#in pursuit of blood series
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In Pursuit of Blood: A trip down goblin lane.
Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Vampire hunter! Reader
Word count: 5.6k
Synopsis: You, an amateur vampire hunter, find it really hard to kill the one vampire you were tasked to kill.
Tags: Use of Y/N sparingly, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), same universe as the WWDITS series, CW blood, TW violence, CW suggestive, Mockumentary AU, established relationship, Fluff.
A/N: Special thanks to @al1x00 (ly fr) for the idea! Happy 1k! 🫶 (Enjoy my attempt at humor lol)
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Hobie's Masterlist
The camera focuses on a leather clad man sitting on a patchwork armrest. His long leg is crossed over the other, metal clinking against each other when he moves. He places his elbow on the armrest, hand under his chin, ringed fingers tapping on his cheek—bored and clearly disinterested. Red eyes lined with dark eyeliner, piercings glimmering under the camera lights, sharp nails painted, he makes the crew suck in a breath.
He's the perfect picture of a rockstar.
The dimly lit gothic home provides the perfect backdrop to the ‘confession booth’, various books, knick knacks from far flung places are littered all over the living room. A grand piano stands proudly to his left, dark oak polished and well taken care off. Tapestries from the sixteenth century are tacked on the walls next to seventies and eighties band posters. His coat rack is full of jackets that look like they come from different times in history.
The producer nods at him, asking for the man's name, his voice just above a whisper so that the microphones don't catch the sound.
He sighs, jaws tighten for a second. “Name's Hobie, Hobie Brown.” His voice shakes the crew's bones. The blond haired producer clears his throat and Hobie rolls his eyes like a spoiled celebrity. “And I'm a vampire.” he says flatly.
The blond gestures for him to continue, asking him how old he is. “Fuckin' hell.” Hobie says under his breath. “Were you not taught manners? Come off it, you don't ask a vampire their age.”
The clipboard holding man, who pretends to be important, asks him why he agreed to the interview if he's so disinterested.
“Fine,” He smiles, showing his sharp fangs, the simple act makes the documentary team's heart skip a beat. “Before you say ‘m following a trend of vampires givin' interviews and a ‘peak behind the cape’ like the wankers in staten island or the lovebirds in dubai. ‘m not, ‘m only doin' this because,” he points dramatically at the clipboard holding man. “Your director told me all proceeds from this goes to charity. And it better be—”
Something thumps outside. The camera sharply turns to the closed floor length curtains.
“Oi, eyes back ‘ere.” Hobie exclaims, the camera whizzes back to his figure. “Again, vampire, been alive for…” he inhales, “a long bloody time. Been a pirate, a cowboy, hell even a rockstar. But always an anarchist.” He says proudly. “I've been rebelling against the one who bit me for centuries,” the camera zooms in on his scowl. “Hate that knobhead.”
Something falls right outside his windows, a groan and a curse sounding out, voice muffled by the walls.
The crew expects Hobie to hiss or even deal with the intruder but he smiles, posture loosening up.
“That,” he points at the source of the ruckus. “That’s a vampire hunter.” Smiling, the crew could hear a muffled ‘fuck you’ behind the walls. “She's been hunting me for a few years now. She—eh, hasn't been close.”
The cursing was louder, camera swishing towards the source, your angry face peeking out from the curtains. The boom mic captures your annoyed growl clearly as you place your face as close as possible on the glass.
“Fuck you, Hobart!”
He chuckles as the crew's face grows with concern. “Don't worry, she's—I guess bad at her job. She's interestin’ though. Y’know what, let me just show you.” He stands up, the cameras and the entire crew follows him through the hallways of his home.
The cameraman almost trips on a stray guitar on the floor. “Careful now, that was a present from some rockstar in the seventies. That's why I leave it on the floor, it works best as a boot scraper.”
Hobie stops in front of double doors, scenes of a love story are carved on the wood.
“It was a gift.” He addresses the doors, “not my first choice but where else would I put the bloody thing?” With a small push, hands braced on both doors, he reveals the expansive room lined with hundreds of paintings and photographs.
He sucks in his teeth. “The entire house is a gift, I'd rather live in a boathouse honestly but this works fine I guess.” Shrugging, he points at the oldest looking wood carving hanging on the wall. A man kneels in front of a woman, rose in his hand as she looks down at him with glee.
“Yes, that's me courting. The wood carver fucked up the scene though, it was more like me ravaging– uh” he clears his throat “…this won't show in pbs right?”
The people behind the cameras shrug as Hobie looks to them for an answer.
“I'll tone it down then, for the children, just in case.” He continues down the lineup of pictures.
Stopping by a large painting of what looks like Hobie in medieval clothing. The painted version of him is surrounded by flowers and trees. His antlers protruding from his head, webs clings to his arms.
“This was when people thought I was fae.” He makes a face, “everyone was tripping on shrooms back then.” walking towards the middle of the room, passing by a few more paintings and tapestries, He pauses on a yellowed painting of a woman who looks similar to you, only less angry.
“Look at her,” sighing, the vampire has heart eyes while looking at the painting. “this was before she was cursed by that bitcharse jealous witch. Now every descendant of hers is cursed to never harm me or any of my spawns, which is bad because they all think I killed their ancestor, and all they want is to kill me. A consequence of dating a vampire hunter during the fifteenth century, I guess.”
“The curse is a two way street, they can't kill me, I can't hypnotize them. It's not that I want to anyway.” he continues.
Another ruckus echoes throughout the house. Hobie smiles again. “I believe she doesn't know about it, so hush, yeah?” He does a double take. “Wait, can you cut that part out?”
—
The second crew runs towards you as you climb the tresses of the house. The camera lens zooms in on your clumsy climbing. Looking down, hearing leaves crunch underfoot, you yelp in surprise.
“What—?!” Losing your hold, you fall on a bush, landing directly at his wild flowers. “Ow! Who the fuck—?!”
—
Now sitting down on a lawn chair, leaves stuck in your hair, face and clothes covered in dirt, you scowl at the producer behind the camera.
Sighing, clicking your tongue, you answer their questions with another question. “Who the fuck are you guys?”
You raise an eyebrow at the words ‘documentary crew’ uttered by the producer.
“Seriously? Who would want to interview Hobart? Scratch that, is it because of those fuckers in staten island?”
A cameraman answers, ‘for charity.’
You blink in surprise, “charity? You fuckin' kidding me? Well if it's for the kids then.” sighing, you resign, looking directly at the camera with disdain, you say your first name. “And I'm a vampire hunter, I mean obviously I am just looking at all the stakes and holy water strapped to me. I look like I'm very fun at parties.” You say jokingly, “and church, probably. Dunno never been.”
The camera cuts back to Hobie still in the large room full of paintings and memorabilia.
“— I didn't do anythin’ wrong. They're absolutely mad at me for no reason—” he stops, thinking. “But I guess I was the reason their family was cursed innit?”
He changes subjects, showing the camera a painting near the end of the room.
“Oh this? This is when her great great great great grandfather almost got me, memories huh? He was mighty fit.” The crew zooms in on a gorgeous painting of a man trying to put a stake through Hobie's heart while he smiles up at him like he's smitten.
“Good times.” He chuckles.
—
“Fuck this.” You say, standing up from the chair, grabbing the mic off from your shirt abruptly. The camera follows you as you grab the lawn chair that you were just sitting on. You then proceed to throw it at a stained glass window. Giving you entry to his abode.
“It was gaudy anyway.” Entering the house, your shoes crunch the broken glass.
—
“Huh, she's inside. That's a record.” Hobie says almost excitedly. “I'll show you the rest of the room after this—.”
The double doors burst open, the camera swivels to you and the camera crew behind you. Holding a stake, you scowl at Hobie.
“Hello, darling, how was your commute?” He genuinely smiles.
“I have a car now, fuck you!” You lunge at him.
Lightning fast, he grabs your wrist right before the stake kisses his chest. The camera crews film on the sides, avoiding getting hit themselves.
“Good for you, finally saved up then?”
Lifting your legs, you kick his chest, you tumble, landing on your feet, staring at him menacingly. “Yes! It's a kia!” you scream before you run full speed at him.
“You got a good deal on it? Automatic or manual?”
“No!” You swing at him, he dodges. “I think I got swindled!” Kick “And it's a manual!” Punch “I’m not a pussy!”
Hobie clicks his tongue, avoiding the pointed edge of the stake. “Point ‘em to me, love, maybe I can get you your money back.”
Stepping back further away, you pause while he stands at the end of the room. Changing your hold on the sharp wood, you throw it at him, he leans slightly, dodging the projectile. it hits the wall right next to your ancestor’s portrait.
“You'll just drink him dry like the last guy!”
He shrugs, making a face that makes you want to punch him harder. “Not my fault he was a knobhead.”
You bounce on your feet, pouncing at him. “He was my dentist!”
He moves to the side, seeing you running towards one of the paintings, in danger of getting smashed by you. In his panic, he raises his arm to stop you, accidentally clothes lining you. His wall-like arm hits you right on your face.
Falling harshly on the floor, you're completely unconscious.
Hobie looks at the cameras with concern. “Shit.”
—
You wake up on an ancient looking couch, it's soft despite its appearance. Lifting your head with a groan, headache punching through the back of your head, you grimace loudly at the camera crew still filming in the corner.
Falling back on the couch, you hide your flustered face with your arm, pulling the blanket further up your chest.
“I promise I'm not that bad at fighting.” You murmur, still hiding your face from the cameras. “You just caught me at a bad time.”
Hobie suddenly appears with a whoosh, he holds a metal tray with tea and a hot compress placed on it.
“Who's giving you a bad time?”
You audibly groan. “No one.”
He places the tray on the coffee table, sparing a quick glance at the camera. “I caught you lackin’ you're not always that bad. Tea?”
Wordlessly reaching up, you flip him the bird. Hobie smiles softly, tapping your legs to give him space on the settee. The documentary crew is surprised that you actually move to give way to him.
He sits by your legs, preparing your tea just like how you always take it. Two sugars and a dash of milk. The entire production staff is perplexed to say the least.
With a clink of the tea spoon against the cup, you sit up, wincing slightly. “Can I get another sugar cube?”
Hobie raises a brow, “it's that kind of day huh? What's bothering you, love?”
You scoff, taking a cube for yourself then plopping it in your tea cup. “Nothing.”
He flicks his eyes at the camera with a knowing glance. Resting his elbow atop his thigh, chin placed on his hand, he pokes at your leg using his foot. Wordlessly having a conversation. With a sigh and a frown, you sip at your tea.
“Ex kicked me out. Now I'm living with the family again.”
Hobie's nonchalance drops, hand instinctively reaching out to you until he realizes what he's doing, he retracts his hand back.
“Shit, ‘m sorry. Their loss.”
“Mm-hmm, consequences of living with someone you've only dated for three months.” You finish your drink in one gulp. “‘sides, I don't have to pay rent anymore.”
“You've got shitty taste in partners.” You snort, half agreeing with him. “But you have to live with your psycho family so there's that.”
You laugh, the camera zooms in on Hobie's pleased expression.
“They're tolerable now, mellowed out after they took out count Belois.” You look at Hobie, copying his position like a mirror.
“He was an arse, did all of us a favour.” he stares at your eyes while the camera continues to film, yet you two don't seem to notice them anymore.
“Yeah, wish I was there though.” You say in a small voice. “They never invite me to those hunts. Always left watching outside.”
Hobie reaches towards you again, this time he actually holds you. Long fingers curling around your wrist, his thumb rubbing gently. “If only they know how hard you could kick.”
“You barely moved when I kicked you.” Chuckling, your eyes sparkle under the dim lights.
“Well it's me,” he inches closer to you in the seat, knee brushing against yours. “But if it was any other vampire out there they would have flown.”
You scrunch your face. Laying your hand down to your thigh, Hobie intertwined his fingers around yours properly this time. The camera captures the confusing scene.
“Because they turned into a bat?”
He grins, showing you his teeth, you don't even flinch. “Nah, because you kicked ‘em too hard. Did you hit your head that hard?” Knocking his knuckles against your temple softly, you move back like lightning has struck you.
“No, I'm actually okay, thanks.” You take your hand away, eyes flitting nervously at the camera then to Hobie. “I gotta go, dinner with the psycho family.” Standing up, you take your belongings from the floor. “You know how it is.”
He looks up at you with an unreadable expression, “yeah, I know how it is.” He says forlornly.
Patting his shoulder awkwardly, your hand lingers for a half second. “Bye,” you stare at the crew in the corner, “bye to all of you, I guess. Don't get eaten.”
The camera pans towards Hobie who just shrugs, fangs poking out of his lips.
—
Hobie eats alone in his empty dining room. The table is long, made of strong narra, designed to sit a dozen or so people. He sits in the head of the table, utensils scraping against the bloodied plate. His goblet is full, untouched.
He looks up at the camera on the other side of the table, observing his every move.
“The table's a gift too.” He says before continuing to eat silently.
—
The camera follows Hobie throughout his day. Roaming aimlessly around the house, he floats above the ground, hand and feet sticking on the wall while he dusts pictures that's placed on the highest shelf.
In the afternoon, he writes music on his piano while he flashes back and forth towards the drums and guitar, testing the music he wrote.
The crew captures Hobie burying something in the backyard. Jacket off, tank top and bare arms in full display. Moonlight illuminating his skin. His necklaces clink together as he shovels in dirt, packing the hole in tightly. The producer asks something about familiars and Hobie scowls at the word.
“No, just no. ‘m fully against havin’ familiars, it's fuckin' wrong.” He sticks the shovel harshly on the soil when the producer questions him again. “Ask me again and you'll be the one ‘m burying next.”
The camera shuts off abruptly.
—
The small supermarket's repetitive jingle from the nineties irks Hobie as he shops for some meat. But what irks him more is the documentary crew finding him especially after he went out of his way to hide from them.
He tosses a box of your favourite tea in the basket, annoyed at the team behind the cameras and boom mics. “Do the lot of you have a tracker on me or somethin’?” Shaking his head, he stomps down the aisle, heavy boots thudding loudly on the floor.
With his leather jacket plus all the metal and spikes on him, Hobie looks like a regular punk shopping for groceries. But if you looked closer, stayed too long in his presence, your flight or fight response kicks in, rendering anyone frozen on the spot.
His ruby eyes scan around the soap display, trying to ignore the cameras and people trailing after him, he gets a whiff of a familiar scent: strawberries and cream, it's you.
Hobie's feet move on its own, carrying him towards your direction. He spots you standing in the fruit section, weighing a watermelon in your hands, knocking on it then listening to the sound closely like you're trying to eavesdrop.
“What's the watermelon saying?”
“Christ!” You jump, dropping the watermelon.
Thankfully he catches it before the fruit splatters on the linoleum. “Just me, love.”
Clutching your chest, you take deep breaths. “I thought I smelled something rotten.” He raises a brow at your comment. “What are you doing here? This is far from your place.”
“First of all, I smell like sandalwood and fresh linen, fuck you.” You snort, rolling your eyes. “And ‘m tryin' to avoid them.” He points behind him, towards the cameras.
“Augh, they're still following you?”
“Apparently I signed a contract, it's not a one time thing.” He places the watermelon back to the crate, taking one that is riper and sweeter just for you. He then gently drops it in your cart, you nod a thanks.
“I told you before don't sign anything when you're drunk off of alcohol filled blood.”
“You're right, lovie, should've listened to you. Can't blame me when I only hear music whenever you open your pretty mouth.” He leans on your cart nonchalantly, giving you his signature smirk that has people falling over themselves for centuries.
“That's not much of a compliment.” You grimace, unaffected by his charm. “Listen, since we're in a public place I'm not gonna try to kill you so please get off my cart, I've got some shopping to do.” Shaking the trolley, he leans away, dismayed. “Also, the owner seems to like me, which is rare enough, so I don't want to ruin my relationship with the old lady. Shoo, Hobart, I'm off the clock.”
“You've got two people who like you now. One more than the other, I suppose.”
You narrow your eyes towards the vampire. “Who's the second one.”
Hobie walks backwards, arm wrapped around his basket, smile blinding everyone in its vicinity. “Me, darling, isn't it obvious?”
The bright fluorescent lights shouldn't do him any favours but by god, he looks amazing under it.
You don't answer, the camera zooms into your hands gripping the handles of the shopping cart, chest heaving, swallowing thickly.
He leaves, going towards the cashier to pay for his groceries. And you spot a sign that's labeled ‘50% off on garlic!’ you glare at the camera, pushing the cart towards the display.
—
Hobie sits on his work table, pieces of a TV are jumbled out on the table as he tinkers with them. His hands shake slightly, he should really feed.
“—‘m pretty good with technology, not like the other vampires. I've adapted well with—” he sniffs, “wait, what's that smell?”
He opens the door to find thousands of garlic circling around his house, “what—?”
“Tada!” You pop out from the side, hands carrying bushels of garlic, no doubt smelling like it too. “Wait, no, not tada, that's in poor taste because you hate them.”
Hobie gags at the smell, eyes watery and irritated. “This is a bad idea!” He rubs at his eyes, tears fully streaming on his cheeks.
“Why? Because it's working?!” You cackle, throwing the vegetable like confetti, one lands right on top of your head.
“Because it attracts—!”
You screech when you feel a sharp tug at your coat. A little green creature shrieks at you, the sound rings your eardrums, almost breaking the boom mic. Its eyes are dark and glassy, ears pointed, teeth sharp.
“A Goblin?!” Falling on your ass, you crawl backwards, watching as more and more of them appear from the bushes.
“I'm a goblin.” The one with a worn out party hat says, voice cracking like foil.
“What are you a Pokémon?!”
Hobie runs after you as fast as he can with the garlic hindering him. “Get inside!” He yells, dragging you towards the door. His hands sizzle atop your arms, the garlic searing his skin.
The creatures skidaddles towards you, towards the smell of garlic. Waves upon waves of green skitter and crawl on all limbs, eyes hungry, mouths agape.
“Hobie!” You hold on to his wrists as the ground scratches your back. Kicking an incoming goblin, you yelp as the door closes at the nick of time.
Claws scratch at the windows and walls. One of them even bangs its head hard on the glass just to get to you.
Hobie hides you behind him, eyes still stinging and skin aflame. “Get to the basement!” He screams when one breaches the house with glass shattering. “Go!”
Running down, Hobie lets you and the crew go first. He grabs a cutlass from the wall, chopping one that comes a little too close to your leg.
You look back at him with worry. “Hobie!”
“I'll be there! Just go!” He grabs one by the neck, throwing it away haphazardly.
It yells a faint ‘whee’ as it sails through the house.
Reaching the large basement, you search for the light switch, a cameraman beats you to it and you yelp at the sudden brightness.
The basement is full of things from different centuries. An iron maiden lays discarded on the corner, its steel rusted and brown. A sculpture of a woman sits on a shelf, it looks like it's a long lost work of Rodin. There's a large tapestry depicting a vampire war that is now collecting dust on the wall.
But the thing that catches your eyes is the massive metal cage that sits in the middle of the room. You would gawk but the swarm of goblins are nearing the basement. The familiar thumping of boots shakes you with relief.
“Cage!” Hobie grabs you effortlessly, you have no time to react as he carries you like a duffel bag by your waist.
The crew follows frantically, closing the metal doors shut behind them just as the swarm gets close. They shriek and bang on the bars, little arms trying to reach towards you.
He lays you back to your feet, dropping the drenched sword on the ground, palms still healing. He cups your face, searching for any injuries.
“You alright?” He heaves, out of breath, legs covered in goblin bites and palms searing but he looks at you like you're the one who's bleeding.
Staring at him with your irises blown out, mouth slightly parted, you embrace him to his surprise and the crew's.
“I'm okay,” you lean away before he could hug back. Hands placed on his shoulders, nails digging into him like he's about to be yanked away from you. “Are you?”
Hobie forgets about the other people inside the cage and the goblins trying to nibble at him. It's only you in his hands, even though the pungent smell of garlic makes his nose itch. Eyes tender, touch gentle, he could only nod.
“Yeah, I'm good now.” His voice lacks the usual charm.
You can finally breathe. “I thought…I'm the only one that's allowed to kill you.”
Chuckling, he traces your jaw with his thumb. “I know. You're first in line, darling.”
The crew stands near the sides awkwardly.
—
The goblins are trashing Hobie's basement, and based on the sounds from upstairs, they're also wreaking havoc in the entire house.
You sit back to back with Hobie in the middle of the cage, away from the bars, hands braced to your sides, his own are mere inches away from yours. He's glad that the garlic smell has wafted away from you, but not enough to get rid of the goblins still hankering for your flesh.
The crew stays away from the openings of the cage whilst a handful of the creatures try to grab at their equipment. It's been hours since the initial attack and everyone's getting hungry and thirsty, including Hobie.
“Why do you even have a dungeon in your basement—? Wait, scratch that, don't answer.” You try to pass the time.
“It was for your great great uncle—”
“Ew!”
“Get your head out of the gutter.” He says flatly, hands shaking from hunger. “I got it so he has a safe place to transform every full moon.”
“What? Huh, so that's why that branch of the family is so hairy.”
He changes the subject. “What were you thinkin’ with the garlic?” Hobie lays his head right on your shoulder, craning his neck to face you, he uses the closeness to memorize your face. His crimson eyes are dimmer than you're used to.
“I dunno, I thought it was a genius idea back then. Y’know, trap you inside, starve you then when you're weak enough I'd put a stake through your heart.”
“It's a good thing you're bloody fit.” He murmurs, chuckling quietly. “You almost got me though.” Your ears pick up the fatigue in his voice.
“And here I thought you fancy me for my amazing personality.”
“That too.” He smiles weakly, feeling the ache in his bones. “We need to get out of here.” His jaw visibly tightens, wanting to get away from you and your scent. Unfortunately it's not so easy when you're trapped.
“I know,” You sigh, Hobie sits up, covering his ears with the heels of his palms. “You okay?”
“I can hear your blood rushing through your veins.” He bites the inside of his cheeks. “Fuck, we really need to get out of here.” Standing up on wobbly feet, you help him up while the crew stands as far as they can without getting slashed by goblin claws.
“You're hungry.” You state the obvious.
“Starvin’” his red eyes flick down to your neck, already feeling guilty from the simple look.
You swallow thickly. “When was the last time you drank?”
“A couple days ago.” His vision blurs.
“Why are you starving yourself?” Scolding him, you guide him back down on the cold granite. “Hobart.”
“Why do you keep callin' me that?” Cold hands against your own, his eyes zeroes in on your face, avoiding the veins in your neck. “You sound like her when you call me that.”
Your eyes soften, warming him with your palms atop his cheeks, you worry. “You haven't answered my question.”
He groans, head lolling backwards. “Got busy, forgot what day it was.”
“Busy with what?” You click your tongue, lifting his head back up with your hands under his head. You search his hungry eyes, making a decision you could regret in the long run.
“If I let you feed, will you be able to get rid of the goblins?”
That has him picking his head back up, waking him up from his hungry stupor. “What—?”
You reiterate, voice determined. “If I let you drink from me can you get your strength back and get rid of the little fuckers?”
“Y/N, I can't let you do that.”
“I know what happens if you don't feed and judging by how the goblins are devouring your entire house like some frat, they aren't leaving soon enough.” You ball his shirt in your hands for emphasis. “I'm letting you drink, just this one time so we could all go home.”
“Are you really sure?”
“Just don't turn me into your spawn, deal?”
Hobie cracks a smile, fangs glinting off the basement lights. You suddenly feel your nerves kicking in.
“I promise I won't. Just tell me if it gets too much, yeah?”
“Okay,” you inhale deeply, tugging down the collar of your shirt, showing him what he needs. “Don't drink me dry.”
“That depends, for all I know you taste brilliantly.” His joke alleviates your fear a little. You're both unaware of the cameras watching, recording everything. Even forgetting that they were there in the first place.
His hand is on the back of your neck, the other is gripping on to your arm like his life depends on it. Eyeing your skin, lips brushing along it, fangs barely piercing, he gives you enough time to lean away.
“Hurry on with it, I need to pee.”
With a deep chuckle, he sinks his teeth in you.
Gasping, you bite down on your bottom lip, stifling any sounds. But Hobie can hear them from your chest, feel how your body quivers with every suck and nip from his teeth.
You whimper and he holds on to you tighter.
He wants to devour you whole, his instincts tell him to ravage you until you're dry and limp in his arms— to rip you apart with his bare teeth. But he doesn't, he's careful and gentle like he's drinking nectar straight from a flower.
“F-fuck…” you let out, hands shaking, sliding down to the back of his neck, pressing him closer.
He turns warmer with your crimson flowing through him, not letting a single drop of the precious liquid dribble from his mouth.
Hobie feels like his dead heart beats once again after centuries.
Eyes closed, you feel like you're on cloud nine. You look like it too, eyes hazy, lips parted, hand holding on to him weakly.
Before he could drown in you, Hobie carefully eases his teeth out from your pierced skin, maw covered in your blood, thumb pressing down to your wounds to stop the bleeding.
It will scar, but you're alright with that thought.
He feels anew. His eyes are sharper, adrenaline coursing through him like your blood in his system. His ears perked at every breath you let out. Eyes blown up like the size of dinner plates, his warm breath fans your cheeks.
Half of him regrets doing it, now that he has gotten a taste, he can't go back to biting random rich assholes. His other half delights in your after taste, so sweet and nectarine that makes him crave more.
You crane your neck slowly like molasses to look at him sweetly through your half lidded eyes, and a soft yet tired smile on your lips. Still clinging into euphoria, vision swirling and heart beating a thousand times per second. You feel like you've ascended and you'll never go down from it.
Licking his teeth, Hobie resists the urge to dive back in. But he's more than that, you're more than a blood bag.
“You alright?” He whispers, he smells like you.
You hum, smiling giddily like a child who just got what she wanted.
“‘m gonna go and kill some goblins now. Stay here for me?”
You hum a tune that sounds like a rendition of ‘happy birthday.’ Giggling, you pat his cheek.
“Yeah, you'll be alright. I'll get you some orange juice after this.”
“Orange sounds nice… such a pretty color. And cookies, yum.” You chortle like you just heard the best joke. “Oh handsome, so handsome. I'm gonna bite you back one day.” Staring up at him, your eyes roll back, falling unconscious.
“Lookin' forward to it.”
Hobie gently lays you down on the floor, standing up, ears listening to your fast heart beat, but it's not enough proof for him. Eyes observing your chest, watching it go up and down, making sure he didn't go too far. Satisfied, he points at the crew cowering in the corner, their cameras still rolling. The documentary won't air anywhere at this rate.
“Watch her.” He says sternly, eyes glaring.
They all nod frantically.
With a swift kick to the metal door, he strikes down every goblin he sees.
—
You sit on the same patchwork armchair, sipping on a warm cup of tea, comfortable and content in your seat. The two pin prick scars on your neck peeks under your collar. The camera has you in the spotlight, zoomed in on your freshly washed face.
“Do you know about the curse?” The man behind the camera asks, his voice wavering with every word like it's taboo to mention it.
“What curse?” You watch as their faces morph into panic. “I'm fucking with you,” you laugh at their expense.
“Of course I know about it. Why do you think I hunt him down? For fun? Well, partly because of it but we broke that curse like five generations ago when my ancestor figured it all out and made friends with the witch.”
Smiling fondly, you continue. “She's my godmother now. Don't tell him.” You warn. “Hunting him down is an initiation for us really, a tradition to try and kill him, just really doing our best to cause damage. He's pretty powerful.”
Laying your elbows on your knees, you look directly at the camera.
“I mean you've seen the room right? He's fucking obsessed, someone has to off him or just—I honestly think he should just move on.” shrugging you sip your tea that he made for you.
“Is that why you're living with him?” They ask unabashedly. The camera zooms out, showing you still in your pajamas, complete with fluffy slippers.
“Uh—”
Hobie appears in the corner, leaning on the doorway casually, a similar pajama pants hanging low on his hips.
“Darling, have you seen my good jumper—?”
You take your crossbow from under the chair, twisting in your seat, you aim it at his head, shooting, the arrow whizzes past him, he ducks down as the arrow imbeds into the oak.
Hobie laughs on the floor, lifting up a black and red jumper. “Found it!”
“Goddamnit.” The word is laced with endearment. You turn back towards the crew, eyes narrowed at them. “Wait, why are you guys here so early?”
Support banner by @/cafekitsune
A/N: Thank you for reading! And happy 1k! 🎉
#in pursuit of blood#in pursuit of blood series#the kr8tor's creations#hobie brown x reader#spider punk x reader#hobie brown#atsv fanfiction#atsv fanfic#atsv x reader#atsv hobie#spider punk#spider punk x you#hobie brown x you#hobie brown x fem!reader#spider punk x fem!reader#vampire!au#vampire! hobie brown#vampire! hobie brown x reader#vampire! hobie#vampire hunter! reader#cw blood#tw violence#WWDITS AU#mockumentary au#1k special#hobie fluff#hobie x reader#fanfic
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I can’t stop thinking about how much Meredith and Cassandra have in common.
On one hand, there’s Meredith, who witnessed her sister turn into an abomination and slaughter seventy people including their parents, and in the same breath she loses her birth family, she’s basically adopted by the Templars because she has nowhere else to go, and they’re her new family, her new sense of duty, now.
On the other, there’s Cassandra, from the family of renowned dragon hunters, has only her brother and uncle from a young age. Her brother is killed by blood mages and she begs her uncle to let her join the Templars, but he ends up redirecting her to the Seekers because he doesn’t want her to end up eaten up by her desire for revenge.
This one simple act of support, the fact that Cassandra had someone looking out for her best interests, even if it was someone she often clashed with, was the point of divergence which made all the difference.
And history remembers Meredith as a madwoman who destroyed the city she loved out of paranoia and greed, instead of considering that maybe surrounding a traumatised child who both pities and is terrified of mages by the very things she fears was perhaps not the best choice.
And Cassandra has the luck of the Maker on her side because all of her suspicions turn out to be correct, and she’s hailed as a Hero, named the right Hand of the Divine, and can potentially become the Divine herself.
It’s really not fair, but life in Thedas isn’t fair at all.
#and that’s why i love this series#dragon age#meredith stannard#cassandra pentaghast#i said it on twitter and i’ll say it again#also why is it okay for hawke to slaughter blood mages and pickpockets with no consequence#not saying that meredith was right to like. kill kids in pursuit of her aims but in the early days…#there’s some cognitive dissonance going on where people relate overly to heroes and don’t consider what they have in common with villains#anyway i’m gonna talk about the similarities between meredith and anders next#my two beloveds#discoursin like it’s 2012#asha chats
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#whump#whump gif#whump gifs#moviegifs#fear#violence#wounded#attackeda#attack#attacked#stumbling#blood#chasing#pursuit#from series
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In Thanks
Masc!Mizu x fem reader
Word Count: 1.8k
You have been traveling with Mizu for a little bit and you can't help the feelings that have developed. Maybe it's time for a thank you.
Warning: 18 +. oral sex, fingering, slight choking, scissoring. I think that's it...
A/N: Be forewarned, Mizu is referred to as "he" the whole fic except for one instance.
Masterlist
You had become his traveling companion in a series of fortunate and unfortunate events.
Unfortunately, your father had sold you to the flesh traders for money he could use to save the farm from disrepair.
While on the road to another town, the two traders had begun to fight, Mizu was haplessly brought into the scrap when he was seen by the two agitated men. They turned their sights on the lone man just trying to pass by.
Fortunately, he had killed your owners. At first, he was intent on escorting you to the nearest town and leaving you there in pursuit of his revenge, only that plan changed when you had proved to be useful when it came to medicine.
A few weeks later left you here, on the outskirts of a small remote seaside town.
Mizu's eyes watch you from the other side of the campfire. They flick so subtly, catching your every move, or lack thereof as you continue to stare.
It hadn't taken you long to learn the secret he was hiding or rather she was hiding. There were subtle tells, ones that no one would be able to notice or think back on or they were just passersby. But you had been at his side for nearly two months and it was so obvious to you.
"Would you quit staring- it's rude." Mizu quips before going back to cleaning his blade.
You don't listen. Keeping your eyes firmly glued on his movements, the flexing of muscles under his skin, and the touch of his slender fingers rubbing at the blood on his sword. All of it made your knees weak.
While you had been with Mizu on the road, you had begun to develop feelings for the stoic warrior. Feelings of love and lust. Only now did you feel brave enough to do something about it, and act on these feelings no matter the consequences.
Your thighs clenched as you continued to watch him. Now was as good a time as any.
Mizu only tilts his head in your direction when the sound of you standing reaches his ears. Twigs snap under your feet as you make your way closer to him. he turns fully to you now, analyzing whatever it is you could be doing, and why you were nearing him.
“What do you want?”
You didn’t want to come right out and say it, so you spoke coyly. “I never thanked you properly for saving me. I thought I could do that now.”
“You’ve thanked me enough.”
“But I haven’t done all that I could. Please, Mizu, allow me to thank you fully.” You’re right next to him now, slowly lowering yourself to your knees.
Sultry eyes lock on suspicious ones.
With gentle hands, you reach out for his glasses. he leans away only slightly, not far enough to be out of your reach.
You place them safely on the stool-sized rock beside you.
“Let me see your sword.”
She breathes your name heavily.
Your hand caresses over his shoulder, teasing and soft.
"I'm not what you think." Mizu murmurs just loud enough for you to hear.
You pause before you answer. "You think I don't know? That I do not see past the defense and deeper within? I know."
His words catch in his throat. "-how?"
"You aren't the first I've seen that have hidden their sex from the world, and you won't be the last." Your fingers loosen the string tying up his hair. The silky strands begin to fall, making his all the more stunning.
"I've learned to see what many do not and what others would like to keep hidden... call it a gift."
You let your lips fall to the shell of his ear and whisper, “Now, let me see your sword.”
Reaching into his lap, you grasp the hilt of the blade. Carefully you take the katana and sheth it before setting it near the rock.
She doesn’t stop you when you begin to untie his pants or the obi around his waist.
Clothes fall away leaving only warm, scarred skin bare to you. Mizu’s breathing deepens as the binds around his chest are removed.
Slowly you crawl over his body, forcing him to lie back on the cape he used as a blanket.
Your eyes scanned over his every curve, curves hidden away by the straight lines of men’s clothes. The cool night air had his nipples pebbling and his skin littered with goosebumps.
With lust-filled eyes, you descend on him. Lips making contact with his own. It wasn’t tender, no it was needy. You wanted him, all of him and he wanted you too. his hands reach your face, pulling you in deeper.
The kiss leaves you breathless but you continue to kiss him, pulling away from his lips to kiss down the column of his neck and to his chest. You wet your lips hungrily as you take his peeked nipple into your mouth, your other hand teasing the other.
Teeth nip and pull at the sensitive skin. Your tongue laves over him, pulling out a soft moan of your name. It has you smirking into the supple flesh.
You trail down further, peppering kisses over taut abs before you come to the place you have so desperately craved to be. The smell is sweet but you know the taste will be even sweeter.
“Thank you, Mizu.” You pull apart his strong, slender legs, inserting yourself between them.
“Thank you.” You kiss the inside of a thigh then move to the other. “Thank you.”
You lay there with his legs thrown over your shoulders, admiring the pussy before you. Your mouth is watering as you trail a single finger over the slit.
Mizu sucks in, body tensing, preparing.
You move your mouth in closer, tongue lapping at the wetness between his folds. The taste had you moaning, the sweet yet heady taste filled your mouth and you knew you'd never get enough of it now.
