#one time he was like ‘oh I wonder how you’d survive in our natural animalistic state that’s devoid of emotion’

[sensitivegoblin]

Vent

[langdxn]

salvation part iii: bloody angel | outpost!michael x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Michael’s pregnant wife meets a familiar face in the Outpost. Is she in danger?

WARNINGS: SMUT. Breeding kink, vaginal sex, fingering, pregnancy, childbirth, blood play, blood ritual, dom!Michael, daddy!Michael, some soft!Michael, angst, messing with the original plot. Basically it’s filthy.

WORD COUNT: 2.9k

A/N: I promised serious smut in this chapter and I delivered like HELL. Heavily influenced by Avatar’s Bloody Angel I’ve had stuck in my head for days.

part i // part ii // part iv // part v

Every corridor in the underground Hawthorne Outpost looked identical to the last. You’d been half-running down so many twists and turns, you’d surely escaped the perimeter where that authoritative female voice had come from.

Find our sisters. What was that supposed to mean? Were there witches in the Outpost already? Everybody was dead, or at least you’d seen enough bodies to assume that was everybody this Outpost once housed.

That means someone’s coming to search the Outpost.

Time to pick a door in these endless alleyways and hide out until you hear the signal Michael warned you about.

Noticing the door at the far end of the corridor ahead of you had been left slightly ajar, warm yellow light pouring through the portal, it seemed as good a hiding place as any. Pacing nervously toward the light, you creaked the door open as softly as possible and clicked it shut behind you. Allowing your eyes to adjust to the gentle candlelight in the room, your eyes laid upon a large pentagram scrawled on the tiled floor in blood encircled by shallow, spent candles seconds away from extinguishing.

Leaning back against the door behind you, you slid your spine down its rough surface to drop to the floor, landing a curious finger into the pool of maroon scribbles. As your fingertip made contact with the blood, your eyes rolled into the back of your head and a surreal vision appeared before you.

“May you rise from the void, Father,” Michael’s voice beckoned in your mind as the overbearing scent of copper stung your senses. “May your darkness guide me.”

Your vision painted a clear picture of Michael kneeling dead centre of the bloody diagram, completely naked but for fresh streams of crimson trailing down his pale skin, dipping into the curves of his muscles and scoring rough lines down his biceps. Desperation dappled across his countenance as his brows furrowed with confusion, staring up at the ceiling as if seeking a point to focus on.

“Power in Satan to overcome my weaknesses, power in your name to be strong within,” he chanted with purpose, with fervour, with determination as he coursed the blade down his arteries. A harsh groan died on his lips as the knife deftly split open the delicate flesh on his forearm, pouring a cascade of blood onto the tiles beneath him.

“I thought I destroyed them all. One survives. I found her, she’s here.” Your eyes widened in horror.

“I beg for your wisdom. Please, Father, open my eyes!” your husband cried helplessly into the void, scouring the sky for a sign, any sign that his calls were being answered.

Your vision darted around the room as you wracked your brains for answers. How did he know you were a witch? You had spent all your years by his side blocking every single one of your powers from him.

When a woman named Cordelia Goode knocked on your door to offer you salvation in the form of Miss Robichaux’s Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies well over a decade ago, you slammed the door in her face. You resented your ‘gift’ of sight, your ‘talent’ for conjuring spells, your ‘flair’ for the supernatural. You were a stubborn adolescent who saw no attraction in spending your teenage years among other witches, helping each other identify their powers, harness their abilities. High school was traumatic enough without your enemies having the ability to snap your neck with a flick of their obnoxious teenage bangs.

Had your husband really worked out who you were, or was he talking about another witch? If he suspected you, why was he so kind to you earlier? You’d pushed every thought of your powers back into the dark recesses of your mind, how could he possibly find them if he couldn’t even predict your arrival in the Outpost? His powers were pointless around you, your own talents so guarded that even the Antichrist felt disarmed by you.

Your vision snapped back into the delicately lit room, the pentagram empty of Michael’s naked form. Instinctively grasping at your bump at the morbid thought of how much blood your love had lost in this ritual, you traced the raised pattern of scars scored across your unborn baby’s home.

———

“Fuck, Michael I’m gonna—“ your walls constricted around Michael’s length, plunged so deep inside you that you swore you could feel his cock all the way up in your throat. You snaked your legs around his waist and trailed both arms around his neck, begging him to embrace you as you give in to your climax.

“No you’re not, Mrs Langdon,” Michael slowed his thrusts inside you to an agonisingly glacial pace as your arms dropped from his shoulders, a wanting cry dripping off your tongue as you lost contact. “Daddy’s not finished with you yet.”

Michael reached across you to the bedside cabinet for his elegantly carved ceremonial knife, a determined grin dancing across his lips. He pointed its glistening blade toward your stomach and gazed down at you from beneath his menacing eyebrows, searching for your approval for his next move. You strained to nod between frantic, anticipating pants and dropped your head back to the sheets beneath you, grabbing fistfuls of the blood red silk pooling around your entwined forms.

