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ggomos-maribat · 1 year ago

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1 | a perfect day

Part 1 of Marinette Dupain-Cheng is Dead | Masterlist

The place they reserved was beautiful: the greenhouse-type of dining with ferns and orchids hanging from the glass ceiling and walls, a lush green against the pristine white of their chairs and table napkins. The day was blessed with fair weather so just the right amount of sunlight was cascading down on them which fit the light hum of the festive music from the speakers. Even the hostess herself was a sight to behold—a flowery off-shoulder dress, curled brown hair, and pastel manicured nails.

Sabrina truly felt she was in another world.

Their hostess stood up, holding her wine glass in one hand. "I'd like to make a toast." She beamed. "To everyone here, who accepted my invitation for a humble reunion."

She looked at them on by one, first at Alya who seemed to cling at her every word, then moved down the table to Nino, Rose, Juleka, Max, Kim, and so on. These were faces of now acclaimed people, successful in their respective fields. "It seems it was just yesterday when we were only students in Ms. Bustier's class," she continued, "But in reality, we've been through a lot. Ups and downs, pains and losses. But I'm proud of us for sticking together, for keeping in touch after all these years."

A star in the social media field, and a proud founder and CEO of her brand. Lilia Ross. That was the alias she had been using when she was stepping into fame. But to Sabrina, she'll always be Lila, the charming girl who once was a transfer student in their class.

"To us!" Lila cheered, raising her glass up in the air. They all followed suit, some laughing a little and others bursting into lively conversation.

Sabrina took a sip of her drink, turning to her left. "It really has been so long, hasn't it, Chloe?"

The blonde appeared to be in some kind of stupor, but her friend's words shook her out of it. "Huh?"

"I said it's been so long."

Chloe rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Uh, yeah, you're right."

"Are you okay?"

She gave a smile of reassurance. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, it's just . . . stress from work."

Sabrina was about to suggest she get some rest first when the wooden doors opened, revealing another familiar face from their teen years. Large sweater over a collared piece. A priceless watch. Golden hair fixed to look stylishly unkempt.

The man greeted them, "Hey, I hope I'm not too late?"

At the head of the table, Lila's jaw dropped open. "A—Adrien?"

"That's me," he chuckled lowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Long time no see, everyone."

The others, too, couldn't mask their shock—understandably so. Adrien Agreste had been out of the public eye for the past seven months, halting his modeling career and laying low in god knows where. Even Sabrina couldn't remember when she had last seen him.

It was Alya who stood up, grabbing a seat for their new guest. "It's been so long!" She said. "Come here, sit. Where have you been and why were you so unreachable?"

"Yeah, man, I even tried visiting your old house in Paris. They said you weren't there." Kim, meanwhile, passed a plate to him.

"I'm really sorry for that." Adrien gave a sheepish look. "I was too focused on taking time for myself. I'm on hiatus from modeling—I didn't mean to cut everyone off. But I wanted to make it to this reunion!"

At that second, Sabrina's phone began to buzz a notification.

"It's alright to take a break sometimes," Mylene consoled. "Are you going back to modeling soon?"

Adrien shrugged. "I'm not sure yet; I might try out other things and see what works for me."

The phone vibrated again, a few times in succession this time.

"What about working with me?" Alix offered. "I need some extra hands around the museum. Minimal experience needed! I'll teach you everything I know."

The nth buzz sounded and Sabrina pulled out her phone from her purse to completely silence it but then she caught a glimpse of Chloe. She looked pale as a sheet, staring down at her unfinished plate.

Sabrina leaned. "Chlo—"

Buzz. Buzz.

Frowning, Sabrina unlocked her phone to check what the incessant ringing was all about. There were tweets, articles, posts, and messages filling up the screen like something had blown up. And something might as well have.

Her eyes widened when she tapped on an article.

Alya's voice rang out. She, too, was looking at her phone. "Hey, Lila, what's this all about?"

"Hm? Is it about my magazine feature?"

"No, it's not," Sabrina whispered.

There in bold letters the words were summoning up a storm: 'The Truth About Lilia Ross: She's Not Who You Think She Is' .

***

Saturday morning saw Jason Todd at the Wayne manor's dining table, munching on a piece of toast with jam. He stayed the night after patrol upon Alfred's insistence, and then remained for breakfast after some more badgering.

The second eldest raised an eyebrow when Bruce strolled into room wearing office clothes.

"Event at WE today," Bruce explained, making a coffee for himself. "Tim, feet off the table please."

Tim, who was stuck to his phone, let out an incoherent mumble before putting his feet down.

"Lilia Ross," uttered Bruce. "Does that name ring a bell?"

"French-Italian, founder and CEO of Lilia Designs, sells clothing and cosmetics," Tim supplied in a monotonous voice. "She's more famous as an influencer though. In the past few days, there have been a lot of rumors popping up about her. Why do you ask?"

"PR at WE asked me. They wondered if I knew her."

"What does she have to do with Wayne Enterprises?" Damian chimed in.

Celebrities and trends never piqued Jason's interest—he focused on eating, debating internally if he should purchase more handguns to replace a couple that he lost.

"She's been promoting our products even if she's not legally affiliated with WE," Tim explained whilst gulping down his daily dose of caffeine. "She's just trying to fish for a real sponsorship or partnership. Her brand's getting famous in Gotham, you know."

"It's not much of a concern for the company then. Our lawyers will be able to handle it if her so-called scandals affect WE," said Bruce.

"True, but it's still weird. This is her first major backlash on the internet and there's a lot of—" Tim did air quotes with his fingers, "—'anonymous witnesses' coming forward to show her 'true colors'."

"How is that different from the usual celebrity rumors?" asked Damian.

Okay, maybe Jason was a little curious.

He discreetly pulled his phone out to check the articles popping out online. And there were many, as if testimonies were spewing from a never-ending fountain.

'eiffelparis12: don't fall for it. she bought all those views and likes. fake *****'

'coffeecake: I worked as a stylist in a studio once. She was at our show...I didn't expect her to be so two-faced! She was so rude to the producer's assistant and kept bossing her around. The poor guy didn't even get to eat.'

'seaasss: her products arent even that good. lol.'

'venusred: she bought her way to be in our blog's feature. i'm pretty sure she has an anonymous sponsor.'

'harpyre: OMG! does she even pay her employees enough?'

'silverberry640: no way, lilia doesn't deserve this! there's no proof.'

'ngc5195: this is what fame does to all of them......sad.'

Jason looked up again when Bruce spoke. "For now, WE isn't obligated to proceed with legal action and we're not actually involved anyway. I'm sure this will pass on its own."

He wasn't wrong. Scandals came and went; people liked to throw stones at one person then move on to the next after the damage was done.

"Or not," Tim suddenly said, staring at something on his phone "Shit."

"What is it?" asked Bruce.

Tim read the words aloud. "Influencer Lilia Ross, accused of murdering former classmate."

#maribat fanfic #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #maribat #maribat fic #character death #major character death #angst #MDC is Dead #dc x miraculous

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tilly-tilly-2827 · 7 months ago

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Spirited Away

Cannon divergence of An Offer from a Gentleman #1

Synopsis: “When I come back around, will I know what to say?” Or what if Sophie became pregnant with Charlie after the couch scene? What if Sophie agreed to be Benedict’s mistress for the sake of her son? What if Benedict never resisted the rules of the ton?

The darkest timeline of AOFAG; inspired by Billy Eilish’s “CHIHIRO”.

AO3 post from here!

“I’m getting married next month.”

When Benedict murmured those words against her neck, Sophie felt nothing. Nothing at all. Perhaps Benedict thought she would start crying, or at least, emotionally disturbed, because he began to stroke her curls as if soothing her from the nonexistent pain.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

Sophie listened to the ticking of the clock.

“But, nothing is going to change between us, my love. In my heart, you are already my wife,”

Staring through the half-opened window, Sophie noticed that the moon was exceptionally well-lit that night,

“Which young lady is going to be Mrs. Benedict Bridgerton?”

“Ms. Stowell.” Benedict sighed as he tightened his arms around Sophie’s small waist, feeling her soft smooth skin against his, “Dolores Stowell.”

“Please send my regards.”

“Sophie, Sophie, Sophie,” Benedict tried to roll her to his side, wanting to look into her eyes, but her grip on the sheets was too tight, “You knew I had to marry someday,”

“I know.”

“Mother and Anthony were pinching me to marry. I thought I should get it over with,”

“I understand.”

“Aren’t you jealous, Sophie?”

“Do you want me to be jealous?”

Yes, his pathetic answer almost strumbled from his lips. He half wanted her to scream and cry in hysterics, begging him to marry her instead. If she were in fits of anger and jealousy, Benedict could hold her tight and smooth her, whispering love into her ears until she calmed down and slept peacefully in his arms.

But Sophie only lay there motionless, emotionless.

Silence crept up in the spacious townhouse on St. Johns Street. Only the peaceful sounds of Charlie snoring from the nursery could they hear.

“Do you know how much I love you, Sophie?.” Benedict covered his hands over Sophie’s clenched fists. Trailing her delicate, cold fingertips. “I love you, Sophie.”

“I know.”

“Only you.”

“I know.”

At the break of dawn, Sophie felt Benedict slip away from the covers, the gentle waves of the mattresses waking up from her doze. On any other day, Sophie would wake up and send him off with a kiss, but that day, Sophie just couldn’t bring herself to do so.

She kept her eyes shut as Benedict placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, his hands lingering on her golden curls. Then, she heard a small click on the door; Benedict was so careful not to make a sound. Making sure that Sophie and Charlie would stay in their sweet dreams of their own.

Life as Benedict’s mistress wasn’t as horrible as she had imagined. It wasn’t horrible, in fact, it might be the life she had once dreamed of.

Even before Charlie was born, Benedict visited the townhouse every day with flowers in his hand, a basket of apples and pears she had craved during her pregnancy. He didn’t sleep for three days and held her hand tightly as she screamed and moaned in pain, the birth of Charlie Bridgerton had been long and painful. Both in tears and sweat, he had burst into tears of joy when the midwife handed the little baby in his arms, telling him with a smile that it was a healthy boy. Sophie had also shed tears as she watched Benedict sing lullabies while cradling little Charlie, knowing that perhaps, she had not foolishly repeated the tragedy of her mother. Unlike Sophie, Charlie was loved by his father. Unlike her mother, she was loved. Sophie knew that nothing could be better.

Almost every day, Benedict would come home from his studio at five o’clock, and Benedict would ask how her day was as she cooked supper for three, and chatted over their dinner plates. Benedict would play with Charlie as he tumbled on his lap, and after tucking in his son with a lullaby and a kiss on the forehead, Benedict would wrap Sophie in his warm arms, murmuring sweet love in her ears. Some nights were spent with cups of tea and suppressed giggles, talking and laughing away about Charlie, paintings, poems, and books. Sometimes nothing at all, talking absolute nonsense for hours and hours. Some nights were spent inside Benedict’s arms, waltzing around the room, dancing and twirling to the gentle sound of the music box. Some nights were spent with hushed voices, Benedict worshiping every part of her with his body and soul. Feeling the intense heat on her, inside her, Sophie knew that she was loved.

Sometimes, Benedict would take Sophie and Charlie to the park, and the three would have a picnic on the freshly cut grass, laughing as Charlie rolled on the grass chasing butterflies. Benedict would doze off in the armchair beside the fireplace with Charlie in his arms, Charlie snoring happily with the exact same drop of his eyebrows. It was astonishing how the two resembled each other, and Sophie had to chuckle when Charlie gave her the same crooked grin as Benedict when he was up to mischief.

Sometimes, Benedict would take the two to Wiltshire, where Sophie could roam around the village without fearing being seen by the other Bridgertons. Charlie would burst into fits of laughter as Benedict softly tickled his stomach inside their carriage. Mr. And Mrs. Crabtree would coo and cuddle Charlie without any questions, Charlie enjoying the undivided attention he was getting from the elderly couple.

Charlie giggled happily on Sophie’s lap as Benedict gently pushed her from the back, on the swings he had made on the cherry tree. The three would take walks in the countryside, Benedict carrying the snoring Charlie on his back.

“I love a good party,”

“I would hardly call this a party, Benedict.”

Sophie laughed as Benedict brought her hand to his lips,

“My most favorite party of three, my love,”

Walking arm in arm, Benedict would steal kisses from her every corner.

It was almost like the married life with Benedict she had always dreamed of. Almost.

True, Benedict missed Charlie’s first birthday because of the queen ball. True, they couldn’t spend Easter and Christmas together, he would be away in Audrey Hall with his family, and sometimes Benedict would show up at the door drunk and wasted, presumably after an opera or a ball. But even those moments were precious, sobering him up with a glass of water, and cooking chicken soup for his hangover the next morning. Softly caressing his curls as he groaned like a bear, Sophie would gently wake him up with a kiss, acting like a loving, dedicated wife. And he would playfully pull her into their beds, nuzzling his lips on her neck,

Sophie knew that she was already Benedict’s dirty secret, and with Benedict being in the sacrament of marriage; her presence, Charlie’s presence was going to become more unscrupulous than ever.

But all the abundant love that Benedict had poured into Sophie and Charlie had made her believe in the illusion of bliss and happiness.

The next day, Benedict knocked on the door at five o’clock sharp, just as usual. With a crooked smile and a bouquet of Lilly of the Valleys in his hands.

“How was your day, my love?”

“Papa!”

Charlie’s face lighted up into a cheeky smile seeing his loving father at the door, reaching his arms up for a hug. Benedict picked up Charlie from the carpet with ease and nuzzed him playfully with his nose. The identical, scrunched smiles on their faces.

“Tickles!”

“Were you being a good boy to Mama?”

A little more, Sophie thought to herself. Let me stay in this illusion a little more,

Carrying Charlie adoringly in his arms as if nothing had happened. Giving her a small kiss on the cheeks as if nothing had changed. Undoing the laces of her nightgown, whispering her name as if his fiancée had never existed.

“Sophie,”

It was barely audible, but she heard the familiar name murmured against her neck. It had happened several times in their marital bed, but no, she wasn’t going to question the integrity of her husband, her mother had taught her better than that. And somehow, his desperate tone always sent shivers down her spine; a tingling sinful sensation.

Normally, it would begin with slow practical strokes. Next, he would rub her core until her breath became more shallow and short, and he would stop when she fell apart in his hands, arching her back into a gasp. His strokes would become faster and deeper after that, and after he spilled inside her, he would neatly clean her up with a towel and gently pull the sheets over her naked body.

“Good night,” He would say, leaving a small peck on her cheeks. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

After wrapping himself in a silk robe, he would clean his hands with the basin, using a small brush to scrub his nails. The lingering smell of their sex mixed with the fresh scent of lemon and soap.

Then he would leave. Closing the door of her bedroom.

In a few minutes, she would hear her husband order a bath for one. Then she would smell the burning cigarettes from the window, her husband indulging in the filthy habit in the outside garden. Throwing the burned-out cigarette on her well-polished Italian tiles.

Then she would hear the carriage coming from the distance, and she would hear two clicks on the door. One heavy click of the entrance door. One light click of the carriage door.

Then she would be all alone in the house.

Life with Benedict Bridgerton was supposed to be a dream come true. It was a dream come true, it truly was.

Benedict Bridgerton had been listed as the most eligible bachelor for years, and she always loved the way he smiled, the way he danced, the way he talked, charming everyone in the room. With his tall broad figure and his crooked teasing smile, she always thought he was the handsomest in the prosperous Bridgerton Brothers.

Her parents had been over the moon about the courtship, and although it puzzled both her and her mother why Benedict had suddenly started to show interest in her after spending years avoiding her like a plague, she liked how he courted her with fragrant flowers and sweet chocolates, the charming smile only given exclusively for her.

In three weeks he proposed to her and they were engaged. In a month they were married, and Benedict had taken her to Italy for their honeymoon; traveling through Venice, Rome, beautiful cottage around the Amalfi Coast. She had felt rather smug walking around the city with a handsome man by her side, taking her to extravagant palaces, balls, art galleries, and beaches. And she did enjoy the intercourses at night, “the marital duties” her mother had taught her. She was surprised at how much she enjoyed it; given her sister’s comments about “utter pain and discomfort for five minutes.” Benedict was kind and gentle, showing her the newfound pleasures and sensations. She loved how he touched her, with his warm, soft hands. She wanted his hands to stay there, forever,

But after a month, they returned to Maddison Manor, a relatively large place in London, a place her father had given them for their residence. She was disappointed that he insisted on having separate bedrooms, but she knew he was a shallow sleeper, he seemed quite sleep-deprived during their honeymoon.

“Go back to bed,” He would gently say to her when she woke up in the middle of the night, feeling the cold sheets on her fingertips. Finding her newlywed husband on the couch, fervently writing something on a piece of paper. “Go back to sleep,”

“Aren’t you coming with me, dear husband?” She would ask, gently undoing the knot of her gown, but her husband would only chuckle, putting the robes back to her shoulders.

“Can’t sleep,” he would say, “I’ll join you later,”

But she would often find him snoring on the couch the next morning.

Back at the Maddison Manor, the two shared breakfast on weekdays, exchanging the plans for the day. He would normally leave for his art studio at 9:00, and on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, Benedict would have dinner with her; the other days he had appointments with his other family members and the other artists in the studio.

What surprised her about Benedict was that he was a man of routine. Hearing discreet rumors about his bohemian tendencies, she thought he would be slovenly; perhaps lazy and sloppy.

But he was quite the opposite. He would diligently attend the invitations of balls, operas, and musicals, and dance two waltzes with her at every ball.

