sayafics - Tumblr blog

sayafics · 24 days

Text

No More Chances

Rick Grimes x reader

Oneshot

It's probably the dirtiest thing I've ever written, but I have no clue if it's actually good😭 but it is my first actual xreader fic, so hopefully, i did okay.

Warnings: smut, spanking, daddy kink, slight dub-con

Masterlist

Abraham had spotted you first - a small and timid little thing hidden in the darkness of the container at Terminus. You had whimpered and shied away from them as he called to you, asked you your name, and how you had gotten here.

The truth was you didn't know. Not really.

All you had known were the four walls they had kept you confined in, and even then you hadn't known how long it had been.

Days. Weeks. Months?

It all felt like a blur, drifting in and out of sleep, terrified they would come and take you to the place they had taken countless other poor souls who had never returned.

It seemed it didn't matter how long you had been there or how scared you were, Abraham wasn't someone who gave up so easily. He poked and prodded and questioned until you opened up hesitantly, introducing yourself with a dry and cracking voice, strained from disuse.

There was something familiar in your quietness, in the way you spoke softly and asked questions with such bold curiosity, the way you settled in so easily despite just meeting him and the people he travelled with. It reminded him of a life long gone, children long passed, and it was then he decided he would take you in and care for you as his own.

When they had escaped from Terminus, Abraham had been the one to drag you along with a tight grip on your forearm, never letting go and repeating the same three-worded instructions at every step - "stay close, kid."

If the others had noticed his peculiar behaviour, they hadn't said much. Nor did they think to look twice.

You had been trapped with them, suffered perhaps more than they had at the hands of Terminus, and lost more than they could imagine. It bound you to them in a way they couldn't deny.

Well, all but one man.

Rick Grimes.

Stubborn and angry and feral. A wolf disguised as a man, a predator prowling around your form like he was waiting for a moment of weakness before he striked.

But you never gave him the chance.

You barely spoke to the man, sticking to Abraham, who you slowly saw an older brother in, and Rosita, a dear friend.

You picked up where you had left off with ease, holding your weapons with comfort as though they had never left your grip and swinging them in raw instinct, taking out everything that stood in your path.

You could hold your own, a fact Abraham praised you for. Still, it didn't stop Rick from treating you like a child - not letting you join Daryl on hunts despite him promising to keep an eye on you, denying your requests to walk ahead of the group in case they ran into walkers or trail behind in case someone snuck up on them. It was as though he saw you as a child, and the thought grated upon you.

It continued, for all the long days and cold nights you spent on the road to the harrowing days you spent adjusting to Alexandria.

Even when Rick had taken charge of the community, a fierce and powerful leader, he made sure to use his voice to do nothing but deny you your freedom.

It frustrated you to no end.

Perhaps that's why you were doing something as stupid as this.

Rick had said you couldn't join them on the run, said if you stepped a toe out of line and disobeyed him as you had many times before he would teach you a lesson so you never did so again.

He always made threats like this, it was simply another empty threat.

Or at least you had hoped it was.

You walked through the woods near Alexandria - if Rick wouldn't let you scavenge with him and Daryl, then you would have your own little adventure.

All had been going well until you burst through some shrubbery to be met with the groans of dozens of walkers.

A hoarde.

It wasn't as big as the ones you had seen before, but it was too large to handle alone.

You could do nothing but stumble away, running in the direction you prayed was back to Alexandria. But it seemed fate was not on your side, as everywhere you turned, there was nothing but more walkers.

Your breath caught in your throat, heart sinking with dread as your eyes burned. This couldn't be how you went out.

No.

You wouldn't let it be.

You looked around you, searching with eager eyes for a tall and strong tree. You sprinted towards it, grateful for being a natural climber as you clambered your way as high as you could get.

You would wait them out, hope they disappeared and left you be.

And they did.

But it had taken hours. Night had fallen, and your eyes had slipped shut as you leaned back against the tree trunk, knowing you would regret choosing to sleep here when you woke in the morning.

When you had woken the next morning, it had taken you the space of a breath to realise the walkers had finally let you be. And it took the space of a heartbeat to realise you had been missing the entire night, and though Rick may not have noticed your absence at first, Abraham and Rosita would have.

Shit.

You chambered down the trees hastily, almost losing your footing multiple times before jumping down the rest of the distance. Small scratches littered your arms, and you were lucky your cargos protected the soft flesh of your calves and thighs.

It was fine, you told yourself.

Rick had never followed through on his threats before. It would have to be a cold day in Hell before he started today.

If anything, the man did everything in his power to avoid you. This would simply be another one of those times.

If she was lucky, it would only have to be Abaraham's admonishing she'd have to endure - perhaps Rosita, too. But Rick? He would give her that stare he always did, like he was disappointed at her rebellion. Frustrated at her disobedience.

Something else darker always laid beneath his gaze, something she had never been able to make out.

When she drew closer towards the gates of Alexandria, she debated sneaking over the gates and pretending as though she had never left.

But it seemed fate had beat her to it once more.

Carol stood on the watchtower, fixing her with an exasperated stare as she turned back slightly to yell - "found her!"

There was a quiet commotion as bodies clambered up the platform, and up rose the figures of a disappointed Abraham. And a furious Rick grimes.

Huh.

Well, double shit.

Rick was heaving with anger, nearly jumping down the platform as he ordered the gates to be opened.

Abraham stayed standing next to Carol, and her heart sank with guilt as she found herself unable to meet his gaze.

She sped up towards the gate, hoping to ask for his forgiveness and pretend none of this had ever happened. It wasn't as though she had gotten hurt.

She was safe. Perfectly fine without a scratch.

Rick's voice boomed, echoing violently in the space between them as he blocked her hurried path to Abraham.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Her lips parted in shock as he made his way forward, his hand took a hold of her face, his fingers pressing into her cheeks forcing her lips out in a pout as his brows furrowed in concern, despite the bubbling anger in his gaze.

"'m fine. Just in the woods, no big deal."

You wouldn't be.

Your words were whispered, like you were terrified to set him off.

He clenched his jaw at your words, but you could see how his shoulders relaxed minutely.

"The hell were you doing outside the gates, sweetheart?"

His voice was tinged with anger, and still, he used that stupid petname he could never put away.

You were sure he hated you. He confirmed it with every glare, with every denial to your requests. But he wouldn't stop calling you that.

You didn't reply, cheeks flushing with embarassment as you pulled your face away from his grip and looked over his shoulder to see your friends armed to the teeth, very likely having gotten ready to search for you as they presumed you were in danger.

You met his eyes, taken aback by the rage that was pouring from them. You couldn't help the way your eyes burned as you shifted on your feet, "'m sorry, Rick. Didn't mean to stay-"

"No. No apologies this time. What on earth were you thinking? Leaving Alexandria without telling anyone? We thought something happened to you!"

You swallowed roughly, unsure of what you could say to make it all better.

It seemed you didn't have to.

"I've had it with giving you warnings only for you to ignore it like the little brat you are," his words were strained and hushed as he tried to hold back from raising his voice and alerting others of his intentions.

"I promised you you'd get punished if you didn't listen to me and stay inside of Alexandria. Not only did you leave the gates, you stayed out the whole night!"

"I didn't mean to! I swe-"

He didn't give you time to finish, hand wrapping tight around your wrist as he began dragging you into Alexandria.

He paused next to Daryl. You gave him a pleading stare, but he only shook his head minutely.

You had messed up this time. Bad.

It was one thing to leave the gates. Another to be missing the whole night and not tell anyone where you had gone.

"Keep everyone out."

Your stomach rolled with anxiety at Rick's words, and Daryl only nodded in ascent. You tried to look back for Abaraham, ready to cry out to him so he could spare you of Rick's wrath.

Rick only tugged you after him once more, "sorry, sweetheart, but Abaraham can't help you this time."

She knew it had been Abaraham who had stopped him from disciplining her all those other times. It seems this time had been too much for him to accept as well.

She couldn't help the tears that pooled in her eyes at the realisation she truly disappointed Abraham. Rick only scoffed as he dragged her to his house, empty aside from his seething form and her worried one.

He closed the door behind them, walking past her as he paced up and down the small living room space. She could only watch him anxiously, shifting on her feet as she watched his shoulders tense and his lips twitch into a familiar snarl. He was so angry.

"I knew you were wreckless," he started, his voice pitched with incredulity, "but you have to be a whole 'nother crazy to go and spend the night in the woods. What if something happened, huh? Did you even think before you left? 'Course you didn't, brat like you thinks of no one but herself."

You ground your teeth at his words, anger fizzling up and replacing the guilt you previously felt.

"Oh, please. You would've loved it if I never came back. Hell, it's your fault I was out there in the first place!"

He stood still from his pacing, his back to her as he looked over his shoulder with narrowed eyes - "my fault?"

"Yes! You never let me do anything. You act as though I'm stupid and incompetent."

"Well, clearly, I was right."

"Oh, fuck you, you son of a bitch. You're always so arrogant," you couldn't help the words that spiilled past your lips, as though months of frustration had finally found an opportunity to make itself known and unburden your conscious.

"You always tell me what to do, like I can't think for myself," your voice gradually grew louder as you drew closer to him, "but I can! I'm so much more than what you think of me. You're not my dad, Rick. So stop acting like it."

He had turned to you fully by the end of your rant, head twisted with a dark smirk upon his face that promised exactly what he had been threatening you with the moment you had joined the group - discipline.

"You done with the speech, sweetheart? The things I tell you to do are for your own good, I'm protecting you."

"Then why does everyone else get to do stuff? You take Rosita and Tara on runs with you, but you make me stay in these stupid walls. Hell, even Enid's left Alexandria more than me!"

"I told you. I'm protecting you."

"That's so dumb, and if you think I'm going to stand here and accept that, you are too."

He clenched his jaw, running a hand over his face before a scoff left him, "wanna know why I don't let you out?"

She didn't say anything, just watched as his eyes grew so dark she could no longer make out the blue hues of them.

"Because you're nothing but a stupid little girl who doesn't know when something is too much for her. 'nd I ain't going to watch you get yourself killed."

Stupid little girl?

Your hands trembled in anger as your eyes darted to the nearest thing. You reached for the throw pillows on the couch, throwing it at Rick's head as he stepped back to avoid everything you threw his way.

"Fuck you, Rick. Fuck you and your stupid saviour complex!"

When you ran out of things to throw, you drew closer to him with fury burning in your eyes. "I have more than proved myself in this group."

You poked at his chest, meeting his eyes with vicious challenge - "I deserve to be here," you pushed at his chest as rage ate you up, "and I don't need you protecting me. You're not my father. You're not anything to me. You're just some lowlife sheriff from a small, forgettable town that gets off on controlling people."

You paused, your face falling at your words.

No.

No, you hadn't meant that. Not really.

You wanted to hurt him, but not like this.

Rick was tough, yes. And so stubborn. But he was a loyal man who would do anything to protect his people, and you knew that included you.

Shit.

You were scared to look him in the eyes, worried you would see nothing but disappoint in his eyes. A more selfish part of you worried that he would walk away, let you be without talking to you again. As much as you hated the way he controlled your every move, a small and guilty piece of your soul craved his overprotectiveness, playing into the fantasy that he only acted like this because he cares.

"Get upstairs."

His voice was devoid of emotions, more of a barking order than anything else.

You finally looked up at him, confusion flooding your face as you took in the fire that burned in his eyes - "what?"

"Upstairs. Second door on the right."

You scoffed, "I'm not some dog for y-"

His hand clamped over your throat, tugging you closer until your noses brushed together and his warm breath fanned over your lips. You could feel yourself grow warm under his intense stare.

"Go upstairs, now. I'll give you thirty seconds before I drag you up there myself, understood?"

When you didn't answer, he squeezed your throat lightly in warning, and you couldn't help but hold back a whimper.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

If you wanted to disobey him, mock him and ridicule him then he would do what he had to, to show you your place. You would learn by the end of today, he'd make sure.

"Yes, sir?"

Your voice trailed off as a question, one that Rick replied to with an amused hum - "we'll work on that."

He took his hand off your throat, stepping back to cross his arms over his chest. You tried to ignore how broad they made his shoulders seem, how large and intimidating he was when he stood over you.

You swallowed harshly before he nodded his head towards the steps and you couldn't help but run up into the room he told you to meet him in.

You didn't have the nerve to look around and see how the man lived. No, your heart was racing with fear as you wondered what exactly he planned to do.

Downstairs Rick locked all the doors, his way of making sure no one could get in. He wouldn't want anyone disturbing the both of you.

You could hear his footsteps growing closer, like a ticking time-bomb. You didn't know what to do with yourself. You stumbled backwards until you reached the window and a glance outside showed how everyone went back to their daily lives now that you'd come back safe and sound.

You tried to look for Abraham, but before you could spot the red-headed man, Rick made his way through the door.

He shut it behind him, hand reaching back to click the lock shut before placing his hands on his hips and scanning for form.

His gaze paused on your arms, tutting slightly at the light scratches left from your frantic climbing of the tree - "arms hurt?"

His voice was quieter, much more passive than it had been downstairs. Still, it did nothing to calm your trembling heart.

You shook her head minutely, to which he narrowed his eyes, "use your big girl words."

You bit your lip in an attempt to hold back any retort but still couldn't stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you spoke, "no, sir."

He shook his head, disappointed in your attitude - "gotta teach you a lesson. That kind of attitude isn't gonna work with me."

You couldn't help but snort light, wondering what exactly he planned to do, "what? You planning on grounding me?"

He didn't say anything, only drew closer to the bed before his hands went to his duty belt. Your heart began to sink in your chest as you watched him throw the duty belt onto the bed, quickly reaching for his actual belt and slipping it out from the loops of his jeans. He folded it in half, slapping it lightly against the palm of his hand.

He pointed towards his dresser with it, the top of it bare, but there was a mirror placed at such an angle that the whole room was reflected in it.

"Bend over on the dresser, trousers down."

You swallowed harshly, eyes widening with incredulity.

"You can't be serious?"

He clenched his teeth, "does it look like I'm joking, sweetheart? Dresser. Now."

"No."

He took a few steps closer to you, "either you willing walk to that dresser and take your punishment like the big girl you say you are, or I'm gonna throw you over my lap and not stop until your ass is too sore for you to even walk straight."

You could tell he wasn't joking, could tell from the way his knuckles whitened as he gripped the belt.

You couldn't help the way your voice quietened as you twisted your hands and shifted on your feet, "how many?"

"Why? Are you scared?"

You couldn't help it when your eyes narrowed in defence, huffing your way to the dresser, kicking off your shoes and not stopping in a show of bravery. It wasn't until you actually stood in front of it that you slowed down, hands trembling as you fiddled with the button of your cargos.

Your trembling hands were noticeable and only worsened when two hands creeped around your waist, and Rick spoke into your ear, his voice almost soft.

He unbuttoned your cargos, your breath catching in your throat as he slipped his hands into the waistband to help push it down your legs and reveal soft, baby-pink panties, "just twenty, yeah? Think that'll teach you your lesson?"

Twenty?

God, you wanted to high-tail it and run.

But he had locked the door. And even if you did manage to leave, you knew Rick would find another way to punish you.

Maybe this was the easiest option. He just needed to calm down, to get over his ego and think he taught you a lesson. He didn't need to know you thought you were right.

You leaned over the dressor, leaning on your elbows as a shaky breath escaped you, "yes, sir."

"Good girl."

You couldn't help the shiver that ran down your spine at his praise.

"Need you to count after every one, hm? You miss a number and I start again."

"What? That's not fair."

"Then you better not miss a number."

You tried to push yourself up straight, not believing he actually meant what he said, "this is so stu-"

Thwack.

A gasp escaped your throat, and you were sure the belt had left its mark on you.

"Get back down and start counting."

You did as he said reluctantly, unwilling to test him when he striked you once already.

"One."

You couldn't help but whimper as he struck the belt again, this time two in a quick succession on the soft underside of your cheeks.

"Two- three."

"Look at you, counting like a big girl. What was it you said to me?"

Rick ended his question with a lash directly on your plump cheeks, relishing how the skin turned red and raised under his strength.

You wanted to retort, but you didn't think you could do more than count without your voice breaking. Your eyes stung with tears, but you held them back, hands clenched into tight fists as you tried to stop yourself from reaching back to cover your abused bottom.

Fuck Rick and fuck his rules.

You wouldn't let him win.

"Four."

You would take every lash and count without breaking.

You could do this.

Right?

"Ah, yeah. That I meant nothing to you, right?"

Three were thrown in quick succession, tears pooling in your eyes as your voice finally broke whilst you counted to seven.

"That I ain't your father?"

Thwack.

This one had been over your upper thigh, the pain radiating towards your pussy and you couldn't help the whine that escaped you as you counted eight, praying he couldn't see how your traiterous cunt twitched and moistened at the strike.

"I'll be the best damn daddy you ever had, sweetheart."

Another three strikes over the same senstive area across your cheeks, the skin already turning a mottled red as you moaned slightly as the sound of him calling himself your daddy.

Fuck.

Another strike hit your cheeks, this one softer as he tutted into your ear.

"My poor baby," your eyes met his through the mirror as you held back a whimper at his words. Tears were falling down your face as you held back a cry. "Looks like my little girl forgot to keep counting."

Your eyes widened as you realised it meant he would start all over again.

Rick couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, a dark cadence that had you shivering as you shook your head at him in the reflection.

He came closer to you, pressing up against your tender backside, the harsh material of his jeans rubbing against your bruised bottom to make a horrible, aching burn. Through the haziness of your tears and hesitant arousal, you could feel something press against your cunt, something big and hard and you knew exactly what it was.

Your hands moved to tighten on the edge of the dressing table, trying so hard not to rub back against him.

"Seems like I'm going to have to start again, huh?"

You couldn't help but break into a sob, "no, no, no. Please, I'm sorry. I don't want more."

He petted your hair, using it to start pulling you to him so your back was flush against his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist to keep you in place.

You whimpered as his jeans rubbed harshly against your sore bottom, Rick placed his chin in the crook of your neck, cooing at you through the reflection, "maybe if you ask me really nicely, I'll listen."

You held onto his forearms, your fingers gripping his arm with trembling strength as you whimpered and cried, "please, I'm so sorry. Please don't start again."

"Please don't start again, who?"

"Please don't spank me again, sir."

"Hm, don't think I like that one, sweetheart."

You just stared at him through the reflection, confusion painting your face until-

Oh.

"Daddy," your voice shook as you whined the word, unable to stop yourself from rocking back on him in instinct, "daddy, please. Don't want n'more," your voice broke as you cried softly, "hurts s' bad."

One of his hands drifted to splay over your lower abdomen, using the pressure to push you back against his cock, hissing quietly in your ear.

"See, daddy would believe you baby. But I think you're lying."

Your fingers come to pull at his as they drift lower and lower, knowing he would find your panties damp, "no 'm not. Please-"

You would whine and beg and cry if it meant he wouldn't spank you with the belt.

He clicked his tongue, dropping his hands to stand back and run his eyes over you. He reached forward to drop the belt on the dresser, "I have a better idea, hm?"

He moved away from you, making his way to the bed to sit comfortably on top. He leaned back on his hand, his pupils still blown with anger, but now there was something more.

You watched as he jerked his head at his lap in the reflection, "c'mon baby. Come lie down on daddy's lap and take your punishment like a big girl."

Turning to him, you couldn't help the petulant whine depsite knowing you would get nowhere, "don't wanna."

He scoffed, leaning forward to rest on his elbows, "either you come yourself or I'll bend you back over that dresser and give you fifty."

You fisted the sheets in your hands, burying your face in your arms as he ghosted his fingers over the curve of your back, drifting down slowly over the bruising flesh.

You knew you could barely endure another twenty, so his threat was enough to make you stumble to him, your bottom already much too sore from the incomplete lashings he gave. You stood close to him, and he barely gave you a second to breathe before manoeuvring you over his lap.

There was something different about it this time. Something that felt more intimate, more gentle as he pet your head and murmured for you to count.

The first slap came too quickly - a sharp intake of breath of the pain burned on top of your sensitive skin.

"O-one."

You whimpered into the sheets. These felt worse than the belt, and some part of you wished he would grab it again so it could be less painful.

He slapped another three in a quick succession, all in the same place making you whine and push into him, barely able to hold back a gasp as the rough seam of his jeans brushed over your clothed clit.

Your hand reached back over your sore bottom, but he only tutted as he shifted his legs and used his spare hand to pull your hands away - "try that again, baby and I'm gonna start all over again. Now count."

"Two, three, f-four."

You could hear the sobs you held back as they weighed heavy in your throat.

"Told y' so many times this would happen," there was a quiet fury in his voice, "but did y'ever listen? No."

He slapped you twice, once over each of your upper thighs and despite the way you pushed away from him you couldn't help but slip your legs open a little wider, trying to feel the drag of his jeans against your cunt as something foreign burned low in your gut.

You shouldn't be feeling like this.

What was wrong with you?

You were sure there was a damp patch forming on your panties, and it wouldn't be long until Rick could see it. Still, his voice, the pain, the feeling of his muscled thigh under your twitching cunt. You couldn't help it.

A large smack sounded against your bottom, a cry escaping you.

"Even now, y' ain't paying attention. Do you even realise how dangerous it was that you left? That you never told anyone? What you did was stupid!"

He continued to throw slaps across your bottom, each one bringing you into a fit of sobs and cries as you hid your face in your arms whilst counting. Still, the burn began to grow into something more, and you couldn't help but push down against his lap to try and find some relief.

You had finally reached twenty, and it was as though the final slap across your tender flesh had broken a dam.

You sobbed and cried into your arms, apologies spilling from your lips as a flood of arousal and guilt and anger came over you once more. Anger at yourself. For leaving Alexandria after Rick told you not to. For shouting at him and telling him he meant nothing to you.

For liking the punishment.

Rick pulled up your body, pulling you into his chest. You whimpered as your tender bottom ached when you placed pressure on it. You wouldn't be able to sit down for days. Maybe weeks.

He held you against his chest, hushing you and murmuring praises into your ear as you hiccuped against him -"such a good girl. Took your punishment so good, didn't you? Did so good, baby."

You couldn't look him in the eye, unsure of what you would find. You sniffled quietly, tears calming at his petting and praises.

"You know what good girls like you deserve?"

The cadence of his voice lowered, but there was no hesitation in his words. The hand that brushed your hair drifted to your bare thighs, pushing apart your knees to rub circles into the soft flesh. His other arm tightened around your waist, reluctant to let you go.

"Rick..."

Your voice was shaky, unsure. You had a feeling you knew where this was going, but was it right? You hadn't even known Rick could have felt this way for you, but then again - sex was sex. And this must have riled him up as much as it did you.

He just wanted to burn off energy, and you were here - pliant and submissive to his wills.

His fingers traced their way closer to your panties, slipping under the waistband to stretch it out before letting it slap back against your skin.

"From the look of your panties, I'd say you enjoyed that a little too much," there was a hint of amusement in his voice, "but I think my girl deserves a reward for taking her punishment so well."

My girl.

His girl.

He doesn't give you a chance to reply, fingers slipping into your underwear to trace around the lips of your cunt, dipping in to carefully trace around the hole Rick had been dreaming of from the moment he saw you in that Terminus container - you looked like a quiet and timid girl, but he could see the wildfire that blazed through your eyes. The one that shone through whenever you were too close to death.

He had come to enjoy it and fear it. Afraid to see it because it meant you had brushed death once more, but the sight of it overtaking you burned him in a way he couldn't help but crave.

Your hands came to wrap tightly against his wrist as his fingers finally met your clit, quiet whimpers escaping you. They intensified into reluctant moans as he moved his fingers despite your hold, your hips rocking back into his lap as you whined at the ache of your bruised bottom.

He shushed you, bucking his hips up against the sore flesh as he held you tighter and sped up his fingers. He circled your clit, fingers dipping down to your hole and back up as he leaned down to press his lips against your ear.

"Does that feel good, baby? You like how daddy's touching you?"

You couldn't help but let your head fall against his shoulder, tears burning your eyes as you edged closer and closer.

How long had it been since you had been touched like this?

The only hands that had ever touched you had been your own, and you were sure they never made you feel like this.

Keeping his hands in your panties, he used his other arm to twist you so your back was against his chest. You could feel the subtle movements of his hips as he pushed up against you, and with the pain of your sore bottom, the pleasure of his hand between your thighs and the pleasurable groans of the handsome man behind you, you couldn't help but cant up your hips, encouraging him to move faster.

"Need more, please."

"Please, who?"

"Daddy," you couldn't help it when you moaned out the name, couldn't help when your hands reached back to twist in the strands of his hair and tug him forward as you twisted your neck to place pretty kisses against his jaw. Your head fell back against his shoulders as one of your hands slipped down to join his. He only tutted, biting your ear playfully before pulling his fingers out.

You couldn't help the tears that spilt as you whined for him to not stop.

He didn't listen to a word you said, standing up to throw you higher upon the bed. You watched as he grew frenzied, chest moving frantically with every breath as he clambered upon the bed. His lips reached for your neck, sucking and biting the flesh and leaving deep marks on your skin that you were sure everyone would see tomorrow. Still, you couldn't help but whimper and whine, hips tilting up in search of his heat to press against your own.

He littered kisses down your neck, the fingers that had just been inside of you tracing your soft lips before pushing inside to press against your tongue. You couldn't help but roll your eyes back as you tasted yourself on his fingers, whining as you sucked him clean.

His hand left your mouth, trailing down your throat to leave a wet streak as both his hands reached for your top, only to tear it in half so your breasts could spill from the material. He licked them, laving at them and sucking heavy marks.

His hands went to his pants, undoing the button and zipper to pull out his stiffened cock. You were barely able to take a glance before he filled your vision - him and his blue eyes, so dark and full of lust as he whispered against your lips.

"Gonna fill you so good baby, you want that, huh? Yes, you do. Gonna make you feel so good."

Before you could even whimper in reply, he pressed his tip against your hole. His breath caught in his throat, and your hands came to sit on his shoulders, only just realising he remained dressed whilst you were bare beneath him.

He shushed you, lips coming to press fluttering kisses against the dip of your throat as he pushed in further.

"So tight, baby. Doin' so good- almost there."

Almost felt like forever, your back arching as you ached to pull more of him in with a broken moan. His nose came to brush against yours as he gave shallow thrusts, pushing in deeper with every one. His tongue came to lick the plump flesh of your lips, and you couldn't help the broken whimper that escaped you as your lips parted and your tongue escaped to meet his own.

You moaned when he bit you tongue, feeling the way his lips twisted into a smirk as he pushed himself closer to press his lips against yours.

The kiss grew heated, a clash of teeth and a tangle of tongues and spit and moans as Rick's movements grew uncontrolled. He rocked deeper and further into your pretty cunt until he bottomed out, groaning against your lips as he enjoyed the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around him. You couldn't help but tilt your hips down, grinding against him as you searched for friction against your clit.

Rick hiked one of your legs over his hip, lifting the other over his shoulder as he dragged you even closer.

He pulled back from your lips, a string of saliva attaching his reddened lips to your pouting ones as you looked up, seeking his gaze - his pupils were blown, drowning in lust as he pulled back his hips before thrusting back in. The motion jolted your body up the bed, a long whine escaping at the feel of his cock dragging in and out of your cunt with a delicious burn.

Fuck, was this what you had been missing out on for so long?

You suddenly wished Rick has spanked you sooner, especially if it was always going to end like this.

His thrusts were slow, each drag hot and delicious as he pulled back slowly only to thrust in with barley retrained lust. Your hands went to the base of his neck, twisting in his curls, and you tugged his closer to press your lips against his once more. He muttered praises against your lips, slipping his tongue in to meld against your own.

Your hands dipped lower, fingers brushing against the base of his cock causing his to jolt at the sensation, your head tipping back as the tip of his cock brushed against something that had you seeing stars.

Your hands slipped under his shirt, holding back a moan at the feeling of his skin against your palms - wanting to feel more, needing more.

"Rick- please."

His began trailing kisses down your jaw, biting the skin teasingly as he whispered against your flushed skin - "what do you need, baby? Hm? Tell me what you want."

"Fuck- need to feel you. Wanna touch you, Rick."

His thrusts slowed down to a stop, causing your eyes to burn with tears at the lack of stimulation as you reached for his shoulders when he pulled back. He tutted when you whined at him, pushing roughly into your hips, causing your breath to catch in your throat.

He pulled off his shirt, throwing it over his head as he readjusted your legs around his waist and gripped your hips tight. His hands went behind your back, pulling you up so you sat seated upon his lap with your chest pressed against his own.

He started slow once again, hips softly pushing into your own as the shallow thrusts causing your hardened nipples to brush against his chest, already sensitive from his abuse.

Your bottom burned at the new position, but you couldn't help the way it curled into a pleasurable heat as you rested your weight on your knees and took it upon yourself to fuck yourself on his heavy cock.

You pressed yourself further against Rick, panting in the crook of his neck as you hid your flushed face, a hand sneaking between your heated bodies to touch your aching clit.

"Shit. You makin' yourself feel good, sweetheart? Touchin' yourself like that."

