Wallyy

A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity — That’s the term your father had used to convince you to come to this ball. The hosts — Lady Ashmore, her daughters, and her step-daughter — have kept their bridge raised and their castle closed to guests ever since Ella’s father died… until now, that is.

You’ve come up with a million reasons not to attend. You’ve got a tavern to tend to, errands to run, training to get to. Amongst your usual work, you’ve been training for combat with your father for the past year or so. Monster hunting, specifically. Long ago, when darkness was eternal and monsters ruled over the lands, your family was at the forefront of the war to reclaim your lands, and your history is something you feel strongly about upholding.

Another thing you feel strongly about is Lady Ashmore herself, though you haven’t worked out yet whether you feel positively or negatively toward her. She’s a regular, actually, at the small tavern you work at, always ordering the strongest drinks you’ve got but never seeming affected by it no matter how many chalices she’s downed. She comes alone and stays roughly an hour each time, sitting in a shadowy corner across from the bar, and for the entirety of her time there, you swear you can feel her eyes on you when you’re not looking.

She makes you feel strange. Uneasy. Guarded. Anxious.

Horny.

It’s a confusing mixture of emotions, especially considering you’ve got a husband. A useless dick of a husband, but a husband nonetheless. It still doesn’t stop you from thinking of her late at night, picturing her intense eyes staring down at you, her dark lips soft on your skin, her low, silky voice hot against your ear, her nails sharp against your back, your inner thighs, your —

Anyway.

Your father feels equally as strongly about her and her daughters, and there’s no confusion there — He distrusts them. He’s incredibly vocal about it whenever you see him, questioning you about your interactions with her, prodding you for your own insights and opinions. You tend to be vague with him, hoping it will avoid an argument about whether you should be interacting with her at all. The truth is… you agree with your father, on some level.

When you were personally invited to the ball two weeks ago by Lady Ashmore herself, you wanted to decline. Something about the woman intrigues you, certainly, but that very same something also makes you feel like you’re in danger. Like you’re her prey. In truth, you distrust Lady Ashmore just as much as your father does. You’d given her a noncommittal answer at the time that she’d seemed displeased by, but she’d accepted it nonetheless, her hand grasping yours for the briefest moment as she’d leaned in and said, “I do hope you decide to come, dear. I bet you’d look positively delicious dressed up for me.”

In the end, you did decide to come. When you’d informed your father during one of your training sessions, you’d expected him to reinforce your knee-jerk reaction to skip it. Instead, he’d jumped on the idea with an enthusiasm you’d rarely seen in him before.

“This is our chance,” he’d said. “If they’re letting people in, this is our chance to find out what they’re hiding.”

You’d been quick to argue. “What happened to wanting me to stay away from them?”

“That was before,” he’d responded, walking up to you to squeeze your shoulder. “But you’re ready now. You’ve learned everything you can from me, and you’ve passed every one of my tests. You can do this.”

You’d hesitated, shaking your head. “Come with me, at least.”

He’d shaken his head right back at you. “You know I can’t do that, sweetheart. She hates me just as much as I hate her. If I’m there, she’ll have her guard up the whole time.”

So, armed with a dagger your father had gifted to you the night before, you approach the entrance to the castle. Swallowing, you glance over at your husband. “Remind me why you insisted on accompanying me to this when we’re barely making ends meet as it is. You should be working.”

Your husband’s wandering eyes never seem to land on you lately, especially tonight. As you watch him ogle a woman on the other side of the vast, beautiful room you’ve just entered, you realize with a frown exactly why he, too, had insisted you accept Lady Ashmore’s invitation. “This could be good for us, that’s why. Do you know how many rich people show up to these things? Trust me — By the end of tonight, we’ll be just as rich as them.” You watch as he grins in what he thinks is a charming manner at a woman in a beautiful blue gown.

Furrowing your brows, you elbow him in the side just enough to hurt him without drawing attention to yourselves. It works; his eyes are finally on you as you speak. “You are not stealing anything. Do you want to get us executed?”

“You wound me! As if I would get caught,” he scoffs.

“James,” you stop walking abruptly, tightening your hold on his arm to force him to stop as well. “I mean it. I don’t want to risk any trouble here.”

“Why? ‘Cause you’re afraid to upset your girlfriend?”

You glance around anxiously, but there’s no sign of the woman in question. “Stop it, she’s not — That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re the only person she personally invited.”

