#claude von riegan x reader

[amostimprobabledream]

I just found your blog and I am EXTREMELY IN LOVE with how you write Claude. Thank you so much 🙏🙏🙏

If you take request, I'd love to see a jealous Claude of some sort. Or Claude having a crush on you and he wants to be very tactical about it but fails because for once he also stumbles over his words.

~🌻🌻🌻

Hello Sunflower anon! I promise I hadn't forgotten your ask, I just didn't want to respond until I had something to show for it. Now, here it is! Hope you enjoy! :)

Also available on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52063906

Out of the corner of his eye, Claude found himself watching you.

The Leicester Alliance might not have been as...enthusiastic in their celebrations as the kind of feasts that went down in Almyra, but they still knew how to host a party when the situation called for it. The buffet table groaned with a banquet of food that would have been unthinkable just a year or so ago and everyone was dressed in their best outfits, determined to finally enjoy some splendour after fighting their way through some of the bleakest days in living memory.

You were working the room, the goldenrod gown you were wearing rustling across the polished marble floors. He wondered if you had picked out that colour for any particular reason – was it simply because it looked nice on you, or was it some kind of message? A code, if you will.

“A woman’s outfit isn’t just for practicalities, Claude!” He heard Hilda’s voice chiming in his head, something she’d told him once in the old days at the Academy, when he’d once asked why she bothered to wear perfume and earrings to a mock battle. “When you pick out your clothing, you’re making a statement about who you are! And not just the girls – look around you sometime if you don’t believe me!”

He’d been sceptical of this claim initially, but after that conversation, Claude had found himself paying closer attention to how his fellow Golden Deer and other students wore their uniforms and had been both surprised and intrigued to see that Hilda had been right. It was in the little things, like Hilda’s skirt being as short as she could possibly get away with without incurring the wrath of Seteth, while Marianne made sure her uniform covered as much as herself as possible, like she was using the fabric to hide in. Then you had Sylvain with his sleeves rolled up and his hair messy, like he’d just rolled out of bed and couldn’t be bothered to button up the cuffs or front of his jacket. Then you had Lorenz and that ridiculous rose he always wore pinned to his lapel…

Speaking of Lorenz and his questionable choice in accessories, Claude spied the man himself across the room…and there you were, laughing at something he was saying.

An unfamiliar knot of irritation tightened in Claude’s chest, which was ridiculous…Lorenz was your old classmate, after all, so why wouldn’t you be catching up with him? There was plenty to catch up on, after all, especially now that the wore was officially over and Fodlan could breath a sigh of relief…

Yet he still didn’t like the way Lorenz was staring at you, like he’d discovered a rare new species of flower or bird. No doubt you looked even more lovely close up, but Claude wondered if you remembered what Lorenz used to be like around female students at Garreg Mach, to the point that Teach herself had to step in. As the sun poured into the room, catching on the jewellery you were wearing around your neck and in your ears, Claude couldn’t help but wonder what you had been thinking when you chose them, if each item was a tool in your arsenal to be deployed at the key moment…

“Stare, much?”

Claude jolted and turned to see Hilda, who was unsurprisingly in a resplendent pink gown that was clinging lovingly to her curves – if she was trying to convey a message with her outfit, then “Look at me!” seemed to be the end result.

“Hilda!” Claude greeted her, shooting her an easygoing smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “I see that you’re already enjoying the festivities.”

“Oh, there’s plenty to enjoy around here,” Hilda said airily. “But I have to say, you’re not looking as happy as the hero of the hour should be. Are you wishing you’d stayed home in Almyra?”

It was still so strange to hear the other half of him spoken aloud so casually, when he’d been hiding it so painstakingly for five years. Yet it came with an undeniable surge of relief.

“My home is here and Almyra.” Claude replied diplomatically. “Anyway, you think I’d pass up an opportunity to see everyone all together again?”

“Hmm, that’s true.” Hilda nodded, sipping from her glass of champagne. “This is a prime time to start forging diplomatic relations, isn’t it? Looks like those two over there are already making inroads.”

Hilda tilted her head, pink hair slipping off her shoulder, an amused little smile playing about her lips, like she knew something Claude didn’t. She’d always been able to see through him, and vice versa.

So no doubt Hilda had noticed the way that, no matter who Claude was talking to, his eyes kept wandering back to you, tracking you all about the ballroom as though he was worried that the moment he wasn’t making sure you were still there, you might just disappear.

“I thought the war taught you that sometimes you can’t just stand back and watch before you make a move.” Hilda remarked.

“It did.” Claude replied evenly, his green eyes growing half-lidded as Lorenz put his hand on your waist.

“Then go and talk to her! It’s not cute to stand around pouting at your age, you know.”

“Ha! You’re one to talk – you’ll be pouting to get your way until you’re an old lady.” Claude said, imagining an eighty-year-old Hilda in pigtails. “And I know.”

“Good, because it’s so exhausting trying to play matchmaker.” Hilda said, with an affected hair toss, before she spotted someone across the room and gave them a dainty little wave, her fingers fluttering.

“Oh, there’s Caspar! I promised him a dance!” she lilted, before swanning away, the scent of her perfume wafting behind her – Claude caught a whiff of anemones.

“Bet that’s not all you promised.” He murmured under his breath.

Nevertheless, Claude heeded her advice, because as spacy as she might have liked to seem, Hilda was a startlingly perceptive woman under her ditzy attitude. He strode across the room, boots clicking on the polished floors, surging ahead before he could start doing what he always did. Running through various scenarios in his head like he was figuring out his next move in chess, making contingency plans, scheming. It was his fall-back from when he was a scrawny young boy, hiding in the shadows from those who sought to harm him that he couldn’t possibly retaliate against physically. Old habits died hard, despite everything.

“Lorenz! I see your fashion sense has improved since our school days! Well, somewhat.” Claude said in a cheery voice as he approached the two of you. “Remember how people used to ask if you’d tried to cut your hair with an axe?”

“May I remind you, Claude, that you wore the same uniform as me back then?” Lorenz sighed, but it lacked the genuine irritation it once did.

“I see you still like yellow, though.” You said to Claude, turning your head to smile at him, though that smile was teetering on being a smirk.

Claude’s mouth went dry.

“So do you.” He replied. He didn’t mean to say that; it just popped out before he could stop himself. It was unlike Claude to be so concise with his wording, he had always tended to err on the side of verbosity, yet…

Your smile widened and heat spread across your cheeks, and his own mouth curved in a smirk.

“Yes, well, we were just about to dance-“ Lorenz said haughtily, seeming not to notice your reaction to Claude’s comment, and the latter gave a wince of faux-sympathy.

“Ooh, sorry, Duke of Gloucester, but she already promised the next one to me. Did she not say? Ah, for shame, my lady!”

“Oh, right, yeah,” you said, before quickly turning your head to Lorenz. “Apologies, do excuse me. But you know, if you’re looking for a dance partner, why not ask Marianne? She’s been standing over there by herself a while, it would probably be nice for her to see a face she recognises.”

“Ah, yes, what a good idea!” Lorenz said, his face brightening at the suggestion, turning to look across the ballroom. “I had to speak with her about Margrave Edmund’s proposition…”

He wandered off, still muttering under his breath, though it was obvious neither you nor Claude cared whatsoever what he was talking about. Instead, Claude offered a hand with a slightly mocking edge to it, unable to resist bucking against convention.

“Shall we?”

You accepted his hand and he lead you into the middle of the room where several people were dancing, and he saw Hilda shoot him a grin as Caspar somewhat clumsily whirled her around in a blur of pink and blue. Claude rested one of his hands on the small of your back and though the contact was hardly anything risqué, it still sent a bolt of delight through you.

“So you really did mean to dance.” You remarked, falling into step with him almost without thinking about it. You’d been instructed how to dance for formal events like this by your parents when you were younger and as much of an irritating chore as they’d felt at the time, it was like second nature now.

“What else could I have meant?” Claude replied, lifting one hand to twirl you around. “I could have challenged you to a duel, I suppose, but neither of us seem dressed for the occasion.”

“Well, for a second there, I thought you were just going to start grunting and throw me over your shoulder.” You teased, as he pulled you in again. “That was quite the glare you were giving Lorenz Hellman Gloucester.”

“Do you want to be thrown over my shoulder?” Claude asked, tilting his head. “Or would that put a dampener on all your schmoozing?”

“Forging important political alliances, you mean.” You corrected Claude with a smirk. “Goodness, Claude. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

“And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were purposefully trying to induce a little jealousy.” Claude replied, eyes sliding down to your lips.

You tilted your chin up, defiantly.

“And if I was?”

There was a small silence, a verbal gauntlet thrown down, and Claude looked at you with an expression that made your insides twist. He reached his free hand out and twined a lock of your hair around his finger, his expression thoughtful.

“Then I’m afraid you’re just going to have to suffer the consequences.”

~

“Claude…Claude!”

You were sweating. Heated kisses and a warm, muscular body pressing you to the wall would do that to a person. Along with the fact that you were only on the other side of the room from the entire ballroom – if somebody left to get a little fresh air, for example, they might well stumble on the scene of the new Duke of House Riegan kissing you against the wall like a naughty schoolboy. You pulled back, feeling a little dazed.

“I know you like to make risky moves, Claude, but isn’t this a bit much?” you said, a touch breathlessly.

Claude laughed softly, breath tickling your cheek as he moved in closer, pressing his lips to your neck.

“I consider the pros to outweigh the cons in this specific scenario.” He replied in a murmur.

“Which are?” You giggled.

“Pros: I get to put my hands on you,” Claude replied, sucking hard on the skin of your throat, making you gasp. “Cons: Someone might see me put my hands on you.”

“Then why are you doing this in a place where the cons could become a real possibility?” You asked, though you knew the answer already – you just wanted to know if he’d admit to it.

“If you want a gamble to have the best possible payoff, then you have to make sure the risk is big enough.” Claude replied with a wry smile, his fingers squeezing your hips. “Anyway, I didn’t hear you doing much maidenly protesting. Though your mouth was quite occupied at the time…”

You laughed and pulled him down for another kiss, because he was quite right, of course – knowing that other people were there, mooning for someone else across the room but not daring to make a move, or chastely dancing together while secretly wishing they could do so much more, gave you an adrenaline rush you hadn’t felt since you were standing on a battlefield so many months ago. These thrills were less likely to come with the potential cost of your life, but they were exciting in an entirely new way.

“Claude…” you mumbled, leaning into him, resting your hands on his chest, feeling his heart pounding against your palms. It was true you’d wanted to get his attention today – he’d been away in Almyra for months and you’d missed him. Missed his laugh, the easy way he could banter with just about anyone, the sharp line of his jaw and the particular shade of green of his eyes…perhaps going around in a dress the same colour as that cape of his was a little on the nose, but it seemed to have worked.

“Mm?” he seemed preoccupied with your earrings, taking one and giving it a playful little tug, an emerald sparkling between his teeth.

“How long exactly is the hero of the Leicester Alliance expected to stay at the ball until he can flee into the sunset?” you asked, tilting your head.

