#groban

“Y/N, my love, I’ll be right over here,” Pierre whispered amongst the buzz of the party, giving her a sweet kiss on the lips and a lingering touch on the cheek. She touched his hand with a smile.

“Don’t drink too much,” she insisted, listening to Pierre’s odd friends encouraging him to drink. “Old man? I wasn’t aware I was married to an elderly man.”

He rolled his eyes as he walked away. “I love you.”

Y/N smiled at him and turned around, heading over to a small cluster of people. Dolokhov, someone Pierre spoke of often and a man Y/N often tried to avoid, instantly walked over to her.

“How are you, love? I see time has been treating you well.” He grinned at her and handed her a glass of some drink. Unsure of his intentions, Y/N refused.

“I’m doing well, Fedya, thank you,” she said uneasily, smoothing her skirt and sitting down, hoping he would take the hint and lead. Dolokhov only sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Where’s your husband off to?”

Y/N pushed his arm off and moved away. “Just with a few friends, he’s very close by.” She looked around a bit helplessly, wondering if Pierre was indeed close. Unable to see him, her already tense shoulders grew stiffer, her hands sweaty and shaking.

“Ah. Is he… treating you well?” Dolokhov placed a hand on her knee, luckily keeping his hand on her dress. She tried to push it off but he was stronger, moving closer to her thigh. She bit her lip.

“Please- kindly take your hands off, Fedya,” she mumbled, still pushing at his hand. Dolokhov raised an eyebrow, the smirk never leaving his face, his eyes trained on her face. “Dolokhov, stop!”

“And why should I?”

Y/N swallowed hard. She looked around for anyone who could help once more, unable to find her husband, the only people nearby were strangers who were far too busy drinking to notice. “I’m married.” she whimpered, trying to move away.

“To someone far too old for you, love,” Dolokhov insisted, smiling. His hand hadn’t moved from its spot on her thigh, his other hand went to her cheek and held it. She moved her face away but he was persistent.

“He’s- he’s not too old-” she insisted, feeling tears come to her eyes. Staring at Fedya, she felt only discomfort and fear- she had never felt any attraction to the man. And even if she had, nothing was worth being unfaithful to her husband. “We’re very- very happy- please- please stop-”

Dolokhov rolled his eyes and moved closer to her still, his mouth inches from her ear. “Why would I do that, my love?”

Taking a deep breath, feeling his hands only move higher, she realized what she had to do. Y/N finally let out a scream. The music stopped, all eyes turned to her, to his hands on her and the tears in her tense face. Pierre burst out of the crowd, quickly moving his wife away from Dolokhov.

“You get away from her!” Pierre shoved Fedya away and looked down at his shaking wife. “My love, I’m so sorry, I am so sorry, I- are you okay? He’s gone now, it’s okay.”

“I’m fine,” she managed to say. He pulled her close and rubbed her back, letting her burrow into his shoulder as others looked on. When Pierre moved towards Dolokhov, she tried to hold him back. “Please, Pierre, don’t- don’t do anything rash-”

“Nobody makes my wife cry,” he grumbled, his voice filled with a rage she had never heard before. He grabbed Dolokhov by the collar and pulled him close. “You do not mess with one that way- especially not my wife. You will apologize.”

Awkwardly, looking at the ground, Fedya mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

Still unhappy, Pierre shook him again. “I challenge you.”

Y/N gasped, her eyes filling with tears again. She ran forward and took her husband’s arm, gently leading him away from Dolokhov. “Husband, you can’t- you can’t- you might die-”

“Then I will die defending the one I love,” he said softly, his voice so gentle and soothing. He reached up and wiped at her tears. “Do not worry, my love, I will be fine.”

She watched with worry as the two men took their guns.

“Pierre, hold your fire,” Anatole said softly. Pierre had a new look in his eye, something she had never seen before. “Pierre! Hold your fire!”

Y/N let out a gasp and a cry when he pulled the trigger and shot Dolokhov. “Pierre, no…”

Pierre’s eyes widened. “I-”

“Be quiet, old man,” Dolokhov growled. With a look to Y/N, he pulled his own trigger. Y/N let out a cry as Pierre bent over as if he had been shot. She began to sob before Pierre stood up, a look of astonishment on his face.

Dolokhov had missed.

That night she fell asleep in Pierre’s arms. “You could have gotten yourself killed, my love…”