A sharp, cool sensation traced across your bare abdomen, replaced swiftly by a searing heat as your flesh ripped tenderly beneath the blade. Michael’s cock twitched inside you as your insides tightened around his length, bucking your hips up into him and scratching down his thighs between your legs as the knife tickled and turned you on at the same time.

Chuckling under his breath at your desperate search for friction, Michael drew skilful straight lines connecting to each other over your bare skin, his tongue darting across his full lips as he concentrated.

“Now what does that greedy little cunt of yours want daddy to do now?” He hissed down over you, leaning his head as he inspected each angle of the angry wounds adorning your abdomen. His work had to be perfect or the ritual wouldn’t succeed.

“Please daddy,” was all you could muster as the metallic scent of fresh blood flooded your senses and dried out your mouth. Apparently that wasn’t enough communication for your husband, as he dug the knife deeper into your abdomen making you hiss against your clenched teeth.

“I didn’t quite hear you darling, what was that?”

“Please breed me, daddy,” your back arched as you finally said the words out loud. Those intimate words had danced around your mind ever since the first time you made love, when Michael placed a flat, expectant palm across your abdomen and a smile spread along his expressive lips. It was an unspoken engagement between you that he would one day ask you — or rather demand you — to help him rebuild the world in his father’s design. That being said, you never thought past the act of conception, never prepared yourself for a pregnancy or childbirth, you simply assumed that would come naturally to you when the time came.

“Good girl,” he praised in his typical pseudo-demeaning manner he reserved for the bedroom. After engraving a final circular motion, he wiped away the emerging crimson beads to follow the pattern scored into your stomach, leaning back to admire his work. Carelessly casting the knife across the room, he let out a pornographic growl as he took in the sight of you - his beautiful wife, legs spread wide open beneath him, his cock buried balls deep inside you, your stomach bleeding feverishly and your walls jolting with pleasure around him.

You lifted your head to look down to his scrawls, discovering a shallow pentagram scored into your abdomen, coursing veiny trails of crimson across your skin. Your eyes blazed a trail of pure ecstasy up his body to meet his pitch black irises, wanting and demonic. He leaned down to tower over you, bracing himself with both fists on the bed, allowing him the freedom to slowly drive his cock into you again.

“Now, where were we?” He seethed as he carefully increased the tempo of his length slithering into your folds. “Oh yes, you were about to cum, weren’t you angel?”

The tip of Michael’s cock grazed your sensitive spot with intent, as if he could instinctively aim for it whenever he needed you to climax all over him. The g spot was no thing of wonder to the Antichrist, simply a button he knew he could push whenever the occasion called for it. Rolling his hips effortlessly into you, pounding your pussy so hard the filthy sounds of slapping, sweaty skin echoed through your bed, the floorboards and even the chandelier above you.

Noticing your back arching involuntarily towards him and your arms snaking around his back to claw your nails down his spine, Michael knew you were close but he couldn’t hold his own orgasm much longer.

“Cum for me baby, cum for me like a good little whore.”

With a fervent twitch, his cock pulsed deep inside you and spilled his release against your walls. Meeting his pitch black gaze, the sight of your husband convulsing as he came and the sensation of your walls fluttering against his twitching length set the fire inside you ablaze as your nails scratched deeper into his back.

“Just like that baby, let daddy fill up your pretty little cunt.”

With a final thrust of his load deep inside you, you unleashed an animalistic moan signalling your own climax, your eyes retreating to the back of your head and your legs constricting tightly and shaking uncontrollably around him. Riding out your orgasms together, he slipped both arms under your back and raised you up to meet him in a tight, loving embrace.

“I’ve got you baby, daddy’s got you,” he reassured you in his effortlessly seductive tone that could have easily set you into orgasm all over again. Peppering delicate kisses around your collarbone and tracing up to your ear, his breath burning against your skin, Michael sighed gently and swung his head back to look you deep in the eyes. His effortless transition from dominant demon to sympathetic lover never ceased to surprise you, blinking his piercing black eyes closed for them to return to his dreamy azure irises once again. In the blink of an eye, he morphed into the tender human being you fell in love with, the romantic man you married and for whom you sold your soul.

“Did I hurt you baby?” He placed a gentle hand down to your wounds, the congealing blood sticking to his palm as you shook your head weakly. You tried to lose yourself in the tender moment between you but you couldn’t ignore the seeping feeling between your folds, the obscene mixture of both of your releases slowly flowing out onto your legs.

“Lie back down for me,” he cooed as he gestured you down onto the crimson sheets. Crawling on top of you once more, he leaned down to plant a searing kiss on your abdomen: defiled, marked, owned. Working his way down between your legs, Michael dipped two ringed fingers into the fluids dripping down your thighs and slipped them back inside your folds.