"Feels s'good."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes back, pushing down harsher on his lap, desperate for his thick cock to hit that perfect spot again.

Rick bit your ear, a hand coming to wrap softly around your throat - "well, we can't have that now. Can we? That's my job, princess - makin' you cum."

His voice had dropped to a dangerous whisper, squeezing your throat in warning as you grew more desperate against him. His hand dropped to your hip, tightening against the flesh as he pulled you off his cock and positioned you onto all four's.

"Just can't let me have m' fun, can you? Gotta take care of y'rself, like I can't do it for you. Fuckin' brat, you are."

You placed your head in your arms, back arching as you pushed back in search of friction, voice laden with tears are you apologised.

"Sorry, Rick. Please, need you so bad."

"Oh, now you need me, baby?"

His hands came to rest on your bottom, squeezing the sore flesh of your cheeks as you groaned into your arms. He saw how your hole clenched at the sensation, holding back a groan of his own at the sight.

He leaned forward, pressing his hard cock against your cunt and grinding against it softly, ignoring the way you pushed back against him in a silent plea.

"What do you want, little girl?"

"You. Please, need you so bad."

"Need me to do what, hm? C'mon, use your words for daddy."

"Fuck- need you to fuck me, daddy. Wanna feel you inside me, wanna feel good. Plea-"

You couldn't finish your words, voice breaking out into a cry as he thrusted into you in one swoop. A long moan, broken and whining, echoed throughout the room, and you flushed at the idea your desperate voice could be heard from outside the window.

You held onto his wirst as his fingers finally met your clit, leaning back into his embrace as he traced vigorous circles onto your throbbing pussy.

Rick's hand twisted into your hair, tugging you back against him so he could grope your breasts with one hand and touch your desperate, wet cunt with the other. His fingers ghosted over your cunt, his head tilting back with a groan as he rammed into you relentlessly, endless whines escaping you as he brushed over that special place again and again and again.

Fuck.

"Atta girl, this what you wanted?"

You could only nod as you ground your hips against his hand, head tilting back to rest against his shoulder as you placed a hand on top of each of his own, pushing him to touch you harder. To leave his mark. To make it so that even when he had let you go, all you could feel was his touch.

"Yeah, didn't even need a spanking, did you? Just daddy's fat cock in your desperate little cunt, right?"

"Yes-yes, yes. Fuck, yes. Just needed you, Rick. Just daddy, please."

"What is it, baby? You close?"

You could tell from the way his voice wobbled, the way his muscles tensed behind you, the way his arms pulled you closer and his thrusts grew sloppy that he was too.

"Need to cum so bad-"

"Not until I say so, baby. I'm gonna cum so deep inside of you, gonna feel me for days. You want that?"

You couldn't help the tears that escaped you now, using every muscle in your body to try and stave off your orgasm as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. His words only turned you on further, breaths shuddered as you twisted your face to hide in the crook of his neck with tears leaking.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Look at me, yeah?"

You met his gaze, only to have him press his lips against yours. You moaned desperately against him, hissing as he bit your lip before running his lip over it to soothe it.

He twisted you around on his cock so your tender breasts were pressed against his chest once more, moving to press you against the bed as his hands held onto your hips for dear life. He leaned over your body, lips hovering over your own as your nails scratched along his back, so deep you were sure they'd leave marks.

Good, you thought. You were sure your own body would experience a similar fate.

He leaned down to your ear, just as your pretty hole fluttered desperately around his fat cock - "cum."

He had whispered it, but you heard it for what it was. An order your body was aching to give into.

You broke out into a delectable whine, body seizing as your cunt clenched around him and milked him for all he was worth. He groaned against your ear, fingers pressing so deep into your flesh that you were sure his handprints would be bruised and buried into your skin.

You found you didn't mind.

He rocked gently into your hips as you overcame your collective high, sighing softly into the space between your lips as his tongue dipped in searching for your own.

You pressed your lips against his with a quiet sigh as your tongue brushed against his tentatively, and Rick couldn't help but twitch inside your warm and sopping cunt.

Shit, maybe he should've spanked you sooner. Especially if it meant he'd end up with his cock in that warm place between your thighs.

And it was also safe to say Rick didn't leave you on your own again. No, instead you were attached to his hip - and his cock. And it didn't take long until the others had caught on, with one too many of them catching an eyeful of the sinful acts.

It was safe to say that you never really did ignore the man's orders again. Not unless you were feeling particularly desperate for his attention.

Rick couldn't help it, though. With your bratty attitude and pretty cunt he couldn't get enough. And you had to admit, there was something addictive about that dominating power he held being placed upon you with his undivided attention. Who wouldn't crave such a thing?

#rick grimes x oc #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes #rick grimes x you #rick grimes fic #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes smut

229 notes · View notes

sayafics · 25 days

Text

What series shall I update next?

I'm struggling to decide which of my series to update because i made the rookie mistake of making so many :'(

#rick grimes x oc #rick grimes x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x oc #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targeryan #criston cole x oc #criston cole x reader #daemon targaryen x reader x criston cole #daemon targaryen x reader #regulus black x oc #jay halstead x oc #twd #towl #hotd #hp #hp marauders #cpd #chicago one

11 notes · View notes

sayafics · 29 days

Text

As, Bs and Cs - Chapter II

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Alara laid awake, listening to the sound of Rick's breathing. The world outside his window was quiet and dark, so he was all she could see and hear.

Her wrists and ankles ached as she fought quietly against the steel wrapped tightly around them, the chain that anchored her to the bed clinking quietly as she tried to force the cuffs to slip off. She knew it wouldn't work, but she had to try.

They were tight, too tight. It seemed Beale continued to learn from his mistakes and did everything in his power to keep her tied down and trapped. She had slipped from her cuffs once before, broken her thumb and slid free of the manacles, only to tie them around a guard's neck when he came in to stop her - then she broke his neck too.

She had thought she won, that she had the chance to escape. But then another guard came. And another. And another. Until there was too many of them and too little of her.

She had been beaten into submission at that moment, and a part of her knew she deserved it for having taken another life. Still, she vowed when they let their guard down she would do it again and take more.

She shuffled on the bed, trying to move onto her back but the short distance between her cuffs and chain only left her lying awkwardly. She groaned heavily, twisting until she could sit up on her knees.

Alara brought her face down to her hands, scrubbing her face to wipe away the sleep that never came as she thought to herself.

The sun would rise soon and the ticking clock would start again, and no amount of listening to the soldier's breaths would slow it down.

Alara was doomed.

Unless...

She looked over at Rick's sleeping form, her brow's furrowing at the peaceful expression on his face. How could he feel calm in a moment like this? How could he feel safe knowing he was stuck in the Civic Republic? How could he sleep knowing she was only inches away, likely planning his death in the most painful way?

Still, she couldn't help but appreciate how gentle he looked in that moment; his skin flushed to a healthy colour and the ever present frown had softened. Although, it probably helped that his eyes were closed and she couldn't stare into those blue eyes of his.

Something about them always seemed so- sad. And she wondered for a moment why he was so placative with his life here, when it brought him nothing but misery.

It didn't matter, she thought to herself. All that mattered was escaping, and what better time than now. Beale wouldn't expect it, he'd think he beat her into submission long ago and that Rick's presence was enough to deter any nuisance.

He was wrong.

"Hey-" she coughed as her throat grew dry, still trying to adjust to finally being able to talk at will.

"Rick," her words grew elongated, and she would refuse to admit they almost bordered a whine, "wake up."

It was the first time she had spoken his name, and it slipped off her tongue with ease. She shuffled to the edge of the bed, huffing and rolling her eyes as she stepped onto the cold floor to wake up the sleeping beast.

Some soldier he was.

Some dream he must be having, to not want to wake up to her voice.

A chill ran up her legs as she stumbled closer to him. Lucky for her, he had made his bed close to her own, so when her leash refused to give her any more leeway, she only needed to kneel down to get closer.

Alara couldn't get close enough to touch him, she didn't think she wanted to. She admired him from her position above, the scattered freckles across his face, the small scar on the bridge of his nose, the way his lips twitched even in his sleep and his lashes fluttered like he was dreaming of someone who was likely a stranger to her.

She leaned as close to his ear as she could get, ready to scream his name so the man would leap up from his makeshift bed of blankets and sheets and do what she wanted.

But it had been a long time since she was given freedom like this, a long time since she had an opportunity to listen to the familiar whispers of a life long gone. She smirked to herself, the corners of her eyes crinkling as they filled with mischief.

She held her breath by his ear, unable to stop her twitching lips as she shouted into his ear - "boo!"

Rick flinched harshly in his sleep, his hand reaching for the blade hidden under his pillow to hold it against the culprit. His eyes had barely focused in the dark, his knife pressed against someone's throat as it trembled under the sound of their breaths and... laughter.

It wasn't the first time Alara had a knife held against her throat and she was sure it wouldn't be the last. But this may be her last time being able to enjoy something so childish and mischievous without fear of what comes next.

She could feel the harsh sting of a blade against her throat, but still, her laughter bubbled through in unrelenting streams of giggles as she huffed apologies to the man. She had never apologised before, not really. But she felt she didn't mind this time.

Rick felt his heart pause for a moment as laughter filled the apartment, and suddenly it all came rushing back.

Beale, Greer, Okafor. The girl. The trial.

He found himself unable to move, unable to focus on anything but the bright laughter that filled his ears. When was the last time he had heard something so care-free, so loud and true and hopeful.

Here she was, fated to a life where everything was stripped from her all the way down to her ability to 'yes'. And still she found a reason to laugh.

Rick thought it must've been before Carl died that he had felt something so light and hopeful in the sounds that whisked around him. And he realised again how much he had lost in such a short amount of time.

He cleared his throat roughly, flipping the knife in his hand so the sharp end was faced away before he pressed his fingers onto her head, pushing her away from him as he growled under his breath.

She only shook her head to remove his hand in response, "hey, it's not my fault you're a deep sleeper."

He clicked his tongue, glancing at his watch to find it was only four in the morning. He didn't need to be up for another three hours, and he rarely got enough sleep as it was.

"What the hell do you need in the middle of the night?" He couldn't help the way he raised his voice, glaring at the girl as frustration ate at him.

Rick could sense her pout, even in the dark.

"I need to pee. And considering you've left me chained to the bed," she shook the manacles for emphasis, "I thought it'd be better to call you instead of sleep in my own urine. That wouldn't be fun for either of us."

He only scoffed in response, pushing himself to his feet before wrapping his hands around the cuffs on her wrist to pull her up to.

"Hey! Be gentle," she huffed as she yanked her hands out of his grip, only for him to reach out and hold them tighter.

He tutted, stepping closer as he leaned down to whisper in her ears, "be a good girl and shut up before someone hears you. Unless you want me to find something better than that muzzle of yours to keep it shut."

Alara wrinkled her nose in the dark, blindly reaching out to kick him in the shin, making him drop her hands and grunt in response. Rick could only huff, muttering under his breath as he rounded her figure to switch on the bedside lamp.

A gloomy orange light filled the room, so bright that Alara turned away from the source with her eyes screwed shut. It seemed the glaring light didn't effect Rick in the same way.

The man only continued to grumble under his breath, and she was sure he was calling her every insult he could think of for disturbing his beauty sleep. She only teetered on the spot, leaning back and forth on the tips of her toes and heels of her feet as she waited for him to release her from the bed.

Alara tried not to hide her disappointment as he kept her attached to the chain, barely speaking a word as he tugged her towards another door within the room to open it up to the bathroom.

The bathroom was clean, organised- almost empty. Apart from the toothbrush in a holder on the sink, there was no other sign someone used it much. Although, knowing he was part of the CRM, she knew he was probably too busy running around killing people to make this place into a home.

She had noticed how even his apartment was sparse of furniture, bare of life. As though he wasn't planning on staying long, planning to leave the first opportunity he got. But it was Rick who had told her the CRM was impossible to escape from, so she knew that her thoughts couldn't be true.

It must be the soldier in him.

She felt a tug on her manacles, head lifting to meet Rick's impatient gaze.

"C'mon, don't got all day."

His words were slurred with sleep, and she hoped it was a sign he would move the same, react too slow. She nodded softly, walking towards the toilet and felt no laxity in the chain. She turned to face Rick, a pointed stare in her eyes as she tipped her head towards the door.

The man only laughed, "I'm not an idiot, sweetheart. Can't leave you alone."

She frowned, both in embarrassment as her cheeks flushed pink in the golden shadows that peeked in from the bedroom, and frustration.

"Well, I can't pee with you in here."

He only raised an eyebrow in return, causing her to huff whilst she shifted her weight between her feet wondering what she could say to get him to leave, to get him to let his guard down.

"Call it what you like, I get performance anxiety so could you leave and let me do my business alone?"

It was perhaps the most she's spoken in the last few years, and the stain on her cheeks had travelled down her chest as the words spilt out freely.

"Not happening," she could see a faint smirk growing on his face as he turned his back to her. Rick glanced over his shoulder, and she was sure she could almost see pity in his eyes as his voice softened slightly - "this is the best I can do. I can't leave you alone, it sa-"

"'Says it in the guide'. So you keep saying - didn't stop you from keeping the muzzle off."

He could hear the way her eyes rolled of she spoke, and he gritted his teeth at her words. She was right, he had already blatantly ignored the guide, why not once more.

But he didn't know what she was capable of. Didn't know what she could do when she wasn't tied down and unable to reach objects she could use to kill him.

He thought of every loose tile hidden in the bathroom, every crevice and crack where he hid a blade or a bullet or a gun.

No.

It wasn't the guide that made him stay here and turn his back, it was the truth of what he was. He wasn't a soldier for the CRM.

He was a father. A brother. A friend.

He was a man who simply wanted to return home and she couldn't know that.

"Just hurry up and pee before I change my mind."

She scoffed, but did as she was told anyway. The movements were awkward and stilted with the manacles, the quiet jingling being the only sound to fill the silence. When she was finally done and stood from the toilet to pull up the soft shorts Rick had given her, which had been very difficult to manoeuvre under the manacles, to sleep in, she cleared her throat quietly after flushing.

Rick shifted slightly, ready to turn back to her and pull her back to the bedroom so he could sleep for a few more hours before dawn. Before he could move, the chain in his arm was pulled taut, and he braced himself for what was coming.

There was a harsh blow against the back of his legs, bringing him to his knees as the chain of the manacles was tied harshly around his throat. He only had a heartbeat to prepare himself and breathe.

Rick could feel the concealed anger behind her grip, even as she whispered a quiet sorry into the air between them. He wishes he could have also told her the same.

He grunts, unable to slip his fingers under the chain as pressure begins to build in his head and he wonders how many times she had done this before to have done it with such ease.

Don't let the subject roam freely. The manacles must remain attached to a solid surface.

He had almost laughed with incredulity when he had read those words in the guide, but now he knew why.

He couldn't take in another breath, his skin burning hot under the cool chain.

No. Not like this. He wouldn't die like this.

His vision began to cloud, breaths spluttered as she pulled tighter. It only made him more frantic. He threw his weight forward, giving into the pressure of the chain as she flew over his shoulder and landed on her back with a thud.

Rick coughed haphazardly when the chain had loosened and fell as she groaned on the ground, writhing on her back. Before he had time to get to his feet, she twisted onto her knees. Her eyes were wet, red-rimmed and full of rage.

But she wasn't angry at Rick. She didn't think she could be. But he was part of the CRM and she hated everything he was an extension of. So if she had to kill him to escape the CRM, she would.

She growled under her breath, her hands still locked in the manacles and Rick still holding onto the chain. She tugged him forward with vicious glee, the sleek tiles making it easy for him to slide forward a few inches.

A few inches was all the leeway she needed. She reared her fist back, ready to place all her strength into one blow, and then another, and another, and another. Until he gave up and stopped and she could run.

It seemed as though fate had other plans in store.

Rick kicked her legs out from under her, yanking on the chains with barely contained anger as he grunted against her harsh kicks.

He gritted his teeth, grabbing her waist tightly to hold her against the ground. She wanted to scream in his face, let out years of frustration with an agonising yell. But she couldn't risk more of them coming.

She couldn't risk not winning.

Despite the chain not giving way, she pulled tightly against the manacles, uncaring of the stinging and pain. She scratched him wherever she could, praying it would be enough.

Needing it to be enough.

Rick swore under his breath as she scratched at his neck, so sure he would find red marks littering his skin.

He threw an arm over her hip, stopping her from trying to buck off his form even though he knew it would be impossible. His hand reached to take hold of her wrists, barely holding back a growl as he pressed them tightly against the cold tiles above her head.

The short chain between the manacles on her wrists and the manacles on her ankles caused her to bring her legs up to relieve the pain and accommodate the forced position.

Her eyes glinted with something quiet and bright, and Rick could feel her hips shifting way as she got ready to kick him from any angle she could find.

Rick knew she couldn't escape. Alara knew she couldn't either. But she would hurt him and continue to do so for as long as she could. As long as she had to.

He stopped her before she could even try, leaning over her as his hips pried open the space between her legs and he pressed his weight across her body.

"Give up."

His voice was gruff, barely out of breath whilst she panted in anger and fatigue. It only seemed to make her grow more agitated, twisting and turning in his grip, promising his death and torture.

Then begging.

And pleading.

And praying.

"Let me go-"

Her eyes shone with tears as she tried to steady her breath, unable to stop twisting and pulling and trying.

"I can't."

"Yes you can," her chest heaved with every pant, Rick's heart sinking with guilt as he felt her struggle to compose herself. She thought he was the only thing between her and her chance to escape.

But Rick knew better. If she left this apartment, she would never make it back. And whether it was because she was killed, or because they had assigned her to another soldier - he feared he would never know.

Not until decades had passed, and he was still just as trapped as she was, probably Command Sergant Major, if Okafor ever succeeded in his plans. And he would look across from him, looking upon recruits bred from Greer's programme to see scattered reflections of Alara that were distorted by the men Greer had forced upon her.

No.

He had made Okafor a promise.

It wasn't right- he knew that. But it was the closest he could get to it.

"You know I can't. You gotta stop, sweetheart."

They both paused at the slip of his tongue, and the hot tears finally slipped down Alara's face. His voice sounded so kind and so foreign, but she could see it for what it was. A trap.

The CRM had trapped Rick and now he had trapped her. And as long as the CRM had their claws in him, she was never getting away.

She relaxed under him minutely, pushing back her shoulders as she tried to roll out the tension from her muscles.

Seconds ticked by, Rick waiting to see if she would lash out again. Instead, she tried to avoid his gaze, her breaths quiet and shallow as she tried to ignore the invasive scent of earth, leather, and whiskey.

Tried to ignore that his body was pressed firmly against her own, his hips slotted between her thighs as she wore nothing but the thin cotton shorts he had given her.

It was as though the thoughts had triggered something subconscious inside of her, finally writhing underneath his unrelenting form.

She grew warm underneath him, a tingling sensation running down her body to burn exactly where he pressed against her. Her breaths shuttered, fresh tears still ran down her face, only growing more precarious as she shunned herself for her bodily reactions.

She tried to remind herself it was okay, that it was just her body reacting and it had nothing to do with how she felt.

She wondered if it would be like this when Rick truly had to touch her in initmate ways. Would she have to repeat these words like a fervent prayer, and hope she believed them one day?

It had been so long since she had been touched, so long since she had been held. And here was Rick, pressed up against her so firmly, his breath fanning over her face as he waited for her to give him a sign she had given up. Here was Rick, unable to hurt her - truly hurt her, despite all the pain she's already caused.

"You done now?"

His voice was a whisper, his breath warm as it brushed over her face. She could feel her cheeks flush because of it and hoped the bedroom light wasn't strong enough to cast the bathroom bright enough so he could see.

Her limbs were trembling, the adrenaline slowly wearing off as her tears finally stopped falling. She didn't think she had many tears left in her. She had thought they stopped a long time ago, but perhaps she had simply accepted her situation then.

It was different now. Now she wasn't in a cell, locked deep and far from all civilisation.

Now the world lived right outside of Rick's window, and it wasn't fair to keep her locked in here whilst they lived out there.

They were just as much of a prisoner as she was.

Rick was just as much of a prisoner as she was.

And yet, she suffered so much more.

She had thought she would find a second chance in the Civic Republic. But she had simply run out of all her lives, hanging on by a thread until this opportunity had been handed to her on a silver platter.

She couldn't stop. Couldn't give up.

Chances like these didn't come from luck.

She looked at Rick, meeting his eyes with a brightly lit flame hidden in her own.

"I'm done."

But she knew those words were a lie.

From the way Rick huffed a breath, a ghost of a smile upon his lips as his eyes narrowed in curiosity, she knew he probably thought the same.

Rick didn't know what to make of the girl that lay beneath him. She felt so small underneath him, so frail - like he could break her simply by staring at her the wrong way. But he saw a burning fire in her eyes, a raging storm in her breaths and a kindred spirit in her heart.

He saw a reflection of himself, harrowed and beaten and skewed. But so hopeful and stubborn and true. It was like everything he had lost had dragged its way back to him and landed itself in his arms once more. Like God was finally answering his prayers from all those years ago, like He had seen his struggles and shown him why he had fought all those years ago.

But there was no point.

Not really.

The CRM would find them. Him. They always did.

Rick was almost reluctant to move away, his body aching for the warmth of another human after almost a decade of receiving none. He pushed himself up onto his knees, unable to help himself as he tutted at the girl when she shifted with him.

"Think you caused enough trouble, sweetheart. Wouldn't you say?"

He couldn't help it as the petname slipped off his tongue, couldn't help but watch as her cheeks darkened and she grew so nervous at the sound of it she was unable to look at him directly. It didn't douse out her fire, but tamed it instead.

He tugged her up by her chains, watching her stumble and teeter as she had no clue where to look or what to do. He barely gave her a chance to speak, leaning forward as he used his intact hand to wrap around the soft flesh of her thighs, ignoring her quiet whimper as he threw her over his shoulder.

His prosthetic lay somewhere hidden so she couldn't reach it whilst he slept and kill him with his own belongings. He adjusted her with his one arm, bouncing her softly over his shoulders until he had a firm grip.

"Put me down."

Her voice was stubborn, but he couldn't help but notice how she didn't try to remove herself from her place, hands fisting in his shirt to hold herself steady.

Rick ignored her calls, making his way into the bedroom to throw her body on his bed, crawling over her form to tie the chain around the post of his bed.

He stared at her for a moment, eyes roving her body as he thought to himself.

He leaned in close to her face, his nose almost brushing against her own, and Alara cursed her traiterous thoughts when they told her to lean up and brush her own against his softly.

It wasn't a bad idea, not really. It had been one of the first things she had thought of when Greer had told her about the programme. Rick wasn't like the others. He wasn't cold and harsh and unfeeling. When he had brought her food, she knew he would be easy to convince.

Easy to break.

Easy to make him hers.

But still, something in her shied away from such forms of tickery and manipulation. The same part of her that would have murdered him only moments ago grew timid at the thought of seducing him so he could let her go.

Though her tears had dried, she still hiccuped against his form. A quiet wince escaped her as he dropped the manacles, ready to return to his bed for the last shreds of dawn.

Rick paused, hovering over the girl one more as he frowned softly. His hands reached for her wrists and pulled them higher into the light. The manacles slipped down her arms only the tiniest bit. They were made to fit snugly against her wrists, and with all her fighting and anger, she had managed to rub them raw.

He ran his thumb over the red angry lines encircling her wrists, her breath catching in her throat at the stinging pain she felt.

Rick tutted, like he was telling off a child, and Alara couldn't help but shrink back.

He sighed heavily, moving back to sit on the edge of the bed as he rubbed the tiredness from his face. He hung his head for a moment, head reeling with anger and disbelief and... God, if he knew. It was as though everything he knew had slipped out from under him and he didn't know what to do in a situation like this.

He turned to her once more, trying to avoid the way he almost lost his breath at her tear-stained face and focus on the rage that resided brazenly in her eyes for all to see.

Alara grew uncomfortable under his gaze, but found herself unable to look away. She was drawn in by the colour of a hazy blue sky that flickered the colour of a new day under the bright hues of the bedside lamp.

It seemed whatever Rick had been looking for he had found.

He left his seat, walking away to somewhere she didn't have the energy to follow with her eyes.

Alara laid on her back now, feet planted on the bed as her knees were pushed up and her arms stretched behind her head. She hoped he wouldn't leave her like this all night, but she wouldn't be surprised if he did. And if he did, it wouldn't be the worst thing she had experienced.

She heard the bedroom door shut softly. She hadn't even realised it had been opened. There was a pause as he placed some things down out of her view, and then she could see the growing shadow of Rick drawing closer - he hid a wince at her contorted form.

He stopped beside her head, looking down at her with a stern gaze as he spoke gruffly into the space between them.

"If I take off the chain from the bed, don't even think 'bout fightin' me. Got it? No movin'. No talkin'."

She pretended not to notice how he didn't wait for a reply. She also tried to hide the way her face fell at the sight of the prosthetic attached to his amputated arm - a vulnerability hidden after she had shown her colours too quick.

The same chain he had wound around his bedpost only minutes ago in rightful anger were loosened, but before she could move herself upright, his hand slipped under her knees and his prosthetic arm under her shoulders to sit her up right.

Her lips parted, whether to thank him or reprimand him she had no clue. But he didn't give her a chance to speak, his fingers pressed against her lips, his gaze tired and frustrated and- lost. It was like looking into a distorted version of herself - finding like in like.

She couldn't help the pout that formed on her lips, and she knew from the way Rick's lips twitched that he could feel it against his fingers.

When he removed his fingers he held the long chain Beale's soldiers had used to tug her around like a leashed animal to bring her here, and there was quiet contemplation on his face.

"I would take it off it I could- properly, I mean." His voice was quiet, barely an octave above a whisper, like he was ashamed to be a participant in the CRM's misdeeds. Like he was horrified by the realisation he was one of them.

"This is the closest I can get," with that he made his way to a table out of her view. He turned with a small box in his hands and made his way back. This time he sat on the bed facing her, one leg atop the bed to balance the first-aid box on his knee precariously.

"Nothing sharp or dangerous in here, so don't even think about it."

Alara rolled her eyes but found herself unable to say much. It was weird, really. To be at a loss for words when she finally could say all that was on her mind. Perhaps she had simply gotten so used to not speaking and thoughts reeling in the quiet that Rick's low and gruff voice was enough to make her simply want to listen.

He brought out a small tube of ointment, some cotton and gauze. He moved the first-aid box somewhere on the bed, forgotten and discarded just as the muzzle had been as he weighed the materials in his hand.

He rested them upon his lap, a hand reaching out to her sore wrists as he watched her with a passive gaze, like she wasn't close to the threat she believed she was. The realisation should've angered her - instead she felt tired. So tired. Like all she wanted to do was lie back and float in eternal darkness, and pray daylight never came.

It only took a glance at Rick's wrist to see how much time she had stolen from him, and that dawn was much closer than she wished.

"Shouldn't've done that."

She glanced down to his careful ministrations, unable to stop herself from admiring his gentle motions as he lightly dabbed some ointment on the angry and puffy red lines that rose from her skin, like he was scared to hurt her even though she had almost killed him.

"What?"

Like she hadn't heard a word he said. Maybe she just wanted to hear it again.

"I told you. There isn't a way to escape from here, you would've gotten yourself killed trying."

"You didn't even try to hurt me, let alone kill me," she retorted softly.

"I wasn't talking about me. You wouldn't have made it five feet from this building without someone finding you. Especially not tied up in these."

His shook the chain that bound her form in emphasis, and she couldn't help but scoff in return - "I would've taken it off first, idiot."

His eyes narrowed, "watch it."

She only rolled her eyes in turn, shoulders deflating as she considered her options.

"Why won't you just let me try?"

There was an imperceptible glint of softness in his eyes as he regarded her chained wrists, "sometimes what we need is better than what we want. You want freedom."

"And what is it I need?"

He blinked up at her eyes that were damp with curiosity. They flickered back down at her wrists, where he wrapped them wrapped it in gauze so the ointment wouldn't rub away.

"I haven't figured that out yet."

They sat in silence for the remainder of the time it took Rick to treat her wounded wrists before they returned to their beds and fell into a fitful sleep.

Morning could not have come quicker.

I promise some much awaited smut in the next chapter 👀🫶🏼

Taglist: @hhhilloklll @bellstwd @classyunknownlover @voodoopoetry @graveyardblossom @jaiboomer11

#rick grimes x oc #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes #rick grimes x you #rick grimes smut #rick grimes fic #rick grimes fanfiction #twd towl #twd the ones who live #crm!rick grimes

44 notes · View notes

sayafics · 2 months

Text

As, Bs and Cs - Chapter I

A CRM!Rick Grimes x OFC fic!

This is quite a lengthy chapter to hopefully build up the necessary context and foundations to their connection.

Masterlist

Next Chapter

The world had ended over a decade ago, the walkers consuming the population bit by bit until there was nothing left. The Civic Republic scrounged up who they could, their numbers growing to the thousands.

Still, the ones they had were not good enough.

They were civillians. Normal people who did normal things and didn't understand like the rest of them.

