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honeybeedrabble · 8 months

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Kintober Day Six: Dubcon- Kars x AFAB!Reader.

CW: Dubcon (fear tactics and power imbalance), kars x AFAB! Reader, degradation, piv (unprotected), fingering, slapping, cream pie (don’t be stupid), breeder!kars

18+ MDNI !!!

You had heard rumors of three gods running around and stealing women from your village circulating. While they called themselves gods they were anything but that, your mother referred to them as devils. They were fearsome, those who had run into them never came back into town the same, frozen in terror from the battle for their lives, never to speak again. Everyone was frightened, terrified of what they would do to their mothers, sister and daughters. And even more terrified of what they’d do to the men who’d try to stop those evil gods from taking them away.

It was an unspoken rule in most households that people would return home before it was too late, or else be met with the same fate as all the other missing persons. You weren’t afraid, you almost laughed at the idea of these “gods” or “devils” existence. You chopped it up to a few parents trying to scare their children into going to bed on time. However this couldn’t be anything but wrong.

You went out one night with a few friends, sneaking out late to go dancing at a small bar in the corner of town near the villages entrance. You had realized you had gotten far too tipsy and decided to walk home alone, that way the rest of the group could have their own fun. You stumbled around, the nights air still hot from the summers heat. You walked up to the cobblestone wall that was the entrance of the village and leaned against it looking out towards the nearby forest. You exhaled amusingly, rolling your eyes at the thought of a few men running around without any clothes on and stealing girls and men to eat- or “worse”.

“Sure, cause why not?” You laughed to yourself. You had enough courage- or stupidity- to walk over to the small forest, ditching the idea of going home. You didn’t really care about getting home, besides, you needed to clear your mind.

You felt the leaves crunching under your footsteps, moonlight seeping through the gaps of branches in the trees. You looked up at it, it was a beautiful, clear night! You couldn’t help yourself but to venture further in and get an even deeper appreciation for the forest everyone refused to go into.

“What a bunch of pussies,” you snickered, kicking a small rock along the side of a short stream. You followed the stream up until you accidentally kicked the rock into the water. You groaned, then looked around for a log to turn over and maybe sit and meditate at for a while.

As you kept looking around the area, you noticed a small house in the middle of the forest. You were intrigued, remembering how there was an old couple rumored to have lived there before they had been eaten or killed- whichever came first.

You walked up the small stone path that led to the house, sure that it must’ve been abondoned years ago to look this awful. As you approached the broken door you heard some rustling in the trees above. You froze, thoughts of the gods flooding your mind.

“No… t-they’re not real. They can’t be.” You told yourself.

“Who isn’t real, tell me mortal?” Came a gravely voice from behind your ear. You froze, staring at the door in front of you with worry. You closed your eyes, hoping you would wake up from whatever drunken dream you had found yourself in.

You felt a large hand wrap around your jaw, forcing you to look over your shoulder. You kept your eyes shut tight.

“Open your eyes, small one. Show some respect.” His voice reverberated in the woods and your legs felt weak, shaking underneath you in fear.

You slowly opened your eyes, looking in the face of the large man behind you. His eyes were a piercing red, illuminated by the full moon. He had large, bulging muscles, with his hair wrapped in a sort of black headdress, a dark curl draped over his forehead. You let out a gasp, the man smirked.

“Y-You’re…” Your eyes started to well with tears, heart beating a million miles an hour.

“You’re shaking.” He said. grabbing your jaw harsher and turning you around to face him. You fell down on your ass hard, you let out a grunt as you hit the ground. “Tell me why you’ve come out here so late. Don’t your people know not to go looking for trouble by now? Or do I have to make an example out of you?” He grumbled, lowering down to your level, his face inches away from yours.

“I…” You breathed out, the most you could muster.

“Speak when spoken to!” He barked, teeth almost bared.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know… honestly.” You felt tears fall down your cheeks and you couldn’t stop them from flowing, fear confusing you entirely. “Please… please just don’t eat me.” The reality of your mortality being at stake was thrown in your face as he pushed your head back into the grassy dirt.

“Eat you? Now why would I do that?”

“B-Because you’re the devil,” you sniffed. He smirked, teeth flashing at you. He ducked down to your face, you could feel his breath against your skin. His tongue came out of his lips and caressed your cheek, tasting your salty tears.

“On second thoughts, maybe I should. You taste sweet.” He laughed as he watched you squirm underneath him, for some reason you were getting turned on.

“Make no mistake, human. I am no mere devil, I am a god. I am a pillarman. I am Kars. Your kind was able to seal me away and wake me up. My kind is far beyond your time and even father beyond your comprehension.” His hand was placed on your thigh, it hiked itself up slowly.

“With time comes the need for growth. And because of my peoples erasure, there are no pillarwomen to reproduce with. My brothers and I have been able to a capture a few of your women, yet they couldn’t handle what we gave them.” Kars’ hand was under your long skirt now, your thigh quivering under his touch.

“We couldn’t have just let them go, we have an image to maintain- soon to be humanity’s most perfect beings.”

“W-What happened to them?” You asked through tears. He chuckled.

“You’re soon to find out.” His hand shot up, ripping your panties off of you and rubbing a circle along your engorged clit. You let out a whimper, he quickly covered your mouth.

“Quiet. My brothers are inside that building you’ve found. Do you want them to come out here and do this to you as well?” He asked, eyes staring daggers into you. You shook your head viciously. “That’s what I thought.” He picked you up bridal style and brought you further into the woods. You felt terrified, unsure of your fate. Yet entirely aroused due to his gorgeous being and opulent touches.

Kars set you down on the ground, in a small patch of flowers. He looked at you with a smirk.

“How pretty.” He said softly, licking your cheeks for more of your delicious tears. “The women from your village had almost died in fear the moment we set eyes on them. You however are different. Maybe you can handle the strength of a pillarman. Maybe you’ll be a perfect specimen to bare our children.” Your blood ran cold.

His hand attacked your clit again, flicking your bud with little to no effort while you panted heavily, moans escaping your lips. His fingers slowly dipped down, prodding your hole before his thick didgets thrusted into you.

“AH!” You threw your head back, your back arching deeply as you lightly pushed your hips down on his hand.

“I guess I was right, mortal. You are a perfect specimen. Nice and tight… warm… wet…” he trailed off as he pumped his fingers inside of you, feeling your velvety walls clamp down in bliss as if you were real estate. “I’d bet you’re fertile, nobody could possibly be this wet already.”

“P-Please… Kars, don’t get me pregnant,” you felt so embarrassed saying that, tears forming out of embarrassment now.

“Shut up, human!” He snapped, slapping your clit. You yipped, pleasure and pain surrounding you entirely as his hand retracted from your pussy. “I could always just eat you instead, would you rather that?” He asked with a smirk on his face.

“No! P-Please don’t my god…” you cried. Kars let out a booming laugh, going back to rubbing your clit.

“How amusing…” He sighed humorously. Kars sat up tearing your clothes off of you and your nipples hardened in the air. You shuddered, the air that once felt warm now feels cold after the night had gotten longer. “Cold, are we?” He asked. You nodded.

Kars had taken off his headdress, a giant mass of curly hair came falling beautifully down his shoulders and muscular back. You could see his horn even better now. His hair created almost a wall around you, keeping your body warmth in that area. He adjusted his loin cloth and you looked down. His cock sprang out and hit his chiseled abs. You looked at its menacing menacing girth with fear and put a hand on his abdomen trying to push him away.

“You’ve been so good, don’t ruin it, mortal.” Kars sighed with disappointment. He flashed his teeth at you and out of fear you withdrew your hand. “Oh, look at that? You can listen.” he hummed.

He grabbed the base of his thick cock and ran it along your folds, eliciting a mewl out of you. Kars smirked, then thrusted into you with an incomparable force. You let out a scream, feeling his length pummel into you with a blissfully agonizing stretch.

“What a nice cocksleeve you are. In all my years i’ve never had a pussy this tight.“ He parted you almost violently.

He set the pace hard and fast, opening you up with his rod. Kars pounded you, watching how you bobbed up and down on his length, shifting under the grassy flowers with each thrust. He grabbed your hips with such force you were sure his fingertips could’ve bruised you. He held you in place while he drilled you, your eyes had rolled back and you gripped the dewy grass underneath you for stability.

Your moans filled the air and your walls fluttered around him, your slick painting his length as the sounds of his skin slapping against yours filled your ears. You felt a pool of drool slip past the corner of your mouth as you whimpered underneath his giant frame. Kars down at your face and smiled wide.

“Oohhh, that’s nice… how wicked. Enjoying how i’m taking you in these woods, mortal? I knew you had it in you…” Kars smiled.

His lips crashed into yours and his tongue parted your lips hungrily. He tasted your spit, coating his tongue in the drool you had. His strong tongue felt heavenly against yours and you suddenly felt an intense hunger for it. You lifted your head up and tangled your tongue with his, occasionally choking on the mixed saliva as your breaths became shallower and your moans became more frequent.

His tongue made love to yours while his cock pummels you til your hilt with all the sexual frustration of 2000 years had built up inside of him.

“Such a good whore, all i had to do was discipline you a little and already you’re far more obedient than the ones that came before you. In fact, I think you’re starting to like this.” Kars’ hips snapped against your even harder, although sloppier. You had a feeling he was going to cum.

“Haah-“ You moaned, before he shoved his tongue back into your mouth, swirling with yours. He withdrew it again, a string of saliva keeping you two together.

“Such a perfect hole… Well worth the wait. After all this fucking you still can barely take me, quite the feat if you ask me.” He purred, sucking a part of your neck into his mouth.

You were seeing stars as he trusted deep into you, cumming around his thick cock and strangling his length. Kars grunted, fucking you even harder through your orgasm until he was letting his own moans slip through his lips and spill his huge load of hot cum deep into your abused pussy.

Both of your bodies were covered in sweat when he picked your naked form up in his arms. He plunged a finger inside of you to keep his seed in as he started to bring you towards the house.

“I quite like you mortal, I’ll keep you as my own. I’ll have to fight Ecidici and Wamuu to keep them off of you. Those fools would probably ruin you, they have no clue how to take care of their things.” He looked down at you, watching you shake under his gaze.

“Don’t be fooled, this doesn’t mean you’ll be getting away free. You’ll be my new fucktoy, with only the purpose of taking my cock and baring me new heirs. We’ll have to do this every day, over and over until you get all swollen with my children. And even then, you’ll probably still be irresistible.”

AN: still catching up my bad guys lol.

tag list: @fuckmachine42069 @pasdasin @alien-girl-violet

(Next) Day seven: Stuck in a wall- obito x reader

#smut #kars smut #kars jjba #kars jojo #kars x reader #kars x y/n #kars x you #kars x y/n smut #kinktober #shaggys bitches kinktober #kinktober 2023 #jjba fanfic #jjba smut #jjba kars

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writingwithcolor · 2 years

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Historical romance with Black woman, without including racism

Anonymous asked:

I write regency romance and I have a female character that I have written as having a mother who is black Antiguan and father who is white British in 1819—he’s a Viscount so they are highly placed. I want their daughter to have a typical romance arc…and that’s it. I don’t plan on making any of her problems about race or even mention it other than describing her as black and a brief backstory on how her parents met. In ignoring this aspect of her—whatever problems might have presented themselves, what conflicted feelings she might have about British white high society in that era—am I wrong? If I am wrong but still don’t want the romance to be about race and class, how to do that in a respectful way?

Or, is it okay to tell the story of romance without race being an issue at all?

Yes, yes, and yes. And it’s not so much about ignoring any racial conflicts in the era. Although, the history and treatment of Black people was not the same in the European regions as it was in the Americas (feel free to do some research, for context).

It’s about whether the issue matters specifically to:

your story

the specific area

your character’s narrative

to those around her, or specifically the people she interacts with, including the lover, his relatives, friends, and so on.

And it’s okay for that answer to be no. You do not need to make racism just * not exist* but rather, not make it a matter for the people in the story. This is the case whether you write a story set in 1819 or 2025!

Black people should be allowed stories, especially with romances, that aren’t about racist conflict and being dehumanized. The regency romance genre lacks Black women protagonists in love, and BIPOC in general. And these Black women and people do not need to only be mixed race or light, either.

Steps to diversify the genre starts with just letting us exist in history without fears of being “historically inaccurate.”

As discussed many times here:

Black people existed (and exist!) in Europe, and not only as enslaved or oppressed people.

Arguments against historical accuracy are usually only served to keep inclusion out, not to bring it in. The same historical accuracy is not called for when including fairies, ogres and dragons in historical settings.

Therefore, if supernatural creatures can exist in this era as upper class and royalty, so can Black people, period. But again, they did! So.

Not including racism doesn’t mean ignoring reality

Now, if one were to write a story about a Black person today and not include any racism, are they somehow doing Black people a disservice by not putting them through traumas and racism they already face on a regular basis? I would say absolutely not. In fact, it’s what I personally go for. Escapism should exist for us too. These heavy-hearted books have their place and can be sought out if desired.

Colorblindness

On the same note, colorblindness is not ideal. You mention that you’ll still describe the characters, which is good. But being Black or another race or ethnicity, but leaving out the anti and ‘isms doesn’t mean you’re removing an essential part of them. A welcome part of representation is to acknowledge their looks, culture, food, languages…aka the things that make them who they are. The narrative doesn’t need to obsess over differences, but simply accept them as natural.

Some people have this fear of race. As if to talk about, mention or even notice race is to be racist. “Black” is a whispered word.

Avoid all talk of “despite of race” or “not seeing race” because that’s

1) simply not true and is

2) another form of racist erasure.

We can see and acknowledge differences between you and me. And they can simply be embraced and accepted, not ignored.

Ways to acknowledge diversity without racism in romance

There are many ways to do this. Here are just some ideas, some vague and some specific.

Describe and mention the character’s looks

Include physical descriptions of your character’s race. Whether you show or tell, you should make it clear that they’re Black, or the given race you’re writing. It doesn’t have to be a big deal for the plot. It should be something that is at least apparent to readers. Without clear indication, the character will likely be seen as white. Book covers help avoid this white-as-default assumption, too.

You can thread descriptions and reminders, short or longer, throughout the story.

Examples

She had rich brown skin and even darker brown eyes. I lost my breath when she tucked her chin, only to bat her heavy lashes my way.

Thick curls spilled around her face, black coils against golden brown skin.

I attribute my looks to my Antiguan roots - dark brown skin, umber eyes, and a small, rounded nose - all traits that I got from my mother.

She tucked a thick coil under her bonnet

Comparisons also work, particularly if the people are not used to seeing people of this race. Now, these comparisons should not be about exalting one race or putting down the other group(s). Pointing out differences does not need to be a battle of what or who is better looking.

More examples

Lance couldn’t keep his eyes off of the beautiful woman stepping off of the boat. Her skin held a warm brown hue. He’d never seen skin this rich in color – all of his friends and neighbors were pale or only slightly tanned from the sun.

She had dark skin, her brown shade much deeper in tone than the other humans he had met so far on his ventures through space.

Her brown skin, black hair and dark eyes contrasted with those of the pale, blonde women in the room.

“I hear the Duke is courting that young Moorish woman.” “The woman’s name is Emilia Watson,” Sarah said, resolutely.

He admired the stark contrast of their skin, brown and white, as they walked hand in hand.

Add culture, not racism

Culture is many, many things. So there’s many ways to show hints of it throughout the story.

Consider things like:

Food

Holidays

Clothing

Religion, beliefs, myths

Language, phrases

Mannerisms, values and habits

Superstitions

Family roles

Traditions and customs

Art

Food

A special mention to food, but perhaps because I’m hungry writing this. Food can be culture, and a very important part of it, I think it’s also an easy and fun way to incorporate it into a story, without needing to mention racism.

Examples

The characters makes her partner or the family a traditional dish. He / they could also share their favorites with her.

She shows him how to make a dish passed down throughout the family.

Something she makes him is so spicy that he runs to find water for relief, which could be a funny and cute moment.

They celebrate a special holiday or tradition by making a meal together.

They visit a market that sells food or produce from her homeland that they try and enjoy.

In summary

Please feel free to write historical romances with BIPOC, minus the racism. I promise that there’s an audience for it!

More reading

Wealthy Black character in historical romance, written by white author

(1800s Western) non-racist White characters interacting with Black and Native people

Historical American Fiction without the Racism

FAQ - “It wouldn’t be historically accurate for my story to include BiPoC.”

Praising Beauty Without Fetishizing PoC

~Mod Colette

P.S. If anyone has some good diverse regency romances with WOC, please drop those recommendations. I’m always trying to find more to read!

#Black #black characters #historical romance #regency #regency romance #escapism #asks

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peggy-sue-reads-a-book · 1 year

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How To Be a Safe Person to Menstruate With

You can be private without expressing disgust. Just step away politely or be honest that you are embarrassed. Neither of these choices shames women.