“Can’t have any of this going to waste when we’re building the new world, can we angel?”

———

Fingertips following the twists and turns of the scar tissue across your bump, you heard heavy footsteps approaching the door you were pressed up against. Decidedly male, you convinced yourself those footsteps were Michael’s, coming to look for you, to help you. You scrambled to your feet and yanked the heavy door open, searching the corridor ahead for any sign of your husband’s golden curls. As you turned to look down another corridor, your breath was knocked out of your chest as you bumped into a torso, getting a face full of a dark, torn raincoat.

Placing your palms on the body in front of you to steady yourself, your gaze darted up to see the face of the person who just knocked into you. A boil-ravaged man’s face framed by a dark beard and straggly brown hair with a drastically receded hairline. His eyebrows were singed, his eyes exhausted and world-weary. You’d seen faces just like his while making the treacherous journey to Outpost 3 - cancer from the blast, lesions, hair damage that looked like that of a chemotherapy patient. This man was lucky to be alive at all.

Stunned and apologetic, he seemed to look right through you, as if you weren’t who he expected.

“Are — are you okay?” He queried, looking down your figure until he noticed your unmistakable bump filling the space between you.

“I’m fine, thank you,” you replied meekly. “Are you?” You raised your hand to touch a deep, angry wound on his cheek, but he quickly swatted your hand away.

“Please, don’t touch me, you’ll harm that one,” he pointed down to your bump. Your kind heart hadn’t thought twice about the harm this man’s radiation could do to you and your unborn child, but that still didn’t drive you to step away from him.

“I’m not here to hurt you, I promise,” he defended as if he had spent his whole life apologising for his actions. “I’m looking for someone.” 

Your gaze searched down his person for any giveaway signs that could help you identify him or who he was looking for. He didn’t look like a Cooperative member or an Outpost resident that found his way outside, but the glint of a blood-stained knife in his left hand suggested he wasn’t wandering the Hawthorne corridors for peaceful purposes.

“They’re all dead, everybody is dead.” You surprised yourself with your bluntness, your vision and concerns for your husband somehow outweighing your concern for the bodies you’d just left in the Hawthorne common room.

Suddenly, you felt a warm, uncomfortable sensation seep between your legs. Grasping at your bump, both you and the man looked down to see a flow of clear water burst from beneath your dress. Your eyes met each other’s again, this time in sheer panic.

“Oh fuck, it’s coming, the baby’s coming!” You wailed, bracing yourself against the cold wall as your mind went hazy. You’d been preparing for this moment for nine months but no amount of parenting books read by the warm glow of Michael’s office fireplace could prepare you for this.

The tall, dark stranger placed a sympathetic arm lightly on your shoulders, resting safely on the cape draping over your form.

“Come on, we need to get you somewhere comfortable,” he leaned down to you, guiding you toward the door behind you but you held your ground with all the strength you had left.

“No, no, not in there, let’s try here,” you desperately pointed across the hall.

Throwing your weight through an adjacent door with a stumble, you nearly tripped over a tin bathtub in the centre of the room. Filled half full with still, crystal clear water, the circular tub reminded you of Michael’s promise to keep a birthing pool in the Outpost for you.

How on earth had you landed upon the one door that led to Michael’s quarters? The coincidence would’ve seemed uncanny if you hadn’t been shocked out of your thoughts by a strong muscular spasm in your bump.

“Oh fuck!” You cried out, causing the man propping you up to jolt and look down at your bump, concern washing over his face, barely noticing that he’d dropped the blade in his other hand while trying to grasp at your dress to help you.

“C—contractions, they’re sta—starting already,” you panted, clutching at your belly in a desperate bid to tell the baby inside to slow down. Leaning your weight onto the stranger’s broad shoulders, you heaved yourself over the rim of the tin bath and eased yourself down to lay in the lukewarm water. Your cape floated either side of you while you positioned yourself comfortably, legs spread wide and your heavy waterlogged skirt hitched up to your hips. In looking up to thank him for his assistance, you clocked the fear in the man’s eyes and the shake in his hands as he bent over you beside the pool.

“Look, before I give birth in front of a total stranger, my name’s Y/N. What’s yours?” You panted through strained breaths, determined to know the identity of the mysterious male who would soon become your (decidedly unwilling) birthing partner.

“Brock, my name’s Brock,” he replied shakily, his terrified gaze fixed on you and gasping for breath whenever you jolted with a contraction. His face suggested he was in more pain than you were through your labour. Despite your predicament, you realised in that moment that you’d have to be the voice of reason for you both.

“Nice to meet you, Brock. Now listen, I can’t guarantee your safety in here. It’s up to you if you want to stay with me, but it won’t be long before I start screaming the place down and the witches find us.”

“Wha—is this the labour talking? Did you just say fucking witches?”

As you muttered an incantation under your laboured breath, a heavy armchair hovered across the room and landed behind the door, propping it shut from the inside.

