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deandoesthingstome · 7 months

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Gothic Fantasy

Pairing: Vampire!August x Reader

Summary: Are you in over your head, little girl?

Word Count: 6.1K

Warnings: 18+, NO MINORS, exhibitionism, oral sex (m and f receiving), spanking, p in v (doggy style), anal toy/anal sex, dom!August, Sir and princess, monster fucking (which involves at least one bite, right?).

Fantasy Hotel Masterlist

You took your time with a little extra research, but the ancient myth vibe of the story you created out of your experience with Sy was a hit and your werewolf!boyfriend tale had been picking up steam thanks to the upcoming holiday. Subscriptions were rolling in which left you both excited and anxious.

sendmeanangel: i have enough to cover at least two more stays even if nothing more comes in at this point MNstrluvr: how could nothing more come in? sendmeanangel: look, i’m having a great time, but at some point in my life i should probably stop paying for monster sex and get a boyfriend, right? darkgothnightengale: that time doesn’t have to be right now. Besides, how will you ever go back to some regular guy? sendmeanangel: very funny. This can’t be a sustainable way to go through life. I just worry people will start feeling like they are owed new monster fucking tales every week because they subscribed to read the ones already out there. I don’t want to let people down or make them think they got played somehow MNstrluvr: what if when you get to the point where you think you're through, you make that clear to any new subscribers? And just because you aren’t fucking a new monster at the hotel every week doesn’t mean you can’t keep writing amazing stories that your followers will love darkgothnightengale: you can write whatever you want when you want. There’s nothing on the site that promises content on any kind of consistent basis and people can always stop subscribing if they feel cheated, which is stupid because they are still getting quality content. you have a voice that people like to read. It doesn’t have to be about shapeshifters or vampires sendmeanangel: speaking of which MNstrluvr: YES!!! I’m so glad you decided to try him next. I cannot wait. He looks so fucking hot sendmeanangel: yeah, well walter continues to be completely booked. besides, they all look fucking hot lol MNstrluvr: there’s just something even more dangerous in his eyes. He looks totally unhinged. In a good way. darkgothnightengale: the best way sendmeanangel: you guys are crazy

“It's lovely to see you again. Thank you for signing the T&C online this time. I hope you had a chance to look through the extra restrictions on this room. It's very important that they are adhered to.”

Were you being called out? Did the hotel somehow know your two previous hosts had broken rules for you? Hopefully no one was getting into trouble.

“We simply don't want any mishaps,” as if in answer to the questions swirling in your mind. Though it still didn't tell you if they knew.

The desk clerk handed you another heavy iron key. Where the mechanism to open the forest room last month had been fairly plain and rustic, this one was filled with intricate lacy patterns. You wanted to snap a picture of the antique gothic skeleton key and send it to your online friends but decided it might be too much like bragging. After all, this would be the third fantasy visit they'd talked you into. Not that you needed much prodding anymore. That they couldn't partake in reality was making you feel bad, no matter how happy for you your friends said they were.

You made your way down the hall after exiting the elevator and stopped before the heavy wooden arched door full of intricately carved details that matched the key in your hand. The room was dark when you stepped in, but before you could reach for a light switch, a deep voice spoke from across the room, sending a cold shiver down your spine.

"You're late."

"I only just checked in."

"And no apology, I see. It's five after. We were to start on the hour. I assumed that was clear, but maybe I'll need to remind you of the importance of punctuality during our time together."

A finger snap sounded from the place in the dark where you heard the voice and flames lit up a fireplace nearby. Your eyes were drawn there, hoping the glow of the flame would illuminate your host, but no one appeared. All you saw was the carved stone of the mantle and wrought iron candelabras filled with fat pillars that were lighting one by one as if by magic as well.

As the warm light began to bathe the room, you felt a rush of air behind you and heard the door to the room slam shut. You turned to see nothing again, though you heard the click of a lock.

"Did you at least come prepared?" the voice sounded near your ear, though again, no one was to be seen as you spun once more to face into the room.

"I did," you answered into the space in front of you, even as you peered left and right. Where the fuck was he?

“Right here,” he spoke from behind you again, and this time you could see as well as feel the hands that gripped your upper arms and held you tight against the solid form behind you. You glanced at the fingers curled around your biceps and licked your lips, thinking of where you’d rather have them. Caressing your face. Around your throat. Thrust deep inside…”Before we get there, I believe you owe me an apology.”

And now you had a choice. How would that apology go? Remain standing like an insolent brat or kneel to the man you wanted to dominate you this evening? Not that he wouldn’t dominate the brat as well, but maybe you didn’t need it to be so demanding this first time. His fingers loosened as you began to turn toward him but you sunk to your knees before you saw his face, so it wasn’t until you lifted your chin to plead forgiveness that you had the opportunity to drink him in.

He was dressed in sharp black pants with a crisp crease down the front of each leg. A neatly pressed black button up shirt with french cuffs and mother of pearl links sat behind a black silk brocade vest with mother of pearl buttons. In the light, you couldn’t tell for sure, but the pattern in the vest seemed to match the key as well. A blood-red silk tie paired with a handkerchief peeking from the front of his jet black jacket that set off his broad shoulders nicely and was buttoned at the right height to taper his waist.

But his face. You inhaled to keep yourself steady before you spoke the words requesting his forgiveness. The calming breath helped you take in more of his visage without fainting on the spot.

His jawline was strong. And unlike the fuller beards of Walter or Sy, this man’s facial hair consisted of a five o’clock shadow and a neatly trimmed mustache. His dark hair was swept back to the side, though you could tell if he hadn’t styled it perfectly, the curl would take over. You’d love to see it sometime. Maybe even tonight.

What caught your breath in your throat was his piercing blue eyes and it took you a few moments to realize he was laughing at you. You had to fight to gain control from his mesmerizing gaze, but before you could ask him to repeat himself, he already was.

“I said," Apology accepted” and you can stand now, princess. Show me what you came with.” He helped you to stand, then drew his hand down your arm as he took a step back. He dropped your hand and motioned toward you before he crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head as if to say “go ahead now.”

You took a deep breath, suddenly unsure if you’d made the right ensemble choice. Though it matched his outfit perfectly somehow, you were hesitant to bare so much to him so soon. But there was no turning back now. Well, of course there was, but you didn’t want to. At best, you could imagine excusing yourself to use the restroom and changing into a different outfit.

You undid the belt on your long, black trench coat, then popped the buttons one by one until you could open the flaps and shrug the coat off your shoulders and down your arms. You were about to let it drop to the floor, but something made you stop and hold the fabric in your hands at your sides.

“May I take your coat?” he asked like the gentleman he was portraying, holding out a hand and you reached it over to him, before smoothing your hands down the body of your black strapless gown, worrying away the non-existent wrinkles. A few blood-red rose embellishments nestled strategically into the delicate embroidery woven along the sheer black lace bodice of the dress, your bare skin visible only in the spots where no design was found. You released the clasps attaching the hem of the dress to the waist and allowed the full length of the black silk skirt to flow to the ground. It sported a trail of matching but larger floral adornments cascading in spiral from one hip across the front and down the other side. With the matching red silk pumps, you were a vision. You felt a rush of air and as you lifted your gaze from your dress back to him, your coat seemed to have disappeared, because it was no longer in his hands. And the look on his face told you you’d made the right choice.

“You look ravishing.” At his words of praise you forgot all about where your coat might have gotten off to.

“Is this okay?”

“If this is the attire you wished to begin in, then it’s perfect. We’ve already lost so much precious time with your late arrival.”

You stood silent, unsure if he was asking for another apology. It seemed like a bad idea to let him actually ask before you offered another, but your voice was stuck in your throat, so taken were you by his demeanor. It turned out you were wrong to wait.

“I don’t like to ask for apologies, but trust that I will whenever they are warranted. Hopefully, you’ll begin to know when you’ve crossed a line. I suppose technically, you have already apologized, so I won’t ask for another. This time.” At the admonishment, you dropped your gaze to the floor with embarrassment. “I also ask your forgiveness for my rudeness. So many lessons you’re learning already and you don’t even know my name yet. Allow me to correct that. My name is August Walker and it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance finally.”

What did he mean by finally? Here, now, in this room when he finally shared his name and lifted your arm to kiss the back of your hand? Or had he heard stories about you too?

“May I add something to your ensemble?” You could practically hear the subtle tilt of his head in question.

“Of course,” you replied, willing your nerves to allow you to look up at him again.

“It's only, well, you look so delicious. I'm afraid I'll need a reminder, or rather, a deterrent.” His hands raised, something appearing between his fingers as if from nowhere. You noticed a wide band of heavy black embroidered ribbon with metal clasps at each end. Your chin tilted almost involuntarily to allow him room to place the choker around your neck.

“You don’t want to…?” Was he not going to bite you? Did you make a mistake by not actually reading the T&C when you signed, scrolling quickly to the end of the form and checking the box as fast as you could to make sure the room wasn’t swiped from under you before you’d had a chance to complete the online booking.

“I never said that,” he replied, stepping in closer as he traced a finger around one side of your neck, down over your collarbone, and stopping just at the valley between your breasts.

“Is there a rule you’re afraid of breaking with me?” you asked, craning to bring your lips closer to his.

“I don't break the rules darling, I make them.” August returned his hand to your neck, stilling your advancement with the smallest effort.

“Well then, are you unable to actually bite me?” you asked, not sure whether you wanted him to consider this a question that crossed the line.

“Oh, I'm free to bite when and where you want. Many foolishly ask for the neck. In those moments, I usually oblige.”

“But…” you began.

“But there is a sweeter spot, more delicate, most delicious. This,” he let his finger run along the material around your throat, ”will help me make the better choice for both of us.”

You drew in a quick breath through your nose, causing a shudder in your shoulders as you realized you’d been holding your breath while he hinted at where he’d prefer to bite you. You’d chosen the dress specifically because it bared so much of your body near your neck that you’d hoped he couldn’t help but want to taste you. You foolishly never considered how much more bare you’d need to be before he was able to see the spot he wanted.

His dark chuckle unnerved you, but he quelled your apprehension with an invitation to join him at the dinner table. You’d completely forgotten that this experience had promised an evening meal, but honestly you assumed that was just some clever play on words. That you were to be the meal. He escorted you to a corner of the room near the fireplace, where a sumptuous feast had been set, and deposited you on one side of the table before taking a seat across from you.

“Would you care for some wine this evening?”

“Wine sounds lovely,” you answered, suddenly curious if he’d be drinking and eating with you. You watched as he lifted a decanted red and filled your glass, only to replace the crystal container onto the table before pouring a glass of his own from a dark brown glass bottle. He lifted his glass to toast your evening.

You watched carefully as he brought the goblet to his lips and drank, noticing that no obvious fangs appeared as he opened his mouth, though his canines did seem a little longer than you were used to. At least until recently that was. The men at this hotel all seemed to have been genetically gifted with glorious canine teeth and you weren’t complaining in the least.

“Now, what can I offer you to eat?” Cut fruit sat in open bowls alongside a tray of sliced meats and cheeses. He began to lift the covers off several porcelain serving dishes, revealing chicken and beef dishes, as well as vegetables and roasted potatoes. At your hesitancy, he smiled, as if extremely pleased, and continued. “Or would you prefer I choose for you?”

“I’d like it very much if you would recommend something. It all looks so wonderful.”

“Would you pass me your plate?” You obliged and he ladled servings of a few of the dishes. You noted with curiosity that he was choosing everything you would have chosen for yourself and none of the items you’d already determined you didn’t want to try, though you hadn’t said a word.

You thanked him as he handed your plate back and he invited you to begin, which you did. Because he’d asked you to. As you took your first bite, you moaned at the taste in your mouth and you thought you saw him lick his lips. What you didn’t see him do was serve himself.

“Is it to your liking then?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s delicious, thank you August…may I call you August?”

“For now. Now, what shall we talk about at this very civilized dinner we’re having together?” he asked, as he leaned back in his chair, goblet in one hand, as the fingers of the other drew lazy circles on the tablecloth.

“Can we talk about how it doesn’t appear you're actually going to be eating with me?” You knew it was a bold question, but you still wanted to needle him a little, see where the line was.

“You see, it’s the insolence I mind. Not the question. There is a way to go about asking what you want to know without making it seem like you are trying to anger me. Or are you? Hmm?”

“I’m sorry, August,” you spoke as you placed your fork down. You had a sudden, unfortunate thought. What if you weren’t the only one who could call the whole thing off? What if your hosts had just as much right to pull out a safeword and end the liaison? You supposed, even though you were paying for the pleasure, they had to have a say in things as well. Otherwise, they were just…the thought made you shudder and not in a good way. “I am truly sorry. That was rude of me. Are you able to eat with me?”

“I am not. But I’m more than happy to enjoy your company and a more pleasant conversation while you dine. If you agree, of course.”

“Of course. Please, can we start over?”

“Pick up your fork and take a bite,” he commanded. “Continue your meal. And consider what you would like to talk about.” He took another drink and watched you with deeply penetrating eyes.

The meal was delicious and you finally figured out a topic of conversation that was neither too personal nor banal. When you made him laugh, you felt a small weight lift off your shoulders, as if his heavy and dark demeanor had made you nervous that this choice of hotel hosts was a mistake.

You had always been a bit enthralled with vampires. Loved reading Dracula both as published and in chronological order, as you’d heard about on Tumblr. Enjoyed the myriad of cinematic adaptations of the tale, especially the ones that played up the sensuality of the character. You really never imagined them to be real, but then again, you didn’t think werewolves or minotaurs were real either. For a brief moment, you thought back to your previous visits, letting your fork trail down with a slow descent.

“Finished?” he asked when your utensil hit the plate, eyebrow raised in question as he leaned forward preparing to scoot his chair back from the table. Before you’d even finished your nod, he was at your chair, easing it away from the table and offering you a hand to help you up.

“I think it’s quite time to get started on the rest of your lessons. Would you step to the window please?”

You turned and noticed the thick, black velvet curtains and assumed they must cover a window. You were commanded to open them, and you did, peering out into practical darkness only to see your reflection in place of any scenery. You glanced to the side of your image when you felt the fingertips at the top of your zipper, but though you knew they were attached to arms, attached to a body that was pressed right against you, adding more drag to his knuckles against your skin as he pulled the zipper down, you saw nothing in the mirrored window that would tell you another being was in the room with you.

You gasped, but he mistook it for shyness.

“I like to show off my conquests to whomever may be passing by below. We’re far enough up that no one could make out a face, but the body they’ll see,” he finished unzipping your dress and pushed it down your sides, letting it drop to a puddle of fabric at your feet. “The hint of red from these barely there panties, the silhouette of these curves.” You could feel but still not see his hands running up and down the sides of your body, his hands gripping your thighs before traveling up to cup your breasts. You watched as they bounced lightly in the reflection and smirked back at where you assumed his face would be before licking your matte red lips.

Your concentration was broken for a brief moment at the far off sound of a melancholy howl, but August didn’t let you linger on the thought. He spun you around to him and pressed you back toward the window, where you hissed when your ass came into contact with the chilly pane. How he missed the clink against the window, you’ll never know.

Then he caught your attention and you lost all concern for how exposed or cold your body might be at the moment. The change was practically imperceptible. One moment, he held your gaze with his dark and stormy eyes. In the next blink, his eyes burned red and held you rapt as he began to grin. Slowly, as his lips drew back, the fangs descended and you could swear you heard a faint click.

You probably let out a whimper when you saw him run his tongue along the sharp points and you definitely tilted your head on impulse, forgetting for a moment that he had already refused to take you there.

“I’d like you on your knees, please,” he asked, a little nicer than you imagined he had reason to be. Once you had obliged, he returned to commands. “Take me out.”

You did so gladly and without delay. Every assumption you made turned out to be right. He was just as well endowed as your other hosts, at least in human form. Which was nothing to sneeze at and you certainly weren’t kicking it out of bed.

You feasted on him as if you hadn’t just already eaten and you were happy to hear the sounds from him that told you he was enjoying it. And then he spoke to you.

“You like sucking on this cock, where everyone can see you, don’t you?”

Truth be told, it had never occurred to you before. But there was an exhibitionism option on the registration form and you clicked it in a moment of audacity. He was simply giving you what you had asked for, right? It would feel this way for any guest he had in this room, right? That feeling of being out of control while technically being in the most control? You wanted him to take it.

“Yes,” you gasped as you pulled your head back for air before diving forward to take him down your throat again.

“I knew that you would. You like being naughty, don’t you?”

You bobbed your head up and down as you looked up at him, praying he didn’t make you take him out of your mouth just so he could hear you answer verbally. Your prayers were not answered.

“I asked you a question. Would you care to answer? Now? You know how I feel about punctuality, I trust.”

“Yes. Yes August, I’m sorry. I do. I really do like being naughty with you.”

Another howl sounded, closer this time and you thought you detected the slightest of eye rolls before August got stern again, reaching down to take hold of your upper arm and lifting you to your feet with ease.

“You’re going to call me Sir from here on out and you’re going to be naughty another way now. First, close the curtains.” He spun you around so you could grab hold of the panels and draw them towards one another. You thought you glimpsed a pair of eyes, a deep glowing amber flame in the night before you shut out the world for good for the moment.

August pulled you close and whispered in your ear, “I’ll open them again if you want, if you didn’t get enough of a taste of that. I’ll take that as far as you want to go. But you should know,... he’ll see.”

It both excited you and made you afraid. Afraid of the feelings you knew had been stirring for weeks now. And yet, you were here. In this room. With this man. As much as you thought about what might be, you also knew you wanted to experience what you could. So you’d never have to doubt or question, because you knew you’d be getting the best in the end. Could it really ever be that way? Could he ever feel the same?

“I’m good. Thank you. That’s really kind of you,” you blinked, bringing yourself back to this moment. To August. “Sir.”

“That might be the last time tonight I will be. Are you ready for that?”

“Yes, Sir” you answered, with no more doubt.

August took you in his arms and kissed you deep and hard, one time, before he turned you by your shoulders and gave you a firm slap on the ass. “Into the bedroom.” The ‘now” at your hesitation was punctuated with another sharp crack and you were wet, there was no doubt about it.

The hotel suite was bathed in sheer red curtains, over the window, over the ornate gothic canopy bed, draped down the black walls. Tall black metal candelabras held glowing candles to light the room. Hooks and straps and rings attached to the walls in various spots held your attention for a brief moment. You hadn’t checked that box, and now you wondered why not.

You could only see yourself trying a few new things at once.

These things tonight would be a vampire. And you’d already exposed yourself. Only one more to go, and the bondage wasn’t going to be it.

August turned you back towards him when you reached the foot of the bed, then proceeded to undress. You watched enthralled as he unbuttoned his jacket, the vest, his shirtsleeves, his shirt. You watched as it all came off, one piece at a time, designed to torture you, you were sure of it. He was fucking with you. Keeping you from seeing everything all at once.

You bit your lip, but all you wanted to say was ‘i’ve seen your dick already it’s been in my mouth please give it back.’

He finally did, ordering you to the bed on your hands and knees as he stepped his fully naked body toward you, halting at the foot of the bed to grab your head and stuff his cock right down your throat. Like he’d heard what you thought.

You moaned around him, squeezing your thighs together for friction as you gyrated your hips and bobbed your head back and forth along his length. It would take barely nothing, just the slightest touch, if he would just, yeah, just…

“Oh, you did come prepared, didn’t you?”

You moaned again when you felt his fingers slide over your ass and pause to rub against the handle of the largest teardrop plug you owned. It came in a set of three, black silicone with a shiny red crystal in each handle. Up until this week, you'd only ever used the smallest while alone, but decided you needed to be ready and so had worked your way up to the largest just last night.

“Yes, Sir,” you pulled off and answered quickly, eager to get back to sucking his large member.

“What are you prepared for?” He wiggled the handle a little when he asked.

“For you to fuck my ass, Sir.”

“Good girl,” he slapped a cheek again, then smoothed his hand over the sting and down in the dip to find your aching pussy and just like you knew it would, his touch lit you on fire. He had the wherewithal to slide your thong to the side and angle two fingers so you could press back into them on your withdrawal from his dick and pull away from them, though he’d chase, on your approach. You fucked back into his hand like you were possessed and you came once more because you definitely were.

This man owned you. For tonight anyway. He could do whatever he wanted to you and you wouldn’t say no. No way in hell.

He pulled away and turned you to face the other direction, ass waving in the space directly in front of him as you imagined and wished and hoped he’d just fuck you, please very much. He chuckled and you blinked, imagining you’d seen him now standing at the nightstand, now right behind you again. You felt him pull your underwear all the way off. And you heard the crinkle of the wrapper and you felt him slide two fingers back inside you, felt him rub the pads of his fingers along your inner walls and you felt him find the right spot, the one that released more lubrication which he gladly gathered on his finger and smeared all over his sheathed cock before he pressed himself into you.

He fucked you for a bit before he spoke again.

“I’m going to give you what you want me to give you, and then you’re going to give me what you want to give me.” With a slap on your ass, he pulled out, grabbed your hips and flipped you to your back. You watched him discard the condom before he climbed on to the bed and stepped his knees between your legs, nudging you further up the bed so that he could lay his body on the mattress, his head on your thigh, peering at your puffy pussy.

“Yeah, she’s gorgeous,” he murmured, dipping his head down to take a taste. His tongue trailed through your folds and as his lips closed you felt a hint of the scrape of his teeth against your delicate skin. He sucked at your clit for a moment before he drew back and looked up at you.

“You still want to feel this?” he asked, and you paused for one moment to consider, that yes, yes you absolutely still wanted to know what his bite would feel like. There was really no doubt in your mind. It’s what you came here for. And you knew you needed to answer him directly or it would all be over.