The reverse is also true. Like I said, just because someone doesn’t want to talk doesn’t mean they’re lame and ashamed.

Compliment girls wearing on their self-expression like red jewelry or watering a Venus flytrap with their menstrual cups.

There are lots of sustainable products now but accessibility is not equal. Not everyone has the water resources to wash reusable products so don’t get preachy.

If you shit on someone else’s choice of birth control, by God I will come for you.

Vote to protect birth control

Do not tell someone they’re gross for using pads and cups that require washing.

If you have found a trustworthy gynecologist, spread the word

If a woman tells you she feels ill, in pain, or like something is wrong believe her

Do not tell her to lose weight or consider therapy. If you do, I will hit you with a fish.

Take hormonal diseases seriously

When someone tells you she has endometriosis, interstitial cystitis, cancer, or PCOS, do not come at her with medical expertise you suddenly think you have.

Offer to buy pads and tampons but make sure to ask what kind — some have allergens.

You can always get someone a glass of water.

If it’s a trans guy you’re talking with, validate his body without treating him like one of the girls. If you don’t know how, just ask.

Do not try to guess if someone is on their period. That’s rude.

I have an alpha period. If we hang out, you will sync to my period and we can all be unhappy together.

If you bleed monthly and are talking to a woman who doesn’t, you aren’t better than her. You define your period. She can define hers.

If someone is confused because she started her period and got a positive pregnancy test, take her to the hospital and defend her with your life. She is miscarrying and needs an ultrasound. If a doctor dismisses her as just having a difficult period, make ape noises and then threaten him with arson.

If after all this you are still angry, DM me his name and I will personally come for revenge. I am pregnant and very powerful.

For that matter, my husband will sort him out for you.

Take black women seriously. Respect that WOC face medical discrimination and gaslighting on the daily.

Advil is valid. Homeopathics are valid. Do not assail your friend with essential oils when she’s asked for a Midol.

If your friend shares some concerning symptoms with you, do not freak her out with an armchair diagnosis.

But you should definitely validate her pain and encourage her to get help. Or even help her get help. Throw her in the car and personally drive her to the doctor.

If your friend confides in you that she has an STI or you are able to guess that she has an STI, be nice to her because if you don’t I will find you and I will yeet you away into the night like Batman.

Educate yourself about periods. Learn the correct anatomical words.

And for God’s sake, you still have to wear a condom.

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awhitegirlspassion · 6 months

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It is nice to see a blog that you can see, feel and tell is run a a real White woman.

Your blog is classy and celebrates real relationships between Black man and White women without all the sleaze.

Don’t mind the haters, freaks and silly people in your inbox. Keep being you and live your truth.

From

A Black man with a similar blog theme

First of all, I just wanted to say THANK YOU for that insightful and beautiful comment on my blog! I can't tell you how spot on you are and how relevant that point of view is! I see SO many blogs here on Tumblr that focus entirely on the sexual part of the connection between black men and white women and thereby reducing it to something super superficial and shallow! I'm really against this kind of shallow portrayal of the attraction between us and that's actually partly why I wanted to create my own blog! To put a woman's perspective out there!

As a white woman who are passionate about the true connection between us white women and you black men, it is SO important to me that my blog try to convey every part of this bond in an honest way. To me and to most other women I think, this bond is primarily an emotional one and one based on respect and emotional fulfillment. Of course the physically attraction between us also plays a part sure, but in the end it's about SO much more! It's about how we're compatible emotionally and about how black men make us women feel fulfilled, both as women and as human beings. It's about how our inteinsic natural instincts both are opposite of each other and yet allign to create a strong bond and attraction between us. I find it perplexing that most blogs run by "snowbunnies" only focus on the physical part of this bind between us.

#snowbunny #snowbunny dreams #snowbunny thoughts #bnwo #white women evolving #sexy black men #queens of spades #interracial love #bnwo propaganda #white women for black men #white women black men

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edenfenixblogs · 5 months

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What are you doing to help black people?

Several things! (A Note on My Personal Limitations: I am not black. I am unable to protest for health reasons. I do not have much money at all)

I elevate black voices whenever I can

I joined an anti-racism book club where I can learn how to be a better ally and unlearn as much systemic prejudice as I can

I do not tolerate anti-black racism from anyone in my life for any reason. I call it out every time, publicly.

I donate (when financially possible) to several causes devoted to both long term and immediate aid to to black people including: various bail funds in my current state and my home state, the southern poverty law center, the Homeless Black Trans Women gofundme, the ACLU, and others.

I consistently educate people in my life about the goals of BLM — including defunding the police — in order to reduce their knee jerk reactions and foster better understanding.

I shut the eff up unless I can help. I’m no savior; I know this. I don’t break into conversations that don’t involve me. I just listen. Most of my public advocacy is amplifying black voices on issues that affect the black community without adding my irrelevant opinions as white-passing person.

Privately, I have and continue to reach out to the several black people in my life to let them know I support them and that I am listening. I listen to them vent to me about their pain and suffering. I let them tell me if I’ve fucked up somehow without getting defensive. Then I apologize sincerely and onboard the new information and don’t do whatever the offending action was again. I have not had anyone tell me I’ve fucked up in that way in over a decade, though. I did, however, realize (during my continuing journey of learning how to be anti-racist) that I’d held problematic opinions as a teenager (nothing crazy. Just ignorant teen bullshit borne from growing up as a liberal in a red state and thinking I was more progressive than I actually was at the time) and proactively reached out to the black friend I’ve known since my teenage years to say that I know I was an idiot back then and I’ve learned a lot since then and I will continue to learn and to apologize.

My work involves public communications. In my role, I continually advocate for anti-racist, black-affirming language in our company guidelines and publicly disseminated materials, even when that means confronting my boss—who is a white man.

I vote in every election in which I am able, researching every politician and bill thoroughly from multiple sources and voting as leftist as possible and educating people in my life about these bills details and the politicians platforms and records.

I am not perfect and don’t claim to be. I only claim to try my best to continually improve.

I don’t make a habit of sharing private communique and am only doing so now because this post asks for receipts. Here are some excerpts from conversations had during 2020 when tensions were a little higher. I decline to share receipts from more recently, as those conversations include more private and more identifying information. The pictured conversations involve friends I’ve had since pre-school, high school, and college. Again, this is not something I would normally share, because saying “I have black friends” is tacky and gross. But I am trying to respect your request for my commitment to the black community, which does of course include my friends. It feels wrong not to mention them in this context, even though I feel awkward saying it at all. Im also sharing only the start of longer conversations, as my friends’ pain and concerns are not for public consumption.

Idk if replying to your question alerts you, so tagging you just in case. @phantomdiebe

#racism #anti-black racism #white privilege #about me #activism #allyship

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j0ystix · 7 months

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SOME random brain rot HCs for a BSD gender swap AU

- in the mafia, the number of braids in your hair signifies your hierarchical position (usually for the women). Port Mafia Dazai had three braids, so does Chuuya(but she only wears them during formal meeting) and Kōyō wears them too! Akutagawa has 2 braids but she only wears them during formal meetings

So executives have 3 then leader of command units have 2 and so on. Mori doesn’t wear braids unless it’s for formal meetings, then she will have one braid bun.

- Chuuya used to do Dazai’s braid and she loves them so much that sometimes she forgets to take them out. Her hair becomes matted and entangled as a result

- when dazai left the mafia and Akutagawa rose up the ranks, Chuuya insisted for Akutagawa to let her do her braids for her first formal meeting as a commander of a unit. Akutagawa was reluctant but allowed it anyways. Chuuya would twirl up Akutagawa’s hair and imagined it curly like Dazai’s and she’ll get gloomy

- oh ya I imagine fem dazai tying a braid on fem Oda’s hair and Oda would say “but I’m just a low rank member. I shouldn’t be wearing braids” Dazai would blow raspberries and tell her that braids suit her. Spoiler: Dazai’s cannot braid for shit

- ADA Dazai would braid Atsushi’s hair (her braiding skills improve in the ADA). She does this for Atsushi knowing that braids were a sign of power and respect in the mafia because that’s how much she values Atsushi (and Oda)

- Whenever Ango thinks about Dazai, she would unconsciously twirl her hair because Fem Dazai has a habit of twirling her hair when talking to people she likes

- Once, Akutagawa fall sick while initiating a combat with Atsushi. Atsushi brought her to her apartment and took care of her. Atsushi even gave Akutagawa one of her nice hello Kitty shirt and of course Akutagawa acted ungrateful but she was too sick to hurt Atsushi. Atsushi combed her hair and bought Akutagawa nice smelling soap and perfumes (things Atsushi would normally not buy for herself) they would sleep side by side and Akutagawa would wait for Atsushi to sleep before whispering “thank you, jinko” and then leaving Atsushi’s apartment in the middle of the night.

Akutagawa never returned the shirt which made Atsushi cry BUT we will see her wearing it in another OVA episode hehe

- Akutagawa picks on Atsushi’s looks but Atsushi never commented on Akutagawa’s looks :(

- Chuuya definitely wears bikinis to the beach while Dazai wears the ugliest flowery-Hawaiian button up she can find

- fem dazai has puppy dog eyes

- Chuuya wears super strong perfume so everyone would scrunch up their noses when she’s around LOL she doesn’t realise it

- Fukuzawa did assign collarpins with the ADA logo for the ADA members but she didn’t want to give it to them because she feared they may misbehave in public with the collar on. During formal meetings, all the girls (including Ranpo and Kenji) wears a black blazer, black pencil skirt and a white blouse with tights and the collar pin

- Nikolai went undercover as a male government agent for six months. I have no idea how she hid her boobs, don’t ask me

- Tachihara literally has a slutty waist idc that her male counterpart is as straight as a trapezoid

- Chuuya was the one who helps Akutagawa transition into womanhood like educate her on pads and sex and what not. Chuuya loved acting like an older sister to Akutagawa but ofc Akutagawa only cares for Dazai

- Dazai doesn’t really physically abuse Akutagawa (she still does but much lesser than male Dazai, I think female dazai tends to resort to non-physical means to get what she wants when compared to male dazai), she emotionally and verbally abused her (like blackmail and gaslight) until Akutagawa became so detached with her emotions. She somehow managed to manipulate Akutagawa into thinking that Dazai saved her and that she’s nothing without Dazai so Akutagawa really clung onto Dazai for a reason to live

- Akutagawa gets pissed when she sees Dazai coddling Atsushi with hugs, hair braids etc. dazai is definitely a handsy person

- Atsushi pants a cop before LOL

- they would be on a mission to negotiate with some man only to realise he was Dazai’s ex fling LOL this happened way too many times

- people describe Dazai as “the woman you’d die for” , “The fallen Angel”, “Bloody Mary”, “a beauty” etc.

- I think Bloody Mary is her most well known name (coined by Mori) because although fem Dazai is relatively less physical violent than male Dazai, both are still super formidable and they cause the same amount of damage. Fem Dazai kills her opponents with poison (cliche I know) BUT there will be moments where we see 15-18 PM Dazai going physically head to head with an enemy

- Dazai is said to humiliate and strip her victims of their dignity before killing them. For eg, she lures men to her room and kills them when they’re naked so their bodies and bondaged are found undressed and in such unsavoury positions.

- Both SKK are maneaters of the Port Mafia

- I’d imagine people calling Dazai and Chuuya succubi

- Jouno and Tetchou are Tachihara’s “older sister” figure but Hirotsu and Gin are her family :)

- people definitely refer to Jouno and Chuuya “that one crazy chick”

- Sigma is a cutie patootie and Nikolai scolds her for not having a backbone against men

Let’s ask our genderbend character what type of men/women do they like:

Dazai: ah~ I’d love to commit suicide with a fireman. I heard they’re muscular and they look sooo good in their uniforms. We can jump into a river together while he holds me in his big arms~ it’ll be nice if he’s taller than me too—oh wait! Actually, short men are kinda cute hehe, about 160cm?

Kunikida : I have 107 requirement-

Atsushi : uhm no preference but as long as he’s well mannered and he likes to eat! It’ll be good if he can fight but not t-too violent…

Ranpo : men are stupid

Kyōka : …

Kenji ; that’s a really good question…I like my steak rare! (She doesn’t understand what a ‘type’ is)

Tanizaki : I- *gets glared by her brother*

Yosano : anybody with the same interests as me *takes out machete*

Chuuya : never really thought bout it…hm…I’d love a man who can keep up with me. I guess tall men aren’t that b- (Dazai: any guy you see is taller than you) SHUT UP BIMBO…Oh I guess I’m into smart men, it’s attractive when they’re calculative and shit ooh and I like it if they’re funny! I can’t stand all that seriousness

Higuchi : Senpai.

Akutagawa : no comment. (Audience: aww cmonn) hm if I have to profess than perhaps a tall man, with brown fluffy hair and eyes, wears a coat with a black vest- (Audience: so you just like Dazai if she was a guy?) exactly.

Fyodor : I like men with no thoughts (Dazai : what) I like if he’s unable to think independently and constantly relies on me to mobilise his choices. I like them utterly weak and defenceless.

Nikolai : big coc-

Sigma : I like anybody who spends in my casino

Jouno : PLEASE even if I do tell you my type, what are you gonna do? No man will ever meet my standards! They’re all pigs!

Tetchou : *shrugs*

#bungou stray dogs #fem chuuya #fem dazai #fem skk #soukouku #bsd genderbend #bsd genderswap #bungou stray dogs genderswap #fem atsushi #fem akutagawa #bsd sskk #fem sskk

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linberlyy · 3 months

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another stupid judgment that is worth your attention.

First of all, who is blaming Ceryse and for what? Has anyone seen any comments towards her or any accusations? tell me if you have seen this so that I can at least have an idea... back to the point, “we don’t have a single proof that Maegor abused her in the marriage”. Ok, then how do you explain the fact that he called her barren and, without the knowledge of the king and the sept (and this sept was run by Ceryse’s father), took a second wife, then a third and subsequent ones? Isn't this an abuse? After all, he didn’t even bother to divorce her in order to somehow preserve her honor, but simply took others as wives. and, if you believe the book, then Maegor returned to Oldtown in 43 and reconciled with Ceryse, which means that all this time before that they not only had not seen each other, they had not even spoken and were not close. Isn't this an abuse? Would a man who respects his wife leave her for many years to find new girls? I don’t know, at least turn on your brain.

“Ceryse could wait for Maegor to grow up than sleep with a 13 y.o boy”. Do you even know how this world works? If Maegor had not been a thoughtful, capable man, Aegon would not have married him. and judging by the book, he was burning with passion for Ceryse and did not complain that she took his virginity. or do you want to say that Ceryse is bad and was lying with a little boy? You may be surprised, but this is her responsibility, since she is the wife, and for the marriage to become official, they must consummate it. This is how marriages worked in the Middle Ages, and if this shocks you, then I have bad news for you.

And let's be honest: tbs hate Ceryse because she's HIGHTOWER. and as we know, the Hightowers are evil😁 I don’t know, at least watch the correct version of the show, and not your pro-black version and don’t hit me in the eyes.

Daeron may not be innocent, but he did everything to ensure his family survived. for some reason you don’t condemn the same Daemon, who also did everything so that his family would win, for example, he didn’t even hesitate to kill a truly innocent baby of an innocent woman) Daeron didn’t kill innocents. yes, remember Bitterbridge. it was there that little Maelor was torn to pieces, leaving pieces of meat in his place. or do you think that even after this, Bitterbridge did not deserve his reprisal? then, again, back to Daemon: Aemond killed Luke, so why is he taking revenge? If Daeron couldn't avenge his nephew, then why would Daemon avenge a man who wasn't even his son? Do you see the logic in these judgments?

Yes, during the war women are raped, children are killed, cities are burned, but what did you want? that unicorns will jump on rainbows and fart sweet poop? War has always been accompanied by cruelty, and I don’t see the point in blaming both sides for this. I just find it funny when one side is blamed, but everyone completely forgets about the actions of the other and makes them look like innocent angels. Either take off the cross or put on panties.

#hotd #anti team black #houseofthedragon #pro team green #team green #the greens #maegor targaryen #ceryse hightower #daeron targaryen #daeron the daring #daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen #anti daemon targaryen

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mutantthedark · 10 days

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Call Of Duty Modern Warframe II - Sigma's Story

Chapter 1: Interrogation

So much for the meeting with Shadow Company, Sigma felt weird there are only men here. Although she didn't mind and wants the mission to get done.

Weirdly enough, one guy stared at her with confused look, yet shocked, looked like he knew her from somewhere... but he decided to play cool.

Two SAS operators and Los Vaqueros, Alejandro and Rudy did some damage looking for Hassan while Sigma had to help with air support. She was lucky to know Spanish.