Pressing on, you began sucking Mizu's clit. Hands flew into your hair, tugging in pleasure. You could feel his nails scratching your scalp.
“Taste so good.” You hum against him.
Your left-hand strokes over his firm abdomen while two fingers of your left slowly insert themselves inside Mizu's entrance.
He's so warm and wet, clenching down around you, pulling you in with need. With lidded eyes, you look up, past the roaming landscape of his body, at his face. His brow is furrowed, pinched in pleasure as your fingers work into his walls. His mouth is open, jaw slacked as sweet gasp after sweet gasp erupts. It’s a wondrous sight to behold and all you’ve ever wanted to be privy to.
Those gasps turn into short whimpers once your rhythm steadies out and your mouth sucks slightly harder on his clit. His hips buck up, pushing against your mouth as need courses through him. You feel like you’re in a trance, your eyes still locked onto his face as he continues to breathe heavily, lost in a pleasure escalating with each passing second. You keep going, determined to make him feel as incredible as possible.
The sloppy noises of you eating Mizu out have your stomach turning, fluttering with want. You know for certain that your own cunt is dripping, making a mess. You need more than just the pressure of your legs squeezing together, no, you need to feel Mizu against you.
In the heat of the passion, you pull away. Mizu whines at the loss of your fingers and mouth. “What are-” He stops his question short. You’re throwing off the layers of your clothes, tossing them haphazardly around the forest floor.
With determination you crawl over one of his legs, slotting yourself against him. A breathy sigh leaves your lips when you lower yourself.
With slow subtle rotations of your hips, you begin to feel the want bubbling in your belly pouring forth. The feel of his cunt against your own is like heaven. Your clit rubbing against his sends a jolt through you.
“Fuck, I’ve never- ah- I’ve never done this.” He grunts. One hand holds you by the hip, guiding you as you grind down. Your own hands hold fast on his thigh in front of you.
“Neither have I,” You answer between choppy moans.
As you piston your hips, you can feel the wetness between the two of you growing. You both groan in pleasure, your hands moving to explore each other's bodies. His fingers trace circles around your breast and you shiver in delight. You heave when Mizu’s hand reaches for your throat and pulls you down into a kiss.
His tongue slips past your lips, pushing back against your own. You may be on top and in control at the moment, but there simmering below Mizu’s surface was a want to flip you both over and take the pleasure that had been so far from his mission of revenge, he had forgotten what it felt like to feel another persons touch in this manner.
Your back arches at the growing ecstasy within your body and Mizu’s hand tightens. The air is stolen from your lungs for only a moment before he lets go, moaning into your kiss.
“Thank you.” You repeat once more.
You can feel the ache in your abdomen as you move, you’re coming closer and closer to release, and by the way that Mizu is rutting his hips against you, strong and needy, you know he’s close too.
“Look at me.” You plead, “Wanna see your pretty eyes.”
A deep red blush rises across Mizu’s cheeks at your words, not used to the compliment. The blush makes the topaz color stand out. You could stare into those eyes forever, get lost, and never leave.
Your bodies move in unison, your ragged breaths become one as you both tip toward the edge. With one more thrust, with one more rub of your clits, your bodies tense. Your mouth opens in a silent scream of pleasure while Mizu lets out a wavering cry.
The movement of your hips slows to a stop and you fall in a heap over Mizu’s body. Tiredly you kiss the sweat-dampened skin of his chest, and he shivers. “Thank you.” You mummer one last time.
Mizu’s hands hold you close, one in your hair, the other flat across your back. “You don’t have to keep thanking me.”
“I know,” you look up into his eyes, “but I want to.”
He keeps eye contact as he wipes the hair from your face. “I appreciate this… I haven’t felt this way in a long while.”
It’s an intimate moment, one of understanding without having to speak. So, you rest your head and close your eyes, too warn out to redress and too tired to move. Mizu also doesn't move to push you away, you take that as a sign that whatever this is, it has a very good chance of happening again.
#mizu x reader#masc!mizu x fem!reader#blue eye samurai x reader#mizu blue eye samurai#blue eye samurai smut#blue eye samurai mizu x reader#blue eye samurai#fem!reader
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the line between thieves and healers (Luke Castellan x apollo fem! reader)
Summary: Luke Castellan returns from his quest as a ghost of his old self with a bleeding scar to prove it. With his golden boy exterior all but shattered, no one in camp has tried to approach him since his return. This changes when you stumble upon the son of Hermes when he decides to go back to his old roots, stealing from your infirmary at midnight.
pairing: luke castellan x apollo fem! reader
Content: forced proximity, tending to wounds, luke develops a little crush, set after Luke's failed quest in the Garden of Hesperides, mentions of injuries and scars, Luke tries and fails at being mean, hurt-comfort, fluff
masterlist for this series (everything in between)
every part in this series can be read as a stand alone!
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"Come on." One of the campers prodded despite your obvious discomfort. "I'm sure you've squeezed something out of Castellan by now. He's been silent about what happened during his quest for days."
"I told you, I don't know anything, and even if I did, patient confidentiality exists." You repeated for the ninth time in a week. Ever since people found out Luke had come personally to you to tend to his wounds, they had lost all decency over the hope of digging for some good gossip. If you were asked one more time, you were sure you would tell them to stick their noses right back up their asses and leave.
Even after his return, Luke Castellan remained a constant in word of mouth around camp over his sudden change in persona. His usual grin and charm was replaced with a dark gloom unfitting for the son of Hermes, who used to light up any room he entered. The scar that permanently rests on his face didn't make it easier for him to avoid watching eyes either. After refusing to play in Capture the Flag for the first time in history, whatever patience the camp was trying to uphold dissipated into chaos.
Sure, you could see why it was a big deal. If you're a person with a sane enough mind (of course, not guaranteed in the premises of Camp Half-Blood), you’d understand why the fellow camp counsellor of the Hermes Cabin was popular. With his constant presence around camp as the cool, attractive camp counsellor helping other campers with that small quirk up his lips, or through word of mouth of how talented and kind he was, it wasn't a huge surprise that he attracted as much attention as he did.
Once the ninth camper in a row finally gave up and left with a huff, your eyes lingered over the bed where you first tended to Luke.
_
It was the dead of night when you were woken by the sound of creaking wooden floorboards and the cold chill of the wind that had somehow been brought into the infirmary. Somehow, you had overslept again on your shift and no one had bothered to wake you up or even check for your missing presence in your cabin.
Groaning at the awkward shift of your bones from your horrible sleeping posture on the desk, you were halfway through your stretch to crack your stiff neck when you heard the sound of footsteps. Freezing in place, you paused to listen in once more only to heard the soft thud once again. Peering to the left side of the infirmary, your heart stopped.
"Hey, listen." You spoke with that awkward crack in your voice whenever you go too long without speaking, causing the large shadow to flinch, pausing in its pursuit through your medicine cabinet. "I may not seem like it, but I am the best in combat in my cabin so whoever you are, step away from the cabinet and put your hands up."
Gee, that's convincing, you sound like an unnamed extra from the first few minutes of a horror movie before they ended up six feet under. Cursing yourself internally, you watched the shadow raise to full height from it's bent position. Gulping at the height that seemed to be at least six feet, you wonder if you should have just left this cabinet thief be and go to sleep for the night.
Why would anyone even want to ransack an infirmary at midnight?
You quickly grabbed for your oil lamp situated beside you, still flickering with the smallest of flames and you stood from your chair, causing it to creak back and scratch at the wooden floors as you made your way around the table to approach the thief.
The light was dim, but you spotted the familiar outline of a broad back and curls before he even fully turned.
"Castellan?" You gasped in half-asleep shock, disbelief obvious in your tone as you moved the oil lamp nearer to prove your eyesight wasn't playing tricks on you.
He didn't respond verbally to the call of his name, but when he turned around, his eyes narrowed on you as if you were the intruder. You barely had the chance to form words, questions- before you spotted the dripping crimson liquid near his eye.
"Oh gods." You muttered, grabbing at his arm and tugging him towards the nearest bed. "Why didn't you wake me up? It's not like you could wrap this up yourself."
With some struggle, he finally gave in, plopping down the edge of the bed and watched you scour through the medicine cabinet for bandages and other supplies, muted and stiff.
"I seriously don't understand why you didn't wake me up. Would you rather bleed to death or get an infection?" You scolded, your inner concern bleeding through your usual sense of politeness for injured visitors.
"Maybe." You thought you heard him mumble, but when you turned to look at him, he was facing the window right beside the bed and staring out into the shadows of the forest, the glow of the moonlight illuminating his features like a haunted painting, blood dripping down his cheekbones like fallen tears. You waited longer for an elaboration but there was none. You assumed you heard wrong, or at least you hoped you did.
You got off your knees, splaying out the supplies on the surface of the bed beside him, and pulled up a stool for you to sit at. He was still facing away from you, and your irritation combined with your lack of sleep made you more reckless than you'd usually be with an injured patient.
You gripped at his chin, forcing him to look at you, watching with satisfaction as his eyes widened at the sudden force. He looked more alive when he was caught off guard, his face devoid of the usual disinterest and distance it had ever since he arrived back from his quest.
"How do you expect me to treat you if you keep looking away from me, Castellan?" You challenged, gazing back into his eyes with fire you hoped was fierce enough to break down the coldness in his gaze.
After seconds of nothing but two stubbornheads trying to win a useless battle of eye contact, he sighed. "..Fine."
You were more gentle after that, letting go of his chin and reaching for the cloth. Your hands remained delicate on his skin that seemed to have pulled at the edge of the scar, where it was now bleeding again through its previous stitches. You mumbled a warning before dapping a wet handkerchief on top of the wound to soak in the blood, and he unintentionally grabbed at your thigh as he tried not to hiss out in pain.
You froze at the sudden tight grip, moving the cloth away from his skin and he was quick to retract his hand, positioning it awkwardly on top of the bedsheets instead.
"It's okay if you grab me." You reassured. "It'd be easier for me to gauge if you need me to stop when it gets too painful. You could give me a squeeze if you need a breather?"
You waited, watching his thoughts flicker through his narrowed eyes before slowly, his hand went to rest around your thigh again.
Ignoring the warmth of his palm on your skin, you cleared your throat. "Ready?"
He nodded stiffly, and you went back to work. After the cut had stopped bleeding, you were quick to grab the gauze and bandages. Tenderly, you placed the gauze above his wound, then wrapped the bandages around his face, from the top of his head to below his chin. This was the closest you had ever been to him, and you could feel and hear both his and your breathing in the quiet silence of the infirmary, with no living signs of life aside from the two of you on the infirmary bed and the dim orange hue of the oil lamp.
You could feel his intense gaze on you from his one good eye, while you concentrated on tying a secure knot so it wouldn't fall loose. The moment felt oddly intimate, knowing how sensitive his temper had been ever since he arrived back at camp, scarred in ways not even ambrosia could heal fully.
His hand resting around your thigh felt hot, and you tried to ignore how it your mind subconsciously kept track of every time his thumb would brush over the material of your pants.
"Next time.." You hinted, hopefully not crossing his boundaries. "If this happens again, you come straight here, got it? I don't care if I'm sleeping or attending someone else. You are not allowed to take care of a wound like this yourself, especially since I remember how reckless you can be."
Luke Castellan may be an excellent swordsman, but his cockiness was one weakness that he failed to keep controlled, and on days where it won over, he would always end up at the infirmary with a bashful smile as he tried to explain to you on how he ended up with a dislocated shoulder. That felt like eons ago, when that cheeky smile would always be present on his face, his signature move in getting away with any chaos he caused.
Staring at him now, you caught sight of that smile for such a split second you could've sworn you mistook it.
You couldn't stop the teasing smile that slipped past your stern attitude. "Was that a smile I saw, Castellan?"
He cleared his throat, his face falling back into practiced nonchalance, wearing a frown too forced to be real. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"I may be sleep-deprived because a certain someone decided midnight was the best time to ransack an infirmary, but I'm not blind. For making me work overtime, I at least deserve to know what you found so amusing."
He made a face, and you were sure if his face wasn't tightly bandaged, he would roll his eyes in exasperation. "I wasn't amused. Just don't remember you being this.. unhospitable with someone that's injured. And I am not reckless."
You scoffed, causing him to look over at you. "I'd say trying to steal from an infirmary is pretty reckless. I thought Hermes kids were supposed to be good in stealing?"
You realised all too late that you may have touched on a sensitive topic, with the mention of his father, but he didn't seem to notice over the frank insult of being called a bad thief.
"I am excellent in stealing." He bit back so quickly, you choked on a snort. Hermes kids and their egos. "I was just going easy on you because you were knocked out at your desk. Oh, and you snore, you know that?"
"I do not."
"Do too."
"You're a liar and a thief. Don't get why your reputation is as marvelled upon as it is, Castellan. You don't live up to the hype at all."
"Oh, and what about you, Miss Sunshine?" He retorted. "Aren't you suppose to be the famous sweetheart who sings all injuries away with a smile on your face?"
"Don't call me that ever again." You must have looked extremely repulsed because he let out a laugh so genuine, it wiped any disgust off your face at the sound of pure heaven flooding into your ears. God, you forgot he could laugh like that.
"Yeah, I suppose it doesn't suit you, does it?" He murmured. "Maybe Apollo kids are only nice when others are around to see it."
"You've only come back meaner, Castellan." You scoffed. "I almost regret helping you. Would much rather see you stumble over trying to deal with this yourself if I knew you'd be so ungrateful."
"Sounds righteous of you." He nodded with a sarcastic hum. "Leaving me to bleed out to death while you watch. I understand why the camp has such high stakes when it comes to survival now. Never knew there was a sadist hiding in you, sunshine."
"I told you not to call me that." You reminded. "And I'm doing the best I can to keep everyone here alive so don't come to my infirmary talking about stakes when I've just saved your ass from blood loss."
Your response triggered something in him and he grew silent, his gaze locked on you as if analyzing you. That was when you're really reminded of how awful you must've looked. With your bed hair, sunken-in dark circles and sunken shoulders from the lack of sleep, you did not exactly feel the most confident. You didn't know what happened to make the casual atmosphere disappear as fast as it did, but you were anxious that somehow, you had shut him up again and you'd never get the chance to see him that way again, with his playful banter and light-heartedness of a teenage boy that he should have.
"You shouldn't have to." He muttered, almost to himself rather than to you. A seriousness unlike the previous few quips he'd thrown at you took ahold of him, and you had a feeling this was a slither of who he had really become through his rapid transformation, hidden under the jokes and sarcasm.
"What?"
"You shouldn't have to." He repeated a little louder, trying to get you to see his point. A point he'd been trying to tell Chiron, his friends even- ever since he came back here, only to be meet with pitying looks like he was a madman who spoke nonsense to try and make sense of his failure. "Lives should not be your responsibility. You're younger than me, and yet, you're dealing with kids that are near death's door every time they make it past that barrier. I barely made it back here. Some don't even.."
Luke tried to breathe, remembering how he got to camp in the first place. The unnecessary sacrifice that had to be made, the tree that now rests at the barrier of camp, the sound of thunder and pouring rain beating at his face.
"Now, I'm stuck with this disgusting scar of my face for the rest of my life, a stupid reminder every single time I look at myself, that I failed my only chance at proving I was something more than just wasted potential. Now I've gone and screwed it up for everyone because I couldn't do some easy quest someone else already accomplished-" He winced suddenly, grabbing onto the bandaged part of his face that seemed to grow more irritated and inflamed as he spoke.
You were quick to reach for his hand, knowing his aggression may harm the wound more. "It is not disgusting." You answered for him, and slowly, your hand rested over his, removing it from his face so he wouldn't accidentally cause the wound to start bleeding again. "You are not a failure, Luke."
"Don't take pity on me by saying words you don't mean." He muttered. "Everyone expected me to succeed, I could feel it in their gaze when they looked at me. I was supposed to be the best, and just because everyone told me that, I believed it. Now, I'm nothing but a disappointment to everyone."
He didn't know why he was saying all this to you. Maybe because you were the only person to treat him normally in the past two weeks, to really listen instead of trying to get him to move on, and maybe because his heart felt like it was growing too heavy to carry on his own. The insecurity and vulnerability made him feel sick, and he found himself trying to tear his hands away from you out of the need to run, which only made him feel more disgusted with himself. Like a coward, his mind taunted.
You remained stubborn, holding onto his cold palms because you know he has had no warmth, no real genuine words spoken to him since he returned. No one to see him when it was clear he was suffering, that he needed all the time in the world and more to heal, and that he deserved more than self-loathing and an absent father who sentenced him to this fate.
"I am not pitying you." You insisted, and you leaned closer so he couldn't look away from you. "Your scar does not make you ugly or less valuable to anyone. It is not pity, it is a fact. You are a person who has survived a fate so close to death, and any feat to survive death is strength. You are strong, and you made it back here alive with a scar to prove it. It is not a sign of weakness."
"Anyone who tells you different has no right or say in your situation because they did not go through what you did." You said with a stern voice, your anger not towards him, but for him. "Not your father, not anyone."
Luke finally looked at you, like looked. His eyes were scanning all over your face as if not quite believing you were real, but the fire in your eyes was so magnetic, he couldn't look away. The pinch between your brows, the addictive warmth of your hands in his, and the close distance between the two of you, and yet, it didn't make his skin itch with the need to pull away. To hide in his corner and wallow over the heavy weight of knowing his world had ended in the Garden of the Hesperides. Or had it?
Your eyes looked right through him, and for once, he felt like there was someone there for him.
"I suppose I can see where your reputation comes from now, sunshine." He responded weakly, and his heart gave a thump when you smiled back at him.
"Healing's what I understand best." You shrugged casually, as if you didn't just silence his thoughts for a moment of peace, or that you have somehow dulled the internal blades that bled with self-hatred and world-consuming anger pointed at himself, and at the injustice of the gods who could not give a damn about their children. “If I can help you even a little, why shouldn’t I?”
He could feel time ticking again in the back of his mind, the night slowly passing into a new one, and he thinks as he holds your gaze, that maybe this world wouldn't be so painful to live in if he had someone to look at him the way you did.
"I don't know how I'm going to go back to normal. Or if I'll ever be normal again." He admitted, softer in his voice now that his mind didn't deem you as a threat.
"Normal can be lots of things." You said with a comforting smile. "It's normal to have a breakdown when you've nearly faced death. Multiple even. It's normal to feel fine one moment then not in the next. Healing isn't linear, and when you come to terms that you have a right to feel upset and a right to exist without being held to any expectations of others or what you think others want from you, it'll feel easier to just allow yourself to exist throughout the day. Not the perfect camp counsellor or a hero with no faults. Just as yourself."
He let your words sink in, his thumbs subconsciously rubbing over your knuckles, feeling the healed scars of your own from what he assumed must be from previous combat training. "I'm not that great as myself. You might find me disappointing."
You quirked your lips at that, and shook your head. "I don't believe in that one bit. You're already great just as you are now."
He raised a brow. "Even after trying to steal from your infirmary and having a mental breakdown past curfew?"
"Well, just be glad I was around because I'm much more understanding than Will would be with four hours of sleep."
"I am glad." He insisted. "That it's you."
"I'm glad it was me too." You reassured. "It is midnight though and there's Capture the Flag tomorrow, meaning someone's going to end up whining and moping in here in about eight hours so why don't you let me close shop and come by tomorrow, Castellan?"
"Luke." He corrected, giving you a smile you're sure must be the one the other campers rave about all the time. The charming one that made your heart stutter, even with half his face bandaged and eyebags resting below his caramel eyes.
"Luke." You tested it on your tongue tentatively, and it only seemed to spark an electricity between the two of you that you were sure he must've felt too. In the dark corner of the infirmary, with nothing but crickets and your hushed voice, you spoke again with a heavy heart when you needed to tell him to leave. "I have to close this place up or someone else might try and steal from the medicine cabinet, not that I thought it was possible before but.."
"Fine." He complied, getting off the bed and rising to his full height, towering over you and blocking the moonlight from your view. "I'll wait outside and walk you back to your cabin. It's the least I could do."
You tried not to seem too elated over the idea that you could spend a little more time with Luke, though you're sure your glowing smile must've shown. "Sure you're not just trying to improve your image around me, thief?"
He smirked, following you out to the front door while you wrestled for the keys in your pocket to lock up for the night. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
_
"What are you smiling about?"
You looked up from your daze to see Luke leaning over the door frame, watching you with a smirk over his face.
"Can't a girl smile just for the sake of it?" You bit back, cheeks flushing at the idea that he could've possibly seen your focus lingering a little too long on the bed he had sat on. "Why'd you drop out of Capture the Flag? You know your cabin's going to lose their streak to Ares at this point."
"Wanted to see someone." He replied with a shrug, pushing off the door frame to walk towards where you sat, leaning over your desk and watching you compile the latest stock of ambrosia into a box. "Plus, Athena and Hermes are joining for today so Annabeth's got it handled."
He shuffled his fingers along the edge of the table, outlining the curve before clearing his throat. "I heard you covering up for me just now, and I wanted to say thank you."
You looked up at him then, and his eyes seemed to convey that he was thanking you for more than just that. He looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t know how to.
"Eavesdropping on me now?” You teased. “Careful or you might end up becoming obsessed with a poor, overworked healer."
He scoffed exaggeratedly. "You wish. Just take the thank you. Should've known not to show my gratitude to an Apollo kid."
You stuck your tongue out at him before going on about how mind-blowing it can be that some kids really did not have emotional intelligence when it came to basic decency. Listening to you ramble on as you went on to arrange your first aid kits, Luke realised for all the disappointment he has experienced in his life, maybe there was one good thing his father led him to.
a/n: Couldn't resist writing how this duo met because I live and die for banter. inspired by 'my reputation's never been worse so you must like me for me' trope which is what i live and breathe for. His reputation as the perfect golden boy is in shambles, and sunshine couldn't care less.
taglist: @stars4birdie @elysiandumbash @kehlanislefttoe @mqg125 @madzlovez @0revna0 @auroraofthesun1 @idli-dosa @buubsii @kaylasficrecs @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @itsdragonius @moonlightfoxs-cantina
#luke castellan#luke castellan x reader#percy jackson#percy jackon and the olympians#luke castellan x apollo!reader#luke castellan x you#luke castellan x fem!reader#luke castellan fluff#luke castellan fic#luke castellan x y/n
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— "INTO THE RABBIT-HOLE" THE CROWNED PRINCESS OF RAMSHACKLE. riddle rosehearts
💭ramshackle princess series masterlist | 💬ao3 link
SYNOPSIS: A dispute with Riddle prompts the prefect to flee into the forest where she falls into a rabbit hole and finds herself in a mad fantastical realm of her imagination. Here, she meets her friends who are acting somewhat strangely… odd. They all treat her as royalty and whisk her away to a castle where her husband, the Red Queen, eagerly awaits her return.
How curious.
⊹ [ cw ] — hurt/comfort, falling from heights, arguments, lashing out, fighting, allusions to executions and stabbing, mentions of a knife, mentions of smoking, mild blood, riddle lashes out on you◞
⊹ [ tags ] — FLUFF, ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP, FEM! READER | deuce punches you, che'nya is a little shit, trey with bunny ears, ace and deuce as the tweedle dumbasses, affectionate riddle, cater as hot knave◞
⊹ [ w.c ] — 9K+
ACT I: BLOOD RED MESS
"It was just sitting on top of the old boxes in the attic!" You exclaimed, fumbling with the tiara buried deep in your bag. Trey watched as you took it out, holding it up for him to see. It was of a silver color, embezzled and richly decorated with diamonds. The tiara had a fan shaped diadem, nine throngs, and a small blue heart-shaped jewel as its centerpiece. It was an ornament befitting royalty. Not really something you'd find in Ramshackle's run-down attic.
"That does look expensive. What do you plan on doing with it?" Trey asked, pushing his glasses up. Both of you were taking a walk through the grounds of Heartslabyul, basking in the sunshine. "That could sell for quite a lot of money."
"Tempting, but I was planning on giving it to Crowley." You muttered, turning the tiara in your hands and admiring the way it glimmered in the sunlight.
All of a sudden, in the corner of your eye, a small green blur dashed into the rosebushes, scurrying deep into the green brambles. Gasping, you pointed to it. "Oh! Trey, did you see that?"
"See what...?" Trey blinked. You rushed forward, parting the branches and peering through the shrub. A green rabbit in a waistcoat dashed through the bushes, a ticking clock perched onto his hip. "A bunny rabbit!"
"A rabbit-? O-Oi! Prefect?!" Trey ran after you as you rushed through the bushes, intent on chasing the bunny. Branches and rose thorns scratched and tore at your uniform, but you paid no mind to it. The rabbit took a sharp turn right, and you followed in hot pursuit. As you rounded the corner, you crashed into a large stack of paint buckets. The canisters all toppled to the ground, breaking open and tainting the green grass red.
Likewise, you also fell into the red puddle. The paint pooled around you, seeping into your clothes and hair. You groaned, pushing yourself away from the wreckage. "Just my lucky day."
While you were busy glaring down at the offending red pigment bleeding onto your pristine white blouse, Trey had rushed to your side. The third-year seemed to be nervous as he wiped your face down with his sleeve. "Prefect, quick, fix yourself up before—"
"What is the meaning of this?!" Riddle exclaimed, the clattering click of his heels signaling his arrival as he stomped towards you.
Uh oh.
"O-Oh! Riddle, I—" You stammered, scrambling up. "Love, I was just trying to—"
"Do you have any idea what you've just done?!" Riddle yelled, pulling you away from Trey and seizing your arm—all with a frown etched onto his face. You whimpered at his tight hold, his blunt nails digging deep into your skin. "What were you thinking?! Why were you running through the gardens like some buffoon?!"
"I-I...I was chasing...a rabbit." You peered at him through shaky wet lashes, cheeks burning up in embarrassment. Your sweetheart stared at you in incredulity before a snarky laugh left his lips.
"A rabbit." Riddle seethed, dragging a hand down his face. His pointed glare cut through you as he gestured towards the mess of red. "All that for a rabbit?!"
"I'll have you know that batch of paint is a special import from the Queendom of Roses. We've been waiting for its arrival for months and now you've ruined it with your tomfoolery!" The redhead's chest heaved as he finished his outburst. His skin had turned crimson, and a vein had ticked on his temple. Riddle grabbed a battered bucket beside you, making you avert your gaze towards him.
"Well? What do you have to say for yourself?" He said. Your mouth dropped open, but you found yourself unable to say anything. The longer you kept silent, the more he felt his anger simmer. Riddle's face twisted into a vicious scowl before he threw the bucket full-force at a nearby tree. The resounding bang made you jump, fear gripping your heart.
"I said—" Riddle paused, his tongue screeching to a halt once he saw thick blobs of tears sliding down your face. Silence soon followed. Quickly, his demeanor changed as he finally realized the cruelty and weight of his words.
Muttering obscenities under his breath, Riddle pinched the bridge of his nose. He's done it again, he let his anger get the better of him.
Mistaking his guilt for anger, you cowered before him, watery eyes glued to the ground as you sputtered out sloppy apologies. "I'm s-sorry, Riddle...I'm really sorry."
"No, I—" The redhead let go of your arm, causing you to fall back and crumble to the floor. He scrambled to kneel down beside you, hands hovering over your waist. "Rose, I didn't mean to—"
"I-I have to go." Everyone stared at you with sympathy as you rushed out of the garden, frantically wiping away at the tears on your cheeks. Riddle tried to go after you, but Trey blocked his path. The third-year shook his head, pushing the dormleader back. "Give her some space."
"You can apologize later." Trey sighed. He folded his arms over his chest, looking as if he was about to lecture Riddle. But the look of guilt on his childhood friend's face already told him all he needed to know.
ACT II: JUST LIKE ALICE
Sobs racked through your chest as you rushed through the woods. You didn't know where you were going, you just knew was that you needed to get away. Riddle's words still beat and tore at your poor heart.
So stricken with embarrassment from earlier, you didn't notice an overgrown branch sticking out of the dirt and you tripped, slipping into an agape rabbit hole. You fell through the dirt tunnel; Screaming your lungs out, spinning around wildly in the air, and panicking while tears sprung out of your eyes. Though you soon realized, as minutes passed that you were still falling. The hole seemed to be unending.
"By the great sevens-?!" You soon stopped spinning wildly and instead started floating down. From soaring book shelves, a musty wrinkled bed, a vintage lamp and a broken down piano—The hole around you was filled with all sorts of trinkets and junk.
It took a good 10 minutes before you finally dropped to the ground. Oddly enough, your fall didn't hurt one bit. In fact, it was rather...plush?
Looking down, you found yourself seated on a tremendous pile of pillows. Each pillow was distinct, mainly covered with red and black patchwork—you could only assume it was handmade. There was some sort of symbolism stitched onto it as well, resembling either a heart or playing cards.
"What in the...Twisted Wonderland?" You gasped, standing up.
Whilst on top of the pillowy mountain, you took the chance to survey the surrounding room. It was a great hallway lined with many doors of all shapes and sizes. The area was fairly big, modeled after Heartslabyul's dorms with its wine-red walls, checkered floors, and peculiar heart-themed architecture.
Was this some sort of secret hideout?
"How curious..." Sliding down the hill of pillows, you decide to survey the hallway. Amongst the doors, you find a small one that's hardly the size of your foot. It was unique from the rest, colored purple and framed by a golden archway instead of the common silver one that others had.
Speculative, you wrapped your fingers around the minuscule handle and turned the door open. You bent down to peek through and catch sight of a beautiful, lush garden.
A group of flowers danced around in the wind, almost as if they were beckoning you to take a closer look. For some odd reason, it fascinated you. In a trance, you turned back to the room with a new goal in mind. Surely there must be something in here that could take you in?
A banquet table sitting in the far corner caught your eye. It was filled to the brim with fresh pastries and drinks, strange considering no one was here. Though a bit creeped out, you took a gander at the feast lay out before you. Despite the table being so long, there was only one chair present and in front of it was an envelope.
"Curiouser and curiouser." You mutter.
Tearing the top open with your nail, you plucked out the contents of the envelope and caught sight of your name marked in elegant cursive on a lustrous golden card.
"A letter...?" You muttered. What you found was an invitation to a party. "Addressed to me?"
"The Red Queen's Unbirthday party...?" You mumbled, eyes skimming over the text until one line attracted your attention. "—Where His Majesty's Rose shall put on the Nine-Throng Tiara?"
A Tiara? With Nine-Throngs?
Blinking, you turned back to the stack of pillows. The very tiara you found in your attic was sitting at the top, glimmering under the lights of the hall. Uh...when exactly did that get here?
You squinted your eyes at the line again. "Where she shall put on the Nine-Throng Tiara..."
"Put on the Nine-Throng Tiara?" Pocketing the invitation, you trudged back to the very top of the pillows and took the jewel headdress in your hands. You could only assume that its appearance here right now was the result of magic.
...So it wouldn't be far off to say that it had magical powers, huh?
Taking a deep breath, you raised it above your head. "Well then, here goes nothing."
After gently setting it atop your head, you soon found a mystical glow engulfing your body. Gasping, you watched as your school uniform shifted and altered into a dress.
The dress was of a sky blue, a long train at its back, pleats along its front; It was decked with lavish lace, delicate embroidery and sewn in with diamonds.
The dress was knee-length and its big bouffant-styled skirt bounced when you walked. For accessories, you had opera-length white gloves and matching white stockings on.
Running your hand up your neck, you noticed how it had a high white lace collar which oddly complimented the black bow tied snug around your waist. The sneakers you had previously worn shifted themselves into dark mary janes, which felt like clouds with every step you took.
"O...kay? A dress-up was not what I was expecting." Sighing, you bunched up the train of your skirt in your hands and rushed back to the banquet table. This time, you took a look at the food and found a champagne bottle labeled "DRINK ME".
Silently debating if this was a good idea, after a while, you decide to just go for it. Popping the bottle open, you take a quick swig and immediately get hit with a wave of nausea. Gagging, you place the bitter drink down on the table.
"H-Huh!?" You gasp as the room around you grew bigger and bigger or rather—as you grew smaller and smaller.
"Oof!" You plopped down onto the floor, the banquet table now towering over you. The drink had managed to shrink you to the right size and it seems that your clothes adjusted accordingly. Clapping your hands, you happily made your way to the golden door and turned the handle.
Only to find that it was locked.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me." Furrowing your brows, you continued to furiously fumble with the doorknob.
"It wasn't locked earlier!" You whined, kicking at the door. Huffing, you turned back once more to the table. A small golden key was seen on top, one that you must have missed earlier.
Well, it was far too high up for you to reach now that was for sure. While marching up to the key, you spot a cookie marked “EAT ME” hidden behind one of the nearby table legs.
"Might as well." You shrug, grabbing the cookie. After brushing it off, you move in to take a bite. "This can't possibly get any worst."
"Huh...? W-Woah!" You shriek, looking down at your feet which seemed to be so far off. Just then your head struck against the roof of the hall. "Uff!"
This time, it seems that the cookie caused you to grow to an inordinately large height.
"That hurt..." You grumbled, rubbing the top of your head. At once, you took up the tiny golden key and hurried off to take the champagne bottle, downing the liquid and shrinking back down. With a pep in your step, you rushed towards the door.
"Alright, Wonderland." You pushed the key into the keyhole, turning until you heard a click.
"What do you have in store for me?"
Stepping into the door, you found yourself in the peculiar garden.
It was a whimsical wonderland of it's own. The sky was painted in reds and pinks, and the flowers were ones that you've never seen nor heard of before. The only ones familiar to you were the rosebushes which surrounded the area, enclosed around the garden like towering barricades as little butterflies kissed its roses, fluttering about the flora.
"Oi!" Jumping, you whipped your head around to find a familiar pair of ginger and blueberry heads peeking out from a tree. "Who're you?"
Gasping, both of your hands clasped over your mouth.
"Ace?! Deuce?!" The first-years jumped at your shrill shriek, nervously exchanging glances when their names flew out of your mouth. Both of them stepped away from their hiding spot, cautiously walking towards you.
"How do y'know my name?" Ace asked. You were about to answer his question, but got distracted once you noticed the ridiculous outfits they were dressed in. Both of them had identical vivid yellow blouses with thick white lapels. Said blouses were paired with high-waisted red slacks and big blue bow-ties.
Snorting, you covered your mouth to conceal your giggles. "W-What's with the goofy fit?"
"Eh? This is what we wear every day?" Deuce halted, looking down on his outfit. Ace shook his head, slapping his friend by the back of his head. "N-Never-mind that, listen, we have no idea who you are but—"
"Huh...?" You blinked dementedly. "What do you mean you have no idea who I am...? I'm Y/N!"
Both of them stared blankly at each other, then at you. Simultaneously, they bluntly replied. "Who?"
"Y/N!"
Ace folded his arms across his puffed up chest. "Never heard of 'er."
"Guys, seriously-"
"That dress looks expensive." Deuce noted, "Are you some duchess from out of the kingdom?"
"No! I'm-" You struggled.
"Deuce, I don't know about you...but I think she might be a bit cuckoo in the head." Ace whispered, deliberately backing away from you. "Let's walk away slowly..."
"Alright! Enough with the jokes!" You lashed out. Gathering your skirt in your hands, you frantically rushed towards the two. "Listen to me! I'm-"
"Your majesty!" Popping out of a corner, Trey appeared by your side and scrambled to clumsily curtsy before you. His shoulders trembled with tension as he kept them taut and square. Stupefied, you stumbled back and gawked at him. "Y-Your majesty?"