“Such a wonderful husband,” Her friends would tell her jealously*, “I haven’t seen my husband for three months.”*

He would decline her invitation to social events once in three times. He would come home every day at five-thirty in the morning. He would come to her room at ten o’clock in the evening every Tuesday and leave at eleven o’clock. Once every two months, he would go on a two-week trip with his artist friends, to an outdoor sketch in the countryside. Returning home with souvenirs; oysters from Whitstable, pottery from Middleport, and beautiful engraved signet rings from Kent.

Sweet honey from Wiltshire.

The night of his return, he would give her not one but two orgasms, and kiss her twice on the lips, but she would only taste whiskey and cigarettes. And he would wash his hands, take a bath, smoke, and leave. Like a clockwork soldier.

She should be happy. She lived in a beautiful house with a handsome husband, who fulfilled every aspect of his marital duties. She had wonderful in-laws, (although they were rather too bustling for her liking) and if she was lucky, she would be blessed with a baby sooner or later.

She wondered if Benedict would start to love her if she gave him a son. She wondered if Benedict would stop cleaning his hands if they had children together. If he would stay in her bed for a whole night. If he would open the door to her bedroom every night.

Lost in thoughts, hours and hours passed by as she sat by the windowsill.

Waiting.

She never really liked going in the servant's Kitchen. Nothing, nobody in the room was particularly familiar to her, and the smallness and the stuffiness of the room was disorienting, sometimes making her dizzy and sick. But she did have to consult the cook with the dishes for the upcoming Bridgerton Ball, she knew that the sooner she finished the conversation, the sooner she would be able to leave the awful pace.

“Excuse me, I’m afraid Mary forgot to deliver these,”

But just as she was about the room, a woman came rushing into the small kitchen, carrying a bundle of sheets. Judging from her shabby dress and ash stained face, she was probably one of the washerwomen, carrying a little child behind her back. She did look rather pretty, she thought, a certain glow within her some women often carried, but the little child was breathtaking, with almond green eyes, long eyelashes, angelic brown curls that, that, that, that, that,

“Oh, my deepest apologies,” She widened her eyes in surprise, dropping into a hastily cutusy, “Sheets, my lady, cleaned and ironed.”

“Ah, Ms. Beckett. I did wonder why Mary’s bundles were so small today,” Mrs. Lindon, the housekeeper said briskly, “Excellent quality as always.”

But just as the housekeeper shooed her off in the streets, she found herself grabbing the washerwoman’s wrists.

Because she knew those brown curls,

“Such a beautiful boy,” She said.

The mother’s puzzled look turned into a warm smile, and she gently laid her hands on the boy’s chubby cheeks, plump and reddened like a ripe autumn apple.

So well nourished, she thought.

She slightly dipped her head to look into the boy’s eyes, but he suddenly buried his head on his mother’s shoulders, hiding from her gaze.

Both the women and Mrs. Lindon chuckled.

“My apologies again, Madam. He’s quite shy around people at the first time,” “How old is he?”

“A year and five months, my lady.”

“And another one coming up, I hear?” Mrs. Lindon added with a bantering tone, and the washerwomen returned a weak smile, a slight weary look in her eyes.

She suddenly noticed that the woman was rather slim compared to the baby she carried, her cheeks slightly hollowed and her color was slightly off, her shoulders terribly delicate. Burnt marks on her thin arms, and blistered fingertips. But she had beautiful honey-colored locks, bright-colored eyes that loomed too large for her face,

“Name?”

“Pardon?”

“His name,”

“Oh, Charles, my lady.” The woman replied, “But we normally call him Charlie,”

“Charles.”

The little boy was now focused on his mother’s golden curls, giggling as he played with the bouncing ringlets,

With That crooked, charming smile,

“Don’t you have a nanny?”

“...I.”

“To look after him?”

“I do look after him, My lady.”

“Do you?”

She stared at the young toddler’s tiny palm, the little burn mark on his left hand, a little bandage wrapped around his right. She reached out to take the boy in her arms, but the washerwoman suddenly staggered back, a slight fear and guilt in her eyes.

“I must be going,” She said hastily, “Good day to you, my lady.”

And the women rushed out of the room. But the little boy turned his head softly as the mother reached the door, a crooked smile and a small wave,

The same cheeky smile that she always loved,

But she wasn’t going to let him go with just that smile.

“Opium. Benedict. Opiums. You told me you would stop,”

“Dearest, there was the Smythe-smith musical last night.” Benedict pouted his lips playfully, battering his eyebrows, and not a drop of remorse in his tone, “How do you think I could bear the night without them?”

With a crooked grin, Benedict snaked his hands around Sophie’s waist, his lips nuzzling the nape of her neck, “I wouldn’t have needed them if you were there for distraction,”

“Benedict, I’m being serious,”

“So am I, my love. So serious, ”

As Benedict’s hands traveled to the hems of her skirts, she slapped his hands off, stepping away from his clutch.

“Benedict, we need to talk,”

“But it’s been ages, my love.” He again pulled her in his arms, nibbling her earlobes, “I didn’t send Charlie to Mrs. Crabtrees for no reason,”

“So you wouldn’t have to worry about our son accidentally taking in any of your special tea?” His hands squeezing on her bosoms froze, and Sophie peeled herself away, turning around to face him with a scowl.

“I didn’t know that it was in my jacket, Sophie!” Benedict groaned weakly, flopping down in an armchair. “Sophie, I’m sorry I accidentally brought them here,”

“No, Benedict. I am not asking for apologies.”

“Then why are you so upset?”

“Benedict, I know what those are, what they do to you,”

With a soft sigh, Sophie gently paced herself on his lap, curing up on the armchair with him. She ran her fingers through his curls, but Benedict didn’t quite look into her eyes, wringing his hands in his lap.

“Why tea again, Benedict? Tell me,”

“The Smyth-Smith musical is more terrible than you could ever imagine, Sophie.”

“No, Benedict.”

Sophie saw him bite his lips as if he were afraid to let something wicked slip out.

“It’s just...stressful. Balls. Garden parties. Promenades. Dorl...everything.”His shoulders deflating, Benedict buried his face in her shoulders, “ I want to stay with you. Always. With Charlie. All the time.”

“Then stay,” Sophie said softly. “Stay with me.”

“I...I can not,”

“Why?”

“...I’m married,”

It was a terrible answer, Benedict knew instantly as the words lurched from his mouth unconsciously. Sophie visually grew stiff on his lap, but she quickly averted her gaze to the fireplace. Despite the cracking fire, Benedict noticed that there was no color on her face,

“I cannot cope with anymore,”

“Sophie,“

Benedict tried to grab her skirts as she stepped away from his lap, but failed miserably, almost slipping out from his chair. Sophie meaninglessly took a cloth from the table, wiping the pot Benedict had washed an hour earlier.

“What do you want from me, Benedict?”

Sophie refused to look at him, her hands working on the cool iron surface,

“Sophie, I only want you,”

“But am I not making your life miserable? You wouldn’t have gone back to your special tea if Charlie and I didn’t exist.”

“No, don’t say that Sophie,”

Benedict gently took the pot from her hands, placing it back on the upper shelf.

“I don’t understand you, Benedict.”

Sophie looked at him, the man who had been her prince charming, the man who had saved her, the man that she fell in love with, the man who poured so much love into her,

She tightened her grip on the cloth.

“You told me that you were going to get married to gain freedom. So that the eligible debutants and their mamas wouldn’t hunt you down anymore. That you could be free from the rules of the society. Yet, ever since you got married, you are more trapped than ever. Trapped in the cycle of Balls, musicals, parties, operas,”

“Sophie, I must fulfill,”

“I thought you married to escape from those duties. To be with me and Charlie.” Sophie continued softy, “I don’t understand what you are trying to do,”

Benedict suddenly stood up from his chair. But as he took steps towards her, Sophie could sense he was contemplating every step. When he finally reached her, standing by the kitchen window, He tried to put his arms around her shoulders, but Sophie brushed it off yet again.

The two stared at each other in silence, and Sophie noticed that there was cold darkness in his green-grey eyes she had never seen,

“Do you know what, Sophie?” Sophie saw Benedict clench his fists. “It’s you whom I don’t understand.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you’ve been working at the laundry.”

Benedict started to edge her to the wall, Sophie staggering back, a knock on the head as she reached the end. Benedict loomed over her, his tone in a hushed whisper. “I know all your secrets, Sophie. Didn’t you think I would find out where you keep your worker’s rags?”

Benedict suddenly grabbed her arms, pulling them up to her eyes, his tone was suddenly different; cold but laced with impatience.

“And didn’t you think I wouldn’t notice your hands and arms getting burnt and blistered every day?”

Sophie yanked her arms from his embrace, but he caught them again, aggressively pinning her wrists against the wall. Sophie cursed her height, no, she cursed her own body, no matter how she tried, Benedict had everything to overpower her,

The only defiance was to not look into his eyes, the ones she knew were firing up in fury,

“Sophie, what do you want me to do?”

Yet his tone turned weak, submissive, almost as if he were begging for mercy,

“I’ll give you everything you want. Everything. Everything. Why do you keep working Sophie? Making yourself suffer in service,”

“Because I don’t want to sit idly in the room only waiting for my lover to come home,” Sophie hissed, yes she was still pinned to the wall but she could still glare at him,

“Do you know how pathetic that is, Benedict? Spending the precious time of life only thinking when her lover is coming back, like some kind of mistress,”

“But you are,” Benedict said quietly.

“I had no choice,” Sophie muttered. “If it weren’t for Charles, I would have killed myself.”

“No, Don’t say that Sophie.”

His eyebrows scrunched as if in pain, Benedict softened his grip on her wrists and on that brief second, Sophie pushed him by the shoulders, away from his captivity.

Benedict just stood there as Sophie began to prepare tea rather violently, putting the kettle on the stove, and grabbing the tea-set from the cupboards. Benedict hated how the china’s clattered, even the rattling of the kettle was fuming his frustration,

“You told me not to tell lies, Benedict.”

“And this is the truth.”

“...Then just stop working at the laundry. Please, Sophie. I’m begging you. If you need more money I could give you more,”

“It’s not about the money, Benedict,”

“Then what is it about?”

“My goddamn pride, Benedict!”

Sophie realized that she was about to slam the teacup she held in her hands, smashing the fine china on the brown chipped tiles. Benedict would cut his hand cleaning out the glass splinters scattered on the floor,

Sophie took a deep breath.

Breathe, Sophie, breathe.

“Why are you suddenly condemning me, Benedict?” Sophie asked quietly. “I started working months ago, and a smart gentleman like you would have noticed much earlier. Suddenly you’re asking me why. Why Benedict? Why?”

“It’s not good for Charles.”

“I don’t understand,”

“I first thought that while you were working, Ms. Hudson was looking after Charles. But just a few days ago, when I asked her if she needed additional money for the diapers, she told me that you take Charlie to work.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that. I’m his mother, Benedict, and I want to take care of him,”

“Think rationally, Sophie.” Benedict’s tone was starting to become impatient, tapping his fingers on the wall, “You possibly don’t think it’s good for Charlie,”

“Why so?”

“The environment, Sophie, the environment! Don’t you understand? There are chemicals, hot water, and other dangerous objects. It's not a place for a child, especially not for a toddler. And I’ve never gone down those parts of the city, but I don’t want Charles to be influenced by,”

“The other fallen women in the factory and their other illegitimate children?”

“Sophie, the place is dangerous,” Ignoring Sophie’s last question, Benedict’s voice changed into a desperate plea. “I don’t want you or Charlie to get hurt,”

“You’ve already hurt me enough, Benedict.”

“But I gave you everything Sophie, a flat, dresses, jewelry, ribbons,”

“Why would you think this is everything?”

“Then what do you want, Sophie?”

“Only You,” Sophie said softly. “You. And Charlie.”

Benedict shook his head in confusion and exhaustion, waving her words away. After gulping down a glass of water, he loomed over her petite figure, glaring down at her.

“I’m taking Charlie, Sophie. To Maddison Manor.”

“Oh, so is that where you live?”

Sophie scoffed, eyeing him sarcastically.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You never told me where you lived,”

“You never asked, Sophie.”

Sophie gave a low laugh, a dry, weary voice that dug nails in Benedict’s soul,

“Do you think I ever want to see the love of my life in the hands of another?”

“Sophie, you are the only one I would ever love, “

“Yet, you are trying to take my love away,” Sophie said quietly. “Taking my love away from me,”

“Charles is my son too, Sophie. He carries my name. And I don’t want him wandering alone in those streets in the future,”

“You don’t seem to find the problem with me, walking down those streets.”

“I see the problem, Sophie.” Benedict snapped, “Except that you choose to do so despite my warnings. You chose to walk down those streets. But not Charles.”

Sophie tightened her fists. God, she wanted to smack him but Benedict's words were painfully justifiable,

In the blink of an eye, while she looked away, Charlie had reached his hands on the burning iron, bursting into a painful cry,

“So, you are going to take him away? Away from his mama?”

“I’m not taking Charles away from you, Sophie. I’ll come to St. Johns with Charlie every weekend. If that’s not enough for you, I can hire you as a maid,”

“What will your wife think?” Sophie snared, his absurdity was making her veins explode, “I don’t think your Mrs. Bridgerton would be happy about having a bastard in her own house. Let alone live with her husband's mistress.”

“It’s my house, Sophie.” Benedict snapped back, “I’m the master of the house, not her. And Dolores is an intelligent woman, perhaps less foolish than you,”

“I cannot believe you just said that,”

“She will understand, Sophie.’

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you're being an absolute fool,”

With a deep sigh, Benedict ran his fingers in his hair. Why couldn’t this woman be reasonable?

“When you said you would be my mistress,” Benedict continued matter-of-factly, “You made me promise three things. I believe an intelligent women like yourself would remember,”

Sophie clutched the hems of her skirt. So tightly that her nails were biting into her skin, the striking hot pain against her skin,

“I asked you to love the baby no matter what.”

“Yes. And I have, Sophie. I love and adore Charlie with all my heart. I would give my life for him.”

“I know.”

“Tell me the second one.”

Sophie hated how Benedict’s voice was calm and reserved; as if he were trying to soothe a toddler,

“The baby would have your name,”

“And I have done that Sophie. Chares Bridgerton. Do you understand how difficult that was for me?”

Benedict peered into Sophie’s eyes, craning his lean figure, but Sophie only glared back at him, with her icy-cold green eyes,

“You said that you would give your life for him.” She tilted her head in disbelief, “Yet, you struggled to give him the legitimacy?”

“Sophie,”

Sophie cut off his words.

“And the education. Benedict. The same education as you,”

“And I plan to keep my promise, Sophie. I found him a governess. In a few years, I can get Charlie a tutor so that he can be prepared for Eaton,”

“But why do you have to take him away from me? Why? Why, Benedict, why? He could stay at St. Johns, Benedict. Get a tutor to visit there,”

“Sophie, that place is filled with whores and prostitutes,” gritting through his teeth, he said, “Do you think I can get a decent man to come to St. Johns for education,”

“Are you calling me a whore?”

“No, Sophie. Why would I call you,”

“But you did,”

Benedict twisted his lips in a mocking smile.

“Sophie, your argument is completely irrelevant to Charlie’s education,”

“Well, according to your theory, Charlie is a son of a whore,”

“Why could you say that, Sophie?”

“Because you said so!”

The two glared at each other. Sophie clenched her jaw, her forest green eyes in flames. The veins on Benedict’s neck bulging.

Fists clenched. Sweating.

“I’m not having this conversation with you,”

Benedict took his jacket from the chair, and walked up the stairs to their bedroom. Sophie followed him, desperately trying to catch up with his speed,

“No, Benedict. We have to talk about this,”

“I don’t think you’re in the right place of mind to talk reasonably,”

“Oh, you’re the one to say,”

Sophie glared at him as Benedict continued to pack his belongings, no, not packing, he was just slamming things in the leather trunk,

“I’m going to take the carriage to London. I’ll send one the first thing tomorrow morning for you and Charlie.”

“Oh, so you are going to run away from me now? Away from Charles? Away from all your problems again?”

“I just need a break, Sophie. From this mess,”

“No, Benedict. This is your mess.”

“This is our mess, Sophie.”

“No, if,”

“If, if, if, if.” Benedict muttered angrily, “You keep talking of nonexistent possibilities, Sophie. Non-existing dreams. Illusions. Can’t you see I’m trying to live the reality Sophie?”

“YOU fed me with illusions of love, Benedict. Telling me that you love me and nothing was going to change. Everything changed, Benedict. Everything. Ever since you got married. You lied to me, Benedict, making me hope that someday we could,”

“See, Sophie? See? You are talking of illusions again,”

“Because you made me believe in them,”

“WILL YOU SHUT UP?”

With a violent slam of the desk, Benedict found himself screaming at her. But Benedict immediately regretted everything he said as she took two steps back, her face no longer flushed with anger or spite, it was emotionless. Blank.

“Sophie, Sophie, Sophie.”

“No, Benedict,”

“Sophie, I’m sorry.”

“I love you.”

“No, don’t say that.”

“I don’t know you anymore,”

Her voice was quiet.

“I don’t recognize you anymore.”

“Sophie.”

“Who are you?”

“I don’t know.”

And she left, closing the door behind her.

“Maybe tomorrow,”

“I didn’t know you would be here tonight,”

“Is it a crime to dine at my own house?”

With a mocking smile plastered across his lips, her husband played with the chicken roast on his plate, peeling off the grilled skin with a silver knife. Like a little toddler.

“Are you quite all right?”

“Splendid, my dear, quite splendid!”

Her husband gave a dark chuckle as he chugged down another glass of whiskey. It was quite unusual for him to be dining at Maddison Manor on a regular Saturday, and when she saw him arrive at the door at five o’clock, asking the butler to prepare a dinner for two, she asked her ladies maid to put on her best dress, the dark green silk she had just made at the modiste. The low neckline was a bit scandalous; but the modiste, with a teasing smile, had told her that was her husband’s taste.