The Civic Republic Military was losing more and more soldiers with every mission, becoming overwhelmed with the number of walkers that roamed outside their walls. There weren't enough people to replace them - enough competent people at least.

In a decade or two, the CRM could collapse, and it would be no one's fault but their own.

They are the ones who had saved thousands of people who couldn't fight, when they should have looked for more soldiers in their place.

The CRM was weakening, and if it crumbled the Civic Republic and all its people would pay the price.

That was when Dr. Greer had proposed a... curious idea.

The Civic Republic was not without its faults, and neither were its people. They had their fair share of criminals who would pay the price with community service, but there was a small percentage; almost minute; who were worse.

Major General Beale had wanted them sentenced to death for their crimes, but Okafor had protested. He argued in favour of their usefulness - the skills they needed to commit the horrors they did was what was necessary in the CRM.

They could find use of them, he promised.

And it seemed Dr. Greer had.

Dr. Greer was a geneticist before the world had ended, with a long and profound career in foetal medicine.

A controlled birthing population - a programme designed so the CRM could gain the soldiers they needed without gaining too many mouths to eat.

The programme had only been a whisper for the last few years, a quiet promise and a tempting future. But the opportunity to implement it had never arised.

Until now.

The Campus Colony had been set aflame, and with it, it had stolen over nine thousand souls.

The perfect opportunity.

Now, all they needed were the perfect lab rats. A way to prove the programme would work - a method to rehabilitate criminals and give the CRM what it needed.

Major General Beale had wanted Okafor to be the first to try, but as whispers of Rick Grimes' rebellious streak took hold of him, he saw it as the sole opportunity to truly have control over the man.

Rick Grimes had spent years trying to escape the Civic Republic, all of his attempts ending the same - in failure. But he had grown daring, even willing to cut off his own arm so he could have a chance to return to his life before the CRM.

When the man had finally agreed to join the CRM after years of rejection, the ease behind his decision only made Beale grow more suspicious.

Rick had changed his mind so easily and had given up on finding his friends and family in a blink.

It made Beale uneasy.

So he would do what he could to keep the man tied to the CRM, even if it came in the form of a child.

***

"I didn't sign up for this."

Rick's voice was filled with fury as Okafor stood before him stone-faced, having recounted what Beale and Greer told him as he passed on the orders to Grimes.

"Yes, you did. The minute you said yes to joining the CRM, you said yes to every condition Beale makes."

Rick scoffs, a hand running through his hair as he paces up and down the sparse space of his living room.

His voice deepened to a growl, "this wasn't part of the deal. This wasn't our deal!"

"I know," Okafor's voice softened. He knew what was happening was wrong, but there wasn't anything he could do to stop it. Not right now.

"But you have to, Rick. If you don't, then someone else will. You're a good man, Rick. The others aren't."

Rick narrowed his eyes, growing sceptical of his words. He couldn't believe this was happening.

Okafor called it a controlled repopulation, a programme designed so the CRM could have the soldiers it needed in the future. But he saw it for what it was, and it wasn't anything good.

"Why do you care so much if I say yes?"

Okaford clenched his jaw, "because it's my fault she's here. And the least I can do is make sure she won't end up being partnered with someone that would hurt her."

"Your fault?"

A grim smile twitched on Okafor's face as he sighed and took a seat on Rick's couch, his head falling into his hands as his shoulders shook with morbid amusement.

"I brought her here. As a 'B' not an 'A'. She lost everyone because the men in our ranks knew no control, and I promised her she would find everything she needed here. And now what? She's a 'C'? A criminal turned into a pet for Greer and her people to study her like she's a fucking lab rat."

A bitter laugh escaped his throat as Rick came to a stop in front of him. He waited, hoping the silence would urge Okafor on.

"My men and I were sent on a covert mission - a retrieval. But one of the recruits got spooked, lit up everything around him as fast as he could. By the time we got him down, it was too late. You could hear her screaming, like it was battering your brain. We went to look for her and found her and her people inside a small cabin a few clicks north."

"What happened?"

Rick's voice was sombre, he knew what had happened.

"They were all dead and she was dying."

Okafor looked up at Rick, eyes wet despite the blank look upon his face - "I brought her back. Said she was a 'B' and spent every day after convincing her to join the CRM. She said no, of course."

He scoffed before he continued, "when she finally got citizenship, shit. Let's just say the world really didn't change much from before. She got herself a life sentence, would've been given death if I hadn't stopped Beale."

Now that sparked Rick's interest, what damage could someone do to have Beale want to sentence them to death. Or better yet, what hold did she have on Okafor for him to still fight for her after the supposed horrors she committed.

"This is a second chance. For things to go right."

Rick shook his head vehemently, "no. This ain't right. This ain't no second chance. This is worse than death. Worse than torture. Look what you're signing her up to."

"But it's the closest she'll ever get. Look, if this works, if the programme is successful and you give them what they want, she'll get her freedom back. Five years, Rick. It's five years and then she is no longer your burden to bare."

Before Rick could protest further, a bellowed voice called him from the front door, the blatant order being punctuated by three heavy knocks.

At the sound of Beale's voice, Okafor's shoulders straightened, and he stood up with a stiff spine as he looked into Rick's eyes, a hazy vision of pleading behind the stoic mask of an obedient solider.

"Say yes, Rick. Don't fight against it. They'll make you take someone anyway. Just let it be her. No one says no to Beale."

Okafor didn't give Rick a chance to reply, skirting past him as he swung the door open and stood at attention, saluting Beale in greeting. Rick followed him instinctively, copying his every move.

Beale nodded at the men to stand down, marching past them. Behind him followed a stern-faced woman, narrow-framed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose as she pursed her lips in distaste at the sight of Rick's apartment. She made her way towards Beale, nodding at Rick and Okafor before she looked over her shoulder and called, "bring in the girl."

They all turned to face the door now, the quiet jingle of chains growing more ominous as the faceless figure of Alara Hunter drew closer.

Rick held his breath when he finally caught sight of her.

She was flanked by four soldiers, their grip on her arms and shoulders so tight Rick could see her skin blanching under their touch. She was dressed in a thin vest, blue jeans, and socks. Her hands were cuffed, and so were her ankles, each one attached to a single chain held by the soldier on her right.

He couldn't help but furrow his brows as he lifted his eyes to track her face only to find half of it concealed behind what appeared to be a muzzle.

Her dark eyes darted across the people standing in Rick's apartment before flickering back to where Rick knew Okafor stood. He could see her throat move as she swallowed harshly at the sight of the man.

Apart from the chains and muzzle, she looked well. Rick wanted to scoff at the thought as soon as it entered his mind. Here she was, a young woman who had lost freedom, who was chained and tied down by the CRM.

But she looked clean and healthy and angry.

"Rick Grimes."

It was Greer who spoke, a pleasant smile upon her face that didn't match her demeanour.

"I believe Okafor has explained to you the purposes of this task?"

Rick clenched his jaw, turning to face the woman. He couldn't help but take a final glance at the woman standing at the door - Alara Hunter.

He turned back, catching Okafor's gaze before he nodded solemnly, "yes, ma'am."

"And so, I believe you are happy to participate in this mission of ours?"

Mission?

He wanted to spit in her face, call her vile and absurd and stupid. This wasn't a mission. It was immoral and unethical and torture.

Still, he held himself back.

He had seen the other men in the CRM: brutes that were all too happy to hurt instead of speak. Cowards who wasted bullets on flickering shadows. Men who had never truly grown up, and behaved like unsupervised children.

It wouldn't be fair to subject her to such a fate because Okafor was right. Regardless of whether or not Rick said yes to Alara, he would still be assigned a partner, and so would she.

He gritted his teeth as he nodded, "yes ma'am."

Beale let out a deep chuckle, moving forward to clap a hand on Rick's shoulder as he spoke, "this may be the best decision you've made, son. You are doing the CRM proud."

Rick looked over his shoulder once more, catching Alara's dark gaze, which grew hopeless as the seconds ticked by, and he wondered for a moment whether the people he left back in Alexandria would be proud.

"There are some conditions, of course."

"Conditions?" He turned back to Beale with a look of incredulity, eyes narrowing as he took a step back and shook the hand off his shoulder, "what conditions?"

"Given your... history here at the Civic Republic, Dr. Greer thought it best to ensure your compliance."

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" It was Okafor who spoke now, drawing forward as his gaze skipped between Rick and Alara, who stood motionless at the door.

Greer spoke now, her voice sounded pleased as she sniffed lightly, "we believed it necessary that your first few copulations were witnessed. Simply to ensure adherence of course."

Rick felt bile burn the back of his throat, a wave of nausea that just grew strong every passing second since Okafor first told him and Greer's plans - "you want to watch us have sex?"

"If you would like to put it so crudely, then yes."

***

The conversation hadn't lasted much longer than that, Rick unable to have much of a say apart from agreeing to their terms.

Okafor had shifted to meet Rick's eyes with his own pleading gaze, and Rick had agreed to Beale's conditions under a certain stipulation.

He had only wanted the first attempt to be witnessed, but it seemed that Greer was unwilling to go any lower than three. Rick agreed begrudgingly, knowing three was still better than the initial seven Greer had wanted.

It was under Greer's command that the girl was escorted to his bedroom, and Rick was unable to hide his look of disapproval and contempt as they looped her chain around a post on his bed. It made him sick to see such a thing, made his stomach twist and turn as he held back his anger with strained difficulty.

As they made their way out of Rick's apartment, Greer turned to him with a leering grin, eyes running over his form as she wished him luck and revealed that she couldn't wait for the performance he put on tomorrow.

Rick froze at that, tomorrow?

Greer could only laugh coyly, an expression that was unsuited for her ageing face. She ran a hand over her slicked back hair, adjusting her bun as she smiled in earnest - "tomorrow is trial day number 1. It seems our experiment started at the perfect time, Miss Hunter begins ovulating tomorrow."

Rick shifted uncomfortably at the fact, unsure of what to say or do. It seemed Okafor was the same, eyes darting between Rick and the closed door over his shoulder where he knew Alara had been hidden.

"I have left you with the booklet instructing you on how to care for your programme partner, as well as how to discipline her, should she become aggressive. Do follow the guide Mr Grimes, we wouldn't want to place our first participant in any harm."

Rick could only blink, hand tightening around the small handwritten booklet Greer had passed him whilst Beale's men were dragging a reluctant Alara to his room. He could only nod, unable to meet anyone's eyes as he reached for the door and pushed it shut.

The last thing he saw was Greer exchanging a victorious grin with Beale and realised that they believed they had won.

And for once, Rick feared they may have been right.

***

After Okafor had left with Beale and Greer, Rick's apartment rung silent. If he hadn't seen Beale's men drag the girl into his room, it would've seemed like nothing had ever happened.

But it did.

Rick wasn't sure what to do - whether he should just sit on his couch and finish his bottle of rum, or if he should go in and make sure his "programme partner" was okay.

She hadn't so much as twitched in the wrong way since they dragged her to his doorstep. Her eyes wandered. They darkened and misted and narrowed, but she never moved too quickly or pulled away too harshly.

Whatever she had done was enough for Beale to have wanted her dead, and for Greer to want her genetics to be passed onto the soldiers she was curating.

Rick glanced at the closed door to his bedroom, wondering what monster hid beneath the chained woman who stood in there. Then he thought for a moment of who he was before the CRM, before Alexandria. Of the beast he had become after months on the road, surviving day to day with his children and his friends- his family.

Okafor had said one of his men had killed her people, and Rick knew that if he had been in her position and everyone he knew and loved had died, he would want to destroy the Civic Republic and all it stood for.

It was in that quiet space of reflection that he realised she may not be the monster they all made her put to be. And if she was, she couldn't be worse than the one that lurked in the shadows of his being. The monster that was chained down by threats. The monster that was trapped in a community of faux civilisation.

Rick steeled his spine, and with every step he took towards the bedroom door, he wondered how exactly he had been dealt such a fate.

***

Alara Hunter hadn't always been angry. She used to be quiet and shy and cry at the smallest inconveniences. She liked to think an echo of that girl still sounded inside her, but sitting on top of a stranger's bed, her wrists and ankles wound in chains and her lips forced shut, she wondered how she had managed to get herself into such a predicament.

She wondered how she had changed so easily.

She wondered why she was always so angry.

She still cried. Of course, she did. But her tears were filled with fury, with hatred. Towards everyone - her father for leaving her when the world ended, her people for shielding her that night, Okafor for bringing her to this God forsaken community. And herself.

Alara was so angry at herself. For letting herself be brought here instead of fighting to die at her people's side, for letting herself get trapped with the very people that slaughtered them, for letting them take advantage of her and get away with that too.

And now, what?

A sex slave for the CRM. A breeding whore. A mindless cunt.

Not an A, never a B. Trapped as a C.

Her heart hammered with rage, her hands trembled and her eyes clouded as she struggled to breathe through the muzzle. Like a dog, they had chained her and tied her down.

She promised herself, with a soundless voice echoing in her mind, that she would kill them all. She would burn them to the ground and make sure they couldn't rise again.

She wouldn't let them win. She couldn't.

The sound of a door creaking open pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked up to find the man who had been assigned to take everything from her. To break her.

Beale hadn't outright admitted that was the reason he agreed to place her in the programme so easily, but she knew. She could see it in the way his eyes lit up with triumph when Rick agreed, how he grinned viciously when Greer was adamant to watch their copulations.

He thought this would break her, but she wouldn't let it.

She stared at the man - Rick. He was tall, tall enough that she was sure even if she was standing she would have to crane her neck to look him in the eyes.

And his eyes, she found she couldn't look away if she tried. Something hollow glistened in them, as though the man was no longer human.

An unfamiliar whisper spoke in her mind, like calls to like. And she wondered how much truth was held behind such a statement.

He was handsome, she couldn't fault him there. But he was a soldier for the CRM and that made him an enemy. It meant regardless of his pretty eyes or gravelled voice, he was just as bad as the rest of them.

Just as bad as Greer and Beale and Okafor.

Rick steps closer to her and Alara can't help but shrink away. It seems he expected her reaction, halting on the spot as his eyes soften. The sight did nothing but ignite a smouldering rage in her heart - if he felt pity for her, he should let her go. Let her escape.

For some reason, it seemed Rick was able to understand exactly what she was thinking, and he spoke placatively as she narrowed her eyes in his direction, "I can't take the cuffs off."

Alara rolled her eyes, that much was obvious. If he wasn't going to help her, then she didn't want to speak to him. She drew herself back further on the bed, her back pressing against the headboard as she turned to look out the small window of his bedroom.

The view wasn't the best, but it was more than the sliver of light that occasionally glimpsed through her cell. She felt the gentle touch of a setting sun heat her skin, she could feel herself flush under its soft embrace as she wondered how many years it had been since she had felt the sun on her face. The wind in her hair.

Her skin had paled in her dark cell, her tan from harsh summers in Georgia stripped from her when she was sentenced. It was then she decided; it had been far too long.

She closed her eyes and counted Rick's breaths as he stood, watching. The setting sun was a timer to the start of her doom, she heard Greer's plans and it was moving too quickly to put a stop to them now.

Rick's breaths were slow and steady, like he was trying to control his own wild beast as he watched her. She pretended they were the sound of a clock ticking, that time had slowed down to let her savour this broken freedom and make most of the hours she had left.

The bed sunk under an unexpected weight and the light warming her face had been blocked by a head. She kept her eyes closed pretending she didn't notice the difference- pretending her face didn't grow warmer under his intense stare.

"Have you eaten? It's late."

She kept quiet, hoping he would think she was dozing off and leave her be. But he saw the way her lashes fluttered, the way her chest rose and fell in quick successions as she struggled to breathe through the mask, the way her fingers twitched when he shuffled upon the bed.

He scratched the back of his neck, unsure of what to say or what to do.

"I could make you something to eat. I- I could make pancakes, Ca-" he took another deep breath, settling a quiet ache in his chest, "or eggs or something."

Her eyes burned as she kept them shut tight, thinking about when the last time she had a warm meal was. She turned away from him, nodding as she reached a hand to run through her hair only for the chain to stop it short of her shoulders. She gritted her teeth at the harsh tug, unable to hide her sniffles and the tears streaming down her face.

Why was she crying?

Was it anger? Fear?

Rick watched her for a moment as she tried to compose herself. She struggled with the limited movement and tangled chains, she screwed her eyes shut and her shoulders raised as she took deep breaths.

Rick couldn't help the apology that escaped his lips as he stood from the bed, nor could he stop the guilt weighing upon his shoulders at the broken laugh she replied with.

***

Rick hadn't eaten much since joining the CRM. Being forced to give up the idea of returning to Alexandria had taken a part of him, had broken it beyond repair. He rarely felt hungry anymore.

At most, he would force himself to eat some slices of toast so he wouldn't stumble during training. Or if he was truly lost in his thoughts, he would make himself Carl's favourite meal and pretend his son was there, eating it alongside him.

That was what sat in front of him now - blueberry and peanut butter pancakes, with whipped cream dolloped on to make a smiley-face and sugar sprinkled on top. He remembered the day Carl had first begged him to make it, and his pleading eyes and mischievous grin had been too precious to say no. It had tasted horrible, all sorts of sticky and sweet lathered in soft bread, but when Carl had asked him so proudly what he thought, Rick could only smile and clear his plate.

The handwritten guide Greer gave him sat on the counter near him, and the page he had left it open on strictly forbade him from giving the girl utensils, in case she hurt herself or him.

He didn't have any plastic cutlery on hand, so he could only sigh as he took the paper plate back to his room to lay on top of the bed.

Alara stared at the carefully decorated stack, and though the muzzle hid the shape of her lips, he saw the corner of her eyes crinkle and he liked to think it was because this small memory of Carl had been enough to make her smile.

He bit his lip before he spoke, "I can take the..." he gestured carefully to her face, "I can take it off, so you can eat."

Her eyes gleamed with hope, her lips burning at the stretch of the mouthpiece wedged between so she couldn't bite her tongue and choke herself to death.

"But I got'a put it back on after, okay?"

Her eyes narrowed, she pushed the plate away as a garbled scoff could be heard through the muzzle. She knew she shouldn't be surprised, it wasn't as though the muzzle was a newly added piece to her prison regalia. No, Beale had ordered it to be placed on her after her first few weeks in the CRM prison cell didn't go too well.

"Hey, look," Rick's voice sounded strongly as he got closer, sitting at the edge of the bed and facing her, "I wouldn't do it if I didn't have to. But it's in Greer's instructions, and if I ignore it, it's not going to end well for either of us."

She looked at him with scepticism in her eyes, but it took one look at the warm plate of pancakes to dissolve any resistance. She agreed reluctantly, and Rick reached around her head to unclip the mouthpiece.

It covered her entire mouth and lower jaw, pressed tight against the skin in a way he knew had to be uncomfortable.

Alara could feel his slow breaths on her neck, and goosebumps broke out marking their way down her arms and chest. Rick felt her shiver against him, and as he continued to unlatch her muzzle, he murmured a promise to try and get some clothes that would fit over her manacles.

When he finally gets the muzzle free, the first sound to escape her was a relieved sigh, making the most of her momentary freedom. She stretched her jaw and Rick leaned away, throwing the muzzle on to the bed as he stared at her with his gaze anew.

When he had first seen her, he couldn't deny her beauty - not with her long, dark hair and her soft brown eyes. But now, seeing her face whole, he couldn't help but be mesmerised by the sight of her.

Alara was young, her youth visible in her face. She looked untouched and unharmed by the end of the world, but Rick knew that thought was a lie.

She licked her lips, the skin cracked and dry from being forced to remain stretched over the mouthpiece. She looked away from Rick, pretending he wasn't there despite how hard it was to ignore that the man sat directly opposite her.

He pushed the plate closer, encouragingly - "eat."

She reached for the plate, unsurprised by the lack of utensils, and ripped off a piece of the pancake. She reached to place it in her mouth, only for her chains to stop her short. She growled lightly in frustration before leaning her head down to take it into her mouth. The awkward position hurt her neck, the muscles already aching from the weight of her muzzle.

She sighed contently, the pancake warm in her mouth and the cream melting quickly. It was sweet and left a cloying taste in her mouth, her jaw tingling as it was exposed to flavours that had been hidden from her for so long.

She looked out the window again where night had fallen, and slowly chewed the food in her mouth as she savoured it. When she swallowed, she turned back to take another piece only to find one waiting inches from her face.

Rick watched her with a contemplative gaze, before encouraging her by saying, "it wouldn't do you any good to eat like that."

She bit her lip, wondering what she should do. But this might be the only meal she gets before the trial if Greer had it her way - she didn't know what instructions Greer had left, so she couldn't risk not taking the opportunity if it stood before her.

Another careful thought entered her mind, pushing her to get close to Rick - close enough, intimate enough that he may possibly choose her over the CRM.

She kept that whisper close to her heart, looking deep into Rick's eyes that resembled the sky and she ate the piece he held for her. He watched her chew and swallow, and something in her begged her to speak.

To show her gratitude or to fill the silence. Something to show him she was human, something to make it easier for him to care.

"This tastes horrible."

It was the first time she had spoken in years - she had given up talking because there was simply no one to listen, and her broken screams had been silenced by Beale's muzzle.

Her voice cracked with every word, rasped and dry. The sound of her voice felt like that of a stranger's.

To her surprise, Rick simply laughed, his eyes glistening with the faint memory of something as he tore off another piece to feed her.

They then chose to sit in silence, Rick feeding her every bite and watching her chew and swallow methodically. By the end, Alara hated to say that she grew fond of the weird taste and wondered when she could try them next.

When Rick stood to dispose of the plate, they both pretended not to notice how he forgot to replace the muzzle.

***

The bed was soft - foreign. After years of a thin mattress on the cold cement floor, she didn't think she could get used to something like this bed again. Nor the feeling of sleeping without a chunk of metal strapped across her face.

It had helped with one thing though, that stupid muzzle. She had learnt to make the most of each breath, quiet inhales for six deep seconds, hold for four and release over eight. Wait and repeat.

It was a structured sound, calculated based on the accompanying breaths that sounded from the ground.

Rick also lied awake, eyes focused on the ceiling as his mind whirred around how everything had changed so quickly. Again.

First the bridge. Then the CRM. And now, her.

For once, he found himself thinking of someone else other than those whom he had left behind in Alexandria, and he wasn't sure if it was a good thing. He thought of her reaction to the pancakes, a ghost of a smile on his face as he reminisced a fading past with his son.

He wondered what colour Carl's eyes had been when they widened in glee. Had they been the bright blue of a summer sky? Or the misty clouds right before a thunderstorm? Carl had always loved thunderstorms, loved to run through the rain and splash in the mud before everything had gone so wrong. Had his eyes been blue at all?

And what about Judith? Who had she grown to resemble? He imagined she would be a spitting image of Lori, with her long brown her and her kind eyes, but she would have Shane's short temper and remarks and it would make her that much more precious to him.

His eyes burned, and he sent a silent prayer to whoever would listen and begged to be reunited with his child. An even quieter whisper confessed he wouldn't mind which one.

Alara's breaths teetered off, her silent counting falling apart as Rick's own grew shuttered in the dark. She wasn't sure if she should say something - he had chosen to stay here, to sleep on the floor and listen to the guide even though he had already ignored it once.

Then she thought of the miserable nights she spent in her damp cell, how she wished there was someone she could share her burdens with so they wouldn't hollow her soul and burn her will.

"How did you get here?" She whispered into the dark, her voice still scratchy from the lack of use.

She heard in sharp inhale, one he tried to cover with the rustling of blankets as he turned his head to look at where she lay on the edge of the bed.

Lying on her stomach was the only comfortable position she could manage. Her head rested on her arms, her legs curled as close to her body as she could manage. She could only look towards Rick in her mangled state, but there was something in her gaze that looked content at the feel of the beds soft embrace.

Even the smell was so unlike the stale wetness that clouded her cell, it had smelt like the air right before the rain fell in autumn. Now, her nose was buried in the faint scent of musk, leather and something earthy, and she liked to think this is what freedom would smell like, had they let her roam outside.

"Someone found me when I was hurt," Rick believed there was no harm in revealing such information, a small part of him hoping the small similarities in their pasts would make her trust him even more.

"They brought me here, I haven't left since."

"Because you didn't want to? Or because you couldn't?"

The silence that rung between them spoke for itself.

"They took everything from me before bringing me here. The only thing I wanted was my freedom, and they've taken that too." There was no hesitation in her confession, only conviction.

Rick watched as she shifted her head so she could focus on the lamp on the nightstand instead, and before he could wonder if she would use it to hurt him, he saw her eyes glisten in the faint shadows of light.

"And now..." her voice wavered for a new reason entirely, "they're going to take my choice from me. And I can't do anything but wait."

A harsh laugh escaped her, her head shaking vigorously on the pillow as she shook her head and her voice dropped to something promising and threatening - "I'm going to burn them all. I'll make them all pay."

"You can't."

He could feel her glare through the dark, but he knew his words were true.

"There is no killing them. There is no escape."

"You don't know that. Not unless you've tried."

Rick lay a hand over his stumped arm, his heart sinking as he remembers all he sacrificed to escape only to stay trapped.

He doesn't say another word for the rest of the night, falling into a fitful sleep.

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! There are many more to come <3. Let me know if you have any theories or ideas for what might happen next, I would love to hear them! And to the people who have been following me from the start, thank you for being patient during my long break. I hope I gave you guys something worthwhile to come back to <33.

Taglist: @hhhilloklll @bellstwd @classyunknownlover @voodoopoetry @graveyardblossom

#crm!rick grimes #rick grimes x oc #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes #rick grimes x you #the walking dead #the ones who live #twd towl #twd fanfiction #rick grimes angst #rick grimes fic #rick grimes fluff #eventual smut #twd x reader

97 notes · View notes

sayafics · 2 months

Text

As, Bs and Cs - Masterlist

A CRM!Rick Grimes × OFC fic!

A short series entailing the harrowing journey of Rick Grimes and Alara Hunter, an unexpected pair who first meet in the CRM. The CRM had a growing need to replenish its soldiers who were dwindling in numbers. Despite the thousands of citizens they have sworn to protect, it seemed no one was good enough to fight alongside them. They needed soldiers, yet all they had were civilians clinging onto the echoes of a life long passed. That was when a proposal was made - controlled re-population.

A programme where criminals who were too precious and too skilled to be sentenced to death were paired with the CRM's most formidable soldiers to create the perfect offspring, ready for the CRM to mould them into the perfect soldier. But first, they needed a trial. And who better than the Rick Grimes and Alara Hunter. One is the CRM's most notorious soldier who was known for his escape attempts at every turn. The other is the CRM's greatest threat, every bone in her body aching for revenge. What better way to tie a man down than hold a noose around his child's throat and force him to stay. What better way to control a threat than to steal what is most precious and hold it hostage.

Chapter I

Chapter II

In this, AU Rick and Michonne were never together, Rick just wants to return to Alexandria for his daughter and friends.

There will be themes of dub-con at the start of this series.

Taglist: @hhhilloklll @bellstwd @classyunknownlover @voodoopoetry

#rick grimes x oc #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes #rick grimes x you #rick grimes fic #rick grimes fanfiction #CRM!rick grimes #rick grimes smut #the ones who live #twd towl #rick grimes angst #rick grimes fluff

86 notes · View notes

sayafics · 3 months

Text

Hey guys!

I know I haven't posted for quite some time and I do apologise, I have been working crazy non-stop to help out with bills and things, and when I'm not doing that I'm at university so i dont have as much free time as I would like.

I am very sorry to leave you guys waiting, but I hope you can understand.

Hopefully, I'll be able to continue uploading soon, but until then, I do apologise for the long break I've taken, and I appreciate everyone being so patient and kind <33.

My series are on a pause for the moment, but if anyone has any prompts or requests, please send them through. Fingers-crossed, they might even give me the motivation to continue blogging❤️

#inbox #rick grimes x oc #daemon targaryen x oc #daryl dixon x oc #criston cole x oc #regulus black x oc #jay halstead x oc #request

8 notes · View notes

sayafics · 4 months

Text

Cherry Season - Part 3

Thank you to everyone who interacted with part 2!

This chapter doesn't really include any smut, I didn't think it really fit considering the themes discussed but we have some angst and fluffy moments between Rick and Val <3

Hope you guys enjoy!!

Warnings: very, very vaguley discussed SA

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

Valerie had waited hours for Rick to come to her room - she laid under the covers in a long t-shirt, the cherry undergarments cast aside in shame of what her body truly looked like. She had concluded the best course of action was to keep the lights off and let him fuck her in the dark.

Yes, that would work.

So she waited.

And waited.

Rick still hadn't shown up, and she found her eyes growing heavy as they fluttered closed. There was a creeping whisper in her mind as she succumbed to sleep, suggesting Rick had perhaps forgotten the promise he made; or worse, he had found a formidable distraction in the woman who was still his wife.

The thought caused dread to curl in her gut, but the travesties of the day and the adventures, too, had her mind heavy with exhaustion. So, as the hours ticked by and Rick did not appear, she gave into a restless and fitful sleep.

***

Rick hadn't forgotten.

Of course, he hadn't.

He had been waiting as the minutes passed by agonisingly slow.

