Haley Thistle
patreon
Werepoodle Boyfriend: Padraic 2 (complete)
🕑 Added 2021-01-04 20:01:00 +0000 UTC
Female Main Character x Male Monster
I greatly admired my mother’s wedding gown when I was a child. I used to sneak into her closet with my sisters when we were little, try on her clothes, walk around in her shoes, and play pretend until she came to shoo us away. Sometimes we would try to imagine what our weddings would be like. I never had a clear image of what my wedding day would be. I had more thoughts about being a spinster or widow than I did a loving wife.
Since I had no ideas for a wedding, it was easy to let Padraic take the lead. He asked me about colors, food, table settings, and the like, but for the most part I enjoyed that he was taking the lead. It allowed me to sort through my ideas for future writing. After he had retrieved my manuscript from my former publishers, he insisted I complete it. Due to mockery I received from my exposure, I am having trouble igniting the old spark. I have written countless pages, torn them all up and thrown them into the fireplace so Padraic can’t see my failure.
I suppose the news of my future husband’s nature is a bit of a shock too. Revealing to me he was a werepoodle took courage. I could have reacted badly, even violently, but instead I laughed myself inside out. I don’t know why it didn’t bother me. I suppose it only stoked my curiosity. If werepoodles are genuine creatures, what else could exist? Ghouls? Dragons? It is frightening to contemplate, but exciting all the same.
My mother and sisters are invited to visit for the fitting of my wedding gown. It is nice to see them, and I greatly appreciate Padraic summoning them for such a thing. My sisters are just as tickled as I was upon meeting Padraic, and greet me with a flurry of questions when we are alone.
“He’s very spoiled, and I suppose that’s how he has remained a bachelor,” I tell them. “You have seen how difficult he can be.”
“But so pretty,” one sister sighs.
“Which is probably why I let him get away with it for now. And I do think he genuinely likes me.” The wedding gown is very soft pink with hints of pale yellow in the trim. I have to admit the color suits very well, and I am not offended by the shape of the gown, much more well-let-out than I expected. My mother’s wedding gown had been pale green and yellow, and I feel connected to my mother when I wear this one.
Padraic goes into seclusion before the wedding, to prepare some grand romantic gesture. I tell him it is silly, considering the transactional nature of our union. “Let me have my fun,” he said with that boyish, beautiful smile, and I welcome his kiss on my fingers. “I have ordered a beauty regimen for you. Take full advantage of it, because it will have to last the entire honeymoon.”
Padraic is being extremely secretive about the honeymoon. It mattered not to me where we go or what we do, because I am no longer welcome in most social circles. I am powdered, oiled, fluffed and coiffed to the very edge of reason
The wedding itself is beautiful, as is Padraic, and my awe with his loveliness is such that I almost forget he is to become my husband. He serves our guests wine made from the fruits of his orchard. We feast on cakes and dance. Due to his limp, our dances were slow and I prop him up most of the time. It is still a wonderful evening, and I am surprised to find myself looking forward to our wedding night.
Once we are in our chambers, I do feel nervous. My stomach is in knots, my knees feel weak, and I haven't a clue what to do with my hands. Padraic pours himself more wine as he loosens his collar, and drinks while observing me still standing at the door. “You can come in. You don’t need to stand there.”
I take a small step. “I am simply undecided where to go first.”
Padraic smirks. “You have written many cursed wedding nights in your books. I am surprised you have no clue what to do now.”
“Is this one cursed?”
He sets his glass aside, removing his ascot so his neck is bare. “Not yet, at any rate.”
I look at my feet. “I know this night is important, but I must admit I have no clue what to do.”
His gloved fingers slip under my chin and he lifts my head to look at him. “I am not comfortable being naked around anyone. So neither do I.” His hand slides down, taking hold of mine.
“Is anyone?” I chuckle nervously.
Padraic sits on the edge of the bed, still holding my hand. “My face is all I have.”
I arch a brow in confusion. “Surely not.”
“I can hide myself with clothes, with manners and grace,” he sighs. “But I cannot hide when I am bare.”
I kneel onto the floor beside him and place my cheek upon his knee. “You showed me the other side of yourself. You were brave then.”
“I can still hide with that side of myself,” he whispers. His eyes are distant, reflecting more golden in the candlelight. “I cannot hide in the carnal embrace.”
“I do not want you to feel forced,” I tell him. “ If we need to become closer before you feel safe, then it does not bother me.”
