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russicnroses · 1 year ago

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RUSSIAN ROSE | VOLUME ONE | PART 5

CHAPTER THREE: The Target, The Duke

PAGES: 120 - 142

TRANSLATION TOOL: Chatgpt

CONTENT / WARNINGS: long post, blood, death mention.

In the carriage heading to her destination, Saya repeatedly adjusted her posture. Today was the day of the party at the residence of Duke Felix, held at the Moika Palace overlooking the Moika Canal.

Unlike the champagne parties, this was a formal ball, so Saya was dressed more extravagantly than usual. Five others, including Maxim, were also invited. Only Rodion, who disliked confined spaces, wore a dissatisfied expression. The rest, accustomed to such events, were dressed in formal attire and headed there in a separate carriage.

Tonight, Saya wore a white satin dress. The waist was tightly cinched, with a low-cut neckline, and the skirt's hem, adorned with ample draping, was trimmed with white fur. The skirt was further decorated with embroidered roses in white silk thread, and overlaid with organza fabric adorned with rubies. The gloves, reaching up to her upper arms, were also made of organza, with a row of embroidered roses along the sides, visible to the onlooker. The fabric overlaying the skirt was designed to attach to her fingers with fine gold chains, allowing it to flutter gracefully during the dance.

Around her neck, she wore a necklace with a chain made of small diamonds linked together. This was something Kirill had prepared. Despite having barely exchanged words before, it seemed he cared enough to do this for her. However, after giving Saya a cursory glance, he couldn't help but mutter,

"Pitiful."

Suppressing a feeling of bitterness, Saya stole a glance at Haji sitting across from her. The invitation was also extended to him. The rumor of the beautiful cellist, now the talk among women, had evidently reached Felix's ears.

It was said that Felix, following in the footsteps of his father, Count Yusupov, was quite the aesthete and always strived to devise interesting ideas. Tonight’s ball was also supposedly doubling as a celebration for his friend, Grand Duke Dmitry, who had just returned from his mission on the battlefield. To break down barriers, the event was a masquerade ball with a relaxed dress code.

In a black tie tuxedo with a Chesterfield coat over it, Haji looked much more composed and fitting than Saya. Noticing Saya’s gaze, Haji spoke:

"Is something the matter?"

Even after Saya's return that day, Haji treated her as he always did. Feeling the need to respond in kind, Saya had not mentioned that day's events since.

"Well, I'm just a bit restless today." Saya admitted.

Understanding her sentiment from that alone, Haji continued.

"Since it’s the Grand Duke, he likely has connections with the police and various other authorities. It would be good if we could get some valuable information."

"Right." Saya nodded solemnly.

In the end, there had been no news since the day they encountered that chiropteran in the alley. Maxim had prioritized recovering Saya and Haji, silencing the coachman with a hefty tip and transporting them to the mansion. He then went to the scene with other members to retrieve the body of the person attacked by the chiropteran. However, the body had completely disappeared.

Had the chiropteran returned to take it away? Were they even capable of such actions?

Alternatively, had it been discovered by a local resident and subsequently concealed for some reason? As of now, none of these possibilities, or any other, could be confirmed.

Clenching her gloved hands tightly, Saya thought, "This is all my fault."

(Damn it, If only I hadn't failed, the body wouldn't have disappeared, and it might have provided some clues. I need more information quickly. I need to move on to the next step.)

"......Saya."

Haji, looking concerned, gave her a gentle smile. "You don't need to be so tense. It's just a party today, after all. At least on the surface."

"Yes... You're right. And Tanya went through so much trouble to prepare this dress for me. Though, it's a bit overwhelming."

Saya tried to cheer herself up with light banter, but Haji, as usual, responded sincerely. "You look very good in it today, too."

"Haji..."

"Yes?"

"......It's nothing."

(I think I kind of understand why Haji is so popular now.) Saya, feeling a bit embarrassed by her warm cheeks, turned her gaze to the window. The carriage was just passing the square in front of the train station. On the tracks, a locomotive was standing still with only three passenger cars attached. The unusual configuration and the heavy security around it caught Saya's attention.

"What is that, Haji?"

Haji glanced out the window briefly and immediately understood what had caught Saya's interest. "It's a special train. Someone of high status must be traveling."

"Hmm... I wonder who it is..."

As they murmured, the train emitted a large amount of smoke and steam and disappeared into the dark Russian night.

The Moika Palace, as its name suggests, is built facing the Moika Canal that flows through Admiralteysky. Among the other buildings along the canal, its yellow and white facade was particularly eye-catching. Upon arrival, the well-informed servants ensured that Saya and her group did not encounter other guests and received their masks smoothly.

When they opened the grand doors to the hall, they were greeted by the sight of a dance already in progress to the strains of a polonaise. The hall was filled with dancing couples, who changed partners after each round. Both men and women held each other's hands as if they were performing a ballet. When they parted from their previous partner and took up with a new one, the women, dressed in their splendid costumes, curtsied in a courtly manner, while the men bowed deeply in response.

The colorful hems of the dresses swirled to the music, creating a rustling sound.

In the countryside, candles are still used, but in the mansions of nobles and public offices, electricity has been installed. The lights, amplified by crystal and amber chandeliers, made the room appear even brighter thanks to the white and gold walls and floors.

The music was woven flawlessly by an orchestra of strikingly handsome musicians, their performance impeccable. Even in the garden extending outside the balcony, electric lights were lavishly installed, reflecting off the snow-covered trees and making the area as bright as day.

Just as the dance ended, the guests—especially the ladies—noticed their presence and all turned to look at them at once. The sound of rustling clothes was so loud that it almost drowned out the orchestra.

(Amazing.) Saya felt uneasy under the piercing gazes, but the others seemed completely unfazed. According to them, the thrill of a masquerade ball lay in "knowing who someone is but pretending not to," and respecting the host Felix's intention of a relaxed dress code, they all wore white ceremonial uniforms with red sashes from the military academy.

The gazes through the masks and the whispered voices, barely suppressed in excitement, were all directed at them.

"See you later," Maxime said, patting Saya on the shoulder as he headed towards the back of the hall. The other members followed suit.

With some ulterior motives in mind, they dispersed one after another. Especially Valery, who hastily left, making Saya wonder, "What's wrong?" as she looked up at Haji. Uncharacteristically, Haji also averted his gaze.

Just as she was about to inquire, a young man in a tailcoat approached her. In the hall, a quadrille had begun.

The quadrille is a dance where several people form a square, exchanging places and partners, and even when it eventually turns into a chaotic mix, that's part of the fun, making it even more lively.

"---Welcome."

"Oh, yes. Prince Felix..."

With her memories hazy and a mask on, Saya couldn't recognize him at first. Finally, she realized who he was and hurriedly responded, only for Felix to place his index finger on her plump lips.

"It's a masquerade ball, so please leave your name, status, and titles outside the door," he said, lightly touching her lips. "Besides, the man behind you is giving me a frightening look."

The one who appeared to rebuke him, likely Dimitri, wore a black military formal dress adorned with gold braid decorations on the front and epaulets, with the Order of St. George hanging on his chest.

"First of all, isn't today supposed to be a celebration of my safe return?"

Felix made a disgruntled expression when interrupted, a look Saya could tell was feigned. He was probably enjoying the interaction.

"Don't be so crass. Leave your name and titles outside. Besides, you should enjoy yourself without relying on others."

Dimitri, used to such situations, shrugged his shoulders. Saya felt that even though he sounded exasperated, his expression behind the mask was likely kind.

Then, a mischievous smile suddenly appeared on his lips, and he knelt down.

"Well then, you, a nameless flower, would you dance with a nameless me?"

Felix shouted, "That's cheating!"

"Should I honor the host? Didn't you say to leave titles outside?"

Felix, caught by his own words, was at a loss. Saya, caught between the two, was bewildered.

Felix, frustrated at being bested by Dimitri, turned his anger towards Haji.

"Look, he's glaring at you too. Why don't you say something?"

Dimitri seemed particularly upset at being outdone—perhaps because he and Felix were as close as brothers, and such moments made it hard for them to back down. Saya, listening to their exaggerated words with a wry smile, noticed a figure approaching. She almost called out his name but stopped herself, recognizing his smile even through the mask.

"Surrounding the flower and making her uncomfortable is quite tactless," Dimitri said.

"Tactlessness seems mutual here. Look, the abandoned flower is glaring at us. No matter how infatuated you are with her," Felix responded.

The quadrille had ended on the dance floor, and everyone was now looking for partners for the next waltz. Despite it being a masquerade ball, it seemed women couldn't invite men, so many resentful glances were directed at Saya, making her feel awkward.

Finally, Haji, who had been silent, suddenly spoke, "You said to leave titles and names outside, didn't you?"

In the next moment, he took Saya's hand.

"Haji?" Saya blinked, surprised.

"Let's dance, Saya." He replied.

Without waiting for a reply, Haji pulled Saya to the center of the floor.

“H-Haji? Are you angry about something?”

Even though they were trying to act normal, it was true that the awkwardness from that day hadn’t completely disappeared. Saya was confused by Haji's unusual behavior.

“I’m not angry.”

“Yes, you are!”

Saya shouted as he pulled her along, and Haji suddenly stopped. She thought she would crash into him, but he gently caught her in his arms.

The gentleness was just like Haji's usual self.

Haji sighed, still averting his eyes from Saya, and pressed his forehead with his hand.

“...I’m sorry. If I’m angry, it’s at myself... please don’t look at me too much.”

“I'm wearing a mask, so you can’t see me, right?”

As Haji was at a loss for words, the music started.

“It’s starting... what should we do?”

Saya muttered without thinking, and Haji placed his hand on his chest and bowed deeply.

Just moments ago, they had been at odds, yet his demeanor was annoyingly calm and gentle.

(How unfair...)

Saya thought as she also bowed and took Haji's offered hand. He placed his other hand on Saya’s slender waist. Luckily, both of them were skilled enough to naturally follow the music. Haji, in particular, was surprisingly unflustered in such situations, despite always quietly standing behind Saya.

We have to dance— Saya thought as she noticed the movement around her.

(We’re turning left!)

Haji took the lead.

Typically, waltzing to the left is more difficult. Most balls have dancers turn right, but debutantes are required to be able to dance turning left as well, so it is occasionally included as a novelty. Anyone who had made a proper debut in society was expected to be able to dance this way.

Saya knew this in theory. But her upbringing, despite appearing perfectly normal, had kept her far from high society.

She felt the blood drain from her face. It seemed like everyone in the hall was watching them. The marble floor suddenly felt cold and uninviting.