“Yes, Sir. Yes. Please. I want to feel it. I want to feel your bite.”

It was all he needed. In a flash he was at the crease in your thigh, just outside your cunt. You felt his mouth open, felt him drag his teeth back and forth before he finally settled on a spot to sink them. Your pussy pulsed around nothing but the brief rhythmic flow of your blood drawn into his mouth.

You felt a rush of euphoria, a warmth like never before. A million stars lit up in your eyes and you could feel every molecule in your body and every one of them was in a state of bliss. You felt him take one more pull, a wave rushing across the shore of your imagination. When he stopped, it was almost as torturous as before he had begun. At least now you knew what that bliss could feel like.

It scared you a little. It felt like a drug you didn't want to mess around with. As good as it felt, you could imagine never wanting to let the feeling go. Begging for more. Offering up your body and soul to get one more taste, one more drifting orgasm.

Suddenly you were aware of the softest lick. The smallest peck of the lips. When you looked up at you, a stain of blood still remained on his lips and he saw you moan, saw you begin to writhe and strain up, even against the voice in your head that told you it was wrong, and it was all he could do to turn away.

“Please August,” you begged, forgetting what role you were in.

“Princess, not for a million dollars. Not for ten million. There is literally nothing you could offer me that would make me break that rule.”

“What rule, August? What can’t you do for me?” you pleaded for an answer, pressing yourself up to your knees, unaware that the rush you were experiencing had nothing to do with the way you thought you felt about August in the moment, and everything to do with the essence he used to ease the pain of the skin break, numb the feeling of loss, and reseal the wound in the aftermath.

“I get the feeling you really didn’t read the T&C, darling. If you had you would know, in this room, this suite,” he emphasized, as if he’d had to make that clarification before, “I cannot feed you. Even if what you’ve scented is your own blood. It’s too dangerous for you to taste it. Full of my saliva. Mixed together, it’s too potent for you.”

You were distraught and he was … was he amused?

“But I’ve given you what you asked for. Are you still ready to give me what you want?” He waited a few moments, allowing you to come to grips with the reality of the situation. You had slipped over a line, though it didn’t sound like this was something he hadn’t experienced before. A naive young thing, determined to play out a school girl fantasy, relive the stories she made up about being ravished and taken by the Count, made to be his bride.

With a small shake of your head, something cleared its way to the forefront of your mind. Of course he couldn’t feed you and of course you didn’t really want him to. It was a fantasy. That’s it. That’s all. You could only take this so far.

Once he saw you understood where the line was, August's chuckle was sinister. “You can still have something new. I’m more than happy to accommodate that request. As a matter of fact, I think that’s really the only reason you came here tonight, isn’t that right?”

Oh, he was good. That’s for sure. The way he was subtly shifting the priority of the night. Technically speaking, the only thing you’d really wanted was the bite. And he’d already given that to you. So if you were up for one more game…

“That’s right.”

He grabbed your chin and stared directly into your eyes. “That’s right, what?”

“That’s right, SIr.”

“Good girl. Lay back down. I’ll be right back.”

You wanted to kiss him goodbye as he let go of your face and appeared to float away from you. When he returned from the bathroom, his face was fresh and free of any temptation.

“Alright, princess. Hands and knees again, darling. Bring that ass right on over here,” he directed you back to the edge of the bed, ass once again in the air while you rested on your forearms.

August took his time. Warmed you up with a few more light taps that grew to harsh stings that you couldn’t stop squirming for. And you squirmed again when he tugged and twisted and pulled on the handle, teasing the plug almost all the way out before pushing it back in and then repeating the exquisite torture. You couldn’t hold still until he’d finally pulled it all the way out and pressed two lubed fingers into your puckered hole, and it was only because you needed a moment. Needed to let the sensation settle. Needed to relax to let him in deeper. Let another finger in. It wasn’t long before you were fucking yourself back on his hand again. ‘Same but different’ was all your mind could cobble together.

“Please, Sir,” you managed to gasp out in a moment of clarity. If you never asked, would he have just kept you dangling like this all night? “Please fuck my ass.”

“There you go, princess. You’ve found your manners finally.” He pulled his fingers out and you heard the familiar tear of another wrapper. Felt more lube. And finally, finally had the tip of what you knew was his extremely large cock pressed against your entrance.

It was easy to relax. He’d been prepping you for this for what felt like hours. It took nothing more than for you to release the deep breath you’d taken and he was past the now-less-tight ring and moving further inside you, slowly and with purpose. That purpose was to get you comfortable with the feeling, loosen you up further, and get you begging for more of him. Faster. Harder. Please, Sir. Please! More!

He obliged and it was not much longer before you felt the familiar coil tightening in a brand new way. It was like nothing you’d ever experienced before. You were breaking protocol and screaming his name instead of Sir, but as he came himself, he didn’t seem to mind at all.

Bonus Edit: Absolutely GORGEOUS headers made for me by my wonderful friend in fic @geralts-yenn:

Everything HC Taglist: (as always, let me know if you want on or off)

@sillyrabbit81 @mayloma @geralts-yenn @raccoon-eyed-rebel @fvckinghenrycavill @kebabgirl67 @beck07990 @itsrubberbisquit @sweetdreamsofgelato @liveoncoffeeandflowersss @alexakeyloveloki @marantha @aireraume @angelmather1 @lizzystuffsthings @enchantedbytomandhenry @omgkatinka @littlefreya @avengersfan25 @just-chirpin @thesaucynomad @valacirca @henryownsme @summersong69 @foxyjwls007 @peyton-warren @irishavengersassemble

Special tag: @kittenofdoomage (cause sometimes you love my stuff and this one's another monster fucker lol!)

Tags from Werewolf!walter (if you commented):

@ellethespaceunicorn @juliaorpll78 @martha-oi @cardierreh15 @cinnamoroll-things @caramariehurst @zombicupcake3 @openup-yourmind @shellyshellshell @nickfowlerrr @greensleeves888 @misshinson @thelastsock @princessaxoo @augustsprincess @justjulie1105 @minimin1993 if you asked and aren't here, Tumblr won’t let me tag you. Sorry!

#august walker fanfiction #august walker x reader #august walker #vampire!august #vampire!august walker #vampire!august x reader #vampire!august walker x reader #spoopy season #henry cavill characters #henry cavill fanfiction #gothic fantasy #mine #deandoesthingstome

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sweetsweetjellybean · 7 months

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Prince!Steve x Sleeping Beauty!Reader Masterlist

These are short blurbs with figurative fairy tale themes. Smut, PIV, Dirty Talk, Spit as lube. All kinds of fun. Without further ado...

In the flickering embrace of candlelight, you stir from your slumber, your senses waking with the ghost of his warm lips – the kiss of your dark prince. The room is fragrant with the essence white roses and cloves. A soft flicker of the flames casts dancing shadows upon the ornamental fairies and witches. The pleasant scrape of his blunt nails leaves behind pebbled skin as they travel over your ribs, your stomach, your thighs, igniting trails of fire. The exquisite ache of your need deepening as it radiates from the bottom of your stomach, like the desire from dreams that have filled your sleep, until it controls every cell.

Your fingers entwine in the long, golden-brown locks at the nape of his neck as you arch your back, your gaze fixed upon the gilded antique mirror suspended from the ceiling. The rich hue of your breasts' hardened peaks, visible through the diaphanous silk of your chemise, the ties carelessly undone. An opaque triangle, proof of your desire, burgeons at your center as your restless legs writhe against the midnight-blue velvet that drapes the baroque four-poster bed. A place where you've lain resting for far too long without his caress.

The freckled skin of his shoulders and back glides smoothly, rolling with every gesture as the material of your shift is inched higher and higher until it's gone completely, sliding like a waterfall onto the cold stone floor.

“My beauty.” His breath fans over the glistening wetness of your pussy, like moonlight on water. Carvings of golden acanthus leaves scroll up the posts behind him, framing his head in a regal crown.

“Please,” you whisper on a needy sigh as his lips trail along your navel.

"Shhh.” He silences your pleas as the rough skin of his large hands envelops the softness of your breasts, kneading and teasing and pushing them together, a feast for his black eyes. “Let me take you,” he murmurs, his desire and devotion evident, “I’ll make you my queen. And then, my love, I shall be yours to rule."

His britches are pushed down his hairy legs, forgotten amongst the bedclothes. He's hard and long as he kneels proudly before you. You wet your lips, hungry, as your eyes follow the veins of his thick shaft to the thatch of hair at his base.

His fingers clasp firmly around your calves, urging your knees toward your ribs, parting you with deliberate intention. Spit escapes his parted lips, dripping down your seam, collecting at your entrance.

“Watch,” he orders as his hand circles his base, guiding his crown at your eager opening. His gaze locks with yours as he thrusts with a moan, filling you completely, stretching your boundaries, molding you for his pleasure. Your insides pulse and ripple around him, euphoria waking from a slumber.

He falls forward as he keens, his hand sliding around your throat, fingers gripping with a hunger that matches his lips as they close over yours, capturing your breath. Your tongues tangle in a sensual duel. 'What is your command?' he murmurs, his voice a rasp against your skin. 'I'll give you anything,' he promises, intoxicated by pleasure, the rhythm of his hips quick and relentless. He slides out smoothly, teasing until you're almost empty before driving into you with the force of a tempest.

The kiss ends with a passionate tug of your teeth on the lushness of his bottom lip. With a seductive grace, you guide him nearer, savoring the taste of desire as you press tender, lingering kisses along his temple, trailing down until his ear is at your mouth. “Make me cum.”

AN: Thanks for reading. 💋-Jelly

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #dark fairytale

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matchadobo · 1 year

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KIDD; beauty & the beast

wc: 10754 summary: a beauty & the beast inspired story where kidd is the beast and reader is the beauty. featuring killer, law, and luffy. tw: this is my first time writing a fully fleshed out fantasy story sO PROCEED WITH CAUTION, monster au, suggestive themes but no actual seggs, fem reader, if i miss any errors im sorrrryyyyy

in the quaint village, a seemingly quiet town busy to each their own. the arch that welcomes the entrance of the city has ambrosial vines snaking up to each side of its pillars up to its voussoir and keystones that had the townsmark engraved in it. a fountain welcoming each soul that enters the village was riddled with swans, birds, and vociferous children chasing each other.

a vast cobbled path with shops of varied provisions: empty antique bookstores, butcher shops with burly men, bakeries jam packed with patrons, and flower shops filled with gentlemen and swooning ladies. a town as old as time where everyone knows each other. and everyone knows you as that one eccentric lady who always got her face sunk in books and hasn't got herself a man yet.

you had just finished buying a book that you've got your eye on. a leather-covered, raven book with gold linings in the spine. you hugged the piece tight to your chest as a joyous smile decorated your face. you opened the book excitedly, relishing the scent of newly pressed paper wafted into your nostrils. your eyes sparkled in delight when your eyes skimmed across the tiny letters of the paper, breezing through the pages as you fully immersed into the fictional world. yes, it has been your solace. your imagination could run miles upon miles across the globe, galaxy, and all existence. the beauty of each tale you got lost on, wandering around the dazzling dream fiction has to offer.

more than anything, books have shaped you as a person. a knowledgeable woman, unlike the ladies who'd dumb themselves down to be someone's bride. a visionary, unlike the people that surround you and your scientist father, you have the initiative for change and have the intellect to do so. a refined lady, wanting a man because of your standards, not just because they're a man. you want to be courted, treasured, and loved by a man who is willing to stoop himself down to treat you just how you deserve it.

"weird lady,"

"'s why she doesn't have any man yet. pft i mean, who wants a woman who reads?!"

"she should be bearing a child right now."

mocks, jeers, and insults. the all too familiar strings of slurs which you've grown to hate and ignore. you sauntered across the stone-carved path of the town while hearing those remarks. you huffed a disappointed sigh and carried onto your way home.

"i'm home! i brought the tools you were asking, papa!" you called out, shutting the door by your feet and putting your basket full of goods and hand tools on the wooden table draped in checkered red and white cloth.

your father welcomed you to a tight hug, an ear to ear grin when he saw the hand tools. "this is perfect, thank you dear! i can now carry on to my journey to showcase my experiment!" he placed a kiss on your forehead before grabbing the tools you brought to his satchel.

"always be careful, papa!" you farewelled, helping him up by the horse. you also bid the stallion goodbye, patting it lightly by its head. you sent them off and carried onto your day.

a couple of days had passed yet no signs of your father coming back, it was one drowsy morning when you heard philippe come back with a neigh of distress, only to find out that it was only philippe who had returned and your father missing. you surmised that the stallion was sending a message with the muddle of neighs and frantic movements so you opted to ride onto where he was pointing to after grabbing your coat and draping it on your head down to your body.

soon enough the agitated, cinnamon-colored clydesdale hesitated to enter the black forest. an eerie and desolate forest barren of trees and vegetation that had bright yellow eyes lurking, unbeknownst to you what creature it belonged to. the breeze of the frigid wind sent a chill down your spine. sharp, gnarled branches of the tree lured you into its peril as you slowly entered the forest. ignoring the hearsays that uttered horrors of not returning and the forest itself leading you astray and towards your demise, you ventured in full speed with too much desperation of getting to your father before it's too late.

not too long after your chilling journey, you stumbled across a gothic castle with bats and crows settled on the peak of each pillar. the sky remained gloomy, and brought thunderous clouds despite the sunny weather back in your village. the castle was grim; pointy gargoyles were accentuating each apex of the roofs, its raven colored stones that make up the most of the building had numerous cracks from its age, ghastly branches and vines of withering plants almost blocked the flying buttresses and the pointy, arched iron gate you were facing. what surprised you and perked your eyebrow was the garden of tulips spread across the vast yard that was beside the cobbled path where the front of the house led to.

it piqued your curiosity, the contrast of the tulips and the arid aura of the place drew you even more to its mystery. that's why you couldn't help yourself but enter, despite the danger awaiting you. crows flew across the field at your arrival, you shielded yourself in return but they went over your head, the gust of wind raising goosebumps across your skin. you mused at the beautiful batch of flowers, well-tended, yet seem to be missing a few. there you saw in the middle of the grass, your father's hat. you immediately thought that maybe, your father got stuck here. so you rushed into the castle without thinking of the possible consequences.

you knocked at the double wooden doors with the labyrinth knockers settled on each knob just above your head, desperately calling for someone. no one answered and the silence killed you. so you pushed through the towering doors, using all your weight to enter the castle. the sound of the door creaking open echoed throughout who knows where, because goodness was the castle vast. it was phenomenally dark, it scared you. tall ceilings and wide rooms. a red, velvet carpet spanning across the checkered porcelain floors. countless mirrors lined with golden, intricate details decorating the walls. lofty stairs with delineated golden railings. broken yet glimmering chandeliers. colossal paintings of individuals poshly dressed in layers of clothing and heavily styled hair that curled in ways you could never imagine, yet each painting was harrowed by scratches on each portion where it seemed to be a place where a prince stood. you tilted your head in confusion and curiosity.

swoosh!

you could've sworn seeing a shadow in one of the balconies in your peripherals, so you sharply turned your head to that direction. yet there was nothing but a gust of wind.

you swallowed a huge lump in your throat, mustering up all the courage you had in you. you grabbed the candelabrum settled at the cabinet near the front door to have some light as you venture deeper in the castle, calling out to your father. your voice echoed.

you heard incessant whistles by your side. you turned your head and saw a man in one of the elongated mirrors, smiling and waving at you.

"oi, you seem to be lost." he giggled, getting a good look at you. "are you the one finally for our master?" you tilted your head in confusion as you mused at the man inside the mirror. he was wearing a red suit with a black button up and a frilly, pink tie. he had round eyes and a tiny scar below the left one. but what's most remarkable in him was the straw hat resting on his disheveled, raven locks.

"a word of advice, leave at once. and straw hat-ya, stop humoring her." another voice spoke across from you, another ominous mirror mounted in one of the pillars beside the stairs. "we shouldn't impose on our master, he'll get his love when he demands it." he had this composed aura, more earnest than the other one. dark, baggy eyes, arms adorned with ink of varied designs, yellow three-fourths button up perfectly hugging his lean torso, he had a goatee and prominent sideburns, and he also had a white, black-spotted northern-style fur hat.

"aaaw, you're no fun torao! don't you want to finally get out of these mirrors?! we haven't gotten on that date i asked you years ago!" the red one whined, jumping in his place with a pout on his face. you could see the other one, pulling his hat down in embarrassment as he stayed quiet.

you on the other hand, couldn't muster up anything to say. completely trying to piece out whatever the fuck is unfolding in front of you. men flirting in mirrors are certainly not what you expected in this castle! in the silence of your overwrought, another voice emerged from the corner of the castle from what seemed to be a kitchen.

"but we have a deadline, don't we? it's steadily approaching." he calmly uttered as his features got illuminated , wiping his hands with a towel. the only normal you’ve seen in the flesh so far. his noticeably blonde hair was voluminous and almost masked the left side of his sculpted face, blue eyes glowing in the poorly lit manor, his charming face contrasting his burly build clad by a stygian three-piece suit. "allow me to introduce myself. address me as killer, the butler of this castle. that red one is luffy and the one wearing yellow is law. please, follow me to your qua-"

"no!" you immediately refused, suddenly all eyes of the three gentlemen were on you. "i-i'm sorry but, i came here to find my father...! i think he's in danger. can you please take me to where he is?" you desperately interjected, hopeful tone as you pleaded through your eyes.

"i told all of you, she'll come looking for him in an instant. forget the matchmaking." the earnest guy scoffed. you could see the butler sighing but he returned to you with a smile, gesturing for you to follow him.

as you reached the basement where a dungeon appears to be, you could hear the meek coughs of your father from the corner cubicle. you hurriedly rushed to where he was. he was shivering. you touched his cold fingers from the small window of the cell, trying to warm them up as tears streamed down your face. "n-name! you should run! you're not safe here! hurry, before he comes!"

"i won't go, papa! not without you! are you hurt? you shouldn't stay here, you must be starving. but wait...before who comes?"

in a blink of an eye, you were met with a towering creature as thunder erupted. he was much, much bigger than you, bigger than anything you have ever encountered. he was covered in a red, fur hooded cape; dimming most of his features, a crimson, satin scarf mask covering his lower face and only showing his gleaming, golden eyes, his toned torso bare; the cape shielding the sides of his upper body, his pants were incongruously varied sizes of yellow dots with a black base, and his boots that reached his calves made him even more taller. looming over you, his aura filled with hostility. it's as if he's ready to kill you.

he reeks of blood. his anonymity, the darkness, and his prodigious size terrified you to an extent that hazed your mind. the glint of his haughty gaze, how he looks at you as something so measly that could be destroyed eventually with little to no effort. he can crush you under him, spill your brain matter in mere seconds. you couldn’t move even if you wanted to. you wanted to run. scream. just fucking get away from your inevitable passing.

“you have the damn gall to enter my castle?! who do you fuckin' think you are?! " he furiously roared. bellowing across the layers of stone carved walls, the glass of the lanterns mounted on the wall cracking at the reverberations of his growl. you stood there, frozen from the fear rushing through you. your hands felt numb. your knees were jelly. the soles of your feet digging by the hard, cobbled floor. you looked up at him teary eyed.

his bellowing came to a stop when he met your glassy eyes, you didn't miss the hint of hesitation in his eyes. he soon rolled his eyes and avoided your gaze, scoffing. "i'll have you know that the man you call father's been acting foul, woman."

"w-what?"

"your father took tulips from the garden, our garden. without permission." killer retorted, leaning by the pillars of the jail cell. "the tulip garden is a very important asset to our master. even if permission was asked, our master would be downright enraged."

"damn right. to say the least, i was merciful enough to just detain him." he snarked, kicking the door of your father's cell and laughing to see him flinch. you glared at the towering man, almost punching him if you could just reach him. "tch, entitled humans."

"for flowers?! you detained him for picking flowers?! that's absurd!" you fumed, brows furrowed in indignance. you leaned slightly towards him, boiling in anger.

"insolent fuckin' lass!" he bellowed once more, leaning down at you. you leaned back yet he was still so close you could smell him. you got a good look at his eyes, it's almost as if fires were dancing on the yellows of his eyes. you could see him seething in anger at the mild translucence of his mask, you inhaled his musky scent that mixed with the aroma of freshly laundered garments. "know your place." he ordered, guttural voice rumbling from his chest.

you shivered at the proximity, stiff beneath his gaze once more. killer stepped in and put a hand on his master's chest. "please! leave her be! she's my daughter!"

"quiet! i'll have your head by midnight!" he barked, your father shivering in cold fear. you stepped in amidst the shaking of your hands, instinctively protecting your father.

"no! s-stay away! please!" you defensively stood at the space between the creature and the door of your father's cell. "whatever it is you're planning to do to him, d-do it to me...! i'll be your prisoner!"

each man in the dungeon, including your father, had their eyes staring daggers of horror at you. "no, name! please don't!" your father pleaded, tears streaming down his place.

"fine by me!" the creature responded, whirling his cape as he stormed out. "killer, take this man to the carriage and send him to their distasteful village. as for the woman, throw her in jail! she's my prisoner." and with that the door shut.

it was a tear-filled goodbye. killer had a difficult time prying your father off of you as he was ignoring the pleads you two are giving. and all of it happened in a blur; now, you're crying in the same cell your father was in earlier.

"oi." luffy called out to killer, preparing the dinner at the kitchen. ignored.

"oi~" no response.

"OII!!!"