“She’s at the tavern a lot; it was just convenient, that’s all.”

“She’s at the tavern so much for you, Y/N.”

You hate that you can feel your face warming at the idea that James may actually be right. Still, you shake your head. “I knew we shouldn’t have come here.” Now it’s you who can’t look at him.

You hear him sigh, his hand slipping down into yours and squeezing lightly. “Hey, look, I’m sorry. Let’s just have some fun, yeah? I won’t steal anything. Promise.”

You purse your lips, about to just call the whole thing off, when Lady Ashmore enters your line of sight from behind you, her hand brushing against your back before coming to rest on your shoulder.

“Y/N! I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me,” she greets, audibly pleased.

For a second, you’re stunned into silence. She looks gorgeous. She always radiates a sort of elegant yet oddly dark beauty you’ve found yourself captivated by more than once, but tonight she’s truly outdone herself. You find yourself slipping your hand out of your husband’s grasp without thinking, and the motion doesn’t go unnoticed by her. In fact, you swear you see the corners of her lips twitch upward before her eyes meet yours again.

“Of course,” you respond with a smile. “I’m glad I came. You have a beautiful home, my lady.”

Her lips spread into a full-blown smile now. “It’s made more beautiful by your presence, my dear.”

You swallow under her intense gaze, your face warming again. You part your lips to speak, but James beats you to it.

“And I’m glad to be here, too,” he chimes in with a pleasant smile.

“Yes, yes,” she says, waving him off dismissively. “Why don’t you be a gentleman and get us some drinks, hm?”

James glances at you, and when you nod, he shrugs. “Uh, yeah, sure.” Stepping away, he turns and heads off in search of drinks.

Lady Ashmore watches your husband disappear into the crowd before turning back to you. “It makes me so happy that you like my home, Y/N. We haven’t had visitors in so long; I’d feared we wouldn’t make a good impression.”

“Oh, you always make a good impression, don’t worry,” you reassure her immediately. Her face lights up with a smile. You try to ignore the fluttering feeling in your stomach at the sight.

“You sweet thing,” she coos, stepping closer, almost into your personal bubble. As the band transitions smoothly from one song to another, Lady Ashmore leans into you, dark eyes flicking down to your lips so briefly you’re convinced you imagined it. “How would you like a private tour?”

It certainly sounds like a question, but as she arches her perfect brow at you, you recognize it for what it is — a command. “But my husband— “

“Seems otherwise occupied for the moment,” she interrupts, her expression of faint disgust pointed just past your shoulder.

You follow her gaze and find James talking to an unaccompanied woman in a lovely golden dress. With a sigh, you turn back to Lady Ashmore, trying to ignore your gut telling you to leave this place with or without your husband. You have no reason other than this feeling to feel unsafe in Lady Ashmore’s presence, and besides that, there’s a much stronger feeling inside you that wants to follow this woman wherever she goes.

So, for once, you don’t resist it.

“Of course, my lady,” you answer with a smile that she returns immediately.

“Wonderful.”

__________________________________________

“This is our last stop,” Lady Ashmore announces as you follow her into what you immediately recognize as a bedroom. She stays at the door, shutting it closed as you cross the threshold.

At the sound of a faint click, you turn to face the older woman. You watch her hand retreat from the door. Did she lock it? That familiar sense of unease bubbles up inside you as you meet her eyes. “Is this your bedroom?”

“It is.” She passes you on her way to point up at the wall above the bed; you use the few seconds her eyes are on something other than you as an opportunity to feel for your hidden dagger. Still there. You knew it was, but the reassurance helps settle your anxiety a bit.

“This mural,” she begins, gesturing to a vast painting above the bed, “was the first thing the Ashmores commissioned after this castle was built.”

You tentatively step closer to get a better look. The mural depicts a bearded man in a full suit of armor, his sword drawn and covered in blood. Beside him, the hefty body of a troll lies limp on the ground, its head removed from its body. The man is raising a flag depicting what you recognize to be the Ashmore family crest. The painting looks odd, though. You can see what look like scratch marks in the stone, some deep enough to perhaps be from claws rather than just nails, but they’ve been filled in. The painting itself looks like it has been recently restored.

Lady Ashmore begins to speak again. “The House of Ashmore fought alongside others in the fight to restore the sun.” Her tone is serious and firm, tinged with a hint of disapproval. Your gaze leaves the mural to lock onto her instead as she frowns up at the wall. As your gaze settles, she turns to lock eyes with you. “Your family led them. I wonder how much your father has told you of that.”