But he seemed more interested in the glass of whiskey than herself. Hell, he paid more attention to the plate of roasted chicken before him. She gripped on her silver knife and fork even tighter.

“How was your day, my love?”

“Splendid.”

“How so?”

Benedict didn’t answer her question. Instead, he took another shot of whiskey, waving a hand to the servants for another.

As the butler came in with another bottle, she snatched it from his hands. Her husband’s eyes widened as she poured the liquid into her wine glass, drowning herself in the bitterness in one just swig.

She could feel the burning in her throat,

Benedict finally looked at her, eyeing her from tip to toe. He changed into a twisted smirk.

“You do look rather fetching today, Mrs. Bridgerton.”

“Thank you. I just had it made for you.”

“Ah,”

Benedict stretched his hands to take the bottle, but she pushed it to the corner, away from his reach. She heard him click his tongue in annoyance.

“Does it please your eye?”

She tried to sound seductive; lowering her voice, fluttering her eyelashes. She had put extra rouge on her lips before dinner, and the fragrant perfume he had bought in France. At least, that was what he had told her,

“Why did you make it green?”

He asked, abruptly.

“I thought your favorite color was green.”

“My favorite color is blue,”

“Oh,”

Husband and wife, the two dined in silence, only the sound of their plates and utensils clattering with each other audible in the Background.

The roasted chicken suddenly tasted bland. Both Benedict and Dolores thought sandpaper would taste better, feel better in their mouths,

“I can take your sons,”

“Pardon?”

“I said, I can take care of your sons.”

“How, how do you know about it,”

“I met them,”

“What?”

“She was delivering fresh sheets to the neighborhood,”

“Jesus Christ,”

She saw Benedict bury his face in his hands but she continued on,

“She looked tired. And it can’t possibly be good for your children to be around in that environment,”

“You keep saying in sons,”

“She’s pregnant.”

Benedict violently stabbed the knife into the table. A dull sound echoed through the room.

“Bloody hell.”

She glared at him.

“Shouldn’t you be grateful?”

Benedict didn’t answer. Instead, his clutch on his whiskey glass became tighter, his knuckles turning white and red at the same time.

“We can take in Charles for his wellbeing. If the baby in her belly is indeed yours,”

“Of course she’s mine,”

“Oh, so you are so sure about it?”

For the first time in their relationship, he had a sheepish look on his face. But he still didn’t answer her question.

“Go to her house tomorrow, and get Charles.” She continued emotionlessly, “As for the second one, we can talk about it after she’s born,”

“I can’t, Dolores.”

“Benedict, can’t you see how benevolent I am trying to be? How merciful as your wife? I’m doing this all for you! So that you would snap out of your misery, and be happy for god's sake,”

“I can’t.”

She noticed that her husband had stabbed the knife in his hand, the red blood dripping on the velvet carpet, staining the silk white tablecloth into a darkish black, a sharp smell of human flesh,

“She’s gone.”

“Gone, gone.”

“Gone.”

Benedict jerked awake, drenched in tears and sweat. The bright moon and the silent wind rattling the windows told him that he was at my Cottage, not the bloody Maddison Manor, not St. Johns, not Audrey Hall.

His heart was still beating rapidly, his breath still short and shallow as he grabbed a glass from a table, drinking the lukewarm liquid in one breath.

“Are you all right, my love?”

He heard a gentle soft voice from his side, soothing his beating heart, the shivers he felt from the awful dream.

“Where’s Charles?”

“In the nursery, love.”

“Why isn’t he here with us?”

“Because he always sleeps in the nursery, you silly man,”

“Oh,”

“You’re soaked in sweat,”

Her hands softly caressed his clenched shoulders, rubbing his skin reassuringly, soothing him to go back to sleep,

“It was just a dream, Benedict.”

“Just a bad dream.”

“Isn’t it?”

#Writer’s Notes

“Love is not finite,”

“Is it?”

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #benophie #benedict x sophie #sophie beckett #an offer from a gentleman #benophie fics #bridgerton fanfiction

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batemanofficial · 1 year ago

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look upon my reverse engineered cookie recipe ye mighty and despair

this is a dupe of these cookies because i hate the company that makes them. they're really snooty and quite frankly i think their sale model is shite (who the fuck makes limited edition cookies and won't publish the nutritional info. i'll kill you). they also charge $7 per cookie which is just highway robbery i think, especially considering that i figured out the recipe and made it better in my shitty little apartment kitchen. enjoy

frankenstein cookies

yield: 12 three-ounce cookies or 6 six-ounce cookies (sale size)

ingredients:

1/4 cup unsalted butter (room temp)

6 tbsp light brown sugar (packed)

2 tbsp granulated white sugar

1 large egg

1/2 tsp vanilla extract

1 cup all purpose flour

1/4 tsp salt

1/4 tsp baking powder

10 ounces m&ms, divided

6 double stuf oreos

method:

divide the oreos, separating the cookies from the filling. add the oreo cookies (just the cookie part. you should have twelve of them) to a plastic bag and pulverize with a rolling pin. set aside.

add the oreo filling to a bowl, along with both sugars and the butter. cream together using a hand mixer on medium speed or two knives, until mixture reaches the consistency of wet sand. tip: cutting the butter into cubes can help speed up the process.

add egg and vanilla, combine.

add flour, salt, and baking powder, combine. dough will be sticky but should be at a uniform consistency.

add 8oz of the m&ms to the dough and stir to distribute. tip: it's easier to use your hands for this part.

use an ice cream scoop or tablespoon to divide the dough into equal portions of the desired weight. i used a 3oz ice cream scoop, which makes cookies about 2" in diameter.

pour the oreo cookie crumble you made in step 1 into a bowl. roll each dough ball in crumble and set on a baking sheet or plate. press each dough ball into a disc using the bottom of a glass or your hands.

insert the remaining m&ms into the surface of each disc. chill for at least 30 minutes. meanwhile, preheat the oven to 375º.

remove chilled cookies from the refrigerator and bake for 10-12 minutes for 3oz cookies or 16-18 minutes for 6oz cookies. tip: if the cookies aren't baked all the way through, you'll be able to hear the liquid ingredients baking off, which makes a sizzling noise. once the sizzling noise quiets down, they're ready to be removed from the oven.

remove the cookies from the oven and allow to cool on a wire rack. serve warm.

make-ahead note: at step 8, you can chill the cookies in the fridge for up to 4 days.

variations:

you can also incorporate additional, chopped-up oreos into the dough (this is what the original seller does), but this works best in the 6oz version. i've also been informed that pecans might be a good addition - unfortunately i'm allergic to pecans so you'll just have to try that one for yourself and let me know.

#speak friend and enter #jaime's recipes #ok 2 rb #food

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acommonloon · 2 years ago

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Omg look at us! Matching parts down the middle. Lol D picked out my suit. I just wanted to get it over with! People commented I was white as a sheet standing up there. Typical in Indiana where sheets have historically been regular ceremonial regalia. Maybe still.

In any case Ken and Carol are coming over tomorrow for our 40 year reunion. I called him earlier from the grocery to see if there were any allergies or such I should be aware of. No, he said.

Great, was thinking I'd make jambalaya. I said.

Silence.....I don't know what that is.

WTF the man lived in Biloxi, MS for 9 months and...I can't even

So, I'll put together a cheese and charcuterie plate, heat up knockwurst, bratwurst, and fry up some spicy Italian sausage for me.

Gd Gd Gd

I got this...wtf!

#beverly hillbillies come to visit

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panchi12340 · 5 months ago

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Understanding MS Sheet and Plate Rates: Your Guide to Current Pricing and Factors Affecting Costs

Planning and budgeting for building and manufacturing require a thorough understanding of material rates. Mild steel (MS) sheets and plates are widely utilized because of their affordability, adaptability, and durability. In this blog post, we will explore everything you need to know about MS sheet rates, MS plate rates per sheet, MS plate rates per kg, and the current MS plate rates today. At steeloncall, we aim to provide transparent and competitive pricing for all your MS sheet and plate needs.

What Are MS Sheets and Plates?

Mild Steel (MS) sheets and plates are flat steel products that come in various thicknesses and sizes. They are made from low-carbon steel, which makes them easy to work with while providing good strength and durability. MS sheets are typically thinner, used for applications like automobile bodies, while MS plates are thicker and used in construction, shipbuilding, and heavy machinery.

Factors Affecting MS Sheet and Plate Rates

Several factors influence the pricing of MS sheets and plates:

Raw Material Costs: The price of iron ore and other raw materials used in steel production affects the overall cost of MS sheets and plates.

Manufacturing Process: The method used to produce the steel, including any additional treatments like galvanization, impacts the price.

Thickness and Size: Thicker and larger sheets and plates cost more due to the higher amount of material used.

Market Demand: High demand in the construction and manufacturing sectors can drive prices up.

Supply Chain and Logistics: Transportation costs and availability of the product can affect the final price you pay.

Understanding MS Sheet Rate

The rate of MS sheets is typically measured per square foot or per square meter. It’s essential to consider the thickness and size of the sheet when determining the rate. At steeloncall, we offer competitive rates for various sizes and thicknesses of MS sheets, ensuring you get the best value for your money.

MS Plate Rate Per Sheet

The rate of MS plates per sheet varies depending on the dimensions and thickness of the plate. To calculate the cost of an MS plate per sheet, you need to know the standard size of the plate and the current market rate for the material.Here's a quick formula to figure out the price:

Cost per sheet=Length×Width×Thickness×Rate per unit volume\text{Cost per sheet} = \text{Length} \times \text{Width} \times \text{Thickness} \times \text{Rate per unit volume}Cost per sheet=Length×Width×Thickness×Rate per unit volume

For example, if you need an MS plate with dimensions 2 meters by 1 meter and a thickness of 10 mm, and the rate per cubic meter is ₹50,000, the cost per sheet would be:

2 m×1 m×0.01 m×₹50,000=₹1,0002 \, \text{m} \times 1 \, \text{m} \times 0.01 \, \text{m} \times ₹50,000 = ₹1,0002m×1m×0.01m×₹50,000=₹1,000

MS Plate Rate Per Kg

The rate of MS plates per kg is a common pricing method in the industry. It allows for easy comparison across different sizes and thicknesses. To find the rate per kg, you need to know the density of mild steel (approximately 7.85 g/cm³) and the market rate per unit weight. At steeloncall, we guarantee accuracy and transparency in pricing by offering the most recent rates per kilogram.

MS Plate Rate Today

The current rate of MS plates fluctuates based on market conditions, raw material costs, and demand. Staying updated with the latest rates is crucial for planning and budgeting your projects. At steeloncall, we keep our customers informed with the latest MS plate rates, ensuring you have the most accurate information for your purchases.

How to Get the Best Rates for MS Sheets and Plates

Compare Prices: Always compare prices from different suppliers to ensure you’re getting the best deal. At steeloncall, we offer competitive pricing and high-quality products.

Buy in Bulk: Purchasing larger quantities can often result in discounts and lower rates per unit.

Stay Informed: Keep an eye on market trends and updates on raw material costs to anticipate price changes.

Negotiate: Never be afraid to haggle with suppliers, particularly when placing sizable orders. Having positive working relationships with vendors such as steeloncall might result in more favorable terms and prices.

Why Choose steeloncall for Your MS Sheet and Plate Needs?

At steeloncall, we are committed to providing high-quality MS sheets and plates at competitive rates. Here’s why you should choose us:

Wide Range of Products: We offer a variety of sizes and thicknesses to meet all your construction and manufacturing needs.

Transparent Pricing: Our rates are transparent and competitive, ensuring you get the best value for your money.

Quality Assurance: All our products undergo rigorous quality checks to meet industry standards.

Customer Support: Our team of experts is always available to provide guidance and support, helping you make informed decisions.

Conclusion

Understanding the rates of MS sheets and plates is essential for effective planning and budgeting in construction and manufacturing projects. By staying informed about factors affecting prices and using reliable suppliers like steeloncall, you can ensure you get the best value for your investment. Whether you need MS sheets or plates, steeloncall is your trusted partner for high-quality products and competitive pricing. Contact us today to learn more about our offerings and get the latest rates for your needs.

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laxmi-enterprise-blog · 1 year ago

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Analyzing Different Types Of Square Pipes And Their Uses

Square pipes play an essential part in India's construction and industrial sector and are of significant importance. The square pipes have a distinct design of a square cross-sectional shape. This unique shape offers exceptional toughness, adaptability and visual appeal to a vast array of different applications. It is used in various areas, including construction, real estate and manufacturing; the pipes are extensively used across India.

They are made from mild steel and used to construct solid structures. The mild steel square pipes are used for modern architectural designs due to their tensile strength and durability.

Following Are the Different Types of Steel Square Pipes

Mild Steel Square Pipes:

Mild steel square pipes are commonly used in construction projects due to their remarkable combination of cost-efficiency and durability. They are typically used for building frame structures, supports, and various other fabrication processes. Due to their outstanding weldability and tensile force, they are ideally suited to various uses, such as fencing, railings, pedestrian pathways and other construction purposes. Laxmi Enterprise is a reliable and trusted mild steel square bar & chequered plate supplier in Vadodara with the largest selection of Mild steel products for various projects.

Applications and Uses of Ms Square Pipes:

Trusses and frames for construction

Beams and support columns

Fences and barriers

Pedestrian bridges and walkways

Support structures for industrial machinery

Stainless Steel Square Pipes:

Square pipes made of stainless steel are famous in the design and architecture industry because of their outstanding aesthetics and corrosion resistance. The stainless steel pipe square has a neat and classic appearance, suited to many different applications, from modern balustrades to decorative panels to kitchen equipment and outdoor installation.

Applications and Uses of Stainless Steel Pipes:

Architecture and façades

Railings for the exterior and interior

Decorate partitions and decorative panels

Appliances and kitchen equipment

Installations and sculptures for outdoor spaces

Galvanized Square Pipes:

The galvanization process involves applying a zinc-coated coating on square pipes, which increases the capacity of these pipes to resist the effects of corrosion. These types of square pipes are essential for outdoor situations in which the possibility of corrosion and rust from the elements of nature are present.

The galvanized square pipe is commonly employed in outdoor construction signs and farming equipment. To know more details regarding the mild steel square pipe price and other details, visit Laxmi Enterprise's official website.

Applications and Uses of Galvanized Square Pipes:

Outdoor structures and canopy

Billboards and signage

Equipment and machinery for the agricultural sector

Systems for water supply that are exposed to corrosive conditions

Garden structures and greenhouses

Final Thoughts:

Square pipes play an essential part in various architectural wonders and technological advancements that are often overlooked or unappreciated. Laxmi Enterprise is a leading, reliable source of top-quality Mild steel pipes. Our experience and expertise in the field enable us to assist you with all your projects. Our products are synonymous with solid foundations of durability, dependability, and flexibility. Contact us for inquiries about the vast array of Mild steel products and to discover the outstanding level of quality we can provide.

Also Visit: What Are the Applications for Ms Plates and Sheets?

#types of square pipes #square pipes uses #square pipes #mild steel square pipe price #stainless steel pipe square #mild steel square bar

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laxmienterprise · 1 year ago

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What Are the Applications for Ms Plates and Sheets?

Are You Searching for mild steel sheets? Laxmi Enterprise Provides MS sheets and plates at affordable prices. We give information on their types of mild steel sheets, applications, uses, and types of plates and sheets, etc. For more information visit our blog.

#mild steel roofing sheets #mild steel cold rolled sheet #types of mild steel sheet #mild steel checkered plate #mild steel sheets #Applications for Ms Plates

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kte-alxxndr · 2 years ago

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Something About the Night

Chapter 5: Ms. Night

"We got Asia," Polly whispers to herself as she puts the phone down. Her hands couldn't stop shaking, something impossible was now in their hands.

"What?" Asks Arthur. The entire family gathered in Tommy's office as they were discussing some weekly reports when the phorne rang, and as Polly was the closest to answer.

"We got Asia!" This time louder, excitement in her voice. Everyone cheers for the greatest news. What had been an idea was definitely coming true for the Shelby's.

Polly turns to Tommy and asks, "What did you do?"

Tommy just shrugs, "Old man Carisi might put up a good word for us. We'll continue as planned." His town was serious, causing the celebration to put on hold as the people took their seats. The clear excitement on their faces couldn't be wiped by any news, Arthur was passing around the glass of celebratory whiskey, Polly still couldn't believe what she heard from the phone, and John couldn't stop grinning from ear to ear.

"You didn't even talk to anyone the entire night," John stated out of the blue, causing the shift of attention.

"Yeah, didn't you just danced with the lady?" Now Arthur has the attention.

"A lady?" Polly asks. There was something that happened, she didn't knew as she stepped outside for a moment to smoke.

"In white 'Pol," Arthur answers, "Damn she was a beauty. I would pay nice just to give her a little twirl." John shakes Arthur’s hands acknowledging his brother's idea. But Tommy wasn't pleased, he took a swing of his whiskey and says in defense, "She was Mr. Carisi's connection to Asia."

"Then it must have been a hell of dance," John's sarcastic comment almost made Tommy throw his glass, but he didn’t. He continues to grip the glass in a controlled force and just stares at his brother, hell will rise if he hears another thing about her. John obviously got the message and shut his mouth as the family continues to discuss their next move.

"You never told me you have businesses in Asia," Tommy whispers, his hand traces the little freckles on her arm.

"Nothing is really mine,"

"Tell me love, what other things are you hidding from me?" He asks mischievously, there was no greed in his eyes, but truth. Her fingers touching his face, leaving sweet brushes on his cheeks then his lips as she answers his question, "I hide no secrets. Everything is plain as day. You simply just have to look."

She gives him a peck on the lips in which he responds to a kiss. Their bodies tangled under the sheets as the moonlight shines through the window bearing witness to the night.

