[color=gray] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/fWosQKj.gif[/img][/center] [center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center] [color=purple][b]Location:[/b][/color] Noahs bedroom [color=purple][b]Time:[/b][/color] Dusk [color=purple][b]Interactions:[/b][/color][@helo] Noah [color=purple][b]Mentions:[/b][/color] [center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center] Wren’s face, usually cloaked in a brooding, unreadable stillness, seemed to glow when Noah was near — a soft, secret light reserved only for him. Around him, her sharpness dulled, her shadows softened, and a rare vulnerability flickered through her guarded eyes. Her lips curled into a slow, knowing smile as he murmured his praise, a delicate flush creeping up her neck like a blooming bruise. [color=cyan]“You’re the only perfect thing in this world, little bird,”[/color] he breathed against her ear, his voice silk-wrapped steel, curling into her skin. His hand slid around her wrist, firm, inescapable — not cruel, but commanding — and she felt her body yield, instinctively molding to his. His fingers threaded through her hair with practiced ease, sweeping it aside to bare the pale, delicate slope of her neck. His mouth found her skin, his lips tracing a heated, unhurried path, every kiss a brand, every breath a hush of promised hunger. The familiar scrape of his fangs grazed her throat, sending an electric shiver down her spine, her breath hitching as her skin prickled with anticipation. Her pulse quickened beneath his touch, heart beating out a desperate rhythm of longing and surrender. His presence enveloped her like a dark fog — not just haunting her, but haunting himself. When he finally withdrew, her wide violet eyes lifted to his, glazed with heat and something deeper, darker. Her fingers clung to his shirt as if she could anchor herself to his gravity and never drift. [color=cyan]“Now,”[/color] he murmured, voice a low purr, [color=cyan]“Be a good pet and get cleaned up. We’re meeting Locke at The Pink Room tonight.”[/color] She smiled and nodded softly — but then, something shifted. Her body tensed, pressing tightly against him, her eyes slipping out of focus, glassy and distant. Her grip on his shirt tightened, knuckles white, as though grasping at threads of reality unraveling around her. [color=cyan]“He’s the master of the deal,”[/color] she whispered, her voice distant, hollow, layered with the echo of something ancient and not her own. [color=cyan]“The architect of ruin.”[/color] [color=cyan]“They say the Devil’s luck clings to him…”[/color] she breathed, voice softening into a dangerous hush. [color=cyan]“…but the Devil won’t claim him.”[/color] A faint, eerie laugh trembled in her throat. [color=cyan]“You may agree, but never see.”[/color] Her lashes fluttered; her gaze snapped back into sharpness, falling on his face with a slow, smile. Her head tipped back slightly, exposing the pale, inviting length of her throat. [color=cyan]“They whisper in my ear, my darling Noah…We best be careful.”[/color] she murmured, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips — not soft, but edged with a bite, her teeth sinking gently into his bottom lip before she pulled away, smiling like a cat savoring the last twitch of a caught bird. [color=cyan]“I’ll go get ready.”[/color] She turned with grace, hips swaying as she sauntered away, knowing — daring — him to watch. She paused by the bed, glancing over her shoulder, her dress sliding off one shoulder, then the other, slipping to the floor with a whisper. Her pale skin shimmered faintly in the dim light, silver hair cascading down her bare back, ethereal and unearthly. The stark paleness of her body against the backdrop of the bloodied sheets created a haunting image, etherial and haunting. She stood there, still, a vision on the edge of dream and nightmare — a creature of desire and dread. [color=cyan]“Maybe,”[/color] she murmured, voice dark velvet as she bit her bottom lip, [color=cyan]“there’s something else you can have for breakfast instead…”[/color] [color=C60000]“Maybe there is…”[/color] Noah repeated with one last drag from his cigarette. With a sly, wicked smile, she disappeared into the steam of the shower room — leaving behind the faint, lingering trace of her scent a soft humming sound came from the room as steam began steeping into the bedroom. Noah’s eyes had stayed fixed on Wren, watching her every movement with a stillness unnatural to him. His every muscle tightened with anticipation like a lion stalking its prey and waiting for that perfect moment to strike. As she disappeared into a hazy mist of steam he slowly began to follow. Noah paused by the body his breakfast sat on top of and kicked one of the stiffened arms. [color=C60000]“Wanna know a secret? Locke ain’t got nothin’ on my luck.”[/color] He bent down to whisper before putting out his unfinished cigarette on the cold, lifeless lips. He, too, disappeared behind the building steam. [/color]