"Flee? Is that how you see me? Some coward who's always running away at the drop of a hat?” Claude asked, holding a hand to his chest in a parody of shock. "I'm not Bernadetta!"

“I wouldn’t call you a coward,” you said, then paused. “But you do tend to rush from place to place without giving people a chance to say goodbye.”

Understanding dawned across his face, and he ran his fingers through your hair, his touch gentle.

“I had things to do. But I always intended to come back.” He said, simply. It wasn’t easy feeling torn between two things all the time, but he had hope that now, he could finally act as a whole for the first time in his life.

“Still, a word or two would have been nice…” You said, a little churlishly, unwilling to melt under his touch just yet, not wanting to give up your grievances so easily. You didn’t consider yourself the type to be pining over anyone, but Claude von Riegan wasn’t just anyone.

And here was something you loved about Claude, one of the many things – instead of getting exasperated or defensive at your stubbornness, your unwillingness to just sink into the moment, into him, a slow smile spreads across his face, honey-sweet.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He cooed, cupping your face. “Did you miss me that much?”

The sting of his teasing was mitigated by the way he kissed you next, soft and sensually, the scruff of his beard rubbing against your skin, but you didn’t care, you were too busy kissing him back, lips tingling, sighing against him as his hands squeezed your waist like he didn’t want to let go.

“You know, I think I might be able to make it up to you.” Claude said breathlessly, when you both finally paused for ear. Some of your lipstick was smudging his face and a perverse stab of pride poked you at the sight of it. “If you’re willing, that is.”

“That depends on what it is,” you replied, your lips tingling. You knew you were smiling despite your grumpy tone.

“Oh, you’ll like it. But we’d have to get on my wyvern to see it.” Claude replied, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip. “Think of it as an adventure.”

An adventure with Claude sounded…well, even a casual conversation with Claude could be exciting, he was the kind of person who could talk about any subject. But to be whisked away into the unknown made your stomach perform a swooping feeling, almost a pre-emptive recreation of what sitting atop a dragon was like.

“So am I being kidnapped now?” You said with an excited giggle, the possibilities opening up to you suddenly making this spacious corridor seem like a prison you’re about to break free from, and Claude laughed back. “Will you stop and write out a ransom first?”

“You know what us Almyrans alike. We just can’t resist something pretty to take for our own.” He teased, pulling your flush against him. “What do you say we have a real celebration?”

His eyes glinted with mischievous intent, reminding you sharply of the emerald earrings you’d carefully slotted into your ears as you were dressing for the ball. You leaned into his embrace, breathing in the scent of Claude, parchment and cloves and pine needles.

“That’s fine with me. I don’t mind being stolen.” You whispered back to him, and his answering kiss sealed the deal.

#claude von riegan #claude x reader #Fire Emblem Three Houses #FE:TH #Fire Emblem x Reader #Writings #claude von riegan x reader

[frickingnerd]

just one night

pairing: claude von riegan x gn!reader

summary: as the leader of the alliance, claude knows he can't be with you. and yet, he just can't stay away from you...

"i know you will kill me for this, but…"

claude was inches away from your face, his hot breath against your lips. he was close, too close. both of you knew you shouldn't do this and yet…

"…i don't care"

with that, claude pressed his lips against yours, his hands quickly finding their way onto your hips and pulling you closer. though now that he had you this close, he didn't stop his hands from roaming all over your body.

"breaking the rules for one night is no sin, right?"

claude pulled away, an overly confident smile on his lips. you should've pushed him away then and there and ended this. but you were weak to his smile. and despite the trouble you two would get into, if nobody found out about this, would it really be that bad?

"right… just one night"

#claude von riegan x reader #claude von riegan #claude x reader #claude #fire embem three hopes #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem x reader #FE3H #fire emblem #x reader #x you #x y/n #x gn reader #suggestive #smut #fluff #forbidden #relationship #dating #romance #romantic

[breadbrioche]

nocturnal

claude von riegan x reader

➳summary: you confess some of your worries to claude when you can’t go to sleep

➳warnings: mentions of war and desertion

➳word count: 2.2k

➳a/n: I began writing this back in may 2020 and I’ve been writing this on and off again ever since so this piece is kinda my baby I can’t believe I finished this

It was quiet.

Not awfully so but something like this only took place during the peak of night. Despite everything happening in the world, this was the time where people stayed blissfully ignorant to the events around them; even if it’s just for a few hours. Looking back, this was something you always took advantage of; your past self always expecting it would be there. But, if the past five years taught you anything, peace and quiet was somewhat of a privilege.

Despite this, you lied numbly in your bed, eyes wide open and observed how the moon’s light casted patterns on your room’s ceiling. Shifting around the bed, the sheets ruffled loudly. You knew you had to sleep; being sleep deprived could cost you your life on the battlefield. All the benefits of some rest were basically being presented right in front of you with your limbs feeling as heavy as lead. Your body was screaming at you to sleep yet, no matter how long you closed your eyes for, your mind buzzed with useless thoughts. A flurry of irrational worries littered your mind for no reason. The warrior in you felt like scoffing; how could you doubt yourself or your comrades when you’ve reached this far?

You weighed out the choices you decided to take mentally. Logically, you should have tried to go to sleep again. But you’ve already tried that a number of times with all the same fruitless outcome. What’s the use in fighting a pointless battle when you knew you were going to lose?

You sighed deeply. It wasn’t the right thing to do but it was really the only thing to do at this point. With the little sensibility you had thrown out the window, you heaved yourself out of the bed. Wincing as your bare feet touched the cold stone, you padded to your desk and retrieved your cloak. After hastily fastening the clasp to it, you retrieved the lantern that was still barely burning and made your way out of your room.

The door creaked too loudly for your liking. If it was any louder, others would have suspected a surprise attack. You speedily paced through the halls of the monastery, a flickering flame illuminating your path and steadily made a beeline through the dining hall, out to the fishing pond. You hissed as the cool breeze made its way underneath your cloak, and tingled your skin as it brushed past (you were expecting it though, what a great idea going out barefoot in pyjamas and what was essentially a glorified blanket).

Ignoring this, you cast your gaze up at the moon and sighed wistfully.

The moon was free, you thought to yourself. It didn’t have any noble obligations and definitely didn’t need to participate in a war. The moon only had one job; to rise at night and set during the day. Imagining how easy that must be, you continued to admire it mindlessly. You even felt yourself feeling a bit sleepy.

“A little late for sightseeing, don’t you think?” A voice called from your surroundings.

You stopped your actions at an instant and spun around, shifting your feet into a defensive stance. You groaned, feeling stupid for not thinking of any possible unwanted intruders lurking outside of the monastery. You bit the inside of your cheek, cursing yourself for not bringing a weapon with you; reason magic was out of the question too - you couldn’t even call yourself proficient. The professor had always told you to practice using it and you guessed this was the reason for it. You were an absolute fool for going outside and your past self was as much a fool (if not more) as you were now for not putting effort in their studies.

You grew wary and stepped back towards the inside of the monastery. As the footsteps got increasingly audible, the person (was it a man?) slowly emerged from the shadows of the night with their arms up innocently. Rays of moonlight danced upon his face and you released the breath you held unknowingly. Your nose shrivelled in distaste.

“Claude von Riegan! What the hell was that for?!” You shrieked.

“How so? I was only asking a question.” The Alliance leader chortled as he sauntered his way over to you. Huffing, you smacked his shoulder lightly.

“Sneaking up on somebody in the middle of a war, even if it’s just a harmless scheme that’s quite silly isn’t it?” You questioned rhetorically. You crossed your arms underneath the cloak to retain your increasingly depleting body temperature, the chilly winds finally catching up to you. “Why are you up at this hour anyways?”

The man next to you merely shook his head and shrugged. “A Master Tactician like myself is far too busy to rest, even when I want to… what about you? I remember asking you the same thing before you diverted the question.”

You scoffed, waving your hand as you made your way to sit on the ledge which overlooked the pond “It’s nothing complicated; there was too much on my mind to actually sleep. I was hoping a change of scenery could lull me to sleep but all I got was our oh so great leader trying to scare me out of my skin” Your legs dangled off the side freely, relishing the cool breezes that went past them

Claude raised an eyebrow curiously, “Too much on your mind, huh? Willing to give me a penny for your thoughts? Wha- don’t give me that look! You never know, it might help you ease up a bit”

“It’s fine, you don’t need to worry about it. They’re stupid anyways” You insisted yet the inquisitive twinkle in his eyes pressed on the topic. You exhaled in defeat, accepting the fact you couldn’t escape the situation.

“You sure you won’t judge?”

Claude nods.

“Well- how do I start this? … sometimes I just get paranoid y’know? This war’s got everyone on edge, it’s made me realise a lot of things and one of them is the fact that I really don’t want to die. Like literally just now when I thought you were an intruder, I was even thinking about using reason magic to defend myself - and you know how hopeless I am with that… Sometimes I don’t even care what happens or who wins. I guess I just want to be alive.”

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably as you recounted your thoughts. As much as you were aware of its awful implications, speaking your thoughts felt like a weight being lifted over off your chest and you could finally breathe again.

How long have you felt this way?

An awkward silence ensued after your statement. Great, you thought. He probably wasn’t expecting that kind of confession. First thinking he was an enemy and now oversharing your darkest of thoughts - what a way to fuck up your relationship with the Leader of the Lieciester Alliance.

Now you couldn’t bear to look at Claude, ashamed, embarrassed, guilty.

You cleared your throat, catching his attention quite easily. “Uh-… sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean to offend you or anything; it was selfish of me to think that…”

“It’s okay.” Claude stated firmly. “Don’t apologize for something you can’t control.”

Okay, so he pitied you, even after you’ve basically offended him. Just how could he put up with you like this?

“I was being presumptuous.” You insisted with your head hung low as you turned around and slid off the stone wall you sat on. “Just ignore what I said.”

“No, I think that-“

“Stop. Please, you don’t have to listen to my stupid irrational fears.” You pleaded to him. Feeling uncomfortable tingles behind your eyes, you rushed back inside the monastery with your feet slapping against the freezing ground.

“Hey- Just wai-“ he called out to your steadily retreating form before huffing. If he didn’t hate you before, he definitely did now. Just fantastic.

What’re the chances he might send you off to a skirmish where you have no chances of winning or maybe even imprison you for thinking about desertion? Great. Great. Greatgreatgrea-

You were promptly pulled out of your thoughts as a force pulled the neck of your cloak and sent you falling backwards. You braced for a fall that never came as Claude grabbed you and turned you to face him. One hand on your shoulder secured you still while another was placed on your head to direct your gaze to meet his.

“Would you please just let me finish my sentence?” He expired jokingly. He lightly smoothed down the top of your hair, sensing your nerves and embarrassment.

“To put it frankly, you’re not the only one who’s thought about it.”

You gave him an incredulous look. Did that mean that-?

“In my opinion, there’s no shame in wanting to run away. It’s a normal human instinct.”

No way. There was no way you just heard him say that. He wasn’t gonna kill you? And he’s maybe wanted to do it before too?