It was only then did you notice the two fluffy green bunny ears sitting atop his head. He fumbled with an antique pocket watch, taking a quick glance at the clock before hastily stuffing it into his pocket. Trey wore a plaid red petticoat, dark maroon slacks, and a deep lavender bowtie.
"I apologize for these two." He awkwardly chuckled, kicking at the two boys' knees and forcing them into kneeling positions. Nearly toppling over from the force of Trey's kick, both Ace and Deuce hurriedly crouched down before you.
"We apologize, your highness. We didn't realize it was you..." Deuce trailed off, face spiraling into a ghostly pasty white. "Y-You're not going to cut our heads off, are you?"
"Why—in the everlasting fuck—would I do that?!" You swore, scraping your fingers through your hair and tugging at the strands which made your tiara turn askew. "I don't even know what's going on!"
"Neither do I." All of a sudden, a floating grin appeared in the middle of nowhere, manifesting itself out of thin air. Then, a head and body slowly appeared in a cloud of lavender mist. A purple-haired cat-beastman appeared before you, tail swishing around gracefully as he smoked a long hookah.
The cat looked at you for some time in silence, his face obscured by the thick purple mist he was smoking. At last, he took the hookah out of his mouth, and addressed Trey in a languid voice. "My~ You guys are really giving our rose a headache!"
The smoke cleared to reveal a familiar face grinning at you.
"Che'nya?! You're here too?!" You gasped.
"Yes~ Hello, there. Alchemi Alchemivich Pinka at your service," He bows.
"I have to say! It's great to see you here, your highness!" Che'nya chortled, floating up into the air and spinning around playfully. "Your husband turned the entire kingdom upside down looking for you."
Jolting, you pressed your palm flat to your chest in shock. "M-My husband?!"
"Yesss~" Che'nya drawled, floating around without a care in the world. "Your queen has gone mad ever since you've gone, your highness."
"My queen?!" Is your bewildered response.
"Yes, your majesty. Erm...the 'queen' is a he." Trey confirmed. "Queen Rosehearts has been in a state of panic since you've disappeared weeks ago."
Nodding along, Che'nya gestures to the bright red ring on your hand. You gape at the jewel, eyes ripped wide open. Where did that come from? What is with you and random jewelry popping out of nowhere? No, most importantly—you were married to Riddle?!
You tilt your head up, meeting everyone's eyes in a panicked state.
"This is a dream," Slowly backing away, you cradled your head in your hands. The gravity of the situation you were in was finally sinking in.
As you guessed, this was an extremely lucid and well-crafted dream. It had to be a dream. What other reason was there?
Most likely, you were in the forest right now, having fallen unconscious after tripping over that branch. Yes, truly, you must have hit your head somewhere.
In a daze, you gestured to the world around you. "Yes. Yes, this is a dream."
With that logic in mind, you were safely held inside the comforting quarters of your own head.
"You!" You bellow and point a rigid finger at Deuce. The poor boy tensed up, fear striking him like thunder as you moved towards his incapacitated frame. Grabbing onto the collar of his shirt, you pulled him towards you and spat out an order,
"Punch me."
Instantaneously, his horror-stricken expression melts into one of confusion. You want him to do what now?
"Erm.." Deuce furrows his brows, closes his eyes and clutches his chin, pondering.
Surely, it was against the law to punch the Queen's Rose? If Riddle got the slightest whiff of what he's done, he's a dead man. Then again, disobeying direct orders from royalty was also a crime, was it not?
He was torn.
Deuce sighs, moistening his lips as he meets your frenzied gaze. Ah, well...either way, this was a lose-lose situation for him.
"A-As you wish." Raising his arm, he smashed a rough fist against your cheek. The blow caused your head to violently whip back as you stumbled to the ground.
Minutes pass and yet, to your chagrin, apart from the growing bruise on your cheek, nothing has changed. You blink incessantly, brows drawn tight together.
"That's odd. Punching usually does the trick." You murmur, concurrently confused and dizzy. Trey helped you up and considered your condition with reckoning eyes. "Your majesty, have you hit your head somewhere? Or maybe you're sick? You're acting...odd."
"Oh, well—First off, I fell down a rabbit hole. Then there were pillows, tiny doors—and-and other things I can't even make sense of!" You gestured grandly around, acting out the various things you've experienced but Trey doesn't seem to appreciate your ramblings, continuing to stare at you like you were a madman.
You huff and scoured the vast open gardens as if you could find the culprit who had created this insane world. "This is all so insane, weird, a-and—and mad!”
"Oh, your highness, everyone here is mad. Especially you~!" Che'nya cackled, throwing his head back in amusement. He floated towards you, wrapping his lithe tail around your waist. "Ah, but while I do enjoy the little show you're putting on. We really have to get you back to the castle. Can't really have our kingdom's rose wandering around the forest with memory loss, hm?"
In a snap of his fingers, a map appeared before you.
"This, your highness, is the Red Castle. That's where you reside." Che'nya tapped his fingertip against the very center where an illustration of a castle was shown. It was quite nicely done, nearly to the point of obsessive architectural intricacy.
"Trey, I trust you'll take them there?" Che'nya purrs, head tilting to the side, knuckles pushing up against his cheek.
"Of course. I'll make sure you return home safe, your majesty." Trey responded, one of his bunny ears swiveling.
Once again, he checked his watch, anxiety gripping him as a trickle of sweat dripped down onto the glass frame. After a while, he pocketed it and reached his hand out to you. "We must leave now. I'm already running late for the unbirthday party. The opening ceremony starts in 3 hours..."
'Curious and curiouser...This is not so bad a dream,' you thought as you intertwined your fingers with his. 'Perhaps I should stay a while.'
ACT III: A WATCHFUL EYE
"Hey! Bunny—We really had to go this way?" Ace groaned, holding onto the train of your skirt as to not sully it on the dirt ground.
"It's the quickest way to the castle. You know we can't waste any more time." Trey pressed, directing your group deeper into the woods.
"Yeah, yeah! You told me that earlier. I just don't get why I gotta follow? That cat-guy dipped the moment we stepped a foot into this place." Ace pouted, kicking a nearby pebble away.
"Oh, is that so? Well then, feel free to go back." Trey scorned, taking the train of your dress away from Ace's hands and grasping it in his own. "It's not like I'm forcing you to come along. Surely that would make you happier?"
"Fine by me!" The ginger scoffed, crossing his arms and proceeding to go the other way.
Rolling his eyes, Trey pressed a hand by your back and continued guiding you through the forest. Only for you to come to a halt, digging your heels to the ground. "Wait."
"Your majesty?" The bunny noticed how your eyes flickered to Ace's retreating form briefly, concern swimming around your bright orbs.
"Will he be alright? I'm not so sure he even remembers where we came from..." You sighed. "We can't really leave him behind. Especially in this forest, of all places."
Trey stays silent, a warm smile spreading across his cheeks. Ah, so the tales were true. Tales of the Queen's Rose and their never-ending compassion. Hearsay's of how they pardon offenders sent to the dungeon cells or to the pillory of a guillotine.
"Don't worry, your majesty," Trey chuckled. "He'll be crawling after us in a few minutes."
Shaking your head, you grimaced. "If you say so."
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
"That damn bunny. Makin' me go into this creepy place." Ace seethed through gritted teeth, stomping back from where he came from. "Like hell I'm wasting my time helping that crazy missy."
As he trudged through the dirt pathway, a branch cracked in the far distance and he froze. Fear gripped him in it's grasp as a cool chill seeped into his bones, creeping all the way up to his spine.
Ahm...was it just him, or was the sky darker now?
Gulping, Ace's eyes darted around the forest. The wind howled and screeched, the tall decaying branches of rotting trees reached out to him like talons, and the gloomy shadows in the distance morphed into twisted, deformed faces.
Yeah, no. He was out.
"O-Oi! Guys, on second thought, a hike is just what I need!" Ace disputes, struggling for breath as he chased after you. "Guys?!"
As Ace skittered after you, he was completely oblivious to the ominous gaze pinned to his back.
Obscured behind a cluster of trees, a raven, perched atop a log, looked straight at your group with a lidded stare—unblinking and as still as a statue.
Once you were all out of it's sight, the raven spread it's wings and took off into the sky. It soared through the woodlands, fleetly gliding around the large trees of a forest and wide grassy plains before reaching the Queen's domain.
Grey mist and thin fog cut through the streets of the kingdom while a looming feeling of dread permeated through the air. The past few weeks of searching have not been merciful to the people, it seems. Everyone has felt the full effect of the rose's disappearance.
Once the bird reached the territory of the Red Castle, it swoops and dips down to a balcony. The Knave of Knights stood by his desk in his bedroom, reading over letters and declarations from the Queen. Just a few beheadings to schedule here and there, nothing too difficult.
The loud flap of wings drew his attention away from the desk. A leering smirk stretches across his face as he stands and leisurely strolls over to the bird.
"Birdie~ Back so soon? Have you found them?" He purrs, cocking his head. The leather pads of his glove stroke lightly at the crow's head as it squawks a response. "Hmm~? The queen's favorite trio of lunatics is taking her here?"
Chucking, the Knave clasped his hands around his sallet—lazily pulling his helmet off and allowing his ginger hair to cascade down his shoulders. The iron of his cuirassier plate armor glinted under the glare of the sun, refined and battle-scarred though peculiarly lavishly decorated. It seemed to serve more as a fashion statement than actual protection.
"Well then~ Let's go pay Queen Red a visit, lil' Cay-Cay." Cater muses, scratching the side of his cheek.
"Hopefully that rabbit can handle it. It's going to be MY head on the pillory if she doesn't return home safe."
ACT IV: STRAWBERRY JAM
"SOMEONE HAS TAKEN THREE OF MY TARTS!"
The doors to the throne-room thrash open, smashing hard against the walls. Servants and soldiers alike startled, groveling in fear as they forced their gaze towards the entryway. In all his full glory, the Red Queen appears, adorned in his usual white dress suit.
His face was tinted in a deep bloody red, pupils dilated into mere pin-pricks, and thin lips stretched out into a snarl. The wisps of his lashes cast a bold shadow across his plump cheekbones, the brush of scarlet eyeshadow above his eyes intensifying his scornful gaze.
Card soldiers frantically scramble to line up by the pathway as Riddle prowls around the room, his signature cape tossed over his left shoulder, dragging along the floor as he went. Snarling, he points his golden scepter to a soldier standing by the end of the line. "Was it you?!"
"N-No my queen..."
"You?!" Riddle bellows, swiveling his scepter to point to one of your handmaids this time. Whimpering, she shook like a leaf in her shoes, wringing a washcloth tight in her hands. "I-It w-was not me, my queen."
A sudden movement, on the fringes of his peripheral vision, caught his attention. Turning around, his gaze was drawn to a chef standing near the door. The boy appeared to be no more than fifteen years old. Riddle assumed he was a mere apprentice.
The chef popped his fingers in his mouth, seemingly humming at it's taste. How...odd.
Squinting his eyes, Riddle strides towards the apprentice. He approached the boy, pushing him back until his back was flush against the window's tinted glass panes.
"And how about you...?" Riddle seethes, leaning down close to the chef's face. A wobbly grin presents itself on the boy's lips as he stutters out a greeting.
"Tsk." Tutting, Riddle places his scepter below the apprentice's chin, flicking the boy's gaze up. His crimson eye darts to the side of the chef's lips where a smidge of jam could be faintly seen.
"Miscreant." Riddle snarls, dragging the boy forward by his apron. Falling forward, the subject scrapes his skin against the floor—a look of horror seeping onto his face as he kneels before his queen.
"OFF WITH HIS HEAD." Riddle screams, slamming the bottom of his scepter onto the ground which discharged a burst of magic. A collar manifested itself around the chef's neck, so heavy that it weighed his entire upper body down—making him fall.
Panicking, he writhed around on the ground but could not muster enough strength to bring his head up due to the sheer weight of the restraints.
"No! Please!" Indifferent to the pleads of his victim, Riddle scoffs and struts towards his throne, heels noisily clicking against the marble. Moving swiftly, a pair of soldiers grabbed the offender by his arms, dragging him out of the room. As the screaming crook was taken out, the doors shut close with a resounding bang.
"My apologies for the disturbance." Sighing, Riddle reclines against his throne, cape draped across his shoulder and cascading down to his lap. Grumbling, he pushes his hair back—half-lidded gaze piercing through the crowd before him.
"All of you return to your previous duties." He orders. Though hesitant, gradually, the servants resumed to their previous tasks around the castle, toiling silently as to avoid further aggravating the Red Queen.
Riddle sighs and sinks onto his throne, rubbing at the scorch in his eyes. The warm beaming light of the sun cascaded down his flushed face as he reflected over his previous actions
Was he too harsh with his punishment? After all, you've always resented the way he dealt with delinquents so...intently.
Riddle sighs, tilting his head back. Perhaps he should have—
A frown etched itself deep onto his cheeks.
No. That chef deserved every bit of punishment sent his way. It was a general and well-known rule in the castle that no one must consume the tarts baked in preparation for an unbirthday party. Only a fool would forget it.
"It was justified," He huffs. "I am clearly in the right," Riddle consoles himself.
Behind the draping crimson curtains of the throne room, a tall figure steps out—adorned in a full suit of armor. The Red Queen glances at the stranger, immediately recognizing the tangerine strands peeking out through the openings of his helmet.
"Knave." Riddle murmurs, addressing Cater with a simple glare. Unfazed, Cater bows with a cheery grin before striding over to the queen's side. Plopping himself onto the arm of the chair, Cater leans down to wrap an arm around Riddle. "Hiya~!"
"That was certainly the performance of a lifetime earlier. It was theatre worthy!" The Knave snickers, eyes sweeping across the room, rejoicing at the horrified looks the servants send him.
'How dare a mere knave like him act so friendly with the red queen?!' He could already hear their hushed whispers. 'Was he mad?'
'Mayhaps.' Cater chuckles, eyes turning dark.
"Anyhow~! Boy, do I have some good news for you." Cater laughs, mood switching over like a light switch. He pulls off his helmet, fanning his face with his hands. "Man, it's so hot in here. Like—Who installed the ventilation?"
Riddle clicks his tongue, pushing the knave away. "I am in no mood for your shenanigans. Come back some other time."
"Ugh, if you say so." Cater sighs, slipping off the throne and turning his back to the queen. "I guess you don't want to hear about how my little pet found your rose. Toodles!"
"What?" Riddle snaps, pulling Cater back by his arm. "Repeat that at once."
Cater smiles.
He turns to Riddle with a cold dead look in his eyes. "Ara~? Didn't you say you weren't in the mood? Don't worry. I'll come back later. For now, I'll be on my merry way~"
"Do not test me, knave." Riddle seethes, hands coiling tight around his scepter. Cater hummed, waiting a second or so before responding.
"Little Cay-Cay found her with the bunny and the tweedle duo. They were trekking through the forest." He rasps, toying with the half painted rose brooch on Riddle's suit pocket. "I think that little baker bunny of yours is escorting her here."
"Find them." Riddle growls, baring his teeth. Cater blinked languidly, confusion written all over his features. "Why would I do that? Like I said, they're already bringing her here—"
"I said find them!" The red queen snaps, slamming his fist down onto the arm of his throne. Cater stares at him with a passive expression, unmoving and watching Riddle's every movement carefully.
Well, this certainly ruined his plans. What a travesty.
"As you wish..." He kneels, slipping his helmet back onto his head. "...your majesty."
ACT V: THE KNAVE
Despite the initial creepiness, it was quite nice to take a walk in the forest.
Owls hooted and birds chirped in the darkness as golden-orange leaves fluttered in the wind. The soft cool breeze occasionally reached out to caress your cheeks. Nature was at pure harmony with each other here, melting into a single combined melody that provided your group with peaceful ambience.
"The gates are just up ahead. It'll lead us directly to the castle grounds." Trey divulged, tilting his head towards a distant outline of a castle.
You took a deep breath and took in the crisp woodland air, letting it fill your lungs before exhaling it out. The anticipation of what was to come made your hands clammer as a wave of nervousness washed over you.
"Hi~! Oh, Miss Majesty!" The clippety-clop of hooves made its way towards you. Seated on a gigantic beauty of a black stallion, a rider halted before you.
"Oh! U-Um..." Gasping, you gathered your skirt and stumbled back. Tilting your head up, you gazed up at the stranger, "Ah...are you some kind of royal guard?"
The mysterious armor-clad rider laughs, shaking his head. "Hmm...close to that! Actually, I'm a knave!"
"The name is Cater Diamond. At your service." Cater bowed. His horse too mimicked his actions as it bent a knee and curtseyed before you. Giggling, you raised a hand to gently pet at the stallion's mane. It seemed to revel in the gesture as it relaxed and huffed in satisfaction.
"Ah. Cater, I-I didn't expect to see you here." Trey fiddled with his glasses, a ruminative look on his face. The chef kept himself guarded, stepping a few feet away. Cater side-eyed him, smiling ominously. "Hiyaa~ Trey! Nice to see you and your little tweedle boys."
Deuce and Ace frowned, glaring at the smug aristocrat. Folding his arms over his chest, Trey sighed. "Yeah...nice to see you."
"Mhm~ Now!" Cater clapped his hands. "While I really do appreciate you bringing our Miss Majesty back to the kingdom...I do believe there's an unbirthday party coming up? Well, it would be best if you commoners—Ah, excuse me—participants went ahead and started preparing."
All three had the same smoldering frown branded onto their faces. They were clearly irked at the not-so-subtle dig Cater sent their way. It’s becoming a bit of a ritual: every time the knave would meet any of them there was always some snarky comment sitting on the tip of his tongue.
"I dunno' if you're blind or anythin', but we're kinda busy." Ace scoffed, tilting his head over to you. "She still has to get into that castle."
"Ah, about that! Don't worry~ I'll take things over and bring the rose to the castle." Cater grins at you, patting down his horse. "Miss Majesty, wouldn't you prefer riding a great stallion instead of...how horrifying...walking?"
"Oh, I really don't mind walking. I think I'll just—"
"Great!" Before you could finish your sentence, Cater leans down and wraps a firm steady arm around your bottom. You flinch, pushing your hands against his shoulders. "H-Hey!"
"Easy now, Miss Majesty." He hoists you up onto his horse, securely placing you atop the saddle. The train of your dress was now bunched up by your hips as you sat sideways on the stallion.
"You're so relentless." You huff, smacking Cater's iron clad chest. Only to end up regretting it when your palm started to throb from the impact. Hissing, you drew your hand back.
What a surprise. Who knew hitting someone decked in full armor wasn't a good idea?
“It would be unrefined for me to leave her with someone—someone like you!” Trey bristles, dashing over to pull you off the horse but Cater was quick to shove him away.
“Oh, please, bunny. I insist,” Cater replies firmly. “You're a busy man, Trey. I—of all people—know the importance of keeping a well-ordered schedule and you know fully well how Queen Rosehearts hates being off schedule."
Trey stays silent, keeping his gaze glued to his feet.
Grinning wryly, Cater starts guiding his horse in the direction of the castle. "Well, then~ Toodles! We'll see you three at the party."
With a whip of his reins, both of you were off.
In haste, you turned your head around, bidding adieu to the trio as they waved back.
ACT VI: MAD PARTY
The journey to the castle was fairly long, yet you found yourself enjoying the sights and bustle of the city blurring past you while the people greeted you with robust gaiety and mirth.
When the clouds parted to reveal the sun, you noticed that your eyes stung as you peered up at the strangely pink sky. It wasn't the intense brightness of the sky; rather, it had a shade that brought back memories of late afternoons spent in Heartslabyul, petting pink flamingos while lying on the grass with Riddle's head on your lap.
Following unbirthday celebrations, it was routine for you two to relax while just enjoying each other's company.
Ah, that's right...the unbirthday party. In fact, now that you think about it, there was an unbirthday planned in your "reality" as well. It was the day after today, and the entire dorm was overrun with work.
A painful sting crept up your heart as you remembered the events that transpired earlier. Oh, you must have ruined Riddle's preparations...no wonder he was so livid.
The horse slowed to a stop as you reached the entryway of the castle. It was in essence of a Victorian design. With its mosaic of red cobblestone and brick, it stood there—tall and bold, as though conjured from a child's fairytale.
Cater slipped off his horse and held out a hand for you to take. "Shall we? Ah, but, you do know that your presence is mandatory at an unbirthday party?"
"Yes, I do. We shall." You smile and take his hand as he carries you off the horse, setting you down onto the ground. The knave led you to the back of the castle, where a garden—or, more accurately, a yard—was at.
A big rose-tree at the entryway drew your attention. The roses growing on it were white, but there were two gardeners at it, busily painting them red.
"How curious..." You mutter. "It's just like back in Heartslabyul..."
"Pardon? What was that, your majesty?" Cater questioned, a brow raised. You shook your head, faking a cough. "Ah—Erm—Nevermind that it was just a slip of tongue."
"Oh. Alright..." He regarded you with a skeptical look. "Well then. I'll leave you to it. I have to go fetch Queen Rosehearts."
"Do enjoy the party." With a final bow, Cater strode away, leaving you alone.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
The party was bustling and filled with patricians dressed in colorful, silky lavish garbs and glimmering jewels. The majority of the men and women were dressed considerably more extravagantly than you. It was a charming small extravaganza that everyone seemed to enjoy.
They were all huddled around by a grand large banquet table, but you weren't interested in that at all.
Among the guests, you recognized Trey. He appeared to be speaking to a card soldier in a hasty, anxious manner, smiling at everything the soldier said and passing you by unnoticed. The bunny was clearly preoccupied; you decided to leave him be this time.
You turned back to the gardeners painting the rosebushes. What a very curious thing...and you went nearer to watch them.
Just as you came up to them, one of them nearly splashed you with a dash of paint. You pulled your skirt out of the way, narrowly missing a drop of red. "Oh, my!"
"Oi! Look out, Deuce! Don’t go splashing paint over like that!" You peered up at the gardeners, noticing two familiar faces.
Ace and Deuce were engaged in a heated argument, flinging their brushes and buckets around.
“I couldn’t help it! You jogged my elbow!" Deuce snarled, throwing his brush at Ace. Screeching, the ginger dodged it. "Oh yeah! That’s right, Deuce! Always lay the blame on others!”
Deuce flung down his paintbucket, and had just begun to roll his sleeves up "Say that again—” when his eye chanced to fall upon you. As you stood watching them, he checked himself suddenly. Ace looked round also, and both of them quickly bowed low. "Your majesty!"
"You know. You ought to stop fighting if you want to get this done," you mused. "Queen Rosehearts is coming, boys. Make sure to get that done or it's—"
You swiped your finger across your neck, hinting at what was to happen if the two didn't straighten up. "Off with your head."
The tweedle duo visibly tensed up. "Yes, your majesty!" They shouted, rushing back to paint the unblemished white roses. At this moment, Trey, who had been anxiously looking across the garden, called out: “The Queen is here!"
The people gathered by the entryway, and you looked round, eager to see your Queen. Murmurs and whispers spread through the crowd as the procession started.
First came a crowd of card soldiers, decked in military uniforms that were reminiscent of Heartslabyul's dorm uniforms. Then followed the Knave of Hearts, Cater was seated atop his horse, head stuck up high in the air. As he waltzed by, you could hear the murmurs and giggles of young women and men around you. Smiling, you shook your head as he winked at a flustered servantboy. 'What a charmer...'
Last of all, the trumpets blared an ear-piercing blow as the highlight of this grand procession came.
"His Imperial Majesty, His grace, His excellency, His Royal Majesty...The Red Queen, Riddle Rosehearts!"
The people round you bowed down yet you were rather doubtful whether you ought to lie down like them or approach the procession. So you stood still where you were, and waited. When the procession came by you, they all halted.
A moment of pure silence envelops the scene. Everyone in the garden gawked at you, placing you in a spotlight. A bashful smile came upon your face as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "Hi..?"
"Rose." Riddle muttered, shock radiating from his entire being. The scepter he'd been carrying was discarded on the floor carelessly as he surged towards you, dragging you into his arms. Gasping, you eagerly sank into his embrace as the surrounding crowd erupted in cheers. Riddle drew back and pressed his lips heatedly against yours, making you feel faint.
My, the Riddle in this world was certainly much more forward than the one in yours.
"Oh, my dear." Riddle swoons, raising your hands and pressing his lips against your knuckles. "Dearest, I've been worried sick. I thought you'd gone forever."
Heart melting, you whispered, "Well, I'm here now.", and traced the side of his face.
Riddle leaned against your touch; He tucked his arm affectionately into yours and pulled you in to join the procession.
As you soon noticed, you were walking by Trey, who was peeping anxiously at a paper.
"Hello, Trey" You greeted. "—where’s Che'nya?"
“Hush!” He said in a low, hurried tone. He looked anxiously over at Riddle who was preoccupied with adjusting the large bow to your dress. Trey leaned over, putting his mouth close to your ear as he whispered "Che'nya is under sentence of execution."
“What for?” You hushed, eyes wide as a plate. Trey opened his mouth to speak but before he could—you were pulled off into the croquet grounds by Riddle.
"What a lovely day for croquet. Don't you think, rose?" Riddle smiled, pressing his lips against your knuckles once more. He pulled you forward, chest flush against yours as his hands rest against your hips. Stammering, your cheeks burned up at his bold affections. "O-Oh! Yes! Very much! Though I don't know if I have the energy for a game right now."
"Alright then. Feel free to rest a while." Riddle seats you down a round table filled with pastries. Riddle discards his cape, revealing the handsome the 3-piece suit he had underneath.
The queen plucks a rose from a nearby bush and nips away its thorns. He presses a fleeting kiss against your lips whilst threading the rose into your hair. "Stay here, dearest. I'll be back."
ACT VII: OFF WITH HIS HEAD
Well...the croquet game wasn't going so well. The players all played at once without waiting for turns, overeager to get Riddle's attention. They quarreled all the while and ran around scrambling for the hedgehogs and flamingos.
It was complete anarchy.
The very thing Riddle hated.
In a very short time the Queen was in a furious passion, and went shouting “Off with his head!” or “Off with her head!” roughly once every minute. You become overwhelmed in the midst of this mayhem and fled to the safety of the banquet table. There weren't many individuals present. Only a few people lingered and loitered around.
Pouring yourself tea, a hand suddenly wraps around yours as purple mists surrounds you. A second later, a grin appears. "Hello, your majesty."
"Che'nya!" Now fully visible, the cat stops smoking his hookah and blows smoke in your face. "We meet again."
Coughing, you swat the smoke away. "Ufh— Y-Yes! How are you?! I heard you were sentenced to be executed!"
"Oh yes," Che'nya yawned, resting his head atop the banquet table. "I escaped the guards. Queen Rosehearts didn't like it when I took his crown."
"You took his crown?!" You screamed out a little laugh and Che'nya grinned madly. "Yes~ Oh, you should've seen his face when he realized it was missing! It was like a strawberry about to explode! Ah—but you seem quite down. What is the matter?"
“It's the croquette game,” You began, in rather a complaining tone, “Everyone is quarrelling so dreadfully and Riddle's temper has exploded again.”
“Hmmm. Tell me, how do you tolerate the Queen?” said the Cat in a low voice. "Seeing that you're married to him and all, silly girl."
“Well, tolerate is a mean word. He's not all that bad,” You soothed, fiddling with the rose in your hair: "I think you’d take a fancy to him if you could only see just how caring he is."
"People will always look at their lovers with a love-tinted gaze." Che'nya purrs, leaning his head atop yours. "Prime example being you, silly girl~"
"How dare you speak to her that way."
Just then you noticed that Riddle was close behind you, listening. Jolting, you moved away from the cat and accidentally dropped your tea cup. The piece of china clattered to the ground, spilling its contents all over the green grass. Paying no mind to the mess, the queen pulled you towards him, protectively shielding you from the cat.
"I remember you. You're the thief. Tell me, how did you manage to worm your way in here?" Riddle pointedly snaps. "I'll have you know this breaks a rule in the—"
“A cat may look at a king,” interrupts Che'nya, smoking his hookah. "That is the only rule I've bothered to remember and I’ve read that in some rulebook, but I don’t remember which one. There's so many dreadful rules. How do you manage to memorize it all? Ah—apologies—I forget that you have such a big head."
With every passing comment from the cat, Riddle's fury simmered and grew anew. The cat looked up at the royal with a wide grin.
"You are brilliant and astute," he slurred, while Riddle neither acknowledged nor protested the remark. "Yet you are a tyrant and that rose of yours is a willing little sheep."
A deafening silence soon followed. The shock locked Riddle's bones together; a coldness seeping into his bones, making his skin feel akin to ice as his chest filled with hostility and ire. You felt a muscle underneath your throat tighten, but you gave both men a quick nervous smile and nudged Riddle to the side. "O-Oh darling, let's go somewhere else. Maybe you'd like to sit down? I-It's so hot and—"
"Sheep? A sheep you say?" Riddle barks, his hands clenched into fists—trembling at his sides. You wanted to calm him, but did not have the opportunity to do so as his voice cut through the thick tension in the air.
"Why it would be the very height of your arrogance to presume." Riddle seethes, pointing his scepter at the cat. The queen's eyes glowed an immense red, magical energy swirling around him. "As punishment for your crimes...it's off with your head. I'm going to tear your head off with my bare hands if I have to."
"You can try~" Che'nya grinned.
The Cheshire cat lunged towards Riddle, tossing the queen's scepter away. It all moved so quickly that your eye could barely follow the sudden shift of repressed anger to outright violence.
They had gone down to the grass together, knocking the banquet table over, spilling the pastries and tea to the ground. Riddle sagged him by the shoulders, fist smashing against the cat's face. Che'nya's lip had split, and drops of blood fell onto the lawn like the strawberry jam of smashed tarts.
In the midst of the fight, a glimmering object in Che'nya's hands caught your eye. You saw him grab a stray knife, pastel blue frosting still spread on it, and the sight of it shocked you into action.
"NO!"
ACT VIII: THROUGH THE WINDOW
"NO!" You scream, half of fright and half of anger, and kicked your legs around. Startling yourself awake in a fit, you found yourself lying on top of a clinic bed, limbs soaked in sweat—the smell of alcohol and anti-septics sobering you up. "Wh-What?"
All of a sudden, warm hands cupped your damp cheeks. You met Riddle's worried gaze as he wiped your tears away. The dorm leader slipped into the chair next to your bed, pushing you to lie down. "It's just a nightmare, dearest."
Your gaze flitted around the room, stopping once you saw something shimmering on your bedside table. The tiara was discarded to your side; Its once luminous blue gem was now gone, leaving an empty space in its wake. Looking down, you found yourself in your paint-stained uniform, skin feeling awfully crusty from the dry paint.
'It was just a dream...?' you ponder.
"What's the matter? Please tell me what's wrong." Riddle fussed over your disheveled appearance. Your face perspired with sweat and your hair was a tumble about your shoulders; He combed it with his fingers, careful to not pull at any tangles and knots. "Rose? Dearest? Are you alright?"
No, you wanted to say. It was hard to breathe, and there was a thick, unpleasant feeling weighing down your heart. It made your head spin. Riddle ran a hand up and down your back as you took a deep, shaky breath, trying to reorient yourself. Despite the apprehension in your chest, you gave a single nod to your worried lover. "Yes. I'm just shaken up."
"Love.."
"Everythings fine." You force out. Though, you’re really saying it to yourself. You can't stop the aching in your chest and you surely can't silence the echo of his ruthless words replaying in your mind.
"Oh, dearest." Riddle murmured, his heart breaking.
The redhead slips in bed with you, dragging you in the comfort and safety of his arms. He sighs in relief when you don't push him away, instead scooting over to press against him. The smell of his cologne invades your senses, grounding you as he rests his head against yours. "I am so sorry. I have been too hard on you."
"When Ace found you passed out in the forest, I was beside myself with anguish...." Guilt washed over his face. The dorm leader had no use for pride, not now when you were in this condition. He hopes that his apology, meager though it has been, will be enough.
"Had-Had I known you were sick, I wouldn't have been so—I deeply apologize. I should not have let my anger get the best of me. I was a fool to get so heated over something as simple as spilled paint. I hadn't even checked if you were alright." Riddle mutters.
"I'm sorry too. Though, I'm just glad it's over." You breathed out, resting against his chest. Then you regarded him with a pointed stare. "Humph. You have to make it up to me, though."
"Of course. Thank you, rose." Riddle hesitates for a moment and then, brazenly, leans forward and gives you a quick peck on the lips.
“Oh! How bold~” You tease with a wry grin, giggling madly like a Victorian lady who just held hands with her lover for the very first time. Riddle flushes, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Shaking his head, he composes himself, coughing into the sleeve of his shirt. "Am I not allowed to show you affection?"
"Oh no, I adore it." Chuckling, you reached out your hand, and Riddle eagerly took it. He pressed his lips against your forehead as you stared out the window in front of you.
While the sun sank, the sky was tinged with bleeding reds and violets. You spent the next several minutes wondering whether what you'd just witnessed was truly a 'dream' when you saw a strange appearance in the air. That baffled you at first, but after observing it for a minute or two, you realized it was a sharp toothed-grin.
Sitting on a bough of a tree a few yards off was Che'nya. When he smoked his hookah and blew smoke about himself, a purple magical mist encircled him. The Cheshire cat grinned at you with a split lip before fading away.
How curious.
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Kingdom of Fire & Blood || (Part One)
🐉 MASTERLIST 🐉
Next Chapter
summary: modern!reader woke up in Westeros after getting drunk.
pair: aemond x reader
warnings & disclaimer: smut, violence, p in v sex, sexual content, aemond being arrogant but is secretly a softie, modern reader doesn’t know how the world of GOT works but is a Aemond stan, praise kink, breeding kink, spitting kink, voice kink, fluff, angst—family drama, oral sex, hate sex, jealousy, stalking, virginity loss, obsession, reader being sassy and aroused, sweet moments with reader and aemond. Reader is a huge GOT & HOTD fan. Pro-Green, Reader is a green supporter. Aemond becomes king instead of Aegon. (P.S. Alys who? I only know Aemond x Reader).
a/n: it’s official! It’s here! I hope you enjoy my fanfic series of ‘Kingdom of Fire and Blood’.
Chapter One: The Dark Uproar
In a realm of dragons and knights,
There lays with conquer and fear, from scorching summer through bleak winters, through life of air and fire and ashes.
In a realm of nobility and law, in the halls of mountain and sea,
the green star has shed upon the dark, cloudless sky, wedged upon the shrouded waters of Westeros.
The green star has emerged.
“Seize her! Don’t let her get away!” the man pointed at you dashing away from the scenery.
It’s a dream. You were sure that it’s a dream. Dreams occurred in a blurry vision, not by transparency. Dreams are often—and easily—forgotten once awake after the newborn daylight arises.
In a midst of pursuit, you retraced back your steps. You went at your friend’s celebration, then eat and watched anime— you didn’t have much vigor to spare for removing your makeup due to sleepiness. The last thing you ever did was you resting on your warm bed without a change of clothing, now dry and shivering, laying down on a half-parched sand, half-asleep while unsure of what’s happening before your arrival. You were unconscious deeply in your sleep you weren’t aware of the commotion you have caused, awoken by the young knight, who found you in the brink of nightfall—who fled and carried you—travelled within distance for three days.