"Tommy, should we use the guests bedrooms or should we get hotel rooms?" Grace asks, she's sitting on the couch at Tommy's home office arranging papers.

Tommy looks up from the paper his reading, "What?" He was lost by the sudden question, where there wasn't any beginning nor end.

Grace looks at him confused, she just smiles as seeing her husband's-to-be brows meeting in the middle, "Did you forget, Tommy? My family's coming over early for our wedding."

"Wedding, yeah." He just nods his head letting her think he follows.

"It's in two weeks, Tom." Grace adds.

Cold blood now runs in Thomas Shelby’s veins. He could here the church bell tolls from where he sits as the waves hit him hard. He had been occupied by the sudden business expansion and her, he didn't want to be disturbed and he remembers Grace had been bugging her with questions about colours and flowers so he told her that she could take care of it all.

How could he forget such a thing?

Glasses filled with expensive wine and champagne clicking, silver cutlery to the plates, laughter with class, lights twinkling above as they sat at one of Birmingham's most expensive restaurants; the Shelby's sat there unable to fit in, conversation and all.

The Burgess' held high conversions of the newest trends in society, business adventures, the political ladder, and holiday destinations, dancing elegantly in the music. The Shelby's were dressed at their best and finest, but amidst the lively evening Tommy and Michael were the only ones in conversation with Grace's relatives. Arthur spinning his glass of whiskey at hand, John constantly tapping his foot under the table, Finn playing with his food, Ada rolling her eyes over the ladies very conservative topics, and Polly enjoying a smoke amidst the constant stare from the other party.

They tried to join in in the topics of business but because they started as a betting business they were disregarded by the others, as it wasn't even a business, to their opinions. They decided to stay quiet and behave for Tommy's sake. For Tommy's sake.

"Good evening, Ms. Nuit." Arthur turns his head and sees a woman being greeted by a waiter as she enters the restaurant.

"Isn’t that her?" Arthur leans in to John.

"The usual bottle please." She says and the waiter leads her to a vacant table and excuses himself.

"I think she is," John confirms.

"Who?" Polly asks, joining in in their conversation.

"Asia. The one who Tommy danced."

With great confidence Arthur stands, straightening his suit, "Well let's properly introduce ourselves, shall we?" And he made his was to the lady, the entire group followed.

"Good evening, Miss." The lady turns to see the group, and the gentleman begins his introduction "My name is Arthur Shelby, this is my brother John, his wife Esme, my sister Ada, our youngest Finn, and this lovely lady is -"

"Polly Gray," Polly offers a hand in which she took.

"Pleasure to meet the Shelby clan."

"The pleasure should be ours, meeting the woman behind it all." There was no surprise that admiration can be seen in Polly's eyes. The woman in front of her stood with all her confidence and grace.

"Please," she gestures as she invites the group to sit with her. The table was small and could only fit four people, Polly and Ada sat, and Arthur voluntarily sat besides her.

Tommy had notice his family gathered at another table so he slowly withdraws from the conversation his having and made way to the other side of the restaurant, Graces then follows.

"No shoes?" Esme whispers to herself, she couldn't help but stare at the woman in front, who was sitting a leg above the other without wearing any shoes.

John who heard his wife also begins notice the barefooted woman, "Why are looking at her feet?" He asks.

"Because. No shoes." She then noticed the woman smiling at her.

She was astonish on how someone notice she wasn't wearing any shoes. People only look on what's in front of them and never look to what's below.

She gave Esme a smile full of content as she explains, "It's in the car. Sometimes I like to feel the earth beneath my feet. It keeps me grounded."

"Ms. Nuit, the bottle you ordered." The waiter interrupts the conversation then placed the bottle of wine on the table.

"Thank you, David." She then hands him the payment.

"Nuit?" Ada asks, it was the first time she had heard a name like that.

"It's French. One of my many names."

"Why don't you join us? You seem to know your taste in wine. My aunt is a wine enthusiast, she would love to have a conversation with a fellow wine lover." Grace says sweetly, she had immediately notice the bottle of wine, it was one of the most expensive one there is. Her blood still boils for the woman, but if it means making the right connection she's willing to bite her tongue and put on her lovable armor.

Tommy was looking at her with uncertainty, so she gave him a smile to ease his racing heart and mind. From where she stood, Grace notices how the woman was smiling at her man, and as a woman herself she wasn't going to loose the war. Without skipping a beat she wraps her hand to his arm flaunting the diamond ring that sets on her finger, "Tommy and I are getting married in 10 days."

Oh she could hear the sound of victory in Grace's voice so she asks them in a questioning dead tone, "Are you?"

"Tommy?" Grace asks him.

The sound of the silent sea was all Tommy could hear, he knew that tone, and he didn't want to answer. He could feel the earth slowly trying to devour him from where he stood, eyes were all on him as he feel Grace's relatives surrounding him from behind. His own family waiting. Everyone was waiting for an answer.

"Yes," was his answer.

She slowly stood from her seat chuckling, taking the bottle of wine at hand, "One should taste their own words, don't you agree?" She asks, "I'm afraid I have to decline the offer, I have somewhere I must be."

She was half way through the door when the air suddenly went cold as she stops, she turns back as if she had forgotten something, taking a few steps, and looking at Tommy she says, "One can easily take what is given." Emotionless yet soul devouring, "My word won't fade as fast as yours. Words scars; regrets lingers."

"Have a wonderful evening everyone." As she bids everyone and leaves into the dark night.

Note: Nuit /nɥi/ is French for Night. Please feel free to leave any comments.

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Taglist: @heidimoreton @akiisbae @bowerbiersack001 @iamsassys-blog @woofgocows @owishiiimeeeowww97 @nanamin-pointo @rockerchick05 @comfortzonequeen @watercolorskyy @theshelbyslimited

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders fanfiction #tommy shelby imagines #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagines #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #jyessaminereads

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anonymousewrites · 3 years ago

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Adolescent Antichrist (Book 2) Chapter One

Chapter One: I'm Self-Obsessed and Forgot My Own Birthday

Blearily, (Y/N) rolled out of bed while groaning as the soreness that plagued their body every morning since their near-death experience shot through them again. Each day as the sun rose, they would awake to discomfort as their tender wound ached. Out of habit, (Y/N) reached for their red hoodie only to suddenly draw it back. Whenever their eyes traced over the familiar, comforting color, all they saw now was the blood—their blood—which had stained it. No matter how much they scrubbed at it, the memory had burned into their eyes. Though they would not give it up, (Y/N) no longer felt safe in the soft fabric, now constricting and panic inducing.

Of course, they weren’t going to say anything. Instead, (Y/N) played it off as just “starting to experiment with fashion.” Everyone bought it; it wasn’t a leap in imagination to think that the kid who drew little outfits in their sketchbook would move away from just hoodies every day. And it wasn’t a complete lie, either. (Y/N) found it a nice distraction, not to mention a healthier method of coping, to try out new looks. It made them look forward to each day more than they would otherwise. It almost made them excited for each morning to come. If only the soreness and shadows of pain would fade.

Shaking their head and brushing the thoughts away as best they could, (Y/N) threw their bed together and went to the closet. They pulled out a black shirt with little red poppies stitched on and donned it. Overtop, they pulled on red overalls. (Y/N) cocked their head as they glanced in the mirror before shrugging.

It looks fine, and it’s not as if I have anywhere to be today. Unless Lucifer planned anything… They deadpanned. He forgets what he’s told me and what he hasn’t.

On cue, a knock sounded at their door, and a cheerful voice rang out. “(Y/N)! We have an exciting day ahead of us!”

Speak of the Devil, thought (Y/N) ironically. “We do? Why?” Lucifer blinked at them as if they were supposed to know. “What? Am I missing something?”

“(Y/N)...it’s your birthday.”

“…” (Y/N) blinked. “It is?”

“Yes!”

Oh, wow, I’m self-obsessed and forgot my own birthday. That’s a new one. “Oh, well, I guess so much happened that I just forgot.” They shrugged.

Lucifer gasped in horror. “Then we can’t waste any more time!” He took their wrist and dragged them out into the living room where, just like Christmas, everything was covered in decorations.

A giant banner (spanning the whole goddamn room) spelled out “HAPPY BIRTHDAY (Y/N)” in giant sparkly red letters (in fact, a pile of glitter was appearing underneath the banner). That’s never coming out of the carpet. On the counter, there were several plates piled with confections. One held a giant cake with a figurine of a mannequin for making clothes on top, another had a sheet of brownies with M&Ms, and still another had cookies and cupcakes heaped on with little smiley faces (admittedly messy ones) of ice cream on top. While (Y/N) blinked at the sight, Lucifer grabbed a stereotypical party hat and put it on.

“Tada!” He said with a dramatic flourish. He noticed their stare at the sweets and shrugged. “I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got a little of everything. We can donate or give out anything you don’t want.”

(Y/N) nodded slowly before grinning at him. “This is pretty cool.”

“Really?” He perked up, almost puppylike.

(Y/N) shrugged. “My mom’s version of a birthday party was to stick me into some frilly outfit and parade me around in front her friends.” They made a face. “I hated it.”

Lucifer grinned and put a hand on their shoulder. “Well, you get to decide what we do today! But first…” He ran around behind the couch and pulled out some presents that he’d (attempted to) hide back there. (Y/N) blinked as he carried some of the giant boxes over. (Super-strength must be great). “Gifts!” Lucifer dumped them in front of (Y/N). Excitedly, he waved his hands at them. “Come on, come on, open them!”

(Y/N) laughed and grinned. “Alright, alright.” They couldn’t help but be as excited as he was; Lucifer may be annoyingly chaotic, but his energy was contagious. They decided to go with the big one first. Tearing it open, they blinked and look at him. “First a sewing machine, and now a mannequin?” How much do these cost you?

“Adjustable for different body sizes, of course,” said Lucifer proudly.

(Y/N) smiled and hugged him. “Thank you.”

Lucifer froze for a moment and looked down at them before returning the hug, surprised but happy with the moment. “Don’t thank me until you’ve opened the others.”

“I know I’m going to like them. You actually know what I would want,” said (Y/N), rolling their eyes. Nonetheless, they obeyed his enthusiastic encouragement and opened the rest of their presents. Inside were several books they’d been interested, some simple jewelry, and some bandanas for their hair. (Y/N) slipped on one of the rings happily and went to thank Lucifer when the elevator doors slid open.

A kid, looking to be around (Y/N)’s age, nearly collapsed out, panting like they’d come from running a marathon. (Y/N) tilted their head as they observed the newcomer. They had blue-green eyes and short red hair that stuck up in all directions. They wore an oversized dark grey t-shirt with shorts underneath and converse that looked like they’d fought a war to remain colored at all against the bleached spots. They look like they’ve been through hell. They glanced at their outfit again. That or someone who deserves to go dressed them.

Lucifer cleared his throat and, in an official voice (though very strange when paired with his red party hat), said, “Who are you?”

The kid straightened after catching their breath and rushed through their words as if trying to report to a boss or something. “Emeranne! I go by she/they pronouns, I am thirteen years old, and I may or may not have lost the Goddess when I was guarding her in Hell.”

(Y/N) sweat-dropped. I think they left the most important facts for the end there. They frowned. Wait, did she say Goddess?

#adolescent antichrist #netflix lucifer #platonic lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer #lucifer netflix #lucifer morningstar #father figure #nb reader #gn reader #x teen!reader #x teen reader #found family #found family trope #oc x reader #oc #original character

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existslikepristin · 3 years ago

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Impromptu Review

Thanks for editing this one goes to momirene and Worldsover, and for helpful beta reading feedback from them and one dork who wants to remain anonymous.

Tags: TheLounge, Red Velvet, SNSD (Girl's Generation), Joy, Sunny, loneliness, potential traumatization of cats, a hoard of hell-themed sex toys, a strap on, a butt plug with Jiu's face in it, and bisexual problems.

The front door of Sunny’s apartment swung open so fast that Joy felt a breeze from the vacuum it left behind.

“Joy! You’re here!”

Joy blinked. “Yeah, I said I would come over.”

“It’s been so long since we’ve met up! Come in, come in!”

“It’s only been like a month though.”

Sunny grabbed Joy’s hands and pulled her through the doorway. “It feels like so much longer than that!”

Joy smiled and took her shoes off in the entryway. “You seem more excited than usual.”

“What? How so?”

“Well for one,” Joy said, pointing at the kitchen, “It looks like you prepared for a whole party in here.”

The kitchen’s island was covered in plates of snacks and several variations of alcoholic beverages. Additionally, Sunny was noticeably sweaty, like she had just run around the house preparing for guests. Joy figured it would be best not to bring that up.

“What? No. That? That’s… yeah, that’s a lot of food, isn’t it?” Sunny’s posture drooped, as if she’d already expended all of her energy on her greeting.

Joy pulled her into a side hug. Her height served to straighten Sunny back up. “What’s going on, girl?”

Sunny sighed and leaned her head on Joy’s chest. “I dunno. I’m just excited. Haven’t had a good social night any time recently.”

“Aw! But what about these cutie kitties?”

Sogeum popped her head out from behind the wall and gave Joy her signature droopy, grim stare without so much as a meow. As soon as Joy shuffled in her direction though, she turned and went back into the living room.

“Well, you know. Can’t really have a real conversation with the cats.”

Joy hummed her agreement and stepped into the kitchen. “I’m always happy to talk to you Sunny. They don’t call SM a family for nothing.”

Sunny groaned, loudly.

“Um. Okay,” Joy said when Sunny didn’t elaborate. “Not a family? Just a bunch of really close friends?”

“Yeah, that’ll work better. Not a fan of the family motif.”

Joy picked up a cracker and chomped down. “Gonna… explain? Family is normally a positive thing, isn’t it?”

Sunny grabbed a bottle of wine and yanked the cork out. “Yeah, totally, for sure. Hey, do you like Chardonnay?”

“I…” Joy didn’t want to skirt around whatever issue Sunny was having, but was well-aware of her stubbornness. “I sure do.”

As fancy glasses of white wine were generously poured, Joy made note of Sunny’s slow, unsteady movements. She worried that perhaps Sunny had already started drinking, or wasn’t getting enough sleep.

* * *

“Can you believe that, Joy?”

“No way. It’s just inhuman.”

“Completely! It’s not like green onions are suddenly more expensive to dry out!”

The conversation had started with gossip and cheese snacking when the sun was high. As the sun set, the discussion shifted to the price of instant meals, and the snack plates were all but empty. Joy had to fight the constant urge to fall asleep, as the topics were never much more interesting than that. But she let Sunny lead the talking as much as possible.

Joy was simply relieved that Sunny called her over before diving into her liquor storage. “You should start a petition to regulate the price. I’d be the first to sign it.”

Sunny’s tipsy grin matched Joy’s. Though the alcohol consumption had been slow-going, they had been doing it for several hours. “Oh that would be great press. ‘Washed up idol upset with ramen manufacturers.’”

With an exaggerated roll of the eyes, Joy pointed at a set of boxes in the corner of the living room, currently being used as a lookout tower by Sogeum. “You’re not washed up yet. Look at all of those sponsor gifts. Those weren’t here last time I came over… Wait, they weren’t, were they?”

Sunny giggled. “No, they’re, uh… new.”

Their corporate sponsors weren’t something that Joy, Sunny, or any of the other SM idols discussed often. There were usually so many vying for their attention that it was pointless trying to keep track. But Joy reasoned, somewhat drunkenly, that talking about it might be therapeutic to someone so down on their social status. “Who are they from, anyway?”

A blush deepened the red of Sunny’s already tipsy-glowing cheeks. “Uh… Nobody. Just a regular sponsor, ya know?”

Joy grinned. “Oh, come on. You can tell me. What am I gonna do? Call a press conference to tell the tabloids who’s contributing to your paycheck?”

Sunny rolled her eyes. She shot off the couch, spilling a drop or two of her wine in the process. From Joy’s naturally higher perspective, Sunny didn’t seem that much taller. “Fine,” she said, wobbling, “but you better not make fun of me.”

“I’ll make fun of you for other reasons, like how much I love you, bitch!” Joy blinked at her own shouting. She didn’t know when the alcohol had hit her, but she was beginning to think that she was a little more intoxicated than she previously thought.

Thankfully, the joviality in her voice seemed to encourage Sunny to play along. She set her wine on the coffee table and picked one of the smaller boxes off of the pile. “Disclosure first! We haven’t agreed to any deals yet. They sent me this stuff to try to convince me to shill it. I didn’t reach out to them.”

Joy waved the disclosure off like a mosquito, but Sunny still tossed the box in her direction. The weight inside of it was awkwardly distributed. Joy attempted to catch it, but it wound up ricocheting off the tips of her fingers and nearly knocking over an open, mostly full bottle of soju.

“The fuck is in this thing?”

“I’ve got some ideas but I just know who it’s from. Open it and find out.”

Joy tore into the box with no regard for the care that went into the packaging, which itself was surprisingly discreet. A smirk cracked her lips when she thought about what sorts of deliveries required such discretion. But the smirk faded right away when she got a view of the inside and realized that the packager apparently had the same idea.

Inside was a pair of plastic sheets wrapped asymmetrically around a roughly water bottle sized blob of blood red silicone. A small bit of pink cardboard advertised it as a five-speed, rotation-simulating, self-cleaning, pattern-switching, USB-charging, automatically-lubricating, remote-controlled vibrator with a speaker at the bottom for replicating a set of desired moans and a specialized charging dock.

Joy cleared her throat and stared at the horrifically fancy dildo, and its label, “Dante’s Dive,” unsure if she should toss it back to Sunny, considering it was clearly a personal item.