(What should I do—I’ll embarrass everyone...)

Just then, she felt a strong squeeze on her hand.

Even through her gloves, the warmth of Haji’s hand brought Saya back to her senses.

“Don’t lower your head, Saya. It’ll be alright.”

Haji spoke calmly, as if nothing had happened, and gracefully adjusted his grip on her hand.

“If you don’t panic, you can keep up.”

He said, and as he let himself move to the music, he began to step smoothly. It all happened in a moment. The onlookers probably didn’t notice Saya’s initial distress.

As they began to dance, following Haji's lead, they naturally blended in with their surroundings.

The hem of Saya’s white dress and the layered organza roses floated gently with their movements. The ruby embroidery on her dress sparkled occasionally, leaving a beautiful trail.

“...Haji, you’re good at dancing.”

Saya said this, still puzzled by Haji’s earlier demeanor. Haji responded without looking at her, keeping his head up as they danced. It was reassuring at this moment.

“I was drilled in the basics as a child. So, I manage.”

“I see...”

Haji was a Romani who wandered, making a living through singing and dancing.

(If he hadn’t met me, he would still be free somewhere.)

Again, she found herself thinking about something she couldn’t change.

Sensing Saya's unease, Haji spoke gently.

"Tonight, titles and statuses are left outside the door."

His voice was as kind as ever, the same Haji she knew. Saya looked up, puzzled by his words, but Haji continued without meeting her gaze.

"Here, it's just you and me, Saya."

("Just Haji and... me")

Saya murmured to herself, recalling a sunny day filled with light. Back then, all she could offer was her cello playing. Although it was frustrating when Haji surpassed her skills, it also meant he had accepted what she offered, and in retrospect, even that was precious.

It was a quiet, fulfilling moment.

"......Yeah."

Some places, eternally beautiful, can never be returned to.

Saya knew she had things she needed to do. She couldn't forgive herself yet, but she softly closed her eyes.

("Just for now, just for this song")

After that, Saya danced one song each with Felix and Dimitri. Maxim was now surrounded by ladies and was nowhere to be seen.

Felix, returning to Saya after greeting people around the room, grabbed a champagne glass from a passing waiter and downed it in one go. He said with genuine enjoyment,

"A lively distraction is necessary on winter nights."

Saya smiled. Considering why she was in Russia, she couldn't fully indulge in enjoyment, but she couldn't resent Felix's cheerful demeanor. Dimitri remarked,

"You seem to have fun regardless of winter or summer. After all, you're still a cadet and haven't been deployed."

"True, but I do constantly worry about our nation's future, and I have my share of worries," Felix replied, signaling for another glass of champagne and quickly finishing it. He returned the glass without looking at the waiter, meeting the reproachful gazes of his friends.

"I didn't even get to relax at the summer palace this year because of certain incidents," he said, his tone shifting from light-hearted to serious.

Dimitri furrowed his brows, scolding Felix. Saya seized the moment to ask,

"What incidents?"

More sensible than Felix, Dimitri responded apologetically,

"This isn't something to discuss on such a delightful night, and it wouldn't be good if it got out."

Being told this only increased Saya's curiosity.

"You mentioned titles are left outside," she said with a smile.

Felix and Dimitri exchanged looks and shrugged. Dimitri chuckled, and Felix resigned himself.

"You've got us. But it's really not a pleasant story."

Felix offered a bench by the wall. Following the custom since Empress Catherine's time, benches and card tables with lit candelabras were placed around the hall. Sitting down, Saya found the bench more comfortable than expected. Haji stood a short distance away by the wall.

"Since summer, there have been several cases of bodies found under mysterious circumstances," Felix began.

Felix glanced at Saya while mentioning the bodies, oblivious to the real reason behind her slight reaction. He continued, seemingly satisfied

"It's something that happened in the suburbs, and it hasn't been made public due to social concerns. The cause is still unknown."

Felix, like many nobles, owned multiple estates in and around Petrograd. They would change residences according to the season and necessity. Felix mentioned that although he liked Moika Palace for its convenience, it wasn't the most lavish of his properties.

Being a lover of rumors, Felix spoke openly once he started. "The bodies all had wounds and bite marks, as if they were attacked by a beast. If it were just that, it wouldn't be so surprising."

"Felix," Dmitri interjected, tapping the card table with his gloved hand. However, Felix, caught up in his story, ignored Dmitri's disapproving look and continued in a lowered voice.

"All the bodies were drained of blood, leaving them white."

Saya felt her blood pulse loudly in her veins, and she could sense Hagi's tension beside her.

Felix seemed to think Saya's pale face was a sign of his storytelling prowess. Encouraged, he continued.

"With the prolonged battles at the front and such incidents happening in the suburbs, the common people would be even more confused and their anger might turn towards the court. So, it was kept quiet. Well, there haven't been any reports recently, and the bodies were seen only by local police officers, so it might just have been a bear."

Saya thought it was a lie. A few days ago, she had seen a chiropteran. The white bodies must have been victims of chiropterans. But why hadn't Felix, despite being so well-informed, heard about the incident that happened just recently within Petrograd?

"Well, because of that, we couldn't escape the heat this summer, but now that winter has come, we can welcome new guests and reunite with old friends. It's good to be lively."

Felix, still in high spirits, gazed out the window and murmured, "I wonder if there will ever be another ball at the Winter Palace."

Saya recalled the grand palace she had seen from the car window on her first day in Russia. It was too large and opulent to be called a hideaway, with its green statues on the roof that she found eerie.

"The Hermitage," she murmured involuntarily. Felix turned to Saya and eagerly continued.

"It houses wonderful paintings and artworks. There’s a corridor modeled exactly after Raphael's gallery and a golden clock I loved as a child. I wish I could show them to you."

Dmitri, who had spent his childhood at the Catherine Palace with the Grand Duchesses, spoke nostalgically. "It's been years since Olga's debutante ball. Recently, the imperial family has been secluded in the Alexander Palace at Tsarskoe Selo."

Felix picked up the thread. "Now, the Romanov family includes Olga, Tatiana, Maria, Anastasia, and the heir Alexei. While it's inevitable for them to have some restrictions, the Emperor and Empress dislike events. The Grand Duchesses, who are around your age, Saya, barely see any young officers due to their seclusion."

"It's like they're princesses locked in a tower," Felix sighed, as if this were a major issue.

"The Emperor must have his reasons," Dmitri said, trying to temper Felix's remarks, though he sounded unsure himself.

Eventually, he bitterly added, "It's all because of the Gray Cardinal."

"The Gray Cardinal...?" Saya frowned and asked. Dmitry's tone was unusual, almost spitting out the words.

After a moment's hesitation, Dmitry decided to explain. Unlike Felix, he had been taught not to gossip. "The Gray Cardinal is a nickname; he's actually a priest. No, he was originally just a pilgrim. After a man named Grigori Rasputin used some dubious magic to cure the Tsarevich's illness, the Empress became completely under his influence."

"The Tsarevich is ill?" Saya asked. Dmitry fell silent, and Felix answered instead. "This is well-known to all Russians. It's a disease inherited from his mother's bloodline, hemophilia. It's a condition where the bleeding doesn't stop. Even a small injury can be fatal. The Tsarevich was the first male child born after four daughters, and this illness, from his lineage, brought immense sorrow and suffering to the Empress. That's when Grigori appeared."

"If it were only that," Felix continued, "Grigori took advantage of the Empress's reliance on him to meddle in politics, hence the nickname Gray Cardinal." Dmitry, finding it difficult to speak, muttered bitterly.

Taking advantage of the absence of the master, he has been acting as if the Winter Palace were his own. Not only the Empress, but the Grand Duchesses and especially the Tsarevich are fond of him, making it worse.

"But the Tsarevich's health has indeed improved, hasn't it?" Felix summoned a waiter and ordered champagne. After receiving his glass and ensuring the waiter had left, he continued. "The Empress, on his advice, has set up numerous field hospitals, not just focusing on the Tsarevich. I heard she left today to visit soldiers in remote areas. As a military man, it's a great morale booster, isn't it?"

Saya recalled seeing a special train on her way here, realizing it must have carried the Empress. Indeed, visiting soldiers personally would boost their morale. Not everything seemed negative.

What weighed more on Saya's mind was Felix's earlier offhand remark: a princess locked in a tower. She had known such a girl in the past.

Without noticing Saya's silence, Felix and Dmitry continued their half-argument.

"What?" Dmitry seemed incredulous. "But the Empress is employing many suspicious characters at his behest. I've heard people line up daily, bribing him to get his favor. If military decisions start being influenced by his dubious prophecies, what then?"

"Not a chance. The ultimate authority in military matters is now the Emperor. No matter how favored he is by the Empress, there's no way such a charlatan's words would be heeded. That's underestimating the Emperor."

At some point, Felix had begun arguing with Dmitry. Crossing his legs, he tested him further. "Have you ever met this Gray Cardinal? Judging someone you've never met based solely on rumors is unlike you."

Dmitry, visibly displeased, responded, "In his case, there's no need to meet. Just hearing about him is unpleasant enough, let alone meeting him."

Ignoring the heated discussion, Hagi bent down and whispered in Saya's ear, "Saya..."

"Your face is pale."

"Is it really? I'm fine."

As soon as Saya said that, she felt a strange unrest in her chest. Her limbs tingled, and her body felt oddly light.

"...I was really fine just a moment ago."

Hagi looked down at her with a reproachful yet concerned expression. Saya wanted to show him that she was fine, but her voice had already started to waver.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

Noticing Saya's condition, Dmitry nudged Felix in the side with his elbow. "Saya—see, it's because you kept talking about unpleasant things."

"No, I did try to stop. Besides, ladies often like scary stories," Felix retorted. Seeing Saya remain silent, he hastily changed his tone. "Though it seems you're different... Shall I arrange a room for you?"

Saya shook her head. After all, it was she who had wanted to hear the conversation, and she felt it was rude to show such behavior, but the feeling of breathlessness only intensified.

"I'm fine, I just need some fresh air..."

Before she could finish her sentence, Hagi stood by her side and offered his hand. Saya, without saying a word, withdrew from his assistance.

(A princess locked in a tower.) Saya thought. It's just a metaphor. She understood that.

The princesses were not actually locked up, nor did it have anything to do with her.

But she once knew a girl who was locked away.

Suddenly, Saya felt as if someone had called her name, but she lacked the strength to turn around.

