#starlitmanornetwork

[lorei-writes]

Blessed

William x f!Reader Smut ~1k

Who let the robin out of the cage?

Contents: control, masturbation, corruption, vaginal sex, mirror sex

“William.” Fiery scarlet eyes pierce through you, each a window into the hell of his soul. The devil itself could embrace you. A faithful sinner, you partake in the communion of his hands, the back of his fingers stroking your cheek with sweetly slow diligence. William seizes you by the chin. His thumb brushes against your lower lip, leaves your lipstick just short of being smudged. “Force me out of my hesitation. Just this once. Please.” “Be utterly shameless,” he commands, consumed by the blaze gazing back at him. “Take the lead, my darling robin.”

“You are yet to shed your shame completely? Ha…”

“Will —”

Raining affection washes his name away, a gentle spring mizzle turned summer storm. His lips pressed to yours, William coaxes you to part your mouth, greedy and growing only greedier. The scent of roses envelops you, those long fingers tapping away a crescendoing melody at your spine. You clutch at the lapels of his coat, pull him down by his cravat…

“William.”

Fiery scarlet eyes pierce through you, each a window into the hell of his soul. The devil itself could embrace you. A faithful sinner, you partake in the communion of his hands, the back of his fingers stroking your cheek with sweetly slow diligence. William seizes you by the chin. His thumb brushes against your lower lip, leaves your lipstick just short of being smudged.

“Force me out of my hesitation. Just this once. Please.”

“Be utterly shameless,” he commands, consumed by the blaze gazing back at him. “Take the lead, my darling robin.”

The mattress dips as you push William back. He needn’t order the obvious. But he has, so obey you must, fierce heat raising to your face as your legs straddle his lap, hands cradling his face… for your fingers to slip through his silver moonlight hair and force him to look up. To see you. To admire his tyrannical depravity and your lust, his searing gaze contradicting his blissfully saccharine smile. Selfish, William plays you like an instrument, each touch delivered to your thighs reverberating through your body in harmonic cacophony as your skirt rides up, and up, and up —

Is this a good thing?

Is this a bad thing?

You do not know, but you devour him all the same, your tongue slipping past his lips and sliding against his. Crimson fingernails press into your flesh, thoroughly unimpressed with the dress you still wear. You push his cloak off his shoulders, pull his coat down his arms… Sample him, over and over again, until a field of poppies blooms over his ivory skin, discarded petals marking a path down his neck, his pulse quickening whenever you draw near. You drink him in like sacramental wine. Buttons give in to you, newer and vaster plains being unveiled, there to be shrouded in the intoxicating mist of your breath. Oh, you love it, and you love it when his body quakes as you slide down his toned torso, past his stomach, further down his navel, when you dust affection to the skin at the border of his pants. And you love it when you withdraw.

You are gone, a queen standing tall, proudly staring down her defeated king. Palpable excitement sizzles between the marks you have scattered over him, burning only hotter as you beckon William closer, tempt him, lure him into your snares. Is it the curse…

“Sit.”

… or is it you yourself?

Compelled by your trills, William obeys your orders. Molten desire churning in the pit of your stomach, you shrug the straps of your dress off your shoulders – and yes, red suits you so well, but it is even more beautiful when it adorns the floor of his bedroom. William stares at you in complete adoration, appreciative of your every dimple and mole, every curve, every sweet nook for his kisses to pool inside of. You are free, free to do with him however you may please. You have spread your wings, soared so high, so far away from him… taken a dive, pecked his lips, those devilishly soft and enchanting, poisonous, lips.

Fingers entwined, you lead William away from the bed and towards the armchair. You push him into it, follow in his steps, his engorged need pressing against your back as you make yourself comfortable in his lap. A soft grunt is released; your eyes set on the mirror just a few paces ahead of you, you spread your legs apart. Slowly. Intentionally. Your body needs to be sure he is watching you, that he cannot possibly avert his eyes. Otherwise it would all be for naught.

“William…”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I…” you hesitate. “Give me the command.”

Your eyes lock in the reflection for one painfully long second. Your heart drums, conducted by his smile. “Is that your desire? To be bound?” His whisper wafts by your ear, and like Eve lured by the snake, you give in:

“Yes. It is.”

Scarlet eyes seize you, entrust you with the sin of knowing. “Pleasure yourself for me.”

You cannot resist it.

You do not want to resist it.