Sunny reached into what was left of the box, procuring a pretty little decorated card. “Dear Ms. Lee, we at Second Ring Inc were very pleased to hear your impromptu review of our products on a recent episode of ‘Welp, I Guess We’re Talking About This Now’ and wished to send you some additional items to show our appreciation. These are in no way a request for further public review,” Sunny was briefly interrupted by Joy’s disapproving snort, “but should you be interested in a partnership, we have included a phone number at which I, the chief executive officer, Lee Youngjoon, may be reached. Optionally, my username--”

Joy missed a few words as she was shocked by the extreme sound emitted by the vibrator when she pushed a button on the remote control.

“--is ‘worldsover’. As you know, Second Ring specializes in sexual wellness products, of which we’ve sent you a wide variety. They can be enjoyed by couples, or can serve as a fantastic outlet for power singles like yourself…”

Sunny trailed off. Joy was afraid she knew what was coming. “Damn, Sunny. You say so much as three words on national television and they scramble to get right up on your ass, eh?”

It was too late. Sunny was already tipping up the bottom of the soju bottle. A few drops spluttered back out of her mouth as Joy pushed it back down. “Sunny! You’ve said it yourself! You don’t want to get married!”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not still lonely!”

Joy wrapped her arms around Sunny. “You’ve got me. And a million other friends!”

“Fans don’t count.” Sunny’s voice was partially muffled by Joy’s shoulder.

“Ouch. Time for me to delete my Sone club membership. But fine. A hundred other friends. It’s not just me. It’s my members. Your members. And plenty of others. All of NCT would be--Okay, nevermind. Aespa though! They love you too.”

“But I don't want to inconvenience you." Sunny ended so matter-of-factly that Joy had to pause to process the short conversation.

"You know how… You know how you take a road trip, and there's a road block, or really bad construction, and you have to take a detour?"

"Yeah. I'm a detour."

"Come on, Sunny. What you are is the scenic route!”

There was a long silence.

“Was that the end of the metaphor?” Sunny eventually asked.

“I am very drunk.”

“You’re not that drunk.”

“Drunk enough to be shit at metaphors.”

“It’s…” Sunny extricated herself from Joy’s hug. “It’s okay. I think I know what you’re getting at, and I appreciate it. It’s just that a few words don’t really fix a brain, you know?”

Joy nodded slowly, watching as Sogeum casually stalked across the room. “Yup. But believe me. I’m here for you, at least. So if you need a friend, or some company, I’m at the top of your list.”

The cat plopped herself on the floor, right up against Sunny’s leg. Joy giggled. “Fuck off, kitty. I just said I was the top.”

It seemed the topic of conversation was ready to change. Sunny smiled, and it was enough to indicate her understanding.

“So!” Joy moved things along. “A pile of free, top of the line sex toys in your living room. What’s a young woman to do about that?”

Sunny snorted. “Well I’m not going to masturbate while I have company over, that’s for sure.” She grabbed another box from the pile and handed it over, doing her best not to disturb Sogeum’s new resting place.

The new box took mere seconds to open, this time revealing a black silicone butt plug with a red gem in the base. The casing suggested that a picture could be inserted beneath the gem, and it appeared there was one already there as an example. Joy had to flip it around to a variety of angles before she could make out that it contained a headshot of Dreamcatcher’s Jiu making finger hearts on her cheeks. She cocked her head, wondering if the image had actually been authorized.

Another box swapped between the womens’ hands. It took Joy a little longer to open than the last, but it turned out to be that way for a good reason, given that it was gently holding some fragile cargo: A red-tinted glass bottle of lube, labeled as “Juice from the Fruit of The Tree.” The lengthy product title had a snake winding through the letters.

“Well now they’re just really doubling down on this theme, aren’t they?” Sunny asked as she worked out how to open the next package, using her bottle opener as a makeshift knife.

Joy laughed and picked up yet another, now eager to see what kind of wild object it would contain. “Yeah, they really are! No lie, they’re starting to give me some ideas. Talk about sinful.”

“‘Oh I know,’” Sunny mocked the company, as SM artists often did, fingers still struggling to find their way under the first cardboard flap. “‘Let’s send Sunny a whole pile of sex junk. Bet she’s sinful enough to use it all.’ Like, come on Love-eye, or whatever your name is. What’s a single woman gonna do with all this? Hold up a pillow fort?”

“Hey, maybe he doesn’t know you’re single. Maybe there’s some stuff in here that takes two to tangle with… Fuck. Choerry’s got me using alliterations.”

Sunny barely managed to get her fingers inside the box, but her knuckles were turning white from the tightness of it. It seemed that she had left a portion of the packing tape uncut. “I said I was single on the show, though. I don’t think there will be any couples’ toys in here.”

“Oooh, I’m gonna make it a bet now.” Joy smirked. Her next sentence bypassed her verbal filter through the holes left in it by the alcohol. “If you get that thing open and there’s a strap on inside, you have to fuck me with it!”

A jerk of her arms snapped the remainder of the packing tape. Sunny chuckled. “You’re on. There’s no way it is.”

Joy had to admit that Sunny had a point, considering how small the package was. Surely it couldn’t fit a series of leather straps, or a dildo any larger than a couple of inches in any direction. The little voice in the back of her mind that told her making such an offer was stupid quieted down somewhat.

There was a moment of quiet. Sogeum rolled away from Sunny and made her way to the kitchen. Joy picked up another box, confident that she hadn’t just placed herself in an awkward situation. Sunny shook her head, amused. And then…

“J-Joy?”

Joy looked back, but wasn’t quite sure what she was looking at. It was a sort of mass of black string with some silver discs hanging off of it. Another piece of pink paper fluttered to the floor, where Joy picked it up and read aloud.

“‘The Obol.’ As Charon ferried Dante across the Styx and into the hole that is Hell, so too shall this state-of-the-art magnetic harness ferry our exclusive Dante’s Dive dildo into your… partner’s hole…”

There was more to be read, but both women seemed to get the point. The only sound in the room came from Sogeum chomping through some hard cat food in the kitchen. Slowly, their eyes raised and met. They both spoke at the same moment.

“That was a bet’s a joke bet right?”

Their drunken minds needed a moment to detangle their words into distinct sentences. Sunny’s “That was a joke, right?” and Joy’s “A bet’s a bet.”

Sunny started again first. “You know, we don’t have to.”

“I will if you want to.”

Every sentence being exchanged was followed by a palpable stillness. Joy’s heart beat loudly in her own ears, and she swore she could hear Sunny’s too.

“Do you… want to fuck me with that, Sunny?”

Sunny answered instantly. “Yup.”

There was a flurry of action, though it was slowed here and there by a tipsy stumble or two. Sunny gathered up an armful of the items on her coffee table, both sex toys and the bottle of soju, and sprinted for the bedroom. Joy rushed after her, messily attempting and failing to remove some of her clothes on the way.

Sogeum was spooked by the sudden kerfuffle and fled out of sight.

The bedroom was no less hectic. Sunny dropped everything on the bed except the soju, which she took one more swig of directly from the bottle before setting it dangerously close to the edge of her desk. She wiggled out of her shirt and bra, which attracted Joy’s attention instantly.

Joy struck at Sunny’s cleavage, wrapping her fingers as far as they could go around the legendary orbs, and her lips around one of the budding tips. Their differences in height made it awkward, but they very soon found their way to a horizontal state that eased that tension. Unfortunately, it was not on the bed, but on the floor, but they weren’t about to let something like that stop them.

What clothes they were still wearing exploded off their bodies. Joy’s shorts and shirt, Sunny’s pants and socks. All of it ended up in different sections of the room, thrown under and over furniture.

Joy was no stranger to encounters like this, and neither was Sunny. They had shared countless stories with each other… and some spit. But neither had considered their prior make out sessions to be precursors to explicitly sexual action. For her part, however, Joy considered this one differently, and Sunny’s hands searching half-blindly for Joy’s ass confirmed to her that Sunny thought the same.

Backs arched. Legs ground against one another. Open mouths met, trading the alcoholic scents that the women no longer cared to distinguish. Their minds had devoted themselves entirely to the search for physical pleasure.

A lot of exploratory prodding led Sunny’s fingers to the entrance to Joy’s pussy, failing to notice the number of pokes that ended up at Joy's exit. She took some time familiarizing herself with the drenched outer folds.

Joy, however, noticed the poking at her ass. Her mind swam with serotonin, thoughts of other people, and alcoholic fumes that seemed to rearrange the letters of her thoughts into nonsense. Or possibly into inspiration.

Inspiration relevant to the happenings at the prior year's award shows, that is.

Joy tried to pull back the moment Sunny’s fingers dipped inside her. She had opened her mouth to speak but instead groaned and arched herself further into Sunny’s grip on her sanity. "S-Sunny. B-bed."

At least that message was received loud and clear. Sunny dragged her fingers against Joy’s G-spot as she, disappointingly, pulled them out, nearly causing Joy to scream. The same fingers plunged into Joy’s mouth and quieted her as she diligently sucked her own juices from them.

The action transferred to the bed. Fingers immediately found their places again, and Joy bounced on her back in time with Sunny’s brutal shoves. Packaging bounced all around them. It was like a desperate, distracted game of Vegetable Shinobi for Joy, swiping at the jumping dildo. Sunny’s fingers were divine, eye-wateringly so, but Joy wanted something unholy.

Sunny muttered Joy’s name, catching her attention again. She lifted her head to meet for yet another imprecise kiss. Their legs twisted around each other. Joy could hear the desperation in Sunny’s moans, vibrating all the way down her throat, burning like the alcohol. She snaked a hand between them and found Sunny’s clit.

The moans freed themselves as Sunny bucked backward, almost out of Joy’s longer reach. Joy noted the exceptional reaction, and flipped Sunny onto her back, following immediately and putting herself in the position of power Sunny had initiated.

“You’re gonna fuck me with the strap on… right, Sunny?”

Sunny’s eyes widened, and she grabbed the toys.

“No, not yet,” Joy stalled in her most seductive voice. She slid down, nearly falling off the bed, and wrenched Sunny’s legs wide open with her elbows.

Sunny clenched her fingers around the hell-themed dildo for dear life. Joy’s name poured through her lips over and over again as Joy’s lips poured over her pussy.

Joy had to fight Sunny’s strength to keep her spread thighs from clamping around her head. She wanted to keep hearing her senior beg, loud and clear. To that end, she dug in her tongue, unable to penetrate far, but far enough to open Sunny up and feel the wetness flow into her mouth.

“Please… Joy… I’m close… Joy, please! Joy, don’t stop!”

The thought flitted through Joy’s head, that perhaps denying Sunny her orgasm would be fun, but something about the way she said it made Joy wonder if Sunny’s neediness was rooted in her loneliness, more than in her desire to get off. She shifted herself to wrap her arms under Sunny’s legs and pulled. It wasn’t possible for them to be any physically closer than they were, but she wanted to make it feel like they could be.

Sunny’s voice cracked, choked, and broke into a scream. Joy winced as her tongue was squeezed uncomfortably, but she wasn’t about to stop. The back arches, hair grasping, and pained gasps that followed were worth it.

Joy kept it up until Sunny’s body fell back down and her muscles relaxed. Only then, she removed herself to ask, “Need a break before my turn?”

A smile crept up Sunny’s mouth. Her fingers tightened around the dildo she still had in her hand. “Get… back down here.”

If there was any benefit Joy appreciated most about idol training, it was recovery speed, and Sunny still had it. Joy picked up the strap, quickly figuring out how it was supposed to fit and sliding it up Sunny’s legs. The motion doubled as her approach for another make out.

Of course, Joy was still immensely horny. Her interest in making out with Sunny was overshadowed by her desire to get fucked savagely, but she had the wherewithal to hold out, to let it happen naturally. She was always good at letting others take the lead. Whether they led from the top or from the bottom didn’t especially matter to her.

The alcohol made her more impatient than usual though. She forced herself to wait for the five-speed pounding she’d get, but she ground herself against Sunny’s leg in the meantime. Thankfully she didn’t have to wait long. Sunny threw her to the side and attached the vibrator to the unusual strap with very little trouble. Joy fingered herself as she watched.

“Fuck, yes, Sunny. This is going to be so goo--”

Sunny practically tackled Joy. Their lips collided again, strap hovering somewhere between Joy’s legs, but not close enough for her to feel it.

The moment she did, though, Joy grabbed Sunny’s ass and pulled. The lack of accuracy was made up for by the inhuman amount of lubrication present; both Joy’s and the curious synthetic compound that the dildo exuded seemingly of its own volition.

It was almost too much for Joy. The dildo was certainly longer than any she had used before, and bottoming out at full speed meant it hit her rather painfully in the cervix. She hissed, but otherwise just readjusted her legs in Sunny’s way to prevent the same thing from happening so easily again.

The strap held the dildo in place on Sunny’s body well. Despite its genuinely small frame, it seemed to prevent all wiggling. Every one of Sunny’s movements, including the less delicate, more intoxicated ones, translated to sensations that felt to Joy like a biologically attached dick, albeit with a plethora of extra features.

"You're so pretty, Joy," Sunny said. Even though she was doing all the work now, she wasn't nearly as winded as before. Knowing she’d affected Sunny made Joy grin into another kiss.

“No you,” Joy said with a smirk. She knew this would be good, but she truly underestimated how great it would be to see Sunny’s famous tits jiggling with the effort of fucking her. The sheen of sweat covering them would ensure the night wouldn’t be forgotten, even if Joy had another drink or two.

Joy’s first orgasm struck quickly and unexpectedly. Her breath stopped and a shudder spiked through her body from her core to the tips of her toes and fingers and head. The ability to think normally left her for a brief moment. She only kept the fleeting question of whether or not Sunny was able to feel Joy’s climax. Stars popped in and out of existence, obscuring Joy’s view of Sunny’s fantastic body.

It all faded relatively soon after, but it wasn’t enough for Joy. As soon as her lungs refilled, she screamed, “More! Sunny! Fuck me! Fuck me! Oh god!” She was practically numb everywhere, except for every square inch of her that the dildo rubbed, slid, and vibrated against. Her arms and legs wrapped around Sunny on their own.

Joy, eyes half closed, barely registered when Sunny slowed down to grab and open the extra package. She did, however, notice the sudden prodding feeling at her asshole.

“Sun--”

She couldn’t even finish Sunny’s name before something slipped its way into her butt. Her vision cleared up enough to see that even while she continued thrusting, Sunny had one hand tucked between them, and it was the source of the extra intrusion.

A couple more thrusts though, and Joy was lost to the pleasure again. She started to pant instead of scream or moan, or perhaps she was whimpering, or speaking fluent Polish. Joy couldn’t have said one way or the other. Another orgasm hit. And another. And another. She knew some time was passing between each one, but whether it was seconds or days between no longer mattered. Her mind was fading out of existence.

Until, that is, it wasn’t.

With seemingly no provocation, Joy suddenly remembered Cheungae. She had been meaning to talk to Sunny about him before they had gotten drunk. Her mind wandered, far, far more than it normally would during such intense sex.

Cheungae had taken her out several times since their first, less-than-professional meeting at the MAMAs with Wheein. Even though Joy knew he was struggling financially, he always insisted on paying for coffee, but would give up if he saw the bill when Joy took him to some of the much higher end restaurants.

He was always so polite, genuine, and humble. He didn’t even question when Joy told him they couldn’t be in a relationship, but instead insisted that they could be friends. Joy wondered if it was fair to him that she was treating him as a boyfriend in every way but name while she was still having a grand old time fucking everyone else in the industry. Cheungae knew about it, but wasn’t part of it.

And yet, sex with Cheungae made Joy feel good. Great, even. She could recreate the sensations in her mind for days afterward. His slim, toned figure hovering over her, his face contorted beautifully in adorable agony, his admittedly mediocre cock managing to hit her just right with every move. She couldn’t stop picturing him.

Another orgasm smashed through Joy’s illusion. The mental image of perfectly human Cheungae was instantly replaced with the very physical image of god-like Sunny. As tended to happen, Joy held her breath as the climax coursed through her. Her muscles contracted until she was holding Sunny in a deathly grip.

“F-fuck. Sunn-ny. Slow… slow down.”

It seemed that the request was desperately needed by both lovers, because rather than simply slow down, Sunny fell over. Joy’s pussy immediately craved to be filled again, but she knew she needed to clear her head. And besides that, she still had an odd full sensation. When her muscles relaxed enough for her to move of her own volition, she reached beneath herself and recoiled again at the feeling of a drenched butt plug. Her fingertips carried a puddle of mixed cum and lube back up.

“I’m sorry… Joy… I think that’s all I have left in me,” Sunny said between gasps.

Joy made note of her own throat and how dry it was. Whatever sound she was making while she borderline hallucinated, she’d be regretting it for a while. “All good. I was losing my sanity. That was unbelievable.”

Sunny giggled. It sounded painful. “The vibrator… or the surprise plug?”

Joy giggled back. “The plug was definitely a surprise. Was that the one with Jiu's face in it?”

“Mhm.”

“Cool,” Joy sat up, her head swimming in the aftermath. “But I just think it was you using the stuff that made it so good.”

Sunny seemed invigorated by the compliments. She smiled and reached under the bed, making some noise and bringing up a bottle of water. The two of them swapped it back and forth until it was empty and then collapsed into one another, idly feeling each others' bodies up the whole time.

“Does that mean you’re up for another… night like this? Or day?” Sunny asked as she fondled Joy’s tits. It sounded like she had sobered up, at least most of the way. Joy was too afraid of what she would see to look at a clock.

“You fucking know it,” Joy responded while she brushed her fingers up and down Sunny’s inner thighs. It was a reflex for her to agree, but she cringed inwardly as soon as she did, realizing how much more sober she had become herself, and how she wished she wasn’t. She was thinking about Cheungae again.

There was a barrage of light kisses all over her face, neck, and chest. Sunny looked far too happy for Joy to feel okay about retracting her statement.

“Maybe not right now though,” Joy said, just in case Sunny was already getting ideas. “We should really get to bed.”