“Yes, Brock, fucking witches.”

——————————————————————

Tag, you’re it! @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @psychobitchtess​ @theinevitableprophecy @leatherduncan @abbyjforman​ @melodylangdon 🖤

[capriswritingnartshenanigans]

A World of Beasts and Forbidden Wants

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Complication

Human/Lycanthrope. SFW. 2185 words. Catch it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18575611/chapters/44033869

Maran has enough issues trying to help their small town survive in a world where humans are on the bottom, and werewolves and lycanthropes are on top, as well as getting people to understand their wishes. It's hard enough as one of the minority of humans who didn't turn to worshiping or being used by the Beasts, but Maran is also magickally gifted far more than they should be.

In a world of violence outside of their native walls, and now with more complications with their decision to save a Lycan rather than kill him for the crimes he has undoubtedly committed, how are they expected to escape possible enslavement... or worse?

    I sigh softly as rain continues to pour down outside, turning the normally soft dirt into pits of red clay mud. It almost looks like the gardens of plants are bathed in blood; mother nature can be rather morbid, even in dirt coloration.

“Maran? Maran! Are you okay?” Someone calling my name pulls me from my thoughts. I turn away from the window, squinting slightly as my eyes re-adjust to the brightly lit living room.

    “Yeah, Ma, I’m fine. I was just thinkin’.” Ma chuckles softly, shaking her head with a slight smile on her lips.

    “I figured, but had to be sure. You have a habit of doin’ that when the sky starts to pour.” She wipes her messed hands on her floral-printed apron, smearing off-white batter on a large part of it. “Dinner’s about ready; the batter was tryin’ to fight with me on getting into the pan, but I managed.” She turns back to the kitchen’s connecting door to the living room, and I know she’s wanting me to follow her, so I do. “Would you mind helpin’ me with supper? I know you want to break in your home, but…” She stops at the kitchen island, still spattered with flour, batter, and multiple discarded bits of vegetables and meat fat.

    “But you don’t want another leaving the nest so soon. I know.” I grab the tin for compost dumping and start raking the leftovers from her prep into it. “I’ll help, don’t worry. Is pa and Eri coming home for it, too?” She nods enthusiastically.

    “Yes! The miners finally hit a big pocket of coal, accordin’ to your da. He said he and Eri will be gettin’ tons more time off because we won’t have to fight so hard to get energy without… Them noticing.” She shivers, murmurs a prayer to the Gods under her voice while doing a holy star across herself, and turns to check on the shepard’s pie in the oven. Them. The Beasts, as many humans like us call them. In this part of Icarurim, lycanthropes and werewolves are the cock of the walk. Humans either worship their every step and breath, or they’re like us, living in hiding, protected by thousands of layers of magick meant to keep Beast-bloodeds out. An icy chill runs down my spine, causing my entire body to shudder.

    “Well… that’s good. They’ve been working the miners so hard, from the moment the light touches the sky till well into the night. They deserve a big break, and some awarding for their work.” Instead of getting comfortable in my new home, I’d been spending the last two months spending most of the daylight time with Ma, knowing she was dealing with da’s missing presence badly. After thirty-two years together, I would say it’s hard to deal with.

I wash my hands after the counter is visibly clean, then wet a rag and apply some cleaning fluid before going back to it. Ma continues to chatter about a few more successes in the community, like the solar panels finally being complete, just need more time to properly wire everything; the gardens are responding well to the compost this year, so there’s hope for a lot more food this year, especially in winter; and there’s hope that the town will be able to expand closer to the river, which will help up our water supply. I nod along, mentally taking notes as she speaks. More than likely, when the expansions start, I’ll be called in to help move the protective spells and runes that keep the town safe. One of the “perks” of being a strong magician, I guess.

    When I finish fully wiping down the kitchen island and some counters, the shepard’s pie is ready. My stomach had started to growl half an hour ago, and at this point I’m nearly ravenous at the smell. When Ma takes it out of the oven, I feel my mouth water at the full force of the smell of the vegetables, beef, and gravy cooked to perfection. The mashed potato-parsnip mix on top is golden brown, and the filling inside looks somewhat like beef stew, but with less gravy. We both quiet once she divies us out a portion of it, and we keep that quiet as we eat.

~

Around an hour later...

    The rain finally lightened up sometime after Ma and I ate dinner, enough so that I can finally go into the main area of town and onward to getting what I need for home. Flour, eggs, a good helping of vegetables, red-spotted toadstools, gold wire… I check all of what’s left, mainly just coffee beans and more paper. I make my way through the mud, rather slowly, towards Ervini’s, a shop centered around getting more non-local items from other small human settlements around the country. The outside part of the store is painted a dark green, with large, hand-painted white letters depicting the shop’s name written above the door. It’s bigger inside than out, as per usual with shops and homes. The work of magick.