But when Glenn had come to him, pale-faced and mortified by what he had seen, Rick had been too consumed by anger- by confusion, to think straight.

A part of him, large and raging and fierce, wanted to go to her now and demand she confess the name of the man who hurt her. But there was still that aching whisper in him that worried, even as his anger bubbled and festered into something almost inhuman, that he would scare her.

And Rick couldn't stand the idea of Valerie fearing him.

So he waited, begging his raging heart to settle to he could go in peace and beg her to tell him the truth so he could help.

But his heart didn't calm, and neither did his mind. Rick sat in front of the fire they had built for the camp, head in his hands as he massaged his temples. His head grew heavy and painful as warring thoughts battled in his mind.

Who would do such a thing?

From what Glenn had described, the mottled bruises that scattered across her torso and her thighs wouldn't have come from just anything, just anyone.

It had to be someone from his camp - someone he allowed near her. In a way, Rick felt responsible for this. In a way, it was as though he had hurt her and bruised her and left her trembling and in tears.

Though he tried his hardest, he couldn't help but reflect back upon the past week where Valerie would avoid his every touch and his every gaze, when she would scurry away before he had even seen her in his vicinity. He thought about the way she flinched in his presence and the way her eyes would widen as she looked around with horrible guilt weighing upon her shoulders.

The lessons.

His mind would fall back to it each and every time, even if he reprimanded himself for such thoughts. Shane is his friend.

His bestfriend.

But Shane also slept with him wife and impregnated her, all with a smile whilst expecting Lori to still choose him.

But this was different - Shane couldn't hurt somebody. Not like this. He was a good cop, a good man.

Rick let out a frustrated groan, hands tugging his hair as he lifted his head to scan the area around him. The night had settled and a cool breeze rustled the tall grass the tents were set in, he watched as there wasn't even a hum of light from both the tents and Hershel's home.

Rick knew he would only grow more restless the longer he waited, but his heart burned with the knowledge of what Glenn had told him and he truly didn't know what he could do. What he would do.

There was only one way to find out; but first he needed to know if his aching thoughts were true and if the perpetrator for such abominable acts was truly someone he prayed it would not be.

***

Rick held his breath as he ascended the stairs in Hershel's home, his footsteps soft and quiet as he prayed no one would catch him in the act of sneaking into Valerie's room.

He closed his eyes in prayer as he twisted the handle on her door, hoping it wasn't locked. He let out a sigh of relief as it turned easily in his hand, and creaked the door open wide enough to slip inside. Rick shut the door behind him, hand slipping back to turn the lock and hope it was enough to deter anyone else from also coming in.

His eyes wandered across the dark room, tracking every mound and heap of shadows before a writhing form caught his attention.

Fearful whimpers sound throughout the room, and through the strips of moonlight cascading over Valerie's twisting body he can see the sheen of perspiration on her forehead. Rick's brows furrow in concern, and he steps forward to get closer to the girl.

"Valerie," Rick's whispers were in vain as even with his persistence, Valerie was submerged too deeply in the horrors of her mind to wake up without a helping hand.

Rick grew anxious at her flailing, rounding the bed to sit at her side as one hand reached for her face and the other for her shoulder. He shook her gently, hoping to rouse her from her sleep, "hey, wake up baby. 'm right here."

Valerie's body froze as she inhaled sharply, the pressure of hands on her ripping her from her sleep as the idea of her worst nightmare coming to life threw her into a petrified scramble. She opened her eyes as her lips parted for a scream to escape, but a hand clamped it shut and her scream died in her throat as her flickering eyes began to fill with tears.

God, this was it.

Shane knew. He knew what her and Rick did, and he was angry.

Fuck, he was going to hurt her.

She should've listened to him.

She whimpered into the hand across her mouth, unable to catch her breath as her hands held his wrist tightly. She wasn't sure if she was trying to rip him away or ground herself before she lost her mind.

In all her fear and panic, she had failed to notice how the hand that had sat upon her shoulder now rested atop her head, cradling it against a firm chest as someone hushed her cries and laboured breaths.

Through all the misery of the days that had passed, through the screaming echoes and the cries of protest that rung through her ears as phantom hands clawed at her skin and feral bites marked her body, a familiar voice sounded through her troubled mind and torturous thoughts.

"Val, I need you to calm down for me," hands so unlike the ones that had inflicted so much pain tilted her head up until her damp eyes met ones of sea-blue, so worried and concerned by the nightmares that haunted her.

Rick.

It was Rick. Rick is here - not Shane.

She was safe.

Rick wouldn't hurt her. No, Rick was a good man.

It was as though he was an anchor to her racing mind, grounding her and calming her even though her thoughts began to cripple her as the minutes ticked by.

"That's it, baby," his voice was so careful and so kind, and his eyes were earnest unlike Shane's, which grew sinister whenever he lost himself to his urges. "Take deep breaths for me, sweetheart," the hand petting her head came to brush the tears from her face, pulling her closer so he could press a kiss against her head.

His hand still rested against her trembling lips, but he had loosened his grip as he offered in a quiet hush, "I'm gonna move my hand now, okay? But I need you to keep your voice down - is that okay, sweetheart?"

His voice was so warm, his words so considerate. She couldn't help but whimper as she nodded vigorously in his embrace. Rick continued to hush her gently as he removed his hand, wiping away any tears that still remained upon her face. Her hands fell from his wrist as she threw herself against him in a tight embrace, hiccupping against him as her tears started to fall all over again.

Her arms tightened around his neck as she sobbed quietly into the crook of his neck, and Rick's hands came to hold her by the waist as he tugged her into his lap, before taking her into a solid embrace.

"It's okay, baby. It was just a bad dream, 'm here now. I got you. I'll keep you safe, you hear me?"

His words only made her eyes water more, her breaths escaping her harshly as guilt settled in her gut.

God, how she wanted to tell him the truth - to confess then and there what it was that his friend had done to her, how he had hurt her.

She had to tell him.

She could tell him - Rick had promised he'd protect her and Shane wouldn't be able to stay away for long.

Her arms loosened from around his neck as she pulls herself back from his embrace. For a moment, she debates sitting upon his lap as she lets the truth spill from her, but the roiling nausea that washes over her as she realises she would have to relive all that had happened to her made her pull away completely.

Rick's face fell in disappointment and confusion as she retreated from his embrace. She sat with her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs tightly as she struggled to meet Rick's eyes.

"Valerie," he kept his voice hushed, not wanting to wake up anyone else in the house. Rick almost sounded unsure as he called out to her, his heart thudding painfully at the sight of tears leaking down her face.

"I can still feel him," her voice shook as she stammered out the words, her eyes so tightly closed she could see a cascade of colours in the darkness.

Rick frowned for a moment, but then he remembered what Glenn had told him - the horror on the boy's face as he recalled what he saw, and the anger that tinged his voice as he confessed it was one of them. Someone from their group who had been so greedy and violent and monsterous.

Rick wanted to ask her a million questions - he wanted to know who he was, what he did. He wanted to know every thought running through her mind and every emotion swimming through her veins and consume it as his own.

But he stayed quiet. He waited.

Valerie met his awaiting gaze with a pitiful smile, her body trembling as she tried mouthing words that wanted to remain unspoken. She clenched her teeth from frustration, her hands reaching up to scrub her face as she took deep breaths.

Her deep breaths gave way to a cry that melted into a manic laugh, "fuck, I don't even know why I'm crying. It's not like he actually did anything."

Didn't do anything?

Rick couldn't help the scoff that escaped him, catching her gaze once more as he narrowed his eyes, "didn't do anything? Is that what you call the bruises on your body?"

She reeled back, staring at him with her gaze so much clearer - "how... how do you know about that?"

Her voice ended as a whisper as she sunk back from him with eyes stinging from betrayal. Rick only sighed, turning his body to face away from the bed as he laid his head in his hands.

He avoided her question in favour of one of his own.

He had to ask.

He had to know.

"Was it Shane?"

His shoulders almost trembled in anticipation of her answer, but she only stepped off the bed and walked towards the window as she bitterly spoke. "you didn't answer my question."

He looked up at her, incredulity in his gaze as he protested, "you didn't deny mine."

"That's not important."

He stood up as he marched towards her, taking her by the shoulders as he tried to catch her gaze, "yes, it is."

She met his wavering stare with a brewing glare, "was it Glenn? Did he tell you?"

Rick clenched his jaw and looked away, his hands tightening subconsciously as he tried to hold his tongue.

A part of Valerie liked the pressure, the feeling of his hands on her body - so different to the pain that had been inflicted on her, so much more careful and polite.

The other festered in hurt. Glenn promised he wouldn't tell. He promised to let her handle it.

"So it was Glenn."

"He meant well, Valerie," his voice was consoling, but it did nothing to stop the tear escaping as it tracked down her face.

Rick wiped it away before her sorrows could travel too far, cradling her face in his hands as he spoke pleadingly, "who was it, sweetheart? Who hurt you?"

Her hands covered his own, her eyes shutting tight as a shaky breath left her, "I tried to stop him, Rick. I told him it wasn't right," a harsh sob escaped her - one she tried to muffle with her hands her as she shook her head harshly, like she was throwing the memories out.

"I told him I only wanted you, but he said you had Lori- that it wasn't fair if you had us both."

Lori.

It always came back to Lori.

His heart sunk as the truth now became undeniable.

This was Shane.

Angry, brutal, violent Shane.

His friend. His partner. His brother.

Something so unlike him, something so raw and angry overcame him. His face twisted as he pushed to confirm, "was it Shane? Did Shane do this to you?"

Valerie fell into his chest, collapsing against him as his arms wrapped around her and nodded vigorously. Apologies spilled from her tongue, like it was her fault and not his. Like Rick would blame her and not him.

Shane said he would.

"He's not going to touch you again," her hands tightened around his shirt, her tears dampening the material as he petted her head and pressed gentle kisses atop it. With every tear that soaked his skin, Rick felt every kinship, every memory he shared with Shane wash away and an anger so violent and harsh washed over him.

Rick stared out the window in front of him, his gaze landing onto Shane's tent as the thought of marching out into the dark fields now and taking the man's life rooted in his mind. Perhaps he would be merciful and shoot him.

Rick hadn't seen the marks on Valerie's body, but he saw the horror in Glenn's eyes. Shooting him would be too merciful. No, he would beat him and hurt him and make him feel the same pain he inflicted upon Valerie.

He would kill him. And then, he would let him turn.

It was as though Valerie felt his raging thoughts as his hold tightened around her and he shook in anger as his eyes grew cold and his lips curled into a feral snarl.

She moved her head against his chest, peering up at him with those pretty eyes of hers. When he met her gaze, his eyes softened as a familiar feeling washed over him - something he hadn't felt in quite some time, if he was being honest.

"Don't hurt him," her head twisted as she spoke in earnest, "you guys have already lost so much, I'm not going to be the reason you lose your best friend."

Rick parted his lips, ready to protest - she wasn't the reason he had lost Shane. No, the Shane he knew had died long before Rick came back to the land of the living and dead.

The Shane he knew wouldn't sleep with Lori. The Shane he knew wouldn't hurt women. The Shane he knew wouldn't lay claim over the people Rick loves.

Valerie placed a hand over his mouth, eyes pleading and vulnerable, "I don't wanna argue anymore."

Rick held her hand against his mouth, pressing a soft kiss against it as she sighed quietly against him, "just help me forget, Rick."

He brought her hand up higher, pressing trailing kisses down her wrist, moving to her shoulder, then neck before hovering over her lips.

"Make me forget the way his touch felt."

Rick kissed her deeply, pressing her against the window as she leaned up to meet his eager lips. There was so much unsaid between them, too many secrets and worries - all of it was spilled into this kiss. So loving, so trusting.

Her hands trailed up his neck, tugging the hair at the base of his skull as he groaned into the kiss. He could feel the dampness of her tears and pulled her closer in response, hands reaching down to her thighs to hike her up.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, her breaths shaky for a whole new reason as she pulled back from him.

They paused for a moment, staring into each other's eyes. A timid smile stretched across Valerie's face, a foreign emotion filling her eyes as she traced the features of his face.

She leaned back in, pressing a kiss against him lips. This one was unlike the rest they had shared - it was gentle and hopeful, it was desperate and wanting.

Rick met it in kind, a breathless laugh escaping him, which she replied to with stifled giggles. They fell onto the bed in a heap, laughing like children in love as they held each other and exchanged quiet kisses and demure gazes.

Shane was just a whisper in the wind now.

Her senses flooded with everything revolving Rick - his touch, his scent, his voice.

And in his arms she found a welcoming and soothing sleep.

Her trembling heart grew steady and full as she woke up in his embrace the following morning, her tortured gaze meeting his patient one. They laid in each other's arms as the sun steadily rose, trading secrets and tracing shapes on each other's skin. Nothing but languid kisses and explorative hands exchanged.

The following days, it was as though the sun had risen over the farm and filled it with the flurry of a blossoming summer's day. Where ever Rick went, he ensured Valerie was by his side. He was unashamed of the fondness that settled in his heart, bringing her snacks, pulling her into long embraces, holding her hand or waist when they walked together, pulling her onto his lap at the camp fires.

His actions didn't go unnoticed by the others, some who were sceptical whilst others were accepting.

Glenn had the knack to be shameful when confronted for his inability to keep a secret, but his guilty heart settled at the begrudging hug and quiet embrace he received from Valerie. He couldn't help his smile as he watched her with Rick, unsure of if this was his doing or if it was something that had been on the verge of happening from the moment they set foot on the barn.

Shane would glare at the pair, gritting his teeth in anger as he searched for any excuse to get the girl alone. But Rick was ever-present, with a knowing gaze and a silent vow for revenge.

Sorry if the ending seems rushed, there was a lot of things I wanted to include in this chapter, and I may rewrite it if I get time. There is only one chapter left for this series, so keep an eye out for the final chapter! (I promise there will be more smut!!)

#rick grimes x oc #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes #rick grimes x you #rick grimes fic #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes angst #rick grimes fluff #the walking dead #twd fanfiction #twd

49 notes · View notes

sayafics · 4 months

Text

Dance of Shadows - Chapter IV

Sorry this took so long to update, I spent a lot of time figuring out the timeline and how the story would work with the scenes I wanted to add.

I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! This is a really long chapter which hopefully makes up for the long wait!

Expect a lot more Saenyra&Daemon moments in the next chapter! This chapter was a mix between adding more depth to their relationship, as well as building one between Saenyra and other characters <3

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

Saenyra's heart ached endlessly when the news of Daemon's exile had reached her - she had expected it, of course. But the weight of her mother's death and now the absence of her uncle had become too much to bear.

Her mind fell back to her incidental meetings with the Lord Hand, and of how his words had turned kind despite his cold eyes, since her mother had passed. She understood why the man would be sympathetic to such a thing, having lost his wife to the same burdens of labour as she had lost her mother.

There was a quiet kinship there, a moment of solidarity and understanding.

Perhaps that was why he had come to her chambers today, knocking upon her door and entering with a sullen expression as she beckoned him forth.

Behind his slender form stood the broad figure of Ser Harwin Strong - she had only thought it fair to seek a Shield of her own if Rhaenyra were able to have one. Especially one as pretty as Ser Cole.

Ser Harwin nodded his head in greeting, waiting for her instructions as he stood at attention by her door. She waved the man away, rolling her eyes at his constant worrying.

Saenyra focused on Otto - the Lord Hand looked pale and stricken, eyes unfocused as he tried to string together his words.

The truth was, Otto felt nothing like the image he portrayed to the young girl, but he hoped such a performance would make her grow to trust him.

Those who were unable to see the infatuation the Targaryen girls held for their uncle were truly blind. And Otto would be a fool not to use such a bond to his advantage.

Daemon Targaryen was a dangerous man.

With all the roles within the Keep he had taken, none had sung to him more than the tireless echoes of a title so buoyant and inflamed - the Rogue Prince.

And if Otto wanted Saenyra on his side, then the only way to assure such an alliance was to remove the only person who could change her perspective.

Perhaps this method of madness was mean and trifling, but it would work. It had to.

Otto remembers the look of anguish on Rhaenyra's face when she had heard the news, when she demanded dragons be sent to threaten the man and return what was rightfully their's. He only wished Saenyra would show a reaction so similar.

"Lord Hightower, is everything alright?" Saenyra frowned softly at the man, eyes watching him with concern.

He sighed deeply, "my Princess, I am afraid I come bearing bad news."

Though her stomach sank with dread, her heart beating frantically at all the possibilities and all the horrors that could have occurred, Saenyra steeled her spine and spoke encouragingly, "you can speak freely here."

Again, Otto found his heart tremble with softness at the young girl's kindness. Here, he could not see a shadow of a dragon in sight, simply a girl who had been placed in the nest of animals and beasts.

"It is your uncle, dear child."

Saenyra frowned in earnest now, the mere mention of her uncle bringing back the flashes of the beautiful woman who pressed herself against him as though she were laying her claim. She blinked furiously, scolding herself for such envious feelings - even if that woman had not been there, it did not change the truth that Daemon was still a married man.

Daemon had not cheated her - he had cheated his wife and himself.

"What about my uncle?"

Otto lowered his head in a show of misery, "it seems he has dared to steal the egg of Baelon."

"Why would he do such a thing?" Saenyra's lips had parted in surprise, caught off guard by her uncle's audaciousness with such an act of defiance.

"We are unsure of his motives for the time being," the lie slipped off his tongue with ease. Otto was willing to do all he could to make the girl hate Daemon, but he could not risk her acting out of turn. "But we intend to claim the egg and return it to the Keep - the ships are setting sail soon, and an army rests upon it. Ready to reclaim the egg and Dragonstone by force, if needed."

"I want to come."

Otto sighed softly, not willing to disappoint the girl but knowing he will have to. He could see the anger bubbling in her eyes, but he could also see the confusion etched in her expression.

"Your sister asked us of the very same. I fear you cannot join a feat such as this - it is far too dangerous."

"Perhaps he would listen to me."

"We can only hope, Princess," Otto smiled faintly at her determination, "but it is a risk we cannot take."

Saenyra's hope faltered, hands twisting into the soft material of her gown as she bit her lip to hold back spiteful words.

Otto took a step back, gaining her attention.

"The ships leave soon, so I must take my leave. I simply believed it was important to inform you of our plans, despite the King's disagreement on the matter."

Otto watched as the girl's eyes narrowed in disappointment - had it not been for Otto's visit to her chambers, she would have been kept in the dark on the actions of her uncle.

Her father and her sister would hide such tragic news from her without a guilty conscious.

She glanced at Otto once more as he took his leave, and he smirked at the glimmer in her eyes that shone like something akin to trust.

***

It had not only been trust that gleamed in her lavender hues, but determination.

Her father and sister thought of her as weak, of being spineless and thoughtless. But she would show them. She would show them her determination, her influence, her fire.

Dragonstone was not simply a base Daemon had chosen for its view, no - its caves and tunnels homed the largest dragons - wild and crazed.

Upon the small isle was an opportunity for something more.

***

Saenyra had changed into a set of leathers she had stuffed deep in her wardrobe - they had been a gift from a Lord in a far away land who thought her to be a dragon-rider like her sister. A stark contrast from her usual soft colours, but one she hoped she could grow used to.

Her lip quirked at the idea of riding her dragon in her billowing gowns, and she whispered a promise to herself she would try.

Her heart had always weeped with disappointment at the sight of the leathers, but she never had the heart to get rid of it. It seemed all her waiting had paid off - today, she would get a dragon.

When she had changed into her leathers, she spared a moment to glance upon the jewel resting on her hand. A hesitant smile twisted upon her lips as a speck of dread bloomed.

What would Daemon think of her when he learned she had travelled to the isle to claim a dragon? Would he think differently of her? Would he be proud? Disappointed?

She tiptoed to her chamber doors as quietly as she could, ignoring her nattering thoughts. She latched it shut, hoping Harwin would leave her to her peace and not attempt entry.

Shs slipped back to the portrait above her bed, prying it open with silent breaths before slipping into the tunnels behind. She sprinted her way down tunnels she memorised a thousand times over, finding her way to an exit.

The day was bright and early, and the Keep was buzzing. But no one would expect to see Saenyra of all people in riding gear, as she had no dragon to command.

She slipped through the sea of people with ease, making her way to the ships as she dodged the sight of curious soldiers.

Saenyra knew Otto and the Kingsguard would board the ship at the forefront, so she slinked her way onto one of the smaller ships instead.

She let out a sigh of relief to see it unoccupied for the time being, rushing below the deck to hide in the shadows behind barrels and netting.

She would stay here until they reached Dragonstone.

***

The sail to Dragonstone had been bumpy, her stomach rolling with nausea as she steadied her breaths and pretended she was at home rather than upon the sea.

She swallowed harshly, thirst clawing at her throat as she wondered how much longer it would be.

It seemed only seconds, as her head raised in surprise at the shouts that carried over the ship. They drew closer to Dragonstone now, and she could hear the men prepare to anchor the ships before they continued on foot.

Just a few moments longer.

***

Saenyra had waited until the ships had emptied and the air had struck silent. Her stomach protested as she pushed herself to her feet and her knees ached. Her throat still burned with thirst and she could feel the clawing stabs of hunger pleading with her.

Still, she knew coming by boat was better than the alternative.

She was sure Rhaenyra would find her way here, but Saenyra would be damned if she asked the girl to allow her to ride upon Syrax alongside her.

Saenyra did not want the first dragon she rode to be one that was not her own - she did not want such an experience to be tainted by the hatred and jealousy that soured her relationship to her sister.

As she hiked her way towards where she hoped she would find the entrance to the caves and tunnels, her mind fell back to the dragon she hoped to claim.

Saenyra did not want a dragon that had previously been claimed. She wanted a dragon wild and free. Just as she was.

She wanted a dragon to whom she could love and dote on, to teach not with violence but patience. She wanted a dragon that was a reflection of herself, one that would burn worlds if she asked.

When she had finally reached the mouth of the cave she was panting lightly, her eyes wide with wonder as a breathless laugh escaped her. She sprinted inside, struggling to keep her footfalls quiet so as not to fall prey to any other beast that lurked within.

She spun through the tunnels, twisting and turning but failing to find the dragon she had so desperately tried to seek.

Grey Ghost was a shy dragon, calm and quiet, preferring to spin through the skies and feast in the seas. Hidden away in plain sight much like she was.

Grey Ghost is a dragon Saenyra believed she would bond well with, love strongly and protect fiercely as he would do with her. But Grey Ghost was nowhere to be found.

Her hope of claiming a dragon began to crumble as the tunnels were silent. It seemed the only life within them was her own, and she could feel defeat sink into her bones.

Saenyra sat down in a huff, eyes closed as she rested her head against the rough and craggly surface behind her.

She didn't pay mind to how long she sat like that, thinking - dreaming, hoping.

She only hoped that Harwin had not noticed her absence. Prayed that if he had, he did not report it to the King.

She doubted Viserys would care for such a thing - perhaps he would be relieved he had one less heir to worry about. Rhaenyra and Daemon were already such a handful.

However, for all she knew, the moment her deception was brought to light, a whole new shadow of chaos would be wrought upon them - one, perhaps, even Daemon could not escape.

She was still a Princess. Even if Viserys did not hold any personal regards for the girl, he would have to act in show, lest people see him as weak.

Still, she stayed. She sat upon the solid ground and listened to the sounds of her own breaths, counting every inhale and exhale and wishing she did not have to return to the Keep - knowing when she did, she could never escape the walls that confined her.

Slowly, she began drifting off. She leaned into the comforting smell of a home she would never find - a dragon she could never have.

That was when she felt it.

So lost in the tumultuous thoughts roving through her mind, she hadn't heard the gruff breaths, hadn't felt the quaking thuds. But a rough and scaly surface brushed against her cheek, slowly as though it was almost curious.

It was then she smelt it, the stench of dragon strong and high - the cloying scent of smoke coated her tongue as the brushes became firmer. She allowed herself to hope that perhaps it was Grey Ghost. That although she couldn't find him, he found her and it was a sign.

A sign that she was meant to be a dragon-rider. That the fire of a dragon burned hot through her veins - a raging blaze instead of a waning fire.

But her hesitant eyes found the predatory gaze of a dragon so monsterous it ate its own kind. So close to her, a hair's breadth away, was the slow and steady gaze of a cantankerous beast - Cannibal.

He was an inky shade of black, scales so dark that he could meld into the night sky and would cast envy from the moon, escaping its sight.

The beast reared back, but still stayed so close. Too close.

Saenyra wanted to close her eyes, to resign herself to her fate.

She was no dragon-rider, especially not to a beast so ferocious and violent. She didn't have the strength to make him submit- didn't have the gall.

But there was a subtle glint in Cannibal's eye that made her think wreaking havoc and killing her was not on his agenda.

He inched closer, almost like he was asking a silent question.

Saenyra raised a hand, fingers trembling as she took a steadying breath - the fire of a dragon ran through her veins, the ice of a thousand winters cursed her soul.

She held her breath as the tips of her fingers brushed against Cannibal's face, so close to the edge of his mouth he could break off her arm with a single twitch.

Instead he shuddered, preening as she shuffled closer and began to sit.

Surprise bound through her body, elation colouring her features - had she tamed a dragon?

Had she claimed a bond?

There was no need to violence, no yell for obedience, no fighting and no blood. There was no sacrifice because what was meant for her had come to find her.

Saenyra's eyes welled with tears, a shaky laugh escaping her as it grew louder and steady.

Saenyra had come looking in the depths of darkness for a dragon that lived in the light, hidden amongst clouds and thriving across the seas.

But that was not the fate the Seven had assigned to her. That was not the dragon she needed.

Her dragon, her fate had come to her. Undeterred and knowing.

Her dragon had come to seek her because finally, the time was right.

Her dragon - so fierce and raging and monsterous. The fire she had been missing all her life.

***

Daemon watched Rhaenyra in amusement, barely able to hold back the smirk upon his face at the pathetic attempt to pull him into line.

Had she truly thought she could command him? Call to him?

Had she truly thought he would be soft with her? Kind and adhering?

"I'm right here, Uncle. The object of your ire - the reason you were disinherited. If you wish to be restored as heir, you'll need to kill me. So do it."

Daemon could commend the girl's bravery, perhaps even her stupidity. It was a tempting thought, truly - to end all this fuss and take her head in one quick swipe.

But he was fond of the girl, despite her growing infatuations. She was his niece - his brother's child. And to hurt her would be to hurt Viserys.

"Do not bother with such words, Rhaenyra. It will gain you no favours. You would sooner leave Dragonstone empty-handed than with my undying fidelity."

Daemon couldn't help the smirk that broke across his face as her expression fell - she had been so sure presenting herself to him, a prize upon a platter, would have made him succumb and relinquish the egg.

She was sure he would give up to her. For her.

"Uncle, you do not know what you are saying. This isn't what you want. She isn't who you want."

The words she spoke were true. But not in the way she had hoped.

"Perhaps if little Saena were here, I would be happy to continue this farce for a few moments longer," he grinned at the envious expression that crossed Rhaenyra's face, "it is a pity she is not. I believe she would have enjoyed Dragonstone."

"The Princess is safe at the Keep," Otto began, his words stern as he met Daemon's glare with one just as fierce, "where you shall be unable to find her."

Daemon gritted his teeth at the show of audaciousness, but before he could speak, a set of stumbling footfalls and a shouting voice drew their attention.

"The Princess! She is in Dragonstone!"

A handful of soldiers assigned to watch over their ships had raced up to the base, panting as they waved frantically for Otto's attention.

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, "yes. Well, if you could not tell, I came by dragon-back. Such fan-fare is quite uneeded."

She turned back to Daemon, ready to push and prod, but the voice continued in panicked insistence.

"No! The Princess is upon the isle. She entered the tunnels before my men could stop her. We followed her in, but we fear she is lost within them."

Daemon's expression of amusement fell, his heart sinking as his stomach twisted. Tumultuous waves of rage washed over him at the realisation of who they spoke of.

Saenyra.

Saenyra was in Dragonstone. And she was lost in the tunnels, surrounded by wild dragons.

He seethed and frothed at the mouth, trembling in anger as he pulled out his sword and raised it against Otto's throat - "you told me she was at the Keep. You told me she was safe!"

Otto's own eyes had widened in surprise, shock flooding his system at the realisation the Princess must have snuck onto a ship to reach Dragonstone.

But why had she gone into the tunnels instead of following them to Daemon?

Otto stumbled over his words, almost speechless at the turn of events. It was Rhaenyra who spoke in his stead, "lower your sword, Uncle. What my sister does out of her own stupidity is no one's fault but her own."

Daemon ground his teeth in frustration, lowering his sword from Otto's throat only to throw a dangerous glare at Rhaenyra instead - "your sister is lost within the tunnels where dragons feed upon everything with a heartbeat, and you stand here and mock her? You are heartless."

Rhaenyra's face fell, her own heart now stammering with fear as she realised there was a truth to Daemon's words. She had lost her mother such a short time ago, could she truly lose her sister now, too?

"If she is hurt- if she is scared, I will kill you all. I will slaughter you all, and I will show Viserys the truth of my brutality. If there is so much as a scratch up-"

His words came to an abrupt end, halting mid-sentence at the sound of a victorious cry.