She didn’t hear any arguments. They simply got up, and only long enough to flip up the duvet, flinging all of the remaining sex toys off, and jumped underneath.

It took a minute for Joy to realize she needed to remove the surprise butt plug. It was easy enough, and she ended up tossing it to the floor without looking at it.

Joy wrapped herself around Sunny. She was usually the big spoon, not that it bothered her. Sunny’s bare back felt comfortably hot against her chest and stomach. Cheungae liked being the big spoon too. He’d swap with her all the time…

“Hey, Sunny?”

“Mmm?” Sunny was on the verge of sleep, it seemed.

Joy lowered her voice, barely above a whisper. “Have you ever thought about… Settling down, I guess? Just being with one person?”

She didn’t expect Sunny to have an immense store of wisdom, but she hoped for more than what she got: a snore.

“Good night to you too, Sunny.”

#red velvet smut #snsd smut #girls generation smut #joy #sunny

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otonymous · 4 years ago

Text

Glutton For Your Flavour (Obey Me: Beelzebub - NSFW)

Description: You’re about to become Beel’s next meal Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised. Spoilers for Lesson 5 of MS (hard). Please note potential trigger warnings: dub-con (as an inadvertent result of somnambulism), cunnilingus in two flavours (soft and rough), squirting and overstimulation, slight size kink, very faint hints of tetraphilia, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it blasphemy, slight fear (monstrous descriptions) Word Count: ~2900 words (~14 mins of smut & shenanigans) Author’s Notes: My very first fic for the Obey Me fandom! I know I’m late to the party, but I’ve recently started playing this game and the story and its characters are so amusing I had to write about it. This piece may not be to everyone’s taste, so please, please, please note the potential trigger warnings listed above and skip if it’s not your cup of tea. That being said, hope you all enjoy the read! 💕😆

🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔

“Bad luck to be sharing a room with Beel, but what can ya do after he destroyed yours while destroying the kitchen, and all for a dumb custard! Be careful — he might mistake you for a snack and eat ya in the middle of the night, hahaha!”

Mmm.

The scene fragments, Mammon’s face wavering as his voice grows faint, consciousness seeping into dark corners like sunlight cutting through fog. And when you open your eyes, you can’t quite place where you are for a moment, straddling the line between dreamscape and reality.

Ahh…

You sigh. There it was again, the sensation so pleasant it had roused you from the deepest slumber.

Further blinking off the haze of sleep, you take in your surroundings: a large bed lying empty across from yours in a room almost cavernous in size and just as dark save for a candle burning low on a desk, the glow of its flame orange like the hair that was currently brushing soft against your inner thighs—

“BEEL?! WHAT THE HELL?!”

“So tasty…not…enough…need more…want to…eat…zzz….”

Eyes still closed, the demon’s face is shiny even in the dark, slick from cheek to chin with what must’ve been a copious amount of his saliva and your arousal, you blush to realize. And when he doesn’t budge even after a swift kick to the face, you are ashamed to find the Lord of Flies’ show of strength sending yet another throb to your already pulsing clit.

He does wake though, Beelzebub’s amethyst eyes opening wide before he falls backwards onto the cold stone floor to realize what he had inadvertently done in his sleep. And as the always-famished sixth born looks from the shredded remnants of your panties to the pool of wetness on the sheets where his chin had rested, he becomes even more tongue-tied than usual.

“I…uh…I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to…I dreamt I smelled something delicious and I was so hungry…and somehow I’m here, on the floor…I don’t even know…I-I’m so sorry!”

His cheeks grow so flushed they remind you of the red spider sandwiches he packed away during dinner, stuffing them two by two into his mouth until Satan smacked his hand away for trying to take more from his plate. The expression on his face is so full of remorse that even if you were angry, you’d be inclined to forgive the demon who was currently grovelling at the foot of your bed, swearing he would hand himself over to Lucifer and Diavolo first thing in the morning to be strung up and hung upside down for a fortnight, even (gulp) forgoing food for a day or two.

“Beelzebub…Beel…BEEL!” You shout, interrupting his self-inflicted tirade. “It’s okay, you didn’t mean it. You were sleepwalking. You don’t have to go to Lucifer and Diavolo about this.”

“No, I have to. My behaviour was inexcusable—”

“BEEL! Let’s…just…try to go back to sleep, okay? We have our midterm in Devildom law tomorrow morning and I really don’t feel like failing just because I didn’t get enough shut eye. So please, can we just pretend like this didn’t happen?”

Those orange brows are still furrowed when Beel finally lifts his head and nods. But then his gaze is falling again on the wet sheets and the shiver than runs through that larger-than-life body seems to send another wave of anxiety through the demon. He makes a mad dash for the door, murmuring something about getting a snack from the kitchen and “you can have the room tonight” before it slams shut behind him.

He doesn’t return for the rest of the night.

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The exam was so disastrous even Mammon didn’t bother sneaking another peek at your paper after the first two questions. And even if you had somehow managed to get back to sleep after last night’s ordeal, it wouldn’t have changed the fact that you were still distracted by the memory of Beel’s mouth on your pussy:

His long tongue, serpentine as it delved deep between swollen folds to taste you with gusto.

The way he rolled your clit between those plush, soft lips before sucking it into his hot mouth, over and over again.

The throbbing between your legs that refused to cease long after the Avatar of Gluttony had left the room you were temporarily sharing, sleep only forthcoming once you had succumbed and reached beneath the sheets to finish the job he had started, your moans licentious even to your ears as you pretended your fingers were his.

It was a pale imitation, of course. That much you could see for yourself, stealing a glance at Beel seated two rows down — quill twirling between long, dexterous digits when he wasn’t putting ink to parchment.

But those gigantic hands were just a small part of what made Beel demonically attractive, as if the word “small” could be applied to him at all: tall and built, there were times when even you envied the ease with which he maintained that perfect physique despite his penchant for shovelling enough food to feed all three realms into his mouth on the regular.

The same mouth which brought you so much pleasure the night before.

Ahem.

Clearing your throat, you pretend not to see the smirk that spreads across Asmo’s delicate face, hoping the lusty demon sitting just to your left wouldn’t pick up on the very secret thoughts you were having about his brother.

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[Private Chatroom]: Satan, Levi, Mammon, Asmo

Satan: This is going to sound crazy, but doesn’t it seem like Beel’s…hungrier than usual? Is that even possible?

Levi: OMFG! You should’ve seen the state of the kitchen this morning after Beel decided to camp out there overnight! It was a total war zone, like that epic battle scene in Vol. 5 of TSL lololol. Soooo good XDDDDD

Mammon: Hey! He’s gonna eat us outta house and home at this rate! Shouldn’t we stop him?

Satan: You do it, Mammon. Aren’t you always saying that there’s nothing The Great Mammon can’t do?

Mammon: …..

Asmo: Please, as if anyone — angel or demon — could come between Beel and a meal.

Satan: Why was he camping out there in the first place? Was there something wrong with his room? I don’t remember him complaining about anything since he got shacked up with the exchange student.

Levi: Not like he could, seeing as it was his fault to begin with and a direct order from Lucifer.

Asmo: Maybe we should ask her. I’m sure she knows something about what’s inciting his hunger judging by the way she kept staring at him in class today fufufu 😏 She almost failed her midterm because of it, isn’t that right, Mammon?

Mammon: ‼️‼️

[Mammon has left the chat]

Levi: He is sooooo transparent LMFAOOOO

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Gasp!

Pressing a hand to your mouth, you try to contain your shock at the sight that greets you when you peek around the corner into the kitchen:

Curved, ebony horns sitting majestically atop a head of disheveled orange hair. Thick, corded muscles that ripple across a broad back — readily apparently because the creature bent over a mountain of food on the ground was wearing nothing but a pair of pyjama bottoms, loose and slung so low over narrow hips that the sharp V defining his groin is visible even from the distance at which you stood.

Because this wasn’t quite what you were expecting to find when you made your way to the kitchen in the middle of the night to search for Beel, thinking to approach him about the peculiarity of his recent behaviour: the way he now ate constantly and was less satiated than before, the fact that he seemed to be going out of his way to avoid you even though you shared a room.

In fact, he hadn’t said so much as another word to you after he gave you two dozen of his prized custards the morning after the incident, apologizing again until you had to be the one to make him swear he wouldn’t breathe a word of it to Lucifer. The demon even made a beeline for the door as soon as he saw you emerge from the bathroom tonight, fresh from a shower.

It wasn’t hard to guess where he was headed.

Even still, you tried to focus on your textbook, reading the same line over and over again as you waited for Beel to return so you could have a proper conversation with the demon you made a pact with. And when you could wait no longer, you made your way towards his favourite room in the House of Lamentation — silently, so as not to draw the attention of the eldest sibling.

But the growls coming from the direction of the open fridge this time sounded like Cerberus himself, enough so that you find yourself rooted to the ground, unable to take another step forwards or back.

You had never seen Beel like this before, tearing into whatever he could get his hands on with a savagery that made your heart stop. Teeth, lips and tongue devoured without second thought in a way that was simultaneously terrifying and…

Throb.

…arousing.

Suddenly, he stills, throwing his head back to sniff the air once…twice…and in a flash, he is upon you, towering over your head as he rises to full height — bigger and taller and much more intimidating than you’ve ever seen him before.

You should have been scared. Any person in their right mind would have if they found themselves cornered by a demon of Beelzebub’s calibre. But the hands that balled into trembling fists at his sides made you feel oddly secure, your deepest instincts telling you that not all was as it seemed.

“You need to leave. Now…please.”

“What’s going on with you, Beel? I just want to help—” You reach for his arm. He jumps back as if burned.

“I SAID YOU NEED TO LEAVE! I-I…can’t hold back…for…much longer!”

Handsome face screwed up as if in pain, Beel turns to put as much distance as possible between the two of you, squatting on his haunches with his head in his hands when he murmurs:

“I…I don’t know what’s going on with me. This has never happened before. I’m hungrier than I’ve ever been. I eat and eat and eat and it still isn't enough. The last time I felt satisfied was when…when…”

His voice dies down to a whisper.

“…when I tasted you.”

Throb.

Putting out a hand, you steady yourself against the wall, knees suddenly weak at Beelzebub’s admission. Or perhaps it was due to relief, the tension that had been steadily building in your strained relationship with the demon released to know that you weren’t the only one who desired to revisit that night’s events.

So you gather your courage, stepping softly towards the demon who crouched on the ground next to the lit fireplace, the heat radiating from the hearth warming the flesh you had deliberately left bare when you lift the hem of your night gown to expose yourself to Beel.

“What are you doing?! I told you, I can barely hold back—”

“Then don’t. I don’t mind, Beel. I…I like it too.”

Amethyst eyes darken as they look up into yours, orange flames reflecting off pupils blown wide. And when he speaks next, the deepness of his voice echoes in your body, as if its source were to be found within your own soul.

“Ask and ye shall receive. I won’t touch you until you do.”

Nipples hardening beneath your gown, the rush of heat that floods your core makes you shudder when you say,

“Please, Beelzebub…I want you to eat my pussy.”

Back hitting solid wood, you barely have time to gasp before you are pulled to the edge of a long table in the centre of the kitchen, a long tongue running up the insides of each thigh in turn before they’re propped up onto broad shoulders, Beel’s breath blowing hot on the space in between.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can hold back. I’m just…so famished, so desperate to taste you again—”

His words cut off in a low growl as he presses his lips to your folds, saliva dripping from his mouth mixing with the juices that already painted a glistening sheen on pink flesh. You fight to bite back a moan at the vehemence of his hunger, the sheer greed of his tongue — flicking at your clit until your back arched off the table, heralding the arrival of the cream that leaked only to be swept up by Beel licking from end to end of that swollen seam. And when that still wasn’t enough, you nearly swooned to feel that serpentine tongue penetrate, reaching depths that surely only a demon would be able to achieve as Beel sought out more of your flavour.

He buries his face deeper into your pussy, nose nudging your clit as arousal smeared over the entirely of his visage. The vibrations of his voice further stimulates your locus of pleasure, punctuating the lewd, wet sounds when he says:

“You smell so delicious. All the time. And tonight, when you stepped out of the shower…I couldn’t take it, not with the way your scent flooded my senses. I had to leave or else…this would happen.”

“Oh Beel…you should’ve told me sooner.”

Mind lost in a haze of lust and body boneless from riding out wave after climatic wave, you reach down a trembling hand without thinking, fingers innocently tracing along the smooth ridges of the onyx horns that lay against your abdomen.

Suddenly, his breath hitches at your touch and the Sixth Prince of Hell is throwing his head back, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open in a moan loud and deep enough to reverberate off stone walls, clattering stacks of dishes in cupboards and making you come once more — legs convulsing upon his shoulders as you feel a preponderance of fluid gush forth from your body right into Beel’s waiting mouth.

The pleasure was such that you’ve never known before, so good that surely, it must be bad in some way, shape or form. But you hadn’t the energy to ponder further.

No, the only thing you’re aware of when your vision goes black is that Beel’s mouth is still on you, feasting upon a pussy that continued to respond to the teasing movements of his lips and tongue even as you ceased to think.

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Cheddar. Pickles. Ketchup and mustard.

The smell is what rouses you, but nothing could’ve prepared you for what you saw when you awoke in your own bed: mountains of cheeseburgers arranged on platters filling up every available surface in the room you shared with Beel.

“You can sleep for longer if you want. I told Lucifer you’d be skipping class today because you’re not feeling well. Are you…feeling well?”

Beelzebub lifts his head from where it’d been resting at the side of your bed, the rest of his body laid out on the floor as if he were guarding you like an oversized dog. Those puppy dog eyes, full of concern, didn’t help his case either.

“I’m fine, Beel. Better than fine, actually. I feel fantastic!” You smile, moving to sit up in bed. The demon springs from the ground, putting an arm around your shoulders to help prop you up, and your heart can’t help but warm at how protective he was being.

He breathes, relief flooding those handsome features. “I’m glad. I was afraid I lost control last night and had to carry you back. You were just…so tasty and…satisfying…”

Those amethyst eyes glint as they travel to the apex of your thighs, and all of a sudden, he is grabbing at those human world cheeseburgers, shoving them into his mouth two at a time.

“Have some,” he says between bites. “They’re my favourite and I thought you might like them too. Besides, you need to eat if you’re gonna keep up your energy.”

You reach towards the nearest platter, taking one for yourself. “Energy for what?”

Beel looks at you, expression completely serious when he says, “For the next round tonight.”

Throb.

🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔🍔

Thank you so much for reading! Check out more of my work here! 📚

#obey me #shall we date obey me #OM #swd obey me #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #OM beel #obey me smut #OM smut #obey me beel smut #obey me fanfic #fanfiction #my writing

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getlostsquidward · 3 years ago

Text

Divine Intervention

Irina Spalko x fem!reader

A/N: For the anon that requested another Irina fic, here you go! <3

Warnings: violence, blood, nudity

Summary: The knowledge-seeking woman gets what she wants, and more.

gif from here

“Tell me everything you know.”

“I want to know everything! I want to know!”

An ominous sound can be heard in the Akator. Debris of rocks from the ceiling was starting to fall, the walls of the temple were rotating, and there was a very bright light coming from above. Akator was slowly deteriorating, but Irina didn’t falter; spellbound by the creatures who will give her the knowledge she always wanted to have. The people around her either got away in time or were sucked in by the spaceship. She stood ground in the middle of the thirteen crystal beings, graciously accepting their great gift.

“Tell me. I’m ready. I want to know!”

A smoke-like thing transferred from their skulls to Irina, passing her the wisdom she so desired.

“I can see. I can see!”

The crystal skeletons started to merge, incorporating to form a body. “Cover it! Cover it!”

Irina was overwhelmed by the knowledge she had gotten. It was too much for her, a human brain to handle; her eyes started to burn, her body disintegrated and turned into ash.

Irina was woken up by the blinding ray of the sun peeking in between the tall big trees, in the middle of the woods. She touched her face, her arms, to check for any burns or wounds, but she found none. She also found herself… stark naked. No clothes, no shoes, not even her trusty rapier. Blindly believing that she was alone in this vast forest, she roamed around to find clothes and shelter.

She was incredibly hungry and parched, having walked for hours now. Her feet had small cuts now, her arms with insect bites, due to the absence of garments to protect her body. Yet, she doesn’t plan to stop searching even if the sun is setting down.

It was now dark, but she can slightly see a faint flicker of lights not far ahead. She followed the light, determined to get what she needed even if she had to kill someone if they refused. It was a two-story cabin, inhabited, based on the fruits and vegetables growing outside. She looked around the house, searched for another entrance beside the front door and windows. Irina found a back door, but it was locked. She stared blankly at the doorknob, wishing she had something with her to open the damn door that wouldn’t alert whoever was inside.

The knob clicked. Thinking that someone had opened it from the inside, she shuffled for a fighting stance, ready to attack. When the door didn’t open, she pushed it and peeked inside. There was no sign of people, and the lights were off. She peered in the dark, searched for something she can eat. There was none lying around, and instead, she met was some new shiny appliances.

Her eyes caught the knives in the corner, so she took one, just in case it was needed. The sound of stomping feet from the wooden stairs alerted the Colonel-Doctor. She hid in the dark and waited if the person was threatening enough to kill.

You skipped the last two stairs, rushing to the fridge to get a tub of ice cream. You skimmed the items inside, looking for something to snack on while you watch your favourite show. It was rather empty aside from the half-full ice cream tub, and some leftovers. You really have to get groceries tomorrow. As you closed the door, a sharp object was pointed at your neck. You retreat away until your back hit the table. You can faintly see the woman hovering over you thanks to the dim light from the kitchen island.

You slowly raised your hands on your head, “Woah, lady. What do you want? You wanna rob my kitchen? Well, consider this your unlucky day because there’s barely anything ther-“ you stop blabbering as she pressed the knife into your skin.