You question whether William has even charmed you at all as you watch yourself through half-lidded eyes, your very own hands cupping your breasts, teasing your nipples to then descend to the junction of your legs. You let a finger slip inside to draw out your nectar, add another one… Pump them, in and out, in and out…

“That’s right… That’s a good girl.”

William joins you. You need no further encouragement. Not then. Not when his hands replace yours, when he strokes you so expertly and your tender moans struggle to drown out the irrefutable squelching. Not when you unbuckle his belt, not when you grasp his shaft, stroke it, and not when you let it slide over your slit, wet it with your own desire… sink onto it, all the while watching as it is accepted into your body, filling you so delightfully. The silver mirror does not lie. You move your hips, so mesmerised by your reflections, by the shine of the rings that adorn his fingers as they grasp at your flesh. William caresses your breasts, his touch flowing down your sides. You are blessed. You truly are blessed, you realise, as he begins thrusting into you. Your voice loud and clear, you swear you will give all of yourself to him.

You’ve seen a typo? Please let me know!

Tag List is disabled for suggestive content and smut.

I personally don’t feel comfortable tagging people under the occasional suggestive / smut stories I write. I hope you understand.

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[aquagirl1978]

Happy - Ellis Twilight x Reader (Ikemen Villains)

A/N: Congrats on your route release, Ellis!

Pairing: Ellis Twilight x Reader

Prompt: jam jar seen in Ellis' pv

Word count: 713

Tags: fluff with a spicy kiss (and an appearance by Jude)

Divider by @natimiles

“Hey Ellis,” you called out when you saw his tall figure walking in the hallway, “are you busy? I was out with Victor shopping earlier. A new bakery just opened and I bought some cookies.” 

Rather than answer, Ellis quietly entered the room and took a seat next to you at the table. He smiled softly as you nudged the plate of treats towards him.

“Is that raspberry?” he asked, peering closer at the pile of jam thumbprint cookies mounded on the plate.

“Yes, it is!” Your eyes sparkled with excitement as you spoke, quietly dying to know if he would like them. “I got them just for you,” you added. Picking one up, you held it between your thumb and forefinger, offering the sweet treat to him.

“Oh no, you first,” he insisted. He took the cookie from your hand and held it up to your mouth. His lips curled into a sweet smile as he watched you bite into the cookie.

“How is it?” he asked, his gaze tender, his voice softer than usual.

“Delicious…” Your eyes closed as you savored the buttery taste of the cookie, the raspberry jam sweet on your tongue.

He leaned closer to you; his twilight eyes twinkled like the stars in the night sky, easily capturing yours. Your hand holding the cookie fell to the table as he cupped your cheek in his palm, bringing your face to meet his. 

“Can I have a taste?” he whispered. Nodding, your lips parted, awaiting his kiss.

Catching a glimpse of his smile, a happy sigh escaped before he covered your mouth with his. He deepened the kiss, his tongue probing open your soft lips. Your tongue twisted with his, sharing the buttery sweetness of the cookie.

Resting a hand on his shoulder, your body inched closer to his. You were in heaven and could have sat there all night with him. But Ellis broke the kiss, his body tensed as the sound of faint footsteps were heard.

And a moment later, it was gone and silence filled the room.

Ellis rested his forehead against yours; gazing into your eyes affectionately, he stroked your cheek softly with his thumb.

“Are you happy?” he asked. The way he leaned in, your name a whisper on his lips, made your breath hitch as your eyelids drifted closed.

“Yes,” you sighed, your lips melting against his. Ellis wrapped his hand around the back of your head, needy for your kiss. Everything felt warmer as his tongue swept inside your mouth, stealing your breath.

Ellis’ mouth traveled along your jawline, peppering your skin with tiny kisses, your breath shuddering as he mouth moved down your neck and his hand slid up your thigh.

“Ellis…” you panted as he rained biting kisses upon your sensitive skin, “are you happy?”

He lifted his head and looked up at you with the gentlest smile.

“All that matters is…” 

“Ahem….”

Standing in the doorframe with his hands on hips, was Jude, an ugly scowl marring his otherwise handsome face.

“Ellis! “ he barked, eyeing the big plate of cookies on the table. “What do ya think this is, snack time? You’ve got a job to do for me. Now get!” 

“Sorry, Jude.” Ellis rose slowly from his seat, a wistful smile on his face as he gazed into your eyes. Boss’ orders, his eyes said silently. He kissed the top of your head, his shoulders sagging as he walked away.