Daemon watched in fascination as a black mass emerged from the lip of a cave, climbing high into the sky as it unleashed a violent burst of green flames into the sunlit sky.

He could hear gleeful shrieks and melodic laughter from where he stood, and he could feel the ground shake as a monsterous beast rumbled from its place confined deep within the tunnels.

The violent beast flew overhead, murmurs spreading across as they all watched in fascination as the dragonless princess rode upon the most horrid beast of all and laughed.

There was a softness there, still present despite the beast she rode. One that sounded in her voice and in her laughter. One that sang in her eyes as they crinkled with joy.

Saenyra had conquered a dragon, but she had not lost herself in doing so.

Cannibal circled over Daemon and his army, and Daemon watched in amusement as Otto and his men backed up as far as they could.

Cannibal landed with a quiet thud, his rider grinning with excitement and pride exuding off of her in pretty waves. She slid from his back, scratching his neck as she murmured praises to the beast.

Daemon watched the scene unfold with soft eyes, his heart swelling with pride as he watched Saenyra fret over a vicious beast who submitted to her freely and with ease.

He took a step forward, uncaring of the watchful eyes and bated breaths of those around him.

Saenyra caught his gaze, a gasping laugh sounding from her lips as she moved to meet him halfway. But a glance over his shoulder had her stumbling to a stop.

Daemon knew who she had seen and couldn't stop the guilt that stung his throat and left a bitter taste.

"Rijes aōt, zaldrītsos (congratulations, little dragon)."

Daemon's words were gentle but hesitant. Saenyra could not find it within herself to meet his gaze.

She took a steadying breath, eyes passing over him with great difficulty as she sought the calming gaze of the Lord Hand instead.

Otto nodded to the girl as she eyed him in quiet despair - "Prince Daemon," he began, so quietly Daemon prayed Saenyra could not hear him, "has stolen the dragon egg as a gift to his heir."

Saenyra's eyes flitted back to Daemon as they welled with a betrayal she had no right to feel. And yet, from Daemon's worried gaze and guilty heart, she could not help but feel that perhaps it was not all in her mind, after all.

"His whore, Mysaria is with child. And Daemon is to take her as a second wife."

As Otto concluded his words, he could see how the girl's shoulders tensed and her spine stiffened - he hadn't expected to unveil the truth to her, but as she stared at her uncle with poorly hidden anger he found that it was probably the smartest move he had made.

Saenyra couldn't help but glance at her sister and see how her shoulders had deflated with defeat and how Rhaenyra could not meet her gaze.

Despite everything she had heard, despite the tears that pooled in her eyes and despite the hopes she had hidden deep within her heart that had caved and crumbled, she stepped forward. She closed the gap between Daemon and herself with a stifling sense of formality.

Saenyra stood before him in the image of a poised princess, a stiff smile upon her face as she searched his eyes for something.

They glinted and gleamed and grew dark under her stare, as though he was trying to force every word he could not say aloud into her mind.

"Tepagon se zaldrīzes drōmon, kepus. Let us be done with this. (Give the dragon egg, uncle)."

"Daor (no)."

His voice was quiet - his eyes pleading.

Her breath caught in her throat for a moment, her mind knowing what it was he wanted - what he needed. But her heart was too fragile to concede.

"Ivestragon nyke skoros nyke jorrāelagon naejot rȳbagon (tell me what I need to hear)."

Daemon did not care if Rhaenyra heard him, did not care if the others understood.

He would be exiled, unable to see Saenyra anymore. He knew although he could succeed in this battle, the game of politics that would follow would not work in his favour.

Too many men had sworn their allegiance to Viserys, and now his newest heir - Rhaenyra.

She gave him a strained smile in return, "I cannot upset your wife."

"Ōdrikagon zirȳla mirre ao hae, issa daorun naejot nyke (hurt her all you like, she is nothing to me)."

"And what about me?"

"Brōzagon naejot nyke (call to me)."

Such words were a promise in themselves, a claim if one wished it to be. And from the glimmering darkness in Daemon's eyes, singing with desperation and anger and a plea for understanding, Saenyra let herself reluctantly hope it was.

"Kepus, give me Baelon's egg."

"Kostilus (please)."

"Daemon."

The name came out in a quiet rush, a hushed confession.

His breath caught in his throat, a raging heat battling through his body as his heart trembled and his body singed with relief.

"Daemon," she whispered again, looking into his eyes so pleadingly, "give it to me, Daemon. Prove it to me."

Daemon was ready to kneel for her should she ask it of him. He handed the egg over readily, the fight leaving his body with the same rolling ease his name dripped off her tongue in such erotic rivulets.

As she reached out to take the egg from his grasp, he allowed his fingers to trail over her trembling hands. He rubbed his thumb over the ring she still wore, despite his misgivings, despite his harshness and despite his exile.

She wore this piece of him with pride and adoration. Such a sight made his heart sting with grief, knowing he would have to leave her behind. Knowing he had done nothing but made everything worse.

It had been amusing, yes. It had been a show of power, a show of all the cards he held. But now he knew it was almost over - the Gold Cloaks would retreat and return to King's Landing, and he would be exiled. Never to return, if Otto had it his way.

Saenyra stepped away from him, pulling her hands back as his own fell to his sides.

He sighed as though he was amused and steps closer, hand reaching for her chin as he tilted her head up to meet his warring gaze. He smiles, so gentle and so soft and so kind.

Daemon closes his eyes, placing a soft kiss upon her head and breathing in the scent of her - he would be exiled in truth now, unable to return for years if it was what his brother wished. He would only have this memory of his lips against her skin, his nose buried in the scent of her hair, his hands digging into her soft flesh.

He murmured a promise against her, his voice hushed so no one else could hear - "Nyke kessa māzigon arlī. Kesan māzigon arlī naejot ao. Se pār, kesi kipagon īlva zaldrīzoti naejot ūndegon qilōni's iksis se sȳrje. (I shall come back. I will come back to you. And then, we will ride our dragons to see who's is the best)."

Her eyes fluttered closed at his claim, "kivio? (Promise?)"

"Kivio."

She stepped back from the man, her eyes meeting his in silent mourning. She held the egg close to her chest as she made her way back to her dragon and mounted him, lips pursed as she tried to hold back her tears at the realisation she would likely never see Daemon again.

***

Saenyra returned to the Keep upon dragon-back, soaring the sky with a mourning sense of enjoyment. Perhaps she would not see Daemon again, but her ventures had gained her a dragon.

And such a gift was not one she would be ungrateful for.

Still, she was inexperienced upon dragon-back. Though her beast was adept and gifted with a masterful skill at flight, she had never soared the skies upon a dragon, let alone one so large.

It did not take long for Rhaenyra to catch up to her savage dragon, and it took even less time for her to soar past them and glare down at her with contempt flooding her gaze.

Saenyra grew worried as she drew closer to the Keep - the sky had darkened as a clouded mist settled low on to the soil. She grew anxious as she landed Cannibal on the grounds, eyes flitting across the planes in search of the Lords and Ladies, maids and knights that haunted the Keep, only to see it bare of life.

Cannibal flew off at her beckoning, never one to be tied down to a place so small but ready to find her if she were to call.

She entered the walls of the Keep, the corridors silent as she tiptoed to her room. She slipped into the closest tunnel she could find, her footsteps rushed as she made her way to her chambers.

She knew the secret of her travels would be revealed with Otto's return. Until then, she would take advantage of what she hoped to be Harwin's discretion and the King's ignorance and take a well-deserved rest.

***

It was not long until a flurry of frantic knocks sounded against her chamber doors - she sat up in a hurry, the sheets slipping off of her as all she remained in was the sheer material of her nightdress.

Saenyra stumbled out of her bed, reaching for the latch only to be faced by Alicent.

The girl looked worried, her eyes full of sadness as she frowned at Saenyra softly.

"The King is asking for your attendance at the Counsel, this evening."

Her brows furrowed in confusion, "Father has never asked for my presence at his meetings. Did something happen?"

Had Daemon acted out of turn once again? Had he returned to the Keep despite his exile? Has her father truly grown so angry by her travels outside the Keep?

She was unsure, and unwilling to seek answers to such questions.

"You must come at once, Princess. I fear I am not at liberty to answer your queries."

Saenyra nodded in ascent, understanding Alicent coming to retrieve her may have been a leniency on behalf of her father as well as a well-devised ploy.

She turned back to grab a dressing robe, wrapping it tightly over her bodice as she nodded for Alicent to lead the way. Alicent conceded with one last hesitant glance at the girl.

When they had reached the hall where her father held his Counsel meetings, the doors parted to reveal a truly formidable sight.

Upon his seat, though weakened by his ailings, Viserys was seething - frothing at the mouth as a well-groomed Lord stood beside him with a predatory grin.

It had taken Saenyra only a glance at Rhaenyra's proud face and Otto's sorrowful expression to learn what truth came to light.

Her lips parted, an apology sitting upon the tip of her tongue before her father's brash voice cut off her musings - "here we have her," a dragon's rage pooled in his veins, "my youngest daughter."

"Father..."

She was unsure of what she could have said - the placative words she could have spoken. But Viserys paid her no mind.

"Princess Saenyra is to be your wife, Lord Byrch." Viserys' eyes met his daughters, sharp and unforgiving as he recalled the conversations Rhaenyra whispered in his ears that took place between his youngest daughter and his devious brother - "you are to wed and take my daughter to your lands where she will swell with your children and make me a happy grandsire."

Her eyes burned as his words echoed in her mind, heart sinking in betrayal as she glanced towards Rhaenyra who spoke with a smug tone, "congratulations, dear sister."

Saenyra could hear no more talk of the betrayal that had just taken place, could no longer restrain her cries or hold back her tears.

As the Lord Byrch stepped closer to his awaiting bride, the girl stumbled back as she fled from the room in a flood of emotions.

Viserys' boisterous laughs could be heard echoing through the Keep, "she is but a shy girl, Byrch. Take no offence, you shall get your bride. That I promise."

***

Saenyra did not leave her chamber for several days - taking to dining within the walls of her room where she was safe and away from her traitorous sister and looming husband-to-be.

In those days, it was only Otto whom she allowed to seek her audience; even Harwin, now her Shield and Commander of the Gold Cloaks, barely caught a glimpse of the girl when he would assign his men to keep watch over her.

The man would whisper his disapprovals of the King's decision, acting wary of listening ears and speaking in hushed anger. He would weave tales of her bethrothed's violent nature and greedy hands, of his narrow mind and stubborn heart.

He had laughed as he suggested that the death of her betrothed may be her only saving grace - as though such a proposition was preposterous and only made in jest.

Otto had ingrained upon her an expectation for a horrid future - unloved and hurt and bred like an animal.

That was the life Viserys had chosen for her, and such a realisation wrought her soul with anger and agony. She had known Rhaenyra was the favourite, but to cast Saenyra aside in such a manner made her feel truly unworthy in his eyes.

Perhaps this was why - angered by her father's aversion and terrified by Otto's quiet truths - she had found herself in such a position.

Otto had encouraged the girl to escape the confines of her room, to walk along the corridors of the Keep and, at the very least, find enjoyment in the activities she used to before.

She had agreed, reluctantly. And that very night, she left her rooms through the tunnel, unwilling to be trailed by soldiers that belonged to both Harwin and Daemon.

She found herself in the library, fingers skimming across the spine of large tomes and story books. Her touch was light and airy, her mind quiet in the comfort of the night sky.

But the sound of footfalls drawing closer had her grow keenly wary of her surroundings.

She turned in anticipation, hand falling to her side as she came face-to-face with the man she had been avoiding all this time.

Oh, how the needy and desperate whispers of her mind grew louder wishing it was Daemon she saw.

Instead, in front of her stood the slim and staggering figure of Lord Byrch. There was a grim smirk upon his lips, his voice hushed as he whispered, "my little bride. Oh, how I have been searching for you in all the crevices in the Keep."

She smiled stiffly, "my Lord."

She stepped back, nodding to be polite as she searched for a way around the man and to the door.

There was no escape.

He stepped closer, hands clamping around her waist as he pulled her towards him - so close she could smell the scent of strong ale permeating from his lips.

The man was shameless and crude, stuffing his face into the hollow of her throat as he took deep breaths and groaned roughly at her sweet scent.

Her hands came to push against his shoulders, but the man did not relent. He stumbled forward so he could press her against a table and lave at the delicate skin of her neck.

He hummed at the taste of her, groaning in her ear in a fervent breath - "I cannot wait to make you my bride and fuck you. I cannot wait to fill you with my children and make sure you never leave my bed without my cum dripping from that sweet cunt of your's."

She cried out in disgust, her hands reaching back to brace herself against the table as he grew hurried and frantic. He began to pull up the fabric of her dress, her heart sinking in dread as her eyes stung with tears.

Her hands reached for something, grasping at anything she could use to scare this monster away.

Her fingers wrapped around a thin and delicate item, and it only took a glance back to see the silver sheen of a letter opener held tight in her grasp.

It was at the sight of such a lacklustre weapon hope began to bubble in the pit of her stomach as her breath was stolen from her in preparation of such a feat - an opportunity.

Her heart sung with rage as a guttural cry escaped her, and the weapon in her hand found its place in his shoulder. The foul beast of a man reared back, and as he cried out in agony, she could hear a fierce cry shatter through the quiet of the night as though it shared in her pain and agony - Cannibal.

At the sound of his angered roars, she felt the dragon within her come to life, a disastrous blaze flooding through her as rage took over fear.

Saenyra was angry.

So angry.

Angry at Daemon. At her sister. At her father. And this pathetic excuse of a man who thought himself worthy of marrying her. Of touching her.

With a battle cry, she ripped the blade from his flesh, throwing herself at him and knocking him to the ground as her body moved with a mind of its own. She wailed upon the man as her screams gave way to mourning cries and the aches of a thousand days washed upon her and all the agony she felt, all the grief, was poured into a deserving beast.

Hands wrapped around her body, her dress tainted red as blood seeped deep into her clothes and burned her skin with feral delight. She fought against the touch, reaching forward after her prey as her mind went mad with hunger.

The arms only held her tighter, wrenching the blade from her grasp and casting it aside as they turned her towards a solid chest and hushed quietly in her ears.

Her breaths came back to her in quiet huffs, her racing heart settled as it was finally quiet once again.

"Princess," Saenyra stiffened at the voice, eyes glancing up to meet the determined gaze of the Shield she had escaped for far too long.

Harwin met her gaze, determination giving way to a kind softness as he frowned softly at the blood splattered against the girl's face. His hands reached up to her face, rubbing against the wet liquid and smearing it across her cheeks, making her seem like a blushing bride who awaited eagerly for her husband's embrace.

But Lord Byrch was dead.

His body mutilated, his face unrecognisable.

Harwin felt his own heart race in anger at the thought that the Princess would have been hurt whilst under his charge, his protection.

He gritted his teeth as he strained his mind for a plan - "I accompanied you to the library," he began, his voice lowered and his words fast as his eyes darted towards the door, hoping it would be his Gold Cloaks who arrived first and not the Kingsguards.

"Then Lord Byrch came and asked for a listening ear - which you granted him. He spoke of treasonous plans after your wedding, and when you refused, he grew mad. So I killed him."

She eyed the soldier in fascination, wondering why he would lie on her behalf about a deed so grave.

"I killed him. Did you hear me, Princess?"

She held her breath as she nodded, confusion still clouding her eyes.

"Repeat it back to me."

She began in a whisper, hands tightening around his arms as she continued, "you killed him. You killed him because he planned to act against my father. He was going to hurt me, so you killed him."

"Good. Good, you're doing so well. Leave this to me, I shall handle this."

"Harwin," her voice shook as she protested such a thing, tears tracking down her face as her hands trembled at the realisation of what she had done.

Saenyra had killed a Lord. She had murdered her intended husband.

But he had deserved it.

Still, she had taken a life.

"I am your sworn Shield. When I took such a position, I vowed to protect you with every inch of life I have within me. Allow me to do my duty, Princess. Allow me to protect you."

Saenyra threw her arms around his neck, heaving sobs against him as he held her tight and turned her away from the gruesome scene she had created.

Otto had found them in such a position only moments later, eyes growing dark with understanding as he realised what must have occured.

It was safe to say Harwin escaped with such a deed unpunished, and Saenyra grew to trust her Shield just as she grew to trust Otto.

Her heart grew discontent to sit with her sister and listen to her father's demands, but even her disheartened feelings towards them would not stop the fact her father sought another husband for the girl to wed.

Saenyra could only hope he failed in such a mission of his.

Saenyra could only hope Daemon would return before Viserys succeeded in his ventures, and Rhaenyra celebrated her departure.

Thank you to everyone who enaged with this series, I cannot wait to write more chapters!!

Taglist: @marihoneywk @ahristata @gracielikegrapes @luanasrta @pet1t3 @serving-targaryen-realness @tojigirl @do-it-for-kicks @aprosiacperson @moongirl27 @xcharlottemikaelsonx @bogbutteronmycroissant

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targeryan #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen angst #daemon targaryen fanfic #hotd x reader #hotd fandom #hotd fanfic #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd x oc #harwin strong #otto hightower #dance of shadows

117 notes · View notes

sayafics · 4 months

Text

Dragon of Dorne - Chapter IV

This is quite a long chapter (which hopefully makes up for the long wait <3) with lots of fluff and some inappropriate thoughts - I promise so much more Daemon&Alaynha moments in Chapter V, I just wanted to give them something to build a relationship from.

A small change in this is that Viserys doesn't die - at least not yet. Another change is that Rhaenyra also doesn't have a miscarriage yet.

I still plan to stick to the plot-line, but just add in a few extra weeks for some Daemon-Alaynha moments <3 (which I feel so guilty saying but like oops).

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

Daemon had bargained plenty that night - the children did not have to stay. Rhaenyra did not have to stay.

But he would.

For Viserys. For his brother.

Of course, such a tale was not far from the truth. His brother was frail - dying, even. The quicker the hours pass, the closer the Reaper drew upon Viserys, awaiting for him to take his last breath.

Daemon had spent years at Rhaenyra's side, he had neglected his duties as a brother and cast Viserys aside. So his words were not all lies and some truth remained.

He would stay in King's Landing until Viserys had recovered or passed. The children could stay at Dragonstone and continue with their lives, and Rhaenyra with them to rear their youngest.

Of course, Rhaenyra was never one to listen and promised to join him after spending a fortnight at Dragonstone and remain by his side until the birth of their child, during which if all went well, their blended family would return to the Keep and claim it as their home once more.

Daemon gritted him teeth at that, frustration swelling within him at the possibility of navigating his countless schemes whilst being interceded by wailing babes and an angered wife.

There was a quiet ache of guilt present, too - knowing how long Rhaenyra had been pining for him because of his deviances as a terrible and power-hungry man all those years ago. For her to finally have all of which she desires, simply for it to be threatened by a kin she did not want - Daemon could sympathise.

But this was not affection he felt, nor lust. Surely it was much simpler. Much easier.

Daemon was curious.

Daemon is a shrewd man - calculating and manipulative, violent and mean. A rogue prince through and through, where all could see his qualities and hold it to the light with assuredness.

But this girl- this princess. So bright and kind and loving. A mask so thick and well-crafted even Daemon had struggled to see the beast that lurked beneath.

It was the darkness that welled up in those pretty eyes of hers, the spark that ached to turn into a raging fire.

It was curiosity, nothing more.

***

When Rhaenyra and the children had left the following morning, he urged them to return to Dragonstone by sea - it was safer with him absent. A worthy excuse for more time.

Rhaenyra had accepted with a quaint smile, a pretentious act at playing a blushing bride - to which he merely mustered a peck upon the cheek in return.

He could see the confusion in her eyes, could see her wonder why her Daemon was changing so quick.

But the truth was his previous marriages had broken him - kept him confined and chained. He allowed himself to become a tamed dragon, and freely handed his reigns over to Rhaenyra for her to wave proudly in show.

He loved her. Of course he did. He loved the girl who rode upon dragon-back to claim a stolen dragon egg, threats of fire and violence spewing from her lips - but even that girl he did not marry.

And yet, before him stood a swollen bride that was a mere echo of the girl he knew all those years ago. A realisation that had haunted him for far too long.

He thought the children would help - hoped they would ignite the dragon fire within him, would give him purpose and life.

Or perhaps they would ignite the fire that had become smothered within Rhaenyra and an ounce of the girl he knew then would return, and he would settle. He would revere and concede and accept.

Daemon felt weightless. Purposeless. Useless.

Pathetic.

***

Daemon suppressed the smirk itching at his lips as he sauntered his way back to his chambers.

His chambers.

The very ones he'd lounged in so many years ago with his wine and his whores, and not the one he had been made to sleep in the last few days.

The Keep was buzzing with life - Lords and Ladies of the Court watched him with sharp gazes, maids and guards were either hesitant to meet his gaze or watched over him with rousing suspicion.

Daemon could barely suppress his grin as he met their stares head-on with raised brows and dark eyes.

There was one thing he had to remember during his stay at the Keep - with Viserys bound to his bed and milk of the poppy poured down his throat in rivulets, he was without any allies in the Keep.

After Strong had burnt to ashes, Daemon was unsure of who led his Gold Cloaks now and was curious as to whether their loyalties had shifted alongside their leadership.

His mongrels were perhaps wastrels instead, eyes begging and hands postulated for any alms in the shape of golden coins.

Although there should be a few loyalists scattered around the Keep - he may not have been well liked, but he was brash and powerful, something that drew people in.

When Daemon returned to his chambers, he searched through his old belongings with renewed vigour. His muscles almost trembled as he pulled out clothing he hadn't seen in so long - too long has he spent in ornate robes and simple tunics. Too long has he gone without the needed release he found in the wiles of a well-earned fight.

Too long.

He stripped with ease, a sense of relief washing over him as the waning material of the tunics Rhaenyra loved so much fell from his scarred skin and he slipped on his leather armour with ease.

With his sword attached at his side, Daemon left his room feeling more like the depraved and nefarious prince he had been all those years ago.

This time he could not help his grin - big and broad and terrifying to all who glanced his way.

This was the rogue prince - no longer was he an ornament for the Heir to parade, no longer was he a dysfunctional and futile man.

No. He was a dragon.

And it was time he returned to the sky and wreaked havoc upon all those who would dare look down on him.

***

Daemon stood under an archway, arms folded across his chest as he watched the scene unfold with amusement.

Upon the training grounds, engaged in a vicious bout of training, was none other than his harrowing nephew and sultry niece.

Aegon watched his brother and sister in amusement, an array of cakes and fruits and wines laid upon a table near him as though he had beckoned them solely for the purpose of watching his siblings fight as a form of entertainment. He seated himself at the edge of the training grounds, unable to control his laughter or his brutal glee.

He would jeer when Aemond aimed too close to Alaynha's delicate face, cackle with glee when she would trip the boy and throw food at the pair when they would become so distracted in passing taunts they forgot to exchange blows instead.

Daemon was impressed by the skill of the girl - out-manouvering her brother with ease. She met blow for blow, with just as much force behind her own hits as him. She doged every cut and met every slash with a brutal one of her own.

Not once did an ounce of blood drip to the ground in failure - she was skilled.

But he could not ignore the possibility Aemond had taken it easy upon her - with the weight of his glares from the previous night, the chances of Aemond willingly hurting his younger sister was close to naught.

Still, Daemon could not help but draw comparisons.

His first wife had been handy with a sword, but he had only ever heard rumours. And those rumours did nothing to gain her his favour, as although she was a fine swordswoman, she was dragonless and, therefore, useless in all the ways a Targaryen would require.

His second wife and third were fierce dragon-riders. Unafraid of the fire of a dragon and the heights they could scale.

But even they could not tell apart the hilt of a sword from the scales of a beast.

But here, before him, stood a challenge and a promise. A swordswoman and a dragon-rider.

Daemon could feel himself stiffen within his breeches at the sight of her panting form, the sweat upon her brow as she dodged every deathly blow and sweeped her brother's feet from beneath him.

As Aemond fell to the ground, she kicked his arm with vicious glee and the sword he held flew from his grasp. She aimed her sword at his throat, her own rising and falling with hurried pants as a gasping laugh escaped her in glee.

Aegon leapt up from his chair, loud claps and a boisterous laugh at his brother's fall.

Daemon had expected Aemond to grow angered at the humiliation - to spit insulting words and perhaps even show her just how placative he had been.

Instead, he smiled - and for once he looked like a young boy again, a shadow of the child who had half his sight stolen from him.

Aemond stood up with a proud smirk when she had relinquished her sword, a conceding nod as he praised her, "a fine swordswoman indeed. I see Cole has taught you well, jorrāelagon mandia (dear sister)."

"Criston has taught me very well indeed, lēkia (brother). I believe if I continue under his wing, kepa will have no choice but to let me join the Gold Cloaks."

Daemon straightened at the mention of the army he had trained as his own, and his body flushed with a pleasant warmth at the idea of Alaynha - so mischievous and small - killing and maiming vile men under the uniform he designed.

It was almost a sign of ownership.

As though she was his - his violent, little dragon.

Almost.

He entertained the prospect of taking over his Gold Cloaks once more - Viserys would accept in a heartbeat.

And if he did, Daemon would pick Alaynha as his protégée in an instant - perhaps he would give her private lessons on the art of mastering the sword, teach her to command the army in High Valyrian simply because such a sight would flood his body in arousal and have her torture men in his name so he could watch her covered in blood, gazing at him with those pleading eyes, begging for his approval.

Fuck.

But he held himself back from his spiralling thoughts - curiosity. This was simply curiosity, he admonished his traiterous thoughts.

He stood straighter, hand reaching down to adjust his hardened cock.

He cleared his throat before stepping away from his hiding space - although it was quite out in the open, he almost grinned when he saw his nephews stiffen at the sight of his approach.

"Kepus," her voice was light and airy, just as surprised as her brothers to see the man still in the Keep when his wife and children had already sailed away.

"You're still here."

"Ah, I am. Although, dare I say Zaldrītsos (little dragon), you almost seem disappointed."

Alaynha rolled her eyes, a faint smile tugging at her lips, "of course not. I simply thought you would have sailed to Dragonstone with your wife and children."

"They must miss you dearly," Aemond drew closer as he spoke, "perhaps it is not too late to join them. I am sure your dragon will carry you fast and far."

"Ah, but why would I leave such great company for that of whom I've endured for years already." Daemon raised his brow in challenge, daring Aemond to suggest he leave his homeland once more.

He watched as Alaynha gazed between the two of them, her eyes then turning towards Aegon as she sighed in exasperation.

"Come, sister." Aegon consoled from his place, lounging upon a chair with a cup of wine filled to the brim, "let us flee before they bore us with their barbs and insults instead."

Alaynha snorted quietly, an amused grin upon her face as she rolled her eyes at her brother's antics - "might I suggest a better alternative?"

The brothers and Daemon stared at her in curiosity, "well, it seems our dear uncle is prepared for a fight. What better way to bond with the kin he refused to acknowledge than by sparring with them? Do you not agree, kepus?"

Daemon recalled the girl's words from yesterday, the spite that tainted her words as she rightly accused him of despising her family for their Hightower blood.

They were half-blooded Targaryens, barely dragons in his eyes.

But such things could not be true if he saw such a raging beast exist within her, as she was just as half-blooded as the rest of them.

Just as half-blooded as Rhaenyra's children.

But her birth, alongside that of her brothers and sister, had not been tainted by lies and an unsanctimonious vow.

"Mayhaps you are too scared, nuncle," it was Aegon who spoke with a broad grin, "my brother was trained by Ser Cole himself. You must remember the man - he told us the tale of how he knocked you off your horse. And your feet."

"Aegon," Alaynha lightly scolded the boy but could not hold back her own amused smile at his words - even Aemond had cracked a smirk.

Alaynha's eyes widened at the sound of a deep and rich laugh. She feared they had angered their uncle with their taunts and tales, but it only took a glance into the violent hues of Daemon Targaryen to see them swallowed whole by challenge and delight.

So long it had been since he had experienced such provocation, such defiance. A call of like to like as his blood sang with the call of a dragon.

Perhaps there was a kinship here, long denied by tainted blood and half-whispered promises.

"If my nephew is up for the challenge, I will not be the one to shy away."

Daemon tilted his head towards Aemond in recognition, hand placed upon the hilt of his sword as he awaited his answer.

Aemond, never one to turn down a challenge, agreed swiftly by turning his back to his uncle and making his way to the centre of the training grounds once more.

Daemon smirked at the show of confidence that rolled off the boy in tumultuous waves, but even he could not help the ounce of admiration echoing in his mind - had this been Jace or even Luke, they would have quaked and trembled at his presence.

And yet, here was his brother's child - a second born son, a turbulent fire. Seething and wrathful.

The irony of such a thing did not beget him.

Daemon made his way towards Aemond, but a hand upon his wrist stopped him in his place. He glanced down to the delicate hand anchoring him, eyes travelling up the soft skin glowing with a sheen of sweat from a harrowing sword fight, to meet the gentle eyes of a girl much too complex and secretive for him to decipher her with ease.