“No one wants war. It’s unnecessary and it takes more from you than what you get in the end, even if you do win. It’s easy enough to want to get away from it all.”

“But you're the leader of the alliance! Haven’t you been basically raised from birth learning how to prepare for one?” You almost scoffed, still hesitant. He gave you a small smile, and shook his head, hair falling out of place slightly from the action. Though that did little to diminish his appearance - the tousled hair giving him an air of effortlessness and making him look more attractive than anyone should be this late at night. Goddess, you’ve known Claude all these years and somehow you’ve never thought about how hot he was? You really were discovering new things about yourself (and Claude).

“Being prepared for something barely holds a light to actually doing it.” He explained. “Just when you think you’ve thought of every possible situation, life slaps you in the face and gives you a scenario you’d never even considered! The stress it gives you, urgh!”

You snorted, only Claude could crack a joke about something like this. His grin stretched, teeth almost peeking out between his lips, and patted your head lightly. “Welcome back. Frankly, seeing you so scared like that was unlike you, but it’s understandable. Glad to see you can still smile like that”

Rolling your eyes, you slapped his chest halfheartedly. He gasped accusingly and clutched at his chest to play along with you. It was a crime how nice it felt to be around him - the way he made you feel relaxed and safe during a war was something only he could do.

“Alright I get it now. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Claude gave you a look suggesting that he was still unconvinced. Noticing this, you scowl slightly.

“I’m serious! Thanks to you, I have absolutely no more self deprecating thoughts about running away.”

You assessed his face to gauge his reaction but he simply wore his tried and true smirk, as if this too was just one of his schemes.

“Urgh what do I have to do to make you believe me?!” You groan out. By now, you’ve been outside for longer than you’ve expected (the sky’s colours were changing to a much warmer tone now) and you would like to at least get maybe a couple hours of sleep.

“Do you think I’m just gonna leave you alone after what you just told me? What’s the point in helping you calm your nerves if I just send you back to your room and have you just spiral all over again?” Claude pointed out which made you scoff, crossing your arms.

“What do you propose I do then, Mr Master Tactician? I don’t really fancy staying out here all night.”

“Well then just sleep with me in my room, of course!”

You gave him an incredulous look, eyes probably bulging out of your eyes. Were you hearing correctly? For such a smart guy, does he even know what he’s saying? You’re almost definitely sure he’s messing with you.

“Are you serious?” You gaped. He gave a confident nod.

“But you only have one bed in your room?” You clarified, just to be sure.

Claude huffed in amusement and tugged on your arm. “It will be fine. C’mon, bed is big enough for the two of us. ”

You rolled your eyes but moved your arms so that you linked your with Claude, finally giving in. He beamed at you, excited to have accepted his request. Beginning to guide you the way to his room, you stopped the man in his tracks to give him a stern glare.

“If you push me off the bed, I’ll lose all my hope in you and then I’ll really run away.”

“Well then it's a good thing that I don’t have any weird sleeping habits! You’ll get plenty of sleep tonight.”

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem three houses x reader #fe3h #fe3h x reader #fire emblem x reader #claude von riegan #claude von riegan x reader #own works

[pixelblaze]

Hello! I love your writing and was wondering if you would be able to do some general headcanons about what it’d be like to be married to Claude? Maybe with some angst sprinkled in, if you can? Thank you for your time!

Yes I can! Thank you for the request!

-Claude von Riegan as a husband-

-A very devoted and loyal husband, will love you til the end of time.

-That being said, he’s also a very very busy man. Often away for diplomatic meetings and councils.

-So his love languages are mainly gifts and acts of service, quality time is rare but he’ll do his best to make it happen.

-You usually receive letters from him, and gifts of jewelry or other trinkets from wherever he’s currently visiting on diplomatic business.

-When you do get to spend time together, he’s very sweet.

-A big fan of physical affection. Hugs and hair ruffling and the like. It’s how he shows his love for you.

-He loves to just sit and listen to you talk about your day, especially because he hardly gets to spend any time with you, and it’s important for him to know how you’re doing.

-He loves taking you on romantic evening wyvern flights. It’s a great way for him to blow off some steam AND spend some time with you!

-Romantic strolls through the palace gardens are another great way to spend time with him.

-He seriously does his best to squeeze you into his schedule at every available opportunity. Even if it’s him just quickly stopping by to say hi on his way to his next meeting.

-He loves to playfully tease you. It’s all in good fun and he never means any harm by it.

-He takes you on diplomatic missions whenever he can. Having you by his side brings him a sort of peace and calmness that he needs.

-He always appreciates your inputs when it comes to his diplomatic affairs. You’re his soundboard, and he appreciates your advice and fresh perspective. You keep him grounded.

-Anniversaries are seriously important to him, and he always does everything in his power to make it on time to celebrate your anniversary together. If he knows he can’t, he writes you the longest, sweetest apology letter and sends you multiple gifts, promising to make it up to you next year.

-It hurts, but you understand that he’s not choosing work over you, he’s just doing what he has to do.

-He never wants you to feel like work is more important than you, but sometimes that’s how it seems. He really tries to make things right with you when he neglects you for work.

-He wants to raise a family with you. He really really does. But he’s just…too busy. At least right now. But I imagine he’d be a wonderful, but a super busy father.

-The two of you don’t really fight, but when you do…

-It’s typically about his work schedule, how he’s overworking himself, how he’s obsessed with work-

-We’re talking him getting up at three in the morning to prepare his speeches and get himself ready for the day.

-He comes home exhausted, and you feel so bad for him. It’s not fair he has to work himself THIS hard, he deserves a break.

-And he gets where you’re coming from. He really does. But he HAS to work himself as hard as he does or nothing will get done!

-He gives you lots of empty promises about how he’s going to work himself a little less hard, and that he’ll take more breaks.

-You agree to disagree about his work schedule.

-He gets back to working on his speech, and you go back to bed.

-He does feel bad about it though. He knows what you’re saying comes from a place of love, and he’ll leave you some flowers and an apology note on your bedside drawer before he leaves for work that day, thanking you for doing your best and being so patient with him.

-He really does appreciate your patience and kindness, and someday he intends to repay that in full.

#Fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem claude #fire emblem Claude Von Riegan #Fire emblem Claude x reader #Fire emblem three houses x reader #Fire emblem Claude von Riegan x reader #My writing #Claude von Riegan x reader

[h0ney-gl0ws]

Fire Emblem Boys! Parenting Headcanons!

Here’s a short collection of headcanons of how the fire emblem boys are as parents! Includes characters from fire emblem engage and three houses!

Characters are: Kagetsu, Ashe, Claude, and Diamant

Word Count: 896 (approx)

Kagetsu: I saw a video of a man doing this challenge to hang from a pull up pole for 100s, and he did it with a baby strapped to his chest, yeah, that’s Kagetsu

Kagetsu would totally give his babies rubber knives and stuff for fun. He wants his kids to be powerful fighters when they’re grown up after all.

Speaking of that, Kagetsu would totally sword fight his kids once they’re old enough and have at least learned the basics.

Kagetsu when his kids are older: “Finally a worthy opponent, our battle will be legendary!”

Kagetsu sometimes would go too far during training sessions, and his wife(you ;) ) would have to tell him to reel it back in. Kagetsu would feel bad and let his kids win after that. Pretending to be real hurt by their hits and all that. “Oh wow! Look at how strong you guys have gotten! You’re able to take even me down.”

Kagetsu’s wife would totally step in to have some fun as well with play fighting Kagetsu. And it turns into a real fun family bonding moment. “Aghast, my own love betraying me?! How could you!” Lots of giggles from the kids during and after.

Overall, very good dad 9/10.

Ashe: Oh, you know he would just be the sweetest dad ever. Ashe’s kids would just be the cutest little angels.

He’d teach them how to cook and all teaching sessions would end up being a giggle fest in the kitchen usually with flour all over the place.

Ashe’s kid: pours 90% of milk on the floor and 10% into the bowl. Ashe: Great job buddy! :D

You know he would teach his kids to have the same morals as him. In that everyone deserves to be shown kindness and to have a second chance. He doesn’t shy away his past from them, and wants to make sure they understand how his late adopted father’s kindness changed his life for the better.

He really cant resist when his kids come home holding bunches of kittens or puppies, and even on one occasion a snake, and you’ll have to step in to be the voice of reason like “no you cannot keep 12 cats in our pantry, put them back.” Lolol

Ashe would give you the puppy dog eyes too when your kids start to pout, and it definitely didn’t work and you definitely didn’t keep one of the kittens

In conclusion, cinnamon roll dad 10/10

Claude: Claude’s not a regular dad, he’s a cool dad XD

He wants his kids to be comfortable on wyverns so he takes them flying often. You worry of course, but he always assures you he is right there with them, and they are perfectly safe. Plus seeing the kids excitement as they try to explain to you how cool flying is, eases your worry plenty.

Claude’s kids would end up being little rascals, running around the halls of the palace, playing pranks on royal staff. Usual rambunctious kid stuff.

Claude has almost certainly assisted in their little tirades, especially on the ones directed at Lorenz. He once got them to replace all of the sugar in Lorenz’s tea with salt. Claude got quite the earful after from him, but Lorenz couldn’t prove anything.

That’s not to say that Claude can’t be a responsible parent when he needs to be. If his kids were getting involved in something that would put them or others in danger, you bet the stern dad voice is coming out and he’s teaching them why they can’t be doing that.

Very nice dad overall, his family wishes he could spend more time with them, but I digress 7/10

Diamant: This one is a difficult one for me, as I try to portray them as the best dads they can be, however I see Diamant’s best as…rocky.

I feel like he would be overprotective, he’s very worried about anything bad happening to them. As a result of this he can be a bit overbearing.

On the other side of the spectrum, when’s he’s not being overbearing he can be distant. His anxiety over running the kingdom, and his own insecurity about being a father can cause him to push people away, and as a result you would be doing a lot of the parenting.

Of course all of these tendencies come from a place of love. He wants to be the best father he can, he’s just not great at navigating his emotions.

Every night, however, when your kids are tucked into bed you can hear him whispering stories about how great of a king his father was, and your kids fall asleep hearing tales of how amazing their grandfather was.

You also see them showing interest in his training. They love watching him train, and often times want to join him. which is great because he wants to teach all of his kids self defense. He wants them to be able to protect themselves when he’s not there after all.