Ellis stopped before he reached the doorway and turned his head, looking at you over his shoulder.

“Leave some of those cookies for later, okay?”

“Of course,” you replied, lifting your hand in a wave goodbye.

Jude watched your sad goodbye and rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t worry, princess,” Jude smirked, “he won’t be dying. Well, not tonight anyway.” He winked at you as Ellish brushed past him, the two men turning and leaving in the night. 

Picking up a cookie from the plate, you bit into it; the raspberry jam melted into the crisp, buttery cookie, instantly reminding you of your sweet Ellis. As you returned the remaining cookies into the box, your heart thrummed in your chest, excited to share the rest of them with him later.

I hope I make you happy, too, Ellis.

Tagging: @redheadkittys @themiscarnival   @coral-relevium @cyberk1ee     @kookie-my-little-sunshine @pathogenic   @ellisgivesmelife013 @ikemen-writer   @nightghoul381 @judejazza @xbalayage @xenokiryu @alydra @drachonia @ranhanabi777 @silver-dahlia @lunaaka @starlitmanor-network

#ikemen series #ikemen villains #ikevil #ellis twilight #ikevil ellis #ikemen ellis #ikevil fanfic #ikemen fanfic #otome #otome games #otome fanfic #starlitmanornetwork

[eventinelysplayground]

Permission

This is a fic I wrote because of a conversation I had way back in the fall with someone. It's not an uncommon idea and I believe she had mentioned others have touched on it but I kept coming back to it every once in awhile so I wrote something out for it. This fic briefly explores an alternate direction for things to go after Chevs romantic route chapter 23(?). I may flush this out and make it a bigger alternate fic series thing but idk yet. WC approx 655.

It had been a long, unforgiving few days that had pushed Rio to his limits and now he stood in Rhodolite's throne room facing down two kings. One who he hated and one he didn't even know, despite his insistences otherwise. Others may have been intimidated by the two powerful men but Rio stood tall and faced the men straight on.

“I still can't believe you've been here all this time.”

“Had we been aware of Prince Valerio's identity I assure you we would have informed your majesty.”

Sariel's smile was the same as it always was and Rio took comfort in the familiarity of it.

“I'm sorry for any trouble I've caused you but as I’ve been saying the last few days I have no memories from before five years ago.”

“Whatever the case may be I'm just happy to have found you safe and alive my son.”

The older man came and rested his hand on Rio's shoulder.

Rio stared at the older man for a moment then gave him a faint smile that told nothing and hid everything. He had been trying desperately to remember these last few days and those glimpses of memories he was able to unearth weren't pleasant. If he had known he'd end up in the palace once again he never would have come into town.

“I'm certain once you're back home your memories will return quickly. Your mother will be so happy to see you again, she's been quite upset ever since you disappeared.”

Rio's smile faltered for just a second at the mention of his mother.

“Yes I know that she must be but…”

Rio trailed off and glanced at the throne. Eyes the color of the sky meet eyes as cold as ice and Rio now knew how this was going to end.

“I’ve spent the last five years here in Rhodolite and it's my home now. I won't return to Benitoite with you, your majesty.”

The King of Benitoite let go of Rio's shoulders and his head jerked back in shock.

“Prince Valerio, surely you're joking?”

The high pitched voice belonged to a noblewoman from Benitoite who was now Rhodolite's Queen, at least in name. Her exclamation gave the King enough time to recover and he followed his son's gaze to the still lone throne.

“Do you intend to stand in the way of my son returning to Benitoite King Chevalier?”

“No, Prince Valerio is free to leave Rhodolite.”

“I thought that's what you would say. Though I don't think it's fair of you King Chevalier.”

“What you think does not matter, Mutt.”

Rio's smile held firm put took on a menacing edge as he stared at Chevalier, who returned Rio's disturbing smile with one of his own. Sariel and the Queen stood still and silent at the sudden turn of the conversation going on.

“If my son is truly free to leave then I will be taking him home with me, immediately.”

“Do as you please.”

“I refuse.”

“Valerio-”

One of the throne rooms' big doors opened slightly admitting a soldier with long hair that was tied back. He bowed quickly and Rio's smile finally fell from his face.

"Bring them."

"As you command your Majesty."

The man turned behind him and ushered in two figures. Rio saw how Emma stood uneasily in front of the doors obviously not wanting to move any further inward. The small child in her arms looked around the room clearly in awe of it, then he spotted Rio and his blue eyes lit up and a huge grin spread across the boys' face as he wriggled free from Emma's arms and ran straight for him.