Under a huffed breath, legs and feet numbed as you carried yourself away to stray paths where band of guards weren’t able to trace you accurately. You’re much lighter and faster with sprinting; due to their armor, they couldn’t move they so desire. Even more so when some guards have horses with them. Or hounds barking with thirst for a good gnaw on your youthful flesh.
Until now, you’re steadfast with rush. Harsh wind blasted in your earholes at the stallion’s speed.
Your mind is raced with previous encounter, mind occupied with millions of panic inquiries.
~ before the chase ~
Previously, with your skin and bones beneath your tight crop top shirt and tennis skirt quivering at a spine-tingling weather, despite the lack of storming wind, you have no idea where to begin on what to say to the young knight but offering him a small yet timid smile to lessen the intensity of cumbersome fate that’s forcefully thrusted upon you, oblivious and frightened, shaking like a grumpy feline that despises water or anything that touches the feline.
Upon the yearnings of a weeping locked inside your heaving chest, of begging and wanting to go home was futile, estranged within a foreign land. As the vexed fate of anxiety clambered into your heart, the staggering breaths and rasps in your voice and your loud thoughts has been noticed by a young man in fancy armor, bestowing you with a relieved grin etched on his weary features. You’re certain that Halloween is over.
“You have awaken,” he said with a brightened grin, though you weren’t focused on the sound of his voice, but saw his lips shifted.
Noticing the young man’s eyes, you were positive that no one wouldn’t rescue a stranger such as yourself. Groaning, you leaned your back against over the bulkiness of a tumbled tree. Fire flickered and crackled like bones snapped to pieces.
“Can you hear me, my lady?” he asked, alarmed yet almost as quiet; he didn’t wish to see you alert under his aid.
“My lady,” you repeated, lifting your heavy-numbing head, confused as you were shaking with your eyes sealed with bursting pink stars flowing in your black vision, ears, head and heart pounded against you wakened state. Sighing, you resumed with, “How long have I been unconscious?”
“For three days,” he said, the soft outline of his lips curled upward, as if he was relieved to see you alive and well. Your eyes examined him, spotting the clean armor and a long sword carried in his sheath.
“What happened?”
“I saw you lying unconscious, so I have to come and save you, hoping that you’re alive.”
Everything was bizarre at this point.
“Save me?” you asked the boy, subconscious, coughing out the thick, salted water, clutching your chest tight, pounding for the leftover to drain.
“Yes, my lady,” the young man said with a kind smile, but his glassy eyes beamed against your frightful ones, covered in soot, despite being drenched. “I was sent by my father for a further alliance with another house, but as soon as I left the castle, I found lying you unconscious in the midst of the ocean. I have swam my way to rescue you.”
“Where did you find me exactly? I’m all wet,” you commented, lips curled in disgust your clothes are caked in black sand and puddle.
“I found you by the shores, and took you in quick before anyone could search on the grounds.”
Your head was pounding.
“Shores?”
“At Blackwater Bay,” he explained.
Blackwater Bay, you thought as your fingernails scraped onto your wet scalp. That name sounds familiar.
The back of your head was pounding. “Are we still at Blackwater Bay?”
“We travelled within three days while you were in your subconscious state. A fewer miles ahead and you’re already in the kingdom.”
Then the skies filled with an animalistic roar, screeching like nails on a chalkboard.
Your ears covered and shoulder blades flinched at the long, grating sound.
Your shoulders flinched as you said, “What the hell is that?”
The young man still grinned, remaining silenced from your projected inquiry.
“They’re still frightened of the sound,” is all he said. “Of the light.”
You eyed on him with perplexed expression resting on your features.
“What light?” you wondered. “What did you mean when you ‘they’re still frightened of the sound’?”
“Dragons,” the young man said, eyes twinkled. “You came down here with the light, and that’s what’s causing the uproar.”
You found his cryptic statement alarmingly bizarre due to his faint enthusiasm.
“We’re reaching close to our destination,” he said, but you still don’t comprehend.
Bewildered, before you could ask another, the clanging sounds of metal and flickering flames on a torch and countless heavy stomps dashed on its way to your direction.
“Allow me to escort you to safety. These guards are brutal than ravage beasts,” he said to you. “I can’t let a young maiden die in vain.”
Your breath held in shortly.
“Which way should I go? Is there a safe spot for me to hide?”
“Take the nearest path down on a pebbled road and hide. From there, you’ll see the narrow passage, one where no one uses. Traitors and spies lurking about the lower grounds.” and kept heading The young man pushed you, guided you and instructed you to conceal behind the large and sharp boulder, while your legs shaken, air colder than ice. However, another realization dawned upon your wake. You have nowhere to go. Not in this foreign land.
Thoughts conjured and slice your numb mind open. Death is near me; I’ll be killed if I don’t have something with me.
“Where am I heading to?”
“Somewhere far where they can’t reach you or trace your steps. You’re heading to a place where the crown’s might is still strong.”
You paused in your tracks. Wait, that can’t be right.
The rumbled noise made it’s passage close to your location, causing for your heart and his sprung with immense fear.
Both of you reached in time as he hoisted your body up on the saddle. Before whipping the reins on the horse, the young man gave you the dagger with a symbol on his shining armor. The same sigil the knight has on his armor—or so it appears. “You’ll be in safer hands if you carry something with you.”
“If we meet again, I’ll return this blade back to you.”
His eyes gazed into yours with a sad smile.
“Still, I don’t even know your name.”
He grasped your hand shortly. He smiled. “Ser Remon Blackwood.”
The pounded hooves reached a louder noise, getting near to your direction.
“Thank you, Ser Blackwood,” you said.
Remon Blackwood had his hand reached out to yours. “You share kindness like no other. Not like the people in the realm with conquering dragons. It’s an honor to meet you, my lady,” he said, giving you a one last smile.
“Dragons?” you questioned in shock.
He gave a hard slap on the horse’s front leg, as he watched his given horse galloped with you giving one last look onto the despairing knight with a somber smile.
Your eyes darted forward, leaving your ears perceiving the traced sounds of sword clashed and rang, forest filled with raged shouts.
Afar, a young knight plea for mercy, then a long-produced sounds of swords slipped through cracked armor and bones, blood shed and slimed over the forest ground.
Then nothing; only the solid ripples of the heavy hooves and a rushed wind from a great stallion’s speed deafened onto your ears.
The good knight is dead.
And the nightfall became colder.
~ present ~
The horse nearly reached to a wide-ranged road when five of the men continued to pursuit you, eyes preyed on you at the back of your head, drilling and contain in unyielding desire of violence.
“Kill the bitch!” one man shouted.
Looking over to your shoulder, on your left, you saw the man on the right drew out a bow, and sent the arrow down at your back. But you managed to duck in time. With an irritated huff, the man sent another blow with the second arrow. You ducked your head once more, gazing back, then forth, then back again.
Heart pounding in your chest; the distance between them began to shrink.
“For fuck’s sake,” the first man bellowed, wrinkles on his forehead protruded, veins on his neck were visible. “Sent the arrow flying down on that bitch’s neck, you good for nothing prick!”
The second man’s face went pale. “I’m trying, sire.”
“Try harder, you useless fucktwad!”
Clutched fingers against the writhed reins grew tired, the steadiness in your breath increased tenfold in suffocation, heart rate escalated twice as strong—feeling hot and cold all at once. Cold sweat plastered to your clutched hands as you whipped the reins harder, indicating a sign for the stallion advance farther. The pace began to slow; you whipped the reins, but no to avail.
“Please, hurry,” you begged, head leaning against the horse’s ear, holding onto your dear life as death still awaits for you.
The man reload with the third arrow. His aim targeted to your face. For a second, he went still with his aim, but immediately shot at the back of the horse’s leg. The back of the horse’s limbs tripped and flipped in mid-air, sent you flying forward with a loud clash on the forest ground that nearly shattered your back and ribcage. Ears rang and eyes shut with gritted teeth droned a sharp hiss from your lips as the men dismounted down and marched their towered over you crumpled form.
Immediately, you gathered your shattered form and fled with your hidden in plain sight. The limp on your leg made a painfully deliberate pace as you attempt to go farther while the men with cloaks and big swords, following you, wearing a yellow and crooked teeth on their lips, sniggering at your flee. And by the time you reached at the centered road, nearly to the exit, your path has been blocked by two more men, who you unaware of the extra company. One man grabbed a fistful of your hair and dragged you down. Drawing the dagger out, your hand brought down on his foot, then his knee, then his thigh—never minding the hysterical noise. Loosening the grip on your head, while on your knees, with a support of your foot, you spun around and stabbed a knee from another man.
You couldn’t scream or cry for help anymore. After all, you’re drowsy from ocean water, still wet and lost, in an unwonted void of labyrinth.
“What shall we do of this little cunt?” the man with a thin beard said.
“We’re going to make a use of her, bore into her with my seed and carry the filthy bastard inside her,” the second man with a short, uneven bowl cut suggested confidently. “After that, I’ll eat her flesh.”
“Stupid cunt can’t even fend for herself,” the third man, who was shorter than you said, cackling. “Let’s all take turns then. Whoever makes her scream the hardest, will get to keep her as a toy.”
One man undo his armor on the half-bottom, the clanging armor bumped in haste rhythm, as all the men who towered over your sicken stature, shed their trousers out.
Before one could pull the long cock out, with a knife in your hand, given by the young knight, you sliced his cock apart, left him wailing like an infant, blood splattered like waterfall. The men hovered you with their grubby hands, but you dodged—rolled back and took a hard swing at the man on your left, chopped his hand off. With the knife on your hand, it felt more like a short sword.
Another man has struck.
The bulky man in the middle plunged a full swing on your belly. Yelping, your arms encompassed over your flesh as the man plunged another blow with his hardened boot. His eyes gaze over the blade and punted it over to the side, then stomped over your belly and breasts in repeated motion until he grows tired. Once his foot has grown fatigue, he grabbed your thighs and spread them apart.
“No…” you said, pleading and crying. “Please don’t!”
The man dragged your panties and your tennis skirt down in barbarous motion. “Stay still and be a good wench,” he said, muddy fingers traced over your skin. You bit his fingers, drawing hot blood.
Enraged, his hands strangled you. With quick thinking, you knee slammed against his balls and kicked his face, crawling away before retrieving the dagger back, the man stomped over your left wrist, your mouth opened, but no sound came except the twinge of pain searing in your bones.
“You should’ve listen and stay still like a dog,” the man sneering, pulling your hair back again. The blurriness in your eyes worsened.
With your bones and limbs have been shattered, the hope in you began to fade. No hopes of a savior or luck stayed in hand with your despair.
His boot lunched another blow struck against your face, only to be bled through your nose, your body is broken and immovable, you couldn’t find yourself speaking, or cry for aid. Nothing good ever comes.
Except you’re alive. In fact, you were letting your guard down—pretending to be dead, abiding for the enemy to make a hasty error. The squint on your right eye left a little gap, seeing the man, kneeling down on you as he took off his trousers merrily. But as he splayed his cock out in the cold air, you managed the seize the dagger, tackled him and slashed his throat, while alive, the dagger impaled him through one of his eyes, then nose, then cheek—spare vigor imploded under a last sheer of your quick anger. The man’s face and mouth flowed with warm blood, choking and plopped down back on the surface with a thunderous thud.
From there, you stood once more and limped your way through the exit from the forest’s road in so little steps.
Only remains are the trees billowed and rustled and swayed through a gentle, cool breeze, and with you exhaling with a cautious breath you held in your chest and limbs worn out and limped as your vision drown into darkness.
~~~
Ser Criston Cole accompanied the band of men through the forest, as for they ought to repose for a short while. Sundowns became long, and the dragons in the heavens unyielded through an unforgiving climate.
The dragons don’t bear the coldness of wintry-like air. In the old days of Valyria, centuries before the time of Viserys’s reign, none of the great dragons and its people survived the Doom of Valyria, and within the errored times, from moving Essos to Westeros, dragons hatched into a total of eighteen—mighty and proud and carnivorous and bloodthirsty, though tamed through the influence of their rightful owners—heirlooms and foundation of companionship and trust between those who have the blood of a Valyria and connections through history. For instance, Vhagar is the second largest dragon compare to the other dragon riders owned. Dragons are obedient when those who dialect in Valyrian tongue, if not some. Some takes a special gift to have certain trust with a dragon, and dragon shares it’s mutual respect to the owner.
But it can’t say the same to the recent owners. The Blackwater Bay boomed nearby the Dragonstone. And during the nightly hours, the dragons were deeply asleep, though fully awakened by the quiet whiplash of what it appears to be none other than the small green light yet brightly shot downward from the vast of great, empty sky. Two nights ago, Prince Daemon tried to appease his dragon, Caraxes, the red scaly beast, but it’s clear enough to sent the prince with hesitation. Prince Daemon reached Caraxes with his hand for reassurance but Caraxes nearly snapped Prince Daemon’s hand in half. Criston Cole has neither seen Prince Daemon or Caraxes in the verge of calamity. Prince Daemon, a rogue prince who tends be as brute yet reckless and composed has been caught off guard.
The dragons have startled the men—knights and royals alike completely—peasants, too. The green starry light has fallen into the thundering waves, almost as if it was the end of Westeros. The booming wave from Blackwater Bay still lingers the aftermath effect. None slept through the night. They were returning to King’s Landing from meeting the lord from the north nearby the Blackwater Bay. But Prince Daemon, as always, fled away without considering so much of a wait for the others.
Under the gentle moonlight floating from the clouds, Ser Criston and his men galloped through the forest with their horses, hooves stomped over the twigs and dead leaves and the steeped grounds. By the time they reached into the monumental of pointed, red structures and gold and white in the city, Criston Cole couldn’t wait to repose and serve the Greens, mainly Queen Alicent, King Viserys’s second wife.
The stallion neighed loudly as it thrown its front hooves up in the air. Criston Cole’s heart leapt, somewhat appeasing his steed as the men behind him halted without a warning, causing others to nearly fall.
“What in the Seven Hells…” the man beside Criston Cole, took upon the glance at the fallen men in the midst of their exit.
Criston took the man’s torch and investigated the scenery. The fallen men all have bled from their knees to their open crotches. Hardness of their cock had flung out from a sharp blade. Criston winced at the sudden imagery flashed through his head.
“What could’ve done this…” a scrawny man said, perturbed.
“It must’ve been the work of a demon,” another man commented.
Criston moved onward, his legs carried him far and examined the view before him long before he reached to a figure, laying down. Rushing to her side, he noticed that her attire was far strangely and strikingly unique and bright compare what other women in the court wore. Turning her over, Criston settled his palm over her visage, pushing the long locks aside.
“My lady,” he muttered, still calm. While carrying the torch, he removed his glove with his teeth and touched her face. It was warm. Then he traced his hand below on the center of her chest.
Her heart in fact, still beating. He heaved with relief and called out to his men.
“This girl is alive! We must take her back to King’s Landing!” He passed the torch to the man beside him, who was following Criston without Criston noticed, and ripped his cloak off and wrapped the cloak around you and carried your unconscious body back to the men. Instructing the man to carry you while mounted on his horse and retrieved you back, placing you at the front.
“What of the Targaryens?” the man asked, somewhat scared.
Criston gave a sharp glare.
His fellow comrades, knowing Criston’s reputation, has not said a word, and followed Criston back to the realm where dragons reign.
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Twenty Years Later: Joel Miller x F!Reader - Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen: Carry You Home
Plot: Ellie and Y/n do their best to save a wounded Joel and survive on their own.
Word Count: 8.6k
Warnings: canon-typical violence, language, blood, injuries, hunting, reference to smut
A/N: Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy…these chapters suck to write for 2 reasons…1: D*vid. 2: We’re getting so close to the end that I want to cry 😫 I’m going to miss this show so much!!
As always, this series is 16+ and I will not be adding anyone to the taglist if your age/range isn’t in your bio. Gotta look out for younger eyes 👀
I hope y’all enjoy this blend of fluff and angst and laughter. I’m going to try to get 14 out on Sunday, but no promises. Read on!
——————
“Protect him.”
Tess’ dying words had echoed through Y/n’s mind more times than she could count. The sentiment had travelled with her across the county, an ever-present passenger on their journey.
And now they were haunting her.
Ellie and Y/n had managed to get Joel into the basement of an abandoned house, laying him down on an old, dank mattress. Unfortunately, he had woken up by then and was feeling the full force of his wound.
“I know, I know,” Y/n tried to soothe him as he screamed, bent over his abdomen. The tourniquet had done a subpar job at stopping the bleeding. If it had been a river, now it was a stream. “Hold still,” she looked to Ellie, “Press down on the wound. Hard.”
Ellie had found an old towel in the kitchen upstairs and tore off a strand.
“Squeeze,” Y/n instructed Joel, who was already squirming in pain, “Hard as you need.”
Joel had lost enough blood for the world around him to spin, the only things in focus were Ellie and Y/n’s faces.
Y/n nodded to Ellie, who pressed down on Joel’s wound, causing him to choke on his own breath. His hand shot out, reaching for Y/n’s arm and crushing it in his grip. She turned her face downwards to hide the grimace of pain.
“Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Ellie cursed as Joel writhed beneath her hands.
“Keep going,” Y/n ordered, blindly reaching a hand out to push Joel’s shoulder into the mattress, “Honey, c’mon, I need you to work with us.”
Joel winced, digging his head back into the bed. Out of all the injuries he’d sustained over the years, this was the worst. Not just because of the searing pain stabbing through him, but because it was the one that was going to take him out.
He was dying, and neither Y/n nor Ellie could stop it.
“Leave.”
They both ignored the word.
“Leave,” Joel strained through it again.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Y/n stated, watching Ellie’s hands, “He’s gonna say some weird shit.”
“Go,” he continued.
“Shut up, Joel,” Ellie’s breaths quickened in quiet panic.
“Take the gun-“
“Joel, shut the fuck up,” she yelled.
“Ellie,” Y/n said forcefully, the girl’s hands were slipping. She pushed them off and held the rag down on Joel’s wound.
With a last surge of strength, Joel reached out and grabbed Ellie by the collar, yanking her to face him.
“You go,” Joel whispered, “You go. You go north. Y/n-“
Y/n shook her head, shutting out the reality of their dire situation. “Stop,” she said without looking up.
Joel was undeterred, “You go to Tommy.”
“Stop,” Y/n gritted out, her hands hanging over his stomach with no plan of action. She wasn’t even sure what there was to be done. At best, she was only stalling Joel’s death by a few precious minutes.
When she finally dared to look up, her gaze fell on Ellie, whose eyes were misting as she stared down at Joel. He shoved Ellie back, releasing her from the burden of caring, and let his arm fall at his side.
Joel managed to turn his head, letting his eyes wash over the woman he loved, had never stopped loving. Kneeling over him and covered in his blood, he thought back to how she’d looked the night they’d first met. Her eyes untouched by cynicism, her laugh deflecting no hidden pain, her smile striking him like lightning and giving him a new pursuit in life; to bring enough joy to her life that her lips were forever turned up.
Now he was going to break her heart. Again.
He thought of their last night together, spent cradling each other’s bodies underneath the sheets in Jackson. How his skin had remembered the feel of hers the moment they touched, how his lips had recalled the roads they used to travel across her like he would an old hometown street. Though bathed in the tears of their sins and all they had lost, he had been reborn at the first kiss. He had a standing reservation in hell, but he could go knowing he’d felt the touch of an angel.
“Rose…” Joel strained out, the word tasted like sweetness.
The four letters burned in Y/n’s ears, sending a new wave of fear through her. “No,” she finally looked to Joel, “This isn’t how it happens.”
“Rosebud,” he pushed with a surprising calm to his tone.
“Joel, no,” Y/n fought to keep her sobs down, “This is not how it happens. It’s not.”
Joel’s hand shakily slid up her arm, needing to feel her as he told her, “I love you.”
Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, the strength of her grip on the towel faltering as she forced them open to look at Joel. Despite his impending death, there was a peace that filled in the lines of his face, one that only graced those who were on their way out.
“No,” Y/n whined, her voice unable to carry further than the distance between them. She reached up to stroke his hair, taking his cheek in her other hand, “This isn’t how I want to hear it, Joel. Please.”
Once he’d said it, he couldn’t stop. He was making up for twenty years in twenty seconds. “I love you. I love you…” Joel drew a shallow breath, “You go. You take her,” his stare gripped her, nearly choking the will out of her, “Go.”
For as prominent as Joel’s abandonment had been in her life, Y/n had done her fair share of leaving. She had left Sarah’s body, at least it had felt like leaving, when they’d sought shelter in the triage clinic. She had left her parents, panicked at what she had done, in the spots where she’d taken their lives. She had left Tess to die the worst way a person could, even if she was only following orders. Her life had been one abandoning after the other, and now she was being asked to abandon the love of her life.
In her haze, Y/n hadn’t even remembered Ellie was there. It wasn’t until she felt Joel’s thick coat being slipped over his body that she realized the girl was making her choice. She would decide, for once in their time together, to heed Joel’s words. And as her boots slapped against the stairs, she was also making Y/n’s choice.
Unable to force the words she felt like a sweet sickness inside her soul, she dissolved into tears, pressing her forehead to Joel’s. She didn’t think even if they’d had twenty years ahead of them that she’d have ever found to words to describe the depth of her love for Joel Miller. It stretched two decades of euphorias and tragedies. It was stronger than her hate or his violence. It was forgiveness and redemption and all-encompassing in its triumph over the worst of their persons.
Y/n sniffled, nudging Joel’s nose with her wet one and letting her mouth hover over his as if she could breathe life back into him. Joel took it, letting his eyes fall shut and savoring the the last of her lips he’d ever feel.
Joel had spent twenty years trying to detach from who he’d been, his old skin a constant reminder of all that he’d almost had. Y/n had spent twenty years trying to find her way back to her humanity, desperate to redeem herself. Without ever knowing it, they had been running back to each another, one step at a time.
Protect him.
Perhaps Y/n had only kept her promise to Tess in the beginning out of obligation. But now, now the words were as true as if they’d come out of her own mouth.
Joel had left her once.
She’d be damned if it happened again.
Y/n broke from Joel’s lips, rushing to her feet and bolting for the stairs.
From Joel’s point of view, it was the last he’d ever see of her. There was a duality that Cordyceps had forced on anyone who prioritized survival over anything else. Joel had meant every word with the force he’d said it, he wanted Y/n and Ellie safe. But he also knew he was dying, something that, despite all he’d wished over the years, he wasn’t ready to do yet. He had Ellie, this beautiful, unexpected gift of a child, who depended on him as if she was his own. And now he had Y/n, the miracle that he’d let slip through his fingers, returning to him with the same perfect timing she’d first appeared to him. He wanted to stay, to cherish and protect them like the man they made him feel he could be again. And if that wasn’t in the cards for him, he at least wanted to hold their hands as he faded out.
As Joel watched Y/n head up the stairs, he let a single tear fall down his face. He’d had one last night, one last kiss, and one last ‘I love you.’ It wasn’t a lifetime, but it would have to be enough.
When Y/n got to the stairs, Ellie was nowhere to be found. Was she already saddling the horses? Was it that easy for her to let Joel die?
“Ellie,” she called through her tears, bursting through the door, “Ell-“
The girl rushed past her, one step ahead, raiding cabinets and drawers.
Y/n felt herself breathing for the first time in an hour.
“What do we look for?” Ellie hurriedly asked.
“Something,” Y/n flung a empty cabinet door open, “Anything. We need to get the wound closed up.”
They searched high and low, in every room, until they met in the kitchen. Ellie dove for a set of drawers while Y/n scoured more cabinets.
“It won’t open,” Ellie groaned, pulling against the handle.
Y/n ran over, squeezing her hands next to Ellie’s and tugging with her. “Pull,” she breathed, the two of them shifted all their weight backwards.
The drawer’s internal mechanism released, the momentum they’d built throwing Ellie and Y/n to the ground. The contents were scattered from the drop.
“There’s nothing here,” Y/n panted, on the verge of frustrated tears.
“W-wait,” Ellie breathed, her hand sliding across the linoleum floor to grab something. She held up a rusted needle and thread to Y/n.
“Yes,” Y/n gasped, she took the supplies into her shaking palms. She wished she hadn’t used the last of her own days before, but they could make do with what they had, “Yes, this’ll work.”
Stumbling to their feet, they ran back through the door and down the steps, bringing salvation with them.
Joel was trying, trying to hold the rag to his wound, hoping it made his death a little less painful, but his strength was fading. His whole body shook with shivers, even his lips trembled from the cruel mixture of shock and the cold. He could feel himself slipping away, so much so that he was convinced the thudding footsteps he heard were hallucinations.
Y/n and Ellie kneeled down on either side of him, their faces illuminated by the last bit of light peeking through the clouded basement window. His saviors.
Ellie threw Joel’s coat off of him, catching her breath as she reached for his hand.
Y/n leaned down, interlocking her fingers with his other hand and brushing the hair from his face. She pressed a determined kiss to his clammy forehead, willing him to stay alive a little bit longer.
Joel would never admit to them just how much he’d wanted them to stay. He summoned what was left of his strength and tried to squeeze both of their hands, letting them squeeze back. They were going to fight this, and they were going to do it together.
Ellie reached for the towel and peeled the cloth off Joel’s wound. The bleeding had slowed, but was far from stopping. They had to move fast.
In the midst of their panic, Joel softly reached for Ellie’s cheek, pulling back halfway when he lost his strength. It was a moment none of them noticed in their mad rush.
“Honey,” Y/n began, pressing one more kiss to Joel’s skin, “We gotta get it closed up. It’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker,” she moved Joel’s hands to grab her forearms, “So you fuckin’ squeeze, and try to stay still for us. Okay?”
Ellie quickly thread the needle and tied a knot. Y/n wished she could spare her the pain of having to stitch Joel up, but Y/n was the only one who’d be able to hold him down and keep him relatively calm.
“Keep going,” Y/n directed Ellie, “I’m gonna try to keep him still, but you don’t stop, even if he moves.”
Ellie nodded, apologetically seeking Joel’s eyes one last time before turning to his abdomen.
Y/n put both her hands to Joel’s shoulders, bracing herself for what was to come.
“Go,” she said,
Joel let out a sickening groan as Ellie thread the needle, the pain giving him strength enough to squeeze Y/n’s arms so tight, she couldn’t help but wince. In his daze, he could sense he was hurting her, but couldn’t fight past that which his own body was bringing him.
Tears sprung to Y/n’s eyes as she forced Joel down into the mattress, taking the searing heat in her shoulder as a good thing. It meant Joel still had enough fight inside him to push through.
“I know, I know, I know, I know,” she muttered as Joel threw his head to the side, trying to hide his grimaces from Ellie, “I know, honey. Just hang on.”
Joel’s vision was going dark around the edges, the pain dulling all his senses. The only thing strong enough to cut through was Y/n’s voice.
“I’m here,” Y/n assured Joel, his eyes fluttering but fighting to look at her, “I’m here. I got you.”
“It’s stopping,” Ellie announced, still hard at work.
Y/n wasn’t able to sigh in relief yet, Joel had finally lost the battle and had slipped into unconsciousness. She’d expected it, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t still filled with dread.
It only took Ellie a few more minutes to finish sewing Joel’s wound, Y/n helping her to tie a clumsy knot at the end. They dabbed and tried to clean the blood off him as best they could before laying his shirts back down. When they were done, they slid off their ankles and onto the concrete, watching the rise and fall of Joel’s chest.
“Is he…” Ellie began before realizing it was a stupid question.
Y/n was fighting off the same thought, wondering if their efforts would be enough, or if it was a losing battle.
“I hope so,” she whispered, it didn’t matter to her if fate was calling Joel Miller home. She would rage against it regardless.
The next hour was spent waiting and watching. Ellie, eventually, went upstairs and collected their backpacks.
Y/n kneeled above Joel’s head, her hands resting over each of his ears. She combed her fingers through the ends of his hair, not trying to wake him or soothe him further into sleep, but simply providing what little comfort she could to both of them.
Ellie clunked down the stairs with their packs and sleeping bags, depositing them on the floor. She had spent the last three months watching Joel and Y/n fight, and the last week watching them drift back together. This was new. She hadn’t seem them vulnerable, on the verge of losing one another when they’d finally found some sort of peace. She didn’t have twenty years of experience, but she understood why Y/n was hunched over, cradling the man, who didn’t even know she was there.
Ellie settled against the wall, working up the courage to speak. “How’d you guys meet?”
It was perhaps the only thing said in the moment to make Y/n smile. “At a bar,” she answered, remembering the night like it had just passed, “A guy hit on me, couldn’t take the hint that I wasn’t interested…Joel threw a punch, Tommy threw the next…” she nearly laughed, “Then they threw him out.”
“So…he’s always been like that,” Ellie commented.
Y/n soothed a thumb over Joel’s cheek, the skin was so pale it almost brought on a fresh batch of tears. Or maybe it was the reminder that they’d once lived in a world where violence wasn’t a necessary evil. Where Joel’s laugh was an every day occurrence. When he kissed her as if it was the last time he ever would, with the end nowhere in sight.
“No,” she whispered over the lump in her throat, “He wasn’t.”
Ellie sensed she was getting to close to shattering what was left of Y/n, and she couldn’t do that. She needed one person left to look to, to hold her hand through these impossible problems. She rubbed her hands together anxiously, nearly choking on the words she wanted to say.
“Riley.”
Y/n dragged her eyes away from Joel to look up at Ellie, “What?”
Ellie drew a shaky breath, “Riley. She was my…she was my friend,” she rubbed her knuckles together, “She got infected and…”
All of Y/n’s longing told her to stay with Joel, not to move from her spot, no matter what. But her duty was to both him and Ellie, and she knew where she was needed at the moment. She inched her hands off of Joel’s head and crawled over to Ellie, coming to sit next to her against the wall.
“I knew Riley,” Y/n admitted, hugging a knee to her chest.
Ellie’s eyes widened, “You did?”
Y/n nodded, “She only joined a few weeks before…” she trailed off. Marlene had been the one to find them, Y/n had been back at base. But she’d met Riley, had even tried to take her under her wing before the fatal night at the mall. “She was fucking fearless,” Y/n shifted gears, “And fun.”
“Did she ever mention me?” Ellie asked after a beat of silence.
“No,” Y/n replied, looking over her arm to Ellie’s expectant stare, “I think she wanted to keep you safe,” she cracked a smile, “Bloodthirsty demons that we are.”
Ellie’s lips turned up the slightest bit, but they fell just as quick. It was one of the first times she had allowed herself to grieve her best friend, and there was something about the setting that made it all hurt worse. Across from her, Joel lay on the brink of death. To her side, Y/n was sitting with her in worry and in comfort. The last two people on the planet that she loved.
Y/n’s maternal instincts caught the change in Ellie’s demeanor just before she broke. She slipped an arm around her shoulders as the first tears fell, Ellie willingly sliding into Y/n’s side and curling her face into her body. It was the first time Ellie had allowed anyone, apart from Riley on that dreadful night, see her fall apart, and Y/n didn’t take it lightly. She pressed a kiss to the top of the young girl’s head, reminding herself that the journey had started out the two of them, and if even if tragedy intervened, it would end with the two of them.
—————————
Deep into the night, Y/n stayed awake, telling Ellie she’d press on until morning. The girl needed a break from the world.
Joel stirred a few times, letting out a moan or blindly reaching to clutch his wound. Y/n was there each time, holding his hand and soothing him back to sleep. Around what Y/n guessed was 3AM, he stopped slipping in and out and just stayed out. His ragged breaths, creating a steady rhythm in his stomach, were the only thing reassuring Y/n that he was still alive.
While Ellie was awake, Y/n held it together as best she could. But under the cover of dark, she allowed herself to fall apart, her fear for Joel’s life swallowing her whole.
“Do you remember that trip we took to the beach?” Y/n whispered, hanging over Joel’s head, stroking a hand over his hair as her other one cupped his cheek, “For our anniversary? Sarah’s graduation?”
In her weaker moments over the years, Y/n had drifted back to the memory. It was the last time she could remember feeling truly free and yet it was also the first time she remembered feeling tied down. Stuck in the space between Sarah’s dad’s girlfriend and a parent, between Joel’s love of one year and his potential wife. She wanted them both back; the liberation and the duty.
“Remember that night?” Y/n asked Joel’s unconscious form, she’d always wondered how she could recall the exact feel of the hotel sheets. The exact trail of her skin Joel’s lips had traveled. Which of his t-shirts she’d been wearing. “I made you promise that…” Y/n trailed off, bristling, “It sounds so fucking stupid now.”
“No matter how much I hated you,” Y/n slid her thumb against Joel’s cheek, “I couldn’t hate you enough to stop loving you. I tried, my g-“ Y/n chuckled softly, “I tried so fucking hard. Couldn’t do it.”
Her tears were building now, the more she exposed, the more the threat of loss became real.
“I waited twenty years, Joel,” she whispered, her throat tightening up on her, “Twenty fucking years, not knowing if you were dead or still hanging on. And then I got you back,” she sobbed once with nostalgic joy, “I got you back. And I can’t lose you before I get to love you again.”
Y/n lowered her head, dropping her lips to Joel’s ear, her voice barely audible, “Because I do. I love you. I love you so much it…” she bit back a cry, not wanting to wake Ellie, “It fucking hurts. You can’t just…you can’t just come back to me and then leave. You can’t do that to me. To Ellie.”
“I need you to fight,” Y/n begged, tears freely flowing down her cheeks, “I need you to fight so fucking hard, you need me to carry you the whole way to Utah, and I will. I’ll do it. I just need you there.”
Y/n choked on her sobs, digging her forehead into the mattress and letting them shake her. All her losses in life had been so sudden, she’d never had to watch a life hang, the pendulum swinging between a second chance and death. It was tearing her apart.
She wiped the snot and tears away on her jacket sleeve, the same sleeve that was painted with Joel’s dried blood. She leaned back over Joel, pressing the gentlest of kisses to his forehead. Y/n had heard stories of miracles, of voices at hospital bedsides being the thing to bring people back from death’s edge. She’d lost faith in that sort of thing after the loss of her family, but in the throes of worry, nothing was off the table. She’d stay up all night, telling Joel how much she loved him, if there was even a chance it would reach him.
—————————
For two days, Ellie and Y/n kept watch as best they could. With no medicine, there was little they could do to help Joel’s, now infected, wound.
Y/n finished up feeding snow to the horses, moving robotically from the garage to the basement. She hadn’t gotten more than maybe two hours each day. It didn’t feel right to rest when Joel was clinging to life.
She came downstairs to see Ellie kneeled next to Joel, placing one of their last pieces of rations on his chest.
“He wouldn’t want you doing that,” Y/n said softly.
Ellie sniffed away the cold air, “Yeah, well…”
If the terrible series of events was doing anything, it was showing how deeply they cared about each other.
“I’m going to go out real quick,” Y/n announced, heading to pick up her rifle, “Try and find us something to eat.”
“I’m coming with you,” Ellie jumped to her feet.
“No, you’re not,” Y/n replied, “You’re gonna stay here and watch him.”
“I can’t fucking do anything for him here,” the girl gestured down to Joel’s body, “If I can hunt something then…”
Y/n already knew what she was trying to say, she was desperate to feel in control of something. Hunting was a great way to make you feel like you had some power over the world.
“Okay,” Y/n sighed, “Twenty minutes.”
Ellie moved across the room to grab Joel’s rifle while Y/n crouched down and kissed his forehead.