You don’t like the turn this conversation has taken. “A bit. Not much.” You’re lying. Can she tell? From the way her eyes narrow, you feel as though she can, so you add, “It was so long ago, though. I’ve got too much to worry about as it is without adding ancient history to the list.”

She huffs a soft laugh, taking slow steps toward you until she’s directly in front of you. “Y/N… My dear, sweet Y/N…” She takes another step, forcing you to step back to maintain any distance, then another, and another, and another, until your lower back hits the edge of a vanity. “Do you think I don’t know what you and your father get up to under the cloak of night?” Her voice is low and calm but with an undeniable edge to it, and her face is close enough to your own that your nose nearly brushes against hers. “The Briarwoods have been a thorn in my people’s sides for too long for me not to keep tabs on the ones living right under my nose.”

Struggling to keep your breathing even, your mind races to come up with a plan. Your cover’s blown, Lady Ashmore is a fucking troll, your only exit is blocked by her body, and somehow despite all this her proximity still makes you want to close the space between you. She’s a fucking troll; why does that make you want her more?!

You can do this. You’re ready. You can do this.

“A thorn in your side, huh? An apt name,” you wait a second to let the confusion sink in before swiftly reaching within a slit in your outfit to pull your dagger free.

“What­­­­­­­— ” She cuts herself off as her eyes snap to the movement of your hand. Lightning fast, her own hand shoots out to wrap around your wrist before the blade can find its home in her ribcage. Her grip is strong, stronger than you’d expected, and though you struggle to follow through on your attack, she lets out something between a grunt and a growl as she roughly shoves your wrist against the mirror behind you. The glass cracks and your grip on the dagger releases, the blade clattering to the floor beside the vanity. Her other hand grabs you by the jaw, effectively pinning you.

Chest heaving slightly from adrenaline, Lady Ashmore’s intense stare never leaves your eyes. “Clever whore,” she breathes, lips quirking upward into a smirk. “Not clever enough, I’m afraid.”

Your jaw is clenched as you continue to try to free yourself from her grasp to no avail. You need to think fast or you’re not going to make it out of here alive. You feel Lady Ashmore’s body press into yours, watch her eyes flick down to your lips. They linger this time.

Oh. Perhaps you have an idea.

“Or maybe I’ve finally got you right where I want you,” you husk, your free hand coming to wrap around the wrist of the hand gripping your jaw.

“What’re you talking about? I’m going to kill you, you pathetic little worm.”

“Oh, come on.” You huff a laugh, your grin pressing your cheeks into Lady Ashmore’s sharp, immaculate nails until it stings. She eyes you with a hint of cautious curiosity. “We both know you don’t really want to kill me, my lady. Or do you think I don’t see the way you look at me? The way your touch lingers, as if you never want to let go. Even now as you threaten my life, you can’t stop looking at my lips.”

She’s so close you can feel her shudder as your thumb lightly strokes the inside of her wrist. You watch her throat bob as she swallows. “Credit where credit is due — This tactic of yours is creative. No human’s ever tried to seduce a troll before.”

You can practically see the gears turning in her head. “Creative and successful, it seems.” Your grin turns wolfish; the sight causes Lady Ashmore to dig her nails deeper into the sides of your face until blood is drawn. You suck in a shaky breath at the pain, your grip on her wrist tightening. “My point is… You’re not the only one with needs, my lady. Perhaps we could… work something out.”

She leans closer, gaze drawn to the blood droplets slowly dripping down the side of your face. “I suppose I could settle for… sending a message.”

This is actually working. Not only that — It’s igniting something deep within you, something you’ve been trying to push down for so long. She’s your enemy. You’re supposed to hate her, not crave her, but here you are, pinned to a vanity as that very same enemy leans in, sliding her hand down to your throat to make room for her tongue. She's so close, closer than she's ever been before, and while your father always said that trolls would have a putrid stench to them, she smells surprisingly nice. Too nice. You wonder, briefly, if that's the point.

Your train of thought is abruptly interrupted by Lady Ashmore's tongue as she cleans the blood from your face with one slow lick. You gasp, and she moans at the taste of you, a low, gravelly sound that sends a shiver of arousal down your spine.

“You really want this, don’t you?” She breathes, leaning back just enough to look you in the eye. Whatever she sees there must be enough of an answer for her, because she doesn’t wait for a verbal one before she slams her lips against yours, the force of it causing the back of your head to smack into the mirror.