“Rio!”

“I see.”

Sariel's taught voice was barely above a whisper but Rio caught his words just the same. He lifted the smiling boy up in his arms and planted a kiss on his forehead.

“Although Prince Valerio is free to do as he wishes…”

Chevalier stood up and strode towards Rio, taking the boy from his arms when he reached them.

“The first prince and his mother are not allowed to leave Rhodolite."

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen prince chevalier #ikemen prince rio #ikepri chevalier #ikepri rio #ikepri emma #ikepri fanfic #chevalier michel #rio ortiz #starlitmanornetwork

[alby-rei]

Comte's Ghost Mansion (IkeVamp; Luigi's Mansion AU) Part 3

a/n: This was a lot of fun to write. Enjoy ✨

Tags: Humor, Crack treated seriously, Luigi's Mansion AU, Spooky scary spectral vampires, Ghostbuster MC Word Count: 1000 words Characters: You, Ghost!Dazai Previous: Part 2 Next: Part 4

~*~

This maze of a mansion was wearing your patience thin. While some doors led to new paths, others sent you right back to the beginning.

You walked past the same painting more times than you wanted to admit. Were there several copies framed around the mansion? Surely no nobleman could be that vain. There had to be a better way to keep track of where you were and where you were not.

You wondered if the butler had a map.

You fiddled with the key in your hand, on a mission to find its door. One by one, you tried every door down the hallway.

“Did this door just…wiggle?” You backed away as it swung open and shut. No room behind it, just a wall.

“First ghosts, now trick doors? Really?!”

You approached each subsequent door with skepticism.

At last, a door at the end of the hall unlocked. Inside, an elongated dining table stood in the center, fully arranged with dishware and cutlery of every size. A chandelier hung above the table curled like a spider lily, holding a candlestick on each leg. Dinner was not served yet. But there were glasses—ten of them—filled with red liquid left at the table. Correction: One of them was filled white.

“What need does a mansion of ghosts have for wine of all things?” You asked aloud.

"Would you like a sip?" A playful voice replied.

You leapt away from the dining table. The chandelier swayed back and forth like a pendulum. The ghost of a man dangled upside down from it. A wide grin split his face in half, just as his jet-black hair split his profile. He exuded a purple impish aura.

The ghost of a trapeze artist?

You switched on your Poltergust 1899, and he folded back up and out of sight. You placed your lamp on the dining table and held your ground. One hand remained on the Poltergust's strength dial while the other aimed the tube at where he spawned from. The force of the vacuum pulled the chandelier in your direction with some resistance, and a faint outline of the man stretched out of it.

It was not enough to capture him though. The chandelier gave up its resistance, and you had a feeling that the ghost escaped. You turned up the vacuum’s strength.

He popped up on the wall to your right. "Welcome home, Toshiko-san!"

And again, to your left. "Are we playing hide and seek?"

And behind you. "Count me in, but only if you're seeking!"

“That is not my name,” you asserted, but your reaction speed fell short of catching him each time.

“Don’t be silly, Yoshie-san, I couldn’t forget a pretty face like yours.”

You figured the more time you sank into this cat-and-mouse game, the less time you spent getting out of here. You opted to ignore him until he posed a threat.

“Aw, leaving already? Why don’t you stay a while longer?”

You turned towards the door, but it was locked. Trapped.

His snickers bounced off the walls of the dining room, and you had the sinking feeling that your 'mouse' had you right where he wanted.

You continued the chase for some time, getting more and more impatient with each second. Your breath came out in quick, short puffs as you grew tired of this little game. Your back ached from the heavy machine you carried; the straps imprinted onto your shoulders.

Speed was not your strong suit here, so you had to be strategic about it, instead.

This slippery specter only emerged from surfaces. He must not be able to float on his own, the way the paranormal performer could. On top of that, he made no effort to attack you directly, either, just poking and prodding like a curious child.

Thus, you turned off the machine and dropped it in one corner, then you turned to the dining table.

Please don’t be too heavy, you prayed.

You pushed one corner, and the table groaned and screeched as it rotated.

Although the slippery specter was out of sight, the goosebumps raised along your skin confirmed that he was not far. He made his presence known when he poked at your feet and tried to grab your ankle. You hopped and skipped out of reach, and even tried to stomp on his hands. He phased between ephemeral and corporeal, seemingly at will. His laughter taunted you all the while.  