“I need clothes and food. And tell me what this place is.” Her thick accent sent shivers on your spine.

“Okay. First, this is my house, and well, we’re in the middle of nowhere; and this middle of nowhere is in the Y/C. I will get you clothes, but I need to get upstairs to my room. For the food, there’s a leftover in the fridge. I’ll heat it for you if you want. Please, just please don’t kill me,” you pleaded.

She stepped back enough for you to stand, but her hand grabbed your shoulder as a precaution as if you can outmuscle her. You walked towards the fridge to get her food and put it in the oven. After setting the timer, you head to the stairs, the woman still behind you. Once you got to your room she closed the door abruptly and gave you space to rummage on your closet. You don’t know if your clothes will fit her so you settled on giving her an oversized shirt and one of your comfy shorts. “Here,” you turned around to give her when you finally noticed that she was naked. “What the fu…” your eyes trail down her Alabaster skin, but abruptly faced away when she cleared her throat. Blushing from being caught, you merely tossed the clothes to her.

Gathering your courage to speak, you asked, “Lady, who are you and why are you very nude in my house?” You’re insanely beautiful too, and I mean that with utter respect.

“Irina Spalko. I woke up in the middle of these woods earlier. You can turn around now.” Once you did, she continued, “And thank you.”

“Well, I don’t really mind the company, as long as you don’t kill me, please.”

“Insanely beautiful.”

You stared at her dumbly, "What?”

“You said I’m insanely beautiful,” she said smugly, her lips tugging upwards on a smirk.

Now, what the fuck did she just said? “I- I didn’t say anything like that. You must be hallucinating, Ms. Spalko. Your hunger makes you hear things.” You scurried off downstairs to get as far away from her, and your ice cream. It must have turned to a puddle now.

You set her food on the table and wait as she took her time before following you out. She must be so sure that you wouldn’t take off and call for help.

The princess had finally descended, you thought as you watch her sit at the table and eat silently. “Colonel-Doctor. Not a princess,” she declared. You opened your mouth to speak but remained in an O-shape as no coherent words were coming out. “H-how- what- I- I don’t understand. A-are you a mind reader or something? A witch?”

“Neither. Just… a chosen one.” After that, she paid you no mind and continued eating.

You walked out of the kitchen, fearing that she would hear your thoughts again. Instead, you whispered to yourself, “What have I gotten myself into? I'm like a hostage in my own house, okay. I feel like the main character that dies first in a horror movie.”

You sauntered back in the kitchen and asked the woman, “I take it you’re staying here for the meantime? So do you wanna sleep in the living room or the guest room?” you probed. “I don’t really have much of a choice, do I? If I want to stay alive?”

She only nodded. “Thought so; Uhm, so, where?”

“Guest room.”

“Got it. If you’re finished, just throw the plate into the trash. I’ll ready the room.”

You just finished placing some sheets into the bed when she arrived. “Okay, housemate. Bed’s ready. It’s been a long day for the both of us, and I really wanna sleep now, so let’s settle what we have to settle tomorrow, ‘kay? Good night,” you finished your speech and closed the door. You leaned onto it and breathed out a deep sigh. When did you become such a hospitable host that you just let a dangerous woman into your house?

Sleep didn’t come to Irina that night. She tried to remember what happened before she got here. Right. They had returned the skull to Akator; she requested knowledge and they gave it to her. Her brain was overloaded with too much information that she disintegrated. Irina still remembers the excruciating pain, the feeling that someone was drilling holes into her head, the feeling of being burned, but here she was, alive and well. In the middle of nowhere, with someone who looks very vulnerable. You proved to be of use to her, so she won’t harm you… as of now.

Her mind drifted to you. How was she able to read what was on your mind just by sparing you a glance? Before, she needed to be close to the person as possible before she can read them. Her psychic abilities had her family ostracized; the reason she sought knowledge and her purpose. How about the doorknob? Did she do it? Did the interdimensional beings amplified her abilities, and possibly gave her more?

How many days have passed since she was in Akator?

64 years.

At first, she couldn’t comprehend how time had passed, seeing as she didn’t age one bit. But since Irina had encountered aliens herself, nothing was odd for her anymore.

“So you’re saying you’re from the ’50s?”

“Yes.”

“How did that happen?” you curiously asked. “I mean, one day, you’re in a temple in the ’50s, then you woke up in the woods in 2021?” she nodded. “Actually, you know what, whatever. I believe you. The world is in shambles right now and I wouldn’t be surprised anymore if aliens were real,” you finished as you parked your car.

“Here’s the deal, Irina. You’re a woman out of time, and so much had changed since you… since then,” you paused, “And you’re a very physical woman. Like I think if someone bumped their cart onto you you’ll tackle them to the ground, and I don’t wanna cause a scene. So, stick with me, please.”

So far, so good. Irina wasn’t causing a scene yet, except when she snatches out the item you were holding. She was intently reading the label and then muttering about how it wasn’t good for the body and then putting it back on the shelf.

The cart was nearly full; mostly food, toiletries, and some tools. Irina didn’t add anything save for a toy sword. Okay.

She was mostly quiet, but you see that her eyes silently wander around the place, on the people around, frequently landing on you. You spent shopping in comfortable silence, letting her absorb the state of the world. She may be listing off her questions in her head and then ask about them later.

You look at your grocery list and cart simultaneously, checking if you’ve got everything you needed. As you confirm that you’ve had, you gasped as Irina took your hand into hers and laced your fingers together. You looked at your joined hands, feeling how warm and soft her hand is. You remembered that she can read minds, so you jokingly asked, ‘What hand cream do you use?’, testing her ability once again.

“There are two men following us since we got out of the car. I doubt you noticed, but good thing you take so long in every aisle, I was able to confirm that they were indeed following us,” she whispered, her hot breath tickling your ears. “They intend to steal from you.”

Fear taking over you, you stammered “Oh. Stealing in the light of day, okay, uh can’t you do anything to them? Any more abilities? Clearly, you can defend yourself based on how you introduced yourself last night.”

“I could, but you said you didn’t want to cause a scene. And I wasn’t certain until now.”

“Yeah, I take that back. Do what you have to. I trust you.”

Irina found this as an excuse to measure her abilities. You continued to act normal, proceeding to the counter to pay for your groceries. They have no idea that you and Irina have noticed them already. The men split up, keeping themselves at a distance, as one queued at the counter beside yours. The other had gone out of your sight.

She planned to lure them into the alley at the back of the shop. Once you arrived, she had noticed the other man nonchalantly leaning on the wall ahead, waiting for you. You continued to walk slowly until you felt the second man behind you, effectively trapping the both of you in the middle of the back alley. The moment they got near, the man behind spoke, “You, the one with the bags. Give me your money,” he hissed, referring to you. “Your phone and keys. And no one will get hurt.”

You would’ve run for the life of you if there wasn’t another man waiting on the other side, flipping a knife. Eyes locked on Irina, you patiently wait for her instruction, hoping she wouldn’t turn on you and leave you alone.

“I won’t,” she murmured, side-eyeing either man at your side.

The Ukrainian wasn’t sure if her hunch was right, but if she wasn’t, she could still take both men with bare hands. She stared at the knife and envisioned it impaling on his stomach. The man’s grunt had confirmed her hunch as red stained his clothes, and blood trickled to the ground. She then pulled the knife out and willed it to pierce through the other man’s thigh. Once he was down on his knees, Irina’s hand that never left yours yanked you to run to your car. She gave them a last glance and hurled their bodies to the wall for safe measure.

Afraid that someone might have seen what happened, you started the car immediately and drove out. None of you spoke until you’re sure that you are far enough from the store. “What the fuck?” you blurted, adrenaline still coursing through you. “Did you- did you do that? No, no don’t answer. You definitely did. Uh, telekinesis and mind-reading? Any additional powers you’re hiding?”

You glanced at her, her eyes straight on the road. “Because if you’re planning to stay in my house for God knows how long, you might wanna tell me about them.”

She was silent for a while, contemplating her answer. “I don’t know if there’s more.”

When you didn’t respond, she told you everything that had happened to her since she was a child. How they were exiled in their village when her psychic abilities had manifested, how her own mother feared her for her naïve innocence, which led her to flee the village and search for answers.

You listened attentively, though lost yourself when she mentioned that she was part of the Soviet Union. You only hear and see on the internet how these people were trained, and uneasiness was creeping up. Her intentions weren’t clear; she hadn’t yet thought about what she’s going to do now that she’s in a society she outgrew.

When she noticed that you trailed off, she spoke, “I don’t use a hand cream.”

It was a good thing that you’re not stepping on any pedal right now because you would have pressed the brakes heavily. You raised your brow at her, amused, and a chuckle coming out from you. Though her eyes were still cold and impassive, a genuine smile tugged from her lips.

#cate blanchett #cate blanchett x reader #cate blanchett imagine #irina spalko #irina spalko x reader #indiana jones and the kingdom of crystal skull #indiana jones and the kingdom of crystal skull fanfic

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waspgrave · 3 years ago

Note

formally requesting info about mara 😌

THANK YOU!!! She is my best girl these days but i’ve been so shy to talk about her despite her having a wholeass ref page and pinterest board now...but now that you’ve enabled me:

here is a sheet of what she looks like <3 now to shout and make a really long post under a readmore

o She’s a half-elf drow, around 23-years-old PROBABLY. She wouldn’t bet money on her age these days.

o College of Spirits bard. She’s self-taught and prefers playing string music. She also has a really pretty voice, but is shy when it comes to singing in front of anyone. Mara learned a lot of her music through spirits of the deceased that wished to be remembered. And all of her stories on the spirit table come from the experiences of the departed she’s communicated with.

o Has NO CONCEPT of money value. She earns most of hers through tips while playing at a tavern and at least 90% of it goes missing between sessions or during the game.

Example – she lost 500+ of the 1200 gold that our rogue warforged gave her to buy supplies for the group. Which she did. We have healing supplies and the paladin is now OP thanks to plate armor. But who knows where the rest went...... Thankfully he also has no concept of money so no hard feelings <3

o Never had long-term friends until the last two months! It’s only ever been her, Lavender, and her grandma and usually they travelled a lot that she never got to stay anywhere long enough to befriend people. Also was told to avoid major cities and whatnot for a long time.

o Lavender is an 8-foot-tall shadowy ghost?? Figure that follows her around. It can only be seen by the dead or dying, but appears as a featureless humanoid. It rarely manifests physically but when it does it’s as a little critter (bird or mouse) and usually only when something Dangerous occurs or nearly took place. Not a familiar! Yet...

Mara has no idea what it is and never thought to ask about it, but it’s been with her for as long as she can remember and she loves it. She views it as another part of herself and feels lonely anytime they’re separated.

It hums a soothing tune when it’s curious about something. It can peer into the memories of the dead, usually so Mara can bring them comfort or help them move on. It recently did this to a guy that’s alive and to the construct in the party – so that’s weird.

CAN be separated from Mara but something very strange might occur.

o She experiences chronic nightmares and pain.

o If she’s not careful then using her ability to read into memories of the dead can slap her with Exhaustion Level 1 and injure her if she goes too far and winds up ‘experiencing’ the moment.

o “Grandma” is a hag named Ms. Spice. This is her! :) (drawn by my wife and the DM - venusmage)

o Was raised by her grandma for as long as she can remember. She’s almost positive it’s been at least a decade but couldn’t tell you her first memory or anything past a certain point. Things get really muddy for her if she pushes it and it’s been very stressful to have this pointed out to her.

Prior fact contribution – she has necromancy runes on her body that are usually hidden (she never thought of why she defaults to wearing gloves and long sleeves but suddenly it makes sense!). This implies she died at some point. And she took the knowledge pretty well! But is probably going to have a meltdown eventually!

Does know that she had parents! She has her dad’s focus and her mother’s earring. She’s toying with the idea of looking for them, but has no idea where to start.

o Mara speaks what’s on her mind which can be helpful! But it gets worse when she’s nervous. And unfortunately, she is extremely blunt and can be very insulting.

Has been informed recently that she can be a bit rough around the edges when it comes to how blunt she is.

She’s working on this. She recently spent 20+ gold at a pawn shop buying people gifts as she strives to become besties with the party.

o She is extremely naïve to a LOT of things. She’s also very sensitive and full of emotions and love. She’s awkward and bad at showing these things and expressing herself. She tends to hide when she’s hurt or sad, and prefers to disregard concern towards herself in favor of focusing on other people. That being said – she can be spiteful, sarcastic, and immature. She hates being embarrassed or feeling as though she’s not being heard and ganged up on. She will slap back way too hard

example: the paladin and sorcerer in our party ganged up on her about being dumb and making bad choices when she suggested talking to the gang of drow that are enemies with the dragon poachers. And bc she didn’t feel like she was getting defended or helped by anyone she snapped informed them - in front of hot cleric dad and other party members - that they signed themselves off to servitude towards her grandma after making requests of her with no payment....queen

o she is SO PROTECTIVE of people. Caspian (aztechnology’s chronurgy wizard) and Gracious (tiniestmagneto’s warforged rogue) are two people she instantly bonded to and will now bite people over. Same with Drac, the guy who she accidentally triggered a PTSD attack in after accidentally reading his death??? when they got into an argument

o Loves stealing for funsies. She’s a little magpie and will steal even random shit that isn’t valuable. She will sometimes give these items to people. She totally doesn’t mind if they sell it, no way, it’s fine.

o Almost everything she does involves a trade and deal.

o She gives ribbons to people she cares and worries about <3 She usually has an assortment of them wrapped around a spool in her bag and embroiders most of them as a little personal touch. She also leaves ribbons on things that feel important, especially if tragedy is associated with them. It’s a way of saying that she’ll remember them and possibly help when she can

o Very desensitized to things that would scare other people. This is because she lived with a hag for over a decade.

Recently informed our wizard, Caspian, that her grandma eats people. The most notable one was when she ate a person (not in front of her!) that was threatening her and Mara. This is normal behavior to Mara. Mara got to feed his shoes to one of her grandma’s pet mimics – DeMyse.

Thinks things like beholderkin and yeth hounds are cute. She managed to pacify a Gazer that they found in a chimney and is honestly very upset that the Blackstaff took it away to be studied.

#mara doesn't have a tag :(#playing dnd #ILU THANK U #good luck to everyone that reads this ill love you too #again i crammed like 8 oc designs into her #so she's like esme/charlotte/my lavellan/former skyrim oc smashed into one 5'0" woman

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shipping-kitchen · 3 years ago

Text

Sweet Burning Pleasure

Kinktober, Day One: Sex Pollen/Aphrodisiacs

Fandom: Resident Evil VIII

Pairing: Lady Dimitrescu/Female Reader

Words: 4,500

Warnings: body horror, really dubious consent/non-consensual, aphrodisiacs, the reader definitely thinks she’s going to die for most of the fic, lots of blood and blood drinking and vampire things, explicit sex, graphic descriptions of cuts and blood

Summary: You are a maid in the Dimitrescu Castle, doing your best to keep your head down and survive. You eventually catch the attention of the Lady of the castle.

Important Note: I’m posting my Kinktober one-shots daily on tumblr, unedited! Eventually I’ll edit them and post them on AO3, but for now this is the first draft, and I hope you enjoy it ^-^

You were well aware that working at the Dimitrescu Castle was tantamount to a death sentence, but when Mother Miranda asked for new women to volunteer… it was an honour to be recognized by her. It would guarantee that your parents would eat well for the coming winter. The years in the village had stretched on, and you knew that your chances of staying on the farm were slim. Too many of your childhood friends had already been ushered away, to experiments and servitude to the Lords that surrounded the town.

You could become a wife in the town, produce more children to continue the cycle, but you couldn’t stomach the idea of marrying one of the men that you had grown up beside. Better to step forward, volunteer as a maid, accept the new dress that was sent your way, pack your scant belongings, and hug your parents goodbye as you began the walk towards the castle that loomed above your village.

You were wearing the dress that had been given to you when you were chosen: a grey dress that gathered at the waist and then flared out around your legs, falling to just below your knees. Paired with the apron that rested overtop, it was more elegant than the clothes you grew up with, but still clearly the clothes of a servant.

Your bag bumped against your shoulder blades as you walked through the gates, leaving your village behind. It was early Spring, and the vineyards were beginning to fill with greenery. The lattices surrounded you, the scent of fresh soil and new growth almost covering the decay of the scarecrows that hung around the path.

It was easier to look at the slowly growing vines than to face forward and the castle doors becoming larger as you drew towards it. Your heart was pounding, anxiety prickling on the back of your neck and the tips of your fingers. No one ever came back from the castle, and you had no idea what was waiting for you inside.

All too soon, your feet were climbing the stone steps towards the main doors. You paused in front of them, fixing the folds of your dress and pressing your hair back into place. Then you took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

It was long seconds before the door opened, revealing another woman in a similar grey dress. It wasn’t someone from the village, which didn’t surprise you. All of the Lords hired foreigners, the village not enough to staff their needs. She was an older woman, her hair beginning to grey.

You curtseyed, a small bobbing movement.

“I’m the new maid, ma’am. Sent from the village.”

“Well, come inside.” The woman stepped back and you obediently stepped inside, trying not to flinch as the huge door was shut behind you. “What’s your name, girl?”

The main hall of the castle was resplendent and golden. A large painting of three women was illuminated across the hall. There were delicate vases and intricate designs everywhere you looked. You told the woman your name, occupied with gazing around the hall in awe. You had never seen such splendor, and it filled you with both fear and anticipation.

“Hmm. Well, I’m the housekeeper, Ms. Matheski. You’ll take your orders from me. Welcome to Castle Dimitrescu.”

You had expected life at the castle to be something out of a horror movie, abstract ideas of dark hallways and boarded up rooms. The truth was much different: life at the castle was hard work.