In the end, his kids adore him even if he’s not the greatest parent at times, and you know that this is just another chapter of life you will be able to work through together. 5/10

#fire emblem #fire emblem engage #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #claude von riegan #claude von riegan x reader #kagetsu #kagetsu x reader #ashe ubert #Ashe Ubert x reader #diamant #diamant x reader #headcanon #h0ney gl0ws works! #fire emblem x reader

[cravingsfromatwistedone]

DEVIOUSNESS [ DRABBLE / NSFW ]

AUTHOR'S NOTE: SOMETHING SHORT AND SPICY! I RECALLED HAVING A SMALL CRUSH ON BALTHUS BECAUSE HE WAS SUCH A HIMBO! ENJOY READING DARLINGS! TW: THREESOME, ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP (WITH CLAUDE, READER IS CLAUDE'S WIFE), IMPLIED CUCKHOLDING KINK (CLAUDE) CLAUDE VON RIEGAN X FEM! READER X BALTHUS VON ALBRECHT

"Does she look alright?" Balthus huffed before letting out a low muffled groan against your skin

Claude beams a grin to Balthus's direction, caressing your face and wiping away the tears that streamed down your face "Oh, she looks euphoric to say the least" He says

It had been a simple invitation really. A very, very simple one

Claude told you that Balthus will be dropping by for some tea to talk over some things he'd like to catch up on over the recent years and you figured 'Why not?'. The bulky man may have lacked some strength in his brains but he certainly did not lack in his heart; he was a good man after all. But you had forgotten that your husband was no ordinary man. He likes to concoct plans. Devious plans. Just like you are in one right now

Balthus's chest was pressed against your back and he held on to your arms backwards as leverage, his heavy hard cock pulsing as he pushes and pulls his hips back and forth, eliciting out breathy whines and whimpers from you that Claude seemed to enjoy far too much. Maybe the next time Claude says that a 'friend' is coming over, you shouldn't have entertained the idea.

Maybe.

Having two cocks at once does things to your brain, doesn't it?

#cravingsfromatwistedone #fire emblem three houses #claude von riegan #claude von riegan x reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #fe3h #fe3h claude #fe3h balthus #fire emblem three houses x reader #x reader #n/sfw #claude von riegan x reader n/sfw #balthus von albrecht #balthus von albrecht x reader #fire emblem three houses balthus #fire emblem three houses claude von riegan #fire emblem three houses claude #fire emblem three houses balthus von albrecht

[abbacchiosbelt]

J is for Jealousy prompt 2 “Shouldn’t you be spending more time with me?” For Claude Von Riegan. He’d def be the type to let you go out and then shame you for not being present

It's hard to concentrate when the feeling that you're being watched is ever-present, the skin on the back of your neck tingling unpleasantly. The fact that you're aware of it at all is a sign Claude is doing it purposefully - if he wanted to keep an eye on you without you knowing, it'd be more than easy for him to accomplish. He was being exceedingly obvious, though, the corners of his bright eyes always crinkled with fake mirth whenever you caught his gaze for the nth time tonight.

It was ridiculous, honestly. Claude had been the one to invite you out in the first place, even providing you with a new outfit for the occasion. Sure, it had been tailored to his tastes, but you weren't going to turn down one of the newly-crowned leaders in the kingdom at large. It's not like you and Claude hadn't been flirting over the years, playing a game of cat-and-mouse that never seemed to find the right time to conclude.

But here you were at a fancy Leicester gala in order to celebrate the dawn of a new era, having arrived on Claude's arm to more than a few stares and cheers. Being on Claude's arm meant you were a hot topic of discussion, and even more sought after was the chance to steal a dance with you in hopes to glean any information about him.

You really hadn't expected Claude to be so... Jealous? Upset? It was hard to tell as you were whisked from person to person, Claude himself stuck in endless conversation with the lords and ladies who'd come to ask for his favor in some way. They didn't know Claude at all. They didn't know that keeping him away from you, the one thing he truly wanted tonight, was doing them no favors.

His eyes hadn't left your form for an instant, and his patience was growing thin with the meaningless drivel being spoken at him. Claude watches as you're spun around by your dance partner, and when they attempt to dip you, Claude breaks.

"Excuse me," he says, brusk. It's still polite, but it's enough to get the small crowd around him to instantly part as he beelines toward you. You let out a gasp when you're spun around again only to see Claude stalking toward you, determined gaze on his face. It only takes a moment for him to clear the distance. Without hesitating, he pries your dance partner off of you and shoots them a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I'd like a dance with my date if you don't mind."

The person you'd been dancing with practically stumbles over themselves to apologize, scurrying away as fast as they can. You huff as Claude pulls you into position, his expression showing that he wasn't sorry in the least bit.

"Really, Claude? You could have at least let that poor man finish his dance with me." Claude raises an eyebrow at your words as he begins to move in time with the music, forcing you to follow his steps.

"Shouldn't you be spending more time with me?" Claude's gaze darkens, and your throat suddenly feels very dry. He pulls you closer so that you're chest-to-chest, the action inappropriate in such a formal setting. He doesn't seem to care, though. "I've spent long enough playing this game with you," Claude murmurs, swaying with you in time to the music. His gaze, like it had all night, never leaves yours. "Don't you know that you belong to me?"

request from this set of ask prompts!

#my writing #ask prompt #yandere cw #claude von riegan x reader #yandere claude von reigan x reader #yandere claude x reader #fe3h.txt #yandere fire emblem #fire emblem three houses x reader

[agent-cupcake]

Dramaturgy

Ah yes, another commission to fund my gamer lifestyle from the incredibly lovely and patient @novcaine (thank you <;3)

Pairing: Vampire! Claude von Riegan x f!Reader

Synopsis: Trying to cope with the sudden death of your eccentric father, you fall down a rabbit hole of conspiracy, curses, and your very strange (and very tragic) family history, leading you to the small town of Old Derdriu—and its darkest secret.

Warnings: explicit smut, dub/noncon, kidnap, drugged sex

Tags: horror elements, urban fantasy, blood kink, very unhealthy romantic dynamic, overstimulation, "orgasms make your blood sweeter" trope

Word Count: 27.3k

Notes: I read a few horror stories in an attempt to get the tone right for this one which, as I'm sure you'll notice, heavily influenced me while writing. I really got caught up in lore crafting for this one as well, although the real fun was matching up the serious stuff with Claude's personality.

Act 1

“Thither, full fraught with mischievous revenge, 

Accursed, and in a cursed hour, he hies.”

I.

9th day of Verdant Moon 

As long as I can remember, it’s been just us two. Me and dad against the world. Explorers, adventurers, wanderers. Rogues who chase the horizon to keep the sun close, that’s what he says. Said. There’s always been somewhere new to go, we never stayed anywhere long enough to cast too long of a shadow. 

That’s, more or less, what I said over his ashes. Not that there was anyone around to hear it. A eulogy for nobody. But it was true. It is true. 

Once upon a time (that’s what people say, right?), it must have been when we spent a summer in Arundel living out of a camper trailer because we didn’t have an air conditioner and spent most of the time outside, I asked him why. I don’t know why I remember it so well, but the air smelled like bug spray and pine and campfire smoke. Not ours though, we hardly ever have fires. Dad claims it’s ‘reasonable’ caution. Claimed. 

That night, I don’t know what compelled me to ask, but I did. I asked, “Why do we move so much?” 

He said to listen carefully, and I did, because he never sounded so serious. He said that we have bad luck. He said that it was like water, that it’d pool up around us like a puddle if we stayed still. And I asked why, of course, because that was a confusing thing for him to say. 

And he said, and I’ll never ever forget this, “it’s in your blood.”

I think. Back then, the distinction between ‘your’ and ‘our’ was virtually nonexistent. And maybe, just maybe, my memory is faulty, and he didn’t switch from a collective pronoun to a singular one. I could be seeing ghosts that aren’t there, convincing myself of untruths to explain some of this. It could have been ‘your’, and it could have been ‘our’, but the point is the same no matter how I split it apart. 

I’ve got bad luck. It’s in my blood. I try not to think about that because I don’t want it to be my fault somehow, I don’t even know what I would do if it was. 

But I have to know.

II.

“Excuse me, are you Cheryll Bates?” you asked hopefully, standing at the side of a table where an older woman in a bright pink cardigan sat. Nose crinkled and mouth slightly open in the way only people of a certain age could mimic, she adjusted her blocky red glasses higher to peer up at you. The lenses magnified her small, dark eyes like a bug, not helping the discomfort you felt beneath her unwavering gaze as she scanned you from head to toe. 

“You’re the Macbeth girl?” she finally asked. It took you a moment to realize what she meant. Macbeth, your mother’s last name—a name you only learned of, along with the woman herself, a month previous.

“Uhm, yeah, that’s me,” you said, hoping you didn’t sound as immediately unsettled as you felt. “May I sit?” 

“Be a waste of time if you didn’t,” she said with a slight tinge of an accent, gesturing to the opposite seat with a plump hand. It was the wooden kind with a quilted cushion and long skirt, matching the borderline stifling cozy atmosphere of the cafe. The kind ripe with this musty, dusty, patchouli and tea leaf smell you associated with old women and antiques.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” you said as you sat down, anxiety making your movements awkward. Although Cheryll Bates wasn’t your blood relative, knowing you were related at all was surreal. Throughout your entire life, you’d never heard a single mention of family, of a mom or uncle or grandparents or even a stray cousin twice removed. You should have felt excited, and a part of you was, but you couldn’t stop messing with the cardboard sleeve on your tea, your eyes flitting around the small cafe every few seconds. 

The answers that had gotten you this far had only served to unravel the very fabric of your existence, but you sought them all the same. You had to. Dad used to say that knowing was often uncomfortable, but ignorance was an agony like no other. He said all sorts of wise things, although you learned recently that the truth was not one of them.  

Cheryll’s mouth worked like she was sucking on something, fine lines fanning out around her lips. The sluggishly swaying Tiffany lamp above cast her in an odd, unflattering light, her dark eyes that much more unnerving beneath the shadows. 

“I liked your mama, she was a sweet girl. How much did Indy tell you about her?” 

Indy, as in, your dad. The man who raised you, who cared for you. It was a nickname he had earned in school, apparently, after the titular adventurer and archeologist from an old movie.

“My dad never told me a single thing,” you said, trying not to sound too affected. If you thought about this all as some sort of research project, it was easier. If it wasn’t your life, you could view it dispassionately. So that’s what you tried to do. “I am… aware of what she did though.” 

“It was a terrible thing,” Cheryll said gravely. “Of course she’d already left you in Enbarr with Indy at that point, came home crying that she had a baby girl, that she couldn’t trust herself to even hold you. Nobody had any idea of why she was so upset, we thought she had lost her mind. And then your daddy came to try and bring her back and… well. I can’t imagine how a person could do such a thing.”

Something within you twisted in sympathy of that statement. Even reading an abstract report made your stomach churn. Self immolation as a means of murder suicide wasn’t very common, mostly because it wasn’t practical. The report had no answers for the hows and the whys, only dry facts.

“Do you think it was postpartum depression?” 

Again, Cheryll stared at you with that sour purse of her lips, almost like she was sizing you up. “It was that family of hers,” she said. “I’ll tell you straight, the Macbeths weren’t quite right. Not to say it was their fault, what happened to them, but I won’t glorify the dead, neither. I don’t believe in it. I never wanted my Liv to marry that boy, I knew only bad things would come of it.”

“What do you mean?” you asked. 

“Didn’t you read about what happened to them?” Cheryll asked, an edge of indignation in her voice. “One after another…” She didn’t finish that statement, closing her eyes to visibly, even theatrically, shudder. Then again, having seen the string of death certificates, you didn’t exactly blame her. “I went to a psychic when Liv told me she was getting married to that Macbeth boy, and do you know what they said? Don’t let it happen. But I did. I let her marry into that family, and I’ve had to live with that every day since.”  