    “Hey, Maran!” I hear someone say as I step in from the rain, scrubbing the mud from my boots on the welcome mat as I lower my hood. I look over to the rickety, oak wood counter as I round the large display of papers to my left. I grin when I spy Annori, dressed in a lovely knee-length spring green dress with her long, dirty-blonde hair plaited into a french braid thrown over her shoulder. The closer I come to the counter, the more her cheeks flush, and the more excited she acts. I have to swallow down a laugh as she dips down behind the counter to grab something, then pops back up with a bounce. “Your things finally came in! Erv told me to make sure I kept them on hand in case you could stop by.”

    “Oh, good! Yeah, the rain finally let up enough to come into town from Ma and Da’s.” I reach out to grab the box of coffee beans and paper, letting my fingers brush hers as I do so. I sneakily watch her bite her lip as she nervously laughs and hands off the box entirely to me. I’m well aware of her… interest in me, and it makes teasing her so much more fun. “How long is Erv keeping you here?”

    “Um, just until 3 or so. He doesn’t expect much in the way of customers today, and the elders are sure the rain is going to become a bad storm towards evening.”

    “So he doesn’t want you to get caught in the storm.” Rather nice of him, but I don’t say that bit out loud. Erv could be a real hardass sometimes; it’s why I’m no longer working the counter in here.

 ��  “Pretty much! Especially with where I live… outer rim and all.”

    “Yeah.” I look outside, and groan when I see the rain picking back up. Damn it. “Look, Ani, I need to get back to Ma’s. She’ll tear off my hide if her cornmeal gets ruint. I’ll see you soon!” I head back to the door as she calls goodbye, shifting everything around in my pack to fit in the new box. As I’m about to head out the door, I feel a hand gently wrap around my upper arm. I turn, a brow raised, and look down at Ani. Her face has, somehow, managed to turn from a dark pink to tomato red in the span of time it took me to finish moving around my pack’s items.

    “I-I was wondering about something…” She looks down at our feet, and I can hear her mutter to herself.

    “And that is…?” I bite my lower lip to keep the smirk from fully forming on my lips. She’s so adorable when she’s nervous.

“I was w-wondering if you’d… um… liketocom’ov’rforsuppahsometime.” The last half of her sentence comes out in such a quick succession I can’t quite tell what she said.

    “If I’d like to what?”

    “T-To come over. For supper. Some time.” She lets out a nervous laugh whilst her hand not on my arm twists itself into her dress. This time, I can’t keep the grin off of my face as I pull my lower lip in between my teeth for a few moments, before letting my lips pull into such a big grin my cheeks hurt.

    “Absolutely. When would you like me to come over?”

~

After dark has fallen…

    I laugh as I make my way through the thick clay mud via a small orb of light, my thoughts drifting to my day. Quite a turn of events, if I say so myself. Da and Eri are home after being only able to return home for a short time every Friday and Saturday, and… Ani finally got the guts to ask me on what I’m thinking is a date. I laugh again, the heat of my breath swirling through the fog that’s settled in after the rain. A thick fog that would normally make moonless nights unable to be traveled, but I’m good at creating light. I feel my face contort as my boots let out more squelching noises, now becoming more constant the closer I get to my home.

    My home. It’s odd to consider the small cottage as my “home”, but it really is. While I have to live closer to the outer rim than Ma and Da were comfortable with, I rather enjoy the feeling of being surrounded by trees. There’s also a good amount of cleared land as per usual for homes, so soon enough I can even begin my own small garden and maybe some other self-sufficient means of living. And… maybe some chickens or pigeons for healthy meat when the river isn’t producing fish.

    Just as I’m reaching the clearing to my home, I hear a low, animalistic groan. I stop dead in my tracks, my heart beginning to race as my eyes struggle to make anything out in the dark fog. I try to calm my breathing; if it’s an animal, I need to be calm. Pressing my lips together and steeling myself, I move forward slowly, willing my orb to go in front of me. It bobs as we travel, and even as we go ten or so steps onto my land, I still see nothing.

    One step.

    Two step.

    Another groan cuts the air, somewhere in front of me, to the left. It’s closer now.

    One step.

    Two step.

    I  can’t suppress my gasp when I finally see what’s made that noise. My orb’s light casts an eerie look on the monstrosity in front of me. It lies in a collapsed heap, fur matted with mud and something of a darker red. A darker red that’s puddling around it, staining what it touches. Blood pours from the huge gouges carved into its back and sides, as well as holes ripped into its torso and limbs. How it managed to still be alive is unfathomable. I move closer to see it better, and realization dawns on me when I see its wolfish head, and the twisted look of paws and hands meshed unnaturally.

    Lycan. The word whispers through my brain, sending an icy panic trickling through my chest and stomach. Its eyes are closed, but its mouth is slightly open, allowing blood and breath to escape. Slowly, slowly, my hand inches towards the shortsword hidden at my side. I’ve never killed before, but… I can’t let this thing go. Not when I know exactly what it’ll do if it survives. Unspeakable horrors. Horrors I can prevent.