There were dozens of rooms, and you had to prepare each one on a rotating schedule. There were sheets to wash in the river, fireplaces to clean out, mantels to polish, floors to mop. Every day, you worked hard and collapsed into bed for a deep sleep.

You rarely saw the mistresses of the castle, dressed all in black and cackling as they walked down the halls together. All of the servants knew to get out of the way when their voices came down the hallway. No one discussed the red crusted around the mistresses’ mouths, but everyone knew. The servants cleaned out the goblets, after all.

Sometimes, you encountered Lady Dimitrescu. While her daughters announced themselves with their raucous conversation, the lady of the house moved with an unpredictable silence. Many times, you were on your knees in front of a fireplace, covered in ashes, when you looked up to see Lady Dimitrescu behind you, watching your work.

The first time it had happened, you had scrambled to your feet, dropping to your lowest curtsey. Your eyes on the ground, you waited. Her presence was all-encompassing: she was so large, and in her white dress, unlike anything else in the castle.

Lady Dimistrecu had laughed and told you to continue working. On her way out of the room, she had touched her fingers to the top of your head, and your knees had gone weak from fear. And then she was gone, and you collapsed back in front of the fireplace.

Since then, you had gotten used to the Lady’s presence, and the way she came and went, overseeing everyone’s work. Those who made mistakes were the ones to disappear: you made sure that you listened carefully and double-checked your work.

And so you survived, into the winter.

Winter in the castle was different: the fires were kept blazing, more wood being ordered from the village almost daily. The windows were boarded up, to keep out the cold. Before, the Dimitrescu daughters had come and gone from the castle, but now they remained in their rooms, more sullen and more likely to lash out.

You kept working, you kept your head down. You did your best to avoid the daughters and please the Lady. Ms. Matheski was never displeased with your work, but she wasn’t warm with any of the girls who worked in the castle. You didn’t blame her.

One day, you had been assigned to the main hall. The main hall had to be cleaned daily, unlike the other rooms, and it was a dangerous assignment. Lady Dimitrescu was picky about the banister, and the daughters often came through the main hall on their way from their rooms. The winter was dragging on, and the mistresses were restless. Daniella, especially, had taken to tormenting the maids: tearing their clothes, throwing rats at them while they worked, and occasionally dragging them off to the lower levels, where you had never been asked to work.

You made your way into the main hall cautiously, entering through the servant door. It was empty, and you got down to work. The fireplace was first, cleaned out and then refilled with new wood and lit again. The castle was kept at a warmth that was almost stifling in winter, but you knew better than to complain.

Once the fire was lit, you turned your attention to the dishes that had been left on the table in the hall. The daughters liked to dine here, and often left a mess. It would take you several trips across the castle to the kitchen to clear the table, so it was best to get started.

You gathered up the first stack of dishes and made off, your dress swirling around your legs as you made your way down the familiar hallways. You tried not to let them rattle, cautious of drawing attention to yourself, and breathed a sigh of relief when you reached the kitchen without incident.

“Dishes from the main hall,” you told the maid washing dishes. “More to come.”

She nodded in acknowledgement and you headed back out the door, your soft leather shoes making no noise on the carpeted hallway as you went back to the main hall.

When you entered the hall, you froze. Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters were all in the hall, warming themselves in front of the fire you had recently lit. Bela was reclining against her mother’s chest, her sisters’ heads resting on their mother’s legs. It was a relaxed tableau, and not something you felt that you should be present for.

But Lady Dimistrecu was already looking towards the door as you stepped in, so you dropped into a hasty curtsy and reached behind yourself for the door.

“Please, continue,” the Lady commanded, waving her hand towards you. “The table needs clearing.”

“Yes, my Lady,” you said, hearing your voice come out quiet and hesitant. You clenched your jaw against your own hesitation, and walked towards the table. You could feel the eyes of the daughters upon you. You only hoped that their closeness with their mother would be enough to keep them content.

You gathered the plates and the goblets, trying to keep your hands from shaking. You could do this, despite the eyes on you. You could do this.

Distracted by your fear and the prickling awareness of your watchers, you picked up one of the knives the wrong way, and felt hot pain shoot through your palm.

You inhaled, but made no sound of pain, and forced yourself not to jerk back. Instead, you calmly placed the knife on the stack of plates with the others, and picked up the stack.

When you turned, Cassandra was standing directly in front of you. You had never seen one of the daughters this close, and it was immediately apparent that there was something wrong with her eyes. It looked like there was something moving inside the darkness of her pupils.

You refused to flinch backwards. Fear crawled up your spine, but you stood still. You held the plates steady. Your palm was burning where you had cut it.

Cassandra’s hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist.

Despair grew around you. This was sure to be the end, no matter how careful you had been.

She pulled your hand forward, and there was no resisting her grip. The plates slipped from your grasp and shattered on the floor at your feet.

Your palm was splayed upwards, and you could see how shallow the cut had been. Only a few beads of blood were brought to the surface, tiny droplets along a jagged line where the knife had dug into your skin.

An unnatural whine came from Cassandra’s chest, more like a cicada’s song than a human voice. She leaned towards your palm, and you closed your eyes, unwilling to watch.

There was a growl and then a harsh tug as Cassandra’s hand was pulled off your wrist. You pulled your hand back to your chest, opening your eyes to see Bela tussling with Cassandra on the floor, both of them making a strange growling-whining noise.

“Mine,” Cassandra hissed.

“Mine,” Bela growled back, and slammed her hand through her sister’s head. Insects exploded around her arm, twining up towards Bela’s face, and both of them dissolved into a swarm of struggling insects. As they fought, you took two steps back, and then pelted towards one of the further doors.

You didn’t expect to make it, but somehow, the door was closing behind you and you were still running, following the winding hallways back to your room. You slammed the door to your room and leaned against it, panting.

You could feel your heartbeat drumming against your ribs and your temples, your hand clenched in a fist around the cut that had started the fight. You knew, logically, that you aren’t safe here. This room was just another part of their castle, it would be easy enough to find you.

But you were in your own space. No one had ever come into this room while you’d been here. It was your safety in the castle. A place where you had never felt afraid. The fear was already beginning to fade, even as you struggled to hold onto it. Should you run? Would they forget? Would their mother blame you for their fight?

You unclenched your hand and looked at the cut again. The blood was already beginning to dry. You knew you should clean it, your hands still ashy from the fireplace. There was a washbasin in your room and you moved towards it, dipping your hands into the cold water. It came from the well outside the castle, and while it was boiled for the Lady’s baths and morning toilette, it was still cold for your own basin. It grounded you, washed away the last of the adrenaline. You watched the ashes swirl into the water. There wasn’t enough blood to turn the water pink. Such a small cut.

Surely it would be easily forgotten.

As you dried your hands, there was a knock on your door. One, two, three raps, and then silence.

The fear returned, a lump in your throat as you moved towards the door. There were no windows in your room, no escape from whatever waited on the other side. A disappointed housekeeper, a curious maid, a murderous mistress…

You put your hand on the doorknob, inhaled, and opened the door.

White fabric greeted you, falling in elegant ripples to the ground.

“Hello, my pet,” said Lady Dimitrescu. “May I come in?”

You stumbled back, unable to deny her. She bent to enter your room, her hat brushing the edges of the doorway. Like her daughters, she was pale as moonlight. When she straightened, she was very close to the ceiling. The servant’s quarters lacked the high ceilings of the rest of the house, not made with the Lady of the house in mind.

“I’m sorry, my Lady,” you managed. “I didn’t mean to drop the plates.”

“Mmm. My daughters are impatient. I don’t blame you for the accident.” Lady Dimitrescu reached towards you, and you allowed it. Her hand wrapped around your wrist, just as Cassandra had held you earlier, but the scale was different. Her palm cupped your entire wrist, her fingers wrapping up your arm to the elbow. You had never felt so small, so helpless, so delicate. “I’ve spoken with them.”

“I… thank you.” Your body was thrumming with a mixture of fear, hope, and contact. Her fingertips rested delicately on the inside of your arm, against the veins.

“You are a rare delight,” Lady Dimitrescu murmured. “You caught my daughters off-guard.” Gently, she turned your palm upwards to show the faint line where the knife had cut. Her thumb traced the mark, expression going hazy for a moment. “You surprised me as well.”

“My Lady?” you asked, unsure what to make of her attention. You tried pulling your hand back, and her grip tightened on your arm, sudden enough to make you gasp. Her eyes snapped upwards to meet your gaze, and she looked hungry.

“It’s been a long winter, my dear,” Lady Dimitrescu said, as if it were a confession, as if this were a conversation, as if she were not holding you in place. “The wine is sweet, but you… are almost certainly sweeter.”

That was enough for you to know where this was going. You pushed yourself backwards, trying to wrench your arm from Lady Dimitrescu’s grasp, but it was no use. Her fingers were like marble on your wrist, solid and unbreaking.

“Hush, my pet.”

Her other hand wrapped around the back of your neck, and you heard yourself make a short sound of fear. Instinct made you freeze in place, your nape cradled in her palm. Her fingers rested on your collarbones. She was leaning down above you, and her eyes were so dark and hungry.

“It will not hurt,” Lady Dimitrescu whispered.

And then her lips were on your neck, and she was lying, it hurt, soft lips and sharp teeth and then searing pain up and down your spine. You could hear yourself crying out, you could hear the sound of her licking the blood from the bite mark. It was wet and wrong and you couldn’t free yourself from her grasp, no matter how you squirmed in her arms.

It seemed like forever before the pain began to dull, still radiating along your shoulder and back. The ache drew inwards and became almost unimportant. Lady Dimitrescu’s arms were strong around you. You could let your body relax, and still she held you close to her. Your blood had stained the white satin of the arm she held behind your head, keeping your neck steady as she fed. You could feel her lips and tongue, teasing the ragged holes made by her teeth, keeping the blood flowing. But somehow, it just didn’t hurt. You found yourself eased by her closeness, the certainty of her hold on your body.

Between one breath and the next, Lady Dimitrescu drew back with one last kiss to your wounds. She looked like her daughters now, crimson all around her lips and dripping down her chin, messy and dark. She groaned as she looked down at you, her gaze flickering from your neck to your eyes and back again.

You still felt like unable to move. Lady Dimitrescu was holding you, and there was no need to go anywhere. Your limbs were too heavy, even if you had wanted to. You blinked up at her, dazed by the hunger that still burned in her eyes after her meal.

Gently, Lady Dimitrescu lifted you into her arms like a child, cradling your head and hips. She laid you down on the bed, traced a finger through the ruined skin where she had bit you.

“As sweet as any fruit before Mother’s gift,” the Lady whispered, kneeling beside the bed. “You are exquisite.”

You wanted to touch the blood on her lips, but your hand only lifted slightly when you tried to move it.

She smiled at the movement, took your hand in hers. Again, you felt like a doll between her palms, so all-encompassing.

“Let me give you a gift of my own, my sweet.” You watched Lady Dimitrescu reach up and take off her hat, tossing it carelessly to the other side of the room. Her hair was held in a low coil behind her head, and she pulled the elastics from it, letting the waves fall over her shoulders. From the centre of the coil, she extracted a narrow blade. It was silver, delicate carvings on the blade flashing in the low lights of your room.

The Lady of the castle always wore gloves, but now she took them off and put them on your bedside table. Beneath the leather gloves, her hands were grey and white lines like marble spread beneath her skin. She rolled up one blood-soaked sleeve of her dress, and you saw that the white and grey lines went all the way up her body. Glancing at her face, from so close to her, it was clear that she was wearing some kind of makeup to make her appear pale like her daughters.

Lady Dimitrescu brought the blade down on her own arm, and you watched it cut through her skin. You half-expected the blood to be grey, but it was as red as your own.

She held her arm over your mouth, and you felt the warm droplets drip onto your lips. Soon your lips would look just as scarlet as hers.

“Open up, my pet,” Lady Dimitrescu told you, a smile in her voice.

Obediently, you parted your lips, and the blood met your tongue. It didn’t taste like metal and copper, as it did when you bit your lip. This was rich and full and thick, burning in your throat like whiskey when you swallowed it.

“Good.”

She watched you drink, your blood on her lips and hers on your own. The burning in your throat spread to your stomach and then out to the tips of your toes and your fingers, even your scalp prickling with sudden warmth. The dull ache of your neck went away, and when Lady Dimitrescu passed her fingers over the bitemark again, you felt that the holes are gone, your skin whole and healed. Her fingers still came back red with blood, though, which she licked from her fingertips with clear enjoyment.

Too soon, her arm healed and the blood stopped. You opened your mouth, silently asking for more, and she laughed at you, a low chuckle that made the burning even worse.

Then she leaned down and pressed her lips to yours.

There was the familiar taste of your own blood, thin and metallic. There was the unfamiliar feeling of lips against yours, prompting and playing. Her teeth nipped at your lip, and you returned the favour. She hummed approval, and you brought your hands up to run your fingers through her hair. You hadn’t noticed when the heaviness had left your body, but now every atom of you was screaming that you want to be closer to her.

Your Lady pressed into the kiss, overwhelming you for a moment. There was so much to think about, tongue and teeth and lips and the silken feeling of her hair. Her fingers were cupping your chin, changing the angle of the kiss, trailing down your neck to caress your collarbones.

The light touches were setting your body on fire, pressing up to get more contact. Lady Dimitrescu obliged, curling herself over you. Her knees rested low on the bed, her arms wrapped around you, the bed complaining under your combined weight. She was a solid wall of fabric brushing against your chest, your hips, and you wanted to be closer.

Lady Dimitrescu broke from the kiss and you moved on instinct, pressing your lips to the corner of her jaw. She tilted her head, giving you access, and you kissed down the elegant curve of her neck. When the need for more pressed at you again, you bit down on her neck. She moaned, and it was the most human sound you’d heard from her all night. You kissed and bit down to her shoulder, pushing the fabric of her dress out of the way.

You felt like you were out of your mind with this strange burning that flared through your body, needing something from her, needing everything from her. You tore satin in your quest for her skin, some still-rational part of your brain shocked at your audacity.

Grey skin stretched down her shoulders, marked with those same pale lines. She was warm under your lips, and you scraped her skin with your teeth. Lady Dimitrescu shifted against you, holding you closer, and you could hear her breathing unevenly.

At least you weren’t alone in this wild need. She was hungry for you, and you could taste it when she brought your lips back to hers, with new urgency.

“Please, my Lady,” you managed when she drew back. You didn’t know what you were begging for, and she was a work of art with her dress torn, hanging off one shoulder, blood and lipstick smeared across her chin.

“Yes,” Lady Dimistrescu said, her voice low. She leaned back and you whined at the loss of her warm presence, but then her hands were lifting your dress, effortlessly freeing you from its layers. The rush of air on your bare skin did nothing to cool the fire, and you grabbed for her wrists as she threw your dress carelessly across the room.

Only when Lady Dimitrescu’s hands were back on your bare skin did you relax, arching into the sensation. Her fingers are a little sharp, and she traced them delicately across the lines of your ribs, the soft rolls of your stomach, and then, teasing, across the curve of your breasts. You could feel your breath catch, helpless to stop yourself from pressing into the touch.

She practically purrs at that, leaning down to lick the remaining blood from your neck. Stopping to nibble your collarbone, she mouths down to the top of your breasts, cupping them and tracing their outline. It is a sublime torture as Lady Dimitrescu puts her mouth to you and you feel her tongue tracing around your swiftly hardening nipple.

You hear your voice crying out, hear your Lady humming her pleasure, feel her hands pinning down your hips. The air is cold: the sheets are soft: there is so much sensation racing through your body.

“Please,” you whisper, shuddering against her. “Please, please.”

And her hands run down from your hips, along the line of your outer thighs, and then delicately up the delicate inner thigh, making you squirm. She is close to where you’re soaking through your undergarments, so close and so far.

You’re panting, burning, moaning, and then her hands are finally on you, certain through the fabric. Her tongue, her fingers, you rock between them, overwhelmed.

Lady Dimitrescu slides your undergarments down without lifting her mouth from your breast and then you are bare to her, entirely. You can feel how wet you are when she runs her fingers across you. It’s too much and not enough.

Her touch leaves you for a moment, and you gasp for breath. When she touches you, it feels like the whole world narrows to her fingers and mouth. Without her, there is too much. The room is cold and you are still burning.

Lady Dimitrescu doesn’t make you wait long: she slides back on top of you, her knees caging your legs as she bends down to kiss you. She is too large for the bed, nearly bent in half to reach your mouth, a nightmare of grey skin and streaked blood, and she is everything you desire. She kisses with a demanding pace, and you return it.

Her fingers creep back up your inner thighs and you spread your legs as best you can. Your Lady is quick to return to your centre, starting slowly with her exploration. It brings the fire down for a moment, calm strokes along your folds, teasing brushes across your clit. Then the light touches begin to be too little, and you squirm under her. She draws back from the kiss to laugh again, and strokes you in earnest. Pleasure blooms from her fingers, and you lose track of your body. Your edges are dissolving into something greater, the only concrete part of you the place where her fingers are taking you apart.

She bites down again, this time just above your collarbone, and everything comes apart.

There are waves of awareness and pleasure, Lady Dimitrescu guiding you through them with leisurely movements of her fingers.

Once the shaking has passed, you collapse onto your pillow. Everything feels very distant, echoes of a real world that has stopped existing.

Lady Dimitrescu presses a kiss to the bloody mark that she left on your shoulder, and shifts you closer to her. When she bends her legs, she barely fits onto the bed, and your legs are draped over her thighs, your head pillowed on her arm.

“Sleep, my sweet,” your Lady whispers, running her thumb over the curve of your hip. “Rest and heal. I will be here when you wake.”

You have no choice but to obey, darkness dragging you downwards. The last thing you are aware of is the warmth of her embrace.

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