On top of that, you kept an eye on the table’s contents. You did not want to deal with a potential earful from Sebastian over spilled wine. The drinks wobbled slightly, but they were more viscous than regular wine, and so did not spill so easily.

You shoved the table until it hit a wall. It split the room diagonally, creating a wide, triangular space. Crouching low, the only nearby surface left was the floor.

“Ahaha, looks like you figured out my weakness. Well played, Tsuneko-san.”

You turned on the machine at maximum strength and grabbed the tube of the Poltergust, extending it as far as it would go.

“And for the last time, that is not my name!”

Taking up the challenge, hands emerged from below, and you planted the vacuum into the ground. Following the slippery specter’s path, you struggled to maintain your grip, but determination empowered you to hold on until he was completely captured.

"Finally!" You raised the vacuum’s tube in cheer.

In response, It sputtered out its last breath. Out of power.

Your face fell and you scrambled to pick up your gear and get out before more ghosts arrived. Before you left, you picked up a fountain pen that your ‘mouse’ left behind.

You trudged out of the room exhausted. The door clicked shut, and you let out a breath you did not realize you held in. You basked in the silence as you regained your breath.

“Where to next?” Your ‘mouse’ jutted his head out of the machine.  

“Get back in there!”

You regretted unlocking that door in the first place.

~*~

Tagging: @starlitmanor-network

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[aquagirl1978]

The sweet scent of roses marked his arrival, his footsteps silent as he approached you, his arms reaching around your waist, pulling you close against his body, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck.

“I got you something today,” you whispered, tilting your face, your gaze meeting his.

“You know that’s unnecessary,” he scoffed, blonde wisps of hair tickling your skin as he shook his head.

“I know…” 

Narrowing your eyes, you scrutinized his every feature, searching for even the slightest hint of a reaction. You were still a novice at deciphering his thoughts, but sometimes, on those rare occasions when he let his guard down, you were able to momentarily peer into his beautiful mind.

“But, I did it anyway,” you added quickly, stealing his thoughts. His lips, already parted as if he were ready to speak those words, curved into a soft smile.

“I know you don’t place much worth on silly little holidays like White Day…”

Years ago, he would have laughed at the idea of celebrating a holiday such as this. And even now, he thought it was utterly ridiculous to set aside a singular day to show your love for another, when one should be doing that every day.

But when you are loved, you want to return that love. And that’s what you’re doing by celebrating these silly holidays. You’re simply returning the love that he had bestowed upon you, and that alone gave this day worth.

He silenced you by placing his thumb on your lips. “You truly are a fool,” he said with a wicked smile.

My fool, he didn’t have to say; the way you looked at him with pure adoration told him all he needed to know. He tickled the tip of your tongue with his thumb, your eyelids fluttering as he teased you, a taste of things to come.

He pulled his hand away and clumsily cupped your cheek; his lips brushed yours in a soft kiss, returning the love you bestowed upon him.

divider by @/firefly-graphics

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #chevalier michel #ikepri chevalier #ikemen chevalier #ikepri fanfic #ikemen fanfic #otome #otome games #otome fanfic #starlitmanornetwork

[lorei-writes]

Crimson Roses

Cyran x Reader Angst/Hurt/Comfort ~1.5k words Prompts: determination, love, loyalty

My entry for Wish Upon an Aide Creation Challenge & the collaboration with none other than @wordycheeseblob ! Saki prepared the artwork -- the story is inspired by it.

To view the full artwork, visit @wordycheeseblob !

The clacking of high heels called order in the halls. The maid leaped off the sill and onto the floor, hands smoothing out any real and imaginary creases present over her uniform. Mildly embarrassed, she lowered her head. “Do you know where Cyran is?” Emma asked. “The word has it that Sir Rose has not returned.”

“Did you hear? Prince Clavis returned tonight, just before the dawn,” a maid chirped, vigorously polishing one of the tall windows lining the hallways in the residential wing of the palace. Not quite ladylike, she stuck out her tongue and stood on her very tiptoes, the cloth in her hand coming just short of reaching the upper end of the frame. She put her knee up on the windowsill.

“Truly? No, no, I wasn’t aware, no. And…?” her companion mused. “This is rather disgraceful, dear.”

“It is not like anybody is going to see.” The girl pushed herself further up, to eventually stand rather steadily, one pristine hand pressed against the wall for stability. A single stray strand sneaked out of her updo and fell over her forehead, perhaps challenging her to blow it back into place. “Besides, that’s not important.”