“But none of it was on purpose, was it?” you asked cautiously. “The fire was an accident.” 

“An accident,” Cheryll scoffed. “An ‘accident’ that happened right after the two of them had a baby girl. Just like the ‘accident’ that killed your mama’s baby sister. Do you think what happened with your mama was an accident?”

“I thought,” you said slowly, trying to remain calm, wiping that thought from your head and your palms on your jean-clad thighs, “that my mother committed suicide.” 

“All that girl ever wanted was to be a mama. I’m telling you, there was something wrong with the Macbeths and she realized it too late. They were cursed, all of them and especially the girls.” Cheryll paused, contemplating her tea. “That’s why your parents met in the first place. Indy was doing research into the families involved with that tragedy in Derdriu and they were the only two he could find.” Cheryll took a sip, frowned, then continued in an even softer voice. “I s’pose your daddy must have been just as cursed as your mama, but I didn’t know him very well.”

“What tragedy?” you asked.

“The Rain of Blood, they call it.”

“I’ve never heard of that,” you said, getting out your diary to write it down. 

“Reign, not rain,” Cheryll said, peering at your notepad. “Like a king, reign.” 

You erased the word, rewriting it. “Is it a story, or something that happened?” 

“It happened,” Cheryll said. “He and your mama always had a laugh about that, said it was why they had such rotten luck.”

“Rotten luck,” you repeated under your breath, more to yourself than to her.

“They thought it was real funny,” Cheryll said, pulling you from your thoughts. “Indy scorned all the ghost stories, he said that it was a matter of history waiting to be uncovered. It seems like he changed his tune as soon as he saw what happened to them.” 

You thought about your dad who got itchy when you stayed in one place too long, looking over his shoulder like he was being chased by something you couldn’t see. You thought about the puddles of bad luck forming beneath your feet. 

“He might have,” you said, not wanting to think too hard about that. “Do you remember what he said happened? In this Reign of Blood, I mean.” 

Cheryll impatiently waved her hand. “You’d have to find a book or something, I couldn’t tell you other than that. The town burned down after. That’s why you’ve got Derdriu and Old Derdriu. They were connected before the incident, but Old Derdriu had to be completely rebuilt later.”

“So Old Derdriu is newer than Derdriu,” you said, unsure if you were understanding her correctly. 

“Oh, except for the ruins, they kept those,” she said, her head tilting as she remembered. “The castle from way back when Leicester had Kings and Dukes and the like. But I couldn’t tell you any more than that, I’ve never been.”

You wrote that down too, tapping the eraser against your lip as you contemplated all of this new information. Cheryll was drinking her tea, obviously wanting to finish this up. 

“Thank you so much for meeting with me, I really appreciate it,” you said. “Is there anything else you can think of about my dad or…?”

“I’m going to tell you what I wish I had told my daughter,” Cheryll said, looking at you head on. “Leave, now. Go spend the summer on a beach in Enbarr with other kids your age. There’s nothing for you here.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah, I… Yeah. I’ll think about it, thank you.”  

III.

21st day of Verdant Moon

Being alone is worse than I thought it would be. Having to do everything by myself, figure out how to buy tickets and schedule stuff and all of that, it’s exhausting. But if I think about that too much I’ll cry and if I cry I won’t stop so all I can do is try to figure out what the hell any of this means. It has to mean something, doesn’t it? Or it’s all just insane nonsense and I’m the unfortunate product of a long line of nonsensical insanity, left to drift through this world with nothing but a payout from a trucking company and ghost stories from an old widow and some undiagnosed madness that was never treated because I had no idea I had a family history of mental illness because I was lied to, over and over again.  

I can’t think like that. 

Earlier, after I left that cafe, I remembered something. It’s weird to have all of these little memories popping up now, things that seemed so insignificant at the time. Maybe they are and I’m just trying to backfill information to explain all of the crazy things I’m learning about my dad and my family. I don’t know. I was just thinking about how during my first year of high school, my dad had a brief stint as a mechanic northwest in Elidure before working through the various little towns scattered around the old border between Adrestia and Faerghus as a construction worker—he even let me borrow the Indech branded pickup truck he’d gotten as a property manager on Lake Teutates to drive to my junior prom. The same truck where I got my first kiss playing spin the bottle with some people I was sort of friends with. I can’t even remember his name. It’s funny, almost. I remember that he tasted like the shitty booze we were all drinking and got way too slobbery and wore a purple tie and that I could see the Big Dipper right above his head but I don’t remember his name. Moving around so much, I guess, I never really bothered to remember things like that. After I graduated, dad and I left it all behind to spend a year on the Rhodos Coast. I liked it there. It was charming. But I always knew we wouldn’t be there long, dad got these twitchy sorts of tics when we stayed anywhere too long.

Anyway, the point is, I mentioned wanting to go east, to Gloucester or something because I heard they had mild summers, and he said no in a completely flat voice, nothing like I had ever heard from him. He didn’t even look me in the eye, just said no. We went to Gwenhwyvar pretty soon after that, and I didn’t bring it up again. Again, it could all be innocuous. It could all mean absolutely nothing. But I wonder.  What if it did? What if there was a reason he wouldn’t take me here? A real, true reason that didn’t have to do with the horrible things that happened to my family? If he seriously thought I was cursed, why didn’t he tell me? What was he hiding? Well, I’ll never know that.

I looked up the Reign of Blood and barely found anything, it’s all some witchy weird occult stuff and ghost stories. The castle itself is called El Dorado, and it’s this sort of icon of superstition, but especially the Reign of Blood which is used as an explanation for why so many people disappeared in the fire. People debate if it happened more than they discuss what might have actually taken place. A part of me thinks that Cheryll was just messing with me, or lying. I don’t know why she would, but it makes more sense than the alternative. Who am I to believe that somehow I’m involved with this huge conspiracy? People who are hurting make up all sorts of weird things to try and come to terms with their pain, I’m just feeding into that. 

I should leave. If dad didn’t think it was a good idea to be here, maybe it’s not. I should move on, that’s what he’d want, right? Keep on moving, never look back, chase the horizon. 

I’ll leave. There’s no point in any of this, it’ll just keep hurting. I’ll leave. Tomorrow. 

IV.

Before you left the city, destination TBD—but that was a lie, wasn’t it? You knew exactly where you were going, you just didn’t admit it because you knew it was stupid and the mark was the last person to admit they’d been conned—you stopped at your mother’s childhood home. It was a white farmhouse style place on the very edge of what used to be a suburban neighborhood but was now quickly giving into the urban sprawl. The Macbeths hadn’t lived there for over twenty years. You could see each of those years weathered onto the house. It was where your aunt died as a young girl. How? You weren’t so sure. Cheryll mentioned illness, but the official record only gave the date of her passing. That was a few years before your grandparents followed. 

If you expected to feel something upon seeing the place, you were disappointed. Not even a twinge of disquiet that’d come with seeing a place possibly haunted by the dead. 

You felt nothing other than a vague curiosity, a pang of regret, or melancholy. Never, not once in your entire life, had you lived in an actual house. The longest you had ever stayed in one place was Enbarr, where most of your earliest memories took place. And then there were a few years in Mozghuz where your dad taught history, and another few in a small Varley town where he worked as a consultant for a local museum. But those were apartments and townhouses and just you and him. No family, few friends. A life of transience, of existing ephemerally, always in a state of maybe or going or somewhere else.

A tingling sense of unease settled through you right then, although not because of the entirely benign house with which you were having an intense stare down. Why were you here? Not only at this long abandoned home, but in Leicester, in Edgaria. What were you searching for other than ghosts? Were you seriously going to believe in the superstition of an old woman who went to psychics and still grieved for her daughter? Bad things happened, sure, but that was true in a lot of families. That didn’t mean anything, you just wanted to assign meaning retroactively because of your pain.

And it did hurt. It always hurt. You lived in a state of in-between and those gaps were yours to fill all by yourself, overflowing with the pain you pretended you didn’t feel. Staring at the old house, you were acutely aware of the in-between. If you closed your eyes, you could imagine him standing next to you, filling up that empty space. 

“Are you lost, Mr. Jones?” you would tease. “I doubt you’ll find the Lost Ark all the way out here.” 

He would groan and ask who told you about that embarrassing nickname, and you would tell him that it was-

Well, you wouldn’t. Because if he hadn’t died, you would never know Mrs. Bates or that you weren’t actually his daughter or that his friends called him Indy. 

The sound of rattling plastic on concrete startled you out of your increasingly dangerous thoughts. The next door neighbor was dragging in his trash bins. He was an older man, his face wrinkled and tan like leather, his posture a little hunched. 

“Excuse me,” you called, trotting over to him. It was a long shot, but better than nothing.

“Huh?” he asked, looking at you with his thick, bushy eyebrows furrowed. 

“Sorry to bother you,” you said. “I was just wondering how long you’ve lived here?”

“How long?” he clarified, his big eyebrows shooting up. “Huh. Gotta be fifty years, give or take.” He laughed, a dry, crinkly sound. “Too long, I say.”

“Did you know the family that lived here about twenty-five or so years ago?” you asked, gesturing to the big white house. “The Macbeths.” 

As soon as you said the name, he tensed up, his friendly demeanor freezing. “Why do you want to know?” 

You raised your hands innocently, surprised by the instant reaction. “I’m their… their granddaughter,” you told him. “I don’t mean to trouble you at all, I’m only curious.” 

His cheeks puffed before he let out a big breath, that defensive posture shifting. “I hate to say that I can’t tell you much. They were always a real private family, kept to themselves mostly. It caused one heck of a scandal, the way everything ended. Don’t s’pose it sat right with anyone, not after-” He cut himself off, thin lips drawing inwards. “No, it’s not my business.”    

“Please, I just want to know,” you said, still placating. “Anything you can tell me, I’d appreciate.” 

He nodded, but his eyes were still cautious. “I’ll tell you this, the missus was very unwell,” he said. “When the youngest daughter died, people spread all kinds of nasty rumors about her involvement. Completely outrageous, what they said. But towards the end, she wasn’t quite right in the head, always talking about some curse. It was no thing ‘sides the agony of a grieving parent, but people took it as an admission of guilt.” 

“It was all an accident though, wasn’t it?” you asked. “Nobody was at fault.” 

“Exactly. If you want my honest opinion, the family had bad luck. There’s nothing more to be said, what with all those little ‘uns involved.” 

Bad luck. The sun beat down on your skin, sweat beading up on your spine and hairline, but you shivered, casting a sidelong glance at the house as if it was somehow watching you, as if talking about these things was dangerous in any way, as if there was a looming manifestation of a bad luck over your shoulder, drooling in anticipation of getting you now that you were the last Macbeth left. 

“I see,” you said, forcing a smile for the man. “Thank you so much for your time and honesty, I really appreciate it.” 

“Of course, have a good day, miss.” 

Act 2

“Who now is plotting how he may seduce Thee also from obedience, that with him, Bereav’d of happiness, thou may’st partake His punishment, eternal misery”

I.

Essar, Hanneman, “Final Look at El Dorado.” 