#russian rose vol 1 #rr: volume 1 chapter 3 #bloodplus #blood+

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helluva-hazbins · 1 year ago

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Blood Rose Masquerade Ball Event

Lucifer Morningstar The Big Boss of Hell Himself will be in attendance. For your viewing pleasure, we present to you, Denizens of the Pride Ring: His attire. The Fantabulous, Splendifferiffic! Gilded Duck! [Please, please, hold the applause~]

Event Hosted by: @cannibalxroses

#muse!lucifer #Blood Rose Ball RP Event #Masquarade Costume #The Gilded Duck #the big boss of hell himself #[find this guy at the Ball for a dance or a chat!]

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onsunnyside · 3 years ago

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³¹.⍭ 𝐊𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐚 (𝟏/𝟐)

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | Major Crossover—ghostface!boyfriends!: Ari Levinson, Steve Rogers, Curtis Everett, Ransom Drysdale x cheater!reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | SOFT DARK themes and elements, cheating, revenge, obsessive/possessive behaviour, jealousy, competition, size difference: all 6’7-6’9, manhandling, manipulation, coercion. SMUT - minors DNI, NON-CON/DUB-CON: they’re all wearing the same mask & reader doesn’t know who it is, oral (m & f), balls sucking, fingering (f), dirty talk, chase kink, daddy kink, p*ssyjob, size kink, spit kink, choking, p*ssy spanking, exhibitionism (public sex), degradation, dumbification, ruined kink, overstimulation, squirting, creampie.

𝗪/𝗖 | 8.23K

𝗔/𝗡 | happy Halloween !! hope you all had a spooky day, here is my last fic for spicy October, a finale with all our fave daddies. enjoy !! all mistakes are my own.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐊𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐚 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | ˗ˏˋ𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ˎˊ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐂.𝐄. & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“That was the money from my grandfather's will.”

Curtis snorts, “as if you don’t have the cash to spare.”

Ransom’s glare hardens, “It’s from my dead grandfather—I mean, my murdered grandfather. Am I not allowed to be upset that she stole money from my grandfather who was murdered in cold blood?”

“It isn’t stealing if you voluntarily spent it on her.” The other burnet countered, “I assume money is the only way you know how to show affection. Mommy and daddy didn’t know how to deal with you so they filled that emotional void with money, and you continue it in all your relationships. It’s a never-ending cycle.”

“At least I know my parents, orphan.”

Ari tunes them out, staring out the wide window into the night. The howling winds sway the forest surrounding the Thrombey mansion and the shadows bleed through the glass, covering him from head to toe in the same shade as his profound emptiness.

Three years. Three fucking years of his life gone to waste.

Every time he blinks, he sees you from senior year. The beautiful, popular, high-achieving student who never looked his way, although he tried hundreds of times to get your attention. From playing his heart out on the football field when you were in the crowd, attempting—and failing—to be your partner for projects in classes you shared, and volunteering to help for events that you were organizing, one of those being your senior prom. The theme was an extravagant masquerade ball, strange for a year of rambunctious teenagers, but perfect for the elite private school.

The venue was decorated in hues of vermillion, gold and grey, with speckles of white from the feathers and clear-beaded arrangements in the middle of each table. Sheer fabric and ribbon hung from the ceiling, draped low to mimic the magical atmosphere. Fairy lights glimmered alongside sparkling chandeliers, illuminating the ballroom in a warm yellow glow. Red roses, gold plates and vintage-styled candelabras sat atop black tablecloths and complemented the metallic chairs.

During the few weeks of setting up the venue, his friends consistently poked fun because he was whipped for a girl he’s never spoken to.

He broke that shameful streak the day before prom, and until today, that was the stupidest he’s ever felt.

“Oh, I don’t have a date.” You answered after he asked what colours you and your date were going to wear.

Ari’s face twisted in disbelief and utter confusion. The revelation scattered every organized thought, making him a total fool. “Why the fuck not?”

He’ll never forget the stunned expression on your face.

“I mean—you’re really fucking pretty.” The words flew out like a swarm of wild bees, dancing in front of his horrified eyes, taunting him.

You burst out laughing, throwing your head back and nearly toppling over one of the tables. “Well thanks, I’ve been asked a couple of times but none of them are my type. They’re all meatheads.” You finally caught your breath, soft giggles tumbling from your glossed lips. “Like the football team, ugh, just a bunch below-average, tit-brained idiots.”

Ari frowned deeply, “I’m on the football team.” He was positive you knew that, hell, you’ve organized fundraisers for the sports department.

You grinned, “I know. But you’re actually cute when you’re dumb, way above average.” You patted his broad shoulder and walked away, the short uniform skirt swaying with each step.

Ari remembers standing there like a moron before finally bolting after you. He caught up to you in the parking lot and asked you right then and there, almost dropping to his knees to beg when you took a second too long to answer. But you said yes, smiling so sweetly he could’ve died.

“—the same day. The same fucking day! That has to be a record!” Curtis snarls, pointing a finger at Ransom, “and you were on a date too, so you can’t say shit about cheating, jackass.”

The playboy moves his hand with two fingers, nonchalantly shrugging. “I found someone I wanted to spend the night with, is that a crime?”

Curtis gritted his teeth, his shoulders rigid under his leather jacket, “I won her a ginormous bear and fingered her in the photo booth, and she was already fucking two other guys!”

“Dating. She was dating two other guys.”

“Same shit!”

All this time, the second boyfriend has remained silent. Steve stares at his lock screen, a blurry photograph of the two of you the morning after a date at the pier. You’re half asleep but he wanted to commemorate the most perfect night of his life.

He was convinced that he was the lead in a romantic film, and it all bloomed from his awful first impression.

“Will you ever actually talk to me? Or will you just continue to stare at me from across the shop?” You smiled down at him, your skin glowing in the morning sun. “Here, you look like a cupcake kind of guy.”

A red velvet cupcake is placed in front of him, right next to his hand which had his pencil in a death grip. He quickly releases his hold and stares blankly at you, stunned and bewitched because he’s never seen you this close. Heavenly is the way he’d describe your features, each curve and dip of your face is burned into his brain from his endless sketches but at this moment, it feels like he’s seeing you for the first time.

Since that day, he believed in love at first sight. Now? It’s up for debate.

“Sit. I mean, please sit. Only if you want obviously.” He covers his red cheeks, not even bothering to shut his sketchbook. You already saw the dozens of drawings of you from various angles, all sprawled across the pages like they belonged there. “You know what? Never mind, I’ll go. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.”

He was going to leave, pack up his things haphazardly and dash out of the coffee shop before embarrassment ate him alive, but you called him back.

“I’ll stay, but only if you show me what else is in there.”

And he did, shyly at first but as the minutes dragged into hours, he got more confident and gave you detailed explanations of each piece. He rambled on and on about a sketch that took up two pages, it was an elderly couple watching the sunset on the beach, the waves crashing in the background as their heavily detailed silhouettes were in the foreground. He spoke as if he knew them when he was only a mere bystander to their love story.

“I saw them almost every day that summer. On that same bench and holding hands.” He sipped his cold coffee, never breaking eye contact with you, “They’ve probably watched tons of sunsets in their lifetime, but it’s cute, y’know? That they still do… soft things like that.”

Steve was a nice guy. He was recklessly kind, tutored people in his class, and always helped his coach with pregame preparations. He donates all his old clothes and always asks owners before petting their dogs.

If he was so good, why did bad things happen to him? Was it his fault?

He kept pushing you to meet his family. In his defence, you’ve been dating for two years and he talks about you nonstop, his parents have been begging to meet the girl who has their son’s heart, and praised him for finding the one so early on.

It’s a shame that the one was never his to begin with.

The worst part of all of this wasn’t the cheating—well, it was, but the other worse part was your blatant dismissal for taking the next step in your relationship. You’ve met their families, you were very close with Ari’s and met Curtis’ and Ransom’s who you’ve only been dating for less than a year.

What was so different about his?

“Cheap fucking slut.” Ransom mutters. “She’s so greedy that she needs four cocks.”

“Hey, watch your mouth.” Steve frowns, “She’s still my girlfriend.”

Curtis bites his tongue and swallows whatever snide remark was on the verge of spilling out. As much as it hurt, he knew where they were both coming from. He hated your guts, yet the masochist part of himself admired your bulletproof nerve and capability, and the other much softer part was still madly in love with you.

He prided himself in being observant, reading people like open books and anticipating their words and actions so that he was always prepared—that’s why he knows how to push Ransom’s buttons. It didn’t take a genius to notice how stuck up and spoiled the brat was. He couldn’t believe how you put up with him.

How you got away with this for so long was a wonder. Whether it was by sheer luck or cautious scheming, you played them all like puppets, pulling their strings however you pleased for the grand production. The success came with applause and satisfaction, it boosted your ego and made them into fools.

Don’t even get him started on your fucking friends who probably worshipped you for your stellar performance, praising you for dancing on their hearts with false innocence. Curtis has met them and only now he can recall the mischievous twinkle in their eyes, he would bet that they downgraded him to a pathetic nickname like boyfriend number three.

He would’ve noticed something sooner if you didn’t have him pussy drunk every time he saw you. He’ll admit it—he’s whipped.

You may be a good-for-nothing cheater, but you were his fucking pornstar.

He supposes that’s the thing about pornstars, they surely got around.

Curtis wouldn’t openly admit it to the rest of the guys—his girlfriend’s other boyfriends—but if you called him right now and asked him to come over, he’d be on his motorcycle in the blink of an eye. You were a twisted, disgustingly hot mastermind who could spit in his face and choke him, and yet, he’d still dick you down. He was into that freaky shit anyway.

Of course, as much as he pretended, he wasn’t all tough. Under that steel demeanour, he’s aching, battered with betrayal and fears of inadequacy.

Grey clouds loomed over that island of self-doubt, a place all four of them have since sailed to and made home, sharing their confusion, anger and grief.

All of this mess started from simple curiosity. Ari recognized a little lacy thing in one of his fraternity brothers’ rooms, and lo and behold, it was your panties, the same ones he bought you a few months prior.

“Oh, oops. My girl left those in my pocket.” Curtis chuckles and waltzes in, dropping his skateboard by the closet. He’s wearing that signature black beanie and carrying that smell of cigarettes and mint gum. “She’s so cheeky, huh?”

Ari doesn’t acknowledge him at first. His fingers feel around the fabric before hooking in a hole by the band, and then his heart stops.

The other brunet watches strangely, “Uh, can I have those back?”

Perhaps any other person in a fit of confused rage would’ve wrapped their hands around Curtis’ throat, but Ari didn’t. He’s caught off guard when Ransom walks by and pops his head in, his blue eyes locking on the purple lace with blue bows.

“Where did you get those?”