“We’ll be back soon.”
The two of them filed up the stairs, both of their hearts unsettled at leaving without Joel. It was one thing to see someone with no fighting skills or survival techniques be taken down, but to see someone like Joel battling for their life was a quick way to make someone feel entirely exposed. And Y/n could feel the full weight of the responsibility they’d shouldered together the last three months.
Y/n drew her rifle into postition as her and Ellie exited through the front door, Ellie struck a similar stance. They moved down the driveway into the street, scanning for footprints in the snow that didn’t exist. They’d made the right decision to hide in the abandoned neighborhood.
Ellie and Y/n made their way to the forest, trudging through the snow and huffing patterns into the cold air.
“Remember what Joel taught you,” Y/n instructed, keeping her voice low to not spook any animals, “Regardless of what your instincts tell you, pull slow.”
Ellie’s eyes were already drifting ahead, having spotted a white rabbit thirty feet away from them. She glanced over to Y/n, who nodded for her to go ahead. Y/n felt better keeping her gun aimed at the space around them anyway.
Just as Ellie was setting herself up, the rabbit ran off. Ellie took off charging the way it had run.
“Ellie,” Y/n gritted, the worst thing to do when tracking an animal was to chase it.
Ellie tripped on a branch, falling face first into the snow.
Y/n came over and extended a hand to the girl, pulling her up to her feet. “Word of advice…if an animal’s running, you don’t go after it and make more noise.”
“Yeah,” Ellie exhaled, wiping the snow from her face, “I got that.”
“Come on,” Y/n hitched her rifle back over her shoulder, “Ten more minutes.”
The two of them walked a little further, eventually hearing a clicking noise that sent them both reaching for their guns.
Ellie hit Y/n’s arm, guiding her attention to a patch of trees providing shelter to a full-grown deer. Y/n gestured for her to take the nearest log and the shot. It felt like a good idea to keep Ellie as distracted as she could and maybe give her a much needed victory.
Heeding all of Joel and Y/n’s advice, Ellie lined up the shot perfectly and-
BANG!
The deer wailed, limping away into the depth of the forest.
“No fucking way,” Ellie muttered.
“Come on,” Y/n pulled her free hand and the two of them sprinted off after it.
There are certain moments in life that, with hindsight, stick out as forks in the road. If Person A hadn’t have made it to Point A, then Person B wouldn’t have found them and both their lives, good or bad, would be forever altered because they didn’t meet.
Y/n and Ellie couldn’t have known what they were running straight towards.
They tracked the blood trail of the deer 1/4 of a mile before hearing two male voices. Y/n threw her arm out, catching Ellie and holding a finger up to her lips. The two of them drew their rifles and very carefully stepped around the snowbank. Sure enough, there were two men standing over their now dead deer.
Y/n inhaled to speak.
“Don’t! Drop your rifles! Now!” Ellie yelled.
The two men carefully removed their guns from their backs, the taller of them keeping one eye on Ellie and Y/n.
“Turn around,” Y/n ordered, her gun locked on the tall man, while Ellie took the shorter one.
“Any sudden moves,” Ellie threatened, deepening her voice to make her words more convincing, “I put one right between your eyes. Ditto for buddy boy.”
Internally, Y/n grimaced. Ellie was going to get them killed with a poor imitation of Joel.
“You two are quite the hunters,” the shorter man said, his hands held in the air, “We didn’t even hear you coming.”
“Flattered,” Y/n replied, unimpressed, “But this is where you two walk away with your asses still attached and we take what’s ours.”
“Okay,” the man said, making no effort to move.
“Just go!” Ellie impatiently yelled.
“A-all I ask is ten minutes of your time,” the man continued.
“Did you not get that that was a warning?” Y/n muttered, extending her foot ever so slightly to make it look like she was taking a step closer.
“Please,” the man didn’t budge at her non-verbal threat, “Just ten seconds. My name is David. This is my friend, James. We’re from a larger group: women, children, and we’re all…very, very hungry.”
“We’re from a large group too,” Ellie lied, drafting the lie quickly in her head, “Also hungry.”
David sighed, “Well, even so…” he gestured to the deer, “Ya can’t drag this back just the two of you.”
“We’re fine,” Y/n finished the conversation. The world was dead, yet somehow misogyny was still alive and well…
“We’re not asking for charity,” David clarified, “W-we can trade you for some of the deer. What do you need? We have…boots-“
Ellie’s rifle lowered ever so slightly, her voice coming back to its childlike pitch, “Medicine? Like, for infections.”
“We do,” David replied, surprised they’d hit on something so fast, “Back in our village. You’re welcome to follow us.”
“Yeah,” Y/n wasn’t so quick to believe that it was just that simple, “That’s not happening.”
Ellie picked up her gun-slinging persona again, “Buddy boy can go get it. He comes back, you get half the deer. Anyone else shows up, I put-“
“Put one right between my eyes,” David finished for her.
“That’s right,” Ellie finished, sensing that at some point, she should have let Y/n take over the talking.
David turned to James, leaving his hands hanging in the air, “Alright, go talk to Howard. He’s got a case with some penicillin. Bring back two bottles and a syringe.”
James looked stunned at David’s request, as if killing the two women was the obvious option.
“It’s not code, James,” David added, “Do as I said.”
Y/n’s rifle remained trained on James, waiting for him to make the right move. The man kept his eyes on her the whole time till he could safely jog back into the forest.
“Ten steps back,” Ellie ordered David, her and Y/n marched the man backwards, “Keep going.”
Once he was past the deer, Ellie kneeled down to pick up David’s rifle, unloaded the cartridges while Y/n kept her aim fixed on him.
“That your dad’s gun?” David asked, “He the one who’s sick? That’s why you two are out here on your own?”
“This is not a Starbucks,” Y/n bit out, “We are not chatting over a latte. All you need to know is that one wrong move, and your village goes hungry a hell of a lot longer.”
The words hurt Y/n as she let them fly, she didn’t feel cut out for Joel’s intimidation tactics.
“Well, look, uh,” David looked behind them to an old cabin, “It’s a four mile round trip back to our settlement. It’s gonna be…a while before James gets back. I have some oil and matches in my pack, we could,” he gestured to the cabin once more, “Take shelter. Start a fire.”
It wasn’t the most obscene idea, Y/n thought. She didn’t plan on lowering her gun at any point, and if Ellie and her were going to make the trip back carrying half a deer with them, they needed to save the strength the cold was stealing from them.
“You bring him with us,” Y/n decided, nodding towards the deer.
David nodded back, a smile on his lips that Y/n couldn’t decode. She just knew she’d seen the same expression on the wrong kind of men before.
—————————
David tended to the fire he’d started in the middle of the cabin’s living room, sitting back down and warming his hands. Ellie and Y/n sat across from him, rifles aimed and ready to silence him.
“You know, you two really shouldn’t be out here on your own,” David said, his voice soft and concerned.
“Says the man with two rounds pointed at him,” Y/n remarked.
David shrugged, “Fair enough. So what’re your names?”
Ellie frowned, shaking her head in reply.
“It’s hard to trust strangers, I know,” David stated, “But I honestly mean you no harm. And for what it’s worth,” he opened his hands, “There’s room for you two in our group, if you want.”
“You’re inviting us to join your Hunger Club?” Ellie retorted, “Thanks.”
“It’s true, we’re hungry,” David admitted, “But we’re still here. I’m a decent man, just tryna take care of the people who rely on me.”
Y/n gave a nonchalant shrug, “Okay, so you’re the leader of a ragtag group of survivors. That’s nothing special.”
“Wasn’t my choice, it was theirs, but” David replied, “Yes.”
“They “chose” to follow you?” Ellie replied, “Is this some weird cult thing?”
One half of David’s mouth quirked up, “Uh, well, you sorta kinda got me there, I am a preacher, but just pretty standard Bible stuff.”
Ellie smiled to herself and glanced up at Y/n, who had already tuned out of the whole topic.
David looked between the women, “What?”
“The whole world ended, and you still believe that shit,” Ellie replied.
“I actually started believing after the world ended,” David corrected the girl, “Before that, I was a teacher. Math. Taught kids about your age.”
“So you went from teacher to preacher because, what? It fuckin’ rhymes?” Ellie fired back at the man.
David nearly laughed, “Yeah, exactly.”
Ellie smiled, just a little bit, keeping her aim on David but loosening it. He didn’t seem like much of a threat to her. Y/n, being older and having seen a lot more shit, was less convinced.
“But seriously,” Ellie prompted him to continue his story.
“Well, I found God…after the apocalypse,” David told them, watching Ellie more than Y/n, “Which is either the best time or the worst time to find Him, hard to say. But when the Pittsburgh QZ fell in ‘17, Fireflies and FEDRA…I left with a few others, and th-that’s how I ended up with our flock.”
“This is a long fucking way from Pittsburgh,” Y/n replied, perhaps it would have been a comment coming out of anyone else’s mouth, but it was an accusation from hers. There was something about him she didn’t trust.
David chuckled, “Yeah, we’d settle somewhere and then raiders would come, so we’d move again. And as we wandered, we picked up new people along the way until…” he glanced around him, “We ended up here.”
“Well, your luck had to run out sooner or later,” Ellie commented, the choice of words wasn’t lost on her or Y/n.
“Hm? Luck?” David rearranged his face the way some pastors did before jumping in the pulpit, “There’s no such thing as luck. No, I-I-I believe everything happens for a reason.”
Ellie and Y/n both shared a restrained smile, dodging the attempted sermon like it was a bullet.
“It does,” David insisted, grinning back at them, “I can prove it to you.”
“Okay,” Ellie agreed to his attempt.
David sighed, settling into his makeshift seat a little deeper. “We didn’t expect this winter to be so cruel. Nothing’ll grow. Game’s been hard to find. So I sent four of our people to a nearby town to-to scavenge what they could and only three of ‘em came back. And the one that didn’t was a father. He had a daughter just like you,” David pointed to Ellie, “And her dad was taken from her.”
Y/n slowly connected the dots, one step behind David but ten ahead of Ellie.
“Turns out…he was murdered,” David continued, “By this crazy man. And get this, that crazy man…was traveling with a little girl and a woman.”
Y/n was up on her feet, eye peering through the viewfinder, instantly.
“You see?” David smiled unsettlingly at Ellie, “Everything happens for a reason. James, lower the gun.”
Ellie spun around on her heels, both her and Y/n finding James returned, his handgun aimed straight at Ellie. They switched positions, Y/n’s weapon trained on James and Ellie’s on David.
“She is the one that killed Alec, isn’t she?” James asked.
“She didn’t kill anybody, neither of ‘em did,” David corrected, “Lower the gun.”
James and Y/n squared off, Y/n’s breath hanging on the edge of her lungs, just waiting to pull the trigger and release. Reluctantly, James lowered his pistol.
“Did you bring the medicine?” David asked his friend.
“Yeah, but-“
“Throw it to them.”
James hesitated, “David…”
Y/n’s back was turned to the preacher, but his silence indicated his seriousness. James reached into his pocket and tossed the small package at Y/n and Ellie’s feet.
“Back up,” Y/n said from between her teeth.
James did as requested, moving away from the medicine. Y/n moved closer to the man, letting him stare down the barrel of her gun while Ellie grabbed their trade.
“I know you’re not with a group,” David called, his voice creepily calm, “You won’t survive for long out there. I can protect you.”
They didn’t need to hear any more. Y/n fell behind Ellie, keeping her gun trained on the two men while the girl made a run for it. She thought to shoot them, be done with the whole thing and ensure their safe getaway. Except David had talked too much about his position in their town, they’d have twenty people after then instead of two. It was easy math.
As soon as she was certain David and James wouldn’t pick up their weapons, Y/n bolted into the forest after Ellie.
—————————
They made it back to the house, sweaty and out of breath.
Y/n shoved Ellie through the front door, fearfully scanning the street once before shutting and locking the door. When she got in, Ellie was already making for the basement, where Y/n followed her to.
“Are they gonna find us?” Ellie panted, sprinting down the stairs.
“I hope not,” Y/n replied, wishing she could give her more assurance they were safe.
Joel had barely moved since they’d left, his head having lolled to the right a little. Y/n knelt down at his shoulder, picking up a piece of rag to wipe the sweat from his brow. His body was working overtime to beat the infection.
“How the fuck do I do this?” Ellie loaded the syringe with the first bottle of penicillin.
“You put it either in the wound or around it,” Y/n instructed, an invisible question mark appearing at the end, “I don’t know, I’ve never dealt with a wound like this.”
Ellie considered her options, rolling Joel’s bloody shirt back and getting a good look at the gash. “Fuck it,” she muttered, just before inserting the needle in the middle of his wound.
Joel’s breathing quickened, his abdomen clenched a few times at the sensation, breaking through his unconsciousness. Y/n was there, pressing a kiss to his slick forehead, ready to hold him down if he woke.
“Okay,” Ellie said under her breath as she extracted the needle.
“Good job,” Y/n reassured her, “Penicillin’s fast acting. He should start to improve.”
“H-how do you know that?” Ellie asked, placing a worried hand on Joel’s forehead to test his fever.
The truth was, Y/n didn’t know anything. She was floating on a life raft in the middle of the ocean, adrift from any and all sense of safety. But she wanted to take solace in medicine, in the science of twenty years ago that a little dosage could stitch the body back together. She was choosing to believe.
“I don’t,” Y/n replied honestly, stroking Joel’s hair and peering up at Ellie, “But I have to have faith in something.”
“What, like the guy who wants to kill us?”
Y/n nearly bristled, “No, not exactly. I don’t believe everything happens for a fucking reason,” she looked back down at Joel, her lips quirking upwards briefly, “But some things…some things, definitely. And I don’t believe that we’d go through all the hell we have just to lose now…”
Ellie sighed, nervously rubbing her hands together as she watched Y/n tend to Joel. It came so easy to her guardian, to care for both her and the man who had abandoned her. Ellie’s walls remained so sky high, she wished that she could simply surrender to the warmth in her heart without fearing it as weakness.
She walked around to the other side of the mattress, sinking down onto its edge and laying down next to Joel. She carefully placed her hand on his chest and rested her head on his broad shoulder.
Y/n knew it was difficult for Ellie to open up, that the connection they’d formed back in Boston was like some eclipse that only came every hundred years. She’d watched Ellie slowly peel away at Joel’s defenses, until it was impossible for either to deny they cared about one another. Y/n wished desperately that Joel was awake to return the gesture, to encourage her vulnerability.
There wasn’t enough room on the mattress for all three of them, and Y/n didn’t dare ask Ellie to move an inch. Instead, she brought Joel’s hand up to his chest and laced her fingers through his. She rested her forehead just above his heart, the soft thudding against her skin filling her body with hope that he’d keep fighting. That he wouldn’t leave them.
Joel, slipping in and out of consciousness, wasn’t aware of much going on around him. But somewhere in his slumber, he could sense the warmth that was wrapped around him. He wasn’t chasing any white light, calling him home, but he chased the heat, leaning his head into it. He knew he was safe, so long as he could feel the warmth.
—————————
But there was no improvement the next day.
Joel’s wound had stopped bleeding, but his fever had yet to break.
Y/n knelt over Joel’s abdomen, sucking the second dose of penicillin into the syringe and injecting it. He didn’t so much as make a sound, that worried her.
Ellie sat on the edge of the bed and watched, waiting for some miraculous transformation to occur that would make Joel shoot straight up and return to his normal, grumpy self. If Y/n was honest with herself, her sleep-deprived mind was also waiting on something similar.
“Thought you said it was fast acting,” Ellie remarked, more bitter with the medication than Y/n.
“It is,” she answered, she was fucking exhausted, “But it’s not magic. He took a fucking…” Y/n let her hand fall against her lap, “Whatever it was. That doesn’t heal overnight.”
They didn’t want to say what they were both thinking.
“Come on,” Y/n sighed, rising to her feet with a groan, “Let’s go serve breakfast.”
The two of them filed out the garage, Y/n going to lift the squeaky door and Ellie carrying out a bucket. They gathered handfuls of the freshly fallen snow and brought it back to their horses, it was all they could offer them.
Y/n looked out on the neighborhood, her fingers nearly twitching in anticipation. They’d left tracks on their way back from the woods. If David decided to come after them, it might not be hard to find them. Then again, if he was a preacher, he could have subscribed to the believe that God might exact some sort of revenge on them rather than dirty his own hands.
“What are you thinking about?” Ellie asked, coming to stand by her side.
Y/n sighed, not wanting to consider dying any more. “How tired I am of fuckin’ snow.”
“You and me both,” Ellie remarked.
Without another word, Ellie leaned her head against Y/n’s shoulder. Y/n interlocked her fingers with the young girl’s and they stood in silence, drawing strength from one another.
A flock of crows cawing, flying away from something, broke their peace.
“Get back inside,” Y/n ordered, stepping into the street and following the direction the birds had fled from.
“No fuckin’ way,” Ellie argued, chasing after Y/n. It was wasted breath, telling her not to do something.
Y/n led them through a line of trees, staying low as they walked along a wooden fence. Through the shrubbery and snow, Y/n could spot several bodies a few hundred feet away and the tips of the rifles they carried.
David.
Neither of them dared to say a word, Y/n pushing Ellie backwards and hurriedly sneaking them back across the street to the house. They ran into the garage, quickly and quietly shutting the door behind them, before bolting through down to the basement.
“We gotta draw them away,” Ellie said, on the same wavelength as Y/n, “If they’re after him.”
“We ride back towards the university,” Y/n finished the thought, if there was a fight to be had, that was the best battleground.
Ellie slid across the basement’s floor, smacking Joel’s chest and shaking him by the arm, earning a gasp in return.
“Joel,” she urged, “Joel, wake up.”
“Joel,” Y/n called, she was already grabbing her rifle, “Joel, come on. Wake up!”
“He’s not fucking moving,” Ellie panicked, running off to her backpack.
Y/n took her place, grabbing Joel’s face in her hand, “Joel, I need you to fucking wake up. We need you. Now.”
Everything hit Joel’s ears as if he was underwater, three layers of sea between him and the words. The familiar voices were speaking urgently, in desperate tones. He found the strength to open his eyes, two tiny slits offering him a blurry view of Y/n.
“Keep them open, Joel,” Y/n urged, “Keep them open for me,”
Ellie returned with Joel’s knife, placing it in the hand across his chest, “Okay, okay, look at me. There are men coming, okay? We’re gonna lead them away from you, but if anybody makes it down here, you fuckin’ kill them. You got it?”
Joel’s eyes were beginning to glaze over again.
“Joel,” Y/n slapped his cheeks a few times, feeling him slipping from them, “Do not fall asleep right now. Stay the fuck awake.”
In the end, there was nothing else her or Ellie could do. David was coming and they had to act fast.
Y/n pressed a final, urgent kiss to Joel’s brow, before leaping to her feet with Ellie, praying that he was weakened rather than dead when they returned.
“We gotta block him in,” Y/n said as her and Ellie ran up the stairs, “Grab the china cabinet.”
The two of them maneuvered the hutch in front of the basement door, blockading the entrance as best they could. They ran out to the garage, quickly saddling both their horses and shoving the door back open.
“You ride in front of me the whole time,” Y/n ordered as she mounted her horse, “And if I go down, you don’t stop. You ride back to Tommy, got it?”
Ellie was ready to argue to the death on the point, “I-“
“You ride back to Tommy,” Y/n repeated, feeling the weight of what she was telling Ellie to do. It was the same one Joel had felt two days before.
Ellie rode out first, with Y/n bringing up her rear. She had her pistol off its holster and the rifle across her back, ready to do whatever necessary to keep Ellie and Joel alive.
They rode out the backyard, cutting past a few houses before coming out on the end of the street David and his men were creeping down.
“Hey, motherfuckers!” Ellie yelled just before her and Y/n began to fire. Ellie was shooting to warn, Y/n was shooting to kill.
As soon as the first bullets flew, making the men jump, Y/n and Ellie galloped off the same way they’d come from the university. Ellie listened and stayed ahead of Y/n as they rode. With each foot they gained, a new surge of determination flooded them both that they could make it. Y/n rotated on her horse and prepared to take another shot-
BANG! BANG!
One well timed bullet to Ellie’s horse sent the girl flying, landing harshly in the snow. The horse’s failed body tripped Y/n’s animal, she clutched the reins as she was thrown off, rolling into the snow as her spooked horse ran off.
“I got ‘em,” one of the men yelled.
“El,” Y/n grunted, belly crawling to Ellie, who managed to roll over onto her back. She was in a daze from the fall.
Y/n reached back for her rifle, scrambling to her feet as the crunch of boots began to surround her. She raised her gun at the first set of men, firing one bullet through one of their legs and sending him to the ground. She wasn’t quick enough to swing behind her and avoid the butt of one of their guns being driven into her head.
“Fuckin’ bitch,” the man muttered as Y/n fell.
It was a battle to stay awake through the dizziness, but Y/n managed to get to her knees, shielding the men from getting any closer to Ellie.
“Do it,” the same man who’d clubbed Y/n decided.
Even though they were her last moments, they didn’t feel like it to Y/n. She reached beside her to grab her pistol and cocked it. After twenty years of fighting, she wasn’t about to stop just because death and her were face to face. Not for Joel and certainly not for Ellie.
A shot fired into the air stopped the situation from escalating any further.
David came forward, standing over Y/n and Ellie. He cocked his head towards two of his men before Y/n, his disciples each grabbing one of Y/n’s arms and dragging her back.
“No,” she screamed, kicking wildly as David kneeled down beside Ellie and reached down to take her pulse, “Don’t you fucking touch her!”
David glanced up at Y/n, nearly amused by how aggravated she was. He removed his hand from Ellie, holding it up where she could see it. “Two of you with me,” he ordered, “Drag the horse,” he moved to pick Ellie up.
With all her strength, Y/n slammed her boot down onto one of her captor’s feet, causing his grip to loosen in the agony. She freed her arm and punched the second man at his temple, making him stumble backwards. “No!”
Y/n marched forwards, shoving David’s hands off of Ellie’s body, “She’s my fuckin’ kid.”
David watched every move, thoroughly evaluating the woman in front of him. He removed his hands and stood to his feet slowly, adhering to her demand.
Y/n brushed the loose strands of Ellie’s hair off her wet face, the sight of her unconscious nearly incapacitating Y/n with fear.
“The rest of you go door to door,” David continued his orders, “You so hungry for vengeance? Deliver it.”
Y/n’s head had barely turned before she caught herself. It was better for them to think Joel was up and about and that she had nothing to worry about. Internally, she felt fear spread to the very tips of her fingers.
David began to lead the way as Y/n lifted Ellie into her arms, beginning the two mile hike back to David’s community. She didn’t know what fate they were being marched towards, but she knew one thing.
She’d burn down the whole fucking town before she let anything happen to Ellie.
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♱ love bites pt.1 (vampireslave!simonriley x princess!f!reader)
summary|| The world stands divided, witnessing the dawn of a fierce civil war between mankind and vampires. Since the day you were born, your father, the king, has dedicated his life to mastering the art of manipulating the masses. However, his relentless pursuit of power has overshadowed everything else. Nevertheless, when a pale-faced servant is introduced into the castle, an inexplicable connection draws you towards him. wc: 6.8K
warnings|| MDNI; 18+ content, violence + mentions of, blood, swearing, abuse, slavery, child neglect, human trafficking.
masterlist. socials. recs.
It was the day of your birthday, a day that should've brought you joy and excitement. Yet, it wasn't as if turning a year older, granted you any additional control or responsibility over your own life.
Instead, you found yourself trapped in this house castle you called home. Surrounded by a series of unfamiliar faces, royal servants, and a new tutor every few months.
Isolated from the other children your age, a burning desire for freedom consumed you, as you watched them get the life you wanted; the life you yearned for.
While they were allowed to live freely, you were imprisoned inside this mansion. Locked away in your bedroom, walls covered in lavish decor. Shelves and dressers filled with things you rarely used - makeup and perfumes rarely touched, dresses and linens you dreaded to even wear.
You were merely a marionette, dressed up and down, manipulated at your parent's whim, while others turned a blind eye at your misery.
Although, what did you expect, you were a princess after all.
Marianne suddenly entered your bedroom. Crossing the threshold gracefully with her eerie ambiance of mystery and allure.
Marianne had been your mother's handmaid for as long as you could remember. She had been a gift to your mother, from your father, long before you were born.
Flawless porcelain skin and deep captivating red eyes that set her apart from the rest of the other servants around the castle.
Time seemed to have no effect on her. She had not aged a single day in all of your years. Frozen in time at the age of 26, and was, considerably, the only consistent part in your life.
Marianne laid out a dress for you. Placing it down carefully on your bed as she continued to busy herself around your bedroom.
Your head turned at the sound of her voice and you looked up at her sympathetically. "Do I have to go?"
Leaning back as her hands playfully combed through your hair, fingers gliding smoothly through your freshly brushed strands.
"It's best to get it done and over with." She said calmly.
As you made your way down the stairs, you took a moment to calm yourself before entering the dining room sheepishly.
Your father was seated at the head of the table, your mother beside him.
Catching sight of you, he swiftly fished his pocket watch from his coat. "You're late. I don't have the time to wait for you."
You followed your father outside to the waiting carriage. Accepting the kind hand offered by Louis, your chauffeur, and settled into the comfortable seats.
The ride dragged on, perhaps it was on account of what awaited you, upon your arrival. It baffled you at how things had reached this point.
Once the existence of vampires was revealed to the world, they were immediately labeled as a threat. Dangerous creatures of the night that lurked amongst the shadows. Monsters hiding among men.
On contrary to popular belief, they didn't burst into flames when exposed to sunlight. They weren't threatened by garlic, or crosses, or holy water. They didn't die from a stake to the heart and they were certainly not undead.
Although, they appeared pale in complexion, possessed immense strength and heightened senses, and required a dietary supplement of blood to survive.
It would be unfair to label them as monstrous, and you refused to believe this was the only way to live alongside them. They had once been people, just like you were. They experienced emotions and suffered pain.
Sure, it was different from the typical ways of the 'living' world. Still, that didn't justify enslaving their entire race.
It was argued that it was the only method to ensure humanities safety. Claiming that without it you’d be vulnerable, unprotected. Nevertheless, you wouldn't embrace the idea that this was the sole approach to a harmonious existence.
Soon the carriage came to a halt and your father got out. You peered out from behind him, surveying your surroundings before stepping onto the muddy road.
You trailed behind him into the building, entering a large auditorial room where the auction would be taking place. That familiar nauseous feeling swirled in your stomach as he led you to your seats near the back of the audience.
You anxiously looked around the room, taking in every detail. Within a matter of moments another man strode across the stage, approaching the podium.
The room became silent in anticipation as he began to speak. His words fell deaf to your ears, drowned out by the unsettling start of the auction.
Your eyes remained fixed on the stage. Witnessing as one after another, was forcefully brought out.
Both men and women, hands bound and feet shackled, appeared before the crowd. Some looked more heavily mistreated than others.
What disgusted you even more was the lack of empathy displayed by those around you, not even flinching as each individual was auctioned off to the highest bidder.
The sight was repulsive, and you couldn't bear to raise your bidding paddle held tightly in your hands.
As the auction began to come to an end, your father seethed at you through his barred teeth. "If you do not bid, I will do it for you."
Reluctantly, you shifted your gaze back to the stage, as another man was being dragged out.
He stood with an imposing height. Towering over the both men who held him captive at either side. His shoulders wide, and the shirt he wore did a poor job at concealing the dried blood and dirt that clung to his pale skin.
Your eyes couldn't help but linger on him, captivated by his presence. Despite his greasy blonde hair that fell over his eyes impedingly, it didn’t mask the strong features of his face.
He pulled away from the man on his right, earning a painful kick to the back of his legs that sent him collapsing onto his knees.
With his hair serving as a makeshift restraint, his head was raised. Lifting his chin defiantly, revealing his face in all its glory to the many interested onlookers among the audience.
His appearance was striking and as strange as it seemed, you couldn't help but feel drawn to him. His rugged face, marked by dirt and blood, still possessed an undeniable beauty.
Soon bids were being placed, and although the thought of purchasing this man in front of you seemed unfathomable, you couldn't resist impulsively raising the paddle high into the air.
"13,000! 13,000 for..oh, and well if it isn’t the Princess herself, ladies and gentleman!" The entire room turned their attention from the auctioneer to you, causing you to squirm uncomfortably in your seat.
As you looked back at the stage, the man's gaze locked with yours. His eyebrows furrowed harshly and he shot you a piercing glare causing your heart to ache.
"He's going to be difficult to break in." Your father disgruntled.
"You told me to bid."
"13,000, going once! Going twice! Sold to our Majesty and the Princess!" Your father rose from his seat, you instinctively followed. Waving and smiling as the men and women in the crowd erupted in applause.
As you glanced back at the stage, a wave of dread washed over you as you watched them forcefully drag the man away and out of your sight. Sorrow-filled, you tore your gaze away and hurriedly followed in his footsteps.
As he stood by the reception desk, meticulously filling out paperwork and a bill of sale. Your attention was drawn to the two familiar men who had been escorting individuals on an off stage.
They seemed to be engaged in a conversation with your father, he discreetly offered them a few coin each, before he turned and handed you a pen.
"What’s this for?" You ask, your voice filled with uncertainty. "Ownership papers." His reply caused you to freeze.
It was hard to believe that this was actually happening. You would be this man's owner. He would become your possession.
"Father… I-I'm not sure if I can-" You stammered, your voice trembling.
"That's enough." He said, silencing you.
It was astonishing, how effortlessly your father made you remember just how easy it was to hate him. He had managed to portray this as nothing more than a point of sale, stripping away all humility.
Swallowing down your tears, you leaned over to hastily scribble your signature at the paper’s edge. Every letter and each stroke of the pen, another stab wound to your heart.
You dropped the pen as if it had burned you, walking out of the building and leaving your father inside.
As you caught your breath out on the sidewalk, a laughing bunch of children dashed by you. Joyfully passing a vibrant red rubber ball amongst each other.
Their contagious laughter brought a fleeting smile to your face, but it soon faded as rearing envy flooded your chest. You longed to once be part of their innocent joy.
Your father appeared from behind you and as the carriage arrived he promptly took his seat without bothering to spare you a glance.
You took a moment to look for where they might have placed the man of such impending size. It would be difficult to hide a man of his stature, even on something as grand as the royal carriage.
As you glanced at Louis. He met your gaze before casting his eyes behind him towards the rear.
You cautiously approached the back of the carriage, stealing a glance around the corner to catch a small glimpse of him.
There he was, shackled securely to the luggage rack sitting upright on the short, compact shelf.
You swiftly glanced over your shoulder, ensuring that your father hadn't caught you gazing inquisitively at the cryptic man.
"Princess?" A gravely, somber voice broke the silence.
Startled, you jumped in surprise caught off guard by the sudden sound. Turning back to face the man who remained bound in place.
You approached him cautiously, his appearance became even more unsettling. Although his face remained somewhat concealed, the deep scars that were etched into his skin were too distracting to ignore.
The long jagged scars that scattered across his face. Remnants of a past wound ran across his nose. His face, a roadmap of strength and survival.
Cutting deeply over his lips like a badge of honor. Saw-toothed and jagged, narrowly missing his eye, dividing his eyebrow and cheek with a single stroke, which only added to his allure.
Each scar, a testament to a life lived, resiliently.
Your eyes welled up with tears, brimming and threatening to overflow. The feeling of self-disgust washed over you, utterly ashamed at what you had done. The depths you had sunk, purchasing him as if he were mere property.
"Everythin’ a’right there, Princess?" His voice was hoarse and deep, sending a shiver down your spine. Never before had the sound of someone's voice evoked such a whirlwind of emotions within you.
"Don’t call me that." You snapped, feeling far from deserving of such a title. At the moment you felt nothing like a princess. A princess was strong, courageous, and compassionate, someone who helped others, not oppressed them.
He seemed familiar with the tone of your voice and with a stern expression turned to look away. "No! I-I’m sorry. I just… I just hate being called that." You stammered.
"Then wha' is it I call you?"
Your ears hummed in pleasure, as he played with your name a few times under his breath.
"And you? What shall I call you?" You asked him nervously.
"Anythin' you please." He gazed at you intensely, causing you to shyly glance down at your hands.
"No, I want to know your name." You insisted, shaking your head.
"Simon." He stated sharply.
"Simon…" You repeated, before anxiously biting your bottom lip. Mesmerized, you couldn't tare your eyes away from his intense crimson gaze as it slowly drifted down to your mouth.
The sudden sound of your father's voice calling your name caused you to gasp, releasing your flushed lip. Shattering the moment, you turned your attention towards the front of the carriage.
Glancing back at the mysterious man. "I’m sorry, I’m truly so sorry." You panicked, stepping away, rushing to take your seat.
As you made your way back to the castle, the ride was filled with an eerie silence.
Once you’d arrived home and stepped out of the carriage, the sound of jingling chains caught your attention.
Your father disappeared into the castle, leaving you alone with Simon. Watching as Louis released him from his restraints.
You couldn't help but feel the stir of curiosity and anger emanating from his gaze, freezing you in place.
Perhaps it was the countless years of torment he endured, that over time had hardened his natural state.
He stood tall, towering over your own figure. He was incredibly intimidating, and with each passing minute, the thought of fleeing became increasingly tempting.
Simon possessed an imposing build, with muscles that commanded attention. His blonde hair was too long and unruly, but that only added to his overall delphic demeanor.
However, his facial hair proved to be quite distracting, diverting the attention from his striking features.
His tattered clothing barely held together, falling apart at the seams, while his feet remained bare.
Your boots protected your feet from the sharp gravel stones, and although you were aware that he didn't experience pain in the same manner as you did, it still must’ve been somewhat uncomfortable. His overall appearance upset you.
"I’m sorry." You mumbled softly, casting your gaze downwards in shame.
"You keep apologizing."
He sounded annoyed, angry, his tone filled with irritation.
"I don't know what else to say." Closing your eyes to keep the tears at bay. With a shake of your head and a sniffle, you took a deep breath to compose yourself.
The sound of hurried footsteps on the splintered rock caught your attention. You turned to see Marianne as she made her way towards you.
It only took a call of your name for you to run to her. Enveloping you into her warm embrace, cradling your head into her chest.
Overwhelmed by the intensity of emotions you broke down, no longer strong enough to hold back your tears. Sobs racked through your throat, causing your shoulders to tremble with each wail of grief.
In that moment, Simon's presence faded into the background. With tender gestures and the gentle stroking of your hair, Marianne comforted you. Her soothing words reassured you, easing your tears.
"Louis?! Louis?!" Marianne's voice rang out, beckoning the man who had disappeared for only a moment.
"What has happened?!" He exclaimed angrily, his accusatory gaze fixated on Simon.
"He’s done nothing." Marianne interjected, her voice calm yet firm. "You're well aware of the princess's nature."
Simon remained stuck in place, utterly surprised at your sudden outpour of emotion.
Throughout his years, he had encountered countless young women, but witnessing, a princess of all people, weeping uncontrollably in the embrace of someone who, by all appearances, shared his vampiric nature, seemed unfathomable.
Marianne regarded Simon with an inscrutable expression, her gaze impossible to decipher. "Louis, escort him to the bathing chambers. See to it that he is cleaned and attired appropriately before bringing him to the princess's quarters. We shall await his arrival there."
She instructed, gently tugging at your weeping form as she led you towards the grand castle.