    Just as I manage to quietly bring my blade from its sheath, a quiet voice whispers through my head. Don’t. I pause, but don’t take my eyes off of the beast’s hulking body. Who are you? I ask.

    Don’t kill him. You’ll regret it, comes the reply.

    What do you mean??? Who are you?!

    I am a god, a god of old who has seen what will come if you kill him. So don’t. Bring him into your home, care for him, and tell none of his presence. To kill him would end the future of your people, and to abandon him will bring to end your future. So care, and not kill, human, if you truly care for either. Great. A riddle. It’s not unusual for the gods to present themselves mentally when someone is at a turning point that could have major impact on the world. Doesn’t mean I have to like what it says, though.

    Why should I spare him? He is a monster, who has likely murdered innocent humans aplenty in his numerous days! Why should he be allowed to live and not be punished?!

    Heed my words, human. You’ll understand soon enough. Care, not kill. It whispers this last part over and over as its voice recedes from my mind. A final warning. Care for a beast that will likely kill me the moment he wakes. The gods have a great sense of humor sometimes.

Thank you so much for reading!!!

[cordonianchoicesqueen]

Rewritten: The Royal Romance: The Hedge Maze (Part Seven)

A/N: I did actually pay for this diamonds scene the first time I read it and it was what made me feel like Liam was the only person for Riley... for a little while.

Summary: Riley and Liam sneak out after the Masquerade to the Hedge Maze. Riley is introduced to Bertrand and finds out about the financial difficulties the Beaumonts are facing.

Choices Chapter: Book One, Chapter Four

Disclaimer: Characters and main storyline from Pixelberry’s Choices.

Word Count: 2600+

Warnings: tiny little bit of NSFW, but pretty PG-13

The Hedge Maze

The King gave a short thank you and farewell then the party dispersed either back to their rooms in the palace or to the cars out front. Within fifteen minutes I couldn’t hear a sound in the building. I paced my room, watching the clock. I thought about changing but something felt so exciting about running around a hedge maze in a ball gown I couldn’t afford with a Prince who wasn’t allowed to be alone with me, especially at this hour. The shoes and mask however were abandoned at the side of my bed. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I creaked open my door and tiptoed down the hall being careful to check for staff or security. I somehow found my way back downstairs and made a bee-line for the ballroom. The staff were clearing the room so I waited for an opportunity to sneak through and go out onto the veranda. As I made it out into the garden, I broke into a sprint heading for the hedge maze, feeling the dewy, well-trimmed grass beneath my toes. The maze was much larger then I thought as I got closer, the hedges towering above me. The tree at the centre with it’s elegant lights throughout the branches looked magical. Just as everything did in this fairy-tale world I’d found myself in. Out of nowhere, Liam materialised, looking even more dashing with the added touch that this wasn’t allowed.