“That is youngster’s naivete,” the other sighed. “Well, what was it that you heard then?”

Hooks were undone and knobs were turned. The white apron billowed on the wind as a handful of rowdy gusts rushed inside, more than ready to rummage through the princely chambers and other kingly dwellings. “So you are curious!” She winked. “Apparently he was beaten all black and blue, so he won’t make any appearances for a while… And the word has it that his first knight, Sir Rose —”

The clacking of high heels called order in the halls. The maid leaped off the sill and onto the floor, hands smoothing out any real and imaginary creases present over her uniform. Mildly embarrassed, she lowered her head.

“Do you know where Cyran is?” Emma asked.

“The word has it that Sir Rose has not returned.”

***

Sir Rose has not returned, Emma was told by what felt like a hundred of mouths.

He hasn’t made it home.

He had to stay back.

They were supposed to meet up at an inn, but…

… but there was nothing following that “but”. Angered or desperate, or perhaps both, so thoroughly dissolved in each other that they ceased being either, she stood before Clavis’ room. The oaken door stared her down, old dark knots furrowing their grain-brow. A guest uninvited, Emma turned and pressed and pulled and pushed at the brass knob – and although it replied each time, be it with a bzzzt or a whoop or a snap, the door did not budge.

“Prince Clavis?” She knocked. Emma took a step back, anticipating some sort of explosion, or a contraption, concoction, trap… Something, anything, to befall her.

Nothing had.

“Prince Clavis?!”

Nothing.

“Clavis, goddammit!”

Not a thing, regardless of how hard her fist struck. Thinking it was just a cruel joke, a tactless prank, Emma let her feelings pound away at the wood, impact shaking her down to her very bone marrow. Hinges rattle-cackled, laughing only louder the longer she fought. As futile as it was, Emma did not lack in persistence. No, far from it – her will was a rock, only solidified by the gossip still churning in her mind.

It was only when the afternoon sun tinted the corridors in vibrant vermillion, so very familiar, that Emma regained some of her reason. She hid her bruised hand in her skirt, head hanging low.

“Clavis?” she called one last time, her voice rasp. To no answer, of course. Defeated and deflated, Emma turned away from the door, dreading being swallowed and digested by the ever-present silence.

***

Follow me —

Emma burst out of her room, carried forth and entrapped by the winds still lingering in the halls, little different from a gale herself. A force petrified with uncertainty, she clutched the letter to her chest. Her body did not hurt; it was the motion that found her, pulled her through the gaps between the hastily jotted down lines, made unstoppable by the sliver of hope setting her thoughts ablaze. She didn’t want to oppose it. Not when the singed paper fit in her palm so warmly, so crumbled and mistreated it could easily fall to dust. The previously dreadful corridors, overly long staircases, the dewy gravel and the shivering afternoon – it sped by her. Emma simply ran.

Follow me where red roses bloom under the cold skies.

The message was unnecessary; it had branded her mind the moment she’d first read it. A fresh burn, it sizzled and it howled, each of its whines revealing a fragment of the path. Like through a haze, Emma ran, faster than her legs could carry her. She skipped over the road leading to the town in a flash, the wicked buildings and their convoluted streets sprouting seemingly straight from the depths of the ground to entrap her. Not a single familiar path remained in place, trade signs playing the game of tag and rearranging themselves. The capital drowned in a mist conjured by the voice of a siren-heart, the cafes, restaurants, stores, all somehow bearing the familiar flickers of red hair, phantom figures moving behind the glass displays, playing out stories of days long lived through. Echoes of laughter coiled around her legs, the sweetest doubts weighing down her heart.

Emma ran.

Follow me where red roses bloom under the cold skies. I will —

He would.

So she had to meet him there.

Emma tore away old nostalgia strings. She averted her eyes from the coffee shops, forgot about the happy pair that once sat by the door and drank tea as golden as her eyes. She let go of the memory of the dark cherries, of her love’s delight, of the feeling of his hand over hers, of his lips and their timid caress. Cast away, they shattered under the heels of her shoes, the shards being swept under the hem of her skirt. She could collect them later, put them back together, smelt them anew if time allowed…

… if there was still time.

Emma ran.

Follow me where red roses bloom under the cold skies. I will meet you there after midnight strikes.