“Mmh— !” It only takes a second for you to respond, matching her hunger with your own. There’s not much you can do in terms of movement; her hand is firmly wrapped around your throat, fingertips at your jaw again to hold your head in place. She pushes her tongue past your lips and into your mouth, pulling a groan from your throat that she practically swallows. The kiss is deep and all-consuming, a far cry from your husband's. His have always been slow and gentle, while Lady Ashmore's hungry, probing kiss feels as though she's trying to consume you and every little sound you make for her.

You’re quickly learning that Lady Ashmore gets off on being completely in control, but you’re not going down without a fight. As soon as her tongue leaves your mouth, you bite down on her bottom lip as hard as you can until you taste iron. With a surprised grunt, she jerks away, eyes wide. Slowly, you lick her blood off your lips, watching her eyes darken as she takes in the sight of it.

“Now we’re even,” you tease.

Lady Ashmore’s chest heaves with each ragged breath, dangerously silent, until finally she speaks, one bloodstained corner of her split-open lips slowly spreading into a smirk that screams trouble. “Let’s fix that, shall we?”

Before you can even think to respond, she releases you entirely. For the first time in the past few minutes, you can take a full breath, an opportunity you immediately take advantage of while this troll in human skin grabs at your clothing and begins to rip it off your body. “Whoa, hey, that was expens— Agh!” Your words are interrupted by a harsh smack across your face, the blood from your puncture wounds now smeared on your cheek. Stunned, you don’t move until Lady Ashmore grabs your face again to direct your attention back to her.

“Silence,” she growls, “or else.”

Part of you wants to bite back with some venom of your own, but the look on her face coupled with the lingering sting on your cheek keeps you in check. She waits for any hint of disobedience, staring you down with a fire in her eyes that excites you more than you’d care to admit. You've never seen her quite like this before; you've seen hints of her desire for you, but this unbridled hunger is new. It takes your breath away in an even more effective manner than her hand's previous position wrapped firmly around your throat.

“So you can behave.” She laughs, a low, condescending sound. You want to devour it almost as much as you want her to devour you. “Now stay still and stay quiet.” Leaning down, she pulls the tattered remains of your clothing off your body until they’re pooled at your feet, her teeth sinking into the soft skin of your neck just above your shoulder. Your hands fly up to grab onto her shoulders as you gasp. Biting down on your lip, you desperately try to follow her order to stay quiet as Lady Ashmore digs her teeth into you. It hurts, it burns — It feels so fucking good. A weak, pathetic whine escapes your throat despite your best efforts to keep it in and, soon, you feel that familiar slow, warm trickle of blood. There’ll be no hiding this mark after all is said and done here.

Sharp nails rake up your bare abdomen on their way to your breasts. Lady Ashmore’s hands are hot on your chest as she gropes you and soothes your new open wound with her tongue. You can feel her suck in a shuddering breath against you. “Sweet girl, you’re trembling,” she speaks softly and sweetly, a sharp contrast to the harsh twist her fingers give your nipples. You struggle to hold back a moan, jerking slightly underneath the harsh touch. Her voice is firm now when she adds, “Tell me why.”

Releasing the hold your teeth had on your lip, you realize you’ve made it bleed, your human blood mixing with the blood belonging to the troll in front of you. “Feels good,” you whine, arching your back into Lady Ashmore’s demanding touch. Your eyes find hers, and as you watch her gaze lower to your bleeding lip, the two of you seem to get the same idea at the same time. Her hand grabs your chin as your hands curl into fists around the collar of her dress; together, you pull each other in, your lips meeting in the middle. A groan that you honestly can’t tell the source of anymore is muffled in the heat of her tongue sliding against your own, saliva and blood mixing together. Her hand slides from your jaw to your hair, pulling your head back roughly until you’re baring your throat to her once more. She trails hot, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down your neck while her free hand slides down your abdomen.

“Please,” you beg, breathless and needy and past the point of feeling ashamed for wanting this. No, not wanting this — Needing this. You’ve spent your whole life looking for your rightful place in it, and finally, you feel as though you’ve found it in Lady Ashmore's unforgiving embrace. You feel her hand slide between your legs, wasting no time at all before touching you right where you need her, and it’s at that moment you realize just how sopping wet you are.