“Cutting it a little close there,” I chided him, looking at my wrist as if I was wearing a watch. He sighed, “I was trapped in a conversation about table seating for tomorrow’s picnic but I managed to tear myself away from that truly awe inspiring discussion… for you. Shall we?” His eyes twinkled, a handsome quality, and he offered me his hand. I liked the way he did that. Always giving me the option to either walk alone or with him. It was my choice. It was an easy choice. I took his hand and we approached the maze, “it really is beautiful here at night.” I gestured over to a colossal fountain depicting dolphins jumping and lights cascading through the spitting fountains. “I wish I could take all the credit but the gardens out here were my mother’s vision,” he said with pride, “it was her last wish. Sometimes when I stroll this garden at night, I think of her.” I squeezed his hand as we paused. He looked up at the star-studded sky, more stars than I had ever seen. The city lights in New York drowned out the natural sky and seeing it now, I was filled with wonder and how I had survived without this spectacle for so long. “I’m sure she would have appreciated how much you care for her garden and her creativity,” I said softly. “Thanks. The garden holds a lot of good memories as well. You probably think my games with Drake are silly,” he blushed. “I don’t know,” I said, “it… sounds like a lot of fu- TAG, you’re it.” I let my hand slip out of his, tapping his shoulder and ran straight into the maze. I hitched my skirt with one hand and ran my other hand along the wall of the maze with the other, feeling the cut hedges graze my finger tips. I could hear his laughter and his feet pounding the ground chasing after me. I knew there was no way he could hear what direction I was going with my bare feet carrying me at what felt like the speed of light. I kept my eye on the tree at the centre, trying to find the right path. “Cheater!” I heard him yell a little way off. I couldn’t help but let out an excited giggle as childish excitement pulsed through me. Despite my head start, I knew he was gaining. I turned a sharp corner and was faced with a straight path to the centre of the maze! With new energy I sped ahead. The hedge here arched over me and beautiful flowers bloomed from the walls. Fairy lights were strewn across wooden beams and I was mesmerised. I could hear Liam approaching round a corner connecting to my path and instead of going straight ahead I dug my heels in and stopped. As he turned the corner I jumped out at him. He let out a small yell and barrelled straight into me. We both went tumbling to the ground, but Liam’s reflexes were fast and he held onto me tightly to take the brunt of the fall. I lay on top of him as we breathed heavily, laughing. All pretence of nobility and monarchy disappeared. “We made it, I can see the centre just up ahead,” he said, our faces only inches apart. “I do believe I win,” I said, picking a blade of grass off his shoulder. “How do you figure that?” he raised an eyebrow. “Easy, I am on top,” I giggled. We both suddenly became very aware of just how close our bodies were. We could feel each other’s hearts pounding in our chests from running. You could have cut the tension in the air with a knife as my body straddled his. We both wanted each other, deeply, intensely. “Hey! We don’t know who tagged who here. I want a second ruling,” he teased, placing his hands on my hips, pulling me down onto him. “Well we don’t always get what we want… even princes,” I teased, whispering in his ear. He laughed. His gaze resting on my red lips. I bit my bottom lip, trying to control my desperate need to kiss this man, to strip him naked and have him kiss every inch of my body. I could only imagine that he was thinking the same thing looking into his craving eyes.  “There’s something about you…” he shook his head, “that is just so right.” He cupped my face in his hand, his fingers warm and soft linger on my cheek. “I can’t help myself,” he whispered, caught in the moment. He pulled my face towards his and my desperate need for his mouth was answered. I feasted on his lips, as our kiss quickly intensified. He tasted like champagne and strawberries. His hands moved across my back, gripping me as close to his body as he could. I bit his lip and kissed down his sharp jaw line, licking the bone, sending shivers down his spine. He let out a small groan and arched his body against mine as I kissed his neck, sucking lightly and playing with his skin with my teeth. With an animalistic growl from the back of his throat he flipped me onto my back so that he was on top of me. It was a delicious noise that made me want to scratch my nails down his back and take off all his clothes. I wrapped my legs around his back but he was careful to not put all of his weight on me as he expertly kissed my lips and wrapped his fingers in my hair. I didn’t want him to be careful with me though, I wanted to feel his full weight against me. He kissed down my neck, gently, his hands on my tits and squeezing them. He hit a sensitive spot on my neck and I let out a whispered moan of his name. “Liam,” I said in ecstasy, craving him more than I had craved anything in my life. However, my call of his name had the opposite of the desired effect I wanted it to have on him. He seemed to shake himself awake and pulled himself from the dream we were in. “Oh, I’m, eh,” he stumbled, blushing, “we shouldn’t. We don’t know what will happen… I can’t hurt you... What if…” And like that the moment was lost as he stood up and backed away from me. That was the question. What if I am about to watch him fall in love with someone else. What if I am about to watch him literary choose someone else over me. I had known this man a day yet I wanted to give him everything. I trusted him and felt like I knew him but two intense days together did not mean I was the definitive choice. Olivia had said herself that she had known him since they were children. I did not have a bond like that with him. It was far more likely I was going to end up heart broken in this situation. No matter how you looked at it. “I know,” I said standing up and trying to shake some of the dirt off my now off-white dress. I didn’t want to look at him. I felt embarrassed for beginning to assume that we were on the same page, in the same position. We may have a connection but I was nothing. I felt small. He came up behind me and surprised me by wrapping his arms around me and whispering in my ear, “what is it about being around you that makes me want to break all the rules I’ve ever learnt?” I let myself sink into him, already at the level of comfort you’d expect to have from someone you’ve known for years, “maybe, you need someone like that in your life.” “Maybe I do,” he kissed my cheek. “This was unexpected… but it was perfect.” I felt the embarrassment ease as I could tell he was being honest. I wasn’t reading the signs wrong, he wanted me as badly as I wanted him. I guess he just had better control. “You laughed more in this maze than you did all night at that ball,” I finally turned in his arms to face him, snuggling into his chest. “I guess, I really needed this,” he enveloped me close. “Thank you, Riley.” “Thank you, Liam,” I said. We held each other for a moment, as equals. As two people without responsibility or somewhere else to be. “Will I see you soon?” I asked, looking back at his chiselled jaw and glittering eyes. “Yes, tomorrow. It will be very busy… but I’m sure I can find some time… for you,” he kissed my forehead. “I look forward to it,” I smiled, warmly but with still a twinge in my heart.