"Do take it easy upon him."

Her words were spoken pleadingly, as though this was not her idea. It seemed she could hear the words ringing in his head, and she sighed quietly as she continued, "although he may not admit it, he admires you. Truly so. You told me you wanted to know me. Well, know I love my brothers, and I cannot see them hurt - even in jest."

Now, here was a thing Daemon could empathise with. Here was a thing Daemon saw in himself.

He loved his brother, wholly and true. He would conquer worlds in his brother's name, and cut himself upon his own sword if Viserys had asked.

He knew the love one had for their brother, and he could see it shining in her eyes.

Still, Daemon was never one to let an opportunity to tease and test pass without falter - "and what will you give me in return for such a favour?"

She raised her brow in surprise, as though she couldn't believe he was asking such a thing in exchange for a measly request. Still she rolled her eyes and conceeded, "anything."

And such words were the truth.

"Do not spill a drop of blood, and you shall have anything you ask of me, Daemon."

Daemon.

Fuck, she had called him Daemon.

A descending warmth filled Daemon's body at the sound of his name rolling off of her tongue - so familiar, so tempting, so erotic.

Call me Daemon. Say it again.

He was tempted to speak aloud and beg for it.

But he could see Aemond's impatient form and Aegon's restless agitation - "anything, you say? It seems we have ourselves a bargain, zaldrītsos."

***

If this was what he believed was taking it easy, Daemon would be sorely disappointed when it came to asking for Alaynha's favour.

Although, she did have to say - her brother held his own quite well against the battle-worn soldier they knew Daemon to be. She swore upon the Seven she even heard the boy allow a careless laugh to escape his lips as he lost himself in the flurry of lunges and blows they exchanged.

Alaynha couldn't help the soft smile that stretched upon her lips as she watched the pair. Still, she was on edge - whether it was from distrust, enjoyment, or fervent kinship, their fight grew more brutal.

Less and less were there moments of deflecting and blocking and feinting. Every stab and every slash was made to leave a mark.

And still, in place of tension and worry upon the training grounds, there was a growing fever of gratification bubbling in the air - as though this was the challenge they had been waiting for all this time, pushing themselves to the brink of exhaustion to relieve themselves of anger and worry and misery.

This is what they had been missing.

And the realisation only made them fight harder.

"Do try and beat him, little brother," called out Aegon from the sidelines. He stood now, leaning against the back of the chair as he spoke out words of encouragement disguised as mocking jeers.

Alaynha sat upon the chair, reaching back to slap Aegon lightly upon the shoulder. He only huffed in her ear instead, "what? I am being encouraging."

"You are being a nuisance."

"Ah," he grinned blearily, "when am I ever not."

She snorted, "when you a too drunk to raise your head and bat your eyes rōva lēkia (big brother)."

"Oh, but a day in the shoes of a forgotten Prince would have you do the same byka rūklon (little flower)."

She smiled sadly, leaning back so her head rested against his arms - "at least you have your wine," she jested.

"And my whores."

His voice lowered an octave, whispering so dramatically in her ears that she couldn't help the laughter that escaped her in a bubbling concession.

Her laugh was bright and loud and echoed across the grounds. So captivating Daemon felt his heart almost stutter to a pause as he raised his sword, ready to meet a vicious blow from his newphew.

His head turned, as though his body had a mind of its own and his mind clouded with thoughts. Thoughts and ideas and wishes and curiosity.

Just a glimpse.

Just a second.

Instead, he felt his face burn as his sword missed Aemond's by inches, and his hardened slash met Daemon's cheek with vigour.

Daemon hissed, head twisting to the side as blood dribbled from the wound and pooled at the corner of his mouth as a surprised laugh escaped him.

"Aemond!" Alaynha spoke out in admonishment, even Aegon had held his breath for a second.

Daemon tutted, "my mistake, I believe. One should never let their gaze stray from their opponent."

Aemond stared at the man with a gaze so similar to the young boy who had his sight taken from him, almost hesitant to breathe in his presence now.

"Do not tell me you give up now?" Daemon grinned at the boy, eyes simmering with the fire of a dragon, heart beating as adrenaline pumped through him and excitement singed his veins, "come on, nephew. I thought you were better than this."

His words caused a spark to glimmer in Aemond's eyes before a roaring fire was set alight, he raised his sword for another hit, which Daemon met with a fierce one of his own.

Where Aemond parried Daemon's every strike with rigid eloquence, Daemon would meet his with vicious victory - steel clashing against each other as neither was willing to submit.

Alaynha sat straight upon her chair, spine stiffened as her fingers twisted in the material of her own leathers. Aegon's hand came to rest at her shoulder, squeezing in comfort as they watched the two battle out years of anguish and anger upon one another.

Daemon continued thrusting his sword forward, Aemond dancing around him and evading every lunge and throwing back fierce blows as his own sword sliced through the air.

It only took a single second- a breath.

Their swords clashed against one another, and all kindness and civility washed away in face of pure rage and animosity.

Daemon was still Rhaenyra's husband. He still hated the Hightowers. He would rather see Otto and Alicent dead than near the King.

Aemond was a Hightower bastard. A second son only by Otto's manipulations and ploys. He would rather see Rhaenyra dead and sit upon the throne himself.

Teeth gritted and growls escaped their lips as they waited for the other to yield - but neither dared.

A glint of light caught Daemon's attention, and he watched over Aemond's shoulder as Alaynha drew closer in distress.

It seemed Aemond could also hear her approaching footsteps, and the sound caused his eyes to flash and simmer with recognition before the anger, which rolled off of him in flames, settled to a kindling fire as he nodded in ascent.

Almost a show of acknowledgement, a performance of respect.

Daemon smirked, his own head nodding as he reluctantly relieved his sword of the force placed upon it.

They each stood back, shoulders rolling and necks twisting as they came to a stalemate.

Aemond had gotten a blow, had hurt Daemon, and made him bleed. But Daemon had promised to take it easy upon the boy, so truly by what means did the boy succeed.

"You idiots. The lot of you," Alaynha scolded as she reached their side, "what if you had hurt each other? More than you already have."

She glanced between them worried, her eyes falling upon the gash across Daemon's cheek that had crusted and dried but still twinged with pain when his lips stretched into a placating grin - "last I recall, this had been your suggestion."

"Mm, he is right, sister. You cannot fault us for adhering to your orders."

Alaynha's lips parted in disbelief at Aemond's words as she turned to his in faux betrayal, "are you taking his side over mine?"

Aemond smirked at the pout upon her lips, "try as I might, I fear no one holds my loyalties more than you, jorrāelagon mandia."

She hummed, eyeing him in exaggerated suspicion before a grin broke out on her face, "good."

Aegon drew closer upon Aemond's seeing side, clapping his brother on the shoulder and shaking him for good measure, "I believe the Hightowers have won this battle. Do not fret, nuncle. I am sure you will win something, some day."

"Aegon!" She could drag her hands down in exasperation, wondering why her brothers were so desperate to test and mock their uncle until he had enough and unleashed his wrath.

Before she could correct Aegon any further, Daemon drew closer and it did not go unnoticed by anyone how Aegon seemed to shrink behind Aemond, as the younger brother inched in front of the older.

Despite being the younger, one thing was certain - Aemond did not see an heir in Rhaenyra but in his brother and in himself. He may never get the crown, but Aegon could - and Aemond would do all he could to protect the Heir. To protect his brother.

Daemon simply tutted at the action, reaching over Aemond's shoulder to ruffle the shorter boy's hair as he squawked with indignation.

"Do not fault the boy, Zaldrītsos. He only defends his brother's honour - it is what Viserys would have done for me."

Aegon's face heated up at the words, flushing warm as he almost preened under his nuncle's praise, like a child. Perhaps he had already drank too much wine - yes, that must be why.

He escaped his nuncle's petting at the sound of Alaynha's quiet laugh and Aemond's shaking shoulders. He blew a huff of breath so the strands of hair that fell over his face would leave his vision free.

"I am not. I'm just mocking you."

"Ah, of course." Daemon consoled with a teasing grin, words much too enunciated to be well and true, "do forgive me, my Prince."

Aegon rolled his eyes, easily catching on to Daemon's own mocking tone and mumbled under his breath as he stepped away.

Aemond stepped back to follow him, "come sister, we promised mother we would dine with her for supper."

Alaynha hesitated for a moment, a soft frown upon her lips as she gazed at her uncle with gentle eyes. She bit her lip in contemplation, and Daemon found he could not tear his gaze away.

"I shall see you there, I fear Daemon's wound may need some tending."

There it was again, his name - so tantalising, the sound, as it dripped from her tongue.

"Then let the maester deal with him," Aemond spoke in annoyance.

"The maester has much more urgent dealings. It is a simple wound, I shall treat him and join you."

Aemond opened his mouth, ready to protest that if it truly was such a simple wound, Daemon should be able to treat it well himself. But his sister looked at him pleadingly, and he simply pursed his lips and nodded in ascent.

As he turned away, Alaynha hesitated for a second longer before stepping forward and calling out to him - "please let muña know Daemon will be joining us."

She watched Aemond's shoulders stiffen at the order, but knew her brother would never argue with her over such a small and measly thing. He once again nodded his head, waiting for Aegon to swipe his jug of wine before they made their way to their mother's chambers.

Alaynha turned in the opposite direction, only passing a glance over her shoulder to meet Daemon's intense gaze - "come."

***

Daemon sat upon the Princess' bed, his body rigid and tense as he watched her move and gather items scattered across the room.

Whilst Daemon remained in his leathers, she had changed into something much more akin to that of a princess.

Daemon had almost prayed to the Seven to stop his aching thoughts and traiterous body, the temptation to walk behind the dressing screen and see her bare body tremble beneath his gaze.

He had held off long enough, growing hard and stiff beneath his breeches as the dressing screen was almost transparent and gave way to the very shape of the girl hidden behind mounds of fabric.

The gown she wore now was simple, but the material itself was still expensive - a soft satin, perhaps even silk.

As she drew towards him, Daemon couldn't help but part his legs open, ready for her to slot herself between them. She cleared her throat quietly as she stepped in the gap he had made, placing her gathered items next to him upon the bed.

He looked up at her, unable to stop himself from admiring the soft planes of her face, her sharp jaw, her full cheeks, the blush that stained her lips, the eyes that almost gleamed in the light of a setting sun.

When Alaynha peered down to meet his gaze, a damp cloth held in her hand, her breath caught in her throat at the intensity of it, eyes welling with infatuation.

Curiosity, he corrected.

She blinked vigorously, eyelashes fluttering furiously as her hand almost trembled when she took a hold of his face. Her skin felt soft against his flesh, dragging from his hollowed cheeks to rest upon his angled jaw and tilt his fierce gaze away from her own that was growing timid and shy.

The one holding the damp cloth dipped the fabric in a small bowl of warm water, reaching up to brush softly against his gash. Daemon held back a wince, but she could feel the way his jaw flexed in her grasp as he clenched his teeth in pain.

"Sorry," she whispered into the quiet between them.

"You should be." Daemon had meant to mumble the words quietly, but she had heard them all the same.

She frowned at the silent accusation, "excuse me? I do not need to help you. I could always call the maester if you prefer."

Daemon sighed, eyes closing as he realised he had spoken his words much too loud, "I only meant, I would not have gotten this injury was it not for you."

Her head twisted in confusion, stopping her ministrations of cleaning Daemon's gash so she could tap him lightly upon the cheek to gain his attention.

His eyes opened immediately, meeting her questioning gaze as he let out a breath in a huff of amusement, "if it wasn't for that pretty laugh of yours, perhaps I wouldn't have gotten distracted enough to allow my tempered nephew to land a blow."

Her face flushed deeply at his words, eyes rolling as a scoff spilt past her lips, "all I hear are some silly excuses, kepus."

"If it were up to me, I would lock you in my chambers and leave you there, needy and willing, so you never laugh alongside another man again."

He couldn't help the jealousy that tainted his words, couldn't help but tease and test her boundaries once more.

Her hands trembled in truth now as she picked up a small bowl of ointment, dotting it over the gash with a soft touch.

"You speak out of turn, uncle," but her voice still shook under his burning gaze.

"And you do not speak enough. Perhaps you worry of all the others who have been in my chambers, locked away just as I wish you were."

"Perhaps you grow too confident in your own charms and wiles," she sniped as she rubbed the ointment in with care.

"Perhaps."

There was a beat of silence, but his eyes never left hers. Even as she collected her balms and ointments, holding them close to her chest, he watched her.

And when she was ready to step away, he held her waist and pulled her close. Her breath caught in her throat and he simply waited.

Alaynha knew what he waited for, knew what he sought.

She also knew she could not give him such a thing, not when he was wed to her sister - not when he already had a child on the way.

"I am not one of your whores."

"I would never wish you to be."

His voice was earnest, stubborn.

Curiosity, he justified.

She sighed, her hand resting upon his injured cheek and gently rubbing circles upon his skin as his eyes closed as the sensation, her voice was almost a whisper, "my mother must be waiting for us."

And with that she stepped away, and Daemon's hands fell into his lap.

In that moment, Daemon truly did send a prayer to the Seven and begged them to bless him with morals and strength for even he knew his curiosity was giving way to darker desires he would soon be unable to ignore.

An infatuation grew within him. A simmering and burning and aching infatuation- obsession.

If you guys made it to the end, I hope you enjoyed the long read! Thank you to everyone who has engaged with this story by liking, reblogging, and commenting!! I promise to try and update this series more regularly <3

Taglist: @kelssssxd @esquivelbianca @chynagirl13 @luanasrta @kemillyfreitas @americanprometheuss @clarap23 @pet1t3 @your-favorite-god @hypocritic-trash-baby @esquivelbianca @serving-targaryen-realness @toji-girl @queenmendes @the-lil-spud

180 notes · View notes

sayafics · 4 months

Text

Cherry Season - Masterlist

When Rick has an obsession with Hershel's adoptive daughter, he is willing to do anything he can to have a taste and keep her for himself.

A spiralling romance that starts off with a basket of cherries.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

#rick grimes x oc #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes #rick grimes x you #rick grimes smut #rick grimes fic #rick grimes fanfiction

44 notes · View notes

sayafics · 4 months

Text

Warmth

Just a little spiralling thought of what would happen if OC was stuck in a cabin with Rick and possibly had hypothermia and needed warming up ;) <3

Warnings: dry humping, slight non-con/don-con (OC is asleep at first but all else is consenual ofc)

Masterlist

Alora trudged through the snow with trembling limbs, the cold sinking deep into her skin despite the layers of clothes she dressed herself in.

It had been snowing for days now, but neither Rick nor Alora could have predicted it would get this bad so quickly.

Her eyes were tracking every shadow that crossed her, watching her surroundings and searching for any sign Rick might have passed through the next place she was ready to traverse.

When Alora and Rick had volunteered to go onto a supply run, they hadn't expected this. The prison was running low on medications, bandages, and hygiene products - Alora, never someone who was happy to sit in the scent of her own sweat and hardwork, leapt at the first opportunity presented to, at least, find some more soap.

Rick didn't hesitate to volunteer himself shortly after.

Life in the prison wasn't easy, not after everything they had already been through. But it was simple. It was familiar. It was everything Alora wished she could return to as her teeth clattered in the quietness around her.

Her feet felt numb, fingers stinging as she burrowed them further in her pockets and shrunk back into the collar of her coat in an attempt to hide from the icy winds.

Her head felt heavy, eyes tired and limbs weak as she continued to march through the land in search for somewhere warm to spend the upcoming night.

***

It didn't take Alora long to find some place habitable - a lonely cabin sat hidden amongst the decaying branches of brittle trees. No matter how hard she tried, though, she could only trudge towards it slowly.

Upon stumbling inside, she threw herself upon a cold and solid couch. She curled into a ball upon the lumpy furniture, eyes fluttering closed as she promised to start a fire when she woke up after a short nap.

That was how Rick found her a few hours later.

The man was a frantic mess, unaffected by the cold but horrified at the prospect Alora could be hurt simply because she was not with him.

Guilt ate at him during his search - if he had not let her leave his sight, leave his side, she would still be standing next to him. With him. Safe.

It was with these festering thoughts he stumbled upon the quiet cabin, heart protesting with fierce guilt as his mind encouraged him to rest for a night.

Perhaps a few hours, he compromised.

Upon trudging into the residence, his heart sank to his stomach as his eyes lay upon a rigid and small body - the girls hair lay astrewn, and quiet huffs pass her lips in a quick concession.

"Fuck," Rick cursed as he stumbled closer, hands trembling out of fear instead of cold as he got closer and noticed the blue tinge to Alora's lips.

"Alora," he shook her shoulders, voice growing louder as he grew more panicked, "Alora, open your eyes."

Guilt struck Rick like an arrow, so ashamed and so stupid. He should have stopped her from coming on this run, should have known how dangerous it would be.

But the idea of spending even a few hours with just her at his side was a possibility he could not pass up.

It seemed all his months of pining, however, led to this. And if he could, he would take it all back if it meant she was somewhere safe and warm.

Alora groaned, her eyes barely able to open as she leaned away from Rick's touch - "too warm," her brows furrowed, and she whined in her sleep but Rick only needed to skim the supple skin of her cheeks to feel the biting cold that had taken her over.

"Hey, c'mon sweetheart open y'r eyes, huh?"

"No, 'm tired - wanna sleep," her mumbled whines made his heart sink in dread as he cupped her cold and flushed face in his hands.

"I need you to look at me, can you do that sweetheart? Look at me, baby. C'mon, open those pretty eyes for me."

Her eyes parted open slowly, as though she was lifting the weight of a thousand suns and she gleamed blearily into the eyes of sea blue that were waiting for her familiar gaze - "that's it, sweetheart. Good girl."

Alora answered Rick's praising mumbles with a giddy grin, the quiet huffs of laughter escaping her in a quick concession despite her body trembling under the harsh caress of the cold and frosty winds.

Alora couldn't hold her head up straight, teetering to each side as he lifted a frigid finger to brush against Rick's frost-bitten lips as she sang quietly, "you called me baby."

Rick couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes, an amused huff escaping him as he regarded her form. He sat up straighter, arms winding her arms to lift her up so she could sit up upon the couch but her slurred words made him pause.

"I can't feel m' hands. 'm tired."

Rick cursed, eyes darting across the quaint cabin as he jumped to his feet. He threw open drawers, barging into rooms to rifle through cupboards and closets until he found a pile of folded blankets and heaved the ton.

Rick placed the blankets upon the floor by Alora's tittering body, eyes growing wary as she settled into a stilted and quiet sleep once more.

He rushed as he made his way to an old and dreary fireplace, kneeling against a flush fur rug and reaching for a set of matchsticks placed nearby.

The fireplace was struck alight with ease, and as a warring heat bubbled through the room Rick was able to step back slightly calmer than before.

He returned to Alora's side, hands hovering over her body as though he was unsure if his next moves would be right. But it only took one more glance at her pale face and sheen forehead for him to regain his bearings.

He began to pull her clothes off of her, frowning at the thin materials as he whispered apologies to the unconscious girl.

Alora stirred awake at his frantic motions, hands pushing him away as her trembling grew fierce under the heat of the fire nearby.

Rick tutted, taking her wrists in one hand as the other tugged down her trousers. He held his breath for a moment, taking in the sight of her bare body.

He pulled a blanket from the pile, wrapping it around the girl before heaving her body into his arms and carrying her to the fireplace. He laid down her squirming body on the fur rug beneath his booted feet, eyes growing hungry as he watched her stretch upon the soft ground and whine as she settled.

Rick stood watching her for a moment, hoping the blankets and the fire would be enough but as time ticked by her shivering hadn't improved and worry grew in the pit of his stomach.

His eyes glanced over the fireplace, a small mirror mounted upon the wall, and caught sight of his own frigid reflection. He bit his lip in contemplation, a hand rubbing down his face and scratching his neck as he decided upon his next move.

With a frustrated groan, Rick began to pull off his clothes leaving him in only his boxers as he stared down at the stirring girl beneath him. He worried the minute he held her within his arms he would not be able to hold himself back, would not be able to control his urges and his desires.

He trudged to the pile of blankets, scooping up two more as he made his way back. He threw them gently atop the girl who's eyes were now opened to stare at his with a weary sense of curiosity.

Rick joined her on the ground, pulling himself under the blanket as the warmth beneath soothed his own tremors of cold.

A weak smile tugged at Alora's lip as she watched him join her, a whimper escaping her lips as his arms wound around and tugged her close. Even through the blanket wrapped around her lithe figure, she could feel every part of Rick she tried to ignore. His warmth radiated through the blanket and it only caused her to shiver in response, the reaction causing Rick to hold her tighter as he thought she was still cold.

In her delirium, far too cold that the chill felt like waves of heat, she writhed and flailed until Rick let her go in confusion, "you okay, sweetheart?"

His voice dripped in concern and Alora could only blink tiredly at the man as soundless mumbles passed her lips and she squirmed within the confines of her blankets.

Alora unwound the first blanket Rick had wrapped tightly against her, and in all her tired hysteria, she began to tug off the last few articles Rick was too much of a gentleman to touch.

She tried to throw her bra and panties to join the rest of her clothes, but they only moved far enough to sit next to Rick's.

Rick watched her with wide eyes, unsure if he should stop the girl or leave her be. It seemed, as she settled with a relieved sigh and a gasping giggle, that he did not have time to make such a choice.

Before he could make another move, Alora shuffled closer to him and burrowed herself in his warmth.

With the blanket he had placed around her now unwound and free, there was no longer a barrier between her naked body and his bare one.

Rick held his breath as he felt her breasts press against his chest, eyes closing tight as he gritted his teeth when she threw a leg over his hip and he could feel her bare cunt against his stomach.

Alora settled into a quiet sleep, her head burrowed into the crook of Rick's next as her breaths were warm upon his cheek.

Rick tried to steady his own breaths, his arms shaky as his arms wound around the small girl to hold her closer, despite his conscious protesting.

Rick groaned quietly at the feeling of her pretty cunt flush against his flesh, radiating such a warmth he had to hold his breath to ground his thoughts. He held her steady by her rump as he tried not to grind into the supple flesh of her thigh which lay directly on his hardening cock.

It had taken him some time to fall asleep, his cock much too hard and the feeling of her soft flesh against his own much too tempting.

The hours ticked by quickly, Rick's hammering heart able to settle slowly as time went by as his body grew tired as the activities of the day caught up with him.

It had to have only been seconds until he woke up again, the sound of something quiet and close alerting him of a presence. He opened his eyes to be met with the dark as the fire had died out and the sun had not risen, but he felt warm beneath the piles of blankets and only grew warmer as he realised what had woken him up.

Or rather, who.

Alora whined in her sleep, brows furrowed as her breaths grew laboured and Rick had to hold back a groan as he realised her hips shifted so she could grind her cunt against the hard flesh of his abdomen.

His hands came upon her hips, his morals warring with his desires as he struggled to come up with an idea of what to do. It seemed Alora's sleepy form did not appreciate his efforts to stop her pleasure and she twisting in his grip, moving down his body to escape his hands and sighing as her uncovered cunt found his hardened cock.

Rick couldn't help the groans that escaped him now - fuck, she was so wet he could feel his boxers becoming damp as she ground herself against him. Rick's hips pushed up to meet her own, uncaring if she was awake or asleep.

His hands returned to her hips, this time to ground her harder against him instead of stopping her.

Whines left her lips like prayers, eyes fluttering as she mumbled nonsense in her sleep.

"Fuck, what a dirty girl." Rick groaned into the dark, winding his arms around her waist as he planted his feet on the ground do he could rub against her even harder. His sounds became almost animalistic, losing himself in the feeling of her wet and sticky pussy that ground against him with ease.

"Rick?" A quiet whimper escaped her lips as Alora's eyes fluttered open and her eyes roll back in pleasure, and at such an enticing sight Rick ignored the twinge of guilt he felt as his grip grew tighter.

"Atta girl, there's my baby. Moanin' for me in y'r sleep. My dirty girl, aren't ya?"

"Rick~" his name passed her lips like a prayer, her hands reaching up to his shoulders as she shuddered at the feeling of slick between her legs and keened at the feeling of his covered cock rubbing against her throbbing clit.

"What d'ya want, baby? Hm?"

"Fuck," her voice broke as she hid her face in the crook of his neck, face damp with tears and sweat, "need more. Please, Rick - feels good, wan' more."

Rick groaned as his head fell back at her words, "shit, you want more, sweetheart? I'll give you more."

His hands reached down to his boxers, Alora whining loudly as he stopped their obscene movements. Rick tutted at the girl, nipping at her exposed breasts as she jumped and twitched upon his lap, "it's okay, baby. I got you."

He pulled down his boxers, fisting his red cock as Alora stared at it with parted lips. Rick smirked at the girl, "don't worry, sweetheart. I'll let you taste it next time."

Alora flushed deeply, hand coming to smack Rick upon the chest as she rolled her eyes and mumbled 'shut up'.

Rick huffed a laugh as his hands returned to her hips, he lifted her up so she was hovering above his stiffened cock and then placed her down upon his stomach so her pretty little cunt was flush against the head of his cock, leaving it trapped between her throbbing clit and his hard muscles.

Rick leaned back, a grin upon his face as he nodded towards her fidgeting hips - he sounded breathless as he spoke, "move those hips for me, baby."

Alora looked at him, almost unsure, but placed her hands behind her upon his thighs as she shifted forwards and back. A drawn out moan escaped her as her head fell back, her long hair tickling his legs as his hands reached to grip her hips tight enough to leave bruises.

His hands guided her to move faster- harder.

She moved up his body, her hips moving frantically as she hovered above his face. Their eyes met as Alora's own filled with tears at the pleasure she felt and Rick only hesitated for a moment before a hand wound itself in her hair and tugged her froward for a sloppy kiss.

The two chased their high, growing desperate as the seconds ticked by until Alora's pussy began to clench and her empty hole ached for Rick's cock. He pulled her into his chest, so close himself that he could see stars.

"Cum for me, baby."

And she did, a loud moan passing her lips as she shuddered upon his lap before falling in a heap atop his chest. Her fatigued body didn't stop Rick from chasing his own high, groaning at the sound of her whimpers as she grew overtsimulated as he continued to bounce her pretty body on the lap, and dug his fingers into the flesh of her rump before finishing with a guttural groan.

He twisted her head up with a hand in her hair, biting her lower lip as his fingers reached down to her twitching pussy to find her tortured clit. He kissed her with an amused smile as he flicked the puffy bead and relished in the feeling of her slick pooling in his lap and the sound of her harsh whines.

He brought his slick-ridden fingers to her lips, tracing them before pushing his fingers in, "suck."

And so she did, on command with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

Fuck.

Rick had a feeling he could get used to this - maybe the run didn't go as bad as he thought it did.

Especially not if it ended with her naked in his arms and his fingers in her mouth.

#rick grimes x oc #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes #rick grimes x you #rick grimes fic #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes smut #rick grimes fluff #the walking dead #warmth

85 notes · View notes

sayafics · 5 months

Note

I just read cherry season. Is there gonna be a pt2. If so, when will it be in the works?

Hiii, yes there is, and I just posted it now! <33

#rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x oc #rick grimes smut #rick grimes fic #rick grimes fanfiction

3 notes · View notes

sayafics · 5 months

Text

Cherry Season - Part 2

Sorry for the long wait, guys, but I do hope you enjoy part 2 (I have plans for a part 3👀).

Warnings: smut, public teasing

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Rick hadn't found Valerie that day. He hadn't seen her wandering about the camp either. Not the next day, or the one after.

A week flew by, and Rick's stomach filled with lead as the girl he found himself craving escaped his sights with ease. He had tried to seek her out, but it seemed she was much better at hiding than he would have liked.

Dread burrowed under his skin, a quiet voice growing louder inside his head - it was his actions that must have scared her away.

Perhaps she didn't feel the same way he did, but did not know how to deny him.

Perhaps she grew bored of him and found entertainment elsewhere - Lori had done that, and the betrayal still sat bitter upon him tongue.

Rick wasn't a fool - he had heard the hushed rumours throughout the camp as they spoke of Valerie's private shooting lessons with Shane whenever Rick tried to seek her out. The whispers would cause him to clench his jaw in frustration, hands fisted, and brows furrowed as envy festered in his chest.

It did not go unnoticed by him that despite every session Shane had claimed they left to go practice, the makeshift shooting range remained empty.

Rick found himself growing restless, hands twitching as anger began to bubble in place of envy, where resentment grew in place of sadness. Such sinister feelings that began to bubble over in this moment now.

***

It had been a while since the camp had come into Hershel's home to dine with him and his family - the first time had already been so awkward, and this was much the same.

Truth be told, this was Maggie's idea more than anyone else's. Valerie's solemn mood had not gone unnoticed by her, nor did Valerie's every attempt to escape Rick's line of vision or Shane's incessant presence, that loomed around the girl she considered a younger sister.

Maggie had been worried Valerie and Rick had a falling out, and it was whatever argument they had out that caused the girl to shy away from the presence of others and caused Shane to seek her out instead.