“I want to,” he says. “I want to so badly. But I do not want you to think me hideous.”
I look up at his face, which is not angry but overwhelmingly sad. I sit up and place a kiss upon his cheek. Tears roll from his beautiful eyes and he leans into my touch. “I want your love. But I could not bear you calling me ugly or deformed,” he weeps.
I give him more kisses, pressing affection into those soft, pink lips. His tears continue to fall and I try to catch each one. I sit beside him on the bed, letting him cry and holding him. I cup his cheek in my hand and he looks into my eyes. “I have no idea what you are afraid of, especially when the beast you can become was shared so easily.”
“My father hated me,” he whispers bitterly. “And he showed me as much.”
The scar on his ankle - I had assumed it was an injury from some accident. Perhaps I was wrong. “You are my ally, my friend. In this marriage we are co-conspirators. I do not hate you, and in fact I am learning to adore you.”
He whimpers. “I can’t...”
I kiss him softly. “Then we will sleep tonight.” I stand up and smooth my hands down my wedding gown. “Change your clothes and get comfortable. I will do the same. When you come back, we will lie down and sleep, or we can talk through the night. No one needs to know how we share our bed.”
He looks up at me, eyes red from tears and cheeks damp. His nose is like a primrose. He rises from the bed, taking hold of his cane again. “I am learning to adore you too.”
Before he goes into the adjoining room to change, he undoes all the buttons on my gown as well as loosen my corset for me. It is perhaps the most intimate I have felt with him. Once I change into my nightgown, I brush out my hair, taking out all the pins and baubles. I am still brushing when Padraic comes back in, and I watch him in the mirror as he hesitates in the doorway before climbing into the bed. I finish and stand, but when I approach the bed he holds a hand up. “Stop. Just wait.”
His hair is loose, a sight I have never seen before. Now that I think about it, he has never seen me with mine down either. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
He takes a breath. “I want to look.”
How dare he say something so horribly romantic. “Padraic!” I laugh and look aside.
“No, no,” he says sternly. “Look at me.”
I hesitantly lift my eyes back to his. His gaze is firm but his cheeks are bright and pink, his lips are parted. “Now,” he whispers. “Come to bed.”
I carefully lift the covers and slip into bed. I lay my head on the pillow, looking at Padraic beside me. We are silent as we look at one another, and I feel a strong need to touch and kiss him, but I restrain myself. His long lashes flutter and fall against his cheeks. He reaches out, taking hold of my hand. “I will be a husband eventually, Georgette.”
I squeeze his hand. “Enough has been said, Padraic. You need not have the last word.”
He smiles and lifts his eyes to mine. “Do not think that just because we are married now, you hold dominion over me.” He moves close enough to me I can feel his warmth under the blankets.
“Not yet, at any rate. I plan on holding some eventually.” I, too, move closer and I place my hand on his chest. “I will have you fetching like one of the dogs.”
He smirks, then brushes his fingers through my hair. “Not on your life, little wife.”
We fall asleep, and when we awake we depart for our honeymoon. We go to the coast, where the ocean makes the air cold. His house there is pale gray stone, blending into the ocean and rocks surrounding it. “This was my mother’s,” he tells me as he helps me down from the carriage. “She was sent here before she died.”
“It’s so quiet here,” I murmur. “Even through the crashing of the ocean, it almost feels silent.”
Padraic holds my hand. “That is why I brought us here. I wanted my mother to meet you.” He leads me away from the house, to a quiet pasture where a solitary tree stands. He kneels before the tree and bows his head. “My father tried everything to cure me,” he murmurs. “But he sent my mother away, and forced her into solitude here.”
I place my hand on his shoulder as he sits over her grave. I do not know what to say, so I stay quiet.
“I burned down his home when he was gone, and built something I could be proud of.” He looks up at me with watery eyes. “I swear I will be better than him.”
I help him to stand and kiss his cheek. “It’s cold. Let’s get inside and warm ourselves before we get ill.”
“Yes, of course.” He takes hold of my arm as we walk back.
Even though the house is small, it is still as grand in decor as the main estate. Padraic builds a fire in the bedroom while I unpack my things, and I find my manuscript at the top of my luggage. “Did you pack this?” I ask.
“I want you to write again. I know you have been struggling,” Padraic replies. “I thought the change in atmosphere would help you.”
I pout slightly. “You knew?”
He nods. “The paper was going missing.”