The town ceased, plains opening to greet her to then turn into hills. Completely in their domain, winds broke off the leash, trickster gusts pushing at her back while gales took her hands and pulled her onwards. Through the sea of swaying grass, past thorny blackberries, prickly thistles with their purple crowns and grooves and rivulets and other scrubs – Emma ran, out of breath despite having become the air personified. Stumbling as she did, she reached the clearing. Their clearing, although then it was already occupied, an all too familiar sword protruding from the ground. Scarlet blade stared at her, basked in the last of bloody sunlight.

Follow me where red roses bloom under the cold skies. I will meet you there after midnight strikes. I promise.

Red roses reeked of sweet decay as Emma took a shaky step. Abandoned by the strength of elements, she could all but crumble on the spot – yet even in that, she chose to crumble onwards, dragging her pained feet until she faced the dearly beloved sword properly. She set her hands on the hilt and sat on the ground. Accompanied only by the hooting of the owls, Emma closed her eyes, waves of desperation that led her thus far easing into a state of calm.

He promised, she repeated to herself. He promised, so he will come.

***

Brilliant sunlight had begun to flicker over the horizon line by the time Cyran made it back to the hill. Beaten and battered, still encased in the constraint of his military garb, he dragged himself through the winding path hidden among scrubs. A broken branch there, an odd clearing here – he did not notice anything. Not until he saw the carmine hue of Emma’s skirt, a rough scrap hanging off the raspberry branch, hardly different from the ripe fruit surrounding it.

Cyran run.

Metallic thudding banished exhaustion from his limbs, thunderbolts lending him their speed. The world ceased in a blur, light tore its way into the diminishing dark – and it was only after he entered the clearing that he was robbed of his might. Cyran forced his body to oblige to his demands, the woman he longed to see sleeping while sitting upright, hands propped on the hilt of his sword.

“Emma?” he whispered, not believing his eyes. She must have been soundly locked in her dreams, however, for she did not reply. As if cocooned in the fabric of the night, Emma swayed lightly, perfectly in sync with the crimson roses blooming around. Petals fluttered, few discarded ones lifting off the ground, huddling towards her to settle in her hair. Still just as surprised, Cyran sat down behind Emma, pulled her frame into his arms. She was a feather when she fell against his chest, so very light he feared his hands may be too rough to handle her. Nevertheless, he found his courage again and swept her hair aside, his fingers brushing against her cheek in reverence as he unveiled her visage. His touch descending to her neck, his arm reached to free her from her duty at the hilt —

“Cyran?”

He kissed her nape. “I’m back.”

His forehead pressed against her shoulder, Cyran prayed to always find her safely there, enchanted where the crimson roses bloomed under the clear skies.

--

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[lorei-writes]

HC: Beast - Silvio

x Reader Fantasy AU ~1.2k words

With special dedication for @echoes-in-the-forest . It took me a moment, so I hope it was worth the wait. <3

Content Warnings: none

Inherited curse, something he has done nothing to earn, but was much rather born into along his riches and regal fate. A headache passed from father to son, a secret kept from even their mothers… A reality of being a beast in both name and flesh, although the latter occurs only under specific set of circumstances. The crests are more than just pretty decorations.

Silvio

Silvio’s curse is the revenge of the turbulent seas, of lands unknown and unreachable that he so impertinently dared to trespass upon. A cue for scoffers to laugh at his expense, and with impunity at that, it eternally binds him to the docks… kind of.

A prince he may be, yet it is trade that runs through Silvio’s veins. Wherever there is gold to be made and deals to be acquired, he is there, his heart drumming a war march as his tongue sharpens itself for a battle of wits. Such he is, so truly, it has never occurred to you there may be anything more to it than pure, selfish desire for wealth.

Cursed be anti-capitalism when your lover is the predecessor of a CEO (squared).

The threat of being neglected on behalf of profit has crossed your mind in the past. Nevertheless, it has never been as real, as tangible, as it is now that the heels of your shoes are being sanded down on the road leading to the docks. Your arms coiled around Silvio’s waist, you hope for your glare to truly pierce the back of his head.

“Dammit, let go already!”

“It’s my birthday!” you hiss out and cling to him even tighter. You’d assume your lover to be out of breath, but his powerful legs do not slow down for even a step. No, no, if anything, Silvio picks up his pace… even if his face grows redder still, once a vivid representation of a ripe apple, once a distant cousin of a delicious borscht.