"Goodness Marianne, it was absolutely awful." You said once you had distanced yourself from the men, finding the courage to explain yourself.
"They were all beaten and chained, some of them so weak they couldn't even stand on their own. It's sickening that I participated in such a thing. Heavens, I bought a man."
Tears continued to stream down your face as she guided you indoors. "It's alright now, my dear, don’t worry. All is well. Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?"
Simon squeezed into the porcelain tub, sinking comfortably against its back with his arms draped over the sides. He’d cut his hair, shaved his beard, and meticulously scrubbed all the dirt off his scarred skin, leaving it free from any traces.
As he indulged in the soothing warmth of the water, his mind wandered back to you.
Your wide tear-filled eyes that glistened as you looked up at him. Lashes that appeared fuller as they clung together from the tears cascading down your flushed cheeks.
The remembrance of your disheveled state, stirred a sense of melancholy deep within him.
Letting out a heavy sigh, he submerged himself beneath the water's surface.
Despite the fact that Louis had provided Simon with the largest clothes he could find. With his impressive height and broad build, they still seemed to be slightly too snug for his frame.
The shirt appeared to be undersized. It fell short, just below his hips, and was a bit snug around his shoulders. On the other hand, the old pair of boots that were given to him fit perfectly.
Louis guided him through the castle and when they finally reached your door, Louis left him standing in the hallway. Simon stood there for a moment unsure about what might lay beyond the door.
Sitting in your usual spot by the window, your lace-up heeled boots lay untied on the floor beside you. Sensing a change in the room, you turned around, anticipating Marianne. However, you were surprised when you saw Simon approaching.
Finally, with his hair cut short and his face clean-shaven, you could catch a glimpse of his true self. Though, his presence seemed so estranged in your feminine room.
You stood up, suddenly anxious. Yet, his height startled you and you took a clumsy step back, accidentally hitting the wooden bench with your heel, causing you to awkwardly plop down onto your rear end.
As soon as Marianne stepped in, you quickly stood back on your feet. Gently smoothing down the fabric of your skirt, attempting to alleviate the shakiness of your hands.
Simon obediently sat down into a chair not too far from him upon Marianne's request, and you gracefully resumed your own seat as well. Simon found it peculiar how willingly you followed Marianne's instructions.
"Simon, you are not t- Marianne..." You interjected, cutting her off.
From the moment you entered your bedroom, you had made it clear that she was not to address him in the same manner as the other servants.
Marianne let out a sigh before starting again. "Hello, Simon. My name is Marianne, the queen's lady-in-waiting. However, for all practical purposes, I have been taking care of the princess since she was a young girl."
Simon glanced back and forth between the two of you, catching your gaze as you observed him from your perch by the window.
"To ensure a seamless transition, there are just a handful of guidelines you need to adhere to." She informed him.
"Firstly, you will be residing in the servant chambers. Louis will assign you daily tasks to keep you occupied. Once you complete your duties, you are free to engage in any activities of your choice. Feel free to explore the castle grounds, take care of the animals and crops, or anything else that keeps you busy." She continued.
"However, you must always be attentive to the Princess herself. For you are to be devoted to her." Simon glanced in your direction, immediately catching sight of your somber expression, despite your attempts to hide it from him.
"It is strictly prohibited to enter the west wing of the castle. The library and ballroom, on the other hand, can be accessed with prior permission from the king, queen, or the princess." She finished.
After she’d gone over a few more things she’d eventually excused herself.
Once Marianne left your bedroom, you followed her to the door, closing it behind her. A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you turned back to face Simon.
Marianne had encouraged you to make an attempt at talking with him. It wasn’t everyday a pale fresh face was introduced to the castle.
You found him standing in the middle of the room, his expression filled with uncertainty. "You have questions."
There was a brief moment of silence, before he suddenly spoke, taking a chance on your unusual demeanor. "Do I 'ave permission t'speak freely?"
"You don't need my permission to do anything." You replied honestly, yet, intrigued by his request.
"Neve' met someone like you." Simon paused, his voice filled with genuine curiosity.
Yet, his words caught you off guard, causing a blush to creep up your cheeks. "What do you mean?" You asked, genuinely surprised by his confession.
"All m’years, I've met thousands of people..." Simon explained, his tone filled with a mix of vulnerability and obligation.
"Ya’ see, I have been tortured, beaten, punished, abused..."
A lump formed in your throat, and tears welled up in your eyes as he confessed. "Stop that..." You whimpered softly, your voice barely audible.
"...but the first day I meet you, you apologized for nothin’." His voice remained steady. "You call me by my name, and allow me to call you by yours..." He stated in confusion.
"Simon.."
"I am at your command, your highness. I will not deny it... Simon, don't..."
You couldn't help but stare at the floor. Your throat constricted, a heavy lump settling in it, making it difficult for you to speak.
Simon's words struck a chord within you.
"I never wanted things to be like this." You confess, taking a step closer to him, unable to keep your distance.
"I never wanted to be trapped within these walls, raised by guards and maids instead of my own parents. Told how to dress, how to behave, how to speak, even how to feel. Forever alone, mocked, ridiculed..." Closing the gap between you, you continued.
"I may not know what it is like to be one of you, and I can never truly understand the pain of what you've been through, but I do know what it's like to have no control over your own life. To have every decision made for you. So, when I apologize, it's not for nothing. It's for everything. Everything that has ever happened to you because of me..."
As you stood just a step away from him. His face, a mixture of confusion and bewilderment.
"...so I find myself apologizing, repeatedly. Even though I know you may not believe me. I can no longer continue living this facade. Pretending that everything is okay, when it's far from." You let a breathless laugh escape your lips.
"I refuse to treat you in the same manner as my father would, and I was only at that stupid auction today because he insisted I had to be. So, please understand that I cannot treat you with anything less than kindness... and nothing you do or say can ever change that."
As you looked up at him, your hand softly touched his forearm, which dangled lazily by his side. Looking up at him, his captivating eyes met yours, an unbreakable connection.
They portrayed a deep sense of astonishment as you confessed, causing you to avert your gaze shamefully. However, you couldn't help but look back at him, wanting to appear courageous in the presence of such an overwhelmingly, intimidating man.
Simon was bewitched, an enchanted feeling he had never experienced before consumed him completely, leaving no doubt in his mind at your sincerity.
Initially, he had pictured you as a spoiled, immature, arrogant princess, who'd come from a privileged, lavish life. Someone who had everything handed to them on a silver platter, attended private classes and never missed a lesson.
Although, as he gazed at you, he saw the complete opposite.
The rosy blush on your cheeks, a beautiful indication that your heart pumped with life, and the sparkle in your eyes revealed a shimmer of hope for the future.
At your chest tightening confession, Simon realized that despite where he came from, an environment filled with poverty and hardship, where tainted hands met violence and hurt, you'd still welcome him with kindness and warmth. Something he hadn't felt since he was human.
"Please, do not make this difficult for me." You pleaded with him.
"I'm certain that the years you remain here will fade in comparison to the rest of your life, but it will be my entire existence."
Little did you realize just how wrong you were. Simon was already well aware that his time here would trump all the years he'd existed.
He knew that you, would surpass all the people he'd spent his everlasting eternity with.
The past few months remained somewhat peaceful. You had yet to ask much from Simon, other than helping hand here and there.
To be truthful, you were slightly embarrassed at your initial introduction of yourself, and your thoughts on the whole situation made you reluctant to ask things of him. However, that didn't mean you weren't observant.
Despite both of your seemingly busy schedules, it didn't deter you from watching him closely as he worked.
Tending to the horses and other animals in the stables. The times you witness him and Louis engaged in deep conversation.
He was truly a captivating sight to behold. You'd study him, working away, out in the fields, watching as he effortlessly hoisted those hefty bales of hay.
A task which would typically require the strength of two mortal men, he made, seem like child's play.
On hotter days, there were moments when you would catch him clad, in nothing but a pair of trousers and boots. His tunic-shirt, casually tossed over the fence as he tirelessly carried on with his work.
It was during these days, you'd take your time when admiring his naked upper body. With strong, powerful muscles rippling beneath scarred, sweat glistening skin. He was undeniably breathtaking.
He'd once asked you for permission to use the library and you had assured him that he no longer needed to ask your approval.
In fact, you'd even told him to let anyone causing him trouble know that it was you who had granted him access.
You'd ran into him a few times there, when gathering books your instructors told you to bring along to class.
Conversations were always short, neither of you talked very much. Simply a few brief, fleeting words regarding what each of you were reading or how you had been passing the time.
Once you began to feel anxious or perhaps even a bit flustered, you'd politely excuse yourself. Scurrying off to find solace in some deep, hidden corner of the castle.
Simon always found you incredibly strange. He was well aware of the fact that he had captured your attention, as he could feel your eyes fixed on him during numerous occasions.
In fact, he would often find himself going the extra mile just to amuse you. Whether it was casually removing his sweat soaked shirt or deliberately taking a bit more time to complete his tasks, knowing that you would be watching his every move.
It wasn't until your father had confronted you about your tutors' complaints, regarding your lack of focus during lessons. How they'd caught your attention slipping, or how easily you got distracted, often gazing out the window lost in your own thoughts, 'daydreaming' was what they'd called it.
As a result, he summoned you to his study, where he proceeded to ridicule you about how childish you were being. To waste their time and his precious coin on classes that you so stupidly couldn't comprehend, or didn't have the mental capacity to follow along.
His words cut like a knife, devoid of any kindness or compassion. His only purpose, to shatter the illusions you had created in your head, and to demand your undivided attention.
You quickly left his study, tears streaming down your face. Hurriedly, rushing through the grand halls of the castle. Your sole mission was to reach your bedroom, where you could finally surrender to the comfort of your bed and release all the pent-up emotions through a torrent of tears.
Yet, you were interrupted at the top of the stairs where you'd collided with someone with such force, you thought it would surely bring you both sprawling to the ground.
Instinctively, you threw your hands out to catch yourself, only to find them resting against a solid chest covered in well-defined muscles. A strong arm encircled tightly around your waist, keeping you from collapsing onto the ground in a puddle of tears.
Simon had spent quite some time in the library, secretly hoping he'd encounter you. Unfortunately, luck was never on his side. He'd abandoned his pursuit, making his way back to his quarters when he suddenly caught the sound of your hurried footsteps. The rampant rhythm of your heartbeat, and the unmistakable, sickly scent of your sorrow.
There were only a few things Simon found enjoyable about being what he was. Among them, was his heightened senses. With his newfound sense of smell and enhanced hearing, he had the luxury of knowing exactly how a person was feeling.
On occasion, he was able to catch the skipped beat of your heart, when he paid you a subtle compliment and the, oh so, delightful scent of your arousal that filled the air when he'd 'accidentally' brush up against you.
However, in this moment he didn't find it quite as appealing. The sight of freshly fallen tears, cascading down your flushed cheeks, and the sound of each wet breath you took in an effort to compose yourself, which had no effect, had Simon's chest constricting.
"Your highness? What has happened?" The sight of your distress caused a surge of anger coursing through him at the thought of someone causing you pain.
The unexpected appearance of Simon caused you to feel a sudden sense of relief. As his rough, calloused fingertips gently brushed away the tears streaming down your cheeks, and as his words registered in your mind, you shook your head.
Taking a large step away from him, distanced yourself from his comforting embrace. You swiftly wiped away any remanence of your tears, before crossing your arms tightly over yourself, in an attempt, determined to comfort yourself.
"Nothing. I am just being childish, that's all." You reassured him. Putting emphasis on childish, in reference to your father's patronizing words.
Simon tried to cheer you up teasingly. "Ain't a princess not suppose' t'lie?" Unfortunately he hadn't had much practice in the matter and his attempt only seemed to make things worse.
"You're right. I'm sorry-I just..." Your voice fractured, like delicate glass as you started to apologize, but he interrupted you.
"No. No, 's not what I meant." He said gently. Confused, you looked up at him. "You don't need to lie, not to me."
Reaching out, his fingers delicately brushed away a wayward piece of hair from your face, tucking the stray strand behind your ear, his touch sending shivers down your spine.
You inhaled deeply, preparing to speak, the words escaped your lips softly. "I'm falling behind in my studies." Simon would've asked why, but deep down, he feared he already knew the answer. Him.
"'s trivial." He said, attempting once again to displace your worries.
"To you." You sighed, while he simply hummed in response.
"Suppose."
Simon was never one for words, so he thought of something else that might cheer you up. "Come with me." He uttered unexpectedly, catching you off guard.
"What?... Where?" You asked him puzzled.
This time, he reached his hand out slowly, gently brushing against your wrist and palm, before finally catching the tips of your fingers with his.
Without saying a word, he led you carefully by his side, guiding you out of the castle entrance and towards the stables. You couldn't help but giggle uncontrollably as Simon tightened his grip on your hand, intertwining your fingers.
With your free hand, you lifted the skirt of your dress, in order to keep up with Simon's quickening pace. "Where are you taking me?" You asked him playfully. He didn't respond, instead pulling you closer to him as you approached the fence of the pasture.
"Simon I'm not allowed this far." You warned looking up at him. Once again, he paid no mind to your words, smiling down at you as he grabbed you by the waist to hoist you over the fencing.
"Simon!" You shrieked his name. Grasping his sturdy upper arms, at the feeling of him effortlessly lifting you off the ground and into the air. Once he set you back down on your feet, he placed one hand onto the railing, leaping to your side.
"Would you just come on." He said, grabbing your hand once more pulling you with him into the open fields of grass.
Suddenly, he came to a stop, positioning you in front of him. You could feel the firmness of his chest against your back, while his large hands firmly grasped onto your hips protectively.
"Si-Shh, shh, shh. Look." He interrupted you softly, gently nodding his head for you to look forward.
Straight ahead, in front of you both, was a harras of horses. Gracefully trotting over the lush grassy knoll. A handful of playful foals keeping pace beside their nurturing mothers.
As the sun began its descent behind the towering trees, it painted the flowery hills with radiant beams of golden light.
The view before you was absolutely breathtaking, and despite all your years living in the castle, you never imagined you'd see something quite this beautiful.
You gently rested your hands on Simon's, which were now wrapped loosely around your waist and leaned back into the comfort of his strong embrace. In that moment, all your previous worries and doubts seemed to fade away.
Simon felt you relax into him, drawing you tighter against his body, keeping you close.
He gently lowered his head, his nose grazing against the full of your hair and he took a deep breath, inhaling in your delicious scent, savoring the intoxicating aroma of vanilla that enveloped you both.
As his words escaped his lips, a gentle touch of his breath caressed the shell of your ear sending a delightful shiver down your spine. "Beautiful, isn't it?" His tone, a confident statement, rather than a question.
You gave a subtle nod, your voice currently untrustworthy as Simon's head remained nestled in your hair.
His hands began to wander. His brain, no longer thinking clearly as his senses grew hazy. His mind, a clouded mess, suddenly consumed by you.
With one hand he gently traced the curve of your hip, gripping at the softness of your plush thighs through the fabric of your skirt.
His other hand ventured upwards, long fingers spreading wide as they glided over your rib cage, brushing against your sternum just below your breast.
As his lips drug against the delicate skin of your neck and a surge of warmth enveloped you, your eyes widened in recognition.
You quickly spun around to distance yourself from him, but his arm remained securely around your waist holding you firmly in place.
Your hands reached out to push at his chest, but the intense look of hunger in his eyes, caused you to freeze.
How foolish of you, allowing him to lure you out here all alone. As much as you were reluctant to accept it, he was still a predator and his thirst for blood, veracious.
As his hand gently cradled your cheek, his fingers tangled in your wild hair. His eyes burned with an insatiable lust as he tilted your head.
You watched him salivate, his tongue darting out, licking his lips at your desirable taste.
A wavering sigh escaped your lips, leaving you utterly breathless. Fear gripped your trembling hands as he leaned closer, drawing you towards his awaiting mouth.
You knew there was no calling for help, no one would arrive fast enough to save you from him.
With a heavy heart, you closed your eyes as a single tear fell down your cheek. Bracing yourself for the inevitable pain, accepting of his bitter-sweet bite of death.
His cold breath fanned against your lips, before a burning warmth enveloped them. Pleasurable tingles coursed through your jaw, gradually ascending to your face, caressing your cheekbones and even reaching your hair, which was held captive in his strong hand.
The rough texture of his scarred lips was nothing compared to the pillowiness of them.
Simon deepened the kiss, stealing the breath from your lungs.
You had never experienced such a sweet sensation before. You were still young and hadn't been trusting enough to share such an intimate moment like this with somebody.
A kiss filled with such an overwhelming sense of passion, surpassing any tenderness you had ever experienced. Your body relaxed, your hands, once tightly clutching his shirt out of fear, now clung to it with longing, yearning to pull him closer to you.
His mouth parted, gently drawing your lower lip inside. His tongue caressing the tender flesh as he kissed you furiously. He tasted like tea, earthy with a hint of something sweet, perhaps cherries or marzipan.
Simon couldn't get enough of you. The soft curve of your waist, perfectly fitting his hand, as if it were meant to keep you by his side.
Since his arrival, he'd been yearning for more. Longing for your taste, and to let you consume every part of him completely. The sickly-sweet flavor of your lips, the taste of your mouth that he savored like the most cherished elixir.
The sudden nip of his teeth against your plump skin stung, jolting you back to reality. The instant your eyes widened in astonishment, you pulled away from him.
Simon's brows were knitted together, as though the absence of your lip brought him some kind of unbearable pain. He breathed deeply, his chest, rising and falling, as if it carried the weight of his yearning.
He caught sight of the solitary tear that had escaped your eye, his thumb brushing it away along with your fears. You thought about how you'd gotten yourself here. How you had been so blind, up until this moment.
"Simon..." His name had never before sounded so beautiful coming from trembling lips.
Was it perhaps because he had kissed you silly, until you became lightheaded and breathless, or simply his ears playing tricks on him, he didn't know. Whatever it was he didn't care, his only priority was to somehow kiss you again.
"...why would you do that?" You said feverishly.
"Didn't think y’d mind." His voice was slurred as he spoke somberly. A hint of something playful in his tone that sent an unfamiliar sensation through your body.
Simon could smell the sweetness of your desire, yet your face, a mix of confusion and uncertainty. "You didn't ask..."
Of course that's what you wanted, he thought. A proper kiss for a proper girl. He smiled down at you, your eyes, filled with emotions, glistened innocently as they met his gaze.
"’ought ya might'a liked it." His gaze was soft as he shifted back and forth between your wide eyes and swollen lips.
"I might have if you'd asked."
In all honesty you did love like it. In fact it was better than you could've ever imagined. Although, it wasn't like you had anything to compare it to.
"Simon..." The purr that hummed in his chest sent tingles through you. He leaned down again dragging his nose along the exposed skin of your clavicle.
You flinched, the feeling of mouth so close to the bare skin of your neck. You shivered and couldn't help but whimper at the feeling.
Simon could smell your fading aroma of pleasure, replaced by the reeking scent of fear. He pulled away to look at you but you diverted your gaze. Looking anywhere but his captivating eyes.
"What's got ya so frightened, Dovie?" Amazed at how easy he could tell how you were feeling, you stuttered out a reply.
"I-We can't... If my father- Wait... how could you tell?"
"It reeks." He said blatantly.
"Y-you can smell fear?"
"Mhm..." He leaned back in, kissing up the side of your throat, mumbling against your skin between each one. "and sorrow... happiness... arousal..." You blushed deeply, bringing a hand up to hide your flushed cheeks.
"None of that, Dovie. 'm a proud man, like to see what I do to you."
The sun had set leaving the sky a dark blue-gray. The wind had picked up, the breeze whipping against your warm skin and tangling your hair into a mess.
Simon's hands began to move up and down against your arms before brushing back your wild strands. You leaned closer to him, his body bracing against the wind protecting you from the nipping cold.
"S'time to getcha inside, little one."
⇠ call of duty masterlist. part.2⇢
so this was originally just going to be one fic but it got way too long. so I figured I'd break it into two, maybe a third if y'all have some ideas/requests on how I could continue it <3 next part will be smutty!
© ladywuvly please do not steal, copy, or translate any of my work onto other platforms!
#ladywuvly. m.list#18+ content#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost call of duty#ghost x female reader#ghost x reader#simon riley#fanfic#navi.#18+ blog#fandom#vampireslave!simonriley x princess!reader#vampire!simon ghost riley
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Devotion 🖤
I. Stronger Together (Ch 1)
CultLeader!Joel x OFC!Reader
Series Summary: When is it enough? When is it too much? When does Devotion become Obsession?
Visit the Series Masterlist for series warnings, cult info, timeline info, and HCs on ages. Reader has a nickname and some minor physical descriptions - is an OFC from Reader POV.
*This series is 18+ MDNI. I will not be listing individual chapter warnings as I don't want to spoil the plot of each chapter. Please see the series masterlist for entire series warnings to decide if this is for you.*
I. Stronger Together
CH 1 (5.4k)
You can hear it behind you, wheezing breath, strangled grunts. You’re pretty sure it’s getting closer but you don’t dare to look backwards. It’s been following you halfway down this mountain, dragging itself along, waiting for the inevitable. You plod on, one foot in front of the other, letting gravity help you fall forward, knees threatening to buckle with each slap of your foot down on the dirt.
It’s been hours of this now, you must be miles away. Away from the little snow-topped cabin where you were ambushed by a single infected behind a closed bathroom door. Away from where the rest of your party was bitten, first by the clicker and then by each other. Away from where you had to shoot each of them, one by one, until you ran out of bullets and escaped out a window.
You wish you could silence your cumbersome steps. You wish you could quiet your labored breaths. You wish you could stop the drip, drip, drip of your blood from smattering onto the dried leaves underneath your feet. Maybe then this one-legged, blind, croaking monster behind you would cease its pursuit. Then you could stop moving and just close your eyes for a moment. You just need a moment, just one moment.
You think you do close your eyes for just a second, and it’s then that you trip over a buried tree root. Your eyes open as your face meets the ground, wet and hard, knocking the wind out of you. Everything immediately hurts. You can barely think. One arm remains wrapped tight around you while you attempt to pull yourself forward on your other elbow, away from the scratchy breathing.
You feel a hand clawing at your shoe. Kicking the shoe off, you roll away, further down the hill as best you can. Reaching one hand out, you grab at sticks and stones, anything you can grasp, throwing them backwards in an attempt to slow down the inescapable. You hear nothing but your own muffled heartbeat pounding in your ears. It's so loud it sounds like hoofbeats.
You finally roll onto your back to face it, watching it slowly closing the small gap between you, bony fingers outstretched towards you. You close your eyes again. You’re so tired.
A gunshot rings out.
Tiny specks of blood spatter outward, covering both you and a circular pattern on the ground around you in a fine red mist. The infected falls backwards, unmoving. Your eyes are open now, ears ringing. You hear muffled shouting and then there’s a gun barrel in your face. You’re too tired for this. You close your eyes again.
Another gunshot rings out.
“What the fuck you think you’re doin’?” Joel shouts, having grabbed the barrel of the gun just in time.
“He’s infected!” the man previously holding the gun says, pointing at your blood-soaked torso.
“You think that–,” Joel points to the deformed clicker lying next to you, “woulda followed him halfway down the mountain if he was already infected?”
Joel leans down at your side, gently opening your jacket to assess the damage. He sees several layers of cloth wrapped around your torso, all soaked in blood beneath your ribcage, where your bloodied hand still clutches right over a large shard of glass sunk into your middle.
“Bring my horse, now,” Joel yells at the rest of his party.
He’s sure about three things. One, unlike the fungus-covered body lying beside you, you are not infected. No one infected fights this hard to stay alive. Two, you are most definitely bleeding to death. The tight bindings around your middle likely serve as the only thing keeping your slowly-draining body alive. Three, despite your short-cut hair and boyish appearance due to the many layers enveloping your chest, you are – in fact – a woman.
Days later someone comes bursting through his office door. Come quick, Joel. It’s all he needed to hear to follow the messenger to the clinic, worried that when he arrived he’d see your cold and lifeless body lying on the bed. When he bursts in the door to your room, ignoring the shouted protests of the medical staff, he is shocked to find you alive. Not just alive but standing up against the far wall, brandishing a pair of scissors, clutching at the pulled stitches on your side. He hears the doctor beside him muttering the words fuckin crazy.
“Who the fuck are you?” you point the scissors at him.
“I saved you,” Joel whispers, not surprised you don’t recognize him as you were basically unconscious when he rode with you into town. He points to the red drops accumulating on the floor, “that’s my blood you’re drippin’ all over the place.” He briefly recalls the argument from the doctor when he brought you in two days ago and insisted you be given his Type O blood.
He watches you look down at the blood spilling over your hand and uses the distraction to close the gap between you. Ignoring the scissors in your hand he quickly grabs some gauze and presses it against your side, hearing you gasp in surprise.
“I want to leave,” you say through clenched teeth, raising the scissors up to his eyeline, as if he forgot they were there. You make no further move to try and hurt him, somehow confident that your feeble threat is enough. He meets your eyes, wide and wild. You’re terrified. You don’t trust him. You’re threatening him in front of four other people while you bleed onto the floor. You’re fucking fantastic.
“Let’s get you better and then you can go wherever you want to,” he says, as he nods to the doctor to come fix you up. The doctor shakes her head, motioning towards the scissors. With no fanfare Joel grabs the scissors easily from your grip and pockets them. He ignores the hey he hears come out of your mouth and guides you back to the bed, nodding once again for the doctor to come over.
You allow the doctor to fix you up with no more threats, Joel standing close guard. About halfway through the re-stitching you wince, internally chiding yourself for showing weakness to these strangers. Joel takes your hand in his, not even making eye contact, holding it for the remainder of the procedure. Once the doctor steps away Joel squeezes your hand and looks you in the eye, telling you to get some rest before following the doctor out of your room.
“When you brought that ‘wounded little animal’ in here the other day, you didn’t warn me she bites,” the doctor mocks as she walks Joel out of the clinic.
“I told you she came down that mountain half-dead with a clicker on her heels. I guess we shoulda known she was a fighter.”
“You really gonna try and keep this one too?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Joel answers immediately.
Joel thinks of the look in your eye; feral, distrustful, combative. When was the last time he saw that look on the face of anyone here? He has a community of people who love and adore him, who hang on to his every word. But none of them look at him like that. You have awoken something deep inside of him, something he thought long dead: burning desire.
“If you wanna keep your little pet, Joel, I think you should be the one to take care of her. I don’t want to see any of my staff get hurt and she seemed to take to you.” The doctor knows. She knows Joel brings her wounded birds all the time and she fixes them up. A broken wing here and there, sometimes scrapes and bruises, sometimes wounds that run deeper.
However, none of them have threatened her with a weapon – until today. But she knows they all “take to” Joel. That’s the kind of person he is. Everyone in this town is drawn to him that way, even her. She knows he’ll gladly take on this responsibility and bring stability to the situation. She knows she won’t have to worry about a repeat of today.
He nods in response and promises to stop by later as he retreats back to his house.
—
He follows through on his promise, showing up later that night and bringing a bowl of hot stew for you to eat. He sits in a chair in the corner of your room, watching you sip at it while you try to avoid awkward eye contact with him. His eyes on you make you uncomfortable. He doesn’t look at you like men usually do, with malintent. He looks at you with interest and curiosity. It makes you feel like a zoo animal. No one looks at you like that. No one ever has.
This goes on for days. He brings you three meals a day, he hands you medication, he fills your water cup, he sits in the corner of your room and watches you. The doctor comes in to check on your wound and adjust the fluid dripping into the IV in your arm twice a day, but they are the only two who enter your room. You hear the doctor call him Joel.
You watch him out of the corner of your eye but you don’t ever make full eye contact, you don’t ever make conversation. You aren’t looking to strike up a friendship. He said you could leave after you get better, so that’s your plan. Get better, and get the fuck out of here. Finally, on the third day he speaks to you. You drop your spoon back into your bowl because it startles you so much.
“What’s your favorite book?” he asks, unphased by the clatter of your silverware.
You’re unsure if you heard him right, but you don’t ask him to repeat himself. Instead you say the first thing that comes to mind. “To Kill a Mockingbird,” you say. A lie. You’ve never read that book in your life. You don’t owe this guy the truth. You don’t even know him, you don’t owe him a goddamn thing. He says nothing further, not acknowledging your response, so you spend the rest of your meal in silence, as usual.
You’re all but certain he didn’t hear you until he shows back up with your dinner, hours later, with a book in his hands. To Kill a Mockingbird. He brought the goddamn book? As you uncover the plate of food, he takes his usual seat in the corner, but this time he clears his throat and starts reading from the book he brought. You stop fiddling with your plate to look up at him.
You stare at him for a while, you’re not sure how long. This is the first time you’ve allowed yourself to look at him, to really look at him. He has a strong jaw, a prominent nose, and dark eyes. His trimmed facial hair is flecked with grays along his cheeks, showing his age along with the lines creasing his face. He’s probably in his forties but you can appreciate he’s still got a damn good hairline.
He’s sitting down, of course, but when he was standing you remember thinking he was decently tall, towering over everyone else you’d seen in the building. His shoulders measured about a mile wide and his clothes seemed to strain against the bulk underneath them. You’d tried to ignore the way he wore his jeans but it hadn’t completely slipped your attention. He certainly wasn’t ugly.
As he continues to read aloud, your eyes drift to his lips. His top lip is obscured by his mustache but you’re pretty sure there is a near-perfect cupid’s bow hidden underneath. His bottom lip, by contrast, is plump and pouty, although you doubt anyone has ever described it that way, at least to his face. His gruff voice continues to scuffle along in the background as you watch his lips curve around the words.
His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you realize how silent it is. He’s stopped talking. Your eyes move to his, meeting his direct gaze. Why did he stop? Did he catch you staring at him?
“You gonna let your dinner get cold?”
You turn your attention back to your meal, slowly finishing it while he reads on. He continues reading long after your plate is empty, his voice lulling you into a relaxing state in your hospital bed. When he eventually closes the book and rises to leave, you let a goodnight slip from your lips. You’ve spoken maybe five words to this guy and now you’re wishing him a goodnight? Jesus, what’s next, sweet dreams?
The next morning is a repeat of the past three days; he comes in as the doctor heads out from checking on you, speaks with her at the door, then brings your breakfast in a wrapped up parcel, still warm. He takes his usual seat but picks the book up off the floor that he’d left there the previous night. He opens it up, clears his throat, and resumes reading you the story.
He’s about an hour into reading during his afternoon visit. Your lunch is long since finished and you’re trying to make sense of it in your head.
“I don’t understand why they call him ‘Boo’ Radley,” you interrupt. Slowly his eyes raise to meet yours over the pages. A line forms between them.
“I thought this was your favorite book.”
“It is,” you blurt out, poorly reinforcing your deception. “I just– I guess it seems like a strange nickname.”
He shrugs his shoulders then, leaning back in the chair and lowering the book.
“Well, I suppose they call him ‘Boo’ because he’s so reclusive, almost invisible.”
You nod your head, electing not to ask any more questions about the story since you’re pretty sure he’s caught on to your lie. After a minute he lifts the books and continues reading.
The next day shortly after you finish your lunch, he finishes the book. You try your hardest not to react. You’ve been trying your best to listen to him speaking as though you’ve heard his words before, as though everything he says is familiar, as though this tale is not new to you. You’re pretty sure you’re a shit actor.
He gets up and goes to leave the room, hours before he usually would.
“You’re leaving?” you spit out before you can stop yourself.
“That’s the end of the book,” he holds up the book and flips it over, as if to show you it’s empty.
“Y– you don’t have any other books?” you mutter, looking down at your hands.
He crosses the room and sits on the end of your bed, holding out his hand towards you. Your eyes dart between his face and his outstretched fingers.
“I’m Joel,” he says, by way of an extremely late introduction. You gently take his hand in yours, feeling his rough, warm palms grip yours and move your arm up and down. I know, you whisper, not even sure he can hear you. You don’t bother introducing yourself in return. You don’t think it matters what your name is.
“You ever even read this book?”
You look up and he’s wiggling the book in his hands again, as if it wasn’t obvious which book he meant. You don’t answer again, you just look back down. You’re not ashamed of lying. You’re not embarrassed you got caught lying. You don’t even know this guy, Joel. He’s just some guy who keeps you in this room all day because he apparently doesn’t want you to bleed all over everything.
“What’s your favorite book?” he asks for the second time. You open your mouth to let another lie fall out, but before you can, he follows up with, “And let’s try the truth this time.” You meet his eyes.
He should be offended by the way you look at him. You are so distrustful of him. You lied about what your favorite book was, as if it was some state secret, and here you are about to do it again. And don’t think he didn’t notice you side-stepping telling him your name. This is the fifth day he’s spent by your side and you won’t give him an inch. He’s got to find a way to crack you open. He wants you to let him in so badly.
C’mon, he urges, reaching his hand forward to touch your leg comfortingly. You pull your leg back quickly, recoiling from his touch. His eyes go to your face again, finding it full of fear, your eyes blazing. He pulls his hands back into his own space and lifts them slightly, to show that he has no intention of putting them on you again. He mutters I’m sorry as he slowly rises and heads towards the door, certain he’s just set himself back by miles. This is turning into a real shit day.
—
When he comes back with dinner, passing by the doctor at the door, you look surprised to see him. Clearly the moment between you earlier scared you, but you don’t look scared to see him, just surprised. He’s determined to gain your trust, he’s not going to be driven away by a setback here or there. He hands you your dinner plate and then lays three books down next to you on the bed.
“Pick what you want next,” he says softly.
Ignoring your dinner you look down at the selection he’s brought. Pride and Prejudice. Little Women. Jane Eyre. You can’t help the disappointment that flies across your face. He brought you girl books. He thinks you’re just a girl who likes traditional girl books. You’ve never read any of these books and you don’t want to. You don’t care if they’re ‘classics’. You don’t care if they’re read to you in a scratchy, southern drawl.
You shake your head and eat your meal in silence while he sits in his chair with knitted brows, rubbing his hand over his beard. After you’re done he immediately rises, takes your dirty plate and all three books into his arms, and leaves the room. You don’t try to stop him this time.
To your surprise he returns twenty minutes later. Wordlessly he places a small bowl in front of you filled with some kind of baked apple treat. He’s never brought you dessert before. Then next to you he places three new books. You look at the three very different titles. The Chronicles of Narnia. The Count of Monte Cristo. The Hobbit. You can’t stop the smile that breaks out on your face and you bite your cheek to stop the stinging behind your eyes from turning into any embarrassing tears.
You reach out and grab The Hobbit, holding it out to him. You don’t tell him it’s the book your dad used to read to you as a kid. You don’t tell him anything and he doesn’t ask, either. He just takes the book and sits back in his chair as he opens the cover, reading it from the beginning. He notices the smile you try to hide and the wetness in your eyes but knows better than to react. He’s gained some distance back. It’s a good day after all.
—
The next few days go by much the same, with Joel spending several hours surrounding each meal reading to you. The only difference is that he’s started asking you questions. They start off about the book. You tell him you’ve read it, and this time, it’s not a lie. You’re pretty sure he believes you. He asks if you’ve traveled as far as Bilbo has, nodding to your healing side, making reference to your ill-fated trek down the mountain.