After Hassan's capture, Soap's and Sigma's blue eyes met, caught right into sight... He can already tell he never saw a female pilot before. And she couldn't stand Graves talking nonsense, and some of the Shadow mercs are really fond of her... When she met Ghost, her blood ran cold seeing him in skull mask, strong, huge man would beat the shit out of anyone.

From affar before the flight with the Shadows while she met Graves, one of the Shadows said from afar: "Who is this girl? She’s cute and pretty."

...

Pretended she didn't heard anything.

…

The sky is dark, it's night. The stars can't be seen, a calm peace, only crickets chirping in the field. A faith of howl calling by coyotes in the darkness, then it went silent.

Multiple truck's doors closed as the men jumped out. Soap dragged Hassan out of the vehicle and walks to the field.

"On your knees." Soap shoved Hassan on the ground, removing the black cloth bag off his head.

Graves is working on a signal in front of the green crate while crouching down.

"Ya'll got a clear picture?" Graves asked.

General, adjusting his seat to get comfortable. "Crystal."

"All set." Laswell replied, exhaling the smoke from her lips while smoking a cigarette.

"Alright, we are live, folks." Graves stands up, Hassan watches him approach.

"Do you speak Arabic?" He asks.

“No.” Graves replied, shaking his head.

“Farsi?”

“No.” He replied again, standing in front of him.

Sigma watches them as she stands beside Simon, remaining silent. If Hassan is going to ask her something, he better watch his tongue.

Hassan looks at Sigma, he smirks a little bit. “A woman in war... Who’s holding a weapon.” He starts, “I’m surprised you’re fighting for your country and battles without blood in your hands.”

“Women or men, doesn’t matter. If a man can be one, so do women. So English, you retard.” She replied with harsh voice down her throat.

Hassan nods his head a little bit, turning his attention to Graves. “Of course, then I’ll speak your bastardized medieval English because you are all uneducated street dogs.”

“Ahh, see… We’re getting off to a bad start here, Hassan.” Graves gets annoyed quickly, looking on the ground, tapping his foot.

“You are talking to a Quds Force Officer.” Hassan states proudly. All Sigma could just watch and shake her head.

“You’re the commander of a foreign terror organization,” Graves notes, not willing to put any stupid formalities.

“I can say the same thing to you.”

“What’s your target, ‘Major’?” Graves asks, his voice turning into a sarcastic one.

“What was your target when they sent missiles to my land?”

Graves shrugs a bit. “Oh, wild guess… To nails your ass.”

“So insolent and foul-mouthed. You will learn to respect me when your nation sees fire.”

“You will respect an anchor who will sink you in the bottom of the ocean.” Sigma glares at Hassan, crossing her arms. Hassan ignores her, Graves steps closer to him with anger and impatience in his eyes.

“You are in bed with the cartel, Hassan. If you dissapeared, no one would know where to look for a fuckin’ stain.” Graves said as he shakes his head.

“I have no doubt you’ll take pleasure in torturing me.” Hassan replied with a smirk.

Oh, Sigma would definitely torture him, if Graves would let her. Soap starts to speak out-

“Who’d you get American missiles from?”

“I don’t care who they’re from, I wanna know where they’re going.” Shepherd interrupted the conversation.

Coyotes howled in the endless darkness of the shadows, making the others to turn attention. Graves looks around, letting out a low whistle, his hand clutching his tactical vest.

“Take a look around Hassan. Now, you can either become part of the food chain,” Graves lowers himself in front of Hassan. “Or you can start talking.”

“I’m a hostage here,” Hassan states. “This is illegal.”

“You’re a prisoner of war.” Alejandro replied, tilting his head while his hand is squeezing Hassan’s shoulder.

“Iran is not at war with Mexico. I’ve broken no lawns. These men, one useless slut, and their commanders are the law breakers.” Hassan looks at Sigma and Ghost who are they stand beside the vehicle.

Her eye twitches after she heard he called her slut, slowly, her hand is curled into fist.

“You and your beloved General Ghorbrani broke every-“

“Do not speak his name!” Hassan shouted at Soap, cutting him off. He’s forcibly held by Alejandro.

“You executed him, and you will pay for your crimes! Only God can help you now!” He rolls his tongue at Graves angrily.

“I want this bastard in permanent custody or looking up at the goddamn grass!” Shepherd snarled his strict demand through the broadcast.

“General,” Laswell quickly intervened, “Killing Hassan is an act of war, keeping him here is illegal. Right now, he is too hot to hold.”

Shepherd sighs, adjusting his seat. “Tell me you’re getting something actionable, Laswell.”

“Working on it, stand by.”

Graves grabs the laptop and places it on the vehicle’s hood. “Actual, let me finish this.” he loses patience for a second.

“There is nothing I’d like more,” Shepherd agreed with the Commander, “But Laswell's right. Without proof we need to turn him loose. See where he leads us.”

Sigma’s eyes widens after hearing this. Releasing him?! Nonsense! She would’ve asked the questions about the missiles, not Graves. So much for General saying this, making the wrong decisions.

“What?! You can do that!” She joins Graves beside him.

“She’s right! He’s right there, you can’t be serious!” Soap joins along, looking at the screen.

“I’m afraid I am, you both.”

“Oh, bullshit!” Sigma hits the vehicle’s hood and starts to pace out, hands on her hips.

Ghost is holding Hassan’s phone with his right hand, looking at it while standing in place. “Did we get anything from his phone?”

“Affirmative, we got a hit.” Laswell concluded, but not much information required.

“Good. Now, take him back and let him go.” Shepherd confirms.Hassan is watching them, with a smile on his face. Alejandro shoved a black bag back on Hassan’s head, hiding his smile.

“Up, asshole. Come on.” Alejandro grunt in Spanish, raising Hassan back on his feet, dragging him to the vehicle. Ghost shoves Hassan’s phone in his pocket, walking past him.

Soap looks at the laptop and closes it, letting it a grunted sigh. Sigma walks to Graves, clearly not proud.

“That was completely stupid.”

“Call stupid to General who made the choice, but not me.”

“He’ll cause more damage with those missiles, we may be not find who the target is! And we’re just taking him like that?!”

“Sigma…” Graves sighs. “We need to know. I wanted to finish that guy, you wanted to right? Kickass name. We’ll find the missiles and it’s going to be over.”

“Unbelievable…” Sigma shakes her head and walks to the vehicle, avoiding the argument with him. Soap watched it from afar and follows her, gun in his hand.

So much coming to Mexico with Air Support and work with the Shadows, SAS operators and Los Vaqueros. She’s not done yet. She never had blood on her hands in battlefield. Her blood boils by General’s choice, she’s careful with people who can trust the most.

And been in Air Force for 4 years, finally fighting on the ground with heavy loads on her shoulders...

...

Yippeeee, I might draw some cutscenes whanever I can!

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pascalconfessions · 5 months

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I think the following tumblrs need to know that they ROCKED my world in 2023, and that they are appreciated, loved, and respected 🙌🥵🔥

@toxicanonymity Thank you for the dark and dirty Joelkemon filth, especially weed dealer Joel, Raider Joel, and dangerous Lincoln Joel 🙏

@ladamedusoif I’m bowing down to you right now for your masterful representation of a not-white-coded & middle-aged Lydia in Visiting. We need more and more and MORE fics that are designed to invite readers of every ethnicity to imagine themselves and enjoy the story without tripping over blushing and other white coding. And we also need more grownup women in fic!! 🙏💞🥰

@joelscruff Feelings on Fire broke me over and over again, in so many delicious ways. I know you had a rough patch last year, and I hope that you don’t feel pressured to write on command. Your story is yours, and I hope you tell it the way that YOU want to 💕

@spacecowboyhotch I adored Ambrosia and Tied together and we need MORE of your gorgeous storytelling in this fandom! 💖 I love soft/hot and dreamy, and I definitely think we need more black/poc reader inserts. Your writing is so detailed and layered that it left me breathless and I’m dying to read more from you!! 😍

@netherfeildren Art gallery Ezra took my breath away. I devoured the rest of your fics in turn, and your Mercy for the Disturbed broke and reshaped my heart and gave me the best/worst writers envy I’ve had in a long time. Kudos to you for draining my brain 😂

@juletheghoul Paradisum?!! 🔥 Gold Rush!!? 😍 Dulcis??? 🫨 and Silk 🤤 And I know for a fact that you’re one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met here. ❤️‍🔥Love, your secret admirer 😘

@hier--soir A Lover’s Pinch killed me. I am writing this from the grave. I am eating dirt, bestie. Please ship literature professor Joel to me immediately? 🥹🙏

@inclusivepedrolibrary I LOVE YOU SO MUCH YOU DONT EVEN KNOW 😍😍😍

@atticrissfinch We need to have a word about convenience store clerk Joel (🥵🔥😭HOT!!!) and about Wrong text dom! Joel (🔥🔥🔥🌶️🌶️🌶️😭😭😭 HOTTER!!!) Im mad at you for writing so hot and these men not being real

@bageldaddy 70’s porn star Joel is killing me. Thank you 🙏🥹❤️‍🔥

❤️

#love letters <3 #toxicanonymity #ladamedusoif #joelscruff #spacecowboyhotch #netherfeildren #juletheghoul #hier--soir #inclusivepedrolibrary #atticrissfinch #bageldaddy

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heartshapedconchas · 1 year

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okay..hi. i know i haven’t updated my fanfic in literal months, but that is NOT what is important right now.

first of all, what the hell is wrong with you all?? threatening black authors&readers and calling them slurs because they ask for more inclusiveness?? fuck all of you.

Second, im going to give my piece of mind with the whole situation that is happening. Mind you i am a high femme, brown lesbian who has been masculinized most of her life. Now, correct me if i’m wrong, but some people (mainly non white/black users) are calling out some white authors on centering their reader inserts on whiteness. I understand this , again as a brown woman, who has found it difficult since I began reading self insert fanfics at like..9 years old.

However.

Something that is.. bewildering to me that I’ve seen brought up in this conversation is how .. the readers being hyperfeminine and whatnot somehow… makes it not relatable to people of color, SPECIFICALLY women of color; because of the history of them being masculinized.

This is so incredibly confusing to me cuz again,,, for me as a very femme brown woman who has been nothing but masculinized her whole life … has never felt alienated by these femme characters. Ever. In fact they make me feel more included because god it feels good to be feminine and not have that denied, even in fanfics. From my perspective; if you feel as if these femme characters only represent white ones— are you not upholding the exact stereotype that has been given to women of color for years?

This is just my opinion though; you are free to believe whatever you believe in and express how you feel (without attacking and siccing your followers onto whoever you’re speaking on).

In my writing I will always try my best to make all woc/poc feel included. If at some point I’m not doing that, i’m trying to make my fellow brown women feel included (as even though there has been an influx of non white writings as of late, the majority I see are black readers).

To all the white writers out there, try and leave your descriptions of the reader to a minimum of exclusivity. While you don’t have to make your reader insert obviously a woman of color, don’t make them obviously a white women either.

Personally I think we should leave the race specific fanfics to the people of that race. Because what white woman is gonna write a brown latina fanfic the accurate way and in a way I would enjoy? Write your fanfics in a race neutral manner, and to all the writers of color out there — write your fanfics race specific if you want to!

To my fellow authors and readers of color, speak about your concerns of inclusivity in our community! You have the right to speak your mind. Just please, please do not speak about authors in an ill manner if they haven’t done anything horribly, absolutely wrong. Critique them. Give advice. They can only learn if you give them room to grow.

And for both parties, please for the love of god; don’t allow people to send r*pe threats or call them slurs. Regardless of your race or what “side” you are on, no one deserves that. Elskittie didn’t deserve it earlier on, MULTIPLE black authors/readers don’t deserve it now. Be kind , fucking respect each other. Be fucking mature enough to have conversations about this instead of childish fights.

Oh and one more thing, please absolutely just tell me if i’m misinterpreting something in this post at all! This is from my perspective as a brown woman of color. And also i’m 95% sure i’m autistic. I have a hard time understanding things sometimes and just need it put in simpler terms :) don’t be an asshole and just kindly explain! thank u! 💗

#ellie williams x reader #the last of us part two #thelastofus #elskittie #tlou2 smut #tlou2 fanfic #abby anderson x reader #the last of us #writer of color

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hadesoftheladies · 8 months

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crazy, wild, insane behavior to have some white american trans activist tell me that radical feminists don’t understand intersectionality when like, you can’t even acknowledge how women of color in majority world countries are exploited because of their sex. you’re an entitled white person who thinks gender can be reclaimed from patriarchy (like prostitution) and somehow be transformed into empowerment when it doesn’t upset patriarchy in any structural way. and who suffers the most and is killed because of enforced gender and prostitution? women, and women of color. that’s the demographic of who is being trafficked and dehumanized and brutalized more in these ways. you want us to be sensitive of how cisnormative everything is, but you have zero problems when it comes to respecting womens awful history with gender? how they have been brutalized on the basis of their sex? you have no sensitivity for that history and only engage with these problems when it serves to paint trans people as victims? taking womens’ history, where they try to pose as men for fear of their lives, and making them trans mascots instead of reckoning with their context?

and you think you understand intersectionality? when you can’t even grasp that the brutal oppression women and girls in non-western countries go through has nothing to do with pronouns? or made up western liberal bullshit? can you see the world without imposing your western worldview, you colonial shitheads? so you can successfully decenter woc from a branch of feminism that was meant to focus them?

and to top it all off, you call me, a non-western African black woman who LIVES in a neocolonial state, pro-colonialism?

you’re not a feminist and you don’t give a fuck about intersectionality. you’re just a whining white person that thinks they’re fun and different from the others while still being the same entitled narcissistic love child of imperialism, patriarchy and capitalism.

you are exactly what the empire made you to be. :)

#feminism #radical feminism #radblr #interfem #radfem #intersectional feminism #transgender #trans #you are complicit #western politics #liberals #us politics

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labellefleur-sauvage · 11 months

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The Highland Fox and The English Rose

Summary:

Elain Archeron, the middle daughter of an enterprising English merchant, has been raised with one goal in mind: become the wife of a respectable Englishman. Everything else—her interests, her desires—didn’t matter. But when her father convinces her to enter into an arranged marriage with a brutal Scottish Laird to save their family from ruin, Elain is suddenly forced to reevaluate everything she thought she wanted in life.

As the newly appointed Laird of a derelict clan with a crumbling castle, marriage was the last thing on Lucien’s mind. His entire life is thrown into disarray when he is forced into a marriage contract he didn’t sign, to an Englshwoman he’d never met.

But Lucien harbors a dark, ruinous secret that affects more than just himself, and he is determined to resolve the issue at hand. Together, the Highland Fox and the English Rose will go on a journey that will force Elain and Lucien together—or drive them apart.

Read on AO3 Masterlist

XXX

Chapter 2: Oh tell me what was on yer road, ye roarin' Norlan' Wind

As far as weddings went, it wasn’t completely horrible.

Had Elain pictured something a bit more… illustrious whenever she daydreamed about her wedding as a child? Of course—what little girl, perhaps with the exception of Feyre, hadn’t been mentally planning their dream wedding since they were old enough to understand that marriage was the only fate that awaited them when they grew up? Elain had already decided on what flowers and dress she’d want at her wedding with Graysen before he’d even proposed.

Instead, as soon as Elain and her sisters arrived at the Clan Macpherson keep, sore after days of riding in a rough carriage, they were whisked into a side chamber of the aged castle, where a number of women immediately began dressing Elain in her wedding dress and fiddling with her hair.

“I didn’t realize we were in such a rush!” Elain gasped as a woman tightened her corset.

“I know, my dear,” her father sighed from across the room. Elain, Nesta and Feyre were hidden behind their dressing doors. “But you know these Scots—they have no patience for anything, and place no value in having any manners for guests.”

Elain gulped. And she was to marry a man like this?

“A word, my dear Elain.”

Elain nodded towards her sisters as she went to her father. He was dressed in a handsome new outfit: a dark burgundy suit jacket with shining gold buttons, slick black shoes and an impressive velvet black hat. She had never seen him wear anything so nice. Elain fingered her own gloves; silk, bought second hand, and already fraying around the edges.

“I just wanted to prepare you for your husband,” her father began gently. “He is… well… disfigured, to be blunt.”

“Oh,” Elain sighed, disappointed. “In what way?”

“He’s missing an eye and wears a horrible eyepatch. The side of his face is mangled as well.”

“What happened to him?”

Her father shrugged. “Who knows? Probably got in a drunken brawl, you know how these people are. Can’t go one day without nearly killing each other.”

Elain’s stomach dropped.

“Don’t fret too much, my dear,” her father said soothingly, seeing her suddenly pale face. “I just wanted to warn you before you saw him and ran away screaming. I wouldn’t blame you, but, as Englishmen and women, we must always show benevolence and grace to those below us.”

“Of course Father,” Elain agreed quietly. This was true. As the daughter of a gentleman, she was duty bound to show kindness and compassion to others, even if they were savage Scots.

