"No, I Don't Imagine It Would Be." She Smiled Weakly. Her Own Life Had Been Far From Peaceful And She'd

"No, I don't imagine it would be." She smiled weakly. Her own life had been far from peaceful and she'd never known the hardships of war. She knew the pains of a broken heart, of exile and shame. She knew the struggles of having to start over in an entirely foreign place. But the exact trials that a soldier endured made her own troubles seem childish. After all, most of her problems stemmed from her own mistakes.

She was hesitant to move much, not wanting to stain her own dress, but also not wishing to break the stillness. It was peaceful. The weather was charming, the air tepid and sky clear. There was a startling lack of screaming young ladies, and the simple company of another made it feel like a dreamscape. When he shifts to look at her, she follows suit and sits up, flattening out her skirts as she folded her legs.

"The sun will set eventually." Anne offered with a gentle tone. "The clouds will return, the skies will darken. And we will return to our lives. Unfortunately, everything is fleeting, even peace." As a light flush of embarrassment crossed her cheeks, Anne bowed her head in apology. "Forgive me, I suppose that's the most reassuring thing to say."

Certainly, life had been anything but peaceful for Thomas. Having been sent down south for much of the war, he had been disturbed to see what the war had made of his home and his loved ones. His beloved father had been killed by men considered Thomas’s comrades in the war, his younger brother had taken his birthright and used it to betray all that he held dear. Setauket, and the rest of America, held nothing for him.

So, he had taken passage to England. Though he knew some disdained him for his accent and his now severely weakened leg, he had generally been accepted by those he met. To sustain himself and earn even a small crust of bread, he had begun to work as a tutor. He had always had a talent for languages and for figures and he quickly picked back up now that he had access to books.

That was what had brought him to the Pleinsworth household, and to Anne.

“The life of a soldier isn’t very peaceful,” Thomas responded, a smile flickering onto his lips. He had been lying in the grass, certainly staining his shirt and waistcoat. However, as this moment, he did not mind. These stolen moments of peace in the garden of the home seemed miles away from judgmental eyes.

Slowly, Thomas turned some onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow so he could better face Anne. His green eyes looked to her, searching her face. In a softer voice, he continued, “I certainly hope this peace isn’t fleeting.”

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄

Send an emoji and I’ll make a moodboard for:

🌞 my muse’s aesthetic 

🌙 your muse’s aesthetic

👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 my muse’s family

💼 my muse’s job/occupation

🍕 my muse’s favorite foods

💛 our muses’ relationship 

💕 our muses’ romantic relationship 

🔮 my muse’s zodiac sign

🏨 my muse’s town/country 

🏠 my muse’s home

📚 my muse’s past/childhood

🎨 my muse’s favorite color

⭐ one of my muse’s AU (please specify)

⚡ one of your muse’s AU (please specify)

your muse’s aesthetics as flowers.

bold or italicize what applies to your muse.

roses: true romantic, loving the classics, pricked fingers, perfect makeup done to impress, bruises easily, beloved but unknown, soul as old as time, overused and under-appreciated.

daisies: clean linens, youthful naivety, family, wide open spaces, running barefoot, moving towards instead of away, trying to forget about death, sun blindness.

sunflowers: standing tall, strong roots, a home to always return to, warm summer air, holding onto lost hope, belief in growth, painted overalls, split ends.

bluebells: the end of spring, determination for the truth, cold and cautious, moonlight on windowsills, the taste of ice, unnecessary shyness, quiet belief in the extraordinary, complicated morals.

daffodils: mom friend, sweets, the smell of baking, riverbanks, leaving behind a toxic situation, being happy with your reflection, believing in luck, moving in a pack.

irises: sour candies, unappreciated elegance, valor, crystals projecting rainbows on white walls, unintended organization, old royalty, refusal to bow, learning a new language for the fun of it.

lilies: secret poison, perfect handwriting, crisp consonants, pressed and ironed sheets, open windows, infinite persistence, thick skin, colder hands.

lilac: fleeting and fair, strong but delicate, radiating good vibes, the beauty of falling apart, the joy in being scattered, soft fabrics, whirlwind romance, keeping the door open.

“It’s so strange. I’ve never felt so peaceful, before.” - from Thomas (@setauketloyalties)

"You find peace strange?" Curiously, Anne eyed him, searching his features for any sign of deception. When she couldn't seem to locate any sense of jest, she sighed, nodding along with his sentiment. She knew all too well how foreign a single moment of peace could be. Most of her time was spent around three young girls, so serenity was hardly ever an option and, when it was, it was short-lived. But it was different for men. Or at least she thought it was. "Well, I'm glad I was to help offer at least a sliver of peace. As fleeting as it might be."

💕 our muses’ romantic relationship (Gotta badger you here too lol.)

posted here ♡

Although Anne was sure she knew the answer, something inside her wanted to hear him say it. In more ways than he could comprehend, he had saved her. From loneliness, from George's wrath, and even from herself. He was her hero, in more ways than one. But she waited, listening for the answer she'd been hoping for. And then he said it, his strained voice uttering the part that her heart ached for most: that he wanted to.

The way he wriggled beneath her touch made her flush with pride and the corner of her lips twitched upwards. She'd had a similar effect on George and it had been addicting. The power trip of making a man bend to her will was something that she'd never managed to find anywhere else. It was the one thing that she, as a woman, held over men as a species. But, in this case, she wasn't eager to wield it as a weapon as much as she wanted to use it as a tool.

Each compliment he uttered earned another tender kiss against his thigh, the rhythm of her strokes slowing to a tantalizing pace. She waited, holding herself back from taking him into her mouth. Anne knew there would be another time for such a thing. She could show him what wicked tricks she'd learned to do with her mouth another night, but tonight she wanted to give herself to him.

Her name is all she needs to hear before she abruptly stops toying with him and unfurls her hand from his erection. Carefully, she rises to her feet again and reached forward to grab his hands. Anne pulls him back up to a sitting position before pressing her mouth to his for a hungry, feverish kiss. As she deepens the kiss, she gently pushes him backwards, urging him to make room for her to crawl onto the bed with him. Her own senses are clouded and Anne can't tell what is her own decision and what the heat between her legs is telling her to do. In a hushed voice, she leans in and whispers gentle command.

"Take me, John."

"Why did you marry me, John?"

Swallowing thickly, it took him a moment to comprehend her words and all at once memories of the past months flickered in his mind, juxtaposing visions of the gardens, of the peaceful countryside, and then the wicked face of the bastard Chervil accompanied with the bray of Lady Pleinsworth as they attempted to cast Anne into ruin.

Anne's past was her own and it'd remained so for he knew if he began questioning, he'd be expected to reciprocate. No; her past was hers, his past was his; what happened then... it didn't matter now, not now, not within the walls of their room.

"Why did you marry me, John?"

"To save you," but he didn't say that for that wasn't right either; this marriage wasn't some selfless act, and gazing down at where she was nestled against his lower half, he answered, "Because I wanted to."

She moved forward and he groaned, his head falling back into the bedding when her breathe ghosted over his length, a new cord of pleasure making him squirm, his hips threatening to buck as she continued her cruel teasing. He was feverish, his pulse hammering throughout every part of him, the ache in his lower abdomen deepening.

"Tell me what you like about me."

He could practically feel her lips brushing over him with each word and he whimpered, blinking frantically, trying to maintain control lest he wanted to finish in her hand.

"I-I like your smile. I like the way you laugh. I-I..." he was losing his train of thought, her pace against him seemingly quicker and he felt closer to falling over the edge, "You're kind," the words spilling from him now, desperately trying to keep his senses, "and clever and... Fuck. Anne, please."