The questions slowly become more personal; did you have any siblings, how old are you, where did you grow up. Unsure of his motives you ask him back every question he asks you, making him answer first. He says he has a younger brother, he says he just turned forty five, he says he’s from Texas. If he’s making up lies then he’s quicker and better at it then you are. You’re finding him easy to talk to, which is why you almost let it slip out when he tries to get your name again. But you hold it back.
He sees you practically bite your tongue to stop it from rolling off. He thinks you’re starting to trust him but you still look at him warily whenever he stops to ask you a question. You don't even trust him enough to tell him your damn name yet. You seem confused why he’d want to know about you, why he’d be interested in stories that don’t involve him, why he’d want answers that don’t benefit him. It’s like no one has ever tried to get to know you before.
He’s been building this community for nearly two years now and he knew the QZ’s were getting bad. He wonders where you’ve been, what you’ve gone through; these are the questions he doesn’t dare to ask you. You are frightful and distrustful for a reason. Whatever you’ve experienced it hasn’t been kindness, not for a long while. No one has been nursing you back to health, feeding you home cooked meals while they read classic novels to you.
It’s been just over a week and the doctor finally gives you clearance to start moving around and regaining some strength, albeit slowly. Joel brings you some warm clothes and guides you out the back of the clinic, which leads to a large square park in the center of town. Despite the chill of fall, you’re eager to get better, and you revel in the opportunity to feel like your old self again. You get tired easily but Joel is always a few steps away to help you back to bed if you overexert yourself.
He leaves the book in the room but he continues on with your conversations, which have become more lengthy. Despite your reluctance to trust and his seemingly gruff nature, you find your time together has become easy, maybe even friendly. He still asks most of the questions and you still make him answer them all first. But you wonder things about him that he isn’t asking.
You know he’s in his mid-forties, but you don’t know if he’s married or if he has kids. It makes sense though, most people don’t talk about their family because people aren’t exactly living white-picket-fence lives anymore. You know he’s from Texas but you don’t know how he ended up here, in the mountains of Vermont. You don’t know why he comes to see you three times a day, why he reads to you, where he goes when he’s not with you. You don’t know what his favorite book is. You don’t know why you care.
You jokingly call yourself a Plain Jane and he perks up, chuckling while he tells you that’s your name now. Well you still haven’t told him your real name so it might as well be. When he calls you that name an hour later – Plain Jane – you feel your cheeks burn. It’s not exactly a complimentary name but the smile on his face when he calls you by it makes you look away from him. What is he doing to you?
Why does he look at you like that? You have been half-invisible most of your life and when anyone does actually give you attention it’s never been a good thing. You prefer it when they don’t look at you, when they don’t see you. But Joel has been sitting in that chair and watching you, looking at you, seeing you. He’s been asking you questions, reading to you, and bringing you meals. Yet you still don’t trust it. You don’t trust him and you don’t trust the feelings he stirs inside of you.
Joel is walking by your side during one of your afternoon walks and he tells a bad joke. He wasn’t expecting you to laugh, he’s never made you laugh. Until today. You’re not just laughing, you’re giggling, and he thinks it might be one of the best sounds he’s ever heard. It makes him feel as light as air. You grab his arm as you double over, losing yourself in the laughter.
This is the first time you’ve ever touched him aside from your hands grazing when he hands you your meals. Not that those count, he doesn’t even count those. He shouldn’t even notice when it happens, yet he does. It’s like you have his insides twisted up and his head all fuzzy but somehow he feels like himself for the first time in nearly a decade.
He has been ignoring responsibilities for over a week now, sneaking away three times a day to spend hours with you. He rushes out of the house with breakfast in his hands, opting to eat it with you instead. His afternoon and evening meetings all get pushed back, until he’s left your side and can make time. No one questions him but he knows Tess is starting to get annoyed with him. She doesn’t approve of his behavior, his attention so focused on one person. She hasn’t said anything yet but she has that look.
It’s easy to be with you. It was easy in your room, even when you weren’t talking to him yet. He could sit there in the corner in silence and just be, without anyone asking him anything. Then when you finally spoke to him he couldn’t wait to hear more. He asks stupid, pointless questions all day just to hear you answer them. He has to be more guarded when you’re outside together, everyone is watching.
They’re all watching him, watching you, wondering why he’s spending all of his time with you when he used to spread himself around to the whole community. But the answer is easy. You don’t look at him the way they do. You don’t have their expectations of him. You don’t think he’s got all the answers. You don’t stand around waiting for him to save you.
–
When it’s been almost two weeks since you came under the doctor’s care she tells you that she thinks you’re well enough to leave the clinic. “Where do I go?” you ask her before you can stop yourself. She lets a huff escape her lips, but before she can reply, you both notice Joel standing in the doorway. You see a look of panic cross her face and you don’t miss the way she dodges his hand grabbing for her arm as she slips out the door past him.
He turns back to you and you notice he has three new books tucked under his arm. He’d finished The Hobbit, The Count of Monte Cristo, and The Chronicles of Narnia this past week. Part of you wonders what selection he’s brought for you this time. You still haven’t told him your favorite. Now you’re not sure you ever will. The doctor said you’re well enough to leave, and that’s what you wanted to do. Leave. Right?
You look up at Joel and just as he opens his mouth to speak you hear the main door open behind him and a commotion of conversation coming through the door. You hear someone say, “fell off a ladder” and Joel’s attention is diverted down the hallway behind him. Suddenly a woman is at his side. She’s tall, with long chestnut hair and freckles that dot her cheeks and nose. She’s gorgeous.
You instantly feel like you’re one foot tall. You feel inferior. You feel like you’re staring at a marble sculpture. This woman is beautiful and she’s standing so close to Joel. He’s listening to her talk and nodding and he’s not even looking at you anymore. He probably forgot you were even there; look at this goddess in front of him. She stops talking and looks at you, pinning you with her stare. You freeze.
“Hi, I’m Tess,” she reaches out her hand to you, closing the distance between you since you’re stuck to your spot. “You must be the reason I never see this guy anymore,” she teases. You think she’s teasing.
“I was just about to invite PJ to come stay with us,” Joel clears his throat behind her, using his newest version of your nickname – Plain Jane. You look at him, eyes bulging out of your head. He was going to what? Stay with him? Who is us?
“Oh, you were?” she says, as if reading your mind. She’s still gently shaking your hand, regarding you with a curious eye.
“Yeah, we’ve got the room,” he says casually, flashing you a smile. Tess says nothing. You look back and forth between them. They’re both looking at you, waiting for you to speak.
“S– stay?” you manage to squeak at him. Does that even begin to cover the questions you have?
“Just until you’re feeling a hundred percent,” he says, gesturing to your nearly-healed side.
Now Tess drops your hand and turns back to look at Joel. You can’t quite read her expression. He doesn’t meet her eyes, he keeps them locked on you. He walks over to you and hands you the three books, placing your small breakfast plate on the top of the stack.
“Pick which one we should read next and Tess’ll come by after lunchtime to bring you home.” Without waiting for a response he grabs Tess by the shoulders and leads her out of the room.
“Since when do we ‘have the room’, Joel?” she questions as soon as they spill out onto the front sidewalk of the clinic.
“You can put her in the room next to mine,” he replies, taking strides so long that she has to hustle to keep up.
“My room is the room next to yours,” she mutters. He stops dead in his tracks, causing her boots to scuffle on the sidewalk to stop from crashing into him.
“Well obviously I didn’t fuckin’ mean your room. She can have Bianca’s room,” Joel huffs as he walks on.
“So, across the hall from your room?” He stops again and this time she does crash into him. He grabs her shoulders, pulling her even tighter to him and brings his head down to her ear.
“You’re supposed to be the one who worries about all this shit for me, so just figure it out, okay Tess?”
She stays standing in place while he resumes his walk back home. She doesn’t bother answering him since she knows his question was rhetorical. Tess did agree to manage his house. However, that was before she realized that he was going to be bringing little lost pets in and out of it all the time. She always knew their relationship was transactional. It served a purpose, it fulfilled their needs, but it was never loving.
When they agreed to start this community, she thought they’d do it together. He convinced her that he needed her help, and he did – he still does – there’s no way he could do this without her. He never wanted to manage the details. But she thought she’d be his partner, in the community even if not in life. Instead she finds herself at his mercy. She also finds herself not disliking it as much as she should. She lets herself get lost in him, lost in what they’ve created here in this valley.
She plays the role of his partner, but only behind the scenes. She plays his girlfriend, but only when he’s not otherwise occupied. She’s his friend, but only if he’s feeling in need of comfort. She’s mother to his children, but only the broken little birds he brings home to their doorstep. She does all of the work, but reaps none of the rewards. And yet, she lives a safe, comfortable life. She can’t help but feel grateful to him. In a lot of ways she still feels like he saved her. She was once a broken little bird herself.
After lunch she comes back to the clinic and finds you sitting on the edge of your bed, as if you’ve been waiting there all morning. You probably were. She fights the urge to ask if you have everything, reminding herself that you had no possessions save for the bloody clothes they found you in. Let’s go, is all she says, and you follow her out of the clinic in silence, nodding a goodbye to the doctor as you exit.
“Are you Joel’s wife?” you ask as you walk side-by-side, mustering up courage from god-knows-where.
“Joel doesn’t have a wife.”
🖤
NEXT
Thank you endlessly to @papipascalispunk for helping me with this series and listening to me rant about Cult Leader Joel. 🫂 I appreciate you SO much.
Thank you to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @strang3lov3 for your support and help creating this world. 🫶
TAGLIST (lmk if you wanna be added or removed)
@covetyou @iamasaddie @sr-lrn @clawdee @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @merz-8 @speckledemerald @alltheseperfectimperfections @survivingandenduring @afraidtofear @millennial-teenybopper
#devotion series#cult leader joel miller#noxturnalpascal#ofc!reader#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller fanfiction#pedro pascal characters
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The Consort ₊⁺જ⁀➴
NSWF | Explicit 18+ | Angst | Blood | Ascended Astarion | Spawn Tav | Dark | Smut | Trauma | Stockholm Syndrome | Violence
Ascended Astarion x fem Tav
Chapter: 1 | The Consort
Summary: In a tumultuous tale of love, power, and betrayal, Tav finds herself entangled in a complex relationship with Astarion, a heartless vampire lord who will stop at nothing to maintain control over his newfound spawn. As Tav witnesses Astarion’s transformation and descent into darkness, their love is put to the ultimate test amidst love triangles, drama, and the pursuit of world domination. Redemption seems like an elusive goal while Tav grapples with the realization of who her lover has truly become.
UPDATED EVERY MONDAY.
Notes: Hi, hi ! New series cause Astarion is heavy on my mind. I’ve been writing this on the low so I’m posting the 1st two chapters today so enjoy :*
AO3 LINK | MASTER LIST
Lovely photo by @aristenfromwarsaw
Tav sat against the window of a palace, her eyes fixed on the bustling street below. She hummed a tune so sweet to herself, the laughter of children playing echoed through the glass, and she hugged herself in this peaceful solitude.
Tav's fingers grazed softly over the bite marks that scarred her skin.
Astarion.
Her lover, her home, and ultimately Tav's only reason why she couldn't step foot in the sun any longer.
Being Astarion's spawn changed Tav's life instantly, and everything felt so - silent.
This was her love, and she'd almost do anything for him, including going threw the ascension.
And because of this, Astarion was always gone during the day, and it was so unfair.
Memories flooded her mind as she gazed at the sunlight streaming in. She remembered the warmth of the sun on her skin, the way it kissed her cheeks.
A ray of sunlight pierced through the window, illuminating a small patch of floor near Tav.
Sunlight.
What it would feel like to just...touch it. Would it really hurt? Maybe Tav could be the exception some how? Either way, the curiosity inside Tav chewed at her better judgment.
Tav bit down on her lower lip, whispering, "Just a - touch..."
With a hiss, the beam sizzled her skin, leaving behind a faint burn that quickly healed before her eyes.
“Ouch,” Tav winced and pulled back her hand with glossy eyes.
She watched as the mark faded away, leaving no trace of burns. That's it, no more daylight: this was Tav's sacrifice to Astarion.
As she leaned back against the window, Tav’s gaze lingered on the street below once more. She sighed and played with her hair.
They were so carefree and happy. She wished she could be like them again. Changing into animal form and feeling the warm grass beneath her feet. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Tav couldn’t not let her vampirism control her. She would find a way to live a normal life again.
Especially with Astarion at her side.
Astarion burst through the door, shouting, "Darling, I've got great news! I- " He stopped mid-sentence, his words trailed off as he noticed Tav suddenly jump away from the window.
She nervously smiled and waved at him, with a hint of unease. “Hi, Star… How was your morning?”
Astarion’s gaze lingered on Tav’s face and then shifted to her reddened hand. Whatta trouble maker. He shook his head and sighed annoyed while grabbing her hand, forcing it for closer inspection. “Were you playing with the light again, dearest?”
Tav murmured slightly, feeling a pang of shame knowing how much Astarion hated when Tav tested her new form.
It was dangerous and foolish of her to push limits with her life. Astarion claimed she was better than before and that she should accept his gift to her.
“Must you continue to do this to yourself? Remember, you’re better now. I made you this way; learn to love it, my consort,” he rubbed his thumb over Tav's knuckles. Despite his stern words, a soft smile graced his lips as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss against Tav’s forehead.
"I just can't help it." Tav turned her head to the window, "It still doesn't feel real." She looked back at Astarion with confusion etched deeply in her furrowed brows, "It's like I don't believe it's real until I get myself hurt."
Astarion stared at her, confused and maybe even a little weirded out. "Riiight - well, please don't take it too far, I wouldn't want you to crisp into a chip right in front of my eyes." He grabbed Tav by the waist and gave her hugs and squishes.
Tav chuckled against his hold and bombard of kisses.
“And I trust you haven’t been practicing your wild forms in the house, dear?” He glared down at Tav with a sternness again.
Astarion did not accept animals in the house, not even for poor Druid Tav.
Tav smiled. “Noo…”
Lie.
Astarion's eyes glared down at her longer than usual. "Mhm. Do you want to try that again, Tav?"
She averted her eyes from his, “If I could just get some time to practice…I almost perfected my panther form!” Her eyes lit up with determination. If only she could just show him. It was quite impressive.
But no, shut down.
He scuffed with a slight squeeze of her body, “There will be no need for a panther form. I carry all this power and it’s all you need to depend on. Besides, I found animal fur on the carpet the other day.”
Oh, right.
Tav half-giggled against Astarion’s strength and pushed away with a smug look on her face, "Soo, what's the good news?"
"Ah, yes." He fixed himself before speaking while putting some distance between them, "I've been invited to Waterdeep, a party. I want to make connections with the nobles near us. I think it's a good opportunity to sniff out whatever advantages present themselves to us. Gossip and have fun of course."
Tav's eyes lit up and she clasped her hands together, "A ball?!" She took in a sharp breath, "It's been deathly boring here, I would love to get out and see new faces."
Being a spawn could be so sheltering sometimes, especially when Astarion kept her on such a tight leash. Not that she minded his attention, that was the plus.
Astarion rolled his eyes, "Of course, you're coming." He popped out a hip and with a smirk, "You are my lovely consort after all." He leaned over and brushed away a strand of Tav's hair, fixing it perfectly in place, "And you will put all those Waterdeep prissy noble-women to shame."
Finally, something to look forward to.
"You think so?" Tav bit down on her lower lip, flashing him playful eyes. Tav stepped closer to Astarion again, resting her hand on his chest and sliding his down to his stomach gracefully.
Astarion mirrored Tav's gesture and his fingers grazed over her hips, holding a hand full of her love handles, "I don't think. I know."
She smiled at his touch, and a sudden yawn escaped Tav's lips.
Astarion's ears perked up, "Tired are we?"
She rubbed her eyes and nodded softly, "Yeah...I'm still getting used to this whole nocturnal schedule." Tav tilted her head, "But I wanted to see you before I went to bed."
With one swipe, Astarion scooped Tav into his arms, "You'll see me for eternity." His crimson eyes fell on Tav as he craddled her in his arms, "My spawn."
Her stomach knotted. Did she really like being a spawn? Well...No. But she would definitely try to for Astarion. They were in this for life. Tav tries to find life's simple pleasures, but it's hard leaving a life she once had.
Regardless, she'd never admit it to Astarion. Tav didn't want him to think she was regretful or doubtful. Even if she felt like it deep down. He mustn't know. Tav loves Astarion. After all, he said he wanted this power to protect them.
Astarion held Tav bridal style and brought her into their bedroom. The king-sized bed was draped in red silk fabric, and he poured her onto the mattress like the rarest of jewels.
And to her surprise, Astarion crawled into the bed next to her, holding her body tight against his. He nuzzled against her neck, his breath warm against her skin, and it sent shivers down her spine.
He was unusually cuddly than most days.
"Are you okay?" Tav spoke out. This wasn't normal behavior, not after he ascended at least.
"Nothing." His eyes were cold and emotionless but the squeeze in his embrace contradicted that. "I'll stay until you fall asleep." He softly kissed the tips of her ears.
Oh...how sweet.
Tav smiled, her heart aflutter as she nestled into the soft pillows. Astarion held close and watched over Tav as her eyelashes fluttered closed.
She was so emotionally fragile lately, especially with her little accidents. It worried him when he wasn't home more than he'd ever tell her.
No, don't feel bad. She's made her choice.
Astarion's inner thoughts battled within himself. Mostly because Tav consumed his mind and thoughts, even when trying to engage in any political social climbing. Part of him despised how weak he was for her.
But for now...This feels nice.
Next part here
You made it to the end! Mwuah.
Also so sorry if this series triggers anyone
Any thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage!
#The Consort#bg3 fanfiction#bg3 fic#bg3 tav#bg3#baldurs gate 3#astarion bg3#astarion acunin#astarion x tav#astarion angst#astarion fanfic#astarion smut#astarion x reader#bg3 astarion#astarion#ascended astarion#spawn tav#astarion series#Spotify
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Moth to a flame.
Summary:
Aemond has always had a thing for his older brother’s best friend.
Warning(s): Language, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, Smut – Fingering, Oral sex (M & F Receiving), P in V, Safe Sex, Multiple Orgasms.
MODERN AEMOND x Y.N
INSPIRED BY THE SONG - SWEDISH HOUSE MAFIA FT THE WEEKEND - MOTH TO A FLAME.
Word Count: 2915
Taglist - @zeciex
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.
Aemond groaned in frustration as his brothers groans of pleasure grew louder, the rhythmic sound of the headboard banging against the wall.
“Selfish prick-“ muttered Aemond the jealousy bubbling in the pit of his stomach.
Aemond had always had a thing for his brother’s best friend, ever since they’d been introduced, she lived in the apartment across from them and Aegon being the more confident of the brothers had spoken to her first, with the pair of them becoming firm friends.
She was currently studying a degree in English and History at the local university in the hopes of becoming a teacher someday, all whilst working at a grocery store.
Aside from the fact that she was intelligent, kind, generous, and funny, Aemond also liked the fact that she was immune to Aegon’s garish attempts at seduction, politely declining his repeated advances until he finally gave up his pursuit.
But they struck up a firm friendship nonetheless and from then on Y.N had become a regular fixture in both of their lives. That was two years ago and every day since then had felt like torture.
In a way he was slightly envious of Aegon when it came to matters of the opposite sex, his older brother never had any issues charming the pants off literally every woman that took his fancy whereas he was still a virgin at the age of twenty one.
Gods it was so embarrassing, of course he wanted to have sex, but he just couldn’t get past his own shyness and insecurity over the scar on his face and his missing eye, that he never reciprocated any woman’s advances, not that there were many anyway.
He was convinced they were doing it out of pity or simply an attempt to mock him, and he didn’t want to feel vulnerable in that way, so he simply stayed away and guarded his heart and his feelings.
He liked to imagine all the ways he would please Y.N, with his fingers, his tongue, and his cock, he wanted her in every way possible, but he was too damn shy to even try so he resigned himself to fucking his fist whenever the urge got too much.
And now he’d missed his chance, Y.N was next door fucking his brother and it made him angry, gods Aegon was such a prick, he knew of his feelings for Y.N and still he’d pursued her and fucked her. How many times had they done it? How long had it been going on for? And by the gods Aemond would kill Aegon if he discarded Y.N like she was nothing.
Aegon wasn’t the best when it came to dealing with the aftermath of his pursuits, he enjoyed the chase, did what he had to in order to get what he wanted and then threw them away as if they were nothing.
Aemond had lost count of the amount of women who would come banging on their door, looking for Aegon after he had ghosted them, it was actually exhausting.
“For fuck sake” muttered Aemond as he rubbed his eye and stared at the alarm clock on his nightstand.
After figuring out that trying to sleep was a pointless endeavour Aemond got out of bed, not like he could sleep with that racket going on next door anyway.
Slipping on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers, Aemond left his room and walked into the kitchen, perhaps a drink and a smoke would dampen his ire, or maybe he’d finally check out that series on Netflix that Aegon kept insisting he watch.
After running a hand through his dark hair, Aemond opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, twisting the cap and taking a large gulp as he turned around.
“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST” shouted Aemond as he spotted Y.N sitting at the table, her face illuminated only by her laptop screen.
“Sorry -I didn’t mean to scare you,” said Y.N softly.
“W-What are you doing here?” gasped Aemond.
“My WIFI is out so Aeg said I could use yours-I have an assignment due at the end of the week,” said Y.N motioning to her laptop and the mountain of books beside it.
“No-I meant what are you doing out here, I thought you was in Aegon’s room”.
“Why would I be in Aeg’s room?” asked Y.N
“Well, I-I heard him with someone and-“
“-So you just naturally assumed that it was me?” muttered Y.N frowning.
“N-No-it’s just he said earlier that he’d asked you to come over” replied Aemond.
“He did ask me, but I had a shift at the shop, and then he said something about Cassandra”.
Aemond could feel his cock stirring in his trousers at the sight of Y.N sitting at the table in her short p.js, with one leg raised.
The material of her shorts rid higher on her thigh, exposing her creamy flesh.
“Oh, so that’s who’s in his room” muttered Aemond the feeling of relief washing over him.
“I guess so, he’s been trying to get in her knickers for a while, so his questionable attempts at flirting have finally paid off,” said Y.N shrugging.
“I guess” mumbled Aemond.
“You honestly thought that I was with him?” asked Y.N her eyes lingering on Aemond’s bare chest, her teeth catching on her lower lip at the sparse chest hair and the silver cross chain he wore.
“Yeah-sorry about that” whispered Aemond.
“I had hoped that you would think better of me” replied Y.N.
“I don’t think about you at all” lied Aemond his tone a little sharper than he intended.
“Oh really?” asked Y.N as she slowly rose from the chair.
“N-No” gasped Aemond, his face suddenly feeling very hot.
“I see the way you look at me-“ muttered Y.N
“I-I don’t-“ stuttered Aemond, his eye focused on the thin strap of Y.N’s top that had slipped down her shoulder.
“I like the way you look at me-“ whispered Y.N
“Y.N-“ exclaimed Aemond as she reached forward and gently cupped the scared side of his face.
“So beautiful” whispered Y.N.
“N-No I’m not” muttered Aemond lowering his head.
“Yes, you are-“ said Y.N as she leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his scared cheek.
Aemond’s heart was pounding in his chest, he could smell the sweet scent of Y.N’s perfume and feel the heat from the proximity of her body.
Y.N seemed to be waiting for him to make the next move, she smiled softly as she reached down to take his hand, squeezing it gently.
Aemond stood mute, his mind screaming at him to lean forward and kiss her, the girl of his dreams was standing in front of him in her short p.js looking at him expectantly.
He wasn’t aware of how much time had passed but the heat of Y.N’s body suddenly moved away from him, taking his silence as a rejection of her advance.
“I’m sorry-“ muttered Y.N her cheeks tinged pink.
Aemond could only stand there as he watched Y.N rapidly collecting her things, she was clearly embarrassed.
“Tell Aeg thanks for letting me use the WIFI-“ said Y.N as she rushed towards the door, her breath hitching in her throat as she struggled with the door handle before pulling it open and running across the hall to her own flat.
Aemond blinked and slowly he came back to himself.
Y.N had propositioned him, and he’d just stood there like a complete twat and now she’d fled the apartment and would likely never return for fear of running into him.
No, that just wouldn’t do. Y.N was different from other girls; she didn’t look repulsed at the sight of his scar or pretend it didn’t exist.
She had called him beautiful, and he’d just stood there, and not said a word.
He could have been kissing her right now, and yet he was still standing there.
With a huff of annoyance, Aemond stalked forward and wrenched open the door, he didn’t care that he was only wearing a pair of sweatpants, he just wanted to make things right with Y.N.
He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
She didn’t answer, so he knocked again and again.
“Please Y.N-Open the door” begged Aemond as he pressed his forehead against the wood.
He internally cursed his own stupidity and was about to give up when he suddenly lurched forward as the door flew open.
“Aemond-“ muttered Y.N.
“-Y.N” replied Aemond as he gently cupped her face with both hands and pressed his lips against hers.
He pulled away for a moment so he could quickly kick the door closed and then his mouth descended upon Y.N’s again.
Aemond couldn’t help the small groan that escaped his lips as Y.N’s pierced tongue slid against his.
Y.N slowly slid her hands up the back of Aemond’s neck and into his hair and pulled it slightly, delighting in the little moan he made.
Aemond slowly moved his hands down Y.N’s body before roughly grasping her ass and hauling her up against the door.
Not having any clue at all where this bravado came from, but he was more than content to roll with it.
Y.N whimpered, gripping at Aemond’s shoulders as he slots himself between her legs, his tongue still invading her mouth.
Aemond presses himself against the apex of Y.N’s thighs, and he growls like an animal when she reaches down and palms his hard cock over his sweatpants.
“Fuck-“ groans Aemond as he begins grinding his clothed cock against her.
“Someone’s eager” whispered Y.N as she flicked her tongue against the corner of Aemond’s mouth.
“Oh-baby girl you have no idea” rasped Aemond.
“Bedroom” muttered Y.N.
Aemond nodded eagerly as he lowered Y.N to the floor and took her hand, his heart pounding in his chest.
Of course, he’d been in Y.N’s flat plenty of times for movie nights and game nights, but this night was totally different. It was the night that he would lose his virginity.
As they entered her bedroom, Y.N gently cupped his face and pressed her forehead against his.
“Are you sure?”
“More than anything-I want you” replied Aemond.
“If things get too much for you-We can stop” whispered Y.N.
“I know”
Y.N smiled as she stepped back from Aemond and reached down to pull off her strappy top.
Aemond stared open mouthed as he gazed at Y.N’s bare breasts, he reached out with a shaking hand and gently ran his fingers over her nipple that had hardened in the cool air of the room.
“You are so beautiful” exclaimed Aemond, of course he’d seen breasts before, but none as exquisite as Y.N’s.
“As are you my dragon”.
Aemond blushed as he watched Y.N hook her fingers into the waistband of her p.j shorts and pull them down.
His mouth watered as he gazed at her naked body, she was indescribably beautiful. Her pale flesh, her rosy nipples, the rose tattoo on her hip and the neatly trimmed thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs.
“Y-You are perfect” muttered Aemond as he leaned forward and pressed a series of gentle kisses to Y.N’s neck.
“Aemond” whimpered Y.N.
Suddenly coming to the realisation that he needed to be naked too, Aemond reached down and began to push down his sweatpants and boxers but Y.N stopped him.
“Allow me” muttered Y.N as she sank to her knees and pulled his sweatpants down.
Y.N’s eyes widened slightly as his hard cock sprang free and slapped up against his abdomen, sure she’d felt it over his sweatpants but to actually see it, was another matter entirely. Aemond had truly been blessed, he was very well endowed.
“C-Can I take you in my mouth?” asked Y.N.
“Yes” whispered Aemond, his chest heaving.
Gods it was like heaven, the moment Y.N’s warm, wet mouth enveloped his cock, Aemond knew he was done for.
The metal of her piecing rubbed against his shaft as she moved her mouth up and down his length.
“F-Fuck” groaned Aemond as his cock throbbed, his seed spilling inside her mouth.
Y.N hummed around his cock before she looked him in the eye and swallowed every last drop.
“Shit-shit, I-I’m sorry” exclaimed Aemond his cheeks tinged pink.
“It’s ok-really” replied Y.N wiping the corners of her mouth.
“I wanted it to last longer” whispered Aemond as he helped Y.N to stand up.
“Don’t worry. There are other things we can do whilst we wait for you to be ready again” replied Y.N as she took Aemond’s hand and led him to bed.
“I-I want to k-kiss you down there” said Aemond shyly.
“Ok” said Y.N softly as she laid back on the bed and opened her legs.
Aemond groaned as he gazed at her glistening folds, gods she was beautiful there too.
“Let me guide you-“ muttered Y.N.
Aemond nodded eagerly as he climbed onto the bed and laid down between her open legs.
“You can use your tongue, your fingers or both at the same time-let me show you”.
Aemond observed intently as he watched Y.N’s fingers encircled what she called her ‘pearl’ soon his insides were squirming, and his fingers were itching for him to take over and bury his face into her cunny and bring her to peak.
“P-please let me, I-I want to” begged Aemond as he pressed forward.
“Oh-“ moaned Y.N as she felt Aemond’s tongue gently run along her slit.
“Hm, are you always this wet” rasped Aemond.
“Only for you” moaned Y.N as Aemond’s mouth slowly descended on her cunny.
Ravenously, he pressed into Y.N’s core with his tongue, in and out.
Y.N clutched the bedspread above her head, her fingers digging into the fabric, gods he was a fast learner.
Aemond withdrew from her soaking wet core and lashed hard at her clitoris with his tongue, pulling on it with his lips. He was hard, fast and brutal, alternating between her assaulted bundle of nerves and drinking deep from her cunt.
Y.N ground down on Aemond, hard; his tongue speared deeper inside her, and she felt the warm curl of her peak approach.
“Are you going to come for me?” asked Aemond, his fingers reaching forward to caress her pearl.
“AEMOND” screamed Y/N arching off the bed as she peaked.
“Hm” muttered Aemond as he pressed a series of kisses to Y/N’s inner thighs.
“P-Please A-Aemond. Need you” begged Y/N.
Aemond rose from the bed, his chin shining with her slick, he smirked as he swiped his fingers over his chin and then put them in his mouth, savouring the delicious taste of Y/N.
“W-Was that alright?” asked Aemond nervously.
“You were amazing”.
Aemond blushed furiously as Y.N directed him to lay on her bed.
“I’m on the pill, but I have condoms” asked Y.N gesturing to the draw of her nightstand.
“No-I want to feel you” replied Aemond.
Y.N smiled as she moved over Aemond’s body, her slick folds rubbing against his cock.
Gods he was so hard, it was bordering on painful.
Y.N reached down and Aemond groaned as he felt her warm hand wrap around his cock and guide it to her wet entrance.
“A-Are you sure?” asked Y.N.
“Yes-Please Y.N I want you” exclaimed Aemond.
Y.N took a deep breath as the tip of his cock pressed inside her.
"Gods. You feel so good" rasped Aemond.
"Fuck, Aemond" moaned Y.N as she slowly sunk down on his cock.
“Please” begged Aemond his fingers digging into her hips.
“I’m going to move now” whispered Y.N as she rolled her hips against his.
“Yes” moaned Aemond as he began to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of Y.N squeezing his cock.
“Aemond-“ whimpered Y.N as he began teasing her pearl with his fingers, his cock throbbing inside her.
Her hands ran along his arms, over his shoulders and down his chest, digging her nails into his pale skin.
“Gods, Y.N" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly.
If this was heaven, then Y.N was at the centre of it, and he never wanted to leave.
Aemond looked at where they were joined, and he groaned at the sight of his cock shiny with her slick, this was everything he’d hoped it would be and he was glad that he got to share this with her.
“Aemond! I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Y.N.
Y.N looked amazing as she came. Her head thrown back in pleasure, her eyes alive with lust, and her skin shining with sweat.
Y.N clamped down around Aemond’s cock so hard he could hardly move. That, combined with how glorious Y.N looked, pushed Aemond over the edge, the heat shooting across his abdomen.
“God. Y.N” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he spilled his seed inside her wet heat.
Y.N collapsed on top of Aemond for a moment, her chest heaving.
Aemond gently moved his hands up and down her back, savouring the feeling of his softened cock still nestled snugly inside her.
After a few minutes, Y.N slowly moved off Aemond and flopped onto the mattress next to him.
Basking in the after glow of his orgasm, Aemond moved onto his side and pressed his face into Y.N’s neck.
“Does this mean that your my girlfriend now?”
#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#aemond fanfiction#hotd fanfic#aemond fic#hotd fic#aemond one eye#aemond x reader#aemond smut#hotd smut#hotd
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Disproving CSM's Conjecture in En Ami
CSM postulates that Scully and Mulder aren't together because she doesn't fully trust him; that, although she's drawn to powerful men, she is afraid to open herself up to them.
"You'd die for Mulder, but you won't allow yourself to love him."
The problem is, he's wrong.
Because CSM mixed up her fatal flaw with Mulder's.
Self-Denial and Self-Sacrifice
CSM's theory: Scully rules herself by denial, and Mulder offers himself up as the sacrificial lamb. How is he wrong?
Scully's flaw is self-sacrifice, putting everything she covets from life on hold to join Mulder on his quest (comedically summed up in Bad Blood's "I do it all for you, Mulder! All for you!") The Starbuck-Ahab complex she harbored since childhood-- expressing her love through devotion-- kept her in the car the first year; but the Truth soon became as much about her losses as it did Mulder's tragedies. Unlike Mulder, however, Scully strives to have a life uncomplicated by mess and trauma and the constant grind. So, she sits in the car, year after year, waiting for her partner to adapt to their changing dynamic (which he did not do for almost six of those years.) Her own fears and insecurities are placed under the bootheel of the work; but when life becomes too complicated or emotionally clouded, Scully strikes out in confused rebellion (e.g. Never Again, Milagro, and All Things.) Moreover, Scully is the one who sacrificed what she held dear-- stability, a family, something other than 24/7 monsters and conspiracies-- to bear the cross of Mulder's quest, not the other way 'round. (The realization-- that she does want this life-- and shift does not occur until All Things, a few episodes after En Ami.)
Mulder's fatal flaw is self-denial (and self-punishment): he set aside a normal life out of a determination to find or avenge his sister. If Mulder was self-sacrificial, he would have let Scully walk out of his life a thousand times over and born that heartbreak silently, alone; instead, he stormed out after her and broke down his walls to convince her to stay. Furthermore, his self-denial is ever present even in tender moments, drawing away from emotional vulnerability once danger is past and shying away even faster if Scully draws attention to the present moment. Mulder is the one to deny himself love and a life with Scully (Home, Detour, Dreamland I, Arcadia, etc.), not the one who sacrificed everything he wanted to stay on his quest-- this is what he wants. (The change from obsessive pursuit to measured search begins in The Unnatural, changes wholly in Amor Fati and Millennium, and reaches its conclusion in Closure.)
CSM's Observations
The reality that CSM observed both agents for years and years and came to the exact opposite conclusion is baffling.
He concluded that Mulder sacrificed normalcy for the Almighty Mission, projecting his own Messiah complex onto his 'protege' and patting himself on the back whenever Mulder was, yet again, tossed to the jaws of Death for the "greater good." He also concluded that Scully stayed in the basement because of the raw power she smelled on Mulder, keeping a cold yet lustful distance because she was afraid to risk her womanly love on the all-consuming passion of his might.
How very dime store novel of Old Smokey.