Those five words erupted an argument that shook the walls. Curses were spat and accusations were pointed every which way until the world decided that three out of four wasn’t enough.

Steve was on his way home when he heard the shouts from a few houses down.

He burst into the bedroom with wide eyes and was welcomed by his friends arguing and tearing crumbled lace from each other’s hands. Then, the universe works its magic again and the sheer fabric lands on the floor a few feet away from him.

His gaze drops and he cocks his head to the side, but that puzzlement swiftly fuses into disbelief that shakes him to the core. The air falls to an ear-splitting silence as realization dawns, freezing them all where they stand.

The first to speak is Ransom, he lets out a boisterous laugh. “What a little cock hungry bitch. Well played, I’ll say, well played.”

After everyone calmed down and Steve stopped crying and dry heaving, they made the journey to Ransom’s mansion for the sake of privacy, who knows what their other fraternity brothers would think? They’d pity them, but no one would understand their circumstances. No, that gracious gift was split between the four of them.

“So, who gets to have her?” All eyes fall on Steve, the 6’8 figure hunched in a small chair and clutching a pillow to his chest.

Me—is spoken in all their heads. Fury, greed and vengeance don’t mix well with love.

“I had her before you.” Curtis says to Ransom and reclines on the leather couch, stretching lazily, “Did I forget to mention she sucked my dick that night? Oh… and you kissed her too, huh?” He smirks, “I don’t know about you but I’d rather not know my parents than know what a stranger’s dick tastes like.”

Ransom clenches his jaw, “You poor cunt—”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure the girl you ditched that day is still into you. Call her up and see how that goes, trust fund baby.”

“If we’re going with whoever had her first…” Steve trails off, swallowing the lump in his throat. He cried when he found out about your unfaithfulness, and he cried on the way to the mansion and already excused himself a few times to cry in the bathroom, yet he was seconds away from crying again. “Then i-it’s you.”

Six blue eyes pool with hesitance, then tentatively land on the tallest frat boy.

Ari’s wounds run the deepest, piercing through his skin that you’ve marked with your lips and hands. You’ve branded him, traced your name on his chest as you two talked mindlessly about the future, where you see yourself after graduating from that pretentious university halfway across the world.

It wasn’t the distance. If it was, why did you date three other guys from the same city as him?

“Has she contacted any of you? While you two were arguing, she tried calling me.” He stares down at the missed call. The candid contact photo glares back, it was from your last birthday just before you blew out your candles. A surprise party he planned for you.

Everyone checks their phones.

“She just cancelled our date.” Ransom grits his teeth, glaring at the screen with your adorable yet revolting apology.

I promise I’ll make it up to you, daddy! I have a huge project coming up but I’ll miss you! Please don’t forget about me :(

“Ours too. Apparently, she has a project.” Curtis itches to call you right now and give you a piece of his mind but he’d rather see your face when your castle of lies crumbles to the ground.

You were always so pretty when you were helpless and ruined.

Steve’s phone is the last to chime. He gulps nervously and flips it over with a furrow between his brows. “She wants me to visit her next week.”

“Fucking bitch.” Ransom growls, throwing his phone across the room, it dents the wall with a loud thump. Everyone would be taken aback if he hadn’t broken four glasses already.

“I—uh, what do I say? Do I make up an excuse that I can’t go?”

Ari uncrosses his arms, blinking slowly. He was calm and it was terrifying considering how furious he should be. He knew you first, he fell for you first, he had you first, yet he was as peaceful as a boat on a gentle stream. “You don’t want to see her?”

Steve slumps over in a big hunk of muscle trapped in a too-small t-shirt. For someone usually happy and energetic, it was comical to see the new star player of the football team so defeated. Millions of bodychecks and tackles couldn’t amount to the gut-wrenching aches and emptiness, and Ari was the only one who understood that too.

He still wasn’t over the fact that he’s been playing on the same team as the guy who was fucking his girlfriend—their girlfriend?

“Of course I do. I love her.”

Steve was soft, to say the least, everyone knew that when they saw him walk into the fraternity house with a wide smile and a tray of freshly baked cookies, “I wanted to make a good impression and my ma says food is the best way to do it,” he said in a Brooklyn accent, “can’t have my frat brothers hating me, that’d be a shitshow.”

Hate wouldn’t be the word they’d use, but they weren’t completely comfortable with each other like before.

What are the chances that all your boyfriends enroll in the same college and join the same fraternity at the same time, even when all of them were attending different schools the previous year?

Fate was probably fed up with your deceitfulness.

“You’ll invite her here and we’ll all have her.” Ari decides, his dark eyebrows knitted tightly, “we’ll share. That means, the two of you get along or get out—”

“—this is my house.”

“I didn’t fucking ask.” He snaps, “If this is going to work, we’ll have to get along, or at least pretend to. And at the end of the night, no one loses, no one wins, but she gets what she deserves.”

For the hundredth time, Steve looks down at your hand in his. Your freshly manicured hand contrasts with his black gloves, and the glitter nail polish matches the dainty diamond on your ring finger, the one he bought you for your one year anniversary. You got him a chain necklace that he’s never taken off and with his bubbling nerves, it feels like the silver is burning through his skin.

“You okay, baby?”

As always and regardless of the conditions, he swoons at your lovely voice. Oh, he was neck-deep in his desire, trapped and made into a damn clown, yet his heart still sang for you.

“Yeah, doll. Are you?”

You grin and kiss his cheek with your glossed lips. “I’m perfect, daddy.” You’re happy that Steve begged you to come home instead of flying him to you.

This was your first time visiting his new college and elite university parties were nothing like the ones in the city. They lacked closeness and freedom since everyone was concerned about wrong angles or nasty rumours. Here, people just wanted to dress up, have fun, and celebrate Halloween on rented-out property in an old farmhouse.

“I’ll get you another drink.” Steve pats your hip and you scoot off his lap, occupying the free spot on the couch. He asks around for other refills and turns to you, tilting your chin up with his finger, “You want something to eat too?”

“No thanks, do you want me to come?”

Steve snorts, brushing you off with a claim of chivalry. You watch him walk away and ignore that little voice of guilt, the hushed dejected calls of three other names. They didn’t matter right now, you were with Steve and thinking about them any longer put all of your relationships at risk.

You love them all, but in different ways. There were different things to love about each of them, distinct qualities to admire, and little habits to remember. You were diligent with everything, that’s why you’ve gotten away with it for so long.

You grew up quite spoiled, always getting whatever you want from your parents who never used the word no. It was all on a shiny silver platter, from prized jewelry to new wardrobes, fancy cars and luxurious vacations. That part of you never grew up, you still wanted it all and got it—just like how you wanted four men and got them. They weren’t disposable to you, no, they were the loves of your life. You valued them, but obviously not enough to respect their trust and the sanctity of your relationship.

When Steve returns, you don’t waste any time. Your body presses against his and your lips trail down his neck, gently pushing the hood off his blond head, “I’ve missed you, daddy. Haven’t you missed me too?”

Steve has since gotten over his heartbreak and nerves. It took a bit of liquid courage and some direction from Ari, but he was ready. No longer a sad, pouting puppy but a vengeful beast, smelling out your lies like a fresh kill. It’s that deep-seated hunger which spurs him on, prompting him to pull you to the dance floor for a few songs. He yearns to feel your body against his, your irresistible warmth, and that magnetic force that pulled him to you two years ago.

You turn around in his hold, slowly grinding against his thigh. “I did what you asked…” You trail off, bringing his hand under your tutu. It isn’t out of character for you to be so forward, but it catches you off guard when he gropes your flesh. His fingers trace over the plug through your nylon tights and lace leotard. “Did I do good, daddy?”

“So good, baby.” His voice drops low, rumbling in his chest, his hard bulge rubs against your hip. “You always do so good for me.”

You were his best girl, his pretty doll who couldn’t do any wrong. He’d do anything you asked, bend over backwards to fulfill your any wish but that would change tonight. It was time for you to be stretched thin for his demands and satisfy his needs.

“I want to feel your mouth on me.”

Under any other circumstances, Steve would have felt embarrassed for saying that aloud, but all those worries fly out the window when your eyes twinkle and you nod obediently, truly the whore that Curtis said you were—well, he actually called you a fuckhole.

Steve wrongfully thought your body was his for the past two years, but at this moment, he chose to believe you were wholly his.

“You okay, sweet girl?”

You nod eagerly with your mouth locked around one of his balls, your tongue traces the seam before suckling. You’re so messy and struggle to take his full sack, slobbering filthily as saliva dribbles onto your pristine costume.

His gaze locks on your face, your cheeks are wet and hot with tears, and his spit hangs out the corner of your swollen lips. Your tongue swipes out for it before licking up his leaky cock, following the protruding veins to the fat tip.

“You like when I stroke your cock, daddy?”

“Yeah, baby. Go deeper, you’ve done it before.” His neck tenses when you gag on his cock, fisting what couldn’t fit in your mouth. “Fuck, that’s it.”

The music vibrates throughout the house, the loud conversations flowing in from under the bathroom door, but you didn’t care, not even with your sore knees pressing into the cold tiles, or your feather headpiece jostling with every bob.

His heavy weight on your tongue and his taste filling your mouth sends tingles through your body, but you force your hand away from your throbbing cunt. This was for Steve, your sweet, loving and fucking hot boyfriend Steve.

“So pretty down there, doing so good for me.” Steve pants heavily, guiding you to kiss up and down his pulsating length. The mushroom head is enveloped between your lips and you lick his slit. You’re usually a tease, but Steve has different things in mind.

He secures a hand behind your head and pushes down until his tip hits the back of your throat. You try to control your breathing, but it’s futile with his massive length violating your airways, hammering deep and rough. You choke around his girth, saliva spills down your chin, and tears pool in your eyes but you’re determined to bring him to that precipice. You take whatever he gives—from more spit on your face to brutal thrusts.

He forces you down further and rocks his hips, fucking your mouth like he hated you. “Look up at me, wanna see my pretty girl sucking my cock.”

You preen under his words, blinking up at him as tears stream down your face. Wet, garbled noises fill the small bathroom as you cling to his hips over his tattered robe, piercing the thin fabric with your nails.

“That’s it, good fuckin’ girl. Take daddy’s cock,” like the dumb whore you are. A stupid slut who isn’t content with only one man but needs several to suck dry—you’ve stolen it all, their time, money, and love. You didn’t deserve his cum right now, but Steve was too fucking soft.