I smile sweetly at him. “I am sorry. I don’t know what is wrong. I can’t find my spark.”
“The harder you blow on a spark, the more likely it is to dim,” Padraic says thoughtfully. “You must breathe gently to urge it to grow.”
“You keep surprising me with your shockingly sweet phrases.”
Padraic smiles. “Only because I want that novel for my very own.”
Days go by. The sea is dark and gloomy, stirred by cold winds and rain. I enjoy my time with Padraic, but I try to write as much as possible. Although I still struggle, I try to be patient. Finally, one day, the clouds are limned by sunlight, which rises in a golden haze from the water and dances on the waves. A warmth comes into the house, and the spark inside me returns. I spend the day completing the manuscript. By the middle of the night, I am done, and I run to Padraic to show him the pages.
He is in bed but I wake him with triumph and kiss him, showing him the bundle of new pages in my hands. “Padraic! It is done! I finished it! I finished!” I thrust the pages into his hands.
“Is that what you were doing all day?” He looks through the pages, hair disheveled and eyes still bleary with sleep. “Georgette! That is wonderful!”
I throw my arms around him. “It came back! Just as you said!” I laugh happily. “Oh, Padraic! Thank you!” I kiss him again. My jubilant pecks become harder and more demanding. His lips meet mine in hunger, and his fingers claw at me in need. I hold his face between my palms, moaning against his lips as I am brought into his lap. Is this passion? Are we going to consummate our wedding? My thoughts are many and scrambled. I have to remind myself to breathe as the kisses become longer and wetter.
“Wait!” Padraic begs for breath. “Can I read it?”
I am breathing raggedly. “Now?” He shrugs but does not let me go.
“Padraic,” I gulp. “If you are comfortable, I would like to see where this is going.”
He averts his eyes, lowering his lashes onto his cheeks again. “Georgette, I would like to as well. But I am still afraid.”
I kiss him again. “I cannot ask you to bury your fear, but I would like to hold you until it goes away.”
Padraic’s lips brush against my chest while his hands work on undoing the buttons. He pulls away my clothes, kissing bare skin, and looks into my eyes before laying me down. His fingers trail along my flesh, making me shiver. I see him trembling as he tries to remove his nightclothes. “You don’t have to...”
“I don’t want to be afraid with you.” He takes off his nightshirt, but holds his arms close to his body. I see scars on his wrists, his shoulders, his sides.
I sit up and wrap my arms around him, pressing my bare body to his. “I’ll cover you,” I whisper. “You can wear me to hide.” His back, too, is covered in countless pockmarks, incisions along the ribs, thicker scars along his thighs. “Wrap me around you like a second skin.”
Padraic buries his face against my shoulder. “Georgette, that sounds terrifying,” he laughs.
I lift his face to look at me. “You’re beautiful, Padraic.”
“Still?” His voice quivers.
I smile. “Always.”
He wipes his eyes and wraps his hands around my waist. He dips his head down, kissing between my breasts. I run my fingers through his hair, leaning my head back so his lips have more skin to touch. He lays me down again, pressing his body against mine. It feels luxurious to have his weight upon me. He kisses my neck, and I feel teeth. “Oh,” I gasp.
“Did it hurt?”
“No, I...” I clear my throat. “I have written about bites so many times, I did not think it would feel so good.”
He laughs against my skin, licking before biting again. “If you wish for sharper teeth, I can certainly give them to you.”
I stroke my hands down his back. “Do you mean the beast?”
He moans into my ear. “Would you even like such a thing?”
“Would you?”
Padraic looks into my eyes. “I’m much larger in that form. Everywhere.” I bite my lip and grin and he arches his brow at me. He pinches my cheeks with his fingers. “I do not like that look upon your face, wife. I might have to bite it off.”
“You’ll have to change your shape to do it.”
He kisses me one last time before rising off the bed. He closes the curtains as the change takes hold. Once he has transformed, he returns to the bed, heavy, furred, and growling. “I did not imagine you wanting this,” he breathes.
“My husband, can I confess that I think I may want all of you?” I wrap my arms around his neck. “Beast and beauty.”
His cold nose nuzzles between my breasts. Sharp teeth drag against skin, and he bites at my ribs. I whimper and moan in the same breath. He flips me over so my belly is against the bed and bites my shoulder and back, using his paw to hike up my hips. Positioning himself behind me, I feel him against my thighs. He’s hard and warm against my flesh, leaving a slick trail against the skin. “I’m so excited,” he chuckles. “I can barely breathe.”