"what is it, luffy?" killer returned to the boy in the mirror beside him, voice calmly pissed. his sleeves rolled up as he doused the tarte in brandy and flambéd the dough. it's the appetizer for this evening.

"aren't we gonna matchmake master and that pretty girl?" he pouted, examining and drooling at the tarte he was making.

"we could but, master's furious right now." he tsked lightly, turning the stove off. "mind doing some...interventions?"

luffy immediately knew what he was talking about and traveled through the master's quarters, after forcing law to come with him of course.

the beast was pacing in his quarters, dour and grubby. curtains lopsidedly hanging on each window, disheveled by multiple scratches. the mattress had its stuffing rumpled and taken out angrily. furnitures broken and dilapidated, thrown across the room. carpet ruggedly clawed. the only light source in the room was a glowing, red tulip encased in a cylindrical glass. its petals slowly falling over time.

"master!"

"what the fuck is it?"

"torao has a suggestion!"

"w-what?! i-i don't even kno-!" law smacked the smaller lad, the hint of panic at his shaky voice sent luffy snickering. law cleared his throat and uttered, "well. you seem to be perturbed, master. mind lending me an ear to help you feel better?"

"what idiocy are you two up to again?" he scornfully answered, snarling in his seat at the presence of two fellows in the mirror.

"quite the contrary, my lord. it has something to do with...the guest down at the dungeon." his little pause caused the beast to turn his full attention to the two, luffy hiding behind law at the beast's sudden action.

"what about that damn woman?!"

"she might be the cure to your curse, our curse." law started, earnestly holding the beast's gaze. "we have a great inkling that she will get rid of your bane." the doctor's tone was careful and solemn as he studied the beast's expression, gradually considering his proposition.

after a few moments of silence, the beast huffed a deep breath. "fine. then what do you propose i do with her?"

"a dinner would be nice!" luffy butted in, a bright smile on his face as he emerged from behind law's back.

"dinner?" the beast asked, puzzled at his suggestion. it has been so long since he shared a meal with someone.

"yes! it's the first step for every date nowadays." luffy rubbed his chin, trying to think back when he peeked at the newspapers killer brought in a few days ago.

"but i presume giving her a room first would soothe this volatile situation, yes?" law urged.

the beast thought to himself for a moment before finally making up his mind and rushing down to the dungeon. he found you cooped up in the corner as you hugged your knees, biting your lips to try and stop yourself from crying.

"oi, woman!" he slammed the prison cell open. you flinched at his arrival, nothing but terror mirrored your eyes.

"i know you're brash as fuck but this is your soon to be bride. being more gentle is the wisest option, jesus christ." law shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. the beast looked a little embarrassed but maintained his brazen front.

"w-what is it now" you shakily asked, trying to be brave despite your prickling skin.

"...follow me." he turned around, expecting for you to follow him. yet you don't find it in you to stand up and obey this monster. your life was taken away!

"why should i follow you?" you daringly asked, pulling yourself up from the cold, stone floor.

"i'll show you to your room, stop being a fucking pain in the neck before i change my mind." he snarked, looking at you over his shoulder. his aureated orbs flickering, perilously drawing you into him.

"i wouldn't expect manners to come from you but goddamn you are ill-bred." you bit back and he swiftly turned around, bending to your height as he got dangerously close. your heart galloping in your chest.

"irreverence won't help your situation, brat." you felt cold at the gravel of his voice, reaching the back of your throat. you almost choked at the ominous ambience he gave with his words but instead looked away and cleared your throat.

"g-get it over with then." you looked away, looking at him would suffocate you more.

you followed his tall figure, still not getting a good look at him. all you remember from his physical features was his toned torso, snowy skin, piercing golden eyes, and harrowing, gruff voice that never fails to make your heart race from unease.

"stop boring holes at the back of my head, little mouse. i won't go anywhere." he cheekily teased, you could hear the smirk in his voice.

"stop your presumptuous thoughts, beast. as much as i would love to bore actual holes in your fucking boneheaded skull, a lady needs her beauty sleep." snarking, you crossed your arms and blew an air of irritation.

the beast found himself chuckling as he sauntered through the gothic concourse of his manor. "your derision is daring, perhaps you're not aware of your situation."

"i am. i'm just not scared of you." a lie. you're shivering. the tips of your fingers are cold. your mouth was dry. your knuckles were white, uncertain from anger or from fear. you are shaking. it shocked you how bold you are right now.

the beast stopped walking and the sudden urge to flee came to you but you couldn't move. even if he was glaring at you over his shoulder, sharp eyes digging into your soul. he scoffed after continuing his steps, "arrogant woman."

you opted to wisely shut the fuck up before you push yourself further to your demise. not too long after the suffocating silence, you have reached a tall, ivory door accentuated with golden roses.

"there." he stepped aside, letting you enter. you stand before the door of your room. "don't get too lost in there, it's quite vast."

you twisted the knob in your sweaty palms and was met by an enchanting quarter. it seemed like it did not belong to the castle, it looked too serene.

milky walls generously embellished by medieval ornaments and paintings. high ceilings with exquisite glass chandeliers. a wide traditional canopy bed with upholstered headboards in ashen. a three-mirrored, mahogany vanity lateral to the bed. an arched, bay window at the far side of the room where snowy pillows settled and velvet curtains shielding the sun. it had somehow lulled you to sleep.

"once you're finished gawking, get ready for dinner. i'd like a date who doesn't smell like grime and shit." he stifled a laugh, walking past you.

your cheeks flushed, heart seemingly to fall out of your ass. you tried smelling yourself and goodness how you reek of hell. "h-hey, i didn't agree for a d-date?!"

"you are now." his deep voice echoed in the wide halls of the manor as his figure disappeared in the shadows.

you sighed as you thought to yourself, what did i get myself into?! men speaking to you in mirrors, you were his prisoner earlier and now you're his dinner date?! what's next? are the appliances gonna move now?!

you almost shat yourself when the closet opened on its own, laying out all the clothes it had in its compartments. the vanity cabinets also sprung open, the variety of cosmetics sprawling out one by one on the desk. the bathroom door opening and the bath started running on its own. you were starting to think you were going off your fucking rocker until luffy spoke in the mirror.

"before you start crying, this is an enchanted palace." he said with both of his hands up, as if trying to stop the tears looming in your eyes.

"i-it's not haunted?"

"in a way," law intruded, clearing his throat. "you'll know more about it when the master intends to disclose it to you." his tone was stern, it's as if he hadn't smiled in years. "for now, it'd be best to heed to his requests. the amenities in your quarters are doing the work for you. the least you could do is follow through."

"it's ludicrous that you lot think that i will easily agree to the farce you have set up. hah, i mean, how arrogant can you all be?!" you almost threw a fit, furious at the doctor inside the mirror. "unlike you servants, i don't follow that beast! i'd never! i volunteered to be a prisoner because of my father, not because i want to be his date or some other bullshit you lot imposed on me, fucking hell! i refuse to go out!" you crossed your arms, angrily sitting on your flocculent sheets.

"perhaps we might've gone too far and lacked briefing, my lady." a suave voice emanated from the balcony outside, the brawny man in a suit making his way to stand before you at a decent distance. "our master needs a bride quite badly and you appear to be a perfect candidate at a perfect time. the master has a...distinctive way of showing his affinity to particular things but i assure you, you are special to him. i mean, why else will he willingly give a mere prisoner a room himself and invite this prisoner to dinner if he wasn't keen on pursuing her?"

"why make me a prisoner in the first place?" you scoffed, leaning back in your arms and rolling your eyes. "your master's a brat."

"a brat?! she called me a fucking brat?! i'm gonna fucking kill he-"

"sure, kill the only way to save all of us in this damned castle." law blatantly retorted, his words returning all sense in the beast's head.

"i reckon that the situation is incorrigible. she refuses to get in the bath nor even look at some clothes. she's quite stubborn, much like you unfortunately." killer stifled a laughter, fixing his coat afterwards to politely brush off the informality. the beast threw him a glare so deadly common folks could shrivel up and die.

"she doesn't eat then. dinner with me or no dinner at all." he sulked, snarling once more in displeasure.

"pigheaded prince." law mumbled to himself, transferring to another mirror on a different room.

as the grandfather clock chimed across the echoey walls of the palace, the dead of the night came. your stomach was growling and you are longing for food, but boy was your pride strong.

"you and the master are stressing me out, how far do your prides go?! just fucking eat, woman!" law fumed from the vanity mirror as he looked at you in disgust.

"i don't want to see your dishonorable master." you plainly responded, still sulking. "but i can't help my stomach." and there came another growl of hunger.

after careful pacing and overthinking, you opted to make your way down the dining hall and looked for something to eat. in the far side of the room, a light was shining. a silhouette of a tall, broad build was looming at the kitchen illuminated by the fire of the stove.

"apologies for keeping you, here's your dinner." killer welcomed, setting down a bowl with a beef stew. you thanked him, giving the beautiful man a smile after digging in.

"you said you refused to go out, did you not?" that ominous and familiar aura sent the hairs on your neck standing, it was near to where the voice was. "funny to see you enjoying yourself here, aye?"

the spoon shook with the shivering of your hand. it's him again. "unless you'd want me dead, i'd stay there gladly. but it seems that you badly need me, as stated by your butler." you cockily retorted, munching on your food to swallow all the fear away.

"that spunk in you. wherever the fuck do you get courage to snark at me like that?" he slammed his hand on the space beside your tableware, the objects jumping at his force.

"from something called, a mind of my own. something you appear to have none of." you answered, trying your best to maintain this nonchalant front you have. while deep inside, you have nothing but foreboding anxiety.

he laughed to himself, bellowing across the vast dining hall. "you interest me, dollface."

"i'm glad you find me annoying."

"quite the opposite." he sat on the seat across from you, not too far. "i find you amusing. a mere woman, snide enough to keep a conversation with me. you're one of a kind, huh? tell me your name."

"it's a two way street, big guy. i'll tell you mine, you tell me yours." you finally looked at him, setting aside the cutlery and holding his gaze. his eyes were so hypnotic, the swirls of his buttery orbs grew more prominent each time you see him. he contemplated for a while before taking his hood off.

his thick and bouncy curls resembling flames sprung up at his gesture. he then combed through it with his fingers, pointy nails coated in dark crimson. chunky, curling ram horns were mounted on each side of the crown of his head. he looked devilish and ghastly; you grew more scared and more riveted. a prominent scar on his left eye that appears to be extending down somewhere, you couldn’t see since the mask obstructed his visage. "eustass kidd. the twenty-first generation prince of the eustass monarch." despite his gruff tone, his words managed to smoothly reach you. shit, he's pretty. you almost gawked seeing more parts of him but you restrained yourself.

"name. full name." you returned. "i have to say, for a prince like you, your vulgarity is unexpectedly natural." you went back to your meal, hearing a scoff from him.

"for a lowly townsfolk like you, you've got some damn nerve insulting me like that." you fell silent, his cavernous voice never fails to make the hairs on your back stand. "tell me little mouse, how are you not scared of me?"

"you're no different from the fools in my village." your response was blunt, eating a mouthful of the stew in indignance. "arrogant, selfish motherfuckers."

he clicked his tongue, anger starting to boil. he almost mauled you off of your seat but stopped when he saw a piece of food stuck in your cheek, snickering to himself when he knew how hungry you were.

"you have shit on your face." he blurted out, pointing at you. you stuck your tongue out, trying to reach over at where he was pointing at but with how he was laughing at you, you thought he was fucking with you.

"whatever game you're playing, i'm not having it you stupid prince."

"oi, you're the stupid one. you really do have shit on your face, dumbass." he insisted. "here let me-" he reached over, you felt his sharp, dark-tinted nails prick lightly on your skin as he scooped the piece of food on your cheek. you got a good look at his scarlet tousled locks and its contrast on his white, porcelain skin. his chest and biceps gravely close to you. you almost recoiled but with the difference of his whetted nails and his velvety touch, you were uncharacteristically undaunted and drawn to it. so much so that it brought heat rushing in your cheeks and your heart hammering to your chest you could hear it going crazy.

what the fuck is going on with you?! why are you flustered?! you berated yourself. you sucked in a deep breath and downed the tall glass of water, swiftly excusing yourself and bolting to your room. man, you need to get some serious talk with yourself.

kidd plopped down his wingback chair, bitter at your departure. "why the fuck did she leave?!" he snarled at his servants, as if they could calm him down.

"i can't deal with this dumbass." law had his head in his hands, agonizing over the moronic prince's thought process.

"you did a good job, master." killer spoke from the kitchen, wiping the golden wares and storing them in the cabinets. "i presume she's hiding in her room to suppress her budding feelings for you."

"whatever the fuck do you mean?"

"she was blushing, my lord." the blond insinuated, finally looking at the prince who immediately flushed at his remark. a gratifying smile on the butler's lips at his master's realization. "the proximity between the two of you may have gotten to her. her frantic behavior is enough evidence for it."

you on the other hand felt like you were going to faint. you had your back pressed against the door as you had both of your hands at the sides of your face, trying to cool your burning cheeks and collect yourself. your fuzzy mind going places it shouldn't be. he just took food off your face, stop being thirsty! he's a beast for fuck's sake!

you've decided to sleep it off before it gets worse.

once morning came, you were awoken by the bright light outside and a gentle voice jolting you awake. "name, name. wake up, your breakfast is waiting for you."

"what?" you groggily responded, still trying to stomach the fact that you just awoken at the castle of a beast.

"a bath and a new set of clothes has been prepared for you as well, you may choose among the garments; whichever fancies you. i'd rather not hurry you but, the food master left for you might run cold." he said, turning off the faucet of the tub and pointing to the hanged clothes at the rack as he spoke.

you made your way to the dining hall and reveled on the aroma of pancakes, strawberry purée, and brewed coffee. you quickly feasted on the scrumptious food prepared just for you.

too consumed in eating, you didn't notice kidd watching you at the balcony from the second floor, an unseen smile in his lips at the sight of you happily stuffing yourself.

"falling already?" kidd almost jumped at his butler's voice, almost cursing him out the castle.

"shut the fuck up."

"why don't you join her, my lord? staring would only make you want for more." the blond teased, inducing the light tint in the prince's cheeks.

killer had been kidd's butler ever since the prince could remember. killer's family have been the butler of the eustass monarch for ten successive years, their families have been deep-rooted and became friends rather than master-servant. when kidd was a little boy, killer and he would always play by the yard and would spend most of the afternoon together doing whatever little boys do. up until kidd reached his adolescence, killer was his servant and confidante. even until the curse was cast upon the prince, the two remained close friends. fortunately, killer wasn’t present when the curse was brought upon the castle since he ran some deliveries but bearing the sight of his family, including the servants and the prince himself, being anathematized; he suffered the same loneliness as them.

“tell her to meet me at the garden afterwards, refusal is not an option.” he ordered, making his way to his quarters.

“what folly does that prince want?” you raised a brow.

“he didn’t mention anything else other than that, my lady. although i have a hunch that what awaits you is something special.” he smiled, picking up your used wares.

you pondered and gazed over the garden. it does look pretty. what could possibly go wrong in the garden? it wouldn’t hurt to explore a little, right? as much as you don’t want anything to do with that beast, your curiosity at his peculiarity and mystery weighed more than your rationality. as someone who is imaginative, your affinity to books has honed this attitude of yours; sometimes benefiting you and often not. and so you listened to your heart rather than your head, such a rare occurrence.

as you pushed through the arched, glass double doors, you were met with the sun blinding you. you covered the top of your vision with your hand to take in the sight before you. you felt the damp soil under the soles of your sandals. the whistling of birds, skittering squirrels, and fluttering of butterflies across the viridescent bushes as they appear to be greeting you. the breeze of the wind rustled the leaves, soon blowing through your hair and soothing you. you inhaled the aroma of the pleasant tang of tulips, hydrangeas, sunflowers, camellias, amaryllises, and berries. and at the far side of the garden you saw that all-knowing, fiery, currant hair, your heart hitching at the sight. you almost drummed your chest to calm it down but took a deep breath instead.

you sauntered across the dense fields of grass towards the gazebo where he was standing tall and gazing at the river. “saw anything you like?” he started, turning to you as you reached him. you somehow got lost in his eyes once more, the clarity of his features in the sun intoxicating you.

“t-the tulips were…cute.” you rubbed your arms, avoiding his gaze.

“what’s wrong?” he furrowed his brows, leaning down at you to try and get a view of your expression. “saw anything you hate?”

“other than you, no.” you mumbled under your breath, turning your back to him to try and get away from his stifling presence.

kidd chuckled. there she is. he thought to himself. “tell you what, little mouse.” he leaned down closer to your ear, resting a hand on your shoulder. “i don’t normally do this but, pick whatever you like, it’s gonna be all yours.”

he was so close you thought he heard how fast your heartbeat thundered. you quickly pulled back, walking backwards to the field of tulips as you waved at him. she really does get flustered at the closeness. he mumbled grinning, pleased at himself.

he watched you as you strolled across his garden, heading straight for the pink tulips. you bent down to their height, smiling to yourself as you plucked out a handful. you take in delight the blossomy aroma of the garden and the pleasant singing of the birds surrounding you. what a sight to behold. how his heart won’t stop fluttering at the sight of you dear god. how peaceful you are, how he never seem to feel serenity before you arrived. never in his life, has he witnessed someone so delicate, so divine, and so feisty enough to measure up to his own pugnacious self. he’s pissed off at you, yes. at how daring you are and how sharp your insults are. yet he can’t get enough of it. the fire that doesn’t seem to falter even if he daunts you. he finds it annoyingly attractive.

“he’s completely under her spell, don’t you two think?” killer muttered to the two lads in the mirror.

“he’s whipped as fuck if you ask me.”

“oi that’s how i look at you, torao.” luffy blurted out. the older lad intensely blushing and hitting the smaller at the remark.

“tulips, huh?” he abruptly spoke behind you. you almost jumped at his presence.

“yeah. they’re rather exquisite.” you smiled at the bouquet of tulips clutched close to your chest. “a unique one out of the bunch.” you mused at the widespread flowers at the yard.

“it means perfect and deep love in the language of flowers.” you continued. “it dates back to when two lovers fell in love and met a tragic end. much like romeo and juliet but… juliet actually died; driving the other one mad, he killed himself and the tulips grew where his blood was spilled.”

“s-sorry, that was witless. i-i just read about stupid shit like this a lot, i’ll shut u-”

“fuck no.” he interrupted. “go on with that thing you call stupidity then, i want to hear more.”

a shaky smile on your face starts to widen once his words had sunk in. you giggled, carrying on a tangent about flowers, its legends, and etymologies. while he sat down on the lawn with you, listening and remarking from time to time. admiring the way your eyes beam with genuine happiness and how you never ran out of things to say.

“ten years? you’ve been isolated for a whole fucking decade?!”

“damn right, no contact from the outside. drove me crazy for a while, but it grew on me. i wore insanity as a fuckin’ cape.” he laughed to himself, seemingly proud for reaching this far.

“how’d you last this long?”

“i’ll… show you somewhere.” he had hesitation in him but it was clear that he was eager to show wherever it is he wants to show you.

he took you to a place, not far from the garden. it was a little shack, quite dilapidated. built of planks as its walls and cobblestones as its roof. he entered first before opening the door for you. and you have to say, each time you enter a room in this castle, you are enchanted.

you couldn’t help but be enamored at the trinkets that filled the shelves that was mounted on the walls of the vast shack. they were all intricately done, meticulously built with torques, bolts, and metal scraps of varying sizes. a range of sculptures of animals, mythical creatures, abstract designs, body parts, and the like. a big, wooden workbench settled at the far side of the room where different knicknacks reside messily.

“done gawking?” he nervously laughed. “you don’t have to fucking like it, i know it’s not that mu-”

“shut up, kidd! this is breathtaking!” you clasped both of your hands together before your mouth. “the amount of patience, the creativity, the time it took, h-how did you…”

“y-you shut up.” he looked away, thankful for his mask which covered the flushing of his cheeks.

“can i touch them?”

“can i hold them?”

“can i keep one?”

you were giddy and he found it adorable. he doesn’t understand what he was feeling and he hated it. he hated how he wants you to fawn over him and his works. he hated how he craves for your elation. he hated how he wanted to show off more of his aptitude to you. he hated how funny you make him feel. “j-just don’t break anything. i’ll make you do it all over again if you do, numbskull.”

“but if you’re gonna take something, take this.” he towered over you, reaching at one of the shelves above you. “‘s a necklace, nothing special.”

your heart melted at the sight of gold-lacquered jewelry in your hands, glimmering at the glowing afternoon. “when did you make this?”

“it was a long time ago, i was like…fuckin’ 12? ‘s my mom’s.”

you looked up, surprised. “hold up! 12?! and why are you giving me this if it’s your mom’s?”

“j-just fuckin’ take it and stop yammerin’ off, fuckin’ hell.” he stormed out the workshop, ears red. was he that angry that it reached his ears?

“h-hey!” you hesitantly called out, running out the shack into the field where he was standing. “thanks for… not treating me like shit. and this necklace too..! you create… beautiful things.” you fiddled with the bundle of metal on your palms, not meeting his eyes because your cheeks are outright ablaze right now. your mouth is running dry. your head is fuzzy. the base of your fingers sweating waterfalls. and all you could hear was your wavering voice and the deafening pummels of your heartbeat.

there was a moment of silence. you tried and peek at his expression because christ does the complete absence of sound gnawed at you. you saw him covering the span of his upper cheek from the left side, across the bridge of his nose, into the right side with his palm. his eyes also refusing to meet yours. to your surprise, he was also brightly red; it was evident even if his scarf mask hid most of his face.