He growls your name, pumping your mouth full of his hot seed. There’s so much that some seeps through the corners of your lips, following in the lines of your spit and tears, deliciously ruining your makeup. He forces you to stay there, filled to the brim and choking on his cum. After what felt like hours, he lets you pull off. You immediately swallow his seed and lick the sensitive tip for any rogue droplets, peppering messy kisses up the flushed flesh.

He helps you stand and rubs your cheek, smearing the spit, cum and tears into your skin. You moan and dip down, suckling his fingers and slowly lifting your dress. In the mirror, he sees your ass through the paper-thin nylon and sheer white leotard, and that plug snugly in your puckered hole.

The reflection only emphasizes the differences, you clad in a blinding, pure white against his black robe, glittering and feathery while he was dark and looming. The similarities are only visible to him, two people playing pretend. He thinks you should win an award for your performance.

You’re smaller than him, and so much weaker. He could pick you up and fuck you senseless against the wall, make your whines pour out for everyone to hear.

“Wanna see it, daddy? I did it for you.”

He does, but his phone vibrates on the counter.

Ransom: Time’s up. We don’t have all night.

It physically hurts to push you away. “In a bit, sweet girl. Let’s go enjoy the party, okay?”

The night goes on, party songs blare through the old farmhouse, rattling the old walls and windows. It’s safe to say you were momentarily satisfied after blowing Steve, the night was still young and you had all weekend to jump his bones before you left the city.

You found a group of people to chat with, easily joining their conversations. They were interested in your private school life, so you entertained them with stories of your strict years in ironed uniforms from your early childhood to university career but unlike them, you had zero knowledge about Greek life.

Apparently, there were a few fraternities on campus, “your boyfriend is in one, didn’t he tell you?”

“Uh, no. He didn’t.”

You almost forgot which boyfriend you were here with until one of them asked where Steve went, and Halloween night must bring magic because just as they asked, your date popped up from the backdoor. He headed straight for you and tugged you away by your arm, not bothering to greet your new friends.

You giggle, already tipsy from your first few drinks. “Where’d you run off to?”

He doesn’t respond and drags you outside, weaving through the bodies crowding the back porch illuminated by fairy lights. The crisp air fills your lungs, tainted with smoke, but it’s refreshing after being in a stuffy house all night.

You apologize to the few people you bump into, blindly stumbling after your boyfriend. He’s practically body-checking people out of the way and hauling you like dead weight. He’s so rough that your bag slips from your wrist. “Steve, my purse!”

Ransom huffs and spins around to grab your bag before continuing his trek to the woods, slowing down for your sake. This time, you follow easily, slightly inebriated and giddy, not questioning a thing—even though Steve was acting very different tonight, you were excited about anything else he had in store.

The darkness grows the deeper you walk, the light from the farmland property swallowed by the vast abyss. You make out the shapes of the trees and your boyfriend in the muted moonlight, although your dress is still bright, especially the rhinestones glimmering across your body.

“I wish we matched costumes… I need my prince.” You flirt, “I am a princess after all.”

The irony almost makes him laugh. You dressed as an untouched white swan, a cursed princess. There was no purity within you, the bleached tulle and feathers on your body were nothing but a mockery for delicacy and heartache.

“We could’ve been the cutest couple here! But you just wanted to hide under that robe. Are you scared I’m gonna find some marks that aren’t from me?”

Your teasing is cut short when he pins you against a thick tree, your back slams into the jagged bark and the back of your head throbs dully. Stars cloud your vision and you almost don’t notice when he drops to his knees between your legs. “What the hell—Steve!” With his head under your tutu, he makes quick work of tearing off his mask. The ghostly disguise falls to the forest floor face up, the horrid expression glaring at you.

You try to pull up your dress but he bats your hands away, quickly distracting you with a flat tongue up your clothed cunt. You gasp and your thighs tremble when his wet muscle flicks against your clit, his saliva and your slick soaking through the white lace.

“W-Wait, right now? I, fuck.” Your back arches when he bites your thigh.

The silent night is interrupted by an awful tear. Your nylon tights meet the same fate as your lace leotard, torn to bits by his wild hands.

“Daddy, uhm, I don’t—” Your voice breaks into a moan when his thick fingers slide to the hilt and he harshly sucks your clit. He doesn’t work you up to it, no, he starts like a starved man. He fucks you with two fingers, nudging the plug with his other hand while dining on your button. He latches onto the nub, massaging the nerves with his tongue as your pussy clenches around his digits, sucking him in.

He’s so rough and sloppy, making out with your cunt and hungrily slurping up your juices, disgracing the surrounding nature with the lewd noises and his guttural groans. Acting as if he hasn’t touched you in a lifetime.

Ransom briefly considers fucking up the whole plan just to see you properly. He misses your pretty face, your messy cunt and weepy hole, he feels you dripping but he would do anything to see your creaminess coating his fingers, just like his pinky ring.

The tree bark digs into your back as he hoists you higher. His spit splatters against you before his teeth drag along your clit and he nibbles mockingly. He soothes any aches with his tongue, trailing down your slit to lick into your hole. You whimper when hard slaps land on your nub, and he isn’t as kind this time around and rubs it roughly, bullying your sensitive button with his skilled fingers.

“Uh! D-Don’t stop, daddy. Please don’t stop.” You pant, already on edge from your previous escapade in the bathroom. You wondered why he didn’t touch you then, and now you’re thankful you waited. Your body has a mind of its own and rocks against his clean-shaven face, fucking yourself on his tongue. He hums against you, either with some degrading comment or praise, you didn’t care.

You fist his hair under your tutu, legs quivering as he replaces his wet muscle with his digits, pumping knuckle deep. His fingers hit that rough patch with every thrust, forcing your juices out and into his awaiting mouth, racing you toward that edge of euphoria.

His faint curses go muffled as you convulse, your thighs lock around his head, trapping him against your pussy. You cry out his name, so close to your high that you can taste it—sweet, addictive and full of relief, but you’re yanked from that delight when he pulls back.

The cold rushes against your wet folds, making you whine from the abrupt loss of his wet warmth. Your concerns die in your throat when he puts on his mask, wiping his fingers on his robe. Your weak legs drop to the ground as he leans back and tilts his head, studying you behind the plastic face.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the tightness unravelling within your stomach. “Why—Why’d you stop?”

All he does is laugh and stand up, dusting off his knees casually. You call out his name and in confusion, watch him turn around and walk back to the house, leaving you in the forest alone, soaked, and fucking high and dry.

At the sight of that familiar mask, you duck and turn the other way. Your drink is almost done so you toss it in the trash and sway through bumping bodies, ignoring the heavy footsteps that are somehow louder than the bass.

Were you avoiding him? Yes, but with his tall stature, he could easily spot you above the crowd and that limited your hiding spots.

He deserved it for leaving you out there like a sacrificial lamb. What would’ve happened if you had been shitfaced drunk? You’d probably pass out on the ground and freeze to death, and he’d be responsible for it, the dumb fucking jerk! If he abandoned you out there now, there was no telling if you’d find your way back to the house because tonight, you found out that more drinks go well with holding grudges.

You scream when your whole world is flipped upside down, and instantly recognize that stupid tattered robe, “Everyone can see my ass, jerk!”

Curtis snorts, you’ve probably fucked everyone in this room already and showing them your ass should be the least of your worries.

You’re set on your feet in a dark corner of the packed living room, the strobe lights flash across the heads of partygoers, and the music booms loudly, drilling some pop song into your head. He pulls you flush against his chest, crushing your tutu between your bodies.

“Get off me, asshole.” You try to wiggle free, but he’s too strong and big, he doesn’t even flinch when you stomp on his foot. “Ugh, I said get off!” You squirm when his hand slips between your thighs, meeting your bare cunt. “Steve!”

A sharp spank lands on your pussy, making your legs go numb but he holds you up with one arm, rubbing torturously slow circles on your swollen nub. With the booming music and the alcohol flowing through your system, you don’t register the different voice in your ear.

“That isn’t what you call me.”

You shiver, the warmth radiates off his body, luring you with his presence. You’re still wet and so sticky that your slick has smeared to your inner thighs, right where his fingers are tracing now. His touch ignites that fire again, all too effortlessly making you into a needy mess.

In the flickers of red, he can see every thought leave your head. Dumb little girl. You thought you could hide from him?

Curtis’ reaches in the slit of his robe to unbuckle his belt, and you’re too preoccupied with riding his fingers. His cock slides between your soaked, ruined folds, replacing his hand as he prods at your soppy hole. You go slack as he rocks slowly but never strays too far, letting you feel every inch.

“D-Daddy, oh!” You snap your jaw shut, “what are you—”

“Hush, you don’t want people to catch us, right?” He asks, thrusting forward until he nudges your puffy button, rubbing the sensitive nerves with the tip. He groans lowly, Ransom really bullied you down there.

Your eyes squeeze shut, your thoughts jumbling together from the overstimulation. “We—We shouldn’t, daddy…” Your voice fades when his hand wraps around your throat, his rough fingers digging into your skin and he forces you to face the crowd.

“None of them know who you really are, huh? What you really are?”

If anyone looked over, they’d instantly know what was going on. It was obvious from your blissed-out expression and his rocking hips, your weak hands grasping at his forearm as he squeezed harder.

The oxygen goes thin as your eyes roll back, your bones turn to jelly and soon he’s your only support. His beefy arm pins you to his chest, keeping you from falling over as he thrusts into your weepy folds, the bulbous tip catching on your hole but never penetrating.

If he could, he’d spit in your mouth, make you gag on his saliva until it dribbled down your chin. He wants the whole world to know what a slut you are, and how needy you get for cock that you’ll let him use you just feet away from other people.

Curtis knows you love the risk. He knew that the moment he met you—because you kissed him in the photo booth and slipped his hand up your skirt, begging in your soft voice for him to touch you.

Your lips part with a silent moan. He can’t resist slipping two fingers into your mouth, reminiscing when you sucked his dick that very same day and swallowed everything he gave you. Fucking cockslut. There were times when you dropped to your knees under his desk and rubbed over his clothed cock until he let you suck him off. You loved when he used you and when he was mean, acting like a damn bully instead of your loving boyfriend. You wanted to be degraded, ruined and downgraded to a cocksleeve, and that’s why you were his fucking pornstar.

He still has that photo strip of you smiling, all fucked out and dumb with spit, tears and cum on your face. Your very first picture together and you didn’t even know his last name at the time.

“Pl-Please let me come this time, daddy.” You plead, weakly meeting his thrusts.

This time?

Curtis holds back a huff, of course, Ransom would tease the hell out of you. No wonder you’re so pathetic right now, not even thinking straight as he takes you apart on his girth. The partygoers couldn’t see his face, but they could see yours, and how stupid you looked getting fucked in the corner of the room.