And what was her Scot, her soon to be husband, like? Her sister’s words from the carriage ride, as well as her own knowledge and her father’s information, rattled through her brain as she was led towards the intimate chapel tucked away in the back of the castle. Elain’s hand gripped her father’s arm, a buoy in the tumultuous sea of her emotions.

Somehow, they were already standing outside the doors of the hall, waiting for their signal to enter. Elain wasn’t sure where the past few minutes had gone but then she heard her name being announced, and she was walking toward her future.

Elain’s first thought was that Lucien was much younger than what she was anticipating: her age, or only a few years older. She was relieved. Her second thought, on the heels of the first, was that her father greatly exaggerated his injury.

As Elain slowly walked down the aisle, her father at her side, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from her soon to be husband. Without a doubt, Lucien was the most handsome man she had ever seen. He was tall and lean, but held himself with such confidence and poise that Elain knew he must have hidden muscles under his attire. He had a thin face and one gorgeous brown eye, which was staring above Elain with as little emotion as possible.

His other eye—or where an eye should have been—was indeed covered by a brown eye patch, but neither the eyepatch nor the silver scars running down the side of his face detracted from his beauty. Instead, it just made him look wild and untamed in the best way possible.

Perhaps his most distinguished feature, even more so than his missing eye, was his luscious red hair. Someone had braided a few small sections of his hair away from his face, and it only made him more handsome. Lucien’s hair was long, perhaps even longer than Elain’s own hair, and so smooth and soft looking she was instantly and irrationally jealous that a heathen like him would be blessed with hair so fine.

Elain wasn’t even aware of being given away by her father. She didn’t know where Feyre and Nesta were, and didn’t care to look for them. All she could see was her future husband.

Lucien wore a large piece of emerald green, cobalt and dark gray wool plaid, belted at his waist and hanging just above his knees so as to give Elain a small peak of the muscles in his legs. The rest of the fabric was pinned on a broad shoulder so it flowed down his back. A long sleeved, white shirt that complimented his hair and golden brown skin beautifully was under his great kilt. Tall leather boots covered his calves. Lucien perfunctorily offered his hand when she approached the dias.

She took his hand; his skin was warm, like an inferno was blazing just below the surface. Finally, he lowered his gaze towards her own. His countenance was still bland, but his eye contained such fire, such fury, that she momentarily lost her breath. His gaze dipped behind and he glared at something before he schooled his face into the same bored mask he had been wearing before.

Elain puzzled over the anger in his eye the entire ceremony until the priest, with an obvious cough, broke her out of her thoughts. She said her vows and “I do,” and suddenly, she was a married woman.

She was still thinking of her new husband hours later, seated at the high table on a dias in the castle’s great hall next to her husband—Lucien, she thought to herself. He hadn’t said a word to her yet and hadn’t even looked at her since their ceremony.

Elain looked down at her finger. Lucien had slipped a silver ring on her finger during the ceremony. The band was composed of two intertwining pieces of metal designed to look like tree branches, with small leaves and flowers branching off. It was elegantly simple, and more refined than Elain thought any Scotsman capable of providing.

A single drum beat ripped through the air and silenced the few assembled people already sitting at the long tables throughout the cavernous room. The great wooden doors opened and the castle’s herald began announcing the lairds and lords who had been invited to the wedding.

Elain watched as a number of lairds entered the hall, each with their own distinct plaid and ornaments. Besides her, she felt Lucien tense up as more and more people entered, his mouth tight and his hand gripping the wooden armrest of his chair.

“Whatever ye do,” he whispered roughly to her, his deep voice sending chills down her spine, “doona talk to anyone here. Stick to yer sisters.”

She frowned. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to any of our guests?”

“They’re no’ our guests.”

“They’re here in your hall, celebrating our marriage!”

“The only reason they’re here,” Lucien gritted out, “is because there would be a war if we didna’ extend niceties to them and invite them. They are no’ our guests or our friends. Stay away from all of them—especially them.”

Elain looked to the two groups that Lucien pointed out. A tall, slim man with red hair the exact same shade as Lucien’s was sitting below their own table. He stared at Lucien with a cruel smirk on his face while Lucien steadfastly ignored him. The red haired man looked over at Elain. To her shock, he looked her up and down and winked at her.

At the other side of the room, in the corner, a large contingent of people with dark hair and brown skin were settling into place. Their laird, a man with almost violet eyes, was staring towards the front of the hall, where her sisters sat at the table near her and Lucien’s.

When everyone was seated, the herald swiftly made his way to the front of the hall. “Introducing,” he boomed, “Laird Lucien and his wife, Elain Archeron!”

The two of them awkwardly stood up. Elain suddenly felt adrift again as she looked out at hundreds of unfamiliar faces staring intently at her. Everyone was politely clapping, and there were some whoops and cheers from a nearby table, but she could feel the judgment radiating from the crowd. Narrowed eyes appraised her—her face, her appearance, her English-ness—and she knew she was left wanting. Elain tried to grasp Lucien’s hand, anything to prevent herself from drowning, but he shook her off, and they woodenly sat back down.

Dinner passed in a haze—she had no appetite—and then tables were pushed to the sides of the hall to create a large mingling and dancing space. Several musicians set up in the front of the hall, and the rich sounds of a drum, fiddle and harp floated over the room.

“I’m going to turn about the room,” Lucien said abruptly. “Remember: doona talk to anyone except yer sisters.” He didn’t give Elain a chance to argue her case as he swept across the hall.

Elain sighed as she watched Lucien retreat. Despite what she felt for him at the moment—annoyance, frustration—she couldn’t stop her gaze from sweeping over his strong body like she had done earlier that day.

She shook herself. She wouldn’t be caught ogling Lucien at her own wedding. Slightly embarrassed and hoping no one saw her, she looked about the room.

Below her, Nesta was using all of her patience towards convincing Feyre to stay at the table and not join the crowd. She heard snippets of their whispered argument—“Who comes to a wedding and doesn’t dance or talk to people?” “Us, because we’re two single English women surrounded by a crowd of barbarous Scotsmen!” “But the men here are so handsome!”—and kept gazing about.

She noticed her father wasn’t sitting with Feyre and Nesta—odd—but she saw Lucien talking excitedly with a regal woman with flaming hair and bright blue eyes. A tall man stood next to the woman, looking between Lucien and the woman and the rest of the room with a pair of sharp, calculating eyes.

A flair of jealousy washed over Elain. She didn’t know Lucien, and realized the weak bond of their marriage was the only thing holding them together. Despite that, she was unreasonably angry at the proud woman smiling at Lucien, and Lucien smiling and laughing back.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so horrible if he wasn’t so handsome when he smiled, Elain thought bitterly.

It took all of her willpower to rip her gaze away from her husband. He mentioned the various Lairds weren’t here as valued guests, but why invite them? She saw one of the Lairds—a hulking blonde man with a stern face—talking to a dark skinned Laird. The blonde man was casually stroking the head of an ax belted to his body as he regarded his fellow Laird. Elain shivered; the casual violence on display unnerved her.

Another Laird, pale, with hair so fair it looked white, sat stiffly with a blonde woman, surveying the room with glacier cold eyes. Elain studied the man. He looked foreign, even compared to the Scots around him.

“They say those from Clan MacDonnell are descended from the Norsemen from the East,” a quiet voice said behind Elain. “Kallias there certainly looks like he belongs on a longship raiding coastal villages, rather than journeying across the Wall to destroy English towns.”

Elain whipped around. The red haired man, the one Lucien told Elain to stay away from, was standing right behind her. He smirked at her but there was no warmth in his cold eyes.

“If the rumors are to be believed, y’ken,” the man went on. Elain stared in shock at the man. “I think the old Viking viciousness has long been bred out of the MacDonnell’s.”

Elain glanced around her. No one was paying her any attention. “Who are you?”

“Eris Vanserra, heir apparent to the Vanserra clan.”

Elain stared at him. He towered above her, with a hard, rugged face littered with small scars and cuts. His long, red hair hung behind him in a straight sheath. Like all the men in the hall, he wore a unique tartan kilt, belted around his waist and slung over a shoulder: various shades of brown, orange, red and yellow crossing in an intricate plaid pattern. A large sword was belted at his hip. Elain gulped.

“I was hoping the new Laird would take the time to introduce us all to his lovely new bride, but obviously no one explained to him proper Scottish wedding etiquette,” Eris went on, his narrowed eyes looking Elain up and down like a piece of meat. “Eejit. I’m no’ surprised—I doona believe he has too many people here at the castle under his employ that would tell him what to do.”

Elain nervously looked around. She didn’t particularly care about obeying Lucien’s request to not talk to anyone, but she was also keenly aware that she was an Englishwoman surrounded by vicious Scottsmen and women. It seemed making polite conversation with Eris was the safest option.

“Well, er, what does proper Scottish wedding etiquette entail?”

“Ye’d actually be introduced to all yer guests, rather than put on display like a prized coo.”

Elain gasped. “Excuse you! That’s completely inappropriate!”

Eris shrugged. “At least a prized coo could have gotten the Laird more money and use for this run down keep than whatever yer probably worth. I suppose yer passably attractive though.”

For perhaps the first time in her life, Elain snapped. “Fine words, coming from a backwards, barely literate brute skulking about in a skirt to harass women!” She snapped her mouth shut and looked at Eris in shock. She had never been so rude to anyone in her life.

She braced herself for a retaliatory strike in some form, but was surprised to hear Eris softly chuckle. “I suppose there’s a bit more fire to ye than I thought.”

“I’m sorry—“

“Doona apologize,” Eris interrupted her harshly, frowning. “A word of warning: yer no’ in sweet England anymore. Most people here will do anything to make yer life a living hell, just based on where yer from. Ye need to toughen up if ye want to survive.”

Elain stared at Eris. The words and phrases he used—living hell, toughen up, survive - rang in her ears. Perhaps Feyre had the right idea all along; maybe Elain should have let her sister whisk her away while she had the chance. The sinking feeling returned to her, but instead of drowning, she realized she had been swimming in shark infested waters the moment she stepped foot in the castle.

But Elain needed this. She remembered the cautious excitement she’d felt on the journey here, when she realized that this marriage in this wild land could give her the freedoms she’d always lacked in England. If she needed to toughen up, as Eris put it, to thrive here in her new home, to fit in and discover her own interests and desires, then so be it.

And damn whatever her new husband had to say about it.

Elain took a deep breath. “Perhaps some of Clan MacDonnell’s fabled viciousness could help me now.”

Eris gave her a savage grin. “Now yer speaking like a true Scotswoman.”

“What else can I do to… acclimate to Scotland? Survive, as you put it?”

Eris stroked his jaw. “Speak yer mind plainly. Us Scots doona have time or patience for veiled niceties and double meanings.”

Elain frowned; that would be difficult. “Anything else?”

“Aye, get used to drinking. Anyone this far north should be able to drink their body weight in ale, men and women. Wouldna hurt to learn how to handle a dirk as well, just in case. And don’t be so… quiet. Ye’ve clearly got a great wit to ye, make sure to use it.”

“So I should just change everything about myself and how I was brought up, is that it?” Elain asked sarcastically.

He shrugged. “Ye asked. Ye doona need to change everything about yourself to fit in, just sharpen your soft bits.”

Elain hummed thoughtfully. Perhaps she had judged the Scots too harshly. Yes, they seemed far too familiar with violence for her liking and spoke their mind far too much, but they were far away from the uncultured savages she had pictured.

“Thank you for the advice, but who exactly are you?” Elain asked suspiciously. “And why are you even talking to me?”

“Aye, Eris, why are ye talking to my wife?”

Lucien emerged from behind a pillar, a murderous look on his face. Elain froze, terrified at her husband’s expression, though she relaxed slightly as Lucien stalked towards a still grinning Eris.

“Congratulations on yer happy nuptials, brother,” Eris said with relish, looking over at a fuming Lucien. “How sad Mother would be to see how yer treating yer new wife.”

Elain quickly looked between the two men. Now that he said it, Lucien and Eris were obviously related: they had the same red hair, brown eyes and lean, pointed faces. But Eris said he was from Clan Vanserra, and Lucien was Laird of Clan Macpherson—did Scots have a different definition of brother than the English?

“Brother?” Elain stuttered, looking at her husband. “This is your brother?”

“Unfortunately,” Lucien said, “and he was just leaving, weren’t ye?”

Eris walked up to Lucien and gave him a hard slap on the back. “Aye. I’ll let the happy couple become better acquainted.” Elain watched Eris lean down and whisper something in Lucien’s ear; whatever he said made Lucien glare at his brother.

“Get out,” he snarled.

Eris sent an ugly look back at Lucien, then he nodded at Elain before briskly walking away.

The party was still going on around them but it was just Elain and Lucien alone at the top of the hall. Lucien awkwardly cleared his throat. “Are ye alright? Did he… say anything to ye?”

“Er, not really, I suppose. We were just… talking.”

Lucien rubbed the back of his neck. “Right, good.”

Elain hummed back noncommittally, looking anywhere but the reddened face of her new husband.

Lucien’s eyes suddenly narrowed as he looked at her. “And why were ye talking to him?”

Elain scoffed. “He came to me and started the conversation. I could hardly tell him to go away.”

“Ye most certainly could have, and should.”

“Why do you even care who I talk to at my own wedding?”

“Because,” Lucien growled, “the people here—“

“Yes, yes,” Elain rolled her eyes. “Your brother already warned me that the people here hate me and that I’ll need to toughen up if I want to live here.”

He sighed. “People here don’t hate ye.”

“They don’t know anything about me other than my name and that I’m English,” Elain replied hotly. “Perhaps they’d know more if you bothered to do your duty and introduce me to anyone here.”

“It’s better for ye to not know any of the Lairds here by name, especially Eris and the Northern clans,” Lucien warned, gesturing to the dark haired guests he’d previously pointed out. “They're all dangerous.”

“At least Eris was willing to keep me company at my own wedding, unlike my husband!” Elain snapped. “You just left me alone and told me to keep my mouth shut, like a dog!”

Lucien’s face turned a shade of red not unlike his hair. “Maybe ye could do to learn a lesson from the dogs down at the stable—they’re never as loud or bother me as much as ye already are!”

Elain curled her lip. “Well, husband, unlike your dogs, I won’t blindly follow whatever orders you tell me!” Not giving him a chance to reply, Elain stormed out of the hall, uncaring of where she was going.

Her beautiful Scottish husband was a complete ass. Just her luck that she’d be married to an overbearing Laird with apparent family issues and an attitude that rivaled Feyre’s.

She slipped outside into a surprisingly manicured garden and sat on a stone bench. Gazing up at the moon, Elain reflected on what a truly terrible day it had been. From the rushed ceremony to the boring and disastrous reception and Lucien’s abysmal interest in her, she wasn’t sure what else could have gone wrong.

Maybe Feyre had the right idea of it—maybe it would have been better to abandon the carriage on the way up and fight their way back home to avoid this sham of a marriage. Elain truly hadn’t been expecting much, but she hadn’t anticipated being compared to a dog on her wedding night.

“There you are. Needed a few minutes to yourself?”

A soft rusting of skirts, and then Nesta sat down lightly on the stone bench next to her.

Elain sighed, unsurprised to see her eldest sister. “Something like that. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“More than it appears you are,” Nesta replied, looking at Elain out of the corner of her eye.

Elain chuckled bitterly. “Certainly not the wedding I imagined for myself.”

Nesta sighed, then wrapped an arm around Elain’s shoulder, bringing her close. They sat in silence for several moments, letting the cool night air linger on their faces.

“Did you come out here for a reason?” Elain asked some time later.

Nesta winced. “To check on you… and get you ready for tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“With Lucien.”

Elain blushed. Although her mother had passed away when she was younger, some kind aunts had explained what happened between a married man and woman on their wedding night.

“I’ll admit, I forgot about that.”

Nesta took her hand in a reassuring squeeze. “That’s understandable. Are you ready to come in?”

Is it too late to say no? Elain thought. Not just for the evening ahead, but all of it: living in Scotland, running a castle, and being married to a man who seemed completely at odds with her.

Elain sat up a bit straighter. There was nothing she could do about her marriage now. She needed to toughen up if she wanted to live in Scotland and find herself; this was just something she needed to do to get herself there.

“I’m ready,” Elain said with more conviction than she felt. Nesta led them inside to a large room filled with maids, and they all began preparing Elain for her first night as a married woman.

From the first moment his bride to be turned the corner into the little chapel, Lucien knew he was fucked.

Elain was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. A true English rose, with those giant brown eyes framed by thick eyelashes and luscious hair cascading down her back in soft waves and framing her pretty heart shaped face perfectly. Her cheeks and lips were petal pink; he wondered where else on her body was that lovely shade of rose.

Likening her to a single rose was an insult to her beauty: the woman in front of him was more beautiful than the finest bouquet of wildflowers, more lovely than a crisp autumn morning in the Clan Vanserra woods, and breathtaking like plunging face first into a cool loch on the first day of spring.