When I snuck back into my room I rest my back against the door and let myself slide down it until I was sat on the floor cuddling my knees. I was so sleepy but awake because of the jet lag, so sad but happy, so confused but so sure. A million thoughts in my head. Suddenly, I heard a tap at the door. So late at night, I wondered who it could be. I wondered if Liam had managed to get away from his guard, not wanting to be away from me unless he had to be. I opened the door. “Maxwell, hey!” I said, hiding my body behind the door as I was still wearing my white dress, now covered in dirt. “Sorry. I know it’s late but there’s someone you should meet,” Maxwell replied, with excitement. “Bertrand, this is the one I was telling you about! This is Riley!” Maxwell stepped to the side to reveal an imposing man with a stern expression. He was nothing like Maxwell, I could already tell by his stand-offish stance and the way his eyes sat stone cold. “This,” he said slowly, “is the girl you’ve chosen to represent our house?” “Yes! Nailed it right?” Maxwell exclaimed. “Riley, this is my older brother, Bertrand.” I realised it was probably weird I was still hiding behind the door and stepped out to shake his hand, “It’s nice to meet you, Bertrand.” He looked down at my hand with a scowl and took in the dirty marks on my dress and my dishevelled hair, “the proper way to address a Duke is ‘Your Grace.’” “Oh! I’m so sorry, Your Grace,” I said, dropping into a neat curtsey. He rolled his eyes in a very Severus Snape-esque style, “at least it looks like you can be trained.” I was so fed up of these nobles looking down on me that I couldn’t control what I was saying when I angrily and wearily replied, “hey, I’m not your pet!” “He doesn’t mean it like that,” Maxwell looked at Bertrand with pleading eyes. “Maxwell… a word in private,” Bertrand responded. Without waiting for a response, Bertrand grabbed Maxwell’s arm and yanked him further back into the hall. I turned around to give them privacy. Although I could just about make out what they were saying in hushed, angry whispers. “That’s the girl you picked to represent our family?” Bertrand hissed. “Yeah. Liam really hit it off with her when they met at the restaurant for his bachelor party. She was our waitress,” Maxwell said, positively. “A waitress…” Bertrand said but then repeated in an explosive whisper, “You brought a WAITRESS? I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you! We could’ve had our pick of any unsponsored duchess or countess in half of Europe!” “Well sure, but like I said, she and Liam have a lot of chemistry. I think he really likes her,” Maxwell said, completely ignoring his brother’s outburst. “I know you probably don’t care but she could make him really happy. Like I have never seen him look so happy kind of happy. Shouldn’t Liam have a shot at that, even if he is the Prince?” I smiled to myself. No wonder Maxwell was being so kind to me, a stranger. He was really just being a great friend to Liam. He thought I would make Liam happy and was going out of his way to make sure we had the opportunity to explore that. He knew making me happy would make Liam happy. “Spare me your sentimentality,” Bertrand grumped. “You’d better hope that this waitress doesn’t ruin everything.” I heard his heavy footsteps making their way back to my door. I turned, knowing I was doing a bad job of covering up that I had heard their entire conversation. Bertrand squinted his eyes at me, “we have to trust one another to be successful.” “Right,” I said nodding. “Perhaps Maxwell didn’t full explain this, but if our house puts forth the Prince’s choice, we’ll win fame and recognition…” Bertrand said clearly. “Something we could really use right now, because we’re actually kind of broke,” Maxwell pulled a face. “Maxwell! You overstep!” Bertrand yelled. “Sorry,” Maxwell sighed. “You’re broke? Is that why I had to sort out my dress for tonight?” I looked down suddenly wishing I hadn’t just rolled around in the dirt in something that wasn’t easily replaced. “That’s precisely why,” Bertrand said. “Sorry about that. We can only afford to get you the bare minimum through this process. No one outside of our family really knows how bad things are,” Maxwell said playing with his hands. “Do you get money if I marry the Prince?” I questioned. “Not directly but we get leverage through prestige. It would be best to get that leverage before others find out about our… situation. In the circles we run, if word got out of our financial ruin, it would be a scandal,” Bertrand exclaimed dramatically. “But our name is worth something at least!” Maxwell interjected. “At the very least, we can introduce you to the right people, get you invitations to the right events, even a couple dresses to help you through. I only regret that we can’t offer you more.” “Speaking of which,” Bertrand said curtly, “we must prepare you for tomorrow’s event.” “The Derby!” Maxwell said. “You know what a Derby is?” Bertrand looked at me raising his eyebrows. Completely on the spot, I felt like I was on a quiz show, “isn’t it just fancy horse racing?” “Basically, yes. It will be your first opportunity to make an impression on the press as they will be covering the event,” Bertrand did not give me any points for my correct answer. “The press love events like this, especially with all the tabloids taking a huge interest in the search for the new queen,” Maxwell said. “Everyone in Cordonia will be influenced by what is written about you. The monarchy serve the people. You will need the approval of the press and, therefore, the people to win Liam’s hand,” Bertrand explained. “The Queen will, also, be present. You must earn her favour.” Looking at my tired and overwhelmed face, Maxwell said, “we’ll speak tomorrow more about it. Nothing to worry about. You’ve got this.” Maxwell gave me a quick hug. “Goodnight,” Bertrand said already half way down the hall.