Still, something did not sit right with Maggie. The idea that one of her baby sisters was out there with an openly aggressive and violent man, who would rather wave around his gun than use his words, had her on edge.

She hoped a dinner like this would force Valerie and Rick to talk, to resolve the issues they had, and to become friends again. Because Maggie was sure of one thing - she trusted Rick much more than Shane.

Of course, she didn't know the true extent of the feelings the pair held for each other, but even a blind person could have felt the bond the two had shared - the trust and friendship, the loyalty and kindness. All of which had disappeared in the blink of an eye, and Rick could not figure out why.

***

At dinner, the clattering of utensils being laid out sounded sharply throughout the room. Everyone sat stiff upon their chairs as more and more people filed in through the doors.

Rick was one of the last to step in, Glenn and Shane only paces behind him.

He looked upon the room, their slowed pace giving him the barest of moments to think as he searched across the table frantically.

It seemed there was no extra table placed today; instead, everyone sat clustered around a single, long, oaken table with falsely mustered smiles and polite nods.

There were three seats left open - one between Lori and Dale, the other between Maggie and Beth, and the last sat between Patricia and Valerie. It was clear who Maggie was saving her chair for, and it was also clear who Lori hoped would sit in the one she had saved.

Some part of Rick hoped Valerie had saved that seat for him, but from the way her shoulders stiffened and eyes widened at the sight of him, he had a sinking feeling that was not the case.

Valerie looked as beautiful as ever, but she also looked tired. Her hair that fell in shiny curls was pulled back into a messy ponytail, her eyes that shone with kindred glee seemed dull as they were sunken down with bags that were a sign she had not been sleeping, her body that she would adorn in the brightest and prettiest dresses sat covered with a hefty jumper and thick trousers.

This was not the girl he had met when he came to the farm, this was not the girl who he kissed and fucked, this was not the girl who begged him for more and held him against her like she didn't need anything else.

This was not his Valerie.

Had he done this to her?

Had he broken something within her and not realised all this time?

Rick could hear Shane's gruelling voice grow clearer as he drew closer, and in those moments, Rick did not hesitate for a beat.

Rick would get the answers to his nagging questions, and if he was truly as guilty as he felt, he would punish himself as she saw fit. He would take his life if it gave her a shred of happiness - he would have offered it to her freely, if his son had not been sitting only a few seats away.

Rick marched with determination, ignoring Lori's call for him as he rounded occupied chairs and sat heavily upon the chair on Valerie's right - it creaked under his weight, and he pulled himself closer to the table.

The gap was tight, his arm pressed against Valerie's as he shuffled closer to her under the guise of giving Patricia more space - in doing so, his thigh pressed flush against her own.

He could see how she tensed at his touch, and his heart dropped at the sight. Valerie began to pick at the skin around her nails, darting eyes meeting the vicious glare of Shane that promised nothing but hurt as he sat next to Lori in a huff.

A warm hand enclosed over her fumbling fingers, and she just about managed to repress a flinch.

Valerie looked down at her lap, thinking she would find Maggie's comforting embrace - instead, it was Rick's hands, skin calloused and rough, that held her hands gently. His touch was warm and kind, something that almost seemed foreign now.

Valerie could almost feel the tears that stung her eyes, and she took a deep breath, hoping neither Rick or Maggie would notice. One glance across the table was enough for her to know Shane did - he had seen enough of them.

Valerie couldn't help but relax under Rick's touch, couldn't help but admire him as subtly as she could - the way his curls brushed against his forehead, the way his jumper sat snug against his shoulders, the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips in a nervous twitch. She felt her body burn at the sight of him, sing at the feel of him - his scent, his touch, his voice.

His voice.

Oh, how she had missed the sound.

It had only been a week, and yet it felt like years had passed by being stuck in the grasp of a beast she could not escape.

"Hey, sweetheart," his voice rang low as bowls of food were passed around, and small chatter broke out across the table after a quiet prayer. His words were almost cautious, as if testing to see her reaction. The rasp of his voice sent a shudder through her.

It seemed Rick had mistaken her shudder as an act of repulsion, his face falling as his grip loosened.

Valerie found she did not care that Shane's heated stare sat fixed upon her, she found that she did not care if Maggie happened to glance her way and noticed or that Hershel sat only a few breaths away.

As Rick's hand came to rest on the table, Valerie threw hers atop is a rush, intertwining their fingers to tug the limb back into her lap and away from any eager eyes.

Valerie was almost sure she could hear Shane's growling breaths from across the table, but when Rick's eyes brightened at her reciprocation and he tightened his fingers around her own, she found her fear of him dwelling.

She was sure she would pay for such an act of disobedience after, but she would find comfort in it now.

***

That day in the woods, Shane had taken a part of her she would never get back.

He hadn't hurt her in the way she thought he would have - he wasn't a rapist, was what he had said. He was a good man, and he could be a good husband, a good father was what Shane had claimed.

But he had kissed her when she didn't want it, touched her where she didn't want him to - he ignored her begging and her pleas, he groped and petted and licked and kissed whereever he pleased.

And the days after that incident, Shane found that he did not want to stop doing so. At least not until Valerie could realise that Shane was telling the truth - Valerie had to believe him, Shane wasn't a liar. He was a good man. He is.

He is sure of it.

She would agree with him one day. She would agree with him soon. And when she did, he would take that final piece of her, and she would no longer belong to Rick, and Rick would no longer want her.

***

"Hi, Rick."

Valerie's grip tightened as the words passed her lips like a confession - she stared up at his blue eyes, and it was almost like staring into the vast and endless sky. Looking into the glowing hues of blue, an almost child-like whisper came forth in Valerie's mind - wishing she was a bird so she could fly free. Or perhaps a fish, and his eyes were the sea, and she could swim endlessly.

Something within his eyes darkens as his name rolls off her tongue, and pride swells inside his chest as he catches Shane and Lori in his peripheral vision, simmering with fury. He almost laughed. Almost.

Rick turned his attention to his plate, feigning interest in the food and offering compliments even though he would rather be tasting something much more desirable.

The table continued in its chatter, the volume growing louder as Glenn and Dale shared laughs across the table, and T-Dog dove into stories of his life before the dead began to walk. Bubbles of laughter and snorting cluttered around the table, and the home they all sat in almost felt warm and full of life, and it was as though, for just one moment, everyone was able to forget all their losses and breathe freely.

Valerie watched with curious eyes as Jimmy loaded Beth's plate with food, refilling her cup with a broad grin upon his face. There was a faint smile upon her lips, watching Beth be doted upon. Beth met her eyes, ones full of longing and hope for something similar, with a sparkling smile as though she knew something Valerie didn't.

A breath of warm air brushed against her cheek, and Valerie flinched as Beth tried to hide her stifled giggles with a mouthful of potatoes.

Valerie froze with a forkful of potatoes sat right upon her tongue, and Rick's rasped words sent chills down her spine as her grip on the cutlery tightened.

"Kinda disappointed, y'know. Mm, thought you'd come find me by now, turns out I couldn't even find you."

Valerie slid the fork from her mouth, chewing her food slowly as Rick leaned back and watched her with expectation set in his gaze. Everyone else around them seemed oblivious to the growing tension between them, except Beth, who corralled her father into focusing upon her instead.

Rick's hand placed itself upon her thigh. She was able to feel its warmth through her trousers, and she suppressed a shiver at the heavy weight of it. His fingers traced circles almost absent-mindedly, but there was a soft smirk upon his face as he took deliberately slow sips from his glass of water - "m'ybe you can make it up to me," his voice lowered into a whipser as he drifted closer towards her, mindful of the proximity of others.

"Do you wanna do that, sweetheart? You want me to make you cum with everyone watching? Wouldn't be the first time you came on this table, would it?"

Valerie's eyes almost widened in disbelief - it was as though Rick had simply forgotten all of which had made him angry and envious. It was as though he forgot that the man who had stolen her away from him sat opposite them with a knife in his hand and a gun in his pocket.

Valerie was almost too fearful to respond, terrified if Shane caught onto their acts of mischief he would unleash chaos amongst them all.

She was his. That was what Shane had said that day in the woods. She belonged to him, she was his prize for surviving. Not Rick's.

So why was it that her body burned and flushed at his words? Why was it that his insinuations had her shuffling upon her chair as her thighs twitched in anticipation?

Why is it that a growing ache within her begged for Rick's touch?

Perhaps it was because she had gone too long without it. She had gone too long without being herself, and without her pretty and pliant self on display for all to see that she feared Rick would have lost interest.

But as a hesitant hand began to drag Rick's patienly waiting one from her thigh to her clothed cunt, watching the way his eyes darkened and his breath halted as her warmth could be felt from even outside her trousers, she found herself hopeful it was not simply her looks he had been enamoured by.

"Good girl," his voice was a deep rasp as he readjusted himself lower upon his seat to ease the discomfort of his hardening cock.

With the table as their guise, Rick's fumbling hand was hidden from sight as he kept his face passive and contributed to conversations when he was called upon.

He kept his movements slow as he slipped his fingers underneath her waistband, trembling fingers tracing every inch of her he could find as his skin flushed a dark crimson at the feel of her supple flesh.

No one paid much mind to the flustered cop as he almost blanched when his fingers met Valerie's bare mound when he had expected panties to be hidden underneath.

Such a thought brought back the memory of the one he had stolen from the girl during their first night together - he remembers wrapping it around his aching cock as he fisted himself - harsh and rough - in the days he could not find his dearest Valerie.

As his fingers slipped lower, brushing across the sensitive flesh and tracing her twitching clit before circling her entrance that had been neglected for a time Rick believed was far too long.

Valerie gasped a quiet breath, hips rocking into his teasing touch without much afterthought. It was then Rick inched his hand away from her aching, puffy cunt. She would do anything for more - she would protest aloud for all to hear if she must.

But she kept mum, fearful of the humiliation she would face if her daring ventures were to become known to all. Instead, she slipped a free hand down past her waistband, brushing against Rick's own in a desperate attempt to satiate the fire burning within her.

She tried to keep her face expressionless, eyes focused intensely upon her plate as Rick's finger joined her own to scribble messy patterns upon her pretty clit. She ground herself against the palm of his hand as subtley as she could, eyes almost ready to roll back as she coughed lightly to hold back jerky whimpers.

Rick's fingers dipped into the wetness that seeped from her weeping cunt, dragging the precious cream she had leaked over her clit to provide more stimulation. He sped up his movements, remaining still upon his seat so as to not arouse suspicion.

Valerie shovelled food down her throat, the cutlery passing much deeper into her mouth than appropriate as she found herself imagining his thick and heavy member in its place.

Her hips almost lifted from the chair as she inched closer towards the end of the chair, watching with wide eyes at those who continued to eat and converse unknowingly beside them.

Her grip on the fork tightened, and she forced her eyes to remain open as she bit her tongue to hold back any sounds that wanted to force their way through.

God, she was so close.

Fuck.

Her hand wrapped around his wrist, nails digging into the flesh, leaving marks in its wake as tears stung her eyes from pure stimulation.

And then, nothing.

Her breath caught in her throat, and a sinking feeling of desperation weighed heavily upon her as she turned to Rick in betrayal.

Rick watched her with amusement, his cock hardening further at the sight of her needy pouts and subtle panting. His hand left her sweats, a final tap upon her bare cunt that resounded as a quiet and wet slap, causing her to shudder as she tried to hold back her whines of disappointment.

Rick glanced around the table, a proud smirk upon his face as he caught Shane's eyes.

Shane looked at the man with barely concealed fury, trembling with anger upon his seat as his food remained untouched, but the cutlery creaked beneath his unrelenting grip.

His smirk broadened into a grin, a challenge in his eyes as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked off Valerie's wetness with pride. He almost laughed as Shane continued to bristle, removing his fingers to return his hand under Valerie's clothes and wipe his saliva across her twitching flesh.

Valerie glanced between the pair as she darkened with a heady flush, the sight of Rick's unabashed claim causing a steady stream of wetness to coat her inner thighs as she squirmed upon her seat.

Her hands found his arm again, holding it tight as she forced herself to stay still upon her chair so as not to gather more attention.

She looked up at him with hunger in her eyes, hoping they would translate all that her whines could not at this moment.

Rick leaned closer, uncaring of watchful eyes as he tutted quietly into her ear.

"I'll tell you what baby," fingers dipping under her waistband to hover over her aching cunt, "you want me to finish what you started, you leave your bedroom door unlocked tonight, hm?"

He looked at her with expectant eyes, and she found herself nodding vigorously is ascent.

"What was that? Use your words, sweetheart."

"Yes," a whispered whine escaped her lipds as her eyes darted around to ensure all were too occupied to eavesdrop, "yes please, Rick."

"Good girl," with that, he tapped a parting goodbye to her soaked cunt, relishing in the way her hips canted towards his hand. He brought his hand to his own lap now, feigning innocence to all that had just occured.

Perhaps it was his non-chalance or the way he had forgiven her so quickly, but a daring spark came alight within her, and she felt a small smile tug upon her lips.

She leaned over Rick, peering around his broad chest in pretence of trying to seek the gaze of her father. In doing so, she created the perfect opportunity to slip her hands into his lap, or more precisely upon the hardened buldge he sought to hide.

She ground her palm against it, relishing in the way his hips jumped up to meet her touch.

"Papa, can you pass me the potato salad?"

There was a pout on her lips, but her eyes sparkled with mischief as her hands squeezed Rick's cock - he could feel himself leak pre-cum from within his jeans, praying no wet spot would be found when he stood from the table.

His hand came around her wrist, gripping them tightly to stop her ministrations. She only rubbed against his weeping cock harder, as she leaned foward to take the bowl from her father's hand with a spare hand.

As she took her seat again, her hand never left his twitching member and she took care to lean into his ears as she spoke in a tantalising whine, "maybe I can make you cum again too."

Fuck.

Rick ground his teeth, his body heating and his cock stiffening uncomfortably, as he imagined the girl upon her knees with his cock stuffed inside her mouth and her hands playing with the parts of him that were too long to fit into the warmth of her.

Just as he had done, she removed her hands in feigned innocence, a pleasant smile upon her face as the images of Shane slipped from her mind and the fantasies of Rick took their place.

***

Valerie escaped his grasp after dinner, dirty promises being whispered into Rick's ears as she manoeuvred around the man to collect plates and cups. Rick watched her with eager eyes, his hands reaching for her every time he thought it was safe enough.

She stood at the sink now. Most had vacated the kitchen apart from Rick, who watched the girl quietly from his place at the table.

He stood, the chair creaking as it scrapes across the wooden floor - he watched as she tensed at the sounds, an excited tremble working its way down her spine as she tried not to peer over her shoulder.

He came behind her, hands tightening upon her hips as he dragged her rump against his stiffened cock. He ground his hips into her covered flesh, quiet groans escaping his lips as he spoke, "shit, you feel that baby. You feel what you're doing to me. Fuck, I need you baby."

The plate in her hand clattered as it fell into the sink, her soapy hands gripping the edge of the sink as a whine escaped her throat and she pushed back into his hardness.

"Fuck, you want it just as bad, don't you? Such a desperate little girl."

"Rick, please."

Her whines were tinged with desperation as her cold and wet hands found his hands to tug under her jumper and towards her breasts. Rick pulled her closer, grinding against her as he massaged the tender flesh of her breasts.

Her head tilted back to rest against his shoulders, her breaths leaving her in harsh pants, "more- wan' more."

Rick couldn't think straight, his head was heavy with lust and he simply prayed no one would walk in on them. He turned her roughly to face him, hands tight upon her waist as he heaved her upon the counter and dragged her towards the edge.

Fuck, he would take her right here if he could.

But it was too early, and he didn't want any wandering eyes to see Valerie so vulnerable. No that was just for him.

At this height, her weepy cunt could grind into his hardened member with ease. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she tugged him closer, the two rubbing against each other like they were teenagers who had just discovered sex.

Her hips canted up to meet his frenzied thrusts, low moans escaping her mouth as she tried to stay quiet.

Rick's lips found her own, groaning into the pliant flesh as he bit her lip and slipped in his tongue.

Fuck, it had been too long.

This was what he had needed all this time, all he had wanted.

He began to trail kisses upon her neck, biting and marking the flesh an array of reds and pinks as they ground against each other faster, the two of them so close to climax they grew dizzy at the sensation.

"Val!"

The pair froze, panting and wide-eyed as they searched around them for the owner of the voice.

"Valerie!"

It was coming from upstairs - Maggie.

"Ye-" Valerie's voice cracked, rough and raw as her body continued to tremble in Rick's grip who continued his movements in slow ministrations as he realised they had not been caught yet.

His head sat upon her covered breasts, mouthing them through her jumper and biting them harshly, making Valerie jump in her place as her cunt burned with desire.

Valerie cleared her throat, "yeah, Mags?"

Her voice sounded across the hallway, and she waited quietly for a response, hands petting through his curls and tugging them as Rick groaned quitely into her.

"Bring me a glass o' orange juice after y're done, please!"

Valerie rolled her eyes, but she guessed she should be pleased Maggie didn't come down to get it herself and catch them in the act.

"Okay!"

She huffed a breath of disappointment, and Rick chucked quietly as he shifted himself into the crook of her neck, "I'll tell you what, sweetheart - I gotta put Carl to bed, so why don't you finish up here and get pretty for me, yeah? Then I can fuck you nice and good, and no one can disturb us, hm?"

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're more desperate than me," there was a teasing smile upon her face.

Rick grinned, "maybe I am."

***

Valerie was in her room, clothes strewn across the room as she tried to find an outfit she knew Rick would like.

She almost beamed with excitement when she found what she was looking for - a pair of white cotton lingerie with tiny cherries printed across the material.

He would go crazy for this.

Valerie threw her clothes back into the closet in a frenzy before turning towards her full-length mirror. She stripped in front of her reflection, an eager grin upon her face.

One which fell as she looked at the sight of her body.

Scratches and bites that did not come from Rick, bruises and redness that did not come from passionate sex.

Her gut roiled in worry, terrified of what Rick would think when he saw the state of her flesh.

Would he think her to be used and worn out? Would he discard her with ease?

That was what Shane said he would've done, but there wasn't much women left in the world so he would take what he could get. And he thought he could take her.

Her eyes burned at the sight of her marred flesh, doubt colouring her features, and she worried her lower lip with her teeth.

She was thinking about stopping tonight altogether, saying no to Rick until the bruises and marks and faded and healed.

But she craved his touch. She needed it just as much as he did.

Fuck, what was she going to do?

It seemed she didn't have much time to think. A flurry of knocks sounded against her door before it peeled open.

Valerie felt her heart sink at the possibility it could be Rick, or even worse - Shane.

Shane had been so angry during the dinner, and she wouldn't be surprised if he had caught on to their antics either.

God, she hoped it was not him.

Instead, it was Glenn's head, which poked through the gap, his sentence falling short as his eyes widened in shock - "hey, Mags is loo-"

His face grew pale, not only because he had walked in on Maggie's little sister half-dressed but also because of the marks that littered her torso and her thighs.

His head shrunk back from the gap, glancing along the corridor before he threw himself into the room. Glenn shut the door behind him, his words panicked as he watched her with something akin to pity.

"What the- shit, Valerie, what the hell happened to you?"

Valerie could only stare at him with her mouth agape, unsure of what to do as dread and terror began to build.

"Valerie? Val-" he drew closer towards her, stopping only when he saw her flinch. He threw his hands up in placation, "hey, Valerie. C'mon, this is important. Who did this to you?"

Her eyes began to water, tears falling in steady streams as she shakes her head in panic, "no. No. No, Glenn you can't tell anyone."

Glenn tilts his head in confusion, "that doesn't answer my question - Valerie, those bruises are recent. As in, last-few-days recent. Who did this?"

Her breaths came out in stuttered pants, "I can't tell you."

"Hey," his voice softened as he watched her tremble with fear and doubt, "Yes, you can. You gotta tell me who did this, Val. We gotta tell Maggie. We gotta tell someone. Someone hurt you, Valerie. Someone in this camp."

"You don't know that," her voice cracked in protest, "you don't know who did it, and you can't tell anyone. Especially not Maggie."

Glenn paced around the room in distress, hands rubbing down his face as he looked frantically across the space. He found a blanket upon the bed, walking towards it and grabbing it as he made his way back to Valerie.

"Valerie, come on, you have to tell me. Who did this to you?"

She sniffled quietly, head shaking 'no' as she looked towards the ground. Her body heated in humiliation as an ache festered in her throat.

Glenn sighed quietly, throwing the blanket around her shoulders and covering the girl before he wrapped his arms around her.

It seems that was all it took to break the dam. Heavy and broken sobs sounded through the room as she held Glenn in a tight embrace.

"Please don't tell Maggie. She can't know."

"She should know Val, she can help you."

"No," her voice was tight, eyes almost manic as she pulled back from him, "no. Please. I can handle it. I've already handled it. I promise."

Valerie knew her words were a lie, but Glenn didn't need to know that.

"Promise me you won't tell Maggie."

Glenn looked at the girl in disbelief, "you can't ask me to do that, Valerie. Not when we both know I saw those bruises on you..."

"Glenn, please. I swear, I'll fix it. I'll make him stop, just don't tell Maggie."

"Him? Who is he? It's someone on camp, right?"

She just stared at his with silent desperation, hands holding the blanket tight to her body as she waited for him to concede.

He sighed, hands rubbing his jaw in frustration, "fine. I won't tell Maggie, I promise. But if this doesn't stop - if he doesn't stop, you come to me. And you tell me."

She nodded, tears falling with renewed vigour as whispered 'thank you's slipped past her lips.

"You gotta promise me, Val." In this moment, Glenn looked much older than he truly was, burdened by secrets and violence he was no clue how to cope with.

"I promise," a watery smile tugged across her face as she wiped her tears with the blanket in her grasp.

Glenn pressed a brotherly kiss upon her head and gave the girl a parting hug.

When he closed the door behind him, he felt his heart weigh heavy with dread. He walked down the corridor, opening Maggie's door to step inside.

"Hey, where's Val?"

Glenn hesitated for a moment, the truth sitting upon the tip of his tongue.

But he promised.

"Sorry, Mags. She was already asleep."

"Oh," Maggie frowned, "I've been worried about her, you know. She's quieter than normal."

Glenn could feel guilt welling in his throat as he nodded, "I'm sorry. Look, I promised Rick I would help him with something before we went to sleep, you don't mind-"

"No, of course not. Go, help your camp." She gave him an indulgent smile, and it helped ease the guilt in his soul.

He left the house promptly, barraging his way through the camp as he found Dale and Rick by a waning fire, deep in conversation.

Rick looked antsy and restless, eyes darting towards the house Glenn left in the distance.

Valerie had made him promise not to tell Maggie, but Rick? Rick was their camp's leader, and someone in the camp had hurt Valerie. If anyone could help, it would be him.

And Glenn hadn't promised to hide the truth from Rick.

There was a grave look upon Glenn's face, and Rick felt something cold wash over him as Glenn beckoned him over.

"Everything good, Glenn?"

Glenn frowned, head turned downwards as a hand came to rub at the back of his neck.

"It's about Valerie."

Rick's heart sank, worry flowing over in crashing waves as he stood straighter in alarm.

"Is she okay?"

It was all he could think to ask - is she okay? Is she alive?

"Something happened to Valerie, Rick. Someone hurt her. Someone in our camp."

Rick felt his heart ache as anger bubbled within him, his limbs trembling as his jaw twitched, his head twisting from one side to another and unfiltered rage poured within him from the depths of hell below.

"Who?"

#rick grimes x oc #rick grimes smut #rick grimes fic #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x you

78 notes · View notes

sayafics · 5 months

Text

Envious cravings - Part 2

Sorry for the long wait on this chapter!

Unfortunately, this chapter was so long I had to split it into 2 parts, so Part 3 will be up soon, I promise!

That also means Part 2 does not contain smut. However, I promise lots of lovely Criston x OC, Daemon x OC, and smut moments in part 3 ❤️

Part 1

Masterlist

The days had passed by slowly, a treacherous peace imbued in the air of the Keep as the Blacks and the Greens existed in peace.

That did not stop Visenya's mind from racing every passing second, did not stop her from hesitating with every word and every breath - fearful she would say something wrong, do something wrong. Terrified she would anger her uncle, and he would expose her dalliances to all the Court, for them to mock and humiliate her.

She had thought distancing herself from her dearest Knight would help, but it only caused an ache to fester in her heart as she ran into his arms in the shadows of her chambers only days later. She blubbered and whimpered in his safe embrace, unable to speak of the secret Daemon held over them both.

No. If she was to tell him Daemon knew, Criston would wreak havoc - he would go on a rampage and hurt everyone in his path to get to Daemon.

Or perhaps he would leave her all together and choose his white cloak over her love.

No. She did not want such a possibility to be in question.

Criston could not know.

He couldn't.

Visenya spent countless nights praying whilst Criston dozed upon her bare chest. She traced shapes across his back and massaged his scalp as fervent pleas and frenzied whispers passed her lips.

She prayed this would pass and that Daemon would forget. She prayed the Blacks would leave the Keep and return to Dragonstone.

She prayed and prayed and prayed.

It seemed that the Seven had not been as attentive as she'd hoped - for it was only mere days later a rumble of excitement danced through the Keep.

A wedding, her handmaidens spoke.

A Lord from House Lannister, the knights muttered amongst themselves.

Lord Jason Lannister, it was announced in the Small Hall that night, had been offered the hand of a Targaryen Princess at King Viserys' behest.

But Rhaenyra was wed with children, and so was Helaena.

Oh.

Dread settled in the pit of Visenya's stomach at the news, her face pale and hands trembling.

From his place behind her seat, standing tall and proud, Criston ground his teeth in a bid to prevent slurs and seething protests from escaping his lips.

Lord Jason Lannister was a hunter and a warrior, a man far too proud and arrogant of his accomplishments and his family name.

A man much too old that had once proposed to Rhaenyra only to be turned away - a man that was ancient in comparison to a Princess as young as Visenya, but of course the rotting corpse of Viserys Targaryen saw no such discourse in such a match, with his child-bride Queen at his side.

Viserys announced that the betrothal was to take place the next day, staring at his daughter with a stubborn smile even as his flesh peeled away. Visenya could only nod as nausea bit at her throat, so quick she had been handed away. So fast she would be sent away.

Tomorrow, he had said.

Tomorrow, and she would no longer see her brothers and sister.

Tomorrow, and she would have to leave her mother.

Tomorrow, and she would no longer be Criston's.

One day, he had said. But it seems he was far too late now.

Visenya had cried herself to sleep that day, tiring herself out after she berated her Shield, after she begged him and pleaded with him, after she pushed him and yelled at him, after she told him to leave and begged him to stay.

Criston was ready to ask her to elope, for them to run away in a manner that he had asked Rhaenyra once. But he knew she would refuse, just as her half-sister did.

Criston had asked Rhaenyra as a saving grace for his shattered vows, to restore his honour and keep the fraying threads of his life together.

Rhaenyra denied him in favour of her riches and her crown.

But Visenya? He would ask her out of love, out of undying devotion and utter adoration.

But Visenya would stay out of loyalty to the Greens, terrified to leave them to be torn and ravaged by the Blacks.

She could not leave Aegon, her dearest twin. Could not leave him to be burdened by a throne he did not want.

She was older than Aegon, but Aegon was a boy - thus, the responsibility of claiming the crown as its rightful heir bypassed her and fell upon her breaking brother's shoulders.

Visenya could not leave him to bear such a weight alone - she was too loving, too kind, too caring. So Criston knew he could not ask such a sacrifice of her, knew she would not be able to bear the distance between herself and her brother. He knew she would not say yes - not to this.

***

"Are you ready, Princess?"

Criston's words were sombre from behind the doors, his throat tight as he waited for a reply.

Visenya stared at her reflection in the mirror - eyes flitting across her dusted cheeks, the rubies that weighed upon her throat like droplets of dragon's blood, the thick and velvety crimson of her gown that seemed to darken in contrast to her pale hair that was let loose down her back with three intricate braids meeting at the back in a poor reflection of a crown.

Her eyes burned at the sight - today would be the day she lost Criston forever. Jason Lannister would be welcomed to the Court with open arms, and use her as a brooding-mare in exchange.

"Princess?"

Still no word. Terrified her voice would break as she called out to her knight, she made her way to the doors instead.

Her hands trembled as she creaked the door open, just enough for Criston to peak inside. His shoulders fell with visible relief at the sight of her, knowing she was alive and breathing, even if she was not happy.

He could not help himself as he marvelled upon the sight of her, eyes roving over her figure as his breath caught in his throat and he heated within his armour.

He coughed harshly, aware of the eyes of the King's Guards beside him as they waited for him to usher the Princess out so they could escort her to the banqueting hall safely - "Princess," he looked crestfallen now, as though the words he was about to say had shattered something within him, "it is time."

Visenya took a shaky breath, nodding softly as her hands came to fidget with her hair - "you look beautiful."

Criston's softened whisper caused tears to well in her eyes, her throat ached as her chest weighed heavy - would this be the last she heard of his sweet words?

Even if Lord Lannister had decided to live in the Keep, which was unlikely in itself, he would not let another man breathe near her - a virgin princess was far too good of an opportunity to lose to another.

