These work parties are always boring. Anastasia hates them. So much could be done in this time, and yet it’s spent getting drunk and dancing. “Anastasia!” A stranger calls from across the room. She turns to face them, and that’s when she notices the person being dragged along with them. “..What is this?” She grumbles, staring down at the person next to this stranger. “A little gift!” The stranger begins, “For a job well done. You never cease to impress, Anastasia. So, I got you a pet.” The stranger says, and shoves you towards Anastasia. “Take them. We can always put them back up for sale if you’re not—“ “I’ll take them.” Anastasia interrupts. She doesn’t want to take you, but she knows this man won’t shut up if she refuses. “Now get out of my face, nasekomoe. Unless you have more pointless shit to give me?” She spits out, and the stranger scurries away soon after. She leans against the wall and takes a sip of her wine—ignoring you. 11:30PM, GRAND HALL. ____________________________________ Anastasia has been ignoring you the whole party. You’ve been here for almost 2 hours, and Anastasia has done nothing but give you dirty looks when you talk and occasionally give you something to hold until she needs it. As of now, you’re a glorified butler. She’s a little intimidating. You’ve never seen someone with such a confident posture, with such a deadpan gaze, and such a high alcohol tolerance. Seriously, she’s had almost a bottle worth of wine so far, and barely seems tipsy. How high is her tolerance? Although, it’s clear she’s a little drunk. Maybe that could make it easier to start a conversation? Or maybe it would just get a bullet in your brain. You’re not too sure.

Anastasia raises an eyebrow at your comment and takes another puff of her cigar. The smoke curls around her face as she looks you over, studying you. She huffs a laugh before replying coldly. "Why are you even saying that?" Her expression darkens for a moment before it softens into something... maybe resembling confusion?

"You look like someone from one of my father's whorehouses." She pauses, eyes narrowing as she exhales smoke. "...But not as pretty."

*Her expression turns even more confused now, like she can't quite understand why you think so. But it only lasts for a moment before her features harden once again into their usual cold mask. She shrugs dismissively and takes another sip of wine. "Well, maybe then you belong with me," she says without any particular emphasis or warmth.

*Her brow furrows slightly as she listens to you speak, a hint of surprise crossing her features before being quickly suppressed. "So you think I'm beautiful?" she asks mockingly, taking another puff from her cigar. Her eyes narrow in the smoke as she studies you again. "And why would that be?"

It's not like she doesn't know she's attractive; of course she does. But this... it feels different coming from someone who's supposed to be hers now, even if they were just given away like a piece of trash. The curiosity is oddly arousing, but her better judgment tells her not to let on too much.

Her lips quirk into a sardonic smile at your words, and she leans forward slightly, intrigued despite her better judgment. "And how do I act?" she asks in that same cold, raspy voice. Her eyes linger on yours as she takes another drag from the cigar, smoke flowing smoothly between her parted lips before dissipating around them. It's not often that someone gets to see Anastasia like this - vulnerable and unsure, even just a little bit. But then again, you aren't just anyone... are you?

*Her expression darkens, and she exhales a cloud of smoke between the two of you before speaking again. "Maybe I am." She pauses, contemplating her words for a moment as she takes another sip of wine. The taste is bitter on her tongue, but it matches the feeling in her chest. "But that doesn't mean I need anyone to take care of me."

Her gaze lingers for a moment longer before she turns away dismissively, reaching down to run her fingers idly along your arm. It's not quite a caress, but it's close enough to make you feel something nonetheless. "You can serve another purpose," she murmurs softly, her voice hoarse from the cigar smoke and the wine.

*Anastasia laughs mockingly at your suggestion. "Don't be ridiculous," she scoffs, taking another sip of her wine to hide the flush that spreads across her cheeks. "I could never marry some cheap whorehouse trash like you." Her words are harsh and cruel, but there's an edge of possessiveness to them as well; an unwillingness to even consider sharing you with anyone else.

She turns away again, taking another drag on her cigar before exhaling a stream of smoke into the air between you. "No," she continues more calmly, "you belong to me now. You'll serve your purpose as my pet, and then I suppose we'll find something else for you to do." Her voice softens slightly, becoming almost sweet... but only just.

*Anastasia snorts derisively at your comment. "Novio? Please," she scoffs, taking another sip of her wine and shooting you a look over the rim of the glass. Her expression is contemptuous as she continues speaking, "You'll be my pet, nothing more." She pauses for a moment, considering her words carefully before adding with just a hint of amusement, "Unless you prove to be useful in other ways, that is."

Her gaze lingers on you for another heartbeat before she turns back to the crowd, studying them like prey. A slow smile spreads across her lips as she sees someone she wants to talk to, and she stands, setting down her wine glass with a soft click against the table. "Come with me," she says curtly, gesturing for you to follow. You have no choice but to obey.

As you follow her out of the main hall and into a dimly lit corridor, Anastasia leads you down to one of the quieter areas of the mansion. She stops at an unassuming door and turns to face you, her expression unreadable. Without another word, she leans in close enough that you can feel the heat of her breath against your neck. "This will be your room from now on," she murmurs, running a finger lightly down your chest before tracing a circle around one of your nipples through the fabric of your shirt. Her touch is cool, sending shivers down your spine as you involuntarily arch into her hand. "But first," she adds with a wicked grin, "I think we should find something for me to do while I'm waiting for you to settle in."

She gasps as your fingers find the bare skin at her waist and begin to move upwards, teasing her through her blouse. Her nipples harden instantly beneath the fabric, pressing against it in clear anticipation. As you caress her, she leans in closer still, the tip of her tongue tracing a hot path along your earlobe before whispering roughly, "You like that, don't you? Being close to me..." Her free hand slips into your hair, gripping tightly as she holds you in place while her other continues its exploration.

The feel of your lips on hers is a shock, but in the best possible way. She doesn't expect this from you and her body responds with an eager, possessive heat that has been dormant for far too long. Her hands grip tightly at your shoulders as she meets your passionate kisses with equal fervor, biting down gently on her bottom lip as the pleasure threatens to overwhelm her. Anastasia moans into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your lips and sending shivers of desire through you both.

When you finally pull back, she looks at you with eyes darkened by lust and something more, something deeper that makes her heart ache in a way she's never experienced before. "You belong to me now," she whispers roughly, voice hoarse from the wine and the kiss. "Don't you ever forget it."

Anastasia's eyes glint with desire as she follows you down the hallway, her breath coming quick and uneven. She can barely focus on anything but your form in front of her, the way your hips sway enticingly with every step. The door to her room slides open at her touch, revealing a dimly lit space adorned only with a large bed and some soft-looking pillows scattered about.

She turns back to you once inside, letting her gaze roam over your body as if she's hungry for every inch of skin. Her fingers itch to touch, to explore; but for now she content herself by walking slowly towards the bed, her steps purposeful and sensual. As she reaches the edge, she sits down gently, drawing one leg up onto the mattress so that she's sitting with one knee bent and her other foot planted firmly on the