Excerpt from National Geographic, Vol. 162 

September, 1991

“It was with great honor that I accepted the final invitation to visit El Dorado, the famed yet forgotten home of Leicester’s Duke, and eventual king, Claude von Riegan. The massive, not to mention opulent, castle sits in the cradle between Riegan and Albrecht, kept safe by the steep basalt wall to the south and acres of privately owned forest. For all of its grandeur and majesty, these gilded halls hide dark secrets, secrets that may never be truly known. Historians quibble over the voracity surrounding the chilling Reign of Blood. Was it, as many say, a tragic plague sweeping the population? Could it have been a cult formed following a period of famine? Or, as some fear, does this golden fortress hide a terrifying past of human sacrifice and Faustian bargains? These secrets are what has led to the permanent closure of El Dorado and…

“…For my tour, and indeed, the last ever tour of El Dorado, I was given a set of very specific instructions for the sake of my safety and the conservation of the historic site. The first demanded I stay close to my guide. The second instructed me to only enter rooms filled with natural sunlight. This, I was told, was the surest method of determining which rooms were safe. Truly, health concerns are as much a part of the closure as anything else, it is simply too risky to maintain. I was…

“...Despite the stories of prowling monsters and dangerous curses, nothing came of the tour, save for these beautiful photos I was able to capture in the hopes of memorializing what was once a golden beacon of wealth, nobility, and power. As of today, El Dorado is entirely inaccessible. Trespassers will not only be gambling with their own safety should they wish to enter, they also risk severe jail time and steep fines. As I…”

II.

The Sagittarius Express left Edgaria at nine the morning, and it would arrive in Derdriu around eight that night. Named after the starry archer, it was a fairly straight shot connecting the two major cities. It would be shorter in a car, but you couldn’t bring yourself to get in one of those. After spending the night in Derdriu proper, you would take the gondola up to Old Derdriu.

Settled into your compartment with only two other people—and one of them had been passed out cold ever since you boarded—you continued your research. In general, you were poorly versed in Leicester history. You knew there had been something going on with one of their dukes wresting power away from the nobles to consolidate power and drive out the domineering Church of Seiros, going so far as to annex some of Faerghus’ land, but not necessarily any details beyond that. 

When you looked into the Reign of Blood and Old Derdriu, the castle El Dorado showed as the first result. It was the only structure that remained when the rest of Old Derdriu was razed to the ground. Those were the ruins Cheryll mentioned, the home of Claude von Riegan, duke turned king. Information about the event was sparse. Even when you did find information about El Dorado or the Reign of Blood, to say there was discourse surrounding it was an understatement. And that was assuming you could find historical facts rather than ghost stories. None of this was helped by the fact that, a hundred or so years before the Reign of Blood, King Claude von Riegan mysteriously disappeared. Such a tantalizing yet inexplicable vanishing act gave rise to stories about his occult dealings. Some people said he was cursed by the goddess Sothis for his vendetta against the Church of Seiros. Since El Dorado was his home, his story muddied the waters when it came to researching the Reign of Blood.

As the train pulled out of the station, you pulled up one of the more promising sources you had found: a Xerox of an old Life magazine article penned by some old guy named Hanneman Essar. The quality was terrible, compressed and squeezed dry of detail, but looking at the photos of the once grand castle made you more certain than ever that it was important. Something about the place drew you in, even as you glanced over your shoulder for the cold claws of whatever bad luck your father warned you of. There was no point in asking yourself why, or if you should or shouldn’t—you already knew you shouldn’t—because your course was set in stone. Carved out long before you arrived in Leicester. 

Those sorts of thoughts, the ones that toyed with the idea of fate or destiny, were entertained in the back of your head, the place where you pushed every other unpleasant or undesirable or stupid thought. 

It was better to focus on facts. 

“Are you interested in El Dorado, young lady?” the man sitting next to you asked. You slowly lowered your tablet, looking up at the speaker. A mustached blond man with blue eyes, his eyebrow quirked curiously. “It’s rare to see someone your age taking an interest in history.” 

That bristled you a bit, both his pompous tone and the implication. Even when your father worked other jobs, his fascination with history never waned, and it was the only area of your education that never faltered from constantly moving schools.  

“It’s an interesting place, don’t you think?” you asked in a measured voice. 

“Yes, it most certainly is,” he agreed. “A place most ripe with curiosity and fiction, a paradise for the easily fooled tourists they usher in.”

“What do you mean?” you asked. 

“I should think my meaning is clear. The people in Old Derdriu spread ridiculous stories about El Dorado to stimulate their tourism, all for a place that they have shut off to the public,” he said. “As for the source of my interest, I am Acheron Phlegethon. I don’t doubt you’ve heard of me. I’ve debunked several famous hoaxes across Fodlan, including the fiction of Shambhala’s subterranean civilization. Now I have set my sights upon the legendary vampires of El Dorado.”

“Vampires?” you asked, your eyes widening. 

Acheron squinted at you suspiciously. “I thought you said you had done your research.”

“I only just started,” you said, shrugging in an attempt to hide your ignorance. “I guess that explains why it’s called the Reign of Blood.” 

“Bah, a fiction,” Acheron said, waving his hand. “There is no evidence of the cult they claim existed, let alone of the vampire they insist was the leader. Tell me, if the town or its people were truly cursed, why did retribution stop with a single fire that could easily be attributed to a natural cause? The deaths are the same, nothing more than a result of the violent beasts that are known to prowl that area. As I said, they sell these stories to bring tourists into their town. It really is the most insidious scheme, one that I will not tolerate. My next book will be the most comprehensive look at this scam to date, it’s sure to be a hit.”

“How do you know?” you asked. “Do you have any evidence that it’s a lie?” 

“Evidence?” he asked, baffled. “Why, common sense. There is no such thing as vampires or curses, need I any better evidence than that?”

“Yes.”   

Acheron’s eyes narrowed further, his mustache twitching. “It seems you are too young to be sensible. I recommend you continue to study historical facts instead of believing in superstitious bunk.” He paused, his head tilting. “If you give me your email address, I can add you to the preorder list for my next book. I’ve no doubt that you would find it most edifying.”  

“No, thank you,” you told him. 

“Hm, very well. I shan’t disturb you further,” Acheron said, pulling a pillow around his neck and a set of headphones from his bag. “Oh, and good luck with your research, young lady.” 

“Thanks, you too,” you told him, although he was already pulling on an eye mask and probably couldn’t hear you. 

You turned away from the man to look out the window, your thoughts whirling. If you believed that your family could be cursed, couldn’t you also believe in vampires? The logical side of your brain said no, emphatically rejecting the notion because it was ridiculous. Utterly insane. 

Something in your gut said otherwise. The tight lead ball of anxiety burning in your stomach, the thing drawing you towards Old Derdriu despite everything that screamed at you to stay away. You looked again at the distorted photos of El Dorado, trying to imagine it in its prime. It must have been a sight to behold, unlike anything you had ever seen before. 

It didn’t matter what you did or did not believe. It was just like you told Acheron, you needed evidence first. Rubbing a hand over your face, you returned to your reading. 

III.

24th day of Verdant Moon

I had a dream last night. Sometimes I get these wicked nightmares which I guess makes sense considering what happened but last night it wasn’t a nightmare which almost makes it worse because when I woke up crying, it wasn’t just because I was alone, but because I feel so alone that it hurts, it hurts bad. People aren’t made to be alone. I don’t know how to be anything else than a set, a pair. It was always just me and him and now that he’s gone I have a gaping hole in my chest and I think that if I chase down answers it’ll mean something but I know it won’t, I’ll wake up just as alone as I did this morning. 

My brain conjured this idea of a man just to taunt me, I think. A beautiful man who looked at me like he knew me, and I knew him even though I don’t. I woke up the second before our hands touched and just like that we (we, us) were out in the nothing of Fodlan’s great empty flatlands and there was a high wind warning and a great big semi-truck with Ernest Shipping painted on the side and a “rate my driving” sticker on the back. And then there were squealing tires and creaking metal and crunching glass and so much noise from all sides as the world closed in around me, the cab of dad’s vintage SUV giving way to make room for something else crudely forcing itself through. The wind was screaming, and so was I. But dad wasn’t, he didn’t make any noise as his body got crushed. Dead on impact, the first responders said. And yet, after I wriggled out of the mangled mess of what must have been a car—moments before it caught fire—I was relatively unharmed. A miracle, they said. Lucky, they told me. If dad hadn’t swerved the way he did, it would have been me who died. And it’s not even like I’m traumatized, right? I can write about this all I want, I told it to the police and the lawyer and everyone about it and it’s all fine, I’m perfectly fine, I’m well adjusted and alone and accursed, and I want to scream and be angry and cry until I’m all dried up but nothing, nothing is going to make it stop, all I can do is chase down this fantasy and shove all of this down because if this is what sanity feels like, I don’t want to be crazy. 

In that dream, the man I saw had beautiful eyes. Blue green, like a sea breeze or something else equally poetic and reckless, surrounded by these thick, dark eyelashes. Now that I’m awake, all I can do is ascribe meaning to the meaningless, but it was like he was inviting me to him. I’ll be in Old Derdriu tomorrow and I’m probably just losing it but I keep thinking that it's where I need to be. 

IV.

Old Derdriu was more or less what you expected. Small, quaint, and beautiful. It had the unique mixture of mountainous charm and oceanic appeal, giving the fresh air a green, salty weight. You spent the first day getting a measure of the place, glad for the mild weather. There was some displeasure when you realized one Mr. Phlegethon had checked into a room right next door to your own the day before—he even attempted to catch you in another conversation before you excused yourself—but you were quickly absorbed into your preliminary attempts at researching the small town.  

Although all of it was only a prelude to, or maybe a distraction from, what you truly wanted. After lunch, you rented a pretty metallic bicycle at a place on main street. It fit the scenery, looking a little dated with its tall handlebars and a basket. An uncomfortable reference considering why you were here. All the same, hi-yo silver away, you left town to follow the northeast highway as per the directions on the map you bought earlier. Unfortunately, you quickly realized what you had already known to be true. El Dorado was exactly as inaccessible as Mr. Hanneman explained in his old article. The dirt road turn off was gated and locked, the rusty fence adorned with a large, angry “PRIVATE PROPERTY” sign. Even the famous golden tower could not be seen through the overwhelming barricade of trees.

Standing there on the empty road, the bike propped between your legs and dust and the thick scent of pine filling your lungs, unease worked through you. It came upon you slowly, and then all at once. The world was telling you to leave. Winds quieted, birds hushed, even the sunlight dimmed a shade. But something else beckoned you, calling out so vividly you felt yourself lurch forward a step, the bicycle wheels turning a notch. A wild and insane part of your mind was prepared to abandon it right there and break past the intimidating tree line, damn the consequences or legality. You even thought you could probably find El Dorado yourself, no matter how deeply it was buried, that its call would lead you directly to it. Blood following blood, an innate tracker buried in your DNA that had gotten you this far.

To spite the heavy silence, you laughed at how ridiculous that thought was. A wild, uncomfortable laugh. The trees swallowed the sound whole. 