“I’ll take ya out later, so quit sulkin’!” he yells, thus demonstrating the monstrous capacity of his lungs. Silvio drags you along further, any of your complaints falling on deaf ears.

Unthinkable. How dare he assume you are sulking, let alone due to not being taken out for dinner? Well, yes, your stomach is empty, but that is entirely not the point! You are enraged! Furious! Incensed!

… PISSED!

How dare THAT scoundrel, sleazebag, sea rat, bastard, bitch…!

How dare HE, after all that you’ve been through, imply that YOU are with HIM for MONEY?! No amount of golden coins could make you love that filthy mouth of his if you hadn’t loved him already!

By all accounts, not even his own mother loved it. And THAT is WHY you are in THIS situation!

To insult you is one thing – a bitch, a whore, oh, you’ve heard worse while at the docks. (Editorial Note: Why you were at the docks, by yourself, and in alleys of dubious reputation – that the esteemed narrator does not know, regardless of how much money may be tossed at them. Your secret is perfectly safe… Although, if you do accept any advice, the esteemed narrator that has narrated many a love story suggests you communicate with your lover, lest a tragedy is to befall you. The art of espionage is honourable, truly, yet it does have its limitations.) But to insult your love?! You will not stand for that. Never! Never!

You dig your heels into the ground even firmer, squeeze Silvio even harder just below his ribs. Oh, you lean back, as ferocious as a sea serpent or the kraken itself. And you pull! And he jangles! And you both jingle, as yes, you have indeed dressed up for a date! Oh, what a struggle it is (and what a display you are)! But the docks are ruthless and they still appear out of the blue, blue ocean.

Silvio somehow manages to run with you still attached to him. (Perhaps that is the power acquired by those who have risked scurvy and emerged without golden dentures.) And you? In your last desperate effort, you cling to his pants, or much rather his belt, and perhaps not as much cling, as… uncling, or unbuckle, it.

However, it is not clothes that fall. (Of course. Bespoke garments do not rely on any accessories to be kept in place.)

A salty mist envelops you. It ruins your hair, the surprisingly wet winds from god-knows-where whipping your face and tearing your make-up off. Silvio curses, oh he curses up a storm – from damn-its, to fuck-s, to motherfuckers, Protestants, Catholics, and Azel the god himself. He yaps and he barks, and he howls and he… He actually barks.

Where your lover stood, now there is a Dalmatian dog. And was it not for the jewellery? You’d question your sanity. But there is absolutely no way in the entire world that anybody would dress their Bruno, Dolce or other Giuseppe in the very jewels worn by the prince of the nation. The rings do not appear exactly comfortable, but he doesn’t seem to be complaining.

You fall to your knees on the spot.

(The esteemed narrator would like to remind you of the advice they have given. Too late? Too late.)

You do not understand it fully, but it appears your lover had his true nature revealed in the most surprising of ways. However, you still love him, even if he may now belong in a kennel rather than the palace.

Your hands raise to your mouth, your lips twisting into a surprised “o”. Your eyes water.

“Oh, Silvio? Silvio. My poor Silvio,” you whisper urgently, his ears lying flat… although his tail does wag rather fervently. “Where should we go now? Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’ll figure something out… I’ve read in a story that —”

Stories do not seem to be of interest to him, however.

Silvio takes your hand into his snout, passers-by turning their head towards the both of you as he leads you all the way back to the palace. The guards… They, somehow, seem to know what to do, and before long you are not only back in your room, but are sitting at the edge of a silken dog bed of monstrous size.

An ornamental collar has been brought out as well, benitoite gemstones shimmering in their golden casings. Your jaw drops. Apparently, fashion is important regardless of the form one may take.

For the following month, life continues on as per usual… Except certain documents may be signed with a paw print rather than names, but no matter. Wicked businessmen never rest.

Ocean breeze wafts over the salty streets of the Benitoitian capital, infused with the somnolent gasps and silver moonlight. It twists to then turn, to step over the drunkards sleeping in the narrow alleys and dead ends, scale the walls of various mansions and to eventually arrive at the palace. Silvio trots out onto the balcony, his tail wagging as you follow after him.

There, under the full moon, he howls. Clouds wrap around him. At once, your lover has been returned to his former self.

“I told ya to quit sulkin’, ehh…”

… Can you get the dog back? Perhaps next month.

When he was a dog, well. At least his tail was honest.

You’ve learnt not to mess with the man and his docks. The dog, on the other hand? That’s free game.

You'v seen a typo? Let me know!

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