She was petite—he doubted she graced his shoulder—with generous curves under her dress. Lucien bet his hands would fit perfectly in the dip of her waist, over her breasts, between her legs…

Lucien looked away from her and shifted slightly. He hadn’t expected to become stiff at his own wedding, and he willed his cock to stand down, thinking of anything that would divert the blood in his body elsewhere. He hadn’t been expecting much, really, but Elain Archeron was already somehow better than what he was expecting.

This woman didn’t deserve this, Lucien thought bitterly. Shackled to him, a man forced into marrying her because her father cared more about lining his pockets than the happiness of a daughter. It sickened him to know Mr. Archeron thought so poorly of his daughter; based on the small smiles she sent her father’s way, Lucien guessed Elain had no idea she had been sold like livestock to a cornered bidder.

Lucien glared at the man responsible for all his misery, trying to convey all of his hatred into one eye. Mr. Archeron didn’t look upset at all by the proceedings, nor did he seem particularly bothered by the fact that his own clothes were nicer than that of all three of his daughter’s combined.

After what felt like one prolonged heartbeat, Elain was in front of him. She took his offered hand with one of her own, and he finally lowered his gaze to her.

He tried to not let the anger he felt on her behalf show but knew, based on the slight widening of Elain’s eyes, that he wasn’t successful. Lucien spared one final glare towards Mr. Archeron then focused back on his wife.

This near to her, Lucien could make out the freckles dusting the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were an even more intense brown than he thought, pulling him in like a siren at sea. Elain blushed and looked away, her tongue darting out to lick her lips.

She was as innocent as a fawn, and the realization hit him suddenly: she was going to be eaten alive here.

The Lairds of the Highlands were always plotting against one another, whether for more territory, better resources, or because they were bored on a particular Tuesday and thought starting a war with a neighboring Laird would help pass the time. Lucien, as the newest and one of the youngest Lairds in the Highlands, was already a target from neighboring leaders for the few bountiful lochs and fertile fields within his borders, not to mention the new trade routes that would benefit his clan. A new, young, pretty wife would make those Lairds even more envious.

His stomach lurched. Just imagining Elain surrounded by the other Lairds and their cohorts, their malicious eyes gazing over his wife’s gentle face, their minds scheming to ruin her, made him sick. Some of the Lairds—Vassa, Tamlin—could be trusted more than others, but he felt cold with the idea of any of them getting near his wife.

His wife who he now had to protect. All he could think, as the priest rattled on and on, was that his hands and brain were already full of one mission to save someone; how would he add shielding his delicate English wife to his already full plate?

He was still puzzling over that later, long after the ceremony had ended and the reception began. It only got worse when the lairds of the land began filing in with their retinues.

There was Tamlin Stewart, hulking and brooding as ever. His lands were far to the south, and it comforted Lucien to see a friendly face at this farce of a wedding. They sent brief nods to each other across the hall before Lucien focused on the rest of the Lairds flowing in.

Laird Tarquin Lamont, from the West Coast, entered next, followed by Kallias MacDonnell. Both of them had tentatively agreed to trading contracts and routes with Lucien—routes that his new father in law was going to exploit, he knew. Lucien couldn’t keep the scowl off his face.

To make matters worse, Lucien saw Eris stroll into the hall, wearing the familiar tartan pattern that Lucien had spent his entire life up until a few months ago wearing. His heart briefly ached, quickly replaced by rage when Rhysand Sinclair and his so called “inner court” sauntered into the hall.

Finally their guests—Lucien could think of several words he’d rather use to describe the people occupying his hall at the moment—settled in. The castle’s portly herald rushed to the front of the hall.

“Introducing,” his voice rang out, “Laird Lucien and his wife, Elain Archeron!”

The two of them awkwardly stood up. Lucien made sure to send steely gazes to the assembled Lairds before him, willing all the mutual anger and disdain he felt for most of them into his remaining eye. He felt a small fluttering by his hand; some of the frayed threads on the cuff of his well-worn shirt quickly mended before the ceremony must have come unraveled. Shaking his arm to dispel the loose threads, Lucien sat back down heavily with a final leer around the room.

Lucien had little appetite, choosing instead to brood over his ale. He spared a glance at Elain. It seems she wasn’t fond of the food, as she pushed her potatoes around her plate.

The firelight in the hall caught his glittering finger. His wedding band, a simple piece of iron no doubt thrifted by his new father-in-law, mocked him from its new place on his hand. It spoke of his future: tarnished, heavy, and bound to someone he didn’t want.

Lucien couldn’t breathe. He needed to get away from this stranger before he said something he’d regret. “I’m going to turn about the room,” he said abruptly. “Remember: doona talk to anyone except yer sisters.”

Elain may have tried to say something, but he didn’t wait to find out, leaving their table and walking directly towards Vassa and Jurian.

“Here comes the man of the hour himself,” Vassa said, an impressive eyebrow arching as she watched Lucien thunder up to the pair. “Yer looking far more upset on yer wedding day than any man should be.”

“Och, stop it,” Lucien snapped. “We all ken this is a joke of a wedding.”

“Joke or no’, ye just married one of the most bonnie lasses on either side of the wall. That alone would have any other man in this hall smiling from ear to ear.”

Lucien scowled, thinking the lairds assembled would do much more to his innocent English wife given the chance. “That lass is nothing but a burden and a liability—“

“As is the curse of women everywhere, hm?” Vassa asked, her lips turned down and that all too familiar fire lighting up her eyes. “Nothing but burdens for the men around them.”

Lucien deflated, Vassa’s words making his face redden. “I’m sorry. Yer right, of course. None of this is her fault. It’s that damned father of hers—!”

“Keep yer voice down!” Vassa scolded, smacking him lightly on the arm. No one else but Vassa could get away with that. “Ye’ll frighten Elain to death if a fight breaks out on yer wedding day!”

“A fight might be helpful,” Jurian said lightly, eyeing the different factions gathered under Lucien’s roof. “Let the lairds work out some of the tension between themselves.”

Lucien quirked an eyebrow at Jurian. As a former English military man who absconded from his home country the moment he laid eyes on Vassa Fraser, it was helpful to have an outside perspective on Scottish clan life. “Have ye been hearing things?”

“Rumors of Laird Sinclair tightening up roads and access into his territory, as well as stationing more men of fighting age near and around Sangravah.”

Lucien’s stomach dropped. “Do ye think—?”

“No,” Jurian responded quickly. “I don’t think it has anything to do with… that. I’ve heard something valuable is hidden there, but I’ve no idea what.”

“How did he even manage to make it down here on such short notice?”

“No doubt that Spymaster of his heard some rumblings on the wind and informed him of a wedding that he should attend, to remind the rest of the Lairds of his presence,” Jurian sneered.

Lucien cursed. “What is that bastard planning? Why now?”

“Perhaps he’s planning something with the English crown again,” Vassa said darkly, shooting a dark glare towards Laird Rhysand Sinclair. “Allying with them in exchange for safety for him and his lands.”

The three of them exchanged dark glances.

“Perhaps we should—“

“No,” Lucien interrupted Jurian, his voice tight. “I’ll have to breach Sinclair lands one way or the other; backroads on foot is still the fastest way.”

Jurian was silent for a moment, then shrugged, taking a sip of his ale. “Better you than me—I’d be hanged on site if the English or their agents catch me. Traitor to the crown and whatnot.”

“Don’t worry, my dear,” Vassa crooned, lightly stroking the back of Jurian’s neck, “the only thing that will ever be around yer neck will be my plaid or my hands.”

“Ugh, not in public, you two,” Lucien groaned. “Heathens, both of ye!” As much as Lucien detested their public displays of affection, his own heart panged with jealousy. With his new marriage to Elain, the chances of him having that kind of easy familiarity with another person was slim.

“Maybe once ye get to know yer bonny little wife a wee bit better she’ll be more than willing to do the same for ye,” Vassa said, with such an exaggerated grin and wink that Lucien couldn’t help laughing with her.

“Thank ye both for attending at such short notice,” Lucien said quietly. “It’s been… challenging, but having ye here has made it a bit better.”

“Wouldn’t miss our dearest friend’s wedding if the Gordans, Grahams and Grants were knocking at our doors,” Vassa said fondly, and for the first time in days, Lucien felt like not everything was falling apart around him.

“So, how’s that business with yer loch coming along?” Lucien asked, changing the subject to Vassa’s recent bird infested lake.

This was how it should be, Lucien thought wistfully as he listened to Vassa complain about the aggressive birds tormenting her. No English wife, no horribly conniving father in law, no castle threatening to crumble around him at any day’s notice, and no one needing him to play the hero. Just relaxing at the Clan Fraser keep, talking and drinking with his friends, without a care in the world.

“How’s Eris doing?” Vassa asked suddenly, staring off into the distance.

Lucien frowned. “Er—not sure. I saw that he was here on Beron’s behalf but I didna exactly feel the need to talk to him.”

“Ah. Well, it seems he’s made a new friend in Elain.”

Whipping his head around, Lucien stared in open-mouthed horror as he watched, like time had slowed down to taunt him, his eldest snake of a brother talking to Elain, alone. To her credit, she wasn’t cowering like he expected she would, but seemed… thoughtful, if a bit annoyed at his presence.

“Shite!” Lucien blurted out. “I have to go!”

Leaving a chuckling Vassa and Jurian behind him, he made his way back to the front of the hall, where Eris had drawn Elain into a corner. He heard Elain ask Eris who he was and why he was here, and Lucien was interested in the answer as well. “Yes, Eris, why are ye talking to my wife?”

Eris grinned unapologetically at Lucien, giving him some cockamamie answer about congratulating them on their marriage and their disappointed mother. Lucien saw red—for him to speak of their mother now…

Elain was certainly surprised to learn a relative of Lucien’s was at the wedding, her gaze comically darting between Lucien and Eris. He would almost laugh at her reaction if Lucien wasn’t so terrified of what Eris might have revealed to Elain.

Eris finally excused himself after some not so gentle pushing from Lucien, but not before his older brother got the last word. “Include her in yer plans,” Eris hissed in Lucien’s ear. “She’s smarter than she looks—“

“Get out.”

Eris shot him a deep frown then left without another word. This couldn’t get any worse.

But it could, as Lucien got into an argument with his new wife. An argument, he reflected later while sitting at their table, alone, in which he had compared her to a dog. What was wrong with him?

The chair that Elain had sat in earlier moved back and Tamlin sat down with a heavy thud. He didn’t say anything to Lucien, but sat there drinking his ale and looking over the hall, still filled with laughter and dancing.

“Bit of a rough start to the marriage?” Tamlin asked.

Lucien snorted into his cup. “To say the least. Damn England and everyone from it!”

“Well, they’re not all so bad,” Tamlin murmured. “What do ye think of Elain’s younger sister, Feyre?”

Lucien looked at Tamlin, astounded. He’d known Tamlin nearly his entire life, the Stewart’s land being south of Clan Vanserra’s. The family’s were always on friendly terms with one another. Like Lucien, Tamlin held no love for the English any more than he did.

“Uh, a bit… spirited, that one,” Lucien answered diplomatically. The eldest, Nesta, possessed a coldness that rivaled Kallias, and Feyre reminded him of Rhysand Sinclair himself with how devious, lethal and clever she appeared to be.

“She’s quite interesting, Feyre,” Tamlin went on, still looking about the room. “Had a good discussion on hunting techniques a little while ago.”

“Alright,” Lucien said, unsure why Tamlin was telling him this or why he decided to talk to Feyre in the first place. He had had enough talk of the English today, and didn’t want to hear one more word about them. “I’m going to talk to some of the others here.”

Tamlin grunted noncommittally and Lucien leapt to his feet. He didn’t have long to dwell on the odd conversation as he moved from table to table, talking with guests and working out the final details on a few of his new trade routes with some Lairds.

“I’m ready for bed, Dougal,” Lucien said hours later. He stumbled out of the hall—he hadn’t realized how much he had drunk. All he needed, he thought to himself as Dougal helped him to his room, was a nice, peaceful sleep and a hearty breakfast in the morning.

“I got it from here Dougal, yer dismissed,” Lucien yawned, throwing open his bedroom door and slamming the door closed behind him.

Someone had lit dozens of candles around the room—odd, since he usually let the light of the moon bathe his room with light, rather than deal with the hassle of candles. And there was something moving on his bed—

“There you are! I’ve been waiting for hours!”

“Sweet hell, woman!” Lucien shouted, stumbling backwards and nearly falling on his backside. “What are ye doing here?”

“This thing called ‘consummating the marriage’,” Elain sneered at him from the bed, his sheet pulled up to her chin as she sat up. “I was told that’s one of the few wedding customs we share.”

“Ach, hell,” Lucien groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “It’s been a long night—“

“Have you been calling your guests all kinds of horrible names as well, or was that honor just reserved for me?”

“That was wrong of me,” Lucien began, leaning against his dresser for support. “I ken this…situation isn’t yer choice—“

“It’s not, but I’m—“ hiccup! ”—at least trying to make this work!”

“Have ye been drinking?” Lucien asked incredulously.

“The maids may have given me something as they were preparing me,” Elain admitted. Lucien could see the light pink blush on her cheeks and she licked her lips. “Said it was to settle the nerves and make it easier for me.”

“No’ like this,” Lucien said wearily. “It’s no’ right, to take ye like that if yer no’ ready.”

She glared at him, standing up and taking the bedsheet with her. “Who says I’m not ready? I’m a grown, married woman—I can decide these things for myself now.”

“We haven’t had the best start, yer in a new land—yer overwhelmed—“

“Would someone who’s overwhelmed do this?” Elain asked, dropping the bedsheet so she stood completely naked in front of Lucien.

If he were a better man, Lucien would have turned away immediately, left the room and sent in a maid to make sure Elain slept comfortably and was safe. Hell, if he were the best type of man, he’d have left the room immediately when she admitted she had been plied with alcohol to make her endure their first coupling.

Lucien was not a good man. He stared, empty-headed, at the sight of his naked wife’s beautiful body in the soft glow of the candle light. Her breasts were small and her nipples peaked, the same dusty rose gracing her cheeks. She was just as curvy as he knew she was, with a tiny waist his hands could grip as she bounced in his lap, her hips wide and perfect for his hands to plant themselves on when he fucked her on all fours, her thighs soft when she’d eventually wrap them around his waist as he pounded into her, or even better, clenched around his head when he buried his face in the brown curls between her legs.

“Oh shite, yer naked,” Lucien stammered, closing his eyes and swiftly turning away, only to launch himself into his solid wood clothes chest. His forehead cracked against the wood and his knees hit the hard, stone floor with a thud and he rolled on his side, curled up pathetically on the ground.

“Lucien!” Elain called.

“Doona!” he gasped, screwing his eyes shut and forcing himself to stand on shaky legs away from her. If it wasn’t embarrassing enough that he ran into a dresser and possibly concussed himself, his cock was standing at full mast under his kilt, the head of his length rubbing uncomfortably against the scratchy wool.

“Take my bed for the night,” he called out, reaching for the door handle.

“Do you need—?”

“No!” Lucien growled with more force than even he was expecting. He turned his head to see Elain staring at him, wide eyed with shock that quickly morphed into a glare. “Ye’ve done enough for one night. Just… stay in here for the night. Please.”

Lucien thought he heard Elain mutter something under her breath but he didn’t wait to listen to hear. Wrenching the door open, he fled the room. He didn’t have a destination in mind—just far away from the woman who was now his wife, his future, his everything.

Perhaps if he ran far enough away, Lucien thought, he could outrun all of his problems.

#elucien #elucien fanfic #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #my fic #my fics #pro elucien #elain x lucien #gotta move this shit along #the god thing with an arranged/forced marriage trope #you just get the wedding over with

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forgodsgoddamnsake · 3 months

Text

HELL'S ANGELS - 1st

Hello, girlies!

I have a new fanfiction which is this one obviously. Let me tell you that I'm falling in love with strong women. I have this urge to write about strong women, not lovey-dovey girls. I think that we need to focus on ourselves more, women should be the heroines of their stories. That is why I like girls in my stories to be strong and be the main character. This doesn't mean that Harry in this case is not considered a main character or a hero, but I feel like we all need to appreciate being loved with our strengths, weakness and everything.

Please note that it's called fiction for a reason, I AM IN LOVE WITH ITALIAN culture whatever it is. The whereabouts of this story won't be mentioned at all and you'll know why. Though this story contains italian names and language, it's not in Italy. It's not in america, it's not anywhere. Just expand your imagination;)

Warning: THE WHOLE STORY will include either smut, guns, language, mentions of rape, mentions of prostitution, drugs, murder, and so much more.

Don't forget to give me your comments, it keeps me going.

Like most girls? No, I am not.