I look over my shoulder at him. “Excited?”
“You want me. I did not think this would ever happen so easily. Yet, on our first night, you want all sides of me.”
“I’m very lucky I have a husband with such range.” I reach between my thighs and grab his rigid shaft in my palm. He moans loudly, thrusting his hips. I show him where to go, guiding him until he begins to slip inside. I bury my face into the pillow, whimpering at the twinge of pain.
“Georgette,” he breathes. “I’m inside, Georgette.”
“I feel it,” I moan through the pillow.
He angles my hips higher and grabs hold of my waist, pulling me back against him. I cry out, not from pain, but from surprise that I enjoy it so much. Padraic lays against my back, whispering into my ear before biting me. I arch my back against his belly, whimpering into the pillow. His body moves slowly, and he stills occasionally only to thrust again with more force. I enjoy the feeling of being filled by him. And when the final tremor comes over me, I am overwhelmed.
I wake in bed to see him reading beside me, poring over the final pages of my manuscript. “How can you stay awake like that?” I murmur weakly.
He smirks. “I am too overcome to sleep.” He looks at me and smooths the hair away from my face. “You stay the way you are. You need not worry about me.”
I rest my head on his thigh as he reads, and he strokes my hair between pages. Once he is done, he lays the manuscript aside and holds me in his arms. “How do you like it?” I ask.
“It is my favorite by far.” He kisses my neck and shoulder. “I cannot wait to hold it as a book.”
I sigh heavily. “That will never happen again, I am afraid. You will probably be the only one to ever read that book.”
“You forget, my wife - I get what I want.”
In the morning, I wake before he does and contemplate him in the light through the curtains. The scars on his body look surgical, and I touch a dark one at the center of his chest. The scars on his wrists look like the imprints of rope. They do not make him hideous as he believed. Rather, I think it helps me to see that my husband is human, beyond the werepoodle, beyond his spoiled behaviour. He is human and he hurts, and I will see everything from now on.
He wakes and flutters those beautiful lashes at me. A soft, shy smile appears on his face. “Don’t stare. It makes me feel strange.”
I pull the blanket up around him. “But I like looking at you.”
“I suppose someone has to,” he sighs heavily.
I kiss his cheek. “Can you tell me what happened to you?”
“I already told you my father tried to cure me. He had his doctor bury silver under my skin. I was given tonic injections, countless surgeries.” Tears float on the rim of his lashes. “But there was nothing he could do. I was born, and that was the curse.”
“Is that why he sent your mother away?”
“She meant nothing. I was his son, and it’s as simple as that,” he replies sadly.
“For how long did he torment you?” I ask.
Padraic looks into my eyes and I can see the emeralds inside. “Until he died,” he confesses. “I was sixteen.”
I take him into my arms. “Then for sixteen years, I will press love into this body.”
His hands grab hold of my back. “Can you last that long?”
“I adore you, so I will try,” I whisper to him. “Now, let me learn to love you.”
When we return home, he remakes a room into my sudy. He also gets a new dog just for me, which he trains to fetch him when I command it. I name the dog Gildi, and she sits in my lap as I write. He also gets a dog named Pepper, who comes to fetch me for him. Often, we use Gildi and Pepper to exchange notes, making them run back and forth as we have conversations on pieces of paper and note cards.
One day, Pepper brings me one such card. “Have you learned to love me yet?”
I return Gildi with a reply. “Have you learned to love me?”
Padriac steps into the room with Pepper in his arms and the note in his hand. “Georgette, my answer is yours if you have an answer for me.”
“Must you have the last word?” I smile.
“I get what I want,” he grins. He walks into the room and sets Pepper down. “So tell me your answer.”
“Padraic, my dear husband, the fact that I am willing to allow you the last word should be clue enough.” I cup his face between my palms. “But I will give you my answer fully. I have learned that I cannot stand a day without you, even when you are at your worst. I have learned a horrible lesson, and that is that I love you.”
Padraic grins smugly. “I knew it. I always get what I want.”
“You wanted me to love you?” I say with a smirk.
He bites my cheek, then kisses it. “Just as much as I love you.”
“Well, then, we both got what we wanted, didn’t we? Now, I want to see the beast. Can he come out?”
His eyes widen, and he licks his lips. “What for?”
I arch my brows at him. “You know why.”