“i-it’s fuckin’ nothing, s-shut the fuck up and let me fuckin’ breathe jesus christ.” he said in one breath, trying his best to not slur his words. “i-i need fuckin’... air.” he mumbled, not even looking at you as he sauntered far, far away.

he left in the middle of the field; dizzy at the events, flushed and bothered. you bent down and hugged your knees, burying your face in your palms as you screamed through your nose silently. resting both of your hands beside your face to regulate your temperature once more. cause fuckin’ hell has it been going wild ever since you arrived here.

as days passed through, you had either spent most of your days doing chores or experimenting with food in the company of the three servants. you had managed to establish a camaraderie between the four of you. baking with killer has been delightful, he always has the most intriguing stories about the prince.

as for the prince, you almost never see him after that incident in the shack. whenever you find him in a room and it’s just the two of you or the other way around, he always leaves you and won’t say anything. absolute avoidance.

so you’ve decided to take matters in your own hands and head to his quarters. they’ve told you it was forbidden, that he would be more than bent out of shape. as if that ever stopped you.

you traversed the west wing. same high ceilings, aristocratic paintings, and golden chandeliers. in the far middle of the vast room, there lied a scraped up wooden door. you immediately knew that it was his.

you tried knocking a few times but was met with silence. so you entered and was met with an ominous, abraded room. frayed carpet, broken windows, scratched curtains, broken bed frames, rugged furniture stacked upon each other. it scared you, and made you want to call out to him.

until you saw that tulip encased in a glass, emitting a soft glow. unlike any other tulips in his garden, this one looked distinct. you got closer to have a better look. tilting your head as you examine the glittering object.

“the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“i-i’m sorry you didn’t answer so-”

“you fuckin’ trespassed, is that it?! get out before i change my mind!”

“b-but i still have some ques-”

“out!” he growled, thunder erupting once more. for the first time, fear had completely taken over you from the force of his voice and his aura. minatory gaze chilling in your spine. you ran out his room, into the garden of tulips, trying to calm down and get some air.

“it seems you have made a wrong move, master.” killer spoke, as the both of them gaze out the window.

“i don’t care.” cold. but man, killer’s right and it’s painfully annoying.

a few hours after, you were with the men in the kitchen as you ranted your heart out.

“what’s wrong with him?” you frowned, kneading the dough in your powdered hands. almost as if pouring all of your frustrations in the paste between your hands.

“everything.” law said in passing, rolling his eyes.

“i suppose you’ve bewitched the master.” killer returned as he mixed the gouache for the dessert later at dinner. “your little thanks and gesture at the garden had sent him into a state of deep coma. he almost never eats too, says his stomach felt funny these days. ”

“i-i don’t understand…?”

“other than his late mother, he never felt anything remotely close to rapport to other women; only indifference. you see, the master is awfully confused. emotions are somewhat foreign to him. why don’t you help and make it clear to him?”

“make what clear?”

“that the feeling is mutual.”

“w-what feeling?!” you grew rather agitated, trying to piece out whatever killer was saying.

“ah. they’re both dumb.” luffy snickered, rubbing his nose.

you could see the mild frustration in the butler’s eyes, he sighed softly before continuing. “nevermind that now, the master has prepared another something for you.”

the mention of him jolted you awake, “is he finally gonna come out of his fuckin’ cage?” it sounded bitter but boy were you hopeful to see him again, not like you’d admit that.

“as a matter of fact, he will. he is waiting right now.” he straightened up, gesturing at the yard leading to the riverside.

“h-huh?!” you tilted your head in confusion, “but it’s… dark out.”

“precisely.” a playful smile crept on the blond’s lips.

“how can you have a bonfire when it’s bloody bright out?” law’s tone was sardonic, crossing his arms.

“aww torao they’ll stargaze at the riverside! do you remember when we do that?!” the rubber boy shook the doctor in excitement, instigating the bright tint of pink in the taller lad’s cheeks.

“what took you so fuckin’ long?” the prince ‘greeted’ you with a frown. before him was a bonfire, not far from the riverside as water splashes against each other. he was sitting on a snowy, silk cloth spread across the silty ground. a woven basket, red and white checkered fabric blanketing the inside, a variety of sustenance ranging from loaves, finger fruits, packed sandwiches, and two bottles of exorbitant-looking rum.

“that’s not the issue here, kidd.” you firmly started, brows furrowed and face red from fury. the scowl in his face got deeper since he expected you to be delighted, he was stunned at your tantrum. “you’re baffling me! you shower me with all those romance, ignore me for seven days, and then have a bonfire, stargazing at the beach date after?! make one thing clear, eustass kid! what the fuck do you intend to do with me?! are you just doing these things on a whim?! are you having fun playing with my feelings?!”

he avoided your gaze. hands curlings into fists because he’s mad that you’re right. he doesn’t even know what’s going on with himself either. he always feel sick around you, feels like he’s gonna vomit fuckin’ glitter as he put it. his head is all fuzzy and full of the thought of you.

“...sit down.” he said under his breath. you sighed and did so.

he took a deep breath before going on a tangent. “even i have no fuckin’ idea how this romance thing works! i thought the solitude in this castle will drive me crazy but no, you fuckin’ did! i want to avoid how good i feel about you. i hate that you’re right about every little thing and i want to praise you for it. i hate how i always want to hear your voice. i hate how i always seem to fuckin’ look for you. in those seven days of avoidance, i stopped myself. because i know that if i didn’t i’ll be far too gone. i fuckin’ hated that i’m starting to fall deeper with you, goddamn it! all these damn years i’ve been condemned to hell on earth, i lost all hope. and then your cute ass fuckin’ showed up.”

your chest tightened as butterflies bloomed in your chest and your ears rang continuously. you were frozen. he repeats ‘hate’ a lot but it all sounds like love to you. the way he frolics in his seat as he tries to muster up his words. with the contrast of how red he is and how he ‘hates’ you so much, you couldn’t help but giggle to yourself and grow cocky.

“you think i’m cute, huh?”

“fuck off, little mouse.”

“if that’s your declaration of love i’m taking it.”

“it’s not.”

“really?”

“no.”

“‘cause i feel the same way.”

“fuck yo- wait really?!”

you hid your face in your palms, trying to regulate your heartbeat and temperature. after a long while of silence from getting tongue-tied at the confessions, you both faced each other and laughed it off.

“since you love me so much, fulfill a request for me.” you scooted closer. hands brushing by his sinewy arms, up to his broad shoulders, up to the thick column of his neck, to his half-clothed face. you could feel him going hot under your touch. “take it off for me. the mask.”

he hesitated for a while, before untying the knot behind his head. the satin material flowing graciously down his lap, revealing the lower part of his face. the canines of his lower teeth were prominent, both reaching up to his cheekbones. his scar that you noticed a few days ago, extended down the left side of his face down to his neck; seeming to be extending even further to his chest.

he carefully watched how your face will contort. will it be fear? disgust? prejudice? he expected you to recoil from whatever grotesque visage you’re seeing but no. even you got shocked at your actions.

you reached over, cupping his cheeks with glassy eyes and a smile as you tried stifling your sobs. you then wrapped both of your arms around his neck and pulled him close. he grew awfully red at your embrace. “thank you for being brave enough to show me.”

his heart swelled in his chest, it seemed surreal that such words were uttered to a beast like him. how could you endear someone so inhuman and jarring like him? no one has thanked him for showing his face, only shrieks of fear and disgust yet here you are smiling before him.

as the night deepens, so was your warmth for each other. talking about all things possible. the moon scintillating, casting a soft glow on each other’s faces.

in the quietness of the river and the tree branches you two were under, it was not too long after both of you started taking swigs of rum. the sweet yet bitter taste filling your being. you were settled between his legs, he was leaning back to the tree bark to support your and his’ weight, his heartbeat steady on your back, his thick fingers combing through your locks; his piercing nails giving your head little cozy scratches as it lulled you to drowsiness, while the other hand intertwined with yours.

“you feel warm.” he lowly mumbled, placing his chin on top of your head. you snuggled closer to the juncture between his neck and shoulders. “it’s sweet.”

“am i?” you purred, hiccupping afterwards; obviously drunk as shit.

“that was just half a bottle, how are you drunk?”

“i don’t drink much.” you giggled uncontrollably. startled by your own actions, you suddenly straddled yourself on his lap.

you held his face between your hands and placed a kiss on his forehead, holding it for a while. “never knew i’d fall with someone like you.”

“what, someone like a beast?” he scoffed.

“someone so out of everyone’s leagues yet i managed to draw you into mine. i like it. more than the fantasy of ideal men in fiction. more than the love stories i dreamed of being on. more than the written words i dreamed of hearing. more than the romance the books had taught me.” you declared. “you stand on top of all of them, my prince.” you rubbed your thumb on his tinted cheeks, tracing his horns with your fingers. you soon got lost in his eyes reflecting the rising sun from the east, falling deeper as you stare even further.

“why’re you gettin’ all fuckin’ sappy,” he tried looking away, quickly heating up. shortly after, you soon nestled in his arms and returned to the cuddle position you two had earlier where he was behind you.

“do the books also tell you that,” his hand crept up under your shirt, immediately startling you as his cold hands stung in your warm skin. “couples do this.” he continued, hand rubbing on your stomach, precariously trailing up to your chest.

“w-what are you-” you tried stopping him but you couldn’t bring yourself to move, melting in his touch.“we’re not a fucking couple.”

“not yet.” his hands roamed even further inside, playing with the seams of your bra. “tell me little mouse, how does it feel?”

“p-prick.” you should stop him before it escalates to something more yet you want him to keep going, even further. his breath is hot against your neck. his fangs brushing by your ear. “i feel like throwing my fist in your stupid face.”

“mm.” he grinned, both hands running on your waist. he pressed his nose on your head, inhaling your scent before placing a kiss on your ear. “want me to keep going?”

“fuck you.”

he then unhooks the clip of your undergarment, you felt the peril creeping up in your neck together with his small hums. “never knew you were this hungry for me.” you added.

“oh, you’ll find out now.” he whispered in a low voice. “the sexual tension was too palpable, no?” his hands slid beneath your now loose undergarment, his serrated nails poking you from time to time as he kneaded your mounds in his massive palms.

“degenerate.” you said it bitterly through half-lidded eyes. but you were just trying to mask the great amount of pleasure he’s arousing off of you.

“but you love it so much, aye?” he whispered, his fangs poking in your ear. “by the time dawn comes, you won’t be whining so much, i promise you.” his words spread electricity across your body, his smoky voice drying your throat and awakening something in you.

“go on then,” you turned around and slid your clothes off over your head, watching him fall completely red and crazy over you as his eyes scanned each curve and detail of your body. “do what you want with me.”

moments after, the alcohol soon had taken an effect and you had a hazy memory of whatever unfolded. but you know one thing for sure, you fell asleep in his arms after a long while of pleasure under the stars.

the blinding sun jostled you two awake. you grumbled lightly as you nuzzled your face in his chest, where the minimal shading of the tree you two are under was prominent enough to hide from the light. he hugged you tighter, rubbing your bare shoulders. “oi, wake up and get a good look at your prince.”

it took you a while to register what he was saying, your mind was still cloudy from sleep. but you sprung up immediately and got a good look at his face, the daylight glow accentuating his sharp features.

“who the fuck are you?!” you instantly got on your feet, clutching the blanket wrapped around you and getting the most amount of distance from this dashing young man before you.

he bellowed a laugh. but this time, it’s not chilling anymore, it’s dreamy enough to bloom flowers and spread butterflies on your stomach.

“it’s me, the man you’re so crazy about.” he smugly retorted, opening his arms for you.

you narrowed your eyes before it all finally came back to you. you ran to his arms, hugging him so tight he fell on his back. he returned your hug. one arm spanning across the width of your back, getting tighter with each second while the other propped you both up. burying his nose in your neck, the absence of fangs makes it easier to plant kisses at the juncture between your neck and shoulders. brows furrowing as he inhaled your scent once more, relishing at the touch of you.

“a little fuckin’ tight, mouse.” he complained, almost choking.

you pulled away, scrutinizing him as you placed both hands at the sides of his face while you straddle his lap. you traced your fingers across his high cheekbones and hollow cheeks sculpted by the gods. mused at his intense, canary eyes reeling you in as you studied each feature in his face in the aurora. you run your fingers across his extremely defined and narrow nose bridge. down to his plump lips that kissed you all night until daybreak. “you’re fucking stunning, i can’t believe i got my hands on you.”

despite his rose-tinted cheeks, he managed to plaster a cocky grin on his face. “i’m all yours, don’t worry.”

“NAAAMEE!!!” you hear your name being shouted from a distance, it grew closer each second. you furrowed your brows and looked back. there you see luffy and law, jogging by the vast fields. “we’re turned back! y’all did it!” you raised a brow in confusion. you assumed that since kidd turned back, they might as well too?

as luffy jumped in both of you two’s arms and rejoiced loudly, law and killer stayed back watching the two of you try and manage luffy’s embrace.

“who would’ve thought master would find love?” killer sighed in relief.

“they’re both crazy, of course it’d work out well.” the doctor responded, arms crossed.

after having a banquet for breakfast with the members of the manor, you and kidd have decided to bathe in his black, porcelain tub at his master’s bedroom. washing each other up, scrubbing each other’s backs, playing with the foamy bubbles, and rambling about all sorts of things. time seems to pass by but you couldn’t care less, you have all the time in the world to spend it with him.

subsequently after lunch, kidd decided to take you somewhere after blindfolding you. guiding you as he held your hand and shoulders to arrive at where he wants to take you.

“what is it?! stop pushing!”

“be fuckin’ patient, alright?”

as soon as he took off your blindfold, you were met with walls upon walls of books. two balconies with mahogany railings, extending to each side of the room. shiny, porcelain floors where you could almost see your reflection on. a reading nook on a tall window seat with pillows and linen sheets. books of all kinds filling all the shelves brought enormous bliss to you.

“kidd this is…”

“yeah it’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he scanned the room, then back to you. “it’s all yours.”

you turned to him, smiling ear to ear. you wrapped your arms around his neck, jumping into his embrace. “it’s everything i ever dreamed of.”

he placed a kiss at the crown of your head, hugging you just as tight as you did. you spend the afternoon rummaging through the sets of books as he follows you around like a puppy, taking pleasure in your euphoria. once you’ve picked out books, you read it to him and he patiently listens and watches how your face always has that gleeful sheen when you’re around your books. you even taught him how to read piece by piece, it was an intimate moment you’d want to relive over and over again.

shortly after, you got yourself fixed up for dinner. the servants had taken their time in applying cosmetics and perfume to you whilst preparing different sets of gowns. lines of dresses with shades of varied colors and unique designs. but what caught your eye was the voluminous, off-the-shoulder, dandelion ball gown. it was conically tiered as the ruffles of the silhouette extended down to the floor. there were matching creamy, yellow gloves and golden pearl earrings.

finally getting dolled up, you made your way to the castle ball room. before you went down the stairs, you saw kidd waiting in a three-piece, blue and white suit with a tailcoat. you snorted at yourself because of how proper he looks, he furrowed his brows at you at your remark.

“the fuck you snickerin’ at?” he said, holding out his hand for you.

“nothing,” you pressed your lips together to contain your laugh. “you just look too formal, ‘s not like you.” you took his hand and he grabbed your waist, eventually getting into position for the dance.

soon, the melody of the classical orchestra resounded.

“you’re a good dancer, not bad.” you praised him.

“‘s nothing, one of the few things they drilled into royals back then.” he bragged, “you suck, though.” he snorted, looking down at you.

you blushed in embarrassment at his remark. “shut up or i’ll step on you.” you said through gritted teeth.

“by all means,” he winked. “you look fuckin’ amazing.” he leaned closer, placing a kiss on your ear.

“how’ll you tell your father? he probably hates my guts.” he instigated, laughing bitterly.

“he’ll love you… soon. trust me.” you tried comforting him with a soft smile. “for now, let’s just have ourselves a good dance, yeah?”

you hugged him close, placing your chin on his shoulder as he rested atop your head. reveling in each other’s arms according to the tune of the music across the lofty ceilings, porcelain floors, and widely decorated walls.

when the next day came, you two had visited your village. your father almost had a heart attack from the attractive man you’ve brought home. when you told him it was the beast, he almost threw all his tools at him but you explained it to him and he calmed down. it’ll take some warming up, but kidd is more than happy to go through all that for you.

BRO FINALLY PUTTING THIS OUT GODDAAAAAAAAMNNN this is actually my first time using writing guides and thorough description i hope it was immersive uwu

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hometoursandotherstuff · 2 years

Photo

This mansion in Oakland Township, Michigan, isn’t historic- it was built in 2005, but it features hand-carved wooden archways, hand-painted ceiling frescos, hand-cut stone and gold-leafed accents. It’s on the market and has been reduced to $10.8M.

International antiquities and fine art throughout the 16,500 sq. ft. home are included with the sale. (They convey! Hurray!) And, it has a total of 118 rooms. It would take several days to even go through your new home.

Let’s tour this insanely majestic place.

When they said there’s hand carved wood, they weren’t kidding. Look at the details on all this wood.

Right off the entrance hall is a stunning home office. I mean, if you can afford a $10.8M home, you probably need an office.

Geesh. There are framed leaded glass windows around the wall. And, look at the arch leading into the sitting room.

There’s one of the ceiling frescoes and look at that fireplace that looks straight out of medieval castle.

Look at this bar area.

The gorgeous dining room- look at the border on the floor.

The kitchen has it’s own living room.

Beautiful sunny breakfast room has a fabulous ceiling all to itself. The columns. There are several types of wood in the kitchen.

They made it look like the stove is in an old cooking fireplace.

This hall doesn’t even look like a home- it’s like a church or university.

The inlay on this floor is so intricate.

This house is outrageous. The carved wood, the different ceilings, and the floors are all magnificent.

I’m going to guess that this is another wing, b/c the hall is different. We’re headed to the main bd.

Good lord! Look at this fireplace. Doors open to a terrace on one side, and on the other there’s a sitting room.

In the en suite, this is just the room for the sinks. That’s the Lord of the manor’s bathroom on the left.

And, this is the Lady of the manor’s bath.

His Lordship’s closet- notice the security system.

Her Ladyship’s dressing room matches her bathroom. I like the other bathroom better, though.

There’s also a beautiful laundry room- how nice of them to give the help such a nice work space.

There must be an elevator somewhere w/all these stairs.

There are more bds. up here.

In this huge house there are 7 bds., but 10.5 baths.

This must be a rear staircase, or another wing.

Are we in the basement?

Found it!

More stairs. What a pretty stained glass window.

What an elegant home theater.

Bar and rec room.

Gotta have another kitchen here. That must be a house phone to call the staff, on the right.

There’s even a frieze over the pool and the built-on hot tub.

Nice brick loo down here.

Look at the power plant for this place. This is crazy- you need an engineer to run the house.

Insane.

https://www.priceypads.com/16500-sq-ft-vito-anthony-homes-built-brick-manor-in-oakland-township-michigan/?

#mansions #extreme mansions #estates #dream house #architecture #long post

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snailpaste · 5 months

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I just love the idea of Crocodile having an extravagant, eclectic office. Dark, gothic, antique, not enough to be clustered but tasteful. Hhnnuughhh

A high-domed ceiling with ornate carvings supported by marble pillars. Tall arched windows adorned with deep velvet drapes that reveal the lake and the inhabiting bananawani, the dimmed sunlight falling onto the polished floorboards and the accompanying Alabastan carpets.

Polished dark oak bookshelves stretching high up the walls, filled with leather-bound tomes and trinkets from his travels-- ancient marble busts, crystal vials filled with rare perfumes, a polished brass telescope sitting next to hand-annotated maps of the heavens, antique hourglasses filled with sand from each corner of the globe, and a bananawani statue from Lvneel.

Crocodile's desk lies in the very centre of the circular room, dark polished wood with secret compartments, long and sectioned into three parts that curve around his armchair. Stacks of organised papers lie on it, to be signed or read, and a sleeping transponder snail dozes at the edge. A neat row of fountain pens lies next to wax blocks and seal stamps. The seat itself is a green velvet with golden trimmings, tall and imposing.

Colourful Turkish mosaic lamps hanging in the back of the room, lighting up the collection of insects fossilised in amber. A hand-crafted gothic grandfather clock to its left, taller than Crocodile himself.

Just oooooooooooooooooh. Pretty...

#NOOO IF UCKING #DELETED THE FIRST ONE #have to repost so I can dig it up in times of inspiration #smh smh #snailpaste: thoughts #op:crocodile #sir crocodile

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omniblades-and-stars · 7 months

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The Last Time (A Game of Cat and Mouse)

Read on AO3

"Bancroft Exports and Logistics Headquarters" read the sign carved from impeccably polished wood, no doubt from Earth. It was mounted on the wall next to a door made of frosted glass and featuring antique bronze hinges and a matching bronze doorknob, shaped humorously like one of Earth's large felines, a lion, if he remembered correctly. He always did. As he reached for the door knob with a green-scaled hand, Thane Krios noted it as something to ask Mr. Bancroft about. It was obviously meant as a statement, the expense of retrofitting a Nos Astra office building for an ancient human door alone meant that it was not simply a design choice.

He straightened the front panel of his expensive suit jacket as he strolled into the lobby. There was a reception desk with a high counter wrapped around the front, topped in the same dark polished wood that the sign at the door was. There was another office door directly to the right of the reception desk, and a cart against the wall with porcelain tea cups hanging from metal hooks. One was missing.

The receptionist was not at their post, it seemed. There was, however, a small sign that read "Press Button for Assistance". He was surprised when there was no audible tone when his carefully filed talon depressed the cool metallic button.