I am the daughter of one of the most powerful men in the whole world. The one and only child of Paolo Cappitani, the older son of Donatello Cappitani, the mafia king. Paolo Cappitani doesn’t have children other than me, Y/N Cappitani, and he didn’t raise me like most fathers raise their daughters in out community. Most girls were beautiful things that get married and have kids just to tighten the strings among the powerful families, but not me. I was raised to be tough enough to take a full-grown man down with my bare hands. I’m so involved in my family business and that makes me the second powerful member of the Cappitani family. None of my family members could break Paolo's orders and that grants me the full respect of every single one of them, although some of them objected on how a girl be the second ‘Man’. Paolo Cappitani had one wife, Alessandra Cappitani, my mother, they had me before she died of complications of giving birth to me. So, I grew up without my mother and only had my father take care of me. Paolo never wanted another woman in his life, that was why he refused all the requests he received from his family to re-marry. He loved one woman only, and only one woman shall stay in his heart till he followed.

I look like my mother so much, that makes my father love me even more, because I’m his daughter from the woman he loved so much. He wanted to give me the world, not wanting to raise me like other girls just to give me off to another man. Paolo’s daughter must be a powerful, independent girl who wouldn’t need a man in her life. The way he raised me made me turn down all men that took interest in me, I don’t need them. What a man can add in my life? Nothing.

I’m experienced with guns, all kinds of knives and boxing. The exact opposite of typical lovey-dovey daughter of a mafia head.

But. But I kept my feminine appearance. Although I’m not a ray of sunshine, I am definitely a beautiful woman. My taste of clothes doesn’t match other girls, I prefer staying in the men’s gatherings other than having to sit all day with girls speaking of their dream knight in shining armor. I am my knight in the shining armor, so no need to hear about all the gossip and little talks about men and boys.

There is this day, my father is sick enough to not attend a business meeting with one of the most powerful families in the world. The Styles’ family. Since I’m the second in command, I take it upon myself to attend the meeting with my uncles and cousins. I stand in my room, giving myself the last look in the mirror. I wear short black leather skirt and a black shirt; my hair is up in a sleek bun. I keep my gun wrapped around my thigh and the silver knife in its housing under my shirt as I make my way out of my room. We are having the meeting at my family’s mansion, having dinner with the Styles before talking business. The Styles has already arrived, and my uncles give them the warmest welcomes before they sat at the long dining table.

The mansion is modern-styled, bullet-proof glass and mafia scents.

I make my way down the stairs, making sure I don't trip in the high heel boots. Bianca, my cousin, walks to me, excited. Bianca is a beautiful girl, raised in the traditional way, has long hair just like mine and hazel eyes. Hazel eyes are the signature gene in the Cappitani family, I have these as well.

“Y/N, the Styles are here! You should see Edward’s son, he’s so cute!” She said in her excited tone, holding a bowl of salad in her hand. I give her a small smile, looking at the bowl she’s holding. If I wasn’t the only daughter of Paolo, I could had been in her position. But I'm not in her position, Bianca has a bowl of salad in her hand, while I have a gun under my skirt and a knife under my shirt.

“I’m sure he’ll be interested meeting my beautiful cousin.” I wink at her before walking towards the dining room.

The dining room is spacious, has bullet-proof panoramic windows, a few portraits hanging on the wall. The most significant portrait is the one that had my father’s face on it, sitting on his armchair in a black expensive suit. A crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling; black chairs surrounding the glass dining table.

I go in the dining room, my boots clicking on the floor. The seat of my father is empty, so then, it is mine to claim. I take a seat at the head of the table, men on their chairs. The only faces that are familiar are my family's, all of them have hazel eyes, but the green ones are the Styles’. Edward Styles sits next to my uncle, and next to Edward is a handsome man, must be his son, Harry Styles. I don't give a smile, but I nod my head in respect.

“It’s an honor to finally meet the Styles family and at our home.” I welcome in a professional tone.

“Thank you, young lady, I’m not quite familiar with you, yet.” Edward Styles nods back.

“This is-“ My uncle, Antonio Cappitani, tried to answer, but I interrupt him.

“I’m Y/N Cappitani, the only child of Paolo Cappitani. He sends his apologies that he can’t attend our little dinner due to his illness.” I answer without giving even a hint of a smile.

“May god heal him.” Edward says, inspecting my attitude. “I’ve heard so much about you, Ms. Cappitani. Your father must be so proud to raise such a beautiful girl like you.”

“Thank you, sir, but I’m not a girl. I’m the woman of the Cappitani family.” I correct him as the girls of my family bring the food to the table.

“You sound so arrogant.” Harry comments. It is the first time I hear his voice. His voice is deep just like his father’s, but that shall not be something to intimidate me. I can intimidate a whole country; a pair of green eyes and a deep voice cannot intimidate me. The girls have left us alone to eat.

“I am, thank you.” I give a half smirk.

“Let’s eat, please.” My cousin, Leonardo, says.

I start eating in silence, everybody is making small chats during eating. Cousins are chatting with Harry and his cousins, my uncles chatting with Edward and his brother. I prefer to stay silent.

Silence means so much to me. I don't speak too much because I want my words, whenever they come out, to matter. People can only appreciate the words of a person that doesn't talk much.

Harry’s eyes look at me from time to time, he isn't used to seeing girls in meetings, but he has heard so much about me already to know I am different from other girls.

The first time he heard about me was when the rumor had it that I killed a traitor when I was only seventeen. Killing is a big deal, and when it comes to women, it was a major deal. But he never imagined the girl that everybody talked about in the mafia business could be this beautiful with long hair and captivating hazel eyes.

I don't smile much or give expressions. He notices that, but he doesn't know that I am raised to not give too many expressions. Expressions can be easily read, and a readable person can never rule, and since I was raised to rule, my expressions are little.

“Tell me, young lady, how are things going on in your life? Found a husband yet?” Edward asks me. I raise my eyes from my plate to look him in the eyes, not giving an expression as usual though I am startled by the question. I swallow the food in my mouth, “No, sir, I’m not planning on finding a husband.”

“That must be a shame, a beautiful woman like you can easily get herself a husband.” Edward says and my uncles nod in agreement. I swipe my eyes at my uncles, glaring at them with my expressionless eyes.

“I can easily find myself anything I want, Mr. Styles. A husband is the least of my worries. There are better things to look forward to.” I raise my chin up as I finish my sentence.

Harry’s eyes are on me, he likes the arrogant attitude of mine though he hates admitting that to himself. The way I am dressed, the look in my eyes, my soft expressionless face and the smile I never give are all different from what he's used to see whether among the families or girls in the outside world.

“And what are those things?” Edward asks with an arched eyebrow.

“Keeping my family’s name up, making more money, and last but not least, making my father proud of his only daughter.”

Edward likes my answer, and he likes me even though he is provoking me to get answers.

“Since we all have finished our plates, would you like to join in the study?” I politely ask them, and they nod. I am the first to stand up and walk out of the dining room to the study. That is another thing I was taught, the first to stand up is the boss.

The study has warm colors, beautified with plants and portraits. The desk of my father is gigantic and his chair that stands behind the desk is long enough to give superiority to whoever takes a seat. I make my way to my father’s chair, take a seat and behind me are the men. To say the least, my family hates whenever I am in control, but the power of my father’s word and the way I rule things have them muffle their nasty words.

There are enough seats for all members of all families, and they all take their seats, chatting and waiting for the drinks. I pull out my pack of cigarettes and pull one to place between my lips that are covered in red lipstick, I light the tip of the cigarette and watch everyone’s faces.

I grew the habit of smoking when I became nineteen years old, my father doesn't like seeing me smoke so I don't smoke in front of him, but the rest of the family cannot disagree. I was raised to have a man’s brains in the body of a golden girl so that was no surprise for them.

Most of the men also start smoking, and I can only picture the power I have at that moment. With bookshelves like a library behind my chair, portraits of the most-known painters in the world hung on the walls, my cigarette and my attitude.

Girls of my family bring drinks, wine and tea. One hell of a mixture. Some of the girls giggle a little, looking at the young men, especially Harry. I just roll my eyes at their attitude and order them to step outside.

“So, tell me Mr. Styles, how can the Cappitani tighten their strengths as you previously mentioned to my father?” I hold my glass of wine in the same hand that has the cigarette, pulling the glass up to my mouth.

Edward clears his throat, knowing very well that he shall not discuss that topic with me. “Ms. Cappitani, you must know that our families have the upper hands in this country. We need to know that there will be no conflict of interest going on between the Styles and the Cappitani.”

“Of course, tightening both families will give us unlimited opportunities in the business.” my uncle, Antonio, says.

“Right, we need to know that anything between our families will be discussed with anything but blood.” my other uncle Lorenzo, agrees.

I can smell an arranged marriage from a mile away, their eyes must have been on one of the girls in the home of the Cappitani.

“Tell me, what do you have in mind, Mr. Styles?” I ask, chin up.

He smiles, “As you know, young lady, all’s fair in love and war.” I nod at his words, encouraging him to continue.

“We don’t want war, we want the love. That’s why we would like to ask for your hand.”

Surprise? Absolutely. But they can't know that, so I keep my face as it was before he gave me his request. I raise my glass to my lips again, take a sip and place it on the desk. My cousin, Leonardo, says, “We would be hon-“ I interrupt him with the knife I pull out of my shirt and let its sharp tip hit the hard wood of my father’s desk.

“Leo, think twice before you speak.” I glare at him. I look at Edward again, “Mr. Styles, as I said, I’m not looking for a husband. We have the most beautiful girls you could see, any of them would be honored to marry one of the Styles.”

“You wouldn’t?” Edward narrows his eyes a little.

“Of course, I would, but I have different goals in life, and since your request’s base is to tighten the relationship between our families, then any girl will be happy to be the one.”

“But we want you.”

The man is intent, I give him that, but just when I am about to refuse politely once again. The door of the study has opened to show my father’s face, Paolo Cappitani. He looks sick, his face is pale, and he can barely hold himself on his feet. I stand up from my chair as all of my family members do, I walk to him to help him take his seat that I had a moment ago. He sits down and I stand next to him.

“How are you, Edward? I haven’t seen you since your mustache.” My father points at his mustache, referring to the mustache Edward has, my father laughs as everyone else.

“I’m very good, Paolo. I hope you feel better soon.” Edward is extra polite with Paolo. My father is much older than Edward so that makes sense.

“Thank you, my friend. I heard you were asking for my daughter’s hand.” Paolo’s voice is hoarse, he is very sick, but he has to have this discussion by himself, because he knows I'll start war if he isn't there.

“Yes, Paolo, Ms. Cappitani is a nice lady.”

“I think you heard her saying that we have many girls, why her?” Straight to the point, score, Paolo.

“Our family needs a powerful female figure, I-I have cancer, Paolo. I’m not going to stay on this earth for too long, so that’s why we need two powerful personalities to rule my family.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t, I made peace with my cancer. The serious problem here is that my family will face serious trouble if only one-person rule after me, because of the issue you know about.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Go on.”

“I’ve heard so much about Ms. Cappitani. You raised a really powerful, beautiful woman, and a woman like her will be a huge addition to my family.”

“But, Edward, you must know that my girl puts her family first. She’ll like to only serve to her family’s side.”

“I know, but we will be one family by marriage. I just need her to pull my family together along with my son.”

“Oh, so you must be the groom, young man.” Paolo directs his words to the green-eyed Harry sitting next to his father.

“He can’t rule his own family and needs assistance?” I scoff.

“Y/N, go get some fresh air.” My father orders without taking his eyes off of Harry.

I nod and get out of the study, feeling disrespected, but he is my father so there is nothing to do about it.

I take a walk in the garden of the mansion, putting another cigarette in between my lips.

There is no way my father is going to throw me to the Styles. I only want to rule my own family, never not even for once I thought of marriage. Not too long after, I feel a figure stand next to me, pulling his own cigarette. Without even glancing, I know that he is the green-eyed jerk.

Harry is handsome just like his father, but I couldn’t care less about his appearance at that moment.

“I don’t want to marry you, by the way.” Harry starts, exhaling the smoke.

“Do I look like I give the teeniest, tiniest fuck about what you want?” I look at him, glaring at his provoking green eyes.

“No, but this arranged marriage is the best option for our families.”

“For your family.” I correct, throwing my cigarette. “Not my problem that you’re a fragile guy that can’t rule on his own. Grow some balls, will you?”

“I could strangle you right here, right now.” He smirks, getting irritated and throwing his cigarette.

“Well, let’s see who’ll do it first?” I pull my gun as he pulls his. The tip of my gun is under his chin, his is right on my chest. We both stare into each other’s eyes, glaring.

Though his eyes are so beautiful, they only provok me more to shoot him.

“Hey, kids! Play nice.” Edward’s voice yells, walking out of the mansion and behind him his family’s men and some members of my family including my father.

“Y/N, put the gun down.” My father says, but my eyes are still on Harry.

“Harry, you too.” Edward says.

I bite my bottom lip to contain my anger while Harry glares at me one last time. We both put our guns down, I gave Harry an eye of disgust before walking away.

“Bitch.” Harry mutters to himself.

“Son of a bitch.” I mutter to myself as I walk by the men and into the mansion.

“They’re meant for each other.” Edward laughs, looking at Harry who’s walking towards them.

“I’ll give you an answer to your request as soon as possible, Edward.” Paolo assures Edward before they say their good-byes.

Harry is in the car with his dad, driving back home. Harry can't keep silence like Edward, so he speaks as he’s driving with his two hands, he only does that when he’s anxious. Usually, Harry would drive with one arm.

The arrogance that surrounds you like an aura, he’s not fond of, so he has to fight to not marry the girl with an attitude of a rebel man.

“Dad, I hate her! Let me marry any other girl, but not that bitch.”

“Language, Harry.”

“I’m not fifteen, dad. I HATE HER. She’s so arrogant, did you see how she spoke?”

“She was raised to rule, Harry. It’s not easy for her to act all girly like the girls you do every day!”

“I don’t need her.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Dad, please, she’s acting like the queen of the world.”

“She was raised this way for god’s sake, Harry. A girl like her will be a great partner for you. We need her, and that’s final.”

Harry huffs at his father’s words. Is fate easily broken? No, it is not. If it’s his fate to spend the rest of his life with a woman he wishes he could kill every day, his hands will be tied, and he’ll be forced to act just like the fate has decided. The bleak fate of his marriage to Y/N Cappitani, the second ‘Man’.

“If you’re even considering their request, father, I’ll kill myself. If he desperately wants my hand, I’ll chop it off for him.” I angrily threaten, standing in my father’s study, surrounded by my family.

“Y/n, you need to calm down.” Paolo rolls his eyes at me as I’m walking back and forth.

“I’m not calming down, why does he think I’ll just accept?”

“Back in my days, girls didn’t have a say in marriage.” My uncle, Antonio, scoffs. Uncle Antonio is a thorn in my side, he is the second born to my grandfather. I’m certain that he wishes that my father dies so he can get rid of me so he can rule, but to his misfortune I’m not going anywhere. He can rule over my dead body.

“When was that? The pharaohs era?” I sarcastically ask, crossing my arms and looking directly to him.

I am perfectly aware that this shouldn’t be my attitude, especially to my uncles, but I am unable to control my anger if somebody lays a finger on my future.

“Y/N!” My father warns before he takes a look to our family members. “Please, give me a moment alone with my daughter.”

As they do as they’re told, my uncle Antonio while walking out past me, glares into my eyes, but that shall not be a problem, I can glare, too. A boy is all it takes to avoid such conflict in the family, but my father could never betray his beloved Alessandra. Paolo Cappitani knows for sure that this is only the calm before the storm. He knows that I will start war in my own family, not because I’m so determined to rule, no. It is because this is what my father raised me to do.

When everyone is out, Paolo sighs deeply, like he’s carrying a hundred stones in his chest that he can’t get rid of. The storm is coming.

“Take a seat, y/n.” He softly asks me.

I take what he says as an order, so I do what I’m ordered and take a seat on the chair by his desk.

“Sei diventata una ragazza così bella.” Paolo says, looking into the figure of his only daughter who only took so little of how he looks, rather I took every beautiful feature of my mother. Telling me that I’ve grown to become such a beautiful girl, means a lot to me, but he only gives the first sweet talks when he wants to get me to do something I don’t want.

“Thank you, father.” I, politely, nod.

“The Styles and our family have one common enemy, as you already know,”

“Yes, the Scavo.”

“Exactly. The Styles, currently, are facing serious trouble with the Scavo, some of their family members are turning against their own family and joining the Scavo as they think Edward is about to die and that Harry is not fit to become the ruler of their family. The situation, if you noticed, is so similar to ours. When I die, some of the family will turn on you and object your ruling. This situation requires a powerful tie so you and Harry could take down the Scavo and keep the families intact.”