“Such a fucking whore, begging for me to take you,” she growls against your collarbone, nipping at the skin just hard enough to pull a whimper from your throat. You groan, hips bucking into her hand as she begins to rub tight, rapid, merciless circles around your swollen clit. “What do you think your husband would think if he could see you now? Or your father? Do you think he’d still be proud of you if he knew you’d been defiled by a troll?”

“I don’t care; I just want you,” you answer, voice shaky. Your answer surprises you both; Lady Ashmore leans back to look you in the eye, a brow arched, curiosity swimming in her eyes. There's something else there, too; you're too far gone under her touch to decipher it.

“Well-said,” she husks. “I think that little act of familial rebellion has earned you a reward.” With that said, she stops rubbing you and releases your hair, instead dropping to her knees to wrench your legs open. Wide eyes glazed over with lust watch her every move, and she meets them with her own as she pulls one of your legs over her shoulder before beginning a quick trail of hot kisses up your inner thigh. Her nails dig into your sensitive skin, her teeth giving you occasional harsh nips that make you jump and gasp.

As she finally reaches where you need her most, she takes a deep breath, exhaling with a deep shudder. “Delicious,” is the last thing she says before her mouth is on you, licking a long stripe from your entrance up to your sensitive clit.

“Fuck,” you moan quietly. She keeps her eyes locked onto yours as she begins to sloppily devour your cunt, alternating between lapping your juices up with her tongue and wrapping her lips around your clit to suck on it. The tip of her tongue swirls around the sensitive bundle of nerves as you rock your hips into her face. “Oh gods,” you whimper. She groans, the sound vibrating against your clit, and your hands grip the edge of the vanity so tightly your knuckles turn white. “My lady, I— I’m going to— ”

“Cum for me. Cum in my mouth, whore,” she moans against your dripping cunt. Her tongue, hot and covered in your juices, flicks your clit. “Give yourself to me. Now.”

It only takes a few more seconds of her tongue dipping inside you once, twice, three times before moving upward to swirl around your clit once more for you to hurl over the edge into the hardest orgasm of your life. “Yes! Yes! I’m yours! Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop!” Your words quickly turn into unintelligible moans and whimpers as your legs snap closed around Lady Ashmore’s head. She doesn’t let up, ravenously eating your dripping wet cunt as if it's her last meal, and that coupled with the fact that you know it has nothing to do with you begging her to keep going and everything to do with her planning on it no matter what only intensifies your orgasm.

Finally, as you go limp against the vanity, Lady Ashmore pulls away with a satisfied sigh. She licks her lips and rises to her feet as she watches you catch your breath.

“Just give me a minute,” you breathe, reaching out for her. “Give me a minute and I’ll return the favor.” As you speak, she takes the hand you’ve offered and leans into you as she looks over the wounds she inflicted upon you in the heat of passion.

“Beautiful,” she whispers, quiet enough that you barely catch it. She tears her gaze away to look down as she searches for something on her person, then pulls out a silk handkerchief. Carefully — and much more gently than you expected — she dabs at the blood on your neck and face.

You stare in wonder at her as she cleans you. “I didn’t take you for the ‘aftercare’ type,” you joke, voice soft and slightly hoarse.

Amused eyes rise to meet yours. “Or perhaps I’m just collecting your blood for later use.”

You try to hide your rising anxiety at the possibility of truth in that statement with a huff of laughter. “Oh, duh. I knew that.”

“Mmhm,” she hums, unconvinced and smiling now.

As she finishes and tucks the handkerchief back inside her dress, you tilt your head to the side. The sting of the mark on your neck is deliciously strong, and you wince slightly at the feeling of it. “You said you’ve been keeping an eye on me because of my family. Is that... the only reason?"

There’s a moment of hesitation before she steps out of your reach, turning away before you can see her face. “Yes.”

You furrow your brows, standing straight now. “… Ah. Right.”

“You should go,” she says, dusting off her dress. “You will put on one of my dresses and leave my home immediately.”

You blink. “But— ”

Finally, she turns back to you, tilting her head as she glares. “Go now before I change my mind and kill you like I should’ve done in the first place.”

Stunned, you slowly stand up straight before moving to find replacement clothing — and maybe a scarf of some sort to hide the bite mark on your neck for now. The puncture wounds on your face can be passed off as something innocent. You put the clothes on in silence before heading toward the door, clicking it unlocked, and opening it. You pause, looking back at her one final time, but she’s turned away again, staring up at that mural.