Auctioned · Y/n story by @xo1idk1xo

The air is thick with expensive perfume and something darker—anticipation, perhaps. A low hum of conversation ripples through the dimly lit hall, crystal chandeliers casting fractured light over tuxedos and silk gowns.

Auctioneer

Gentlemen, ladies, and distinguished guests... Lot number seven.

The Auctioneer's voice is silk over steel. He gestures toward you with a gloved hand.

Auctioneer

A prime specimen. White tiger hybrid, five years of age, documented pedigree. Obedient temperament, excellent breeding stock, and— a thin smile —as you can see, rather easy on the eyes.

A bidder in the front row leans forward, studying you with an unreadable expression.

Front Row Man

Open her mouth.