that's when you made eye contact with Draco Malfoy. He squinted his eyes at you then turned his attention back to his crew.

“Yeah, they aren’t the best to be around.” you awkwardly laughed and faced the blonde girl again. She gave you a knowing look. You looked to the ground and noticed the girl had no shoes. “Luna, why are you barefoot?”

“Sadly, all my shoes have disappeared. I think it was the Nargles.” 

You hummed in response, and made a mental note to give her a pair of your extra shoes when you get back to Hogwarts.

“Well, I was just here to buy some meat to feed some animals, if you would like to come along?” she said, beginning to walk again as if she already knew you would say yes.

“Of course!” you answered, matching her steps. This wasn’t the first time you would go with her to feed animals, you enjoyed it as much as you enjoyed her company. Spending time with the animals was refreshing, like connecting with nature.

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After walking for quite some time she stopped walking and grabbed a tiny piece of meat. She threw it on the ground.

“Luna? There is nothing here?” you questioned her behavior. She ignored you and started taking a few steps and she started staring up, at nothing. You found a nearby log to sit on as Luna started caressing the air. Something had to be there, but you couldn’t see it.

“Hello, Harry Potter.” the blonde said without turning around or stopping her ministrations to the air. That made you turn around and you saw the famous brunette boy. He offered you a smile and wave before approaching Luna.

 Honestly you were surprised he was allowed back to Hogwarts. Due to the incident with the Ministry and him saying you-know-who is back. To be frank, you didn’t know if you believed him or not. You didn’t want to believe it, you wanted to believe Cedric Diggory died in a horrific accident. Ignorance is bliss afterall.

 “Your feet. Aren’t they cold?” He asked when he was standing next to her. You breathed out a laugh. 

“A bit” She looked down to her feet then back up at the boy before continuing. “Unfortunately my shoes seem to have disappeared. I suspect the Nargles.” 

There was a moment of silence and you found yourself just watching the two of them. Harry seemed to be aware of the animal Luna had been petting.

“What are they?” he asked her. 

“Thestrals, and they are quite gentle. People avoid them because they are-” she trailed off as she looked into the distance. As if she saw something.

Harry saw it too and finished her sentence. “-Different.”

The pair walked toward where Luna was looking.

“But why can nobody else see them?” the boy asked.

She answered quickly, as if she knew he were going to ask that. “Only people that have seen death can see them.”

Does that mean that your elder brother can see them?

The two were further away and you couldn’t listen to them talk anymore. When did they become close? You found yourself entranced in thought as Luna and Harry continued chatting and feeding the Thestrals.

The school year has just begun but it already feels awful. Mainly due to a certain pink Ministry lady. When she first came you didn’t think anything of it. Didn’t even bat an eye at her, but now you’re questioning it.

Her teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts made no sense and her punishment methods were downright medieval. You weren't a victim to her, but you have seen those who were. 

Though, you cannot complain too much about her class because you got to sit next to Dean Thomas who you fancied very much. He was kind to you and was very funny. He was also very attractive. 

The only downside with him is that you weren’t sure if he had a thing going on with Ginny Weasly or not. You didn’t want to get on her bad side after all. She was in your year and you thought she was lovely. 

So for now, he was off limits. 

“Y/N?” you heard Luna say your name, breaking you out of your train of thought.

“Oh sorry, are you done?” you said, looking up at the older girl. Harry left a while ago but you stayed with the fellow Ravenclaw.

“You looked like you were in deep thought, I am sorry if I disturbed you.” she smiled a bit then continued, “I was just gonna suggest we head back before it's too late.”

You hummed in response and the two of you went on your way.

next chapter

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Novi Val

CHAP 1/?

draco x fem reader

Today is the day.

It’s the first day of your fourth year at Hogwarts. The past three years you have lived in the shadows, someone just trying to get through life.

Today is the day for change. You were done trying to “just get through.” You were ready to begin living. You wanted to be like everyone else. You wanted friends, you wanted love, you wanted a year to remember. 

Ever since you came to Hogwarts you felt like you were in your brother’s shadow. Not because he has lots of academic or athletic achievements, but because the girls are crazy about him and that makes finding real friends hard. Girls would come to you offering friendship only to find out they just wanted to get close to Theodore. 

You and Theo had a rocky relationship, but it wasn’t always like that. As kids you two were inseparable. Especially after our mother’s death. Our father wasn’t there very often so aside from maids and nannies all we had was each other.