“You gonna come for me and cover daddy’s cock in your cream?” He asks, “Come in front of all these people, show ‘em what a fucking whore you are.”

If you weren’t so dazed, you would’ve realized that Steve has never called you a whore, he barely used slut either. Preferring to call you his sweet baby, his pretty doll, his girl, as he took you apart with suffocating love, those long fingers and his monstrous cock.

Your high topples over and you cling to his arm, victim to the wave of bittersweet relief. Your orgasm coats his length, claiming him as it streams down your legs, seeping into your tights. You’re so lost in the pleasure and unable to contain your loud pitiful mewl, drawing a few drunken gazes.

Curtis crowds you, blocking their eyes and presses you into the wall. He grips his cock, slapping the head against your pulsating clit before drawing back, the tip barely pops in before his seed spurts out, filling you up. Some escapes and the thick white cum follows in the trails of your squirt, and the feeling of being owned almost gets you worked up again.

You can’t hear much with the blood rushing through your head, but you make out a few words: “bathroom” and “clean yourself up.”

“W-Wait, we’re goin’ too far…” You slur, clutching the fresh seventh or eighth drink that your boyfriend shoved into your hand. Your previous one spilt all over the floor when he hauled you out of the bathroom. You barely finished cleaning yourself up before he barged in. “It’s your fault I was a mess, daddy… You can’t be mad at me.”

He doesn’t speak or falter, his purposeful strides so long that you flounder after him.

“Where are we,” you hiccup, “going?” When faced with no response, you dig your feet into the ground, but your ballet flats are useless in the dry, crumbling dirt. “Hey! I’m talkin’ to you!”

He stops suddenly and you squeak, bumping into his broad back. Punch—or whatever it was—spills out of the cup splashing onto your white dress, staining the tulle and feathers a bright scarlet.

“Ugh, Steve! Look what you did!”

He turns around, cocking his head like you were a child throwing a tantrum.

Your feeble attempts at cleaning the mess only make it worse and spread the vibrant red. “I really liked this costume, and now look… It’s like I was stabbed.” You pout, the alcohol making you a little emotional. “Y-You ruined it! And I-I felt so pretty today—”

He wraps you in his arms, cooing softly while rubbing your back. You drunkenly cling to his warm body, feeling his muscles under the hooded robe.

“Let’s stand here for a bit… you gave me a lot of drinks.” You nuzzle into his chest, brushing off the difference of his cologne. Cold night air brushes along your nylon-clad legs, fluttering the delicate mesh of the tutu. You’ve lost some rhinestones as the night went on, but nothing a little hot glue couldn’t fix. “You’ve never done public stuff like that, Stevie. You’re usually so private about us.”

He shrugs, the booming music is distant but the heavy bass still pounds in your ears.

“You don’t wanna admit it? C’mon, I won’t tell.” You flutter your lashes, a trick that always works. “I’m into it too, and how you caught me off guard only makes it better.”

Through blurry vision, you spot a guest house a few ways away. The lights are off, the driveway is empty, and an idea pops into your head. “We could have some real fun, daddy. Don’t you wanna have fun with me?”

This time he hums and drags his hands down your back, gripping your waist. He yanks you close, pushing an oof from your throat.

“You’re never so rough either.” His bulge presses against your front and you nearly drop to your knees right then and there. “Do you wanna keep the mask on?”

He nods, the lifeless black eyes and dramatically opened mouth absorbing any light, contrasting with the ghostly white face. He’s looming like a shadow the size of a mountain, intimidating you by merely looking at you with a dead gaze as daunting as the creepy fictional character.

You thought Steve didn’t like horror movies.

You lean up to kiss him, but he spins you around so quickly that you almost fall over. Tall corn stalks and various pumpkins sit on hay bales under an archway forebodingly lit by lanterns.

You giggle, “Ooh! You wanna race to see who finds the exit first? I’ll have you know, I’m quite the pro. I go whenever they have one at the pumpkin patch!”

Ari fucking knows that because it’s one of your traditions. You two go every year and get hot chocolate and fresh pie, then head to the corn maze for your annual competition. As always, you get a head start and he pretends to get lost so you have to find a way out together, and he’ll try—and fail—to fool around with you. Your excuse? “There are families here!”

As if you hadn’t begged him to fuck you in the closet when you were visiting his family for spring break. He had to gag you with your panties, you were so needy and pleading for him to fuck you harder, to fuck you stupid just doors away from his parents.

You wanted to be caught that day, and right now he wished he let you walk out with his cum on your face. Perhaps then, you’d be filled with humiliation just like the four of them.

He wanted you to think you got away with it, that you’re still the queen and they’re stupid pawns to your game. Just so he can watch the despair wash over your face, the broken pride will fall from your lips in half-assed apologies.

You’ll cry and beg for forgiveness, for mercy, but they won’t give it to you. No, they want you to suffer, wallow in distraught—just as Odette did when Siegfried swore to love another.

He watches you run off, your loud inebriated laughter flowing into the open air, joyous and free, the complete opposite of what you’ll be when the clock strikes midnight.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees three other hooded figures emerge from the forest. One by one, their stark white masks are bathed in the moonlight, screaming or crying or both. He sets your purse by the entrance after taking your cell phone, and only then does he enter the maze.

It isn’t long until he catches up to you, following the fallen feathers from your costume like breadcrumbs.

You’re leaning against the haystack wall, flashing him a mischievous smile. Your hands drag down your body, teasingly pulling down the front of your dress to expose your cleavage.

He steps towards you, craving the heat of your skin. He wants to know just how much the other guys ruined you, but you duck under his arm and race deeper into the maze, giggling madly.

“Gotta be faster than that, daddy!”

The further you go, the darker it gets. Everything looks the same, all varying in shades of green but you try to not get distracted, sugary sweet victory is hot on your mind. You slow down and listen for heavy feet on the grass, but all you hear are crickets and the gentle wind.

You scream when thick arms wrap around your waist, heaving you high into the air and pinning you against a haystack. Built arms hook under your thighs as his hips slip snugly between your thighs, brushing your overworked core.

You laugh, “this is like the movie! What does she say?” You think for a moment, “No, please don’t kill me, Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel!” You burst into laughter, playfully kicking your feet, “now the stain makes… uh… sense! It makes sense!”

The shadows cloud over his masked face, making him look sadder or more scared. Horrified would fit the best, but your drunken head couldn’t find the word.

“You’re so pretty when you beg.”

All blood drains from your face and fills your heart, sinking it straight to hell and taking your carefree smile with it.

“What? You don’t miss me?” His deep voice slices through the silence, “Oh, or do you miss someone else more?” From each turn enter three more figures, matching black robes clad over their shoulders with the hoods pulled down, accentuating their stark white disguises.

He flips up his mask, making you nauseous in a single motion. “Happy Halloween, bunny.” His long hair frames his pale face and his eyes gleam with cruel amusement as a twisted grin plays on his pink lips.

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“Poor girl, did you lose your voice?” Number three.

“That’s a shame, I love hearing you scream.” Number four.

The rest of the men remove their masks and your eyes drift over each of them. The sick glee drips off their faces and entwine with ferocious hunger. They surrounded you like predators to prey, the reapers to bring you to your inescapable fate—and they were ecstatic about it.

Number two doesn’t look as happy as Curtis and Ransom, in fact, his expression was unreadable. He was quiet and cold, not only with his schooled features, but he didn’t speak like the rest of them.

When Steve got quiet, he was terrifying because you didn’t know what to expect. You could only imagine the things going through his head, your sweet, loving, baker boyfriend had a dark side, one that you’ve only seen a handful of times if some guy hit on you.

He always managed to leave the scene before things got too intense, but you feared this wasn’t one of those times.

“N-No…”

“No? Did you miss me the most then?” Ari asks mockingly, blue eyes drawn low, “you loved me first, so you must love me the most too.”

You can’t feel the tears streaming down your numb cheeks but you know they’re there, and that’s only confirmed when Ari wipes one with his thumb, and sucks it into his mouth. Your salty misery is his favourite taste but it isn’t enough, all four of them want your ultimate destruction.

“Cry all you want, bunny. Karma doesn’t give a shit if you’re sad or scared.” Oh but they wanted you to be petrified, “You reap what you sow—and for you, sweetheart, it’s time to bite the bullet.”

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: did someone say a hate fucking gangbang? Bc that’s what’s going to happen. we're starting no nut November with nuts, but oops !! p.s. the date for the next part is on the fic masterlist.

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞! check out the rest of my kinktober masterlist for my other spooky slutty fics !!

As always, I hope you all enjoyed this and I’d love to hear your thoughts/feedback !! <3 — ☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼

I don’t do taglists anymore. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

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onedaughterofman · 2 years ago

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Dark waltz (Vampire! Papa Emeritus x g/n reader)

Summary: Between sleep and awake, you meet your lover once again. Together, you waltz under the moonlight.

Tags: Any Papa you want (you and I both know you're thinking about Dracopia, tho). Mentions of blood, vampirism.

A/N: I wanted to write a little something as a New Year's gift. I listened to a lot of "vampire music" playlists on youtube, but I guess the song that inspired this is a slowed down version of "Merry go round" from Howl's Castle.

In the night, your eyes are closed. How beautiful the dark is, how many treasures remain hidden within it. The light can’t compare to the eerie beauty of darkness, to the peaceful embrace of the unmeasurable void.

Lids pressed tight, you take one deep breath before allowing your mind to drift far away. The sheets are soft and silky, warm with your body heat, and the bugs sing outside the windows. In the distance, your ears recognize the old, distorted toll of the abbey’s bells.

One, two, three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

The faint candle light is the first thing your eyes see. Then, the finely decorated ballroom, the paintings on the wall, the silver masks and the fancy clothing. Finally, standing in the middle of the room with one gloved hand extended in your direction, it’s him.

A man whose name remains a mystery to you, almost as hidden as his nature. You don’t recall how this started, how the darkness swallowed from your bedroom and spat you one night in this beautiful, bewitching place. A chapel, he says it is. A chapel of rituals, of parties and dances, of masquerade balls.

The floor clicks with each step you take. Remaining still, hand lingering in the air, Papa awaits for you to encounter him in the middle. He regards you with sultry eyes and a penetrating stare, mouth stretched in a kind but tight smile. Those lips are the same he uses to whisper endless promises of eternal love in your ears, but right now they remain shut.