A bitter tang tasted upon her tongue, all this hassle and all this hurt simply because she was a virgin.

Visenya looked towards the ground, trying to hide her flaming cheeks from any onlookers as she smiled faintly at Criston's words.

"Come. The Queen is waiting outside the hall for us."

Us.

Oh, how she wishes it was Criston she was to wed tonight. How she wishes it was him her father had said yes to. How she wishes it would be him who fathers her children. Him who brought her desires to life. Him who loved her and cared for her and adored her.

Visenya stayed quiet, unwilling to speak, knowing she would do nothing but break. She simply nodded at the man, her eyes waning with terror as she stepped back from the door so he could push them open further.

Criston could have fallen to his knees at the sight - perhaps he would have, did they not have witnesses as of this moment.

But he knew better - he recalled his vows and prayed fervently to the Seven to help him stay bound to them.

He held out his arm for the Princess to take, guiding her towards her fate with a withering heart and a miserable soul.

***

The Queen dismissed the King's Guards with a scattered wave, walking slowly towards her daughter and Ser Cole - there was a grave look upon her face, as though she was staring into a reflection as she gazed upon her daughter.

Alicent had worn white at her wedding, a symbol of her purity and her intact maidenhead.

Visenya wore red, bathed in blood as though she was nothing more than a sacrificial lamb to a ravenous beast.

Gone was the dragon. In its place remained a girl, so young and so unprepared, she was not sure how to say no anymore. Unsure of how to beg for what she wanted, who she wanted.

Criston could not complain. He had kept quiet just the same - he held a scrap of hope that despite her marriage to the Lord of House Lannister, the King would ensure Criston continued to protect the Princess and stayed at her side.

It was that dwindling ounce of hope that had him bite back his tongue, fearful of saying a word lest it mean he was to remain in the Keep whilst she was shipped away.

Alicent's smile wobbled at the sight of her daughter, so beautiful and so brave, her eyes watering as she cupped her face in her hands - "you look so beautiful, my sweet child."

Visenya leaned into her hold, eyes closing tight to stop tears from leaking down her face. Still she didn't speak a word.

Alicent placed a soft kiss upon her head, and the arm that was wound around Criston's tightened - "come, my dear girl. The King is waiting."

Alicent turned towards the lumbering doors, the post empty as Alicent hoped for a moment of privacy with her daughter - she was not sure why. Perhaps it was to see if she truly wanted this - Alicent was sure she didn't.

But even then, to deny would make no difference as Alicent had lost her power in Court the day Viserys had chosen Rhaenyra over Aemond.

Alicent's hand reached towards the doors to rap her knuckles against it and call to the knights to part them open. Instead, a gasping breath caught her attention.

"Princess!" Criston watched her in alarm - Visenya had only taken a few stumbled steps towards her mother before she had stopped, taking one gasp full of air before another.

A hand came and pounded upon her chest, the first words she had spoken all day came crashing out in an agonised whimper, "I cannot breathe."

Alicent rushed back in a flurry, pulling her daughter from Criston's grasp to hold onto her shoulders firm, "Visenya, you must calm down."

"No, n-... no, cannot breathe. Please, mother."

Her skin flushed red as the tears flowed endlessly - no, she could not do this, she couldn't.

Not when she knew she didn't love the Lannister Lord. Not when she knew the man she did love stood only a mere few inches away.

Alicent was at a loss of what to do, her heart aching at the sight of her child in such a state of fear and panic, "my child. My sweet girl, I need you to breathe. Take slow breaths for me."

Visenya only shook her head vigorously, her breaths coming out fast and shallow as her skin began to blanch under the wobbling lights of the flamed torches that set the Keep alight.

Criston found he could not watch any longer, hands moving on their own accord to gather the girl in his arms and pull her close.

Alicent's hands fell to her side as she watched the scene in confusion, brows furrowing, and her heart sinking as she watched Ser Cole cup her daughter's face in his hands, tilting her head up to meet his gaze.

His eyes were soft, they were quiet and warm as they met lavendar hues pooled with dread and misery. Visenya's harsh breaths felt hot against his skin, and he found his eyes flitting between her panicked ones and parted lips with worry.

"Breathe, Visenya."

Her name was a quiet whisper upon his lips, as though he wanted to savour the taste of it upon his tongue, as though he did not want others to hear the precious name and repeat it to undeserving ears.

Visenya trembled in his grasp, her hands leaving her chest as she wound them around his wrists and closed her eyes tight. Her head shook minutely, her breaths now ragged gasps as she lost herself in her tumbling thoughts.

She felt something soft brush against her head, her eyes opening just in time to see Criston press his head against her own as his hands pulled her closer to him.

"Come on, love," he pulled her hands towards his chest, exaggerated breaths leaving him as he looked into her eyes and through her soul, "breathe with me."

Visenya leaned into his presence, trying so hard to copy every breath and every movement. Trying so hard to stop her trembling hands and stand on steady feet.

Alicent watched their kinship with a heart of dread - her daughter was in love with her knight, a realisation which made Alicent fester with guilt, knowing she could not stop Visenya's undeniable future.

The girl would have to marry, and it would be to a Lord not to a Knight.

It would be to Jason Lannister and not Criston.

The minutes ticked by, but Visenya's tears slowly dried as she composed herself. Her hands never left Criston's plated chest, and his hands never slipped away from her twitching grasp.

She pulled herself back to stand taller, her face flushed red from the tears and panic but also from embarrassment. To have broken so quickly and openly, Visenya almost felt ashamed to meet her mother's gaze.

She could hear Alicent's approaching steps, and every whisper in her head became a blaring scream to let Criston go, lest her mother grow angry at the betrayal the knight had committed. But there was an incessant part of her, frail and timid, that could not bear to part from him so soon.

A weightless hand pressed against her cheek, and Visenya's eyes fluttered closed at her mother's voice - relief flushing through her body.

"Come, my child."

The three simple words had Criston relaxing under Visenya's touch, unsure of why the Queen had not acknowledged his closeness to the Princess and punished him, but far too grateful to question such a thing aloud.

It was Criston who stepped away now, eyes falling to the ground in submission to the vows he made that continued to loom over him.

Visenya's hands fell to her sides, fingers twisting in the soft fabric of her gown as she nodded in dissent, a grim smile upon her face.

***

The banquet was flourishing, Courtiers and Lords, Ladies-in-waiting and maids, even the knights were participating in the festivities. All except a sour-faced Shield who stood behind the Queen on guard, watching the Princess grimace as Lord Lannister spun her around the hall in a graceless frenzy.

Criston gritted his teeth at the sight of Lannister's wandering hands and sly whispers, he stood straight as his eyes lay fixed upon the Princess instead of attending to his duties and guarding the Queen from potential harm.

Daemon watched the seething and rageful knight from his place at the table, Rhaenyra at his side with his hand clasped between two of her own and placed upon her swollen belly. Daemon's lips quirked into a shrewd smile as he watched Criston's hands clench into fists when Lannister dipped the Princess low to the ground and shamelessly gazed down the valley of her breasts.

He gave Rhaenyra's hand a light squeeze, pulling his hand from her tightening grip to saunter his way to the Knight. He reached for a goblet, before thinking twice and reaching for another - the good Ser would need a drink, was he to watch his lover be pawed at by a man he envied.

The wedding would take place soon, the dreadful pair would exchange their vows, and their marriage would be sealed in the eyes of the Kingdom. And then, it did not matter how much Ser Cole glared and sputtered, for the Princess would no longer be his to claim.

Daemon could have almost laughed at the idea of a heartbroken Criston wandering through the halls of the Keep, so lonely and miserable.

But there was a part of his mind that blinked back to the night he had caught the pair in the throws of passion, remembers how he touched himself to the sound of her sighs and climaxed at the sight of her pleasure. He remembers her pliant body and her rasped moans.

Daemon had kept the secret to himself, so sure an opportunity would present itself to him where he could wring the sin for all its worth and bathe in the rewards of keeping such a twisted secret.

But following Criston's raging gaze to find the Princess still trapped in the wily arms of an undeserving Lord, Daemon felt a scratch of envy wedge itself in his throat - a bitter and burning sensation that spread through him, causing him to look away and pretend as though he had felt nothing at all.

Criston had not taken her maidenhead, and if she were to wed tonight, it seemed Jason Lannister would stake his claims upon it instead.

Daemon drew close to the man and stood with his back against the wall, taking careful sips from his goblet as he held the spare out to his left.

He tutted when Criston did not acknowledge him, a wretched smirk pulling across his face as he goaded - "one drink shall do you no harm, good Ser. Perhaps then you can stray your gaze from my little niece."

Criston stiffened at his words, shoulders straightening as his glare shifted from Lannister's cooing over the girl to the ground beneath his boots - "I am merely exercising caution, my Prince."

"Ah, of course. A brave knight indeed."

Criston could hear the mocking tone beneath his words, but he held his tongue so careful to draw attention to their conversation.

"Take it."

Criston simply turned to look at Daemon, a blank stare upon his face.

"As your Prince, I believe you are obliged to indulge me."

A mocking grin broke out on Daemon's face as Criston nodded his head with a clenched jaw and snatched the goblet from his outstretched hand, "of course, my Prince."

"Good. Drink your fill, I believe my niece will not be needing your keen attention tonight."

Criston made no move to drink from the goblet, his hands wrapping tight around it as his knuckles blanched at the force.

"After all," Daemon continued, a lecherous lilt to his voice as his eyes swam with amusement, "my darling niece shall no longer be a virgin tonight."

Criston held his tongue still, breaths escaping him in ragged breaths like smoke from a dragon before it roared its burning flames. He threw back the goblet with a mighty force, dismissing Alicent's wary glances that she threw over her shoulder at the unexpected pair.

Criston gritted his teeth, expecting flavoured wine in place of the sour ale that burned in his throat.

Daemon gestured for another drink to be brought, this one stronger than the last and Criston threw it back with an ease that should not be found in a man who had taken such sanctimonious vows - but he had already broke one, what harm would another do?

"Do you think she is excited?" There was a touch of laughter to Daemon's words, crazed by the idea of pushing the Knight further off the edge with every word despite how bitter the words sat upon his tongue, an added fuel to his own envious cravings.

"Do you think she is ravenous?" Daemon couldn't stop his words, couldn't stop pushing and prodding and hurting. "I think the brat would scream, do you not? I think she would be upon her knees begging the Lord Lannister for such-"

His words were cut off as the gobelt was shoved into his chest. He stumbled sideways at the force as a wild laugh escaped him, and his eyes followed the seething form of an unchained beast.

Criston shoved past Lords and Ladies, growled at his fellow knights who approached in question, glared at the Queen who called for him to return to her side.

His eyes were fixed now upon one place, one person.

Visenya. His Visenya. His Princess.

And upon her was a wretched leech, a venomous serpent who was undeserving of holding such an angel in his embrace.

Criston reached for the pommel of his sword, eyes blazing with the fire of a thousan suns as he cast it aside. The clang of the metal against the tiled grounds startled those around him, and their frozen figures and aghast stares were what dragged the attention of his Visenya and that vile beast beside her.

Visenya's brows furrowed in concern, a soft frown upon her lips as she tried to move closer towards him, his name a whisper upon her lips.

Lannister held her by the wrist, his grip so tight it made her whimper, and it made Criston seethe.

Before Lannister had an opportunity to pull the girl behind him and draw his sword out to cut Criston's head from his shoulders, the Knight had launched forward - a powerful blow was thrown against the Lord's face, and ever the hunter and warrior that he was, the old man collapsed to the ground with a painful groan.

Lannister had dropped Visenya's hand, and she paused for a moment where she stood. She wanted to reach out to Criston, to have him hold her and reassure her that this wedding would not go through, but a sea of eyes were upon them and whispers already began to spread.

Criston's eyes met her own, his gaze roiling with unbridled possessiveness and anger - anger that Lannister had touched her, anged that Lannister believed himself worthy of marriage to her, anger that Lannister could touch his princess all he wanted and Criston had to hesitate even in the darkest shadows of the Keep.

Criston searched her eyes, there was a breath that was long and heavy, and Visenya knew what he was searching for - she nodded.

Criston's head snapped back to the Lord, who was stumbling upon his feet as he spewed a littany of curses. Criston bared his teeth, an animalistic snarl escaping him as he lauched after the man once more.

For every blow the Lannister Lord landed, Criston would return with eight more. He disarmed the weakening warrior, and in the midst of a screaming crowd, he pulled the man to the ground and climbed atop him - he railed upon his with relentless blows, uncaring of the witnesses, of the fear because Visenya had said it was okay. Because Visenya had also wanted this.

Vinsenya watched her dear and daring knight beat the man half to death with morbid fascination - she felt as though she should be terrified, felt that she should be sickly and horrified.

But something twisted with her gut, something that had her cheeks flush as she pressed her thighs together when a familiar heat spread between her legs.

There was something arousing about his brutality, something tantalising and tempting about his possessive nature and undying fidelity.

Even as the crowd grew rowdy around her, she found she could not make her eyes leave the sight of her raging, angered knight. Of her Criston.

It was not until a hand wrapped around her forearm that she snapped out of her sinful fantasies, breath catching in her throat to meet the narrowed eyes of an amused Daemon.

He tugged the girl closer until her chest was pressed against his own, and he leaned in close, his breath hot against her cheeks, which flushed a heavy crimson - "I have to say, I did not think of him able to go this far. But, dare I say, little niece - you look ravishing. I can see why your loyal dog would risk his life to keep you to himself."

She swallowed roughly, thinking of what to say to deny his claims despite knowing Daemon had seen Criston pleasure her from his place within the walls. But then her heart stuttered to a pause, 'risk his life.'

That was what Daemon had said.

But, what did he mean by such a thing.

It was as though Daemon could see the confusion painted across her face, and he tutted with a pitying smile. Daemon's hand found her face, squeezing her cheeks roughly as she winced. He brushed her lower lip, biting his own at the sight of the reddened flesh before blinking himself free of his desires.

He twisted her head roughly, his grip unrelenting even at her startled gasp and dreadful cry - "no!"

Daemon wound his arm around her waist, anchoring her back against his chest as he freed her aching cheeks from his grasp.

Visenya watched in horror as the King's Guards tore Criston off the Lannister Lord, Otto Hightower yelling commands to have the knight taken to his chambers, to be confined within them until the time was right to call for a hearing.

He would be sentenced for such an attack - House Lannister would ensure it.

Would his title be stripped from him? Would he be sent back to the empty lands he came from? Or would he be sentenced to death?

Her heart sunk at the thought, eyes burning with tears as she saw the raging man meet her gaze with no ounce of regret and an endless river of love and promise.

Behind her, Daemon tightened his grip around the girl, a quiet shushing that calmed her despite her best efforts to ignore it.

Daemon turned the girl to face him, drawing her closer as she hid her face in his chest and allowed her fearful whimpers to escape freely. Her hands were twisted into the fabric of his fine tunic, just as his hands were tightened around her waist.

Rhaenyra watched the pair with a haze of confusion and anger, unwilling to lower her gaze even when Daemon had searched to find her still upon her seat at the table with a hand resting atop her swollen belly. But with a whimpering girl in his arms, holding onto him despite being so fearful of him, Daemon found he did not care for his wife's furious gaze.

One thing was for certain now, Daemon would not allow his darling niece to wed the House of the Lions. She was a drgaon, through and through - she would not submit to anyone but her own kind, Daemon would ensure it.

Taglist: @hangmanscoming @marihoneywk @serving-targaryen-realness @unicoreads @heartb8k2 @flirtymoonsblog @whimsicalfungi @ahristata

#daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon x rhaenyra #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc x criston cole #daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x y/n #criston cole x oc #criston cole x reader #ser criston #ser criston cole #criston cole #criston cole x you #criston cole x targaryen!reader #envious cravings

221 notes · View notes

sayafics · 6 months

Text

Temptation - Chapter II

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

Criston stood guard outside the Princess' chambers, heart sinking and hands twitching at the sound of quiet sobs that echoed through the Keep.

There was a part of him that ached to comfort her, to whisper reassurances and promise glad tidings - but he could not leave his post, could not overstep the prison that was his title just as she could not escape hers.

Vaella's handmaidens had joined the Princess in her chambers and had left just as quickly - running back and forth with worried expressions and hands full of buckets of water.

When they had left the Princess to wallow in her miseries, Criston tried to hold himself back. He counted the number of cracks in the ground, the stones in the walls, and the streaks of moonlight that scattered throughout the corridor. But every thought was torn from him by the crushing sound of exhausted cries.

Criston almost trembled with resistance, reciting every prayer to hold himself back and keep himself accountable - it would not be proper of him to enter the Princess' chambers without permission, and it would be scandalous- perhaps even treasonous, to enter whilst she was in the midst of a bath.

But he simply could not bear the sounds of her pain any longer - could not stand aside knowing she was hurting and aching and crying.

He was her Sworn Shield, her protector - this was merely part of his job. Was it not?

Criston steeled his spine, eyes glancing down either end of the corrdior as he turned to face the chamber doors. A soft hand pressed against it, pressing firmly as it slowly peeked open.

Perhaps he should have announced himself in that moment, should have warned her of his presence so she could shield herself and shy away.

But there was a selfish part of Criston, the part that lusted and desired after a woman he could not have, that begged him not to.

Criston entered the chambers unannounced, eyes facing the ground as he quickly pressed the doors shut behind him so the shadows could not peek at his princess.

He turns to face her only to see she hadn't noticed him yet.

His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her, she sat in a pool of pearl-coloured water deigned with rose petals and mixed with milk. Her hair fell in damp curls across her back, and her bare skin glowed almost amber in the yellow hues of a warm and razing fire.

Criston found he could not be caught up in his fantasies for long, his mind breaking out from his reverie at the sight of her curled up in the bath and crying into her arms - oh, his poor princess. His sweet Vaella.

He felt a hatred pool in his chest, festering and bubbling high at the idea that Jacaerys and Rhaenyra were the causes for her tears. And then self-loathing filled him as he realised, even as her protector, he had been unable to save her from this - he was merely a witness in the destruction of the Princess. Of his heart.

Criston took a step forward, his steps clumsy as he floundered in confusion of what to do now - he had not thought this far, did not think he would act so brash and carelessly.

It seemed he did not need to do much, his stumbling figure caused his armour to clink, and the sound drew up the tearful eyes of a miserable Vaella.

He's surprised to see there is no shock in her eyes, only pure and senseless vulnerability as her lips trembled and her eyes watered even more under his gaze - "Princess," he started, already drawing into a formal stance, "I was worried about your safety. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Vaella gave him a strained smile, easily seeing through his facade. She grew flustered under his disguided flattery, her mind quietening enough to ignore the sinking weight that was crushing her chest only moments ago.

She looks into his eyes, earnest and true, and a dam breaks within her as all the words of betrayal and fear she held back in the Small Hall escaped her bitten tongue and twisted mouth in a crazed and spiralling frenzy.

"They will send me away. They will ship me off to live on Dragonstone with that boy," Criston's jaw twitched, the realisation that she could be sent away to live far from him was one that irked him from the beginning, but he held his misgivings as the Princess held her betrayal.

"I do not want to go," a whispered confession passed her lips as shaky hands reached behind her neck to grip and tug her hair at the roots, as though the pain would release her of such a nightmarish reality, "I want to stay. Here, in the Keep. I do not want to go, my Knight. But they will make me."

My Knight.

My Knight, she had said.

"You will stay - here, in King's Landing. In the Keep."

"But what if the King sends me away? Who am I to deny the King?"

"The King is frail and rotting. He will not be hurt by your insubordination because he will be too busy dying to notice."

Criston's words were harsh, perhaps even treasonous if the wrong people were to hear it, but a part of Vaella thought them to be true. Prayed for them to be true.

"I fear simply having to leave them all - to leave my mother who will grow lonely within the walls of the Keep. My loving brother Aegon who will only drink more heavily and lose himself to his cups and his whores and pretend as though I had never left. My sweet and kind sister Helaena, who may dream of the horrors I face at Dragonstone under the hand of our mother's enemy. My dearest twin, who I will be lost without just as he will be without me."

Criston looked towards his feet, sadness welling in his eyes as he knew her words to be true. But it was her next words which had him perk, eyes wide in surprise and lips parted in shock - "and you. My Knight. My Shield. My Protector. Criston," she whispered his name, an almost desperate plea, "Criston, I do not want to go. I do not want to leave."

It was as though she held him by strings and tugged his limbs to her tunes, her voice so quiet and sweet and miserable, it had him scrambling to make promises he would otherwise hesitate to allow to pass his lips.

"I will not leave you, Princess." her eyes met his honest gaze, his stubborn brows, his firm frown and he bowed his head as though he was re-taking the vows he had made on her name day - "I am sworn to you. I am your Shield, your protector. I am all that you will allow me to be," a shaky breath passed his lips at the confession, teetering so close to something so wrong.

"Cole..."

But he paid no mind to her words, his mouth moving faster than his thoughts that he no longer worried about the shame that burned through his body as he walked the slow and jagged ends of a confession to a love he knew could never be reciprocated.

"I would follow you into the arms of death if that was what my duties would ask of me," his eyes glowed with a breaking passion, and Vaella could only stare at him with marvel - "Princess, I would walk through dragon fire for you. I would slay monstrous beasts and vile men and cowardly boys if you simply asked."

Criston took stumbled steps closer as his hands pounded passionately against his chest and his head twisted in earnest, "I would give all of my own away," he fell to his knees next to the tub, gripping the lip as his fingertips were teased by the lapping water and the metal rested warm against his hands. He met her flustered gaze.

"I would allow your enemies to chip away at my body and mind if it gave you even an ounce of happiness. I will not let you suffer- I cannot. Not in the hands of Jacaerys, nor the clutches of his mother. You will not bear the sufferings of a marriage to a boy who is not of true blood."

Criston pauses for a moment, eyes widening a fraction as he realises all that he had let slip away from his protected conscious. He waited, hoping she would say something and not look at him like that - like he had done something so good and so kind.

This was wrong and immoral, and if the Queen were to find out he would be sentenced to death. He was sure.

But still, in the embrace of the darkness in Vaella's chambers, under the warmth of flickering candles and a roaring fire, Criston felt safe to hope.

Hope that she would want him too, hope that she would act upon it, hope that she would be happy and lively and his.

Hope that she would whisper his name until he got drunk off the sound.

He hoped and hoped and hoped.

He hoped for so long that he did not see the Princess move until he felt her arms wrap around his neck, her breaths coming out in quiet sobs and her shoulders trembling with relief - "thank you."

Her voice was drowning with gratitude, so relieved to know that even if no one else could put a stop to this marriage, Criston would would try. He would not let it stop him from protecting her. Criston would not let her leave the Keep. And if she was forced to, then she would not leave alone.

Criston would protect her.

Her loyal Shield, her caring Knight.

She cried into the crook of his neck. Every tear felt like a piece of cotton was removed from her mind. Every gasp felt like lead was removed from her lungs. Every second she spent in his arms, she found she could think clearer, breathe better.

Criston's hands twitched at his sides, unsure of whether he was permitted to return her embrace. His mind raced and begged and screamed at him to hold her, his heart thudded against his ribs in an attempt to escape and find her own. Every breath he took became twisted with the scent of blossoms and pomegranates, and he heated within his suit of armour.

Her tears burned against his skin, the water from her damp skin trailing after them as they slid down into his armour. He felt goose-flesh break out in their wake, suppressing a lustful shiver as he clenched his hands at his sides.

To touch the Princess would be a crime. To hold her in his arms should be a far away dream. But there was a chance to do so now, to hold her and feel her, and no one would breathe a word because no one would knew.

But to do so would mean to break his vows - 'all that you would allow me to be' he had said.

But he recalled his vows to Alicent, the Queen who lived in the shadows of a woman far too long dead. He recalled his promises of loyalty, of respect, of morality and purity.

To touch the Princess would be to stain his White Cloak - and he had done that once before, and it had left him in the Godswood ready to end his life. That was before Alicent had come, before she had saved him - from death and from ruin.

He had sought forgiveness from the Seven, had punished himself - mind and body. He had scarred himself with the misdeeds of his past, and it was Alicent who had given him the opportunity to do so.

No. He could not.

To taint the Princess would be to hurt Alicent. To break his vows to her, to betray her after all they had cried of Rhaenyra betraying them.

No. He would not.

He coughed roughly, as though he had to force the sound of protest to break past his lips. His hands clenched tighter as he spoke through gritted teeth, his voice waning and sombre - "I must return to my duties, Princess."

Criston did not want to leave, but he had to.

He drags himself up from his knees, the ache in them sickly sweet that if she had asked he would sink right back on them - for her. He hesitates for a moment, looking into her pondering eyes as she searched for something within his own.

Criston sends a quick nod towards the girl, trying to force his eyes not to stray to what lay underneath the milky water. He takes a step backwards, and then another and another, ready to turn with a final deep breath.

It was the sound of her voice that stopped him turning too far - "my handmaidens have gone to bed," she paused, waiting to see what he would say.

"I see, Princess. Which is why I believe it is best for me to return to my station."

"Of course, Ser Cole," she sounded disappointed by his stance and so she dipped forward in the water, bring her knees to her chest as she sweeped her damp hair over one shoulder to reveal the flushed skin Criston had spent so long trying to avoid.

"It is only that, they left before I could wash my hair or my back. And it is, I fear, too much of a burden for me to attempt alone - so used to the help, I mean."

Criston's eyes had not stopped travelling across the newly exposed skin, eyes avidly attached to every slip of flesh exposed to the cooling room as the fire dimmed and swayed.

"I can call them, if you please."

"You could. But I would not want to wake them so late. Perhaps..."

Criston peered at her face them, face blooming red under her heated gaze as the thoughts of her disastrous future left her mind and the excitement of a new game washed through her.

"Perhaps?" He questioned her, his gaze so curious and naive, but there was an innate part of him which begged her to reply as he wished - the same part of him that hardened beneath his armour, that twitched and stiffened uncomfortably against the metal plate at the cadence of her voice, the temptation that lay beneath her gaze.

"Perhaps, my sweet and dearest Knight, you could help me." There was a simple smile across her face. Some would call it innocent. But Criston knew better, he always did.

Vaella loved to play her games, to tease him with brushes and whispers, to make him heady with desire when she pulled him into dark corners in a feigned attempt to hide from her brothers or had him help put on her shoes, pretending the skirts of her dress were too bothersome as she pulled them high enough to expose the soft flesh of her thighs.

He would be a liar to claim he hated every attempt - no, he enjoyed it far too much. Craved it almost every time.

But this? This was the farthest she had gone. The most she had pushed the precarious boundaries that confined them to their roles within the Court.

And yet, he craved it.

He nodded mindlessly, feet moving before his mouth opened to voice his concession.

He fell upon his knees with ease, breaths catching in his throat as he hesitated to even breathe in fear she would throw him out. His hands trembled as he cupped water between his hands - "lie back, Princess."

She obeyed without question, sinking further into the heat of the water as a hand came to cup her head from the back so she could rest freely upon it. Criston's other hand brushed against her hair as gentle trickles of water traced against her scalp. He did so a few more times before removing his hands to find the soap. His lips twitched in amusement at her groan of protest, lathering his hands with a scented soap and returning his hands to their place.

He worked diligently, forgetting about how he is supposed to keep guard of the doors, forgetting his role and his place so quickly.

Vaella whimpered under his touch, preening at the sratches and massages he placed across her scalp, dragging the soap towards the end of the hair before moving his way back up.

He held her head with one hand again, as he used the other to wash it free of soap. He whispered to her gently to sit up for him, this time taking it upon himself to sweep her hair across one shoulder. His moves were slow, his body buzzing as he dragged the long tendrils of hair against her back as the dampness made them stick as one. The feeling of her warm flesh against his made him simmer with glee, not that he would confess such a thing aloud.

He shook his head lightly, as though to discard his sinful thoughts. Then he reached for a cloth placed at the lip of the large basin, dipping it into the cooling water before rubbing it lightly against Vaella's back. He alternated between the soap, water and cloth, so sure that she had been clean from even before she sat within the water but so reluctant to finish so soon and have to leave her chambers.

He did not care if the sun rose and he was seen by the whole Court. If he could, he would stay as he was now, servicing his Princess for as long as she would have him.

It seemed from her contented sighs and her suppressed smile, there was a part of Vaella that thought the same.

Unbeknownst to them both, such an intimate display of trust, such a blatant confession of love and loyalty, was witnessed by one other. By a sneaking shadow Criston had not been able to anticipate - hidden within the walls of the Keep sat a curious Daemon as he watched the scene unfold before him, unsure whether he should report his findings to his wife or merely hold onto them as his own.

Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!!

What do we think Daemon is planning on doing? Also, do we want more Vaella/Criston moments?👀 or shall we have some Criston hating on Jace moments instead?😏

#ser crispin #criston cole x oc #criston cole x reader #ser criston #ser criston cole #criston cole #criston cole angst #criston cole x you #temptation #criston cole fluff #criston cole x targaryen!reader #hotd x reader #hotd fandom #hotd fanfic #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd x oc #hotd x you

72 notes · View notes