“But, father-“

“Let me finish, will you? Harry, also, is a tough guy and that is why you both need to get married. He is not in need for just a pretty wife to have his kids, he needs a strong woman like you to keep his family together. And when my time comes, you’ll need him, too. The next heirs of both families marrying, you are a perfect match, y/n.”

His words have this undeniable effect on me, I never thought of the situation like this. Unfortunately, he sounds so right. My uncles will turn against me once my father dies, god forbid, and the battle I had in mind will not be an equal one if it’s me against my family and the Scavo.

“Okay, father, but I have two conditions.”

The day has come.

I’ve never even thought that I will be engaged before Bianca, my cousin, on the contrary, I’ve thought that I’ll be the last to get engaged if not ever. Today, I’m looking into the mirror to see myself wearing a Champagne silky long dress, unlike the other girls’ dresses, my dress is not so modest. The Champagne dress was satin silk, the V-neck showing enough cleavage while my back is in full exposure in the backless dress. The spaghetti straps holding the dress up on my shoulder as my long leg is showing from the long cut in the side of the dress. I let my hair fall down on my back, put enough makeup and just a golden bracelet are enough accessories. Looking over to the girls in my room, giggling in their floral modest dresses, I can clearly see the difference between me and them. None of the girls has trained to become the heir, none of the girls is hiding a gun under her dress, but I am.

A knock on the door brings me to reality, and there I see my cousin, Elio, snoop his head through the door, winking at the girls.

Elio is more like a brother to me.

Elio is a handsome man, hazel eyes and two sets of eye-lashes like mine. Muscular guys tend to draw girls in, but he isn’t a just a muscular guy with perfect jawline, no. Elio has a heart of gold, good manners and courage of a lion. His father, my uncle, has died a long time ago and we were raised together by my father so we lived most of our lives under the same roof. I can, without a doubt, give him my back and I know that his knife will only reach my enemies.

“Aren’t you pretty all dressed up like a girl?” He says, walking into the room, holding my hand and giving me a sweet kiss on the cheek. He is wearing a navy blue suit with no tie.

“I am a girl, El.” I protest, smiling at him.

“You’re the most beautiful girl, Y/N/N.” He smiles back. “Are you ready to get engaged?”

“No, I’m not, let’s kill them.”

“Nice idea, but let’s call it plan B.” He chuckles, putting my arm around his. “Let’s go?”

I nod and walk out the room with him by my side and the girls walking behind us. We take our steps slowly because the heels I have on can trip me in a blink of an eye. The walk down the stairs feels endless, maybe because I never intended to be the one getting engaged to a pair of green eyes. The mansion has been decorated gracefully, veins of flowers along the handle of the stairs, romantic light system and many figures of people that matter. An occasion like this doesn’t happen often, the heirs of two of the most power families getting engaged, that is unheard of. The smell of fine wine and champagne stuck up my nose, as well as the scents of the expensive fragrances our guests have dived in. I can see that the guests have made an effort to dress perfectly for the occasion, over-priced suits and designer dresses. None of them catches my eyes, not even the figures of my own family, I only feel Elio having me in his arm and my father who sits on one of the fancy armchairs. And the pair of the green eyes, the damned groom I’ll be married to for the rest of my life.

Harry is not bad looking, oh no, he is not. He has the eyes, the smile, the aura of an angel, but he is certainly not one. Those green eyes, to me, looked like grass after a rainy day, while his lips were pinker than a barbie dress; the features of a handsome man, that is all that can be said to describe his appearance. I like handsome men, but my only prospective of a handsome man is Elio, and Harry is for sure just as handsome as my dear Elio. I can say that Harry is attractive, but his attractiveness provokes me, not that I want my future husband to be unattractive, but I hate that guy so every little thing about him pushes my buttons. Harry stands by the end of the stairs in a fancy black suit with no tie, he has a taste. I never liked ties.

The classical music. I love classical music when it’s not played in my engagement. As Elio and I take our last step on the stairs, he gives Harry a small smile and hands him my hand after shaking hands with him. Harry takes my hand and walks me to where the stage where we should sit. There are beautiful golden-colored chairs and floral backdrop right behind them. The girls really made an effort in the decorations, I can see a welcome stand by the front door in the mansion, decorated with golden leaves and white flowers. The welcome stand says ‘Welcome to our beginning, Y/N, Harry.’

“Beginning my ass.” I comment, rolling my eyes.

“I hope you trip in this beautiful dress you’re wearing, y/n.” Harry comments back, not changing his smiley expression and not even looking at me.

My smile widens as we both sit on the chairs, “Bite me, Harry.”

Harry unbuttons his suit jacket before he sits down, both of us giving the best smiles we have, looking to the guests that are clapping and smiling at us.

The atmosphere is filled with fake happiness and guns hidden under fancy clothes. Various families have come to bless the engagement of two people they’ll be afraid of one day. My two conditions are plain and simple, one is that I get to keep my surname and become Mrs. Cappitani-Styles – I wish this day never comes -, two is that I’ll be guaranteed that I’ll be the one to rule my family.

The smell of toxic cigars between men’s lips, mixes with the pretty faces of girls and women. Trays of champagne and wine are going back and forth only for the hands of the guests to snatch a glass or place an empty one. Air is filled with signs of luxury and bleak dark souls dressed in mafia silhouettes.

People come and go, congratulating us and our fathers on the wonderful engagement party, wishing us the happily ever after I’m not planning to have.

“Your fiancée is beautiful, Harry.” A woman I don’t recognize compliments me, giving me a tight hug. The woman is beautiful and she sounds sincere.

“Right, isn’t she, mom?” Harry says to the woman who goes to give him a kiss on the cheek. Without even giving it second thoughts, I know he’s being sarcastic, but to hell with him, I am beautiful whether he denies it or not.

“I’m Anne, sweetie, Harry’s mother.” She smiles at me and I politely smile back.

“Nice meeting you, Mrs. Styles.”

“Soon you’re going to be Mrs. Styles just like me.”

“Mrs. Cappitani-Styles.” I correct her and immediately regret my harsh tone. “You look beautiful in this dress.” I say, complimenting her attire to soothe her of the words that skipped my mouth.

“Thank you, sweetie. I’ll go check on your father, Harry.” She smiles at us one last time and goes to Edward.

“Aren’t you lovely?” Harry rolls his eyes.

“What a coincidence! You’re just as lovely.” I scoff back.

“My gorgeous fiancée.”

“My fiancé, the apple of my eye.”

I can suffocate right now from just having him sit next to me. I can’t quite get why I hate him, but I don’t want a marriage so that’s enough reason to despise his guts. On the other hand, he shares the same feeling about me.

After a short time, he takes a velvet box from his jacket, looking at me with the most sarcastic look I ever saw. He opens the box that contained a diamond ring with a fat rock. I hate diamond. Every set of eyes are on us, so I shouldn’t snatch his head off just yet. He takes my right hand in his as he slips the ring around my finger as the applause starts.

I feel Elio whisper in my ear, “Please, smile.”

“What smile? I’m trying not to shoot him.” I whisper back.

“God, you have a gun on you?” Elio sounds surprised, of course, no bride-to-be has a gun under her engagement dress.

“Don’t sound so surprised or I’ll shoot you too.”

“Just smile for fucks sake.” He whispers one last time and goes off.

Harry has his friend whisper in his ear, “You look like you’re in the funeral of your enemy, stop with the act.”

“I’m barely holding myself from stabbing her arrogant ego.” Harry whispers back.

“You’re going to hold yourself for the rest of your life, mate.” With that, his friend goes to congratulate me.

“I must say, you look beautiful, y/n. Congratulations on the engagement.” The man doesn’t look so much like Harry, and doesn’t have green eyes. He has dirty blond hair and blue eyes, he can’t be a Styles.

I shake his hand that he spreads for me, “Thank you, you are?”

“I’m Tyler, Harry’s friend.” He answers and pulls away his hand.

“Well, well, well, two families against one, not nice.” An annoying voice interrupts the conversations, breaking the rhythm of fake happiness with his pure evil voice.

A figure of a man comes into sight, wearing an expensive suit that matches the guests except the daisy he has in his suit jacket. A clown to say the least. The grey hairs give him the benefit of the doubt as if he’s a middle-aged man, but he is not, he is my age. The grey hair is only a gene he got from his mother just like his perfect teeth that are shown between his lips that are turned up into a smirk, make him look like a decent gentleman. But that person with black eyes is not a decent gentleman, he is the definition of a devil with angel wings.

A man escorts the women and girls all inside a room while the other men stand tall pulling out their guns and pointing them at the man and his entourage. The guns pulled out are all of different types and sizes, machine guns, typical guns and so much more. Perks of being born in a mafia family. Harry’s hand finds its way to the gun hidden under his jacket, but not pulling it out.

“Woah, why all aggressive? I’m here to congratulate the beautiful bride.” The grey-haired man, also known as Alessandro Scavo, raises his hands as a symbol of peace and surrender. None of his men has pulled out their guns, so he must be here just to cause chaos.

I stand up, raising my chin up as my father taught me. The clicks of my high heels can be heard clearly from the silence that suddenly hit the party. Harry looks at me with furrowed eyebrows as he also follows me into standing up. I stop right in front of the face of Alessandro, his features disgust me.

“Party crasher, why are you here?” I ask with no expression, maintaining my calm. His eyes look me from head to toe, admiring me in his mind. His eyes sparkle every time.

“You’re still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, y/n.” He whispers and I know I’m the only one that can hear those words. “I just answered, I’m here to congratulate you on the engagement.” His voice becomes loud as the words skip his mouth, putting on a fake show of crazy happiness.

“You’re not invited.” I simply say, not falling for his shows. I can’t see, but I feel someone’s body behind me, but actually there are two, Elio and Harry.

“Do I need an invitation? I thought we were practically family. And look who it is! Harry freaking Styles, man of the hour, whom gets to have Y/N Cappitani on a silver platter.” His voice is so loud, I want to smack him. Alessandro’s eyes are insane, wide and black. Harry’s gritted his teeth, glaring at the pair of black eyes. “Eh, Paolo, don’t you think it’s unfair to connect both heirs in one marriage? I don’t stand a chance.” Alessandro’s words are directed to my father who is drinking his glass of wine in silence, not even looking at the situation.

I bite my bottom lip before speaking loud and clear. “Speak to me, Alessandro. You want to congratulate the bride, here I am! But if you want to start war right now, I can take you down in one move as I always have.”

“No, baby, I can never lay a finger on you.” His eyes are soft but quickly change as they turn to look at Harry, pulling out his gun in Harry’s face over my shoulder. “But him, I can.”

I can feel three guns over my shoulders as Harry pulls out his own gun to Alessandro’s face while Elio’s gun is over my other shoulder. And just like that, Alessandro’s men all pull out their guns in everyone’s faces.

Maintaining calm. Lesson number one.

“Let’s all calm down, tell your men to put down their guns, Alessandro.” I calmly ask, his eyes look into mine and draft to Harry again then back into mine. “Alessandro, tell them to put their guns down.” I repeat.

He bites his bottom lip and puts down his gun and motions to his men to follow. I follow him, motioning to the men to put down their guns, everyone obliges but Harry. His gun still pointing at Alessandro over my shoulder. I raise my hand to softly take the gun from Harry, to my surprise, he lets me have it.

“Now, I’ll appreciate it if you leave, Alessandro.” I say sternly.

His face looks hurt, but quickly puts on a smiley face. “Anything for you, baby.”

Alessandro’s face comes closer to mine, but his face actually is getting closer to Harry’s over my shoulder.

“You’ll have her over my dead body.” Alessandro glares into Harry’s face before turning around to leave.

Harry is clueless of what is happening or why Alessandro has this grudge that can’t be explained, but he feels possessive of me for the first time. He thinks that I am his fiancée, so no one can have me even he wishes to cancel my existence.

“Let’s continue with our celebration as if nothing happened.” I clap my hands before nodding to my cousins that stand by the door of the room which contains countless women and girls. My cousins nod and open the door for the girls as I make my way back to my chair.

Edward, who’s sitting on an armchair next to my father’s, is definitely impressed by the situation. He thinks this is exactly what Harry needs, a woman that can contain the situation and maintain the stability.

“Not many girls can be that brave and calm with a hundred guns around them.” Edward comments, smoking his cigar.

Paolo smiles, he appreciates the compliments he gets when it comes to his beloved daughter. Every time he watches how I handle situations, he grows prouder of his way of raising me. “She is raised to rule, what do you expect?”

“That’s what Harry is missing, to handle tough situations.”

“She has her bad moments, too.”

“They may not see it, but they’re perfect for each other.” Edward smiles to himself.

Edward cannot leave his son without being sure that he has backup. His little Harry grew to become this handsome man, ready to be the ruler, but with the rebels in their own family, that cannot happen without war starting. Edward cares about his family, that’s certain, but he cares about his son more. And war means that his son can get hurt one way or another, and he cannot let that happen to his own flesh and blood. And since the day Edward has known that Paolo Cappitani is raising his own flesh and blood to rule, adding that it’s a girl, Edward made up his mind to make her a part of his family.

Since the engagement, Harry and I never spoke. We’ll be married in three months because Edward only has a few months left to live and he wants Harry to be prepared before he takes his role. Harry is caught up in work, making deals, having fights with his family, the normal days. Though, he isn’t so fond of me, he is interested in knowing me even more. He hates to admit that he finds me attractive, but that is the truth even if he denies it. My beautiful face and body attract him, that’s for sure, but my attitude is another thing that makes him wanting to get to know me. The life of his was not a desert before our engagement, he has had his fair share of women to fool around with. Short girls, tall, thin, thick, flat, busty, and all types of girls. But not ever has he ever crossed ways with a girl like me.

I am raised to be a champion, to speak up and make everyone listen. Bravery is the root Paolo has planted in me and Elio. Elio and I can fight an army alone and not even blink in fear, it’s either we win or die in dignity. Paolo used to wake us up in the middle of the night to practice shooting, practice knifing, boxing. Sometimes, the training was hard, but I never hated my father because of that, I love him more every time I see myself equal to all men.

The same way, harry is raised. Fear is not in his dictionary. If the whole world was against him, he’d pull out his gun and shoot to his victory. Everywhere, anywhere, he can manage to be the alpha.

Only a month till our wedding, the girls are taking care of everything I should take care of. They are designing my wedding dress while I’m going to the gym with Elio. I have a sports bra on, gym shorts and a pair of sneakers, my hair is in a messy bun. Elio’s muscular upper body is hidden under his white t-shirt, he’s having a nap on the passenger seat though the distance to the gym is not that long. I pull over at the gym parking roughly only to freak out Elio. He snaps his eyes open in surprise, only to find me laughing.

“I hate you.” He glares at me as I get out of the car.

I open the backseat door to get my gym bag and let it hang on my shoulder, Elio does the same and we head together to the gym.

“I’ll kick your ass today.” He smirks at me, opening the door of the gym for me.

“Huh, you wish!” I roll my eyes, getting in.

The gym we’re used to go to is the one we were trained at, we can do boxing and kick the hell out of each other. Our trainer, Simon, is an old man that has always kicked both our asses to teach us how to knock out people in one move. We make our way to the lockers and when we make our way to the machines we start with some warm-ups.

“Children, long time no see!” The voice of Simon interrupts our warm-ups. I look up at him and give him a warm hug, he pats on my back before he lets go of me to hug Elio who now is shirtless.

“We were here two days ago, Simon.” I laugh, doing my warm-ups.

“That’s too long.” He smiles, letting go of Elio.

Simon is an old man, bald, white beard and has the body of an old champion. He is the one that taught us everything we know about boxing.

“When you finish with the gym, hit the door. We have some people to send to the hospital.” He says, going through the door that leads to where our boxing sessions take place.

After a while and as we’re finished with the gym, we refill our water bottles and hit the door, just like Simon said. Huge, is the perfect word for the boxing stadium -as we like to call it-. There are many punching-bags hung from the walls, speed-balls and all you can imagine and last but not least the square where the magic happens. I still remember the first time I was knocked out with a bloody nose on that damn square.

Some of our boxing friends high-five us, say their hellos as Elio and I enter.

“Holy shit!” I gasp, looking at the man boxing on the boxing square.

“What?” Elio asks looking at me and I nod towards the arena. Elio looks where I am looking.

The green-eyed jerk is boxing with some other guy. He has the boxing gloves on just like his gym shorts, he is shirtless. Looks like he has many tattoos, but I just roll my eyes and look away before I can mesmerize his image.

“Oh, Harry, Hi!” Elio yells to get Harry’s attention through the guys surrounding the arena.

I kick Elio who laughs as I walk to get my pair of boxing gloves. I wear the gloves and make my way towards one of the punching bags and start hitting the bag.

“How many times have I told you to protect your face?” Simon’s voice sounds annoyed at me before I even start, walking towards me with a face of annoyance.

“I barely started, Simon!” I roll my eyes as he leans his arm on my punching bag.