He’s silent, and silently he escorts you to the middle of the dance floor. The leather of his glove is cold on your skin, but the sensation is pleasant, nevertheless. Papa stops suddenly, briefly bowing before placing a chaste kiss on the back of your hand. The gesture is not a surprise, since he always does it, but it never matches the profane and lascivious nature he has showed you during the previous meetings.

As chaste and polite as he might behave during these events, you know that’s only an act. A game, even, of cat and mouse he likes to play with you. Papa guides you around the room following the slow pace of the music, turning and swaying delicately with each note. His hands remain on your back, not ghosting anywhere else.

Oh, how much you tremble and yearn for more. Having him so close, feeling his cold breath over your skin and his touch on your body makes you shiver with anticipation. He’s yours, he said a long time ago, under the pale moonlight. Dancing around the garden, he professed his love and want for you, promising to always find you no matter what.

“In this place,” he said, holding you close, “between sleep and awake it’s where I will love you always.”

Among the trees, the rose bushes and the never-ending stars, Papa continued. “I’ve been searching for you everywhere, through Heaven and Hell.”

You never comprehended what he meant. Even now, spinning around the ballroom to the beat of the music, you don’t understand him. There’s fire in his eyes, you saw it, and his mouth meets yours in a way that feels familiar even if you had never kissed him before. In his arms, laying on his bed or walking through the long hallways, you feel at home.

Papa never stays for long, though. At some point, inevitably you blink and he’s gone, nothing but a pleasant and confusing memory to cling to during the days. He only meets you in the dark, during the middle of the night, when the cats roam the streets and the bats chirp in the sky.

When the song end, his steps halt. You lean forward, pressing your head on his chest. There’s not a sound there, not warmth or the lullaby of a heartbeat. He’s cold as always, body stiff in a way that makes you fear he’ll break. As powerful and ethereal as Papa constantly looks, there’s is a certain fragility within is skin and muscles.

He is not quite human, you fear. He rejected that part of himself a long time ago, Papa confessed upon your questioning. One day, you might reject it too, and the two of you could spend together the eternity, bathing in the thick, warm fluid of life.

Soaking in blood from head to toe, fighting to calm the frantic beating of your heart as his mouth presses on your flesh, sharp teeth grazing the skin. That’s how this meeting always ends. Papa’s tongue follows the faint outline of your artery, harsh breath sending shivers down your spine. His fingers remain closed on your wrist, as his other hand holds your waist.

And then, he never bites down. No matter how hard he shivers and how much his chest rises and falls with labored breaths, he never falls prey of his yearning. “One night,” he says, but never explains. “One night, I’ll be forever yours.”

On the blue horizon, the light shines distantly. Slowly, the nocturnal creatures crawl back to their holes, hiding in the shadows before the ascent of the sun. When the rays strike your eyes, you close your lids and focus on the fading touch of your lover, on the way the heat returns to your limbs as he dims away.

And then, there’s light. Yet, it offers no relief. You have seen horrors in daylight and experienced beauty in the dark. Sitting up on the bed, you wrap a blanket on your shoulders before exhaling hot air.

“One night,” he said.

One night.

Ps: Happy New Years! Hope you have a nice celebration <3

#ghost band #the band ghost #ghost band fanfic #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iii #dracopia #vampire party #my writing

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tricky-tricky-boys · 1 year ago

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Niklaus hated these... galas. High society entitlement ran rampant, and usually, he had to deny most people he spoke to. They all wanted the same things. An artifact to make them richer, an artifact to curse competitors, an artifact to make them immortal. It was sickening. He got dozens of invitations every month to these events, the stench of desperation clinging to the card stock. He was respected, feared, admired, hated. But now, he had Felet. He knew that there was always a chance of running into a former client of Felet's. It seemed tonight, at a masquerade ball that was hosted by an actual friend of Nik's, was that night. Niklaus placed his flute of champagne down on a passing waiter's tray and grabbed two more, handing one to Felet without even looking at him. His eyes fixed on the man who had approached them. "Robert. Even with the mask and costume, I could smell you approaching. Your scent is quite... distinctive." Niklaus was dressed as the Devil, half face mask covering his upper face, a deep blood red with ram horns curling out at the sides. A black suit with a crimson shirt, crimsom pocket square, and cuff links made from resin and his own blood. A golden lapel pin showcased a rose with thorns. He looked... sinister. "Before you continue to try and recall where you know my date from, make sure you say it loud enough for your shareholders to hear over there." He gestured with his glass to a group of older gentlemen. "Or I can? Unless, of course, you'd like to walk away. Back to your wife, who has not stopped disturbing me this evening about my artifact collection. She clearly doesn't understand the... etiquette of these events, so perhaps you'd like to educate her? And yourself, while you're at it. It'd be a shame to see both you and her barred because of a misunderstanding, wouldn't it?" He smiled, but that smile hid a swelling rage that could break at any moment. It was full of malice, but it was still polite to onlookers. "Walk away, Robert. Now."

@tricky-tricky-boys

Felet had long since gotten over his fear that someone would use how he and Nik had met as a way to hurt the man he loved, which was why he was so aggravated that now was the time that someone would recognize him.

Not that the other man had put together where he knew Felet from but Felet remembered all his clients. This man liked to be cruel in bed, left his bruises and always tried to underpay. He also usually smelled like garlic.

“Now I don’t mean to stare but I swear I know your date from somewhere…just can’t put my finger on it.” The man frowned and Felet had to fight the urge to shrink into Nik. “Wait…”

Well shit.

#felet convo

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anomaly-beans · 2 years ago

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The fic rewrite is finally done!

Here we have a major part of Merry’s backstory, influencing many parts of their current character.

For those unaware, Merry is the first character I played in Fallen London, so if you don’t know much of the game you might see a couple of words from it out of context.

Content warnings for: Canon-typical swearing (“canon” because it’s Merry and they swear a lot. The fic is pretty tame though, all things considered), blood, stabbing, manipulation, threatened death, almost death, drugging, someone shot with a pistol

The Color Red

A floral scent hung in the air. Roses and chocolate. Freshly roasted coffee beans and still-warm baked goods. Smells that told of a certain event coming around.

The Feast of the Exceptional Rose.

Honestly, Merry had been confused by the event the first time it rolled around after their arrival in the fallen city. Who was to blame them? Nearly everything in the city had been strange to them at first, coming from a background in a small rural farmland area, growing up amongst a strict Catholic family. Some of the new things excited them though. How freeing the city was to a person from their background. There was so much to do and see. People rarely blinked an eye or made a fuss when they shied away from gendered titles and nervously laughed upon people calling them “sir” or “mister.” While there certainly still were things that were frankly frowned upon and the worry of scandal, it also seemed much more free for them to explore romantically.

Which they surely did.

Their first few months in the city had been taken up by them just trying to get comfortable. Figure some things out that they hadn’t had the luxury to think about on the surface. Sure, they had experimented with different pronouns and clothing when they were a teen, and then up until the death of their brother, but it had felt dangerous when they did this on the surface. Now… they felt free. They explored around, experimented with how they thought of themself, how they wanted to present themself. Eventually settling on wearing more “masculine” clothes as they felt more comfortable in them (plus the added bonus of them being easier to move around in them on more… dangerous and fast-paced occasions) and kept their hair at a manageably longer length than they had as a kid, down to their chin and easy to tie up if they needed it out of their face.

Once they felt more comfortable with themself they began to socialize more. Attending many events and making allies with different factions and groups of society. They found themself favoring the bohemians at first, mostly hanging with the artistic folks and people who would throw parties.

In fact, they had just recently gone to one of said parties. It was actually the reason why they were out at the moment, holding a letter in their hand and wandering the streets of Veilgarden, glancing up at street signs and building numbers to try to place a location written in the letter.

To explain what the letter was, who it was from, and why they were searching for a certain address, first we must go back to what had happened at the party. Or, really, it was more of a masquerade ball.

Merry had been excited by the event, going out and spending as much as they could afford at the moment to get an outfit planned for the event. A custom masquerade mask and a cloak made of fine sheep wool that they had stolen from their home before running away to come to London. The whole outfit was themed around sheep, as their family had owned a herd of sheep that they cared for and Merry had grown quite fond of the animals.

Their main goal upon getting there was to find a person to dance with and, hopefully, get in a relationship with.

They had a bit of experience in dating and courting others. Merry had actually been in quite a few relationships before this event happened. The only problem was that they had, well… all ended up on a sour note or with a simple breakup. Plus a few instances of one night stands. Really the only one they could think of that hadn’t ended up that bad had been their relationship with their now best friend, Norah. She ended the relationship in the gentlest way she could, breaking it to Merry that she didn’t think of them in a romantic way but that she still enjoyed spending time with them and cared about them. The two had settled on being friends.

Most of the beginning of the masquerade, which took place at the beginning of the Feast of the Exceptional Rose, had been spent chatting with others, drinking champagne and wine, and watching the couples dancing together. Merry recognized a few even with the masks on, but found it more fun to watch the strangers. There was something about the mystery of who each person behind their mask was. Why did they choose the mask that they wore? Who could they be?

On their 7th glass they were shocked out of their fascination with the dancers by a sudden polite tap on the shoulder. They couldn’t help but jump and nearly spill the rest of their red wine on the table.

“Oh my. I did not mean to scare you,” a light chuckle came from the one who had startled them, who Merry turned to face, “I was simply getting to know some of the people here and thought it best to greet the people who were not dancing at the moment.”

Merry had to look up to meet the eyes of the tall gentleman speaking to them. His eyes creased into a smile under the similarly grinning face of the wolf mask he wore upon his face. His mask and the rest of the clothes he wore were a deep crimson red with black accents. Very neat and quite expensive looking. The fellow must have been more upper class.

“Ah, well,” Merry started, going a bit red themself under the mask in embarrassment at their startle, “It is quite alright. Not a drop was spilled.” They smiled.

“Good, good. We wouldn’t want to stain this floor red, I’m sure.” The wolf chuckled. He reached out a gloved hand to greet Merry properly,

“The name is Charlie.”

“Merry. Pleasure to meet you, Charlie.” Merry shook his hand, or more like he shook theirs, taking their hand rather firmly and giving them a rough shake.

The man cocked his head, his eyes creasing again with what could be assumed was slight amusement.

“As in Mary had a little lamb?” he chuckled, gesturing to their mask.

Their cheeks went red again at the connection, nearly spluttering as they explained the difference.

“No, no. As in “make merry” or someone who is merry.” They couldn’t help but laugh along.

“Ah! I see. Still, it is an excellent name.”

Merry hummed, taking a sip of their wine.