Turning around, you rode back into town. Only a part of you truly understood the choice you made while standing there in the stillness of the forest, although you knew absolutely that it was the only possible ending. 

V.

28th day of Verdant Moon

I looked it up. People can create false memories, it’s a symptom of trauma or mental illness, our brains are suggestable and weak and we just make stuff up by mixing real things with other information. Other information, like all of this weird shit I’ve been reading about El Dorado and Old Derdriu and the original Lady Macbeth and everything. Witch, wiccan, whatever. Vampires aren’t enough, curses aren’t enough, why not just add in a witch? Why the hell not. 

The dreams I’ve been having, I think it’s something like that. Constructed memories of El Dorado and that same guy, the one with the pretty eyes. It’s weird though, maybe normal, they’re not bad dreams. Just about the castle, and him. It’s a break from feeling like I’m going to suffocate on all of this. They don’t feel real, exactly, just…

I don’t know, there’s no point in dwelling on it, I’m probably doing more damage by thinking about it so hard because then I just remember how alone I am and start tearing up and it’s so stupid. This journal is going to be used as a case study one day. People go wild for crazy women, right? There’s a whole cast of them flowing through my veins.   

VI.

Acheron’s premise that the people in Old Derdriu hoped to make money off of the notoriety of their past was ridiculous. Questions regarding El Dorado were answered bluntly, but icily. Most people seemed like they wanted nothing to do with the dark history, especially not to make a profit off of it. You could say that you understood and respected it, but your frustration only mounted the more you realized how inaccessible the truth was. Your entire life had been built on convenient ignorance of unsavory history, and here you were.

Again.   

That was fine. Your dad faced all sorts of difficulty in his historical research, you remembered him complaining about it on more than one occasion. So you did the thing that wasn’t committing felony trespass and went to the library to gather information. Research. 

The library in Old Derdriu was easy to track down, within a short ride from the inn. What you didn’t expect was what you would find. In the front, it was fairly typical. The reading area and magazine shelves and receptionist desk, even a few computers along the wall. But, behind the front desk was what you could only describe as a tower of bookshelves. The unconventional arrangement had you craning your neck to look up, shocked at how the shelves expanded upwards for what looked like three floors with twisting stairs and platforms providing access to the collection. Every place that could store a book, had a book. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how they were organized.  

A lone girl sat behind the desk in front of the tower of books, the only other person in the front. Her name plate read Flayn, and she twirled one of her long curls around her finger as she idly flipped through a magazine. When you approached, she looked up with a big smile.

“Hello!”

“This is… the library?” you asked. 

“Yes, it is. Welcome,” Flayn responded sweetly. “If you need assistance finding anything, I would be more than happy to help.” 

“I would really appreciate that,” you said, tearing your eyes from the tower of books to look at her directly. “I’m looking for books about the history of this town, specifically El Dorado. I’m not particular, whatever seems the most informative.” 

She blinked, her smile lapsing somewhat. “Of course,” she finally said, standing up. “If you take a seat at a table over there, I will see what I can find.” 

“Thank you so much,” you said with a nod. Slowly, admiring the scope of the library, you walked over to one of the tables and sat down. While you waited, you pulled out your tablet to continue flipping through websites that had mention of El Dorado. This one was old, the kind with a black background and dark red cursive font. There was very little to actually be learned, it was a ghost story that told a risque tale of blood sacrifices and a sex cult.

It was all ridiculous, of course, but one line gave you trouble, made your stomach turn uneasily.

Why was it fire? The author wrote. Not, I think, to rid the town of some undead threat. After all, the vampire was hiding away in El Dorado. No, they chose fire to burn the witches.

“Excuse me,” somebody said, calling your attention away from the unsettling words and up to the narrowed green eyes of an older man.

“Yes?” you asked, trying not to look guilty beneath his piercing glare. You hadn’t done anything, but something about him made you feel as if you had, you just didn’t know what it was yet.  

“From your request, I can only assume you are researching El Dorado,” he said, his voice as stiff and stony as his demeanor. 

“I am.”

“And what, may I ask, is your reason for conducting such research?” 

You floundered for a moment, caught off guard and confused. Finally, you shook your head and shrugged. “Curiosity, I guess,” you said.

“Are you in any way associated with a man who calls himself Acheron Phlegethon?”

“What?” you asked, confusion replacing the discomfort. “No, not at all.” 

“Are you sure?” he pushed.

“Well, I’ve met him. He tried to sell me his books,” you said, frowning. 

“Are you sure that’s all?” 

You realized pretty quickly what this man was actually asking, what he wanted to hear. “I’m here for… personal reasons,” you explained. “This place has meaning to me. Er, it had meaning to… someone very important to me.” 

“I see,” the man said. You could practically see the calculations going on behind his stare, your words reduced down to ones and zeroes as he analyzed them.  

“Is that okay?” you asked. 

“Yes, of course. I would never withhold knowledge from the genuinely curious. I suggest you start with this one,” he told you, setting down a large book bound in green. “It offers the most comprehensive history of Old Derdriu. These,” he set down two more books, “are supplementary material. While I cannot vouch for their factual integrity, they provide further insight as to what researchers have discovered about Old Derdriu.” 

“Thank you,” you said, pulling the books towards yourself, almost afraid he would take them away. There was that feeling, that possessive need. A craving, even.  

His lips thinned out as he considered you, his icy expression locked in place. “I ask that you do not cause any trouble while you’re here. The people who live here have suffered enough harassment.”

“I understand, honestly,” you said emphatically, although his warning made your stomach clench and you weren’t lying, but was it really the truth that you weren’t going to ‘cause trouble’? Did you mean that? Could you? 

VII.

[The following text are segments taken from letters found in the attic of a Derdriu home with other antiques. Forensic analysis can date them as being contemporaneous with the burning of Old Derdriu, however much of the contents have suffered such severe decay that entire sentences and paragraphs are illegible. Due to this, it is impossible to determine the author or glean any further context. Notes have been added in an attempt to clarify certain points, but without support, all researchers can offer is speculation.]

“My dear sister...discovery, but I fear I will not…seems that my death is inevitable, all I can do is…she offered me a chance, a slim hope that is buried beneath the earth…” 

“...sister… bad news… if something good came of it, does that make it right?... better left buried lest we… believe in such stories?... truly be Claude? [this is possibly a reference to Claude von Riegan. The mysterious circumstances surrounding his disappearance have long been a point of interest for those interested in the occult—See page 127 for further information]... put my trust in legend, or… risk my soul for… shall sleep, tomorrow we will return to the site and search for…”

“…I know nothing of the truth, it is obscured by… can trust, she claims… of the Agarthans [The “Agarthans'' are another popular yet unproven occult group based upon an ancient civilization. Artifacts supposedly associated with them were found in El Dorado]... and Lady Macbeth hopes to… blood and soul, I…” 

“...forgive me… of my selfishness and hubris. I am frightened… a blight upon us… she will suffer the curse of Seiros [The goddess of the Church of Seiros, who has historically been used as an occult figure following the purge of faith from Liecester]... and yet it is too late…” 

“He is awake. The Reign of Blood has begun.” 

[This line is one of the most contested within these letters. Since it is on its own page, with this single preserved sentence written in a shaky hand, there are those who argue it was included in order to bolster the cult and supernatural narrative surrounding El Dorado and the burning of Old Derdriu. If these letters are accurate, it is the last communication documented from any of the 257 people who disappeared, likely perished in the fire that reduced the town to ash.]      

VIII.

“Hold on a moment, young lady,” a familiar voice called. You paused, turning to face Acheron as he hurried down the hall, stopping you from entering your room. 

“Yes?” you asked, more than a little suspicious. With the key in the lock to your room, at least you had a swift method of escape. 

Acheron came to a stop, dramatically swiping at his shiny forehead. “I have a proposition for you.”

Your jaw dropped a little at the blunt statement. “I-I don’t think-”

“We have the same goal here, no?” Acheron asked, steamrolling over your obvious conclusion without the slightest shred of self awareness. “To discover the truth behind the infamous El Dorado. And yet we are waylaid by these pesky townsfolk at every turn. I have had enough of it, I say. It’s time to take action.” 

“What do you mean?” you asked hesitantly. 

He looked around the empty hallway before leaning forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I have it on good authority that the castle’s security is not as good as they would have us believe. If one knows how to circumvent it, that is.” 

You considered him for a long moment, chewing on your lip and refusing to openly indulge your immediate excitement. “What are you saying?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Acheron asked. “I would see the famed El Dorado for myself.” 

“It’s dangerous to go inside, people get sick,” you said.

“Bah. The stories about any sort of lingering sickness within its walls are wildly exaggerated. The local youths brag about having visited as a rite of passage. If those scamps can make it in and out, I see no reason to believe I should be capable of anything less. I, of course, am extending the offer to you only out of courtesy. You hunger for the truth as desperately as I, do you not?” 

You considered him for a long moment, wondering if this was some sort of setup. 

“When do you intend to go?” you finally asked.

“Tomorrow night,” Acheron told you. “I would quit this dismal town as quickly as possible. All I need is good footage and photographs of the inside.” 

“Do you have the right gear?” 

“Gear?” he asked, frowning. 

Of course it would have been too much to think that a man like him would think this through. “Yes, gear. Flashlights, a map, the right kind of clothes—”

“Is all that really necessary?” he asked, cutting you off. 

“Have you ever done something like this?” you asked, omitting the fact that you hadn’t. But, unlike Acheron, you had common sense and some experience with night hiking. “You can’t just rush in unprepared, you’ll get hurt.” 

“Hm.” Acheron’s mustache twitched and you could tell he was thinking up some way to argue with you. But, eventually, reason won out. “Very well, I shall procure whatever is necessary tomorrow.” 

“If you buy this stuff town, they’ll know what you’re planning.” 

Acheron’s eyebrows furrowed. “Then I shall make a trip into Derdriu and return in the evening, we can meet at the road leading to El Dorado upon my return.” 

You wanted to argue, to deny your interest on the basis of not wanting to break the law. The risk factor was far too high, you were a fool to go along with it.

“I found a book today that has the plans for the inside, I’ll find a way to make a copy of them,” you said, anxiety and anticipation going wild in your gut because you knew how wrong this was, but you also knew that it was what was bound to happen from the start, something you couldn’t change or control. “Let me give you money, I’ll make a list of what we’ll need.” 

Act 3

"The monstrous sight

Strook them with horror backward but far worse

Urged them behind: headlong themselves they threw

Down from the verge of Heav'n" 

I.

31st day of Verdant Moon

This will only end in the hallowed halls of El Dorado, an owed price for the folly of Lady Macbeth, damning her bloodline, bringing a curse to us all. 

Yeah. Like this is some sort of fucking movie or something. I wonder if insanity is a legal defense for criminal trespass. I don’t think I’m insane, but isn’t that what crazy people all say? Yes officer, I only broke into this blocked off historical site because I had a dream where a beautiful man told me to. Also, incidentally, I had to figure out if I’m cursed or not so I can decide if I’m the cause of my dad’s death. Oh, and you might be interested to know that my great great great great whatever grandmother was a witch and vampires might be real.