After several seconds of empty silence, a booming, "I don't pay you to stand around and look pretty! Go see who it is, damn it," reverberated from the office behind the door. A feminine voice answered back, the words of her quiet reply were lost to the barrier provided by thick walls. Thane clasped his hands behind his back and waited patiently to be greeted by someone. He was going to enjoy killing Mr. Bancroft later.

The door cracked open and the first thing out of it was a slender, human, woman's foot. It was clad in a precarious, ruby red high-heeled shoe, a thin strap buckled around a delicately arched ankle. Her legs, shapely and well-toned, were covered by sheer black stockings. A pronounced seam ran up the length of her calf, disappearing behind her knee and beneath the hem of a charcoal gray skirt so tight, it could have been a second skin.

His eyes traveled up her body, taking in the receptionist as she pushed sideways out of the door. She held a silver tea tray in her delicate, gloved hands, and despite her unreasonably high heels, she moved with well-practiced grace and fluidity.

A pristine cream colored blouse covered a supple chest, the promising curve of soft flesh hidden beneath whisper thin fabric. A collar buttoned high on her slender throat with dainty, round pearls, covered a scar he knew was there. He was surprised to see her here. She was supposed to be dead.

He killed her.

Bare skin burns hot, pressed and writhing beneath him. A soft moan turns to a surprised gasp and her fingers dig sharp into the muscles of his arms. Silken lips parted against his in a silent plea. Breaths ragged from exertion and the effects of the venom still coursing in her veins. Crimson rivulets wash down the cold metal of his blade. Tears bead at the edges of her clouded, disbelieving eyes, pupils wide, surprised by the betrayal she knew would inevitably come. "Why?" She mouths, unable to speak.

"We can't keep doing this. This is the last time," he whispers, and tenderly brushes wisps of dark hair from her sweat-dewed cheek. Tears that are not hers fall, mingling with the ones sliding over her skin and into the hair tangled on the pillow below her. Her grip on his arms falters as she grows weak. He leaves her alone to die in a Presidium hotel room, disquieted and regretful.

It had been too difficult to stay. He should have known she would pull through. She was stubborn, tenacious.

Beautiful, precious.

And above all, a devious, deadly viper.

But why was it relief that he felt to see her again?

Familiar honey-colored eyes glared at him as she turned to greet him. She drew the plush flesh of her burgundy lip in between her teeth, seductive and no doubt a sign of the anger she felt at the sight of him.

The anger burning in her wide, clear eyes disappeared in a flash, as though it had never existed. A wide smile took its place, creasing the corners of her eyes, and she broke her silence by proclaiming, "Oh, you must be the security consultant here to meet with the board. I am so sorry, how do you pronounce your name, Mister…" Her voice was soft, dripping with syrupy cheer. Her head cocked slightly to the side quizzically, a convincing charade played out for no one but the two of them.

"Tuek. Rumi Tuek. It is a pleasure to meet you. Though, I am afraid that I do not know your name," he said in reply. In this, he told no lie. No living person knew her true name. Her names shifted like the crashing tides of the sea.

"Julia Tophana," she answered cheerfully and bravely turned her back on him to set the tray on top of the cart. "When I first saw your name on the appointment list this week, I assumed it must have been a salarian name," she lied easily, putting on a breathy, airy voice that he knew very well was an act. She continued putting the pieces of the tea service away with gloved hands as she filled the silence with trite chatter. "I thought, 'Surely it couldn't be a drell name, there are so few to be seen away from Kahje.' But what do I know? Mr. Bancroft always says, 'I didn't hire you for your brains, Jules.'"

How long had she been working as the man’s secretary just to murder him?

She loved the long game.

Julia turned and flashed a charming smile at him, holding a stained tea cup in her left hand. "He underestimates me. They always pay for underestimating me. Don't they?" Thane's hand ghosted over his abdomen, where the memory of her blade made itself known. She started this destructive little game of theirs.

She cries out for help as his target tries to pull her into a filthy alley, one of so many on this part of Omega. He runs to help this stranger, a young, human woman out for a jog. A gunshot echoes out of the alley, and the woman's screams stop.

Too late, he fears. But as he turns around the abandoned building at the entrance to the alley, he sees her standing hunched over a body, hands gripping the pistol like iron. She holds it like it is both her only lifeline and the most terrifying thing in the galaxy. Like she has never fired it before.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! I … I … was so scared! I didn't … oh God, what did I do?" Her cries are shrill, panicked, she is nearly hyperventilating. Her hands shake and tears streak over the gentle curve of her cheeks. She looks up at him with large, pleading, amber eyes, and drops the pistol on the ground right before she heaves and vomits all over her lavender running shoes.

"Please, let me help you get cleaned up," he offers quietly as he approaches. She clutches his hands with her own trembling fingers and allows him to lead her away. She tells him her name is Artemis, tells him about how she ended up on Omega, and how lonely it is living on that horrible station.

It's hours later and they are still together, she's pressed against him, hot and needy. Her kisses taste like peppermint toothpaste. "It was so easy. This is the last time you'll see me, see anything," she whispers against his lips. Cold metal bites into his skin, just below his lung and it twists as she pushes him harder against the wall. Her strength is surprising. Too late he realizes that she is not just an innocent woman out for an evening run. The pain forces a groan coursing up his throat. He can feel the blade scraping through his ribs, feel it pierce through the other side. "I don't do competition," she explains and strokes his cheek with a soft hand, now coated in emerald blood. She simply walks away after, leaving her blade, and him, pinned to the wall. It is the kind of folding blade engineered by and for killers, expensive and easily hidden.

The truth of the matter was that she was a small, beautiful woman blessed with large, doe eyes, and perfect, bow shaped lips. Traits that she carefully wielded to her advantage at every available opportunity. Including here, in this moment, where he was her only audience. She was like the sirens of Earth’s ancient mythology, and he too often found himself ensnared by her song.

Arashu protect me, Amonkira guide me, and Kalahira, please take this damnable woman to the darkest, coldest depths of your oceans.

She brought the cup down onto the hard surface of the desk, shattering it with purpose. "Oops! How clumsy of me!" She brushed the shards into the trash can, and in a smooth motion removed the gloves from her hands and deposited them into the receptacle after, careful not to touch the outside material with her bare fingers.

The gloves must have cost a fortune. They appeared to be made of real animal skin, unlike the synthetic leather worn by most. Even in their line of work.

She'd always been one for flair, even if only for her own sake.

His eyes followed the dexterous lines of slender fingers, recalling the feeling of them tracing tender lines over the ridges of his scales, the feel as they dug into his flesh as she tried to tear his grip from her throat. With a raised brow, he started to ask, “Mr. Bancroft, is he-”

“Dead? He is, but he doesn’t know it yet,” The Shepherd responded while she checked the watch set into a dainty silver band around her wrist. “He will have a “sudden” stroke in approximately four hours.”

Of course, poison.

One of her favorite methods. She had always been one for a more personal approach. She liked to get in close, get to know the target. She loved to play games, like a cat toying with a mouse that didn't know her claws were already piercing its skin. Until it was much, much too late.

She always played games.

Thane's lips curled into a disapproving grimace. He despised that she got to Bancroft first.

He despised that she waited until she knew he would be here to do it. This entire charade, this whole show was for his benefit alone.

It was payback. It was his turn to be the mouse, it seemed. It was probably no less than he deserved.

Deserved or not, he would not let her win.

Her clean up finished, The Shepherd picked up a datapad and waved for him to follow her into the curving hallway. “This way, Mr. Tuek. The board meets on the next floor up, accessible only by the interior elevator.” She strode in front of him, the long curve of her legs accented by the pointed heel of her shoe. Absently, she brushed a long dark lock of hair that had fallen loose from her bun, held together by shining metal sticks, behind her ear. It was much longer than their last meeting.

“I like what you’ve done with your hair, Ms. Tophana. It is a shame that I will kill you before I get to enjoy it,” he whispered in her ear as they walked past the office workers diligently working at their desks in the open office space nested behind the reception lobby.

“I like the piercings you have there on the ridge above your frill, those are new. I will take great pleasure in tearing them from your smug face right before I end you,” she retorted while looking straight ahead. Her mouth curled up, confidence hidden in the upturned corner of her lips. "This is the last time, Krios," she whispered hotly.

"You are sure of this? You have yet to kill me, Shepherd," he reminded her and placed a gentle, threatening hand at the small of her back. The silken fabric of her blouse slid pleasantly over his scales.

Their walk through the office came to a halt at the elevator, tucked into a hall filled with more office spaces. The Shepherd turned to face him as she pressed the call button for the lift. "It will either be me or you this time. To the death, once and for all. I'm not leaving this building without your life."

The elevator arrived with a chime, and the door slid open. "Then you will not leave this building," he answered emphatically and stepped into the elevator.

The Shepherd pressed her arm across the opening to prevent the door from sliding closed. She leaned in, passing the datapad to him, her lips ghosted dangerously close to his cheek, her breath hot on his skin, stirring heat deep within him. Her hair smelled like honeysuckle. It always smelled like honeysuckle. "You make mistakes when you underestimate me. Don't make it easy for me," she whispered. Suddenly, she pulled back, "You'll understand why I won't be joining you in the elevator. The boardroom is directly to your right, through the preposterous double doors. You can't miss it."

She had the audacity to wiggle her fingers at him as though she were waving goodbye to a friend as the door slid shut.

He looked down at the datapad and turned the screen on. Thane didn't know whether to be greatly amused or greatly irritated by the image that greeted him:

"A Game of Cat and Mouse" written out in the flowing script he knew to be hers, followed by a humorous drawing of a cat with human hair styled just like hers. And pinned beneath her feline paws, a mouse with green and black scales.

Hiding in an office suite after his meeting, now entirely pointless due to Bancroft's impending death, had concluded was a simple matter. It was easy enough to duck into the office of some executive who was almost certainly on vacation, and simply wait until everyone who was not The Shepherd left. By the time the work day drew to a close, he found himself pondering the pendulous motion of the Newton’s Cradle decorating the large wooden desk in his hiding office.

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Cla-

“We’re alone now, Krios. You can come out of hiding,” she shouted down the hall from her roost in the lobby.

As he walked silently down the hall, he removed his suit jacket, slinging it over his shoulder and cuffing his shirt sleeves at his forearms. When he rounded the hall into the lobby, she was standing with her back to him. Her arms were raised, the mass of her hair held tightly in her fist as she began to wrap it around her hand and tie it more suitably to the base of her skull. The two decorative sticks were laid on the counter, perfectly symmetrical to one another.

“That’s close enough, Thane. Rules first,” she said firmly without turning to him. She grabbed one of the sticks and popped the bottom tip off of it, revealing a very fine sharp point. She leaned to the side and pulled the hem of her skirt taut in her fingers. The Shepherd drove the point into the stretched fabric and then pulled it. The organic fibers parted noisily up the side of her leg, up to the leather belt fastened around her thigh, just above where her stockings came to an end, teasing him.

Thane drew his gaze back to her hair. Her hair was safe, it was drawn up messily in a simple elastic band, and was quite possibly the only part of this that wasn't a performance. “I am listening, Shepherd,” he confirmed. She paused, and almost imperceptibly shivered before leaning to tear the other side of her skirt.

Muscle and bone shifts beneath the tan skin of her back as she undulates. Her back is a star-chart, made up of tiny constellations of freckles and scars. Bruises blooming purple and blue prove the background of the galaxy mapped out between her shoulder blades and beyond. He props himself up on one hand before gently running a short talon over a long jagged scar just below her shoulder blade.

"This one?" He asks, breaking the silence. Her skin pebbles beneath his touch, goosebumps, she calls them. She shivers as his finger trails across her back.

"From the time I killed an elcor diplomat," she says through heavy, panting breaths. "Didn't think he'd be sneaky enough to hide a knife." She is lying, a preposterous lie at that. He has asked her about it before. The last time, it was from a krogan battlemaster's pet varren. He is fairly certain it is a scar from a turian's unfiled talon.

He moves again to sit up completely, and her back arches to accommodate him. His left hand circles around her body, tracing gentle lines over her skin, admiring the bumps that form in its wake, but only for a moment. He presses his other hand around the base of her throat, he can feel the tendons shift as she swallows and moves, and the beat of her heart, fast and strong. He can feel another line, just under her breast. "And what of this one?" He asks with his lips pressed against her neck, he can taste the salt of her sweat.

He knows the answer. He put it there.

They are moving in tandem, languid, and unhurried, savoring this beautiful charade, awash in blinding pleasures. This time, they started as enemies and ended as lovers. He much prefers it this way than the other. Tonight, she is sweet … by the gods is she sweet. Her hair smells of honeysuckle, and the softest sounds drip like nectar from her lips. And he is an addict for them. He can almost imagine that she isn't like a poison to him, or him a sharpened knife to her.

"I tripped and fell into that one. It was an accident, really," she says with a smile in her voice. "Dropped my guard, for the last time," she explains and lies and tells the truth all in the same sentence, through the same panting breaths. He can't explain why he finds these little, unnecessary lies so charming, so enrapturing, but he does.

He is caught in her web, and he climbs further in of his own volition.

"No guns, no poison, no omni-tools, and no warp fields. Agreed?" The Shepherd rolled her shoulders back and stretched her neck, the elongated curve of it far too tempting. The very edge of the silvering scar peaked over the edge of her collar.

"Agreed."

She stood on one leg and pulled her foot up behind her, stretching her leg and rolling her ankle. She was still wearing those impractical, ridiculous, attractive shoes. "Good, any additions you'd like to make?" She continued her stretching as though she were preparing to go on a run, and he was not a professional assassin ready to attack.

"I would appreciate it if you did not use your biotics to pull my central nervous system apart this time," he requested with a smile. One encounter with her biotics had left him twitching and blinking sporadically for weeks. "I believe that is a fair exchange in return for not using mine to rip you apart from the outside."

"Oh, I hate when you make a good point. Fine. Questions?" She asked as she turned to face him. He had expected to see her cocky smile, or a demure smirk. Maybe even a deep, hateful scowl.

But her lips were pressed in a hard line, and her eyes were bloodshot, and lined harshly red at the edges. Had she been crying? Was she frightened?

Or was this a part of her game? He could never tell with her. It could have been another of her little lies. Even still, it gave him pause, tightened a knot in his gut.

Thane shook his head and tried to push off his reservations. He was in her snare, he knew. He tossed his jacket to one of the small chairs in the lobby and clasped his hands behind his back. "Who hired you to kill Bancroft?"

He was merely curious, very few people earned having more than one assassination plot against them.

"His wife. You?"

"His son," he answered with a smile. Even fewer people were so hated by their families that they would independently hire someone to kill them. "Do you have any questions for me?"

The Shepherd cocked her head and furrowed her brow. Her question fell from her lips quietly and without preamble, and it detonated like a hydrogen bomb, "If I die tonight, will you mourn me? There isn’t anyone else." She fumbled her words and hastened to add, "Who would even notice, much less care if I die, I mean."

The aftershock rolled into him and sent blood thundering through his chest. "Yes, I mourn you every time, " he answered sincerely and before he could grasp the magnitude of his own words. "Shepherd, if Kalahira calls me to the sea tonight, will you mourn for me?"

"Yes. Every time."

They had killed each other, or tried to anyways, far too many times.

The seconds that passed before either of them moved crackled with electricity. The only warning he had before The Shepherd leapt at him was the flaring of her nostrils. She held the slender stick in her hand like a blade as she pushed off the ground without a sound. He threw his left arm up and pushed the blade away with his forearm, and curled his right fist up towards her ribs.

Her body bowed out of the way of his strike, and stepped in towards him. She hooked her foot around his ankle and pulled him off-balance. Her elbow connected with his collarbone sending a sharp pain shooting through his neck and shoulder. Just as the tiny little blade made its way to his chest, he thrust the flat his hand up. The air around his body ignited cerulean blue, and the blade struck the barrier and snapped.

The Shepherd stumbled backwards, dropping the now useless implement to the ground. "Shit, I hate it when you do that," she grumbled and adjusted her stance again.

He pressed his hand into his shoulder and rolled it, stretching out the muscle. "You know, you possess the same skill? It might be useful for keeping much more of your blood inside of your body."

Her small nose crinkled up before she smirked, "That your professional opinion, since you're so good at freeing me of mine?"

"Deserved, although the same could be said for you of mine," he retorted right before advancing on her. They fought. Fists, hands, feet, all moving with blinding speed and precision. He pressed hard against her, and she took steps back, all the while blocking quick strikes and narrowly avoiding getting caught in his grasp.

She came to a stop with her back pressed against the reception counter. The Shepherd reached behind her without looking away from him, and snatched the other hair pin up, releasing the pointed tip hidden under a small metallic cap. She was quick, and aimed the small weapon for his neck.

Thane wrapped one hand around her wrist, and pulled the implement free with the other. He didn’t hesitate and drove it into her side, earning a snarling hiss from the woman.

He’d always been faster than her.

The Shepherd struck him hard in the chest with her outstretched palm, and a concentrated blast of energy followed it a fraction of a second later. Indigo light flared from beneath her hand and he was pushed back across the room, knocking the air from his lungs, and his body to the floor. She pulled the weapon from her side with a grunt, vermillion spreading across the thin fabric of her punctured shirt.

She closed the gap between them with a short run. She raised her foot to bring it down hard on his chest. Thane shifted and rolled away just as she brought her foot down, throwing her off balance. He struck her other foot with a blunt kick, bringing her down to his level.

“Fuck!” she shouted as she crashed to her hands and knees. Immediately, she began to crawl away, working her way back up to crouching, trying to stand again.

Until he grabbed her around the ankle and began to pull her back towards him. “No you don’t,” he grunted as he dragged her thrashing body, preventing her escape. “Why do you wear these shoes, Shepherd? They are quite impractical for walking, much less a fight.”

The Shepherd stopped thrashing and allowed him to pull her nearer while answering, “Have you seen what they do for my legs and my ass?” He had, he could see it right now. “Besides, they serve a function.” She pushed her hands up under her body and flipped herself onto her back. She drove the hard, narrow point of her heel hard into the musculature just below his left shoulder.

He growled and nearly bit his tongue.

Evil, demon of a woman.

The stiletto ground against sinew and bone, the pain sending a flash of white static through his vision. He dropped his grip on her leg, and groaned as she pulled her foot free from his shoulder, centimeter by visceral centimeter.

The woman scurried away, standing and disappearing around the corner in the hall at dead run.

He stood and tested his shoulder, it seemed that she managed not to tear any ligaments or tendons. He could move through the pain. Thane darted off after her, “Running away? That is very unlike you.”

“No … ugh … just looking for a change of scenery,” he heard her breathless and grunting reply from down the hall heading towards the elevator. As he neared the hall, he saw her forcing the doors open and pulling herself up and into the empty elevator shaft. He followed after, fully expecting her to be waiting at the next floor to push him to his death down the shaft.

But she was not there.

Instead, a small ceramic saucer came flying at him, a projectile sent from inside of the truly ridiculous, large double doors leading into the boardroom. He ducked below it, but didn't see the next saucer, until it struck him right in the side of the head. The ceramic shattered against his scales, and he could feel the stinging heat of blood gathering on small cuts.

The Shepherd was standing on the board room table, an enormous expanse of wood cut from a singular tree, stained and sealed with resin. She pulled her foot back and kicked a holo-conference terminal, sending it sailing towards him. Thane leaned to the side, easily dodging the awkward projectile.

He balled up his fist and pulled it back, gathering biotic energy before releasing it. It sailed into her and sent her sprawling to the surface of the table. Paper, more saucers, and a datapad or two went scattering out from under her fall. He jumped onto the table, rapidly closing the distance.

She crossed her ankles around one of his legs, pulling him to the surface of the table. Their fight turned into something more akin to a schoolyard brawl. They traded sloppy, awkward blows, rolling back and forth on the broad meeting room table.

Suddenly, she had him pinned, pressing hard into the wound on his shoulder while she reached for the belt secured around her leg.

Thane wrapped his right hand over her face and pushed her head back hard, and grabbed her wrist with his other hand as she attempted to stab him with the knife that had been hidden on the inside of her thigh. He pushed up while she pushed down. She shifted her head and snapped her teeth around the base of his thumb hard enough to draw blood.

He bared his teeth at her and growled. Thane shifted his weight and wrapped his leg over her hip, with her knife-wielding hand still held firmly in his grip, he pulled her down close just before rolling over her. He sat fully on her abdomen, preventing her from rolling and thrashing.

She clawed at his throat with her free hand, curses quickly turned to animalistic cries as she struggled to keep her grip on her precious little knife. Much of her hair had come loose, splayed out in messy tangles around her head and cheeks. Blood seeped from a bite mark on her lip and her eyes burned with fury, and perhaps, fear.

Thane wrenched the knife from her hand and threw it off to the side. It hit the tiled floor with a sharp, metallic crack, but was immediately forgotten as the woman returned to clawing, scratching and hitting him with every ounce of energy she could muster. And it did hurt. He wrapped his hands around her slender wrists with crushing strength. She let out a guttural cry and twisted at the abdomen, trying to free herself. Her legs scrambled to find purchase on the table and push him up from on top of her, but all she accomplished was scraping deep ruts into the resin coating on the wood.

He gathered her wrists in one hand and brought them down hard and awkwardly just above her head. He brought his other hand to her throat, the buttons of her collar long since pulled free during their struggle, and he paused.

Beneath his fingers, the smooth, but too long line of the scar taunted him. It was thin, almost surgical in its precision, but cruel. His cruelty, not hers.

His heart skipped while hers thundered beneath his ghosting touch. Her chest rose and fell so rapidly, she was on the verge of hyperventilating. Genuinely.