“So, Merry, I’d love to speak with you. Get to know you? Maybe even, if I’m a lucky guy, ask you if you would like a dance?” They could tell he was grinning even if the mask covered his whole face, grinning itself.

“Maybe. Don’t push your luck just yet,” They chuckled themself, leaning on the table casually to look at him, “but yes, let’s talk.

~~~~~

The night had ended with that dance the charming wolf had asked about. Merry had gone home with their heart fluttering, not even from the amount of drinks they had that night. The man was quite the charmer. Witty, flirtatious, confident. He had taken the lead on their dance together, which Merry had been perfectly fine with as they didn’t have much experience dancing. And, as some tradition at dances during the Feast, the two had removed each other’s masks at midnight, finally getting to see the face of the one that they had danced with.

And now here they were, a couple days later, wandering the Veilgarden streets to find the address that Charlie had sent them. An official date (at least they hoped so). Judging based on the number of the address, it wasn’t in any of the fully residential districts, so it was either a flat or a small business. They were in the right part of Veilgarden at least, judging from how close the building numbers were to the one written in a deep crimson on the sheet of paper they held.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee, baked goods and tea hit their nose as they rounded a corner. There, in front of them, was the address they needed. A small but extravagant cafe with an intricate wrought iron fence forming a small outdoor seating area covered by a wooden roof. The whole outdoor area, from the roof and the fence was covered in tangled vines and draping moss, plus the decorative mushroom bundles and hell roses that decorated the place for the season.

The place looked a bit expensive for their tastes (their current job as a journalist didn’t pay very well), but they had some money saved away for special meetups and such.

There weren’t many there in the courtyard at that moment so it was easy to walk in and look around for the one they were meeting. Plus, yet again the man was wearing a bit of red in the form of a top hat, so Merry’s eyes landed on his table immediately. They grinned and adjusted their tie, hoping they looked decent and wouldn’t stand out too much from the others here, what with their suit being bought second hand. Charlie had his back turned to the entrance so Merry gave him a soft greeting as they got near the table so they wouldn’t startle him.

Their stomach felt full of moths when he gave them a warm smile as they sat down.

“Ah, Merry. It is good to see you. You look quite handsome, if I should say so. It is nice to see you when you aren’t in the costume you had been wearing during the masquerade.”

Luckily the waiter saved them from having to come up with a response while they felt quite flustered from being called handsome. They took a quick glance at the menu, deciding on getting a plate of scones as well as their normal dark cherry coffee they liked to get when it was an option at any cafe. They weren’t going to lie, their sweet tooth could be quite a headache when it came to not spending too much money. Charlie seemed to nod in approval at their decision.

So they assumed the date was going well so far, and that maybe they had some similarities.

~~~~~

It was closer to the end of the month now, the season nearing a close. Overall it had been an exciting season for Merry. The several dates they had gone on with Charlie seemed promising. It filled them with hope that maybe finally they’d have a steady, committed relationship. Not to mention he had sent them many letters since then, and fresh packages of perfect roses.

The hour was late when they were walking again on the Veilgarden streets. This time not on a date, but wanting to head to the Singing Mandrake for a late night drink. The day had gone swimmingly well, having finished several articles they had been writing and with the success of downing a spider colony at the docks. Their body was admittedly a bit tired after that long struggle with the little monsters, so a nice drink sounded like it would do them some good.

They were nearing the place, on an empty portion of the street with no late night walkers or loiterers about, when they noticed a flash of red out of the corner of their eye. Quickly they stopped, preparing for a scrap, not knowing what the color they saw was. They turned just in time to see red coattails flutter past a corner into a dark alleyway on the other side of the street. Coattails that they recognized.

Charlie! They hadn’t seen him or heard from him in a couple of days. Maybe if they hurried they could catch him. They could have a drink at the bar together!

Even with the time they had spent living in London (what was it? 3 years now? Time was hard to keep track of) the streets of the fallen city were hard to navigate. The back alleys, even worse. The layout of the city made no sense, like a twisting labyrinth that made the head spin trying to navigate and make sense of it all. They found themself nearly stumbling many times as they were running in a darker part of the city, not lit up by lamps but only by the faint glow of false stars on the ceiling of the cavernous neath. If the darkness and the labyrinthine layout of the alleys wasn't enough, Merry found that the deeper in they went a sharp almost floral smell began to tingle at their nostrils, getting stronger with each corner they turned.

Their head felt like it was swimming. Was it the twisting maze they found themself running through? Christ, that smell burned their nostrils. Their legs ached from the running and how tired they had already been after the fight with the spider council earlier. Shit… Where had Charlie gone to? How long had they been running?

Merry just had to stop. Their legs were burning and they felt dizzy with how confused their head was with the directions. The smell by that point had started to smell more rotten, but still somehow floral.

Merry leaned against a wall, wheezing for breath and rubbing at their eyes. At this point they were thinking they’d completely lost Charlie. There was no way they’d find him now. Not with all these twists and turns in every direction. Their eyes rolled upwards to stare at the cavern ceiling as they caught their breath. Goddamn! What was that smell?!

It was as they took a deep breath to try to pinpoint the smell that they found themself doubling over in a sneezing and coughing fit. The rotten floral scent burned their nostrils and lungs. At some point they found cold hard stone under their hands as they were now on the ground on their hands and knees, wheezing for breath through the sudden fit that had overtaken them.

It was then that they felt a sudden sharp shove to their back, nearly knocking the breath out of them, and making their weakened knees give out on them and sending them to the ground on their stomach. Even through the coughing and sneezing, their head swimming, their mind went frantic as they realized that they were just hit. Merry tried to turn over to be in a better position to fight and get a look at their attacker, but a sharp heeled boot pressed down at their shoulders keeping them on the ground.

“Ah, Merry. What a pleasure to run into you here-” an all too familiar voice chuckled.

“Ch- Charlie??” Merry managed to wheeze out, trying to turn their head to look up and push off the boot from their shoulder.

The heel ground down into their shoulder blade in response and they let out a hiss in pain.

“What- what the fuck are you doing?!” Merry snapped at him through clenched teeth.

“Oh, Merry… I am simply just doing my job-”

“Let me guess, you’re a fucking killer for hire?”

“Oh heavens no! There won’t be any killing here unless you force my hand,” He chuckled darkly,

“Now let’s stay quiet so the constables won’t catch me, hmm?”

They felt a tug at the collar of their shirt, forcing their head upwards and making the front of their shirt and tie dig into their throat. The sudden constriction startled them to the point that they could barely fight against it. Their back was slammed into a nearby brick wall and the grip on their collar was shifted to hold the front of their shirt to keep their head in place. Now they were face to face with him, pinned against the wall by the taller man. They felt his other hand go to their left hand and tug down their sleeve, exposing the skin of their wrist.

Merry gasped in pain as they felt something sharp, metallic and cold scrape against their hand.

“Mhm, should be sharpened enough,” he lifted the sharp implement in front of Merry’s face. Already the weapon had fresh blood at the tip,

“Now let’s get this over with. It’ll only hurt for a second. The faster I get this done with, the faster you can run away. I’m sure you want to do that, no?”

Merry’s eyes had trouble focusing, their vision swimming. Charlie chuckled at seeing them blink and try to focus their eyes on the weapon.

“Having trouble with your vision there? Feeling a bit weak?”

He pulled something red from his lapel and put it near Merry’s face. Which only served to make their vision blur more and their nose sting from the strong floral scent from earlier.

“Drugged roses. Ingenious idea created by yours truly. I find it helps to keep my clients from fighting back too much.”

Tears stinging at their eyes only served to further blur their vision, but still they blinked them away and forced their eyes to focus on the metal object stained with their blood.

Was that?-

A spirifer’s fork?

The realization dawned on them. What he was here for.

To steal their soul.

Before he could press the twin tines into the flesh of their wrist they lashed out and delivered a knee straight against his ribs. He stumbled back from them, his hand going to grab at where they had kicked, hissing in pain and fury.

“You! You prat! You could have just made this easy! Come here!” he snarled, dashing forward to grab Merry again.

Their mind was running a little slow from the drugged effect of the rose, but they managed to roll away from the part of the wall they had been at, dodging out of the way. They stumbled with the quick movement with their head still spinning though, falling backwards onto their rear. Within just the few seconds after their impact with the ground, Charlie leaped forward and pushed them fully to the ground. His growl was almost animalistic, reminding Merry of the grinning wolf mask he had worn when they first met.

Was it just mere coincidence or some cruel twist of fate that he had been a wolf and they, a sheep that night?

The world span and they had no room to process how it had happened as they now found themself on their stomach on the ground, the spirifer now pinning them down with his full weight and not just a single boot. Their vision flashed as something sharp slashed into their hip through their coat, definitely too sharp to be the spirifer’s fork from earlier. Either a dagger or a knife. They shrieked in pain as it slashed them again. A hand went to cover their mouth but they quickly latched onto it, biting his hand hard. Charlie screamed in pain in turn before stabbing them with the fork in the space where their shoulder and the side of their neck met.

Merry feared for their life and soul at that point, their vision flashing again as they felt blood dripping from multiple wounds and the fork stabbing into their skin.

Things would have been very different for them if, at that moment, a shot hadn’t rang out through the air and they hadn’t felt Charlie fall limp on them right afterwards, blood from a gunshot wound staining their back. Their breaths came out raggy and heavy as they laid there with the weight on their back. Their eyes rolled up lazily to watch as a woman came running up to their side, holding a still-smoking pistol.

“Are you alright, citizen?” She asked frantically, sounding out of breath herself.

Merry grunted in response, laying their head down on the pavement tiredly.

They felt the lady push the collapsed spirifer off their back and then help them to their feet, steadying them on her shoulder.

“Th- thanks-” Merry managed to breathe out.

“No worries. I’ll get you patched up once I get you back to the wagon.”

“Wh- who are you?”

“Name’s Shauna,” she spoke as she helped them steady themself before they walked back to the wagon she had come in, “I’m a shepard.”

“That’s.. That’s the group that takes down spirifers, correct?”

“Mhm. And that one was one of the ones I’ve been trying to track down for months. You should be the last one he ever uses to get souls.”

Merry glanced back over their shoulder at the crumpled body on the ground, now staining the stones red. Their eyes landed on the rose that had been on his lapel, now fallen to the ground and stained with blood the same color as it. They felt sick to their stomach at the thought that he had been sending them roses before this. They turned away as Shauna started to help them walk to the wagon.

“God… I hate roses…”

~~END~~

#content warnings listed in post #sorry if the format is weird. I wrote it formatted differently so it was weird getting it onto tumblr #my writing #beans rambles about ocs #fallen london oc

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