It’s foolproof. 

II.

Acheron was right that sneaking into El Dorado was easy. Too easy. Disturbingly easy. After you got past the gate, there was only a security booth to creep past which should have forced you into the view of security cameras, but a convenient hole in the fence circumvented that obstacle. If you were even slightly more worried about getting caught, or maybe slightly less desperate to see inside, you would have given up right then and there on the grounds that breaking and entering shouldn’t have been as simple as ducking through some trees and making a tense, but relatively short, trek through the woods.

All sense left you when you broke the clearing into what used to be the grand lawn of El Dorado, the vague threat of getting caught by angry landowners falling far to the wayside as you stood in front of the grand majesty of King Claude von Riegan’s personal castle, staring down the centuries old castle with equal parts trepidation and excitement. 

Other than the cicadas and frogs and slight wind, the night was very quiet. Acheron fiddled with his camera, getting ready to take footage of the inside. All you had to potentially take photos with was your phone, although you weren’t inclined to gather evidence of your crime. It was enough to watch, to look, to commit this sight to memory. 

And what a sight it was. Nothing like you had ever seen, except in dreams that were not dreams but you didn’t dare call memories. Overgrown with thick, possessive greenery and fallen into a state of dull disrepair, the castle was truly a breathtaking spectacle, the years of ruin only added to the sense of tragic mystery. It was nothing like the stout fortresses of the west, or the elaborate Imperial complexes in the south. Terrible with its jagged maw of an entrance, the intimidating golden tower looming above. Beautiful, the result of long lost artistry. Foreboding and alluring. 

No longer were you looking over your shoulder out of paranoia, but staring down each window and shadow of the castle’s aged, inscrutable countenance for some sign of the life you could practically feel thrumming from within. But, even suffering from the hyperactive state of distress, you knew you couldn’t leave. It wasn’t interest or curiosity, it was a fixation, an urge, a compulsion. 

You had to go inside. 

You had to get away.

“Wait, before I forget-” You pulled out the set of walkie talkies you had brought. They were the ones you and your dad used when you went hiking. You didn’t want to think of that. “Testing, testing, one two three.” Your voice, crinkling through the static, exited the other walkie talkie. 

“What is that?” Acheron asked, raising a thin eyebrow. 

“Walkie talkies,” you said, handing him the second. “In case we get separated somehow. There’s no cell service out here.” 

“Do you intend on making a private excursion?” he asked.

“No, but…” you looked at El Dorado, uneasiness once again sinking through your gut. It was as if the castle itself was watching you, the eyeless windows winking in the moonlight. “Just in case.” 

“Hm.” Acheron clipped the walkie talkie onto his belt, and so you did you. It was too bulky for your little sling bag. “Well then, after you.” 

“What?”

“You have had more time to familiarize yourself with the layout, it’s only natural that you should lead the way.” 

You wondered if Acheron was scared. It was difficult to tell if he was any more pale than usual, and he wore the same blustery confidence as usual. It didn’t matter. If he got scared and bolted, you would do this alone. You were getting used to that, right?  

“Okay,” you said. You weren’t scared. Maybe you felt a little nervous. But you weren’t scared. 

Staying vigilant for any strange movement or sounds, you ascended the cracked, overgrown steps, telling yourself over and over that you were not afraid. There were no such things as vampires, ghosts, or curses. And if there were, you would know for yourself. Answers. You would get answers. 

The large door was mostly intact, but it was stuck in a perpetual state of half-open. Almost like an invitation. A horror cliche. There was a pinch in your bladder and your heart thudded too heavily in your chest and the animal part of your brain didn’t want to breach the shadows and go inside. You were propelled not of your own free will, but of some existential force that tugged you forward. Step by step by step until you were inside the breezeway, the central entrance hall of El Dorado. 

The general plan that the two of you had discussed before sneaking into the private estate was to get into the Golden Hall, the three story vaulted ballroom off of the northern wing. It had been the jewel of the gilded paradise of El Dorado, but nobody had seen it for decades because of the infection that supposedly filled the inside of the castle. The path there would take you through the breezeway, the atrium, the courtyard, the pleasure plaza, and the dining room. Not into the heart of El Dorado, but deep into its rotted guts. 

A very quiet, but incredibly persistent, part of your mind pushed you there with the hushed notion that it was where your dreams took place. You had to confirm for yourself that it was completely different in real life, that your mind was making things up. Even if you gleaned no further insight from this misguided exertion, settling that fact would go a long way in convincing you once and for all that you weren’t cursed, just a little mad. At least one of those problems could be solved with medication.  

Broken glass littered the breezeway, hidden like little jewels within piles of leaves and refuse and the broken bits of castle that had wilted to the ground. You tried to imagine El Dorado’s beauty in its prime, shining gold and inviting, sunshine filtering in through the dome ceiling and high windows, wind playfully teasing the long curtains. But you couldn’t, it was too dark. Darker than you might have thought, darker than the thickest section of the woods, so dark that the places outside of the range of your ThruNite seemed to be physically encroaching shadows rather than void of light. 

Hanneman had been told to only go into rooms where the light touched, that it was the only way to stay safe, but that didn’t seem factually sound, did it? Surely that wasn’t the most accurate method of determining which areas were safe. The only thing that actually feared sunlight, if myths and legends were to be believed, were vampires. There was no sunlight now, and you doubted vampires feared LED’s. 

Gripping your light in a sweaty fist, you forced yourself forward, the ground crunching beneath your boots. The terrible, heavy dread got worse with each step. It sat like a weight right behind your sternum, beating behind your eye. The other part of the feeling, the insidious part, was the familiarity. 

Bad. Bad. Bad. 

You wanted to explain the feeling as nothing more than animalistic paranoia and some malignant fear of the dark, but it made the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, your breathing picking up. All across the breezeway—throughout most of the castle, really—balconies lined the halls and rooms. You couldn’t see what was above, there was no light coming in, not even diffused moonlight. Somebody could have been watching from above and you’d never know. 

Keep going. It was fine. Everything was fine. 

“I told you that this place was safe,” Acheron said, startling you. “If it weren’t, this level of upkeep would be impossible. I have little doubt that they hire people to ensure the roof doesn’t cave in for occasions just like this.”

 You exhaled, looking around with that thought in mind. He had a point, the place did seem a little too well maintained for the number of years that had passed. Then again, maybe it was just good construction. Or maybe something that still lived here. Something ancient, something immortal.  

The two of you left the breezeway, entering the main atrium hall. Hanneman had featured many many photos of this room in his article; he had been fascinated by the intricately carved stonework. It was too dark to see much of that now. In fact, you very badly wanted to get out of the atrium as soon as you entered it because of how unnervingly dark it was. Two tiers of balcony circled around the ground floor, shadows lurking ominously right behind what was left of the railing. Every little sound echoed, rippling through the motionless air. High above, a chandelier caught the shine of your flashlights, moving with some breeze you couldn’t feel.  

Something made a sound, a scuffling. To your right, on the stairs. You flicked your flashlight to it quickly, your hands shaking with adrenaline. 

“Did you hear that?” you asked breathlessly, nervously holding the light on the steps as if to keep them from moving. But there was nothing, just the large stone staircase and decaying walls and long-abandoned artistry memorialized and forgotten in some old Life magazine article.   

“Hear what?” Acheron asked. 

You exhaled harshly, looking away from the empty stairs and kicking yourself for being so jumpy. It could just be a stray animal. That’s what you told yourself. Rats, racoons, birds, any number of things could have made El Dorado their new home. 

“Nothing.” 

There was some relief when you entered the courtyard, even if the scent of overbearing foliage and vivid green rot was nearly suffocating. At least there was more air, and you could see the stars twinkling above. Full, or almost full, the moon draped the open space in silvery light. Ignoring the overgrown shrubbery, flowers, and grass, you looked around at the balconies wrapping around the second floor. The construction of El Dorado was almost made for someone wanting to spy on guests. Or intruders. Acheron was talking to the camera but you weren’t really listening, too busy focusing to hear any sign of movement, trying to find what was making you so uneasy.

Vampires in El Dorado. Lurking in the dark, in the moonlight, waiting for ignorant fools to wander in. A missing king, a goddess’s curse, a burning witch. The Reign of Blood. You could almost smell it, the tangy iron of blood and the thick smoke of a town burning to the ground.

“Are you coming?” Acheron called. 

You shook your head in an attempt to cast out those thoughts before scurrying to catch up, passing the large stone fountain that had once been the featured centerpiece of the courtyard before the ripe overgrowth took over. The standout piece was a large, intricately carved deer. Once, it must have been a magnificent beast, but now its head was cracked in half, the prongs of one set of antlers sticking out of a murky film covering the stagnant water settled in the basin. Something dark grew over the broken statue, starting on its fragmented head and dripping down to give the gruesome illusion of blood. It watched you pass with the remaining stone eye, forever frozen in a proud, alert stance.

A breeze trembled throughout the courtyard. The castle taking in a breath. You shivered, pointedly forcing your gaze forward.  

Acheron lagged behind to force you to take the lead under the pretense of messing with his camera, leaving you to enter the so-called pleasure plaza first. Careful to not get caught by the jagged row of broken glass and wooden teeth attempting to bar your entrance, you stepped into the decaying mouth of El Dorado’s recreation wing. This was the place where Leicester’s elite once came to enjoy themselves, a yawning space that time had seen to shambles. Because of the many doorways and hiding spots, this room was even more unnerving than the atrium. You would have to cross it to get where you needed to go. 

If you were being entirely honest, you weren’t sure you had any desire to see the Golden Hall anymore. Rather, you weren’t sure it was worth the stress of getting there. Considering the unreasonable fear you felt going through areas you knew to be safe, you worried what you might find in a place nobody had seen for so long, worried about what secrets were better left to die. And that pulsing, pounding, beating of familiarity just kept getting worse, harder, closer. Louder. 

You needed to get out.

You needed to know. 

Inhaling the sweet scent of rot and age, you continued onward, your footsteps hollow against the sinking floor. Each sweep of your flashlight caused the shadows to move, to crawl away from you as if to hide. It hit each object without any subtlety, erasing details and making the darkness that much darker.

You forced yourself to carry on. Carefully, cautiously, unafraid. That’s what you kept telling yourself. Show no fear and all that. Although, that began with the presumption that there was something around to see your fear. 

Your skin erupted in painful prickling chills almost as soon as that thought came to you. And then, in the same moment or before or after or so close you couldn’t tell the difference, you saw movement out of the corner of your eye. You flashed your light quickly around the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of a rat or some other disgusting but inoffensive animal to reassure yourself that you were safe because you still had hope that this was all innocent, that you were the crazy one for believing in ridiculous stories of the supernatural. 

Something retreated behind the doorway. 

Your stomach sank with freezing cold ice and panic. That was no rat. 

A person? It certainly seemed human sized. Those were footsteps too, weren’t they? Disguised beneath the sound of your own? And if it were somebody with authority, somebody who wanted you to leave because you were trespassing, they wouldn’t be lurking