 It all went downhill when you were being sorted into your house, he was with Slytherin and of course you wanted to be Slytherin just like your elder brother, but no, the sorting hat had other plans. You were to be in Ravenclaw. Since that day you have been a victim to Slytherin ridicule, though not to a severe level. Your brother was thanks to that, he would never let them do too much to you. 

This will be your year.

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You were in the middle of your thoughts when you heard the door to your area slide open. You turned your head and saw a familiar blonde.

“Luna! It is so good to see you!” you say with a grin.

Luna was one of your few friends. She was a fellow Ravenclaw and her bed was next to yours in your previous years. She was someone you could talk to without fear of being judged. She respected you as you respected her.

“Y/N, you do not mind if I sit with you?” she asked, already taking a seat next to you.

“Of course not, you’re more than welcome with me.” you smiled at her. 

This year was already going great. You and Luna continued to fluidly talk about each other’s summer and time flew by, before you knew it you were back at Hogwarts in a familiar dining hall.

As always, you sat with your house and watched as the new first years were sorted into their respective houses.

Everytime a first year was sorted into Slytherin you would find yourself taking a glance at your older brother, and then to who he was sitting next to. He was sitting beside one of whom you specifically avoided. Draco Malfoy. He was bad news, even Theodore knew this. He says he doesn’t care but you know he just wishes to fit in.

You must have been staring at them for too long because suddenly you see Draco pointing at you and laughing with your brother. Shame filled your chest and you quickly turned away to eat your food, but now you had no appetite. 

Who would mock their own sister?

You felt sick. You should be used to it by now, but you can’t help but feel embarrassed and hurt. This wasn’t anything new, you were never immune to Slytherin’s attacks, so why did it hurt now?

Luna must’ve noticed your change in demeanor because she put her hand over yours. You look up and meet her eyes and she gives you a small smile. You smile back at her, her wordless comfort puts you at ease. 

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At the end of the sorting ceremony you exit the dining hall, pride having been broken but your hope for a happier year still as strong as ever. You weren’t gonna let your brother ruin this year for you. 

“Well if it isn’t little Miss Nott.” you heard an overly familiar voice call behind you. You picked up your walking pace but before you could get five steps away he called you again. “You sure liked staring at me earlier, so why do you refuse to face me now?”

You stopped. Still facing away from him.

How dare he mock you right now.

You turned around and opened your mouth to respond to him, you didn’t know what you were going to say but surely anything is better than nothing. 

“I’ll have you know-” then you saw Draco’s two little lap dogs and your brother standing behind him. You made eye contact with Theo and shut your mouth. Before you opened your mouth again to continue, you were interrupted. 

“C’mon Draco let’s just go-” Theo said. He showed a bit of remorse in his face as he looked at you. “She’s not worth our time.”

Your heart panged. 

“I guess you’re right, Theo.” Draco said, Crabbe and Goyle nodding along; so eager to please their master as always.

Draco looked you up and down before going along his way, his puppies following closely behind. Your brother stayed standing there. His eyes were scrunched and his face was unreadable. You couldn’t decide if he hated you at that moment or if he was regretful. 

“Theodore.” you said, sturdiness in your tone. You won’t let them get under your skin, and even if they manage it you will never let it show.

He sighed, “Look, you know I don’t mean to hurt you in any way, right?” he took a step closer to you and you stood your ground.

“Is this your way of apologizing to your little sister?” 

“No, I just-” 

You cut him off, “Aside from our shitty father I am all the family you have left. Do you realize that? The past three years I have forgiven the bullying and mocking, but Theo-” you trailed off, trying to keep your calm “-but Theo, it needs to stop. Or I swear to you that I will just leave you behind, I do not need you.”

“Y/N, you know as well as I do that I don’t mean harm. It’s just the way things work, okay? I make it up to you every time.” 

“I am tired of you having to make it up to me, I just want you to do better!” you shouted at him through gritted teeth. “I miss having a good relationship with my brother. Friends will come and go, and family is supposed to be forever.”

He nodded to that. 

“I know. I will do my best to do good by you. I swear to you, on our mother I will.” he looked down on you, a small smile on his face.

“You can’t swear on a dead person, dummy” you playfully punched his arm.

“So are we okay?” he asked hopefully.

“I suppose, but you’re still on thin ice!” you said, smiling slightly.

He went in for a hug after hearing that, “Good. Since I always make it up to you, Hogsmeade this Saturday, understand?”

You returned the hug with a hum of approval. Whatever it is, it better be good.

next chapter

#fanfic #draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #theodore nott #harry potter #draco fic #draco fanfic #hogwarts #luna lovegood #f x m