The Shepherd looked up at him with those wide, terrified eyes of hers. She let her head fall back to the tabletop, exhaled, and squeezed her eyes shut. “Just do it, Thane. You win. Better this way, wouldn't want it to be anyone else.” Silent tears rolled from the corners of her eyes. “The last time, right?” she asked with a choked, pitiful laugh.

"No," he said, frozen in place with just the barest contact with her skin.

Her breath hitched and her eyes flew open. Impossibly, her heart began to beat faster, breaths came out in short, fast bursts from her nose. "What? Fuck, don't drag this out!” She cried out. “Just snap my neck, or shit, strangle me. Plea-"

Her confused protestations were silenced when his lips covered hers in a bruising, searing kiss. She gasped and he released her hands. Just as he was pulling back to ask her if that was alright, she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and brought him back to her lips.

In seconds they were consumed by each other, psychological games, anger and violence all but forgotten in the blinding heat of raw, pent up desire. The way she moved and how they were suddenly undressed was dizzying. His memories of the softness of her skin and sweet melody of her voice could never compare to the satin plush of her thighs gripping his waist, or the sounds that tumbled from her mouth.

By the gods, the sounds she made. They were healing waters from the wellspring of her lips. They were quiet, keening mewls, breathy gasps, and those hushed moans pressed against his lips like mumbled prayers. And oh, the way she whined when his teeth scraped against the delicate curve of her throat. He was drunk on the way she breathed his name with muted fervor.

His world turned upside down, and the cool surface of the table met his back. Loose tendrils of her hair brushed his scales as she moved over him. Her head tipped back and her lips parted, forming the perfect silhouette of ecstasy. The muscles in her stomach slithered and writhed with the hypnotic rhythm beneath his hands.

He was lost in the intoxicating, feverish warmth of her.

It crested, they existed on the edge of a corona, just before falling over the edge into the crushing gravity, and all-consuming, plasmic bliss. It surged through him like an electric shock and stole his breath, made his fingers tingle like her skin held a static charge.

She collapsed on top of him, the full weight of her small body pushing what little air was held in his lungs out with a groan. The Shepherd laughed, breathless but musical. “It happened again,” she muttered against his chest.

Thane wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight to him and carding his hand into her hair, and drawing gentle circles between her shoulders with the other. She shivered, goosebumps rising beneath carefully filed talons. Her fingers traced lines over the soft ridges of his neck. He stared up at the ceiling above them, struggling to control the surge of confused emotion mounting inside of him. “It did,” he agreed quietly. “Will you tell me your name?”

He could feel her muscles tense, and her shoulder blades drew close together before she released the tension with a sad sigh. “No,” she started and then hesitated. “My real name belongs to someone I’m not anymore. Call me Sophie, always liked that one.”

“Sophie,” he repeated into her flower scented hair.

“There isn’t anyone else. To love or to hate me,” she said suddenly, somehow disarming him again.

“You have me,” it rolled off of his lips too easily. She did that to him, pulled his guard away and rendered him loose with his affections and tongue.

She’d probably try to kill him right now. Tear him apart with biotics, or reveal that she’d poisoned some innocuous part of the office that he touched. Maybe that absurd lion’s head door knob at the entrance to the office. Maybe even the heel of her ridiculous shoe. That’s how this usually went.

Instead, she raised her head and looked at him with tired, quizzical eyes, “To love, or to hate me?”

“Perhaps, it is both,” he responded honestly. Maybe the gods knew, because he certainly did not.

“We can figure it out the next last time,” she said with a small smirk playing at the corner of her bruised, cut and perfect lips. “Assuming we don’t kill each other first.”

He returned her smile with one of his own. “I would not want it to be anyone else.”

#mass effect #fanfic #thane krios #femshep #shrios #assassin vs assassin trash #reposting my own work because i can #the shepherd #wicked game #daisy screaming into the void

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 2 years

Text

Dark Victory Part Two

Previous Part | Masterlist

Pairing: Frank x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Warnings: Manipulation, angst, brief verbal abuse (it's like two lines, but it's in there), fingering while having a period (what even do i tag that), praise kink, oral sex, piv, unprotected sex, infidelity, reductive/antiquated ideas of sex, innocent Reader, POV switches between Frank and Reader. No physical descriptions, no use of y/n, etc. Not beta read.

Notes: HIIII welcome to the second and final part!! Thank you for reading!!

Summary: You’re fascinated by the way many, but particularly the men of Victory, view Frank as a god. Maybe he is to them. Maybe he’s carved out a dusty, desolate Eden for them, or some kind of sandbox for them to play at power. Like Bunny always says—"Boys and their toys."

It isn’t going as planned.

She’s holding up her end of the bargain—she’s trying with Howard. But the more Frank sees them together, the more petty jealously wells up in his gut.

It’s disconcerting. He’s meant to be driving her away by now, detaching himself. Instead, he’s finding ways to ‘speak’ with her in private or see her away from the others, to steal kisses and sneak a grope—or at least, as much as he can before she’s gasping scandalously and half-heartedly batting at his grip.

He thinks that when this started, she meant the way she pushed at his hands, but now, it’s mostly for show before he draws her into his chest or down into his lap.

He becomes addicted to her whimpers and sighs, her heady murmurs of his name, and the way she worries her lower lip with her teeth.

He begins to seek out the sight of her, the sound of her at parties. She’s often with Bunny, or Peg, or—Howard.

Frank should be happy. This is what he wanted—and Howard is over the moon. He’s thanking Frank every time he sees him, asking what turned things around, and how, and if there’s anything that he can do to keep it up. Frank just gives him a placid smile, pats his shoulder, and says,

“Keep doing what you’re doing. That’s all.”

Now, Frank makes his way out of the room, knowing that she’ll follow. He’s giving her their usual signal. Typically, the walk upstairs is leisurely, and slow. Now, he takes the stairs two at a time, a fire rising in his chest. He hears the clack of her heels just behind him, but he doesn’t dare turn to look at her. Like Orpheus leading Eurydice out of the darkness, he’s certain that turning to catch her eye will doom them both.

You gasp softly as Frank shoves you back against the wall in a dark, narrow hall in his home. Your head whacks against the wood paneling, but not hard enough to do anything more than sting. Lately, he’s been rougher with you. You thought at first that he may be angry with you, or that you may’ve done something wrong. But then he grips your jaw, and kisses you with a heat unlike you’ve ever known, and you melt for him. Surely he wouldn’t kiss you that way out of anger.

Now, he rests his hand against your throat as he teases his tongue between your lips. Your lips part with a heady moan, your hands raising to grip lightly at his shirt. You’ve learned not to grasp him too tightly, or to muss his perfectly coiffed hair, no matter how badly you want to mess him up, to rattle him as he rattles you.

Frank’s hand slides from your throat, trailing along the neckline of your dress before he trails his fingers along the curve of your breast. You suck in a breath, manage a weak, “Oh, don’t—” before he grasps and squeezes you through your dress. You tip your head back against the wall, eyes slipping shut as his lips brush along the column of your throat. His fingers smooth over your breast, then press as he feels you arch up against him.

“If he asks,” Frank murmurs, “What will you say?”

The question catches you off-guard, and you tip your head down to get a better look at him. His expression is indiscernible in the dim hall lighting. Before you can ask for his meaning, he takes hold of your left hand, thumb stroking along your ring finger.

“If he asks,” He reiterates, “What will you say?”

You swallow thickly. It must be a trick question, a way to discern the strength of your wants, your loyalty. If you tell him that you’d say yes to Howard, he may think that your wants lie with that man. If you tell him that you’d say no, he may accuse you of not playing nice.

“Whatever you want me to say,” You tell him. Even in the dull light of the hall, Frank’s smile brightens and warms you. He crowds close, hands sliding down to slip enticingly under the skirt of your dress, smoothing along your thighs.

“That’s my good girl,” He murmurs before he draws your lip between his teeth.

When Howard does ask—when he gets down on one knee in front of all of the residents of Victory, and as they watch on expectantly, your eyes flit to Frank. He gives you a knowing smile, a small nod, and you lower your eyes to the ring in the box. It’s stunning, and your style—the sort of thing you’re certain Howard would never choose for you. Still, you nod, and murmur your acceptance. The room explodes with cheers and applause.

Howard slips the sparkling band on your finger and springs up, gripping your cheeks and drawing you into an artless kiss. He has the force of a brute, of one that never learned to play well with others and has no intention of starting now. But you lean into it, eyes open, and set on Frank—on the smile on his lips, the tightness of his jaw, and the rising darkness in his bright eyes.

“Won’t she notice that you’re gone?”

“I told her that I had work to do.”

You bite your lip as Frank joins you on your couch. You never have felt good about this, about the secret, and what you’re doing to Shelley and Frank’s marriage since this began.

“But—” You begin, but Frank raises a hand, effectively silencing you.

“Don’t,” Is his order.

Don’t what? Don’t worry? Don’t ask? Don’t pry? Don’t tell?

You turn your head from him, raising your wine to your lips and taking a sip. You rest your hand on the back of the couch, steadying yourself as you lean forward and put your glass down. You feel Frank grasp your left hand, and raise it to his gaze. You know that he’s looking at the engagement ring.

“Do you like it?” He asks. And before you can answer, “I told him you would.”

Your brows raise as you sit back up, turning to look at Frank.

“He asked you?”

“I chose it.”

The truth of it surges through you like a spear of fire. The idea that Frank chose this for you—that you are, in essence, wearing Frank’s ring, and not Howard’s—

You spring up, clambering into his lap and drawing him up for a kiss. Frank chuckles against your lips, setting his glass aside before he curls his arms around your waist. He raises a hand to grasp your jaw, drawing you back just rough to get a look at you.

“Well?” He presses. “Do you like Howard’s ring?”

“Your ring,” Your insistence bubbles up from that sharp, wanting, brazen part of you that’s sprung up where your nerves used to be, “Our ring.”

Frank’s smile softens to something that you’ve seen so rarely—something tender.

“Our ring,” He repeats softly. He takes hold of your hand, drawing it down to his lap. You can feel him hardening against your thigh. You shiver as he presses your palm against him, and guides your fingers to squeeze and massage. He groans softly, eyes dimming as his hips work up against your joint grasp. You rest your forehead against his, shivering. It’s been so rare that you’ve had a chance to touch him—in a way that you’ll have to touch Howard.

When you have, that’s how it’s been framed—that Frank is preparing you for your wifely duties, for what your husband will want of you in the not too distant future. You couldn’t give less of a damn what Howard wants. You want to give Frank pleasure now, as often as he’ll let you, as much as he wants.

“You want to please him, don’t you?” He’d asked, and frowned when you’d shook your head.

“I want to please you, Frank.”

Now, the rumble of his groan sends shivers down your spine, and his murmur of, “Is it time for another lesson?” Makes your belly flutter with the possibilities. You nod hurriedly, murmur your pleas, and slide off of his lap when he directs you to the floor. The rug prickles unpleasantly beneath your knees. Your mouth waters, stomach flipping as you watch Frank undo his belt, button, and zip. He draws himself from his trousers. Your eyes lock onto the stiff flesh in his hand, the flushed head, and the pearl of white fluid gathering at the tip.

“Kneel up.”

He watches her rise up just a touch, her fingers flexing in the fabric of his trousers. He still hadn’t broken her of that one. He licks his lip as she glances between his cock and his face, searching for warning or approval as she grasps him. She moves her hand up and down his shaft as he had, her touch featherlight and nervous. She always is when they do this—when he teaches her something for Howard’s sake.

It is, in some ways, heading it off at the pass. Frank can only imagine the complaints Howard may level down the line—that she’s too soft, too shy to do her wifely chore. Frank tells himself that he isn’t doing this for his own pleasure—oh, no. He’s doing this to save them all time and energy down the road.

He reaches down, curling his hand around the nape of her neck and drawing her in. She goes, like a moth to a flame, eyes wide. He grips himself by the base, lightly shaking off her hand before he taps the head of his cock against her mouth. Her lips part obligingly, eyes widening slightly as she takes his head into her mouth.

“Watch the teeth,” He warns softly. He watches her brow furrow before she shifts her lips down to cover them. He lets out a gentle, encouraging hum, curling his fingers around her nape and guiding the bobbing of her head. When she takes it too slowly for just a bit too long, Frank gives his hips a shove. He grins, reveling in her gagging, cooing as her eyes well with tears.

“Little more,” He orders, pressing her down against him. He sucks in a breath as she struggles, her throat squeezing and trying to shove back his cock. He gives her nape a squeeze, holding her there for as long as he can. He finally lets her up, peering down at her as she wheezes, watching her swipe at where her mascara and tears are running together. He reaches down, running his thumb along her plush, slick lips.

He bends toward her, his weeping cock arching up toward his stomach, sure to stain in a way that Shelley will catch on when she does the laundry.

“Breathe through your nose,” He councils, “You won’t get far, trying to inhale a man’s cock.”

He grins as her face seems to go hot, as her wide eyes zero in on his flushed cock. He leans back against the couch, using his grip to draw her in with a murmur of, “Again.”

Frank never…Helps.

That is, once he’s finished—once he’s grunted, and shot into your mouth, and told you that good girls swallow—he leaves.

He leaves you slick, and aching, and lost for your own release.

Sometimes you push the feeling away, and clean up for the evening.

Tonight, you watch Frank go, knees burning and throbbing from your extended time on the floor. You slouch back against the couch, resting your head on the cushion as you hear the door click shut behind him. You sigh softly, closing your eyes. You squeeze your thighs together, shivering as you feel a sharp, pulsing throb between your legs. You want to reach down, to press your fingers against yourself, to shiver and shake—but whenever you do, you never feel like you quite get to the end.

Still, you give your thighs another squeeze, rolling your hips against the pressure. Your body goes hot with the movement. You press and push, but—nothing. You sigh heavily, pushing yourself up and taking up your wine glasses.

Maybe Howard will be knowledgeable about your needs when you’re together.

Well. Hopefully. But in truth, you doubt it.

“Why are you being such a wet blanket? This is your engagement party!” Bunny crows, giving your shoulder a shove. You give a weak smile, swaying with the push. Your head is pounding, and your lower belly feels like something is shredding it from the inside.

“I’m not feeling so well.”

“What’s wrong?” Peg asks, though she only seems to be half-listening as she pops another mini-quiche into her mouth.

“I’m just…On my monthly. I feel a little woozy, I guess,” You admit in hushed tones. You don’t want anyone else to hear you—especially the men. Peg and Bunny both let out soothing little sympathetic hums.

“I don’t envy you,” Bunny offers over Peg’s, “I don’t miss that.”

“Why don’t you go lie down for a bit,” Bunny offers. “We’ll cover for you.”

“You sure?” You glance around nervously. Frank and Shelley haven’t arrived yet, and you don’t want to be accused of skimping on your hosting duties.

“You’ve got a long evening ahead,” Peg nods, “Better make the most of a chance to get some rest. Go on. If something happens, we’ll come and grab you. Promise.”

Bunny raises her hands, shooing you away, and you offer them both relieved smiles and pecks on the cheek before hurrying away.

You shut your bedroom door behind yourself, quieting the sounds of the party and sighing softly. You close the blinds and tug the curtains closed before you reach back, wriggling out of your dress and hanging it up to keep from wrinkling it during your brief rest. You sigh, walking over to your bed and toeing out of your shoes before you crawl onto the mattress. You groan softly, sinking into your fresh sheets. You close your eyes, sighing again as your head pounds. You can vaguely hear the chatter of the party not too far away—the clinking of glasses, the hum of voices, the rollicking cackle of Bunny’s laugh. You wince as the pain spikes. You lower your hand to your belly, drawing in a deep breath and pushing it out, trying to quell that throbbing pain.

You’ve just begun to drift off before you hear a knock on the door. You groan, pushing yourself up. You’re certain it’s Peg or Bunny—maybe Alice. She and Jack are often late, often too caught up in one another to heed the time on the invitation. You can ask one of them to zip you back into your dress. You eyes are still heavy with sleep—but you snap-to when you see Frank outside. His eyes sweep your undergarments before his gaze flicks up to yours. He takes a few slow steps inside, and you take a few back. He reaches out, shutting the door.

“You’re supposed to be out there,” Frank scolds.

“I was,” You insist, “But I’m—I wasn’t feeling well. Bunny and Peg told me to lie down for a little while.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing—”

“Should I go get Doctor Collins?”

“No! No,” You shake your head, “I was just…” You wave vaguely toward your belly, going warm with embarrassment. “It’s my…”

Frank’s eyes lower to your belly, then he lets out a soft, understanding hum. He reaches back, locking the door behind himself. Your stomach flips at the sound.

“Lie down,” He urges. You walk backward, almost unwilling to lose sight of Frank. He shrugs out of his suit jacket. He drapes it over the back of the chair at your vanity. As you lean back on your bed, Frank undoes his cufflinks, dropping them onto the vanity before he rolls his sleeves up. Your brow furrows as he comes closer to the bed, lightly pushing at your calf.

“Lay back.”

You shift up against your pillows, biting your lip as Frank sits just beside you.

“Is it just cramping?”

“My head, too,” You admit. He nods, eyes set on yours as he slides his hands up between your thighs, beneath your slip. You gasp, knees snapping shut and stilling his hand as your body goes hot. Frank’s brows raise at the movement.

“Open your legs,” He orders.

“But—”

“Open. Your legs.”

You swallow thickly, nervously doing as he says. Frank’s hand slides further up than it ever has, smoothing over the band of your underwear. He gives them a tug, unearthing the belt that your pad is attached to. Your hands curl in the sheets, trying to fight the urge to squirm—especially as Frank’s fingertips slide over your aching cunt. Frank’s eyes hold steady on your heated face, even as he trails a finger lower. He doesn’t give you a single warning before he’s pressing a single finger into you. Your jaw drops at the sensation, and before you can loose a single moan, Frank shushes you softly, shaking his head.

You bite your lip, going quiet. He begins to pump his finger, palm pressing up against your clit with every stroke. Your eyelids flutter at the throbbing sensation of the stretch.

“Good?” Frank plies. You nod hurriedly, wary that if you don’t say anything or respond quickly enough, he’ll stop. He hums and nods, glancing between your legs before he looks up again, pressing a second finger inside. The shift in pressure makes your knees twitch to close again. You hiss in a breath, head tipping back against the headboard, your hips pushing down into his hand as he grinds his palm roughly against your clit.

You squeeze your eyes shut, shivering as his thumb makes tight little circles around something at the apex of your thighs—a place that you've only brushed before, and having dared touch besides washing.

“Is this better?” Frank murmurs. You can’t quite answer—you’re afraid you’ll be too loud. You reach down, gripping his wrist and holding it tightly, bearing down against the teasing pressure, the curl and stretch of his fingers. His lips pull into a small smile as you push and pull against him.

A feeling begins to well up in you—one that’s familiar, but hasn’t been realized. You whimper, peering up at Frank, your eyes bright with desperation. He gives a little nod, murmurs, “Go on—that’s my good girl.”

It’s like a switch has been flipped. Your body is wracked with sensation, your back arching off of the bed as your cunt tights and spasms around his fingers. You raise press the back of your hand to your mouth, pressing to it tightly to muffle your moans. As you settle, your heart pounding in your chest, you let your hand slide from your mouth, dropping onto the pillow, beside your head. Frank gently slips his fingers from you, and you watch in slight horror as he draws them out from beneath your skirt. His fingers are coated in you, rust-red and catching together as he wiggles them. Then he draws a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket, raising it and beginning to wipe his fingers clean.

“Could you help me with my cufflinks?” He asks. You right your menstrual belt and underwear before you push yourself up. You're a little wobbly, and your head is throbbing far less than before (though your legs feel a little less cooperative than normal). You take up his cufflink and turn to him, taking hold of his sleeve and tugging it down. You carefully smooth the fabric down before you affix his cufflink.

“Thank you,” He murmurs. You nod a little, flattening his sleeve cuff further.

“Could you help me with my dress?” You request softly.

“Of course.”

You turn, taking up the white cocktail dress and tugging it on. You hold still as he steadies his hand on your lower back, drawing your zipper up gently.

“Don’t do that again,” He warns.

“Do…?”

Frank slides his finger around to your jaw, turning your head to face him.

“Do your job, no matter the cost,” He orders. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Frank.”

“That's my girl.” He dips in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips before he draws away, giving your hip a pat. “Get out there.”

“It’s divine—”

“It’s precious—”

“Howard’ll wanna tear it right off.”

The repeated insistence comes one right after the other from Alice, Peg, and Bunny. You don’t agree or disagree—you don’t answer at all. You’re too busy looking at yourself in the mirror, eyeing the full skirt, the embellished bodice, and the boatneck. The cap sleeves are a nice touch, too.

“What ‘bout a veil?” Bunny calls out, turning to one of the sales assistants. Before any of them can do a thing, Shelley is plucking one up from the rack. It has an adorned floral band; the tulle stops around the elbow. You glance at it, then eye Shelley in the mirror. She moves almost silently with her dancer’s grace. You hold carefully still, hardly breathing as she nears you.

You haven’t spent much time with Shelley since Frank took you in hand. That’s your fault, a little. You’ve been wary to be around her alone, wary of blurting out an apology for an offense that she may have no knowledge of. But, Shelley has had a noticeably reserved countenance around you. She doesn’t come to your aid in front of the others anymore; she doesn’t invite you for dinner without a frosty note in her voice.

Now, she presses the veil’s comb to your hair, digging it in so harshly that you’re certain she’s trying to draw blood. You keep your eyes carefully set on hers, careful not to wince at the dig of the comb’s teeth against your scalp.