“I don’t care if you’re good at this, protecting your face is the most important thing. Now, stand in position!” He yells the last part and backs off from the bag as I take my position, raising my hands to my face in protection, steading my legs on the ground and start punching the bag.

“Now that’s a good girl!” Simon, loudly, encourages, clapping his hands. I keep on punching the bag, giving side punches from time to time.

“You punch like a girl.” That smirky voice I know very well by now.

I stop what I’m doing, panting, and look at the pair of green eyes that are standing near me.

“I’m a girl, want a taste?” I pant, chest and chin up. Harry’s arms are crossed on his chest, taking in how good I look in gym clothes.

“I don’t hit girls.” He smirks.

“Unfortunately, I hit boys.” I reply, giving him a punch in the face. He takes two steps backwards, holding his jaw that’s just received a punch, but his smirk fades for a second before it appears once again. Not that I punched him with my full power, I just wanted to prove a point.

“Woah, y/n, let’s slow down.” Simon says as I lock eyes with the smirky face.

“I’m gonna look for Elio.” I say, walking away to Elio who’s the one fighting now.

I can feel the pair of green eyes watching my every move as I walk towards the arena where Elio is having a boxing fight with one of the guys. Elio’s punches are good and precise, hitting the right spots and protecting his face all of the time, unlike me. An attacker is me, defender isn’t. Waiting for an attack so you can pull up your defense sounds so cowardly to me, attacking always sounds better.

Elio always gives his best during boxing and that’s what I see as I stand by the arena, watching him through the ropes that surround the square arena. The other guy has given Elio a punch that is totally a boxing foul, hitting him below the belt. Elio, as any boxer, falls down to his knees as he was totally caught off guard with such behavior during a match. I can feel the blood rushing into my head through my veins. No one is to hurt Elio as long as I’m alive, his dignity is mine. I skip through the arena ropes, making my way to Elio while the douchebag is laughing with his friends at the rule he has just broken.

“You did that on purpose!” I yell, helping Elio back on his feet.

“You need a crazy bitch defending you, now?” The guy laughs and I can only feel myself getting angrier. I let go of Elio and walk towards the guy. I will erase that smirk off of his face.

Throwing a powerful punch to his face, that I do, and right before he adjusts to this punch, I throw another punch under his belt, making sure I hurt him badly. Grabbing him by the neck with my forearm and tightening my arm around his neck, I let him fall with me on the arena, still strangling him, but as I feel myself slipping, I hold him closer by laying my legs on his body to keep my control. All he can do is try to hit my arm to force me to let him go, but that won’t happen.

“Do you know now that I’m a crazy bitch?” I whisper in his ear, tightening my grip around his neck. I feel Simon and Elio trying to save him from me.

“Let him go, Y/N!” Elio yells, grabbing me by the waist, but he only drags me and the guy back a little on the arena.

“Get off, Y/N, at once!” Simon yells at me, trying to grab the arm I have around the guy’s neck.

“Not before he apologizes!” I yell back, forcing the guy down.

The guy coughs with an open mouth due to the strangulation. “I-I’m s-sorry.” He manages.

With that, I let him go and immediately he runs away, tripping on his feet. I stand up, panting.

“Y/N, that’s not how we do things!” Simon sternly tells me, I only roll my eyes at his words.

My eyes drift to the guy who’s panting, holding his neck among his friends. I take off my glove and throw it at him, it lands on his head directly. Grunting, I get off of the arena, walking away and leaving Simon and Elio standing.

I take my things from the locker and storm away to the parking, not even bothering to take a shower. As I approach my car, the man I’m supposed to marry is leaning on it, arms crossed.

“Have anything to say, smirky?” I scoff, opening my backseat to throw the gym bag and slam the door close.

“You need to work on your anger issues.” He smirks as I stand in front of him.

This guy has a face created perfectly by God. His features could make hearts stop just so his features can be the last thing seen by the eyes of the beholder. Love is blind, but his handsomeness can be seen by the blind. And even though I hate him, I am incapable of not seeing his sweet face and admire every gene that made his face.

“Two things I can’t stand, smirky. One, being disrespected or underestimated. Two, someone harming Elio.” I say, holding up my fingers to count.

There is something about me that he can’t comprehend, though he is trying to. It must be the way I handle things in different situations, I can be all angry and violent, but still can maintain my temper and handle unbearable situations. Or it can be how tough I am, standing up to whoever. Certainly, these qualities make him, by all odds, curious.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” His question, or rather, statement startle me a little. Indeed, I am beautiful, but I am told that I’m beautiful by an unexpected person. A person whom I just punched in the face for disrespecting me.

“I don’t have time for this.” I roll my eyes, but his face’s still keeping the same expression.

“I don’t care, I’m just spelling facts.” He says before patting on my shoulder and leaving with no other words.

Irritated, I am. But I can describe myself to be more startled than irritated. And as I stand there, only the voice of Elio brings me back to reality. On our drive back home, I repeat his words in my head just to understand what kind of situation was it. Getting a grip, I let my encounter with Harry slip off of my mind.

My mother is far

Far, far away

They tell him to find another

But he stays

They say, ‘You brought a daughter’

But he lies

They tell him, ‘That can’t be’

But he flies

Fly away

Far, far away

My mother is away

The ‘Away’ is dead

This is not the end

They say, ‘You brought a daughter’

The song Paolo used to sing me and Elio when we were young, keeps playing in my head as I stand in my kitchen after returning from a business trip. All is dead once the mother is dead. Losing a mother is the only thing that hurts you and leaves an open wound till the day you die. You can never be healed of losing the one person whom never felt love towards anyone like they felt towards you. A mother faces thousand hells to bring to the world one tiny person. All my mother did was give me the gift of life before leaving me, vulnerable, tiny, weak and in need of a mother. No blame is on Alessandra for leaving before I could pronounce ‘Mama’, but deep down I blame her for not giving me the gift of knowing who she was. There is, in my mind, the need to argue with her, fight with her, hug her and listen to her tell me that she loved me. I didn’t get the opportunity to know Alessandra, and though it may feel that people like me don’t get hurt as much of losing a mother, it still hurts. All the time, I feel like a prisoner to the grief of losing a mother I never had. Why did you leave me, mama?

My father once told me that losing a child is worse than losing a mother. He told me that losing a child is similar to having your heart snatched off of your chest. No one could imagine the pain, no other deaths could come closer to losing a child of your own and no matter what happened in life, you’d still feel the pain. You could no longer dream of them getting older before your eyes. The blame is the only thing you could do, blame your own child for dying and leaving your arms, blame God for taking them from you, blame the wings that flew them away from life. They take everything with them, your life, your age, and your happiness and they only leave you grief and bleak years.

That is why my father raised me to become the heir. Paolo wants me to fight and never risk me to life.

Paolo lost the love of his life, he cannot afford losing the love he can never replace. The love which was born by the love of his life. Me.

Bianca snaps me out of my thoughts, slamming a huge file on the kitchen counter in front of me. My eyes look at her floral, angelic aura and I see the big smile on her face as she opens the file to show me wedding dresses.

“You’re too busy to go find yourself a dress so I had the designer give me all the dresses he has in this file.” She smiles, going through the pictures of white wedding dresses.

“Do I look like I care, Bianca?” I arch an eyebrow at her, but she just shrugs at me.

“You need to choose one and come with me to the damned designer, or else I’ll make Elio force you.” She never curses, so she must be so irritated by me.

“You know I can take him.” I smirk and she rolls her eyes, playing with the strap of her floral dress.

“Y/n, I’m not kidding, the wedding is in two weeks! We already took care of everything else on your behalf, but the wedding dress can’t be chosen by anyone but you. Look! This one is so pretty.” She points at one white dress that I don’t like.

I huff. Bianca is right, they did take care of everything. I don’t even know where the reception or the actual wedding is going to be. “Fine.”

My fingers turn the pictures as Bianca squeals, clapping her hands, “Yay!”

As I look at a dress after another, I huff even more. This is not something I want to do. There is a dress catches my eyes, it’s not like me but I think it’s good.

The dress is silver-colored and can blind a blind with the sparkles, it’s off-shoulder and shows much cleavage just like I love dresses to show. The dress is huge, tight in the upper-half while the lower-half is huge. You can call it a ball gown wedding dress.

“I like this one.” I point at the picture and she turns her head to see the dress clearly.

“Oh, never thought you’d like a dress like that. It’s so pretty and sparkly!” She squeals at the end, closing the file. “I’ll make an appointment for today. Don’t even think you can get out of this, understand?”

I smirk as she walks away just to be replaced with the ringing of my phone. This number I know very well, it has been calling me for the past two months. I think, it’s time I answer.

Harry has been drowning in work. The Styles have been a thorn in his side, his uncles are turning against him, claiming that he’s no fit for the role. Trying his best to redeem his family members from betraying the family, but all efforts seem to vanish into thin air. While he is sitting in his office at the headquarters of the Styles Co., he hears the voice of his secretary through the phone speaker, “Mr. Styles, there’s a girl claiming that she’s your fianc- Ma’am, you can’t just ent-“

The door of his office suddenly slams open only for him to see my face. I stand there in my black bodysuit and black jeans, my hair falling down my shoulder freely. His eyes look me from head to toe, taking in how I am his fiancée. I can see why girls drool for guys like him, as he’s just as a delicious meal for a starving man. His attire matches mine, black shirt unbuttoned halfway and black dress pants.

His eyes look to the secretary who has followed me and he just nods at her. My eyes turn to look at her, as well. She gets out and closes door on her way. I turn my attention to him, crossing my arms.

“We need to go. Now.” I pull my chin up, ordering him.

His eyes speculate my appearance as they speculate my attitude. He gives me no expression, but inside he is trying to calm his curiosity. He sees a strong woman that stops at nothing, wants what she wants and gets what she wants. A woman that he barely knows, but still is pushing his buttons and talking like she has known him for years.

“Is that an order?” He smirks, crossing his arms, imitating my position. He gets more comfortable in his leather chair behind the modern desk.

“It can be if you don’t get your ass up. Alessandro has been calling me, he wants to see me alone. I can’t go alone, I have to have my gorgeous fiancé next to me. Just to prove a point.” I say, not giving him the expression which he’s craving so he can read me.

“Go on your own.” He says, briefly, before he gets back to typing on his laptop.

I free my arms, walking towards his desk and slam his laptop shut on his fingers, leaning in to be at the same level as his face, “Listen, smirky, Alessandro is not to be underestimated. If he threatens, then it has to be taken into consideration. If I go alone, then this messes up the whole point of the marriage.”

He frees his fingers and just admire the color of my hazel eyes while his damned smirk is not backing off of his face.

“I’ll go under two conditions.” He says as I straighten up my posture. I give no answer so he continues, “First, we will have a cup of coffee. Second, while we have our cup of coffee, you’ll tell me what is the history between you and that fucker.”

“Agreed. I’m waiting in my car.” I say, storming out of his office.

As he stays there, on his chair, in his office, he wonders. He wonders why I accepted his conditions without arguing my way out, he wonders if he’s going to like the story of me and Alessandro. He sighs, feeling the gun wrapped around his chest before he stands up to wear his suit jacket. He is the man, and I am the woman. We are not like Adam and Eve, we are the complete opposite, or so we think.

Harry and I can’t see what our parents see of us. We can’t see how we fit. We can’t see.

As I am scrolling on my phone, waiting for him in my car right in front of his company’s gate, the passenger door opens and he takes a seat next to me. I don’t even look at him, just as he closes the passenger door, I put my phone down and drive.

Harry notices that I’m a confident driver, driving with one arm just like him. Just like my driving, he notices how beautiful I am. The little makeup I have on doesn’t interrupt my beauty or put too much effort into making me more beautiful. To him, my hazel eyes that shine every time the rays of sun touch my eyes look like the sun after it rains. He doesn’t know that I see his eyes as the grass after a rainy day. We can’t see our similarities.

“Are you going to stare at me the whole day?” I ask, not taking my eyes off of the road.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to meet him all by ourselves without backup?” He changes the topic.

“Alessandro won’t come with any guards, he thinks he’s going to meet me alone.”

“Are you used to meeting him alone?” He asks, trying to hide that the answer can annoy him.

“I’ll tell you all about it after we’re finished with meeting him.” I answer, trying to calm the urge to kill Alessandro once I see him.

Harry nods and focuses on anything but me. After a while of silence, I pull over by a bar. I grab my purse and open it to make sure I have my gun, then I reach down to feel the knife I’m hiding under my bodysuit. Harry watches me as I make sure I’m prepared and as I put on a leather black jacket on.

“Let’s go.” I say before we both get out of the car.

We walk, side by side, inside the bar. The smell of alcohol suffocates me as I enter. Desperate, lost souls wandering the place, looking for another drink to soothe their wounds of agony. This bar is built over the lost souls, not the ones looking for fun.

Harry’s eyes scan the place to make sure there are no signs of threats. I walk to Alessandro just when I notice his silver hair, he is sitting on a barstool, having a glass of whiskey on the rocks. I take my seat next to him and I feel Harry taking the seat next to me.

Alessandro’s face lightens up as he sees me, just to darkens when he sees the face next to me.

“Hey, Alessandro.” I say as I motion to the bartender. “Martini, please.”

“Whiskey. Neat.” Harry says to the bartender. As if having neat whiskey can make him have the upper hand in this situation.

“I didn’t know we were going to have a third-wheel.” Alessandro scoffs, turning his body to face me.

“You asked to see me, here I am.” I say, not changing my poker-face.

“She’s my fiancée, if you don’t know.” Harry smirks and Alessandro bites his bottom lip in ire.

“I am worthy of you, y/n.” Alessandro states, looking into my eyes.

“No, you’re not. I rather be with a devil than be with you, Alessandro. You know that by now.”

“Two years and you can’t just forget about it.” Alessandro’s voice is hurt.

I grab my glass and take a sip. “I don’t forget, as if what you do is forgettable.”

“I can’t see you marry this bastard, I am the one you’re meant to be with.” Before Harry does something, I reply.

“This bastard is my fiancé, Alessandro. Disrespect him and you disrespect me. You are an evil person, whether you admit it or not. All we had is gone, none of it matters anymore. You’re stealing members of the Styles and you’re causing chaos between us and the government. As a matter of fact, all you care about is to bring us all down just to prove a point.”

“It’s my right, y/n! Your families took everything from us and we were left with nothing. And I’m not here to talk about whatever the fuck is going on in business. I’m here because you can’t marry another guy you only met once.”

“Oh? Watch me. By the way, business is a part of why I don’t ever wanna see your face again.”

“You’re the reason I’m doing all of this!”

“Spare me the ‘You’re the reason I’m fucking people up’! You do all of this shit just for yourself. Do you think you’re gonna stop whatever you’re doing if I just ask?”

“Of course!”

“Your audacity, man!” I shake my head, sipping my drink. “You’re going to continue at all costs. And I am telling you, Alessandro, if you think I’ll let you fuck up the Styles and us, you’re damn wrong. We built the empire; Harry and I are going to keep building it. We’re going to become your worst nightmare, Alessandro. Just as much as I respect your threats, you must respect ours. You love me? Let’s see if you’ll love me when I suck your soul out. Your whole family won’t be enough for us, if you come near us again. I’ll make you regret the day you met me, you’ll wish you can rip your heart off. We’ll be the nightmare that visits you every day. “

His face is stunned, not believing that this is the girl he’s fallen in love with. The girl he’s loved his entire life is swearing to take him down. Enjoying her visits in his dreams will turn into fear. Alessandro can act tough as he wants, but we will turn him into a panicked chicken. He can stand tall, but we will make him fall. He can build walls, but we will crack them. Harry and I, all we have is our families, we won’t let Alessandro demolish it just to prove that he has the upper hand. Although Harry isn’t enjoying not being a part of the conversation, he’s enjoying listening to me involving him in my words. Alessandro’s heart aches as he watches the look of evil I own in my eyes towards him. Those same eyes that he has fallen in love with, contain the purest aversion. He wants to threat back, but he can’t do so to the love of his life.

“You want to marry him?” Alessandro asks with hurt eyes that’re trying to keep cool, nodding his head at Harry. As if Alessandro hasn’t been listening to my threats, he is only concerned with me.

“Yes, I want to and I will. Get out of the picture. I don’t ever wanna see you again.” Alessandro nods at my words before he looks at Harry.

“I’m not gonna let you have her.” Alessandro says to Harry.

Harry arches a brow and smirks, he holds my right hand up, “You see this? This is my ring wrapped around her finger. In two weeks, she’ll be my wife. I already have her, Alessandro.”

Throwing some dollar bills on the counter, Alessandro stands up. “I can never hurt you, y/n, even if I want to. You, Harry, on the other hand, it’ll be my pleasure to watch you suffer.”

With that he leaves me and Harry alone.

I WANT COMMENTS

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