Both assumptions are, of course, very wrong.
Mulder Dreaded "More" While Scully Hoped for It
Scully gave many unsubtle hints through the series that she was ready for more with Mulder: her willingness to go down with him in Tooms, her overt jealousy in Syzygy, her pointed inquiry about his family genetics in Home, her displacement and hurt in The Field Where I Died and Never Again and The End and The Beginning and One Son, her "we just keep driving" in Dreamland I, her unspoken 'secret' that was practically ripped from her chest in Milagro, her flirting in The Unnatural, her IVF request, and on and on.
Scully is by nature reticent with her emotions, fearful to fully open up lest she be hurt or become a burden; but in Mulder's case, she's reiterated over and over (Irresistible and Elegy) that their relationship falls into the latter, not former, category. In Emily she is, once again, "alone"; however, the context to her statement is vitally important. In the hospital, she hoped for Mulder to claim a place by her and her daughter's side as co-parent; but when he uncomfortably withdrew instead, it proved that he still wasn't ready for "more." Scully was alone in places Mulder couldn't fill; and so, she said goodbye to that hope, alone; then to her daughter, alone; and bore the little girl's death, alone. The burden of her fully opened heart was too heavy, she assumed, for Mulder... and in a way, she was right-- not until Fight the Future, when forced to confront "them", did Mulder finally acknowledge it. Until then, sacrificially tucking her heart back inside her chest-- for both their sakes-- was what Scully deemed the best course of action. She sticks around for her own reasons, as she says in Memento Mori; but those don't exclude the hope that Mulder will someday "settle down, live something approaching a normal life." (Her plans change in All Things-- but she's not there, yet.)
All those years, it was Mulder who was more emotionally distant. He was content with his life, happy to spin tires down the tarmac forever with his partner. Mulder was willing to deny himself into eternity if it meant not having to sacrifice an aspect of the life or career he was comfortable with and nervous to change for 'more.' It's why he was so afraid in Fight the Future and so proud of himself in The Unnatural (the warmup), Amor Fati (the big swing), and Millennium (the victorious homerun.) Scully is the only one-in-five billion he has: in the past, he could tease about passing genetic muster, about his boyish agility, about so much more, but to act on it? It took him four years to initiate a hug (post here) and seven years to approach a label of sorts for their relationship. Mulder's an overly cautious man, more pessimistic than optimistic when it comes to people sticking around; and any traditional, long-term relationship he'd witnessed had broken down or was held together by deadened respect and a few bratty kids.
Now it's Season 7, he's learned his lessons, and they're here, together.
Or were, until Scully dipped on a sketchy roadtrip with their enemy.
Conclusion
The most unrealistic part of this episode (amid a host of several others) was that Scully, despite hearing the drivel CSM peddled the entire drive, decided that he had anything worthwhile to say.
Thank you for reading~.
Enjoy!
#txf#Disproving CSM's Conjecture in En Ami#analysis#xf meta#meta#CSM#En Ami#Scully#Mulder#xfiles#x-files#the x files#mine
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the-kr8tor's Masterlist- Hobie Brown/Spider-Punk
*I don't consent to having my work translated/published on other platforms*
🕷️ Spider-Man across the spiderverse 🕷️
♥️ Hobie Brown/ Spider-Punk
I'll keep saving you over and over again.
Hobie Brown night-time Headcanons
Snow and Piercings
(Un)Lucky
Spider-punk x blackcat! Reader Drabble
Hobie catches you wearing his mask
Silk & Cologne (Hobie x silk!reader headcanons)
Hobie meets your cats for the first time
Hobie nurses you back to health (ft: the cats)
Under the clock tower (time loop au)
Alternate ending
You stay the night at Hobie's for the first time
The Morning after (part 2 of the fic above)
Heatwave (ft: the cats)
Hobie takes you web swinging around the city
The one with the baby
Speed Drive - 500 celebration fic 🎉
Sparring with Hobie
Birthday Blues -Dad! Hobie
Bad Idea, right?
In Pursuit of Blood: A trip down goblin lane
Mr and Mrs Smith AU: When Jane met John
🌹 Series Masterlist 🌹
Thread the Needle- Hobie Brown x fashion student! Fem! Reader 🧵🪡
The Fall- Fae! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader 🍀🕸️
Between the Devil and the Sea- Pirate! Hobie x fem! Reader ⚓🌊
♥️Request Masterlist (Hobie x reader)♥️
-REQUESTS ARE CLOSED- PLEASE CHECK MY RULES-
🌹 Fluffy Fridays Request Masterlist 🌹
-Requests for fluffy fridays are closed- check the rules here-
🧵 Thread the Needle one shots 🪡
🍒Request Masterlist II (Hobie x reader)🍒
💙 Request Masterlist III (Hobie x reader) 💙
🍼 Dad! Hobie/ Twin AU Collection 🧸
Reblog banner by @/cafekitsune
#hobie brown x reader#spider punk#spider punk x reader#atsv fanfiction#hobie brown#spider man across the spider verse#x reader#spiderman across the spiderverse#masterlist#the kr8tor's creations
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Consequences | Two
Word Count: 6.2k~ | Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, dark, medieval-canon sexism, heavy dub-con/noncon, mean Aemond, manipulation, abusing power, gore, blood, violence, major angst, oral (m receiving), fingering, oral sex (f receiving), Aemond being a possessive horny weirdo with a power complex
Series Masterlist
Hedi had noticed her praying more often, with soft tears in her eyes.
But no matter how much Hedi asked her what was wrong, the little maidservant would shake her head and insist that she was merely homesick having sent a few copper coins to her siblings.
In the room she shared with her fellow maidservant, Alanna, who luckily worked quite the opposite shift to her, she would sit on the stool before the pale of water, scrubbing at her skin to wash herself. Trying to rid her mind of the experience altogether. The taste of his spend on her tongue. The uncomfortable prod of his cock at the back of her throat. The way his voice sent a jolt of both fear and a thrill through her. It made her question everything about herself. That perhaps she didn’t know herself as well as she thought. And it was this fact that disturbed her the most.
That she was beginning to lose touch of herself.
She’d not said a word to anyone. And when she attended to him in the mornings as she usually did, she tried to make herself as small as possible, hoping that if she hugged her arms around herself tight enough, she might actually begin to disappear. Prince Aemond had almost pretended as if nothing had happened, with his usual one word answers, faint hums and lack of presence in his chambers.
The little maidservant wondered if she had done something to irk him, or if he had not enjoyed the experience and wished not to repeat it. Secretly, she hoped so. Hoped that he would lose interest and slowly slip into the old habits, ignoring her completely. Then she could go about her life, picking and cleaning up the royal Prince’s mess, and hers into the bargain as well. She thought that royals such as him do not think about the messes they make.
In that way they are like children.
She wondered if anyone, in Prince Aemond’s life, had ever told him no.
It was doubtful.
Perhaps that was why he felt entitled to torment her in the way he had. Perhaps it was the effect of privilege in the pursuit of pleasure.
It was a morning like any other and she dressed in silence, careful not to wake her fellow colleague whom she shared a bed with. Alanna was a night owl, through and through, but it did not mean she was not exhausted after performing her night shift duties and when she had come back in the early hours, it was like a prod for the other little maidservant to wake for her morning duties.
Who she saw in the looking glass looked very much like her, but didn’t feel like her.
The weather was pleasant enough, warm with a cool breeze as she carried Prince Aemond’s breakfast tray, a heavy bubble in her gut at the thought of seeing him again.
She’d turned at the call of her name. The young boy who served alongside the staff rushed up to her carrying a scroll.
“What is it?”
“Message from your family, miss” the boy’s voice broke as he spoke, he could not have been older than three and ten and still had that nervous wide look about him.
The little maidservant swallowed nervously and gestured for him to read it. She recognised him as the son of one of the staff, almost born for the role of being a hasty little messenger, and thus he was taught to read. Perhaps a benefit of his sex and his environment.
The letter read:
Your pestilent brother and sister are well, but their stomach’s are never full and the boy in particular has almost completely cleaned out the pantry. I will, for the love I had for your mother and father, continue to look after them, however I must request three additional copper coins per week to fund their insatiable appetite. Otherwise I shall be forced to send the little beggars on their way to earn their own coin, the young girl is certainly old enough.
The maidservant delivered a large sigh, an uncomfortable weight that was already on her shoulders was becoming heavier the more the boy read on.
“Thank you” she nodded to dismiss the young boy, only allowing herself to breathe a shuddered breath once she was alone. She told herself to not panic, to not cry and that everything would be alright in the end. But there was a small piece of her inside that allowed herself to be a child again, wanting the comfort of a mother and father. She wondered how she would be able to come up with 3 additional copper coins a week and still be able to feed and clothe herself.
Steadying her breath to keep herself from becoming emotional, she knocked twice and was allowed to enter when she once again heard the muffled tone of his voice.
Tray on the nightstand. Draw the curtains. Tie them back. She kept going over what she was going to do in her head, eyes downcast the entire time, not wanting to look at him.
And yet in her peripheral she saw him rise from his bed as she tied the curtains back
Her heart lurched into her chest when she saw his arms hook underneath hers to lean against the windowsill in front of her, and then when his bare chest had nudged against her back. She felt as if she could not make a sound and so she didn’t even acknowledge it at first, screwing her eyes shut to draw in a shaky breath. Aemond had smirked behind her, knowing what her reaction would be and his finger once again came to the little curl at the side of her head that perpetually made itself free of her braids.
“My little maidservant is shy today” he said lowly, pressing his form tighter against her back, thinking about how if he bucked his hips just a little, his hard arousal would prod against her dress-clad backside.
He looked down as she purposefully did not look back at him. He watched the way her lips were slightly parted, as if so afraid that she had to breathe through her mouth, albeit quietly. He chuckled at the effect he seemed to have on his little maidservant, smoothing his finger over her hair, then her neck, which he can tell made her shudder slightly.
“Tell me, sweet girl, do you still taste it…” he whispers in the shell of her ear, looking down he can see the shadow of her skin beneath her dress, but it becomes too dark to truly see anything. He allowed himself to wonder what her bare form would look like.
Would she have small, well-rounded breasts, easily fit into his palms. How he thought he'd grip them so tight he wouldn't let go, intent on making her at least whimper at the pleasurable pain.
Would she have a smooth curve to her hips, the line leading down to her cunny, to where he imagined that little patch of hair would welcome him.
Would she have supple thighs, ones he could leave bruises and marks all over. Perhaps even a bit of blood. The thought of smearing blood over her skin thrilled him more than he thought.
He remembers how she'd told him she'd not been with a man. Would she bleed so nicely for him, once he'd taken her maidenhead, be good and muffle her little whimpers of discomfort into the pillow. Or rather, he wondered if he'd quite like to hear them, while curling his fingers around her throat and squeezing tightly.
It was getting harder to breathe for Aemond. And unbeknownst to him, it was increasingly so for her as well. Frozen in absolute fear.
“...do you still feel my cock in your throat, hm?”
Yes, she thought, with a shameful twist of her stomach. She could still feel his hands holding her face, forcing her to take him as deep as he wanted, still feel every thrust of his hips against her, his fist tightening in her hair, tugging.
He released one of his hands on the windowsill to rest on her waist, making her inhale sharply. He’d not touched her intimately, only solicited the use of her mouth on him that one time. Aemond felt the movement of her ribs beneath her dress with her breathing, as if he’s just realised she was a living, breathing person before him.
“Have you touched yourself, sweet girl” he asks.
She managed to gather all the courage she has inside her and cleared her throat, “I…am not sure what you mean, your grace”
Fucking cock tease, Aemond thought. But she had really not known at all what he’d meant. Of course she had touched herself, to bathe herself, to brush her hair?
“I mean…” he starts, his large hands moving to gather her skirts in his fist. And this time she did shudder when the air hit her legs, skin that outside the boundaries of her own bedroom, should never be seen, “...have you touched your little cunt for pleasure”
She clenches her fists when his palm runs up the side of her thigh. It’s so wrong. So, so wrong for him to touch her like this.
Aemond breathes hot against her neck at the feeling of her soft skin. Just like how he'd imagined it. The curve of her hip, so feminine and squeezable in his hand. He thought of the way he would grab at them to fuck her, for leverage, using her body the way he sees fit. And now that he'd done so with her mouth, he thought of the rest of her little holes and how they would squeeze him too.
“Bought yourself to peak with your fingers…”
She could cry. She thought she’d lost his interest. Thought she might be free of it. Calm down, is all she kept trying to tell herself. She counted in her head, trying to ground herself.
He squeezes her hip tightly when she doesn’t respond, “Answer me now, or I will not be so nice”
“A few times” she admits, voice thick with tears, “a few times, your grace…”
But never to peak, she thought, embarrassed.
She spoke like she may have been in trouble for it and dreaded what he might do now that she’s given her answer.
“Hm” she chuckles, giving the skin of her hip one firm squeeze, one that is so tight in his palm it almost makes her whimper in pain. He lets her skirts fall as he moves away from her, looking much pleased with himself, smirking like he knows a secret.
“Go now” he orders, still with that gravelly authority but ever so slightly softer, now that he'd been thinking of her cunt. But the softer tone does nothing to calm her and if it were possible, she guards herself even more, keeping her eyes to the ground. She doesn’t even look back when he says, “I shall see you tonight, sweet girl”
She did not want to know what that meant, if it meant anything at all.
Aemond watched as she left, scared completely out of her senses.
Good, he thought. He loved that terror-stricken look in her eyes, the sharp taking in of breath when she was trying not to cry in his presence. He’d remembered wiping her tears away when he’d fucked her mouth so ruthlessly in search of his own pleasure, the way the slickness of it had smeared across her face. Aemond found that he wanted to know what she tasted like, every single bit of her. She would be so sweet…his virtuous little maidservant. He had to make sure she was entirely his, so that she knew nothing else but him.
Young women like her are so helpless in the hands of amorous men.
Whatever words were said to them, whatever touch and manipulation on their bodies seemed like love to them, the poor, silly little things.
He would make sure that whatever words, whatever touch inflicted to his little maidservant would be sweet, delightful torture.
All the while she was dismissed until the evening, she busied herself with such menial tasks such as helping the others with the laundry for the day. It was nice to get outside, free from the suffocating confines of the Keep, even if it was just for a moment. The hallways now served to remind her of him, dreading the moment she would be walking down them and he would round the corner, with that predatory gaze he always gave her.
It was a calm day, so she revelled in the lovely breeze for a moment, allowing herself to be happy.
There was some relief in the idle chatter of the other maidservants, as she scrubbed the white bed linen against the washboard, her sleeves turned up to prevent from getting wet.
“I hear the Princess Rhaenyra very well may be returning to King’s Landing soon”
Freiya was a little younger than the others and as such, had a wandering imagination, a large mouth and a bit appetite for gossip. So it was no wonder she’d already managed to receive the latest even if it was barely early afternoon.
The other, who went by Mari, also probably short for something but she would never tell anyone, rolled her eyes at the younger woman. Mari was one and twenty, but her mind was mature beyond her years.
“You must not believe everything you hear, your ears will fall off one day, you little tyrant”
Freiya pulled an offended frown, “No! I heard such news right from the source, while I was attending to the Queen. She said herself that the Princess will return to contest some…birthright or something like that”
The little maidservant raised her head and gave Mari an amused look, “You should not be listening to them while you attend to them”
“You get away with it if you pretend you’re not listening at all” Freiya snaps back with a mischievous smirk, “the Queen is understandably not thrilled with their arrival”
Mari huffed a laugh, “Neither are the Princes”
“Why is that?” she asks with a confused lilt of her head,
Despite being younger, Freiya talks over Mari when she’s about to open her mouth. Such a carefree little thing, it made her laugh. She cared not about such hierarchies.
“Supposedly they are here for the little Prince Lucerys’ ‘right’ to Driftmark”
Mari wrinkles her nose in distaste, “Prince Lucerys? The…”
“Exactly” Freiya responds,
“What on earth are you two talking about?” she asks, completely lost.
Mari sighs, “Prince Lucerys is the one who took Prince Aemond’s eye all those years ago, both merely children” she explains, folding the damp cloth in her arms, “the Queen was so distressed for her son, she barely allowed him from her sight”
For a very split second, something akin to sympathy washes over the little maidservant. But then underneath that is another feeling still. Something questioning.
“When are they to arrive?”
“Allegedly, within a few days” Freiya responds excitedly, ecstatic to receive some drama in her no doubt monotonous maidservant life.
For a man who had been so wronged in his past, with such a traumatic past, to turn into the person he was today. Someone who could be cruel, taking the little power she had in her own life into his own, greedy for more. She had done nothing to him but merely exist and attend to him, as was her job. And she wracked her brain about it. What had she done to incite such cruelty in him, if anything at all? What harm could she do to him in her position, that he had not done to her a million times over.
With her heart weighing heavy in her chest, after scrubbing the living daylights out of the linen, she carried the dirty water back with Freiya, chatting idly. She was good company, she had to admit, even if she was obsessed with the inner workings of the royal’s lives. As melancholic as the little maidservant felt, she let out perhaps her first genuine laugh when Freiya ‘accidentally’ bumped some of the water over the front of her dress. She’d given the young girl a friendly swat and told the little tyrant to scarper.
If what Freiya and Mari had said was true, there was a possibility that his typical Targaryen temper could possibly become worse. Perhaps irreparably so.
She waited in his chambers until it was impossibly dark. Later than usual, Aemond eventually returned, in a much more sour mood than this morning.
She’d knelt in front of the fire, placing more wood on it to heat the room in the cold that had captured it now that the sun had gone down. Was this how it was to be now? In the morning, he was one person, not burdened by the mood of others and his own not dependent on what had happened during the day. And at night, after the weight of his day had weighed heavy on his tired soul, his desire for release, of any kind, was insatiable.
“Your grace” she greeted with a bowed head, her soft, fearful voice barely carried above the crackling of the flames. Quite the opposite of the other night, while he was still angry, he let the door shut softly behind him. She just stared at his legs as they made their way towards her, and a flash of her pushing against his legs, in an attempt to push him away from her zips through her head. He was so much larger than her, she thought. It would take no effort on his side at all to subdue her.
She notices how he stands before her, fists clenched white.
“My little maidservant does not meet my eye today” he says with a hint of irritation to his tone, “Why”
She swallows nervously, trying desperately to regain her breath “Apologies, your grace.Just some problems at home that are of no matter”
When he remains still and quiet, she worries for a moment that she’s overshared, spoken too much and that depending on what mood he’s in, she might have set him off.
“What problems” he asks, and despite him asking, she gets the impression from his tone of voice that he is completely and utterly unbothered about the reason and just wants to hear her speak. She looks up to meet his eye and immediately wishes she hadn’t. His gaze is cold, uncaring, dark, like she is an annoyance.
“My…siblings, your grace. I am required to send them more coin, to pay for their support…” she replies nervously, insistent that she has shared too much information and that he very much does not care. She sees this, because his cold expression does not change.
His eyes roam her face, seeing the discomfort there at her situation. But he cannot find it within himself to care. All he cares to remember is how her smooth hip felt that very morning, how hard he had squeezed it, how he had dreamt for his fingernails to create little indents in her soft skin.
“You do not smile in my presence” he says simply.
At this, her lips part in shock. What did he mean? And also, what reason would she have to smile in his presence while attending to him?
“Pardon me, your grace?” she says in a quiet voice, immediately sucking in air as he steps closer to her. Her feet didn’t move from their spot.
“With the other maidservants, you smile so widely and yet in my presence…” he hums, his finger reaching out to twirl the little piece of hair at the side of her face once more, as if obsessed with it, “...I believe you fear me, sweet girl”
She could say nothing but try and keep her breath steady. He was right, he frightened her. But what woman would not be frightened at the way he leered at her, kept her in his sights firm and unyielding.
Only a woman who would want it, she thought.
“But no matter,” he says, his hand trailing to her the buttons of her dress at the top of her chest. Undoing the first…then the second…”I will have your fear if I can have nothing else” he smirks only slightly.
Her brain was all over the place. He said it with such conviction. Uncaring if she had wanted any of it or not. She could feel her stomach bubbling in her gut, feeling as if she might either cry or vomit. Aemond could not help but smirk at her efforts to keep herself calm, and failing miserably. His hand barely floated over her chest, over her clothed nipple and she’d flinched only slightly, with a slight inhale of her sweet, hot breath.
He had seen how she had smiled with her fellow maidservant, the way her dimples had shown on the upper apples of her cheeks, the pink that coloured them when she laughed. He had seen the way the little cock tease had water splashed down her front, turning her dress completely dark and sodden. Aemond would not be able to rid his mind of the image of her hardened nipples beneath the fabric for days, weeks, months to come.
“Sit” he gestured to the end of the large bed, while Aemond stalked to the fireplace for a moment.
She gathered her skirts in her shaking hands and sat herself down, closing her eyes to catch her breath, feeling as if the walls were closing in, and that the air was becoming difficult to breathe.
When Aemond turned around, his eyepatch had been discarded and he was shucking off his leather doublet, with the cream undershirt the only thing beneath it. He walked with such purpose towards her, until his tall, broad form was completely staring and looming over hers. His sapphire eye caught the light of the fire and at this moment, he looked almost possessed.
“I do not want your hair up when you are in my chambers”
There was a beat of silence, timed by the beating of her heart.
“Well?”
The intensity of his voice seemed to wake her from the impregnable fear for just a moment, and her shaking hands reached up for her hair again, quicker about her movements than she had been the previous time he’d aske-no, demanded for her to do so. It was wrong firstly to have her hair loose in his presence, but if anyone
“Look at me”
With her hair now falling in their waves down her back, she barely has time to look up before his large hand flies to her jaw, fingers squeezing painfully at her cheekbones, almost bruisingly. He pulls at her face slightly upwards and towards him. Aemond revells in the shocked and doe-eyed expression on her face and the way her skin blossoms pink under his firm, hard touch. His lips are drawn into a tight line, as if getting angrier by the second, and in his grasp he felt her tremble.
“Did you enjoy my cock in your throat” he says, his thumb drawing across her bottom lip, only slightly dipping inside into the warm embrace of her little mouth. He can see that she’s too shocked to say anything, her pupils shaking.
“Did you enjoy swallowing my spend…” he goes on, his thumb pressing against the wet muscle of her tongue, emphasising where his spend had been before he had demanded her to swallow it.
If he dipped beneath her skirts, would she bet as wet as her mouth? Accepting his digit so willingly.
“I think you did, sweet girl”
Did I?
He collects the wetness of her mouth on his thumb, still grasping her face tightly. When she briefly looked down, she saw how hard he was beneath his breeches and the memory of how he had felt in her mouth, heavy and hot. As well as how he’d tasted. At this she feels her gut tighten.
He pulls his thumb out her mouth, again, smearing the wetness over her lips and then her face as he grips her tightly once more.
“Do you like this job, sweet girl” he asked and her heart froze in fear.
“Yes, your grace” she whispered back,
“Then you will do as I say if you wish to keep it”
He quite forcefully pushes her back, making her support her torso on her elbows, looking over to the bed with parted lips when Aemond kneels on the floor, his eye forever on her face as he rucks up her skirts. It’s here she realises what he may intend to do and goes to shut her legs tight against each other.
“Are you going to be a good little maidservant and be quiet?”
She nods, voice failing her. Not that she would trust it to be steady at the moment.
If it were possible, his mood flattened completely. Aemond growls and hooks both his hands under her thighs and pulls her closer to him, his fingers digging into her bare, soft skin.
“Your grace, I-” she starts. Aemond glares right at her, forcefully parting her thighs and painfully squeezing the meat of her legs, emitting a whimper from her.
“What did I fucking say about being quiet” he snarls, hooking his fingers into her smallclothes and ripping them down her legs. She would shut her legs tightly if Aemond were not so strongly holding them apart, and she feels her heart going fast when she feels his hot breath on the juncture of her thigh. His tongue runs over the line there, inhaling deeply the heady scent of her sex, which he has no doubt is seeping with arousal.
“Stay still while I taste you, sweet…sweet girl”
He dips between her thighs and sees her bare cunny before him. It was just as he’d imagined it, the luscious hair framing it just for him was waiting there, his thumb ran over her lips, parting them to brush his thumb over her clit. She was wet. So wet. Her slick aided his movements and when he’d brushed over her swollen bundle of nerves, she’d released a shuddered breath, tensing up somewhat. Aemond was tempted to reprimand her, but now faced with her perfect cunt right before him, ready for his taking, he cannot find it within himself to care.
He dives in, flattening his tongue against her sex and he feels her body jolt beneath his hold, fingers curling into her hips.
“Mm…” he hums. She tasted so sweet for him, the intoxicating taste of her arousal flooded his tongue, waking his nerves and something deep, dark and ancient within. His eye opened somewhat to look up at her, being so good and quiet for him and he smirked against her cunt, quickening his motions when he saw that she’d laid back, keeping her hand over her mouth to obey him. Aemond watched as her chest and body writhed with each movement of his wet muscle against her clit, her other hand fisted the bedsheets and he could faintly hear her whimpering behind her hand.
Aemond pushed her legs further apart, granting his tongue access to her wet and waiting entrance, he dipped inside, using it to fuck her repeatedly. The only sound in his otherwise quiet chambers was slapping of his mouth against her cunt, lapping up her juices with a new vigour. He thought, the longer he continued, the more addicted he would become to it. He wanted to have this sweet cunt for all his meals; it gave him life and sustenance.
But it wasn’t enough.
His little maidservant was not letting go of herself enough. He could not bring her to peak like this.
He wanted her climax on his tongue, like she had his.
Aemond moves his tongue out of her, running up slowly to her bundle of nerves and sucks eagerly, giving her a new, deeper sensation in her gut that makes her hips buck against his face against her will. A new sound floods out her mouth against her hand that has Aemond’s ears perked up and his lips turn up into a smirk. He briefly breaks his contact with her to pull her hand from her face, pinning it by her wrist to the bed harshly.
“I want to hear you when I make you peak”
Her eyes are shut tightly, but Aemond doesn’t wait for an answer and goes right back in, licking and sucking her clit, one hand forever at her thigh to keep her open for him. He can feel her body trembling beneath him and the little sounds of her breath as she tries to keep it under control, and now that her hand is not muffling her sounds, he drinks in the various whimpers and tiny, tiny moans with renewed purpose.
She lets out halfway between a choked whimper and moan when Aemond mercilessly thrusts one finger into her, he moans against her sex at the tightness of her, and how she would feel when she was finally wrapped around his cock. How she’d squeeze him as he used her body for himself and milk him for his spend when her cunt convulsed with the force of her climax.
Aemond moved his head side to side against her sex, licking every bit of her he could as her moans had become louder. Stray tears ran down her face at the foreign feeling. It was strange and slightly unpleasant, as she’d never put anything inside her before. But his finger crooked up inside her slightly, rubbing against somewhere she never knew existed and it gave her the urge to move her hips, searching for something.
Uncaring if she was ready, Aemond hastened all his movements and inserted a second, stretching her little cunny with his long, thick digits. He thought she would need to be prepared, for when he would eventually have his cock inside of her.
It would hurt. It would be painful.
And it was this that excited him the most.
As he fucked her with his fingers, focussing his tongue on her clit quickly, he noted the way her body began to spasm in his grip. She was close, just that bit more.
He loved it when her pink lips parted to give him a quiet moan. It was like praise. And when he concentrated the pads of his fingers against that rough spot within her, her back began to move off the bed, her breath coming in hurried pants. Her tears joined the rest, sliding down her face at the absurdity of the feeling she was having. What was this? Was this pleasure? What everyone else sought so much? It didn’t feel entirely pleasurable, she thought. But there was something deep, dark about the way it was being drawn from her that set shame heavy in her.
“Come on, sweet girl…” Aemond murmurs against her, “come on”
He keeps his mouth on her the entire time, body wracked with painful pleasure. So much so that even her voice doesn’t manage to form coherently and her mouth is slack open, frozen in place as the warmth floods her body against her will.
“That’s it…” he coos, all while his tongue earnestly laps up every single bit of her climax from her, drinking it down like the air he breathes. Aemond can’t help but smile, now that he’s tasted her, seen what she looks like when she comes apart. He can’t not have her and fully intends to have her little cunny at his disposal. One hand dips beneath his breeches, to pump himself, feeling that he did not need much friction to climax himself.
Her body slumps against the mattress, limbs now entirely limp and feeling both warm and empty at the same time. She eventually cracks her eyes open when Aemond delivers one more warm, stripe upwards, collecting what little is left of her. She looks up to the ceiling, to the canopy and realises her vision is fogged with tears and her hand comes up to wipe at them, now being able to feel the wetness of them against her cheeks.
Aemond had travelled up her body, still furiously stroking his cock, aching for completion.
“Do not let it go to waste” he ordered, holding his manhood close to her mouth as he fisted it furiously, fingers once again running through her hair to grip harshly as he pulled at the back of her head.
Without warning, he shoves his cock into her mouth, prodding the back of her throat and moaning loudly when she splutters around it, having not been prepared. She could smell his musky scent, now even more amplified from his efforts on her previously and it completely flooded her senses. Not a second later, was the familiar flood of his spend into her mouth as he softly thrusted into her, wanting to prolong his friction.
He took one long breath and pulled his cock from her mouth. But her eyes were firmly shut, whimpering as she swallowed the thick, bitter substance. Again.
She had a strange thought. That there may have been more spend than food in her belly. And it rattled her beyond comprehension.
Why am I crying, she thought, having not felt them even come. Her body felt strange, like she was on the outside looking in at herself and she wondered how pathetic she must look. She wondered how other people would look at her if they saw what trouble she’d gotten herself into. What other people thought…
…it frightened her.
Regaining her strength, she finally sits up, looking around bleary-eyed to see Aemond, on the other side of the room, already seated in his armchair with a cup of wine in one hand, watching the flames of the fire in front of him. She could see from this angle that his lips and the skin around it was glistening and his other hand was at his lips, smearing whatever wetness was there more over them. She wondered how long she had been laid there.
In the soft light of the fire, he almost looked handsome. She thought that he, Aemond Targaryen, would be remembered as a skilled swordsman, rider of the largest dragon in the world, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. History books would record him for centuries to come, on his skills, his wit, his fearsome victories.
And she…
…She who had been owned first by her father. And now owed her life to servitude under him. She had always been owned and perhaps always would be. Any husband would own her as well as her money and her children, doomed by the determination of her sex to perform the duties of them for the rest of her life.
History would not remember her. It would scarcely even know she existed in the first place. Even her own name would not even be remembered by those she worked alongside, she feared. Those she called her friends.
Forgotten. Replaceable.
Gathering her breath and wiping her face, she’s unable to control the soft pants of her weak cries and pulls her dress back over herself. Aemond turns, but does not look at her straight on.
“Leave” he orders flatly.
She would be shocked, if it hadn��t already happened before. So she took shakily to her feet, feeling entirely degraded and empty within, despite the hum of pleasure still present inside. He didn’t say anything else as she struggled out of the door, her hair still loose around her shoulders.
It was only when she was in the lit safety of the hallway that she finally allows herself to comprehend what happened and a few more fat tears make their way down her face and her neck.
Am I his maidservant, or his whore.
Maidservant.
Whore.
Whore.
The way back to the staff quarters was long and wracked with quiet sobs.
She’d brushed Hedi’s shoulder as she walked past and Hedi had looked wide-eyed at her, as if only just recognising her with her hair down. Hedi’s face immediately fell into a sombre, sorrowful one,
“Child, what is wrong?” she says, cupping her face in both her hands and looking over her for any sign of injury. She simply shook her head and hastily wiped her cheeks til they were red,
“I am just tired, please Hedi I-”
Hedi pressed a hand to her forehead, acting very much like a mother, despite the age gap being small between them, but she found no fever there and she was only very warm from all her crying.
“Why is your hair down, child?” she asks hesitantly, her eyes darting about her face in search of a clue. Hedi had noticed. Her loose hair, her two undone buttons, the shake of her hands.
“Please, I just need sleep” she insisted unconvincingly, tearing herself from Hedi’s grasp to wander through the halls to her own quarters, intent on scrubbing herself raw once again with the brush. Desperately trying to erase any memory of touch.
Hedi had watched her disappear, the other few maidservants followed with their looks, cementing their thoughts in their sour expression.
“Whore”
General Aemond Taglist: @risefallrise @valeskafics
Consequences Taglist: @iiamthehybrid @manitskatrina @dahlias-and-marigolds @okfashionista @the-common-cowgirl @toodlesxcuddles @darkenchantress @magnificentdelusionr @tinykryptonitewerewolf @tssf-imagines @mandiiblanche @xdeath-soulx @daemonlover @iiamthehybrid @thedamewithabook @hiatuswhore @apollonshootafar @ladymarg0t
*Bold means I couldn’t tag, DM me if you wanna be removed besties
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I’m not a very scheming person, but one of my stories need political intrigue to work. Do you have any advice for how to write that?
Writing Political Intrigue
Creating Shades of Gray
Unlike most plots where the protgonist("the good") and the antagonist("the bad") is more or less clearly defined, political intrigue is all about being in the middle.
Those who are self-serving but respect the law
Those who work for the public good but break the law
Those who try to stay clean but is absolutely no help
The key is to reveal both sides of holding but a certain value. This is perhaps best demonstrated through the controversal topics in today's context:
Social Aid for the Poor: (1) Of course redistribution of wealth and aiding the economically underprivilleged is a good thing (2) but if governmental aid actually encourages people to not work, should we continue?
Honesty: (1) it's good to be honest (2) but not is all situations
Sticky your character in between two or more parties, into making difficult choices. Make them break and bend their own code or values in the face of trying to chase their own agendas.
Different Perspective is Everything
As stated, everything has two sides. Each party will have different goals, different ideals, different norms of doing the work.
Bad blood, feuds, competition for resources, desire to win an ego battle. There's plenty of plot material.
The key here is to let both sides have good, understandable reasons. If one side is clearly "bad" with the other opposing them, it's no different from a hero-villain plot!
Gossip and Rumors
Gossip is one of the most powerful weapons in politics. In other words, it's reputation. Saving face. Ego.
Spreading half-truths to get a character to watch their back
Scandals and failed apologies
Gossip as an undercurrent tension within a scene where the character needs to prove themselves.
No Room for Weaklings
No one without a strong personal code or goal will get trampled in a tight, fast-paced political scene.
If your character is forced into politics, they'll need to toughen up quick or drop out.
A character may think they're strong, only to be proven wrong the minute he enters politics.
A character may find himself being divorced from his previous values as he tries to be more "tough"
Draw the Big Picture
In a particular scene, your characters aren't going to know everything, sometimes acting even blindly in pursuit of a goal. As an author, though, you should have a clear idea which piece of the puzzle you're writing.
figure out a sketch of your setting, and figure out the big issues, crises and ideologies that political divisions could stem from.
Know what your characters are into, past the main plot. Where do they want to be, even after this story is over?
You'll get a much richer story by brining in layers of characterization.
Keep lots of notes to keep track of the above.
Research, Research, Research!
The best place to get ideas for political intigue: history.
Grab a handful of texts on the historical wars, figures, and regime changes that most interest you, and after reading them you’ll likely end up with enough intrigue material to plot through a book series.
The setting and governmental structure: Political intrigue is shaped by the underlying social background and politicla system, so plan these in a way that suits your plot.
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References:
https://www.youngwriterssociety.com/viewtopic.php?f=150&t=63430
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