“How do you like it?” She asks once she's stopped, eyes set on yours. You give a small nod, and dutifully answer:

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

–

“Mind if I cut in?”

Frank asks it with his easy going patented smile, eyes set on yours, even as your new husband practically trips over himself to make way. Never mind the fact that Frank has interrupted your first dance with your husband.

You’re fascinated by the way many, but particularly the men of Victory, view Frank as a god. Maybe he is to them. Maybe he’s carved out a dusty, desolate Eden for them, or some kind of sandbox for them to play at power. Like Bunny always says—”Boys and their toys.”

Frank takes no notice of your husband’s frantic manner. He just slots himself into Howard’s place, resting his hand on your lower back and taking your hand in his. Frank sets his eyes on yours, guiding you easily around the floor. You should be more self-conscious about the way everyone is staring, but you can’t bring yourself to see, or hear, or feel anything beyond Frank.

“You’ve made me very happy,” He murmurs. Your face spreads with a smile that you’re certain you haven’t been able to otherwise muster that day—not even when you’d told Howard, I do.

“I have?”

“Oh, yes,” He murmurs, drawing you a touch closer with the hand on your lower back. Your heart ticks up in your chest, your fingers flexing in the fabric of his jacket. He tips his head, giving you a small chastising smile. Your face warms with embarrassment. He’s been trying to break you of that nervous little tick.

“Are you looking forward to married life?” He murmurs. You consider your answer for a moment. You could tell him the truth. You could tell him that you’re warming to Howard, but you can’t imagine the idea of not having Frank to return to. You could tell him that you don’t want to honeymoon on Sea Island.

“Yes, Frank.”

His smile quirks a touch wider, nodding slowly.

“That’s a good girl.”

Not that's my good girl. It raises your hackles—but your grip tightens on his hand, and your eyes hold steady on his.

—

It feels like an eternity since you’ve been in Victory.

Your memories of the honeymoon are blurred, and scattered. You do remember that when you’d arrived, you’d been told that Frank had taken care of everything—the arrangement, the payment. He’d left you each notes.

Howard’s had congratulations, and wishes for a long and happy marriage.

Yours had a reminder to behave like a good girl.

Now that you've returned, you want nothing more than to hop out of the car at Frank and Shelley’s, to have him guide you into some dirty dark corner and shove you to your knees. But you smile at Howard obligingly as he crows, “Welcome home, baby!”

You reach up, untying your hair scarf. You raise your hand, letting the wind carry it off, and grinning wickedly as it flutters right into Frank’s driveway.

—

“You have been back for five—goddamn minutes.”

Your body is practically vibrating with need as you take a few careful steps backward. Frank reaches out, hooking his fingers in your collar and hauling you close. You keep your face as neutral as possible, even as Frank reaches into his pocket and draws your scarf out. His hand curls into a fist around it, further wrinkling the dirty fabric.

“Is this the sort of thing Howard lets you get away with?” He presses. You shake your head, and Frank shakes his in turn in a mocking mimicry.

“No?” He presses. “No?”

Before you can say a word, Frank slips his hand from your collar to grasp your nape tightly.

“This?” He hisses, crowding you back against the wall, holding the scarf close to your face. “This disorder? It leads to chaos. Chaos...has no place here.”

You watch as he leans away, and you hold perfectly still as he ties the scarf around your neck. Your hands are flat against your skirt. He draws the bow just a bit too tight, eyes set on yours as he waits for your wince. You just tighten your jaw, breathing picking up as it grows tighter and tighter.

“...Am I understood?”

“Yes, Frank.”

There’s no kiss. There’s no that’s a good girl. Frank just turns and leaves. The slam of the door behind him makes you jump. You raise your hands, sweaty fingers fumbling with the scarf’s knot. It feels as if it’s tightening as you try, and you heave in tight breath after tight breath after tight breath as you finally manage to tug it off. You draw in heaving gasps of air, sweaty fingers flexing in the fabric.

You jump as you hear the door open, and snap to attention. Your heart flutters, thinking that it may be Frank again—

But Howard spills into the doorway, and your body actually relaxes, just a little. You slap a smile on, manage a, “Hello, darling. How was your day?”

“Oh, great,” Howard insists, setting his suitcase down before he grips your jaw, giving you a harsh, pressing kiss. He draws away before you can redirect him, giving your ass a rough slap as he asks, “What’s for dinner?”

You’ve had this on the calendar for weeks, since before you had the wedding, or left for the honeymoon. The menu was planned before you went away. You’d had a small committee assemble at your house—the other wives all chiming in, offering tips for what had worked for them, and what meals you were meant to avoid.

But now, you’re throwing the most important component right out of the window.

You’re confident in this element of surprise. The guests are mingling in the front room; you’ve just gone through and made sure that everyone has a drink. Now, you’re back in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the salad. You’ve opened all of the windows, put bowls of potpourri out to cover the smell of the main course that’s still baking in the oven. You glance back toward it, eyeing the timer on the counter beside it. You don’t dare open the oven, lest the smell grow any stronger.

You know you’ll catch hell for this.

You couldn’t be more excited.

When you put the tuna casserole on the table, the others go quiet in shock. They’re all staring at it, like you’ve just set a ticking bomb down on the table. As you settle down at your seat at the head of the table, you see some of the others glancing nervously toward Frank. But Frank just watches you unblinkingly, a smile fixed on his lips. Your own hostess’ smile widens, and let your eyes sweep the guests.

“Well, dig in!”

It’s a marvelous little coup. Frank has to commend her for it. The others are the table are torn between heeding his lead, and being impolite. So once he shovels a spoonful onto his plate between the vegetables and the dinner roll, and takes a single bite, the others practically stuff their face with tuna casserole. He leans back in his seat, eyes set on her still. He can’t stop looking. He can’t stop smiling. He might've laughed at it if the air wasn’t so heavy with tension.

She just sits across from him, eyes bright, smile wide. She catches his eye now and again, a flicker of impertinence in her gaze. She’ll give a single blink, tip her head just a touch, and then allow herself to be drawn into conversation with whoever’s caught her attention.

He joins the others in the den briefly as she gathers the dinner plates and begins to neaten the kitchen. Howard hovers in his periphery, seeming torn between trying to make conversation with Frank, or apologizing for her choice of casserole. Frank manages to maneuver Howard into a conversation with Dean—good old Dean, who can take a hint, and who will take Frank’s cues at the drop of a hat. Frank manages to wedge Ted into the conversation, then Jack before he carefully steps back from the conversation.

He takes calm measured steps toward the kitchen, stopping in the doorway. His annoyance melts as he watches her bustle around. She moves with the confidence and competence that he’s cultivated in her since her arrival in Victory. He leans in the doorway, tucking his hands in his pockets. It’s safer if they’re in his pockets. He’s been fighting to keep from touching her, drawing her back in, since she returned to Victory. The shock in her eyes as he’d tied the scarf around her neck should’ve been enough to ward her off of him.

But dinner has shown him that Howard has not taken her in hand as he should’ve. Frank had expected more from him.

She glances up at him, doing a slight double take at the sight of him. He sees a flash of her nerves before she’s plastering her hostess smile back on her face and turning back to the plates in front of her.

“Did you have enough to eat?” She asks. He does laugh a little now, a soft, huffed laugh out through his nose as he straightens up. She knows full well that he ate nothing beyond that single bite. He takes slower, meandering steps inside, eyeing the dishes on the table before he watches her bend over to load the dishwasher. He eyes her body covetously, taking in the way her dress compliments it. She straightens up and turns to face him, nearly slamming into him. She clearly wasn’t expecting him so close. He sees a flash of panic cross her face as she takes a wobbling step backward. They watch one another for a moment.

“Would you like some casserole to take home?” She offers. “There’s plenty left.”

He fights off a wider smile. He’s starting to think that he played this wrong—that maybe this cheek has always been there, and was buried beneath her nerves, beneath her chaos.

“...Thank you, no.”

“Oh? Did you not like it?” She presses. Frank’s smile widens, despite his urge to stop it.

“I’m not particularly fond of tuna.”

“Oh—No.”

“Mm. Some would say I hate it.”

“Oh, what a shame. Well. I know for next time,” She turns from him, walking over to the cabinet and getting down cups for coffee. He watches her load them onto a tray. Not a single one rattles, or shakes on its saucer. It makes his eyes narrow a touch. Maybe she’s been practicing, and that’s what’s kept her hands from shaking.

But maybe he doesn't make her nervous anymore.

“You’ve forgotten something,” He tells her as she turns back to face him, setting the tray on the table.

“Oh?” She quirks a brow. “What have I forgotten?”

“What can happen when you play nice.”

Frank watches as she takes up the loaded sugar bowl, setting it on the tray.

“I was under the impression that we weren’t playing at all anymore,” She comments before she brushes past him, heading for the fridge. He hums thoughtfully, standing his ground as he waits for her to return. She does, glass bottle of milk in hand, and pours some into the milk server. Frank turns toward her, sidling closer.

“What ever gave you that idea?”

She casts him a sidelong glance before looking down at the tray again, setting the milk server onto it.

“Maybe I don’t want to play anymore,” She counters. His lips purse at the assertion. He knows what he saw in her eyes in the front hall just days ago—he’d recognized the darkness of her want. She’d thought he would draw her to him, and he’d pushed her away. She’s resisting him now. This is going to plan.

So why is he trying to tug her back in?

Frank pulls in a steady breath, pushes it out through his nose, then looses a soft, thoughtful hum. He straightens and passes behind her, well-aware of the way her shoulders went tight. He hears her sigh in relief as he leaves the room.

If she hadn’t wanted to play, she wouldn’t have served him a goddamn tuna casserole.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

Howard pitches a glass toward you as he yells. You jump and flinch as it shatters against the wall.

“I wasn’t, I—”

“No, you weren’t! You weren’t thinking!”

Howard stalks toward you, face twisted with rage. Your breath catches in your throat as you take hurried steps backward. You nearly trip, and wobble as he grows nearer. You kick off your shoes before he can get anywhere near you, feinting toward the door before sprinting to the back. You shove a stool to the side, and hear him trip and yell in pain as you dart into the night.

You run until your feet ache, further away from the glittering lights of Victory.

You’re not supposed to leave town.

It’s not safe.

By the time you manage to stop, you couldn’t tell where you are. Your lungs and legs burn; your feet throb in pain. The glimmer of the town is just on the edge of your periphery. You stop, lowering yourself to the ground weakly, swallowing against a dry throat as you look up. You’ve never seen so many stars in your life. A few twinkle, then flicker sharply, as if someone’s shining a light directly into your eyes. You wince, blinking rapidly. The sensation falls away, leaving only the night sky. You sniffle, drawing your legs to your chest and hugging them tightly. You close your eyes, the panic and rush of the evening beginning to get to you. You sniffle and shake, tears pouring down your cheeks.

You can’t bring yourself to stand, to make your way back. You don’t even know where you are. You don’t know what faces you when you get home. You don’t know what Howard will tell Frank about your refusal to play nice. You tighten your grip on your legs, breaths beginning to sharpen and wheeze as your panic grows. You hear the rumble of an engine just a little too late. You lift your head, catching sight of the headlights barrelling toward you. You manage to stumble up, yelling, “Don’t!”, holding your hands out. The car comes to an abrupt stop with a screech of the tires. Your heart pounds in your throat. You can’t see who it is—but the sound of Alice calling your name, followed by the thud of the car door slamming calms you.

It shouldn’t.

You like Alice, but she’s one of them. She and Jack are bedded so deeply into this community. You’re certain that this’ll spread like wildfire—from her, to Bunny, to Peg—to Shelley, and Frank.

You never should’ve left town.

You never should’ve come to Victory.

She rounds to the front of the car, taking in your dirty and disheveled clothing, your bare, bleeding feet.

“Oh my god,” She manages, “Honey, what happened?”

“Howard, he—” You try to explain, tears beginning to slip down your cheeks again, “I shouldn’t have but—I didn’t mean to, I really didn’t—I thought he was going to—to—” Your breath chokes, your arms curling around yourself protectively. You shake with a sob as Alice wraps her arms around your shoulders, shushing you softly.

“It’s okay,” She murmurs, “We’ll take you home.”

“No! No, I can’t go back. Howard is furious, he'll—”

“Our home,” She clarifies as she draws away. “Okay? Come on.”

Every step feels like you’re walking on shards of glass. Maybe it was the adrenaline that carried you before, that kept you from feeling the full effects of your flight, but now, you can hardly move.

“I wasn’t thinking.”

That’s his mumbled excuse.

Howard has his head in his hands. He’s stripped out of his jacket, loosened his tie, rolled up his sleeves, and had two fingers of scotch. Frank watches him, openly unimpressed, expression flat as Howard’s shoulders shake just a touch. It’s for show. Frank knows that it is. There’s no thickness to Howard’s voice, nothing to signal true upset or regret. He just wants Frank to fix it. He wants Frank to find her, pluck her up, and drop her back in his lap.

And what good that did the last time. Frank had to eat tuna and now a resident has gone rogue. Where Frank had once thought that she would be his biggest challenge, he now realizes that Howard is the real problem. Domineering, brutish—wholly unworthy is the polished gem that Frank has moulded her into.

“...Do you have any idea where she may have gone? One of the other houses?” Frank asks.

“No, I checked!” It leaves Howard in a bark as he lifts his head. He seems to know that he’s fucked up immediately, his face and fair skin flashing with nerves. “I mean, I…I looked everywhere I could think of.”

“...Hm.”

Frank glances back as he hears the ring of the telephone, followed by the click of Shelley’s heels.

“Well,” Frank adds, “It’s nearly daylight. It’ll be easier to search for her when the sun is up.”

“Isn’t there anything you can do?”

“I try not to interfere in the lives and relationships of the couples here.”

It's his canned insistence, though they both know better. Before Howard can protest or argue, Shelley clears her throat.

“Darling?” She asks, “It’s for you.”

At this hour? Frank arches a brow, turning his head toward the sound of her voice.

“Who is it?”

“Doctor Collins.”

Frank sighs. He thinks it may be about Margaret. She’s been unraveling, and fast. This is the last thing they need.

“Excuse me,” He glances at Howard before he pushes himself up from the armchair. He pecks Shelley’s lips, taking the phone from her before he raises it to his ear.

Collins’ voice is tinny, but clear: “She’s at the Chambers house.”

Frank doesn’t need to ask who it is. What he needs to do just now is play this cool, and to leave without a hint of his destination and intentions. He needs to see her, hear her side of the story before he takes any further action.

“Thank you,” Is his simple answer before he hangs up. He weighs his options for a moment, then turns. “Howard, why don’t you go upstairs, get some rest. It’s been a long night.”

Frank turns from him without another word. He reaches out, palming Shelley’s hip before he murmurs low in her ear:

“Keep him here.”

Frank wants to destroy the damnable feeling of pity that he feels at the sight of her sleeping form. Even stripped to her undergarments, she’s streaked with dirt. Her feet are bandaged, but he can see the odd spot of blood seeping through. Jack told him everything—that he and Alice were out for a drive in the desert when she’d suddenly sprung up in front of his car.

“Nearly ran ‘er over,” Jack had said, planting his hands on his hips and glancing back toward their bedroom. “I mean, if she hadn’t moved…”

But she had moved. Hope would’ve been lost if she hadn’t.

Frank glances to where Alice looks between him and her before she hurriedly smiles and ducks back out of the room, muttering something about putting on a pot of coffee. Frank shuts the door behind Alice before he walks more deeply inside. He sits down on the edge of the bed, eyes sweeping her. He reaches out, trailing a finger along her cheek. She stirs at the touch, her brow furrowing in her sleep before she leans into it. He gives another gentle stroke, and watches as her eyes slowly blink open. At the sight of him, she heaves in a gasp, pushing herself back against the headboard, feet planting in the mattress. Frank shushes her softly, watching her face twist in pain as she looks down at her bandaged feet.

“...You know you’re not supposed to leave,” He chastises. She gives a bashful, apologetic nod, her eyes dropping to her lap.

“Tell me what happened,” Frank urges. She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t look at him. Frank can’t help but sigh.

One night and a tuna casserole, and they’re back to square one.

“Tell me,” He repeats. It takes her a moment. Then,

“Howard was angry with me.”

“...Because of dinner?”

She nods.

“What did he do?”

“He broke a glass.”

“Did he touch you?”

“I ran before he could.”

Frank considers this. He doesn’t ask if she really thought Howard would hit her. Just an hour ago, Frank thought Howard might take a swing at him if they couldn’t get her back.

“...Do your feet hurt?”

She shakes her head.

“Doctor Collins gave me…Something.” Her brow furrows, wracking her brain to try and remember what it was. Frank hums softly, nodding.

“...I need you to go home,” He tells her. Her lower lip wobbles at the assertion. She can’t open her mouth to argue before Frank is raising a hand, pressing a fingertip gently to her quivering lips.

“All couples have growing pains,” He soothes. “You and Howard are having yours. He won’t lay a hand on you.”

“But if he does,” She mumbles woefully against his finger. He trails his finger down to curl his fingers gently around her jaw.

“If he does, he will have to answer to me.”

She sniffles, lowering her eyes as she purses her lips, trying to stop the wobbling of her lips. He sighs softly, scooching forward with a murmur of, “Come here.”

She leans into him and weeps openly, burying her face in his shoulder and gripping weakly at his shirt. He presses his face against her hair, gazing at the wall over her shoulder. Frank had worked to drive her into Howard’s arms, and now Howard has pushed her back into his.

How can Frank possibly thank him?

Howard’s careful with you now, and quiet. Maybe he thinks if he does anything, you’ll go running to Frank. And you wouldn’t…Right away, and not unless it was bad enough.

You’ve been on a new regimen of pills from Doctor Collins. You’ve made it a point to go to every dance class, to accept every invitation, and to check dinner party menus with Howard for his approval.

You hate the way he watches you now—like he can take your skull apart, scramble your brain to forget that night, and put it back together. You force your smiles and give him obliging kisses, and let him take as he wants in bed. It’s easy to let him have what he wants when he’s home.

He gets what he wants from you.

You get what you want from Frank.

You sigh softly as Frank strokes his hand along your bare lower back. You’ve become just a little too accustomed to the feeling of being naked in his bed, pliable in his arms. Your cunt is slick and aching, throbbing from how he’d fucked you not too ago.

“...Where is she?”

You’re not supposed to ask, but you can never stop yourself. Frank doesn’t answer for a moment. You turn your head, drawing a pillow beneath it and shifting to look at him. His expression is indiscernible.

“With Margaret,” He admits. “Trying to…Help.”

“Help?” You repeat, frowning. “What’s wrong with her?”

“...There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

You open your mouth to ask another question, but Frank shakes his head, effectively silencing you. You go quiet as Frank pushes himself over you. He presses himself up against your back, dropping a kiss between your shoulders. He pushes himself closer, leaving not a sliver of daylight between the two of you. He tips his chin up, brushing his lips across your jaw.

“...You’re worrying,” You mumble, “And I worry about what you worry about.”

“I worry about you.”

You huff, turning your head from him.

“You have no reason to worry about me,” You grumble. You hear Frank huff a soft laugh, feel him press even closer.

“None?” He plies. “Are you, or are you not, the woman that went running into the desert in the dead of night just months ago?”

The reminder makes your stomach churn. You pull yourself out from under him, huffing and drawing your body out from beneath his. You curl your arms across your chest, drifting over to his window and leaning against it, looking out. You peer over the still pool, the pristinely landscaped backyard. It’s neat and tidy, just like everything else in Frank’s life.

Everything but you.

It’s a moment before you feel the heat of Frank’s body behind you. He doesn’t reach for you right away.

“It was a bad night,” You mumble. “I moved on.”

“And you and Howard are alright?”

Your fingers flex against your elbows.

“It’s…Business as usual,” You answer carefully. Frank’s brows tip up, and you turn away again, jaw tight.

“We’re…Fine,” You spit. He steps a touch closer, gripping your jaw to turn your head toward him.

“It’s that type of tone that makes me worry.”

You lower your eyes to his bare chest, cowed by his insistence. He lowers his hand to your hip, turning you to face him. He pushes you back toward the window. You shiver as your back pushes up against the cool glass. You scooch back onto the windowsill, opening your legs for him to slot between as you raise your hands to rest on his sides. He tips your chin up, lowering his head and sucking a plush kiss to your neck. You shiver, letting your eyes slide shut. You lap broadly across your palm before you lower your hand between his thighs. He groans as you take him in hand, teeth closing around your skin and tugging. You gasp highly in your throat, thighs twitching around his as he sucks at the spot.

“Frank,” You breathe, “Oh—don’t.”

This time, you mean it.

But he doesn't listen. He just continues to suck and tease the spot, pressing his hips down into your hand. You slide your hand over his length, groaning softly as you feel his cock twitch and harden. He leans away from your neck with a final suck, grasping your arm and tugging you up. He turns you around, pushing you face-first against the window and palming your hip to steady you. He presses his body up against yours, teasing his cock around along your aching slit.

“You know,” He murmurs, pushing his hips and grinding lightly against you, “I’ve been talking with Howard.”

Normally you’d bristle at the mention, but your head is spinning with his touch and voice, the press of his body against yours, and the tantalizing slip of his cock.

“Oh?” You manage.

“He wants a child.”

The thought of bearing Howard’s child makes you go tense and still, eyes widening in horror. But Frank just eases his cock into the slick clutch of your cunt, lips brushing the shell of your ear with a murmur:

“Let’s give him one.”

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#Frank x Reader #Frank x You #Dark Victory #Don't Worry Darling

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indiatrendzs · 9 months

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rotworld · 2 years

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The Whole World Stopping, Just For You

you meet a werewolf at a craft fair. a distant prologue to goretober day 3: "ountumbered."

->contains feral and vaguely sinister behavior.

The box is what grabs your attention. It glints, catches the sun just right, as you’re walking by.

The vendor stands stiff and straight-backed in the shade of his tent and there are dozens of beautiful pieces all around him—rustic end tables, decorative hanging shelves, a table full of adorable, handmade birdhouses with more craftsmanship and creativity than most suburbs—but your eyes are on the box. The wood is unpainted, a warm, reddish-brown with an antique clasp, but the most remarkable part is the lid. You mistake it for a slice of geode at first because it has the same luster, brilliant blues and ingidos with a glassy shine. A speckled arch of silver makes you think of clouds or mountains against the night sky.

By now, most vendors would have started chatting you up, but this one’s completely silent. He hasn’t moved at all since you walked over or made a single sound. His hair is short but wild with his bangs hanging in his face, his eyes a striking shade caught between green and amber. He’s wearing a tank top that shows off thick, defined biceps and jagged lines of scar tissue. You have to break eye contact because his stare is just a little too intense and your gaze meanders just slightly past him, a banner stretched along the back of the stall bearing the words “Shelter Mountain Pack.”

A small sound of surprise slips out before you can stop it, something not quite a word. You’ve only met city wolves before, never a wild one. Rumors paint a dramatic picture of feral marauders who run through the woods naked with leaves and twigs stuck in their hair, but you always figured people who said that were full of shit. He looks like anybody else save the yellowed hazel of his eyes, but his complete silence and stillness unnerves you more now that you recognize it for what it is—a predatory animal spotting something of interest and watching, waiting, with bated breath.

“This is beautiful,” you tell him, your hand still on the box. You’ve been stroking the lid absently, your thumb rubbing over curves of silver.

He grunts. The sound is deep, feral and sends a shiver down your spine. You must be giving off some sign that you’re wary—could be your heartbeat, your posture, even your scent—because he covers it by clearing his throat. “That’s cherry wood,” he says. “Got that color with a coat of shellac. Lid inlay’s epoxy resin. Don’t usually work with pigments or paint, but I thought I’d try something new.”

You drift further into the tent and he turns, following you with his eyes, as you admire meticulously carved animal figurines, sturdy planters, and even more ornate boxes with intricate patterns carved into their lids and sides. You pick one up for a closer look, smoothing your fingers across patterned carvings, the leaves of a tree rendered in precise detail. “Everything in here is incredible. You make all of these yourself?” you ask.

You hear a brisk exhale. “It’s all me. Can’t get anyone else in the pack interested in woodworking.” His gaze burns into your back as you set the box down. You pick up another and your fingers brush against a circular indent in the bottom. Flipping it over, you find a stamped signature, a stylized outline of a mountain with the words “LANCE - SHELTER MOUNTAIN” inside. No last name. Is that normal? Do wild wolves not use surnames? You’re curious but you don’t want to be insensitive. Gently, you set the box back down.

There’s a sharp huff, the kind of sound a dog makes. You look back just in time to catch a slight twitch at the corner of his lips, an almost-smile. “Don’t have to be so dainty with my stuff,” he says, jamming his hands in the pockets of his ragged jeans. “You scared of getting your scent on it? It’s not a big deal, seriously. Wouldn’t be here selling to humans if I couldn’t stand the smell.”

“Oh,” you say, a little embarrassed. Lance doesn’t seem bothered, though. He gets a bit more talkative the longer you poke around his tent, more than happy to tell you about his pieces, how long they took to make, his personal favorites. Everything has a story—a whim one sunny afternoon, a bit of inspiration from a bird he saw. He shows you a paperweight shaped like a napping cat and there’s a craftsman’s warm pride in his eyes as he tells you how he carved it and sanded it down and added just a bit of darkening finish to the ears and tail. He favors nature patterns, you notice, lots of plants and animals depicted in his more decorative work.

In the end, though, you go back to the box. That starry, winter sky pattern across the top pulls you in again. You cradle it in both hands, your thumb smoothing across the resin. “Do you take card?” you ask him.

It’s like flipping a switch. All of his casual, carefree body language vanishes and he’s guarded again, frowning tightly. “No,” he says. He follows your gaze down to the card reader sitting on the table in front of him, a white touchpad cradled in a beautiful wooden dock, and lets out a long sigh. “Are you in a hurry?” he asks. “One of my packmates is around here somewhere. He knows how to work that thing.”

“There’s no rush. But if it’s easier, I can just find an ATM—”

“It’s not a big deal. He’s supposed to be back here anyway,” he insists, fishing a cheap flip phone out of his pocket. You keep browsing while he sends a slow, clumsy text, bending to look at a squat storage cabinet. The door panels are carved with simple but elegant flowing designs, floral Art Nouveau whirls and a thin, leafy border. “Are you local?” Lance asks, leaning casually against the nearest display table. “I don't recognize you.”

That would strike you as an odd comment from anyone else. This isn’t a huge city by any means but it’s not a tiny town either. You can’t fool a wolf’s nose, though. He’d know if you’d been by his stall before. “I’m just passing through,” you say. “Saw a sign for the craft fair and thought it’d be a fun detour. I still have a long drive home ahead of me.”

“Are you headed east? Through the mountains?”

“Yeah.”

He makes a softer grunt, glancing at the sky. “Gonna be dark before long,” he says. “Better not take those roads at night. You could stay with us, if you want, head out fresh at dawn. We’re only an hour or two up the mountain.”

The invitation completely blindsides you. Wild wolves don’t do things like this. They don’t tell you, even vaguely, where their packs live, and they certainly don’t invite you to waltz right in. “I’m not sure your alpha would appreciate that,” you say, laughing nervously.

Lance grins. His teeth are somewhere between yours and a dog’s with prominent canines and everything just a little too sharp. He leans in across the table and speaks in a low rumble. “Well, seeing as I am the alpha, I don’t think you have to worry about it.”

He’s close enough that you notice his scent for the first time, an earthy musk like grass and rain. You’re frozen in place when he reaches for you, holding your breath, waiting for something you can’t name. His fingers smooth across the back of your hand, nails long and a little sharp. He never breaks eye contact as he takes the box back from you and you see his nostrils flare, his pupils dilating.

“Blake,” he says, and you jump when someone brushes past you to get into the stall. You catch yourself against the table and realize you were leaning in, shifting closer to him without even realizing it. “Need you to run a card.”

The new guy is slimmer than Lance and looks much softer in comparison, wearing a cardigan sweater and fully intact jeans. His hair is longer and much neater, held in a low ponytail with his bangs combed out of his face. The color is unusual, black with uneven veins of stark white and gray, reminiscent of the streaks in a gray wolf’s fur. Lance moves aside, finding a different table further into the stall to lean against. He still hasn’t put the box down since he took it back from you, and he’s staring intently at the lid.

“Sorry for the wait,” Blake says, flashing a practiced customer service smile. “Just the keepsake box, then, or are you still browsing? Lance can be a little standoffish, but I promise he doesn’t mind you looking around.”

“I heard that,” Lance mutters.

“Just the box,” you say. Sticking your card into the reader, you add, “He’s not so bad, actually. He told me all about his work. I don’t know much about carpentry and stuff like that, but I can tell he’s really passionate.”

There’s a pause, and then Blake says, “Really?” The word doesn’t come out in a mild, smalltalk kind of tone, but with legitimate shock and disbelief. You find him staring in the same intense way Lance did when you first walked up. He turns back to Lance and they look at each other for a moment in silence.

“I invited them,” Lance says, the words slow and deliberate, “to spend the night with us.”

Blake turns back to you slowly. You get the feeling that he’s really looking at you for the first time, not as a customer but as something else. His gaze is heavy, weighted with expectation. Soft surprise morphs into realization of some kind. You feel uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny. “I don’t have to,” you assure him. “I don’t want to impose or be in the way, and I’m sure I could find somewhere to stay in town—” The card reader beeps and you reach to take your card back. Blake’s hand catches yours, his fingers closing like a snare.

“You’re more than welcome,” Blake says. His smile is broad and warm and irresistibly charming, his thumb stroking the back of your hand in soft, soothing motions. “More than welcome. It’s no trouble, really. There’s plenty of room. We’d love to have you.”

“If you’re sure,” you say, a little uneasy. Blake lets go of your hand with a sheepish smile. It doesn’t bother you that much. Wolves, no matter where they live, tend to be touchier than most people.

“Did you tell the pack?” you hear him ask, his voice lowered.

“Texted Max a little bit before you got here,” Lance murmurs. “Word’s spread by now.” He shoulders past Blake, around the tables and out of the stall. You smile, expecting him to hand you your box. He does. And when you take it, he snags your wrist and drags you into a firm embrace, burying his nose in the crook of your neck. He takes a deep breath and lets out a shuddering exhale, hot breath fanning your throat. You’re startled and a little nervous, staying perfectly still while he noses against your skin on one side and then the other. That’s a scenting thing, right? They do that to each other sometimes. Maybe he’s making sure the pack knows he invited you? That makes sense, you think.

But then he stops and pulls back far enough for you to see his face, and you’re not so sure anymore. His pupils are blown, his eyes half-lidded. His tongue darts out and you see a brief flash of a prominent canine as he licks his lips. “Well,” he says, squeezing your shoulder, “I’ll grab the truck and you can follow me up. Where’re you parked?” You look from Lance to Blake, bewildered. The fair’s still on for a few more hours. You really don’t want him going out of his way like this.

Blake seems to pick up on your worry, though, waving you off with a smile. “You’re fine,” he says. “Someone else from the pack will be here later. Lance just wants to make sure you get there in one piece on those awful roads. Easier with some daylight left.”

You take his word for it, partly because he really does seem excited to have company, and partly because Lance starts walking and you have to rush to catch up with his quick, long-legged stride. The crowd thins as you leave the mazelike aisles of craft vendor tents. You pass into the shadows of a parking garage, wrestling with an odd, uncomfortable feeling. The hair on the back of your neck is standing on end. Something feels wrong. You clutch the box to your chest. The wood is warm where Lance handled it.

“You’re really sure this is okay?” you ask him one last time. “I won’t be offended if you change your mind. I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes, especially if your pack isn’t expecting visitors.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry so much.” He sounds a little exasperated but he’s smiling very slightly, his hand resting on your back. “I gave them a heads up so they know you’re coming. And trust me,” he says, his voice dipping into nearly a growl, “they can’t wait to meet you.”

#rotpeach writes #original #meanwolves

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love4heejayke · 1 year

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SYNOPSIS: Born from the full moon's light, Y/N is sent by her witch aunt on a secret mission to Decilis Academy, the purpose of which is to investigate the source of the obscure energy that hovers under the Silver Millennium. However, when she saves her roomate Sooha from the attack of dark creatures with the power to fortify themselves from the energy of nightmares and discovers her secret identity, she promises not to tell her friends, but everything changes once she falls for Lee Heli, one of Decelis' star students and posibily, her past life's lover.

TAGLIST #1: (closed) @enhacolor @amarillyis @ckline35 @fairycheol @jeanbobean @heejakegf @axartia @ineedcoffeeandtherapy @rosie-is-everywhere @prdxinvade @heedeungieluvbot @jungwonnnnnnnnnnnn @bambisgirl @yebin14 @m4r1eluvs (can't tag you bae, sorry)

TAGLIST #2: (open) [comment or send ask] @bluemanifesto @ineedaherosavemeenow @ahnneyong @jiawji @aki1e @yjjungwon @captivq @jaxavance @rikiluvly @dimplewonie @talia02 @cherriegyu @enhastolemyheart

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4 - the new student who wants to learn (4)

The El Dorado Empire is a land of great monuments and architectural wonders, built amidst vast deserts of golden sand. The empire's central city is an imposing metropolis, surrounded by high walls, ornate with ancient inscriptions and intricate carvings. The buildings are tall and majestic, many with pointed spiers that reach into the sky. And now, Diana and Selene arrived together at Solaria, located in the center-southern region, to discuss with members of the Solari elite another attempt at a peace treaty between the Solari and Lunari, who 5 centuries ago, entered into a diplomatic conflict non-armed, with different objectives: El Dorado to expand its territory, military power and socioeconomic influence on the continent of Elysium, and the Silver Millennium, to protect its territories against Solarian invasions and carry out diplomatic agreements only with strategic cities, conserving cultures and traditions of their original peoples. Selene looked around the city with her eyes apprehensive and restless and bit her lip, listening for strange noises in the shadows.

"Mama, did you hear that?" Selene asked

"I didn't, dear." answered Diana. "You may be hearing things."

"But I swear mom, somebody is watching us."

"Calm down, daughter. You must be nervous to attend your first appointment."

"Yeah, maybe you're right." the young mother moon sighed.

Walking along the dunes, they bought more supplies from merchants who had set up their stalls to trade in the Empire: fresh starfruit and two canteens filled with icy crystal water, all for 20 drops of the sun – the official currency of El Dourado, the trek. to Solarian HQ would still take about 1 hour, so they need all the hydration they can get to survive the desert heat until the time of the meeting.

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷☽⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

Hecate was sitting in her chair, surrounded by her apprentices and followers in the classroom of the Triple School of Lunar Magic, located in Riverfield, located 10 km from the Silver Millennium, with its attractive coastline for tourism and water sports, the city was one of the most highly developed in the Empire, whose lands were a haven for witches, sorcerers, and wizards from Lunarosa. The school is an imposing old stone building with thick walls and tall, narrow windows. The main entrance is adorned with a large Gothic arch and a silver coat of arms bearing its symbol. The central courtyard is spacious and has several water fountains and statues of mythical figures. The classrooms are equally impressive, with high ceilings and walls covered in rich tapestries and shelves of antique books. The overall ambience is magical and mysterious, evoking a sense of reverence and respect for the art of magic.

Hecate now teaches Mystic Meditation, in her guise as Professor Enodia. She wears a long, flowing, light gray dress with long sleeves and a discreet neckline. Her dark hair was pulled back into a loose bun and a few strands fell softly across her face. She wore no makeup, but her skin glowed a silvery hue, lending an air of magic to her appearance. To complete the disguise, she wore a pair of low-key, comfortable flat shoes, and carried a small brown leather bag, containing the materials needed for her class. Her eyes were covered by round glasses, with silver metal frames, to disguise her true identity. A silver pentagram necklace, the pendant of which was a downward crescent moon with a star on top and a tiny sliver of birth peridot set in the center to protect her from dark spells. Despite her peaceful and serene appearance, there was something powerful and magical about her presence.

Since she handed over her crown and her royal status to her eldest sister to give birth to her daughter, the Kynthos royal family has agreed to fake her death to protect the family and her subjects from Solari imperialism and attacks by dark magic beings, leaving her Lunarosians her spiritual wisdom on the nights they pray and meditate in holy temples for her protection, in the hope that one day, the Spirit Moon, would be reborn. 550 years after Selene's coronation, Hecate still maintains this guise to seek out her daughter, while sharing her knowledge to wizards, fairies and sorcerers with a thirst for learning, making it clear that she was an experienced and respected teacher of magic.

She had just started her class on Spiritual Magic, teaching them the importance of mystical meditation to connect with the spiritual energies around them.

"My students, each and every living being that inhabits the realm of Elysium has an innate flow within them." Enodia began in a soft tone, closing her eyes.

Upon touching the ground, a stream of purple magic flowed from his fingers and spread across the air and the ground.

"This is mana, the essence of this universe, and the way we manifest mana in the world allows us to invoke magic, but for that, body and mind must be in balance with their spirits, so take a deep breath." Enodia's chest rose and fell in a slow breathing rhythm "And exhale."

The students calmly followed the teacher's commands, among them, a high elite vampire, student of the Decelis Academy. Decelis is in the middle of his summer vacation, but due to the recurrents he sees in his nights of sleep, he attends his classes as an extracurricular complement and to acquire knowledge about these nightmares. He had short purple hair and levitated in the air while invoking a sphere of shadows in his hands, at the same time his mind was consumed with negative thoughts, as the sphere grew, the boy lost his balance more.

"T-teacher, is too strong… I…"

Enodia, feeling the disturbance in the boy's mana, advised:

"It's okay Noa. "Don't try to repress these emotions. Try to use them as a guide and cast a spell."

He would then see the images he most feared as he fell asleep. In Noa's nightmare, he finds himself before a dark lake of mana, whose waters seem to pulse with evil energy. He feels drawn into the lake, and as he dives in, he feels his soul being corrupted by the darkness. He tries to fight the temptation, but something inside him makes him want to give in to that corruption.

He emerges from the lake transformed, his body covered in sinister shadows. He feels enormous power running through his veins and a desire for destruction growing within him. He raises his hands and conjures shadows that spread through the air, forming grotesque and frightening creatures.

Noa takes perverse pleasure in controlling those shadows, in seeing their influence spread wherever she goes. He smirks, feeling powerful and invincible. But at the same time, a feeling of fear and anguish envelops him, as if he knew that this was not what he really wanted.

By forcing his mind to get rid of that torment, he split the sphere of shadows in two and cast two dark beams across the school, emitting a dark aura that accidentally stunned the teacher and three classmates in a radius of 2.5 meters, luckily, they woke up in less than 2 minutes, but that was enough for others to whisper behind his back.

"Freak."

"Only a spoiled brat like him could stun our teacher."

"May the Righteous Moon purge this plague with her merciful light before it infects us all."

In a world where the light of the moon is venerated, beings who worship darkness are the most hated, when not excluded and subjugated from society, they are hunted and imprisoned, or depending on where they were born, executed, for refusing to accept this gift. As much as he saved many lives with his darkness, that Riverfield was no longer the same as last year's, a new moon was in power, new rules were established and from them only the "purest" are blessed, but sadness, remorse and darkness are what make Noa unique, but despised, so he couldn't do anything but lower his head and listen to those insults in silence, but to his happiness, his strength was admired by those who understood it and even without him knowing it , a powerful ally was before him, to lift his head and welcome his faith, whenever he felt the instability of his spirit.

"Miss Thrace, I failed! I couldn't…"

"Get it together, Noa, giving in to anger is not the solution."

"But what can I do if everyone here wants me dead?"

"That's a problem, but I have to admit," she put her finger under her chin, "I've never witnessed a shadow power of such magnitude. Keep it up boy, but watch where you're going or else you'll lose your way."

Enodia comforted him with a pat on his shoulder, but withdrew it as soon as she heard a strange noise through the walls. She closed her eyes as she concentrated, felt a presence, something sinister that lurked in the shadows.

"Something is wrong" Enodia said in a lower tone, "We need to get out of here now."

"Miss Thrace, what's going on?" asked one of the mages

The witch said nothing, she just clapped her hands to teleport her and her apprentices out of the school, attracting enemy shadows with her. They quickly attacked the witch, but she summoned her staff. Hecate's staff is made of dark wood and carved into an elegant, curving shape, resembling a coiled serpent. At its tip is a glittering crystal that seems to reflect moonlight. Engravings in silver adorn the handle of the staff, forming images of serpents, moon and stars, symbolizing the power and magic of the sorceress. When used to invoke your spells, the crystal glows brightly, emanating a moonlike glow that illuminates your surroundings. When she closes her eyes, she lets a portion of her mana out of her body to envelop herself in her apprentices' souls, healing them and enhancing the strength of her basic strikes, invoking one of her special spells: the Sheath of the Crescent Moon.

Together they draw a circle of mana with their staffs, invoking a wave of purple mana that repels the shadows' blows and nullifies their spells, however when holding it for more than 5 minutes, the mages' hands trembled, the sparks in their staffs lost strength and cracks appeared in the barrier, breaking it with a single blow from those creatures. Her allies still had some energy left to face them, but Enodia didn't. She tried to fight back with her purple mana spheres, but she couldn't. Her legs and arms were wobbly, her eyes heavy and she avoided them in slow, out of sync movements, nothing could be done to help those mages, so she used her last bit of mana to transport herself back home.

Upon arrival, she lay unconscious on the floor, her long black hair spread around her. Her silver and black dress was torn and bloodstained, her skin pale and cool to the touch. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was shallow and ragged. Despite her weakened appearance, she still exuded a powerful and mysterious aura.

Two soldiers from Selene's guard approached cautiously, checking that the place was secure before approaching the priestess. With great care, they lifted Hecate into her arms, feeling her lightness in her body, and carried her to the palace.

Along the way, Hecate began to mutter words in an ancient and unknown language, and her arms moved as if she were casting spells. But there was no strength in her hands, and the words that fell from her lips were weak and powerless. It was evident that this combat left her weak and vulnerable.

Noa found himself in a distorted world, a living nightmare, where darkness envelops him from all sides. Friends of his, those he was sworn to protect and fought alongside him, now stare at him in fear and revulsion, as if he were a monster. Shion, his best friend and confidant, now sides with his enemies, his face stained with the corruption of darkness.

Noa tried to convince them that he is not an enemy, that he is still the same as before, but his words fall on deaf ears. They attacked him, with Jino using his fire powers to destroy everything around him, while being forced to use his own darkness to defend himself.

But the more he uses his powers, the more he finds himself consumed by darkness, growing further and further away from his friends. He screams in despair, trying to fight the darkness that consumes him, but it's no use.

In the end, he finds himself alone, surrounded by darkness and a woman's evil laughter, unable to find a way out of this terrible nightmare. He wakes up in a cold sweat, still feeling the sensation of his own darkness consuming him.

A/N: So much pain, nightmare and shadows, I wonder who's behind this...

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen smau #enhypen heeseung #enhypen fluff #heeseung smau #darkmoon obsidian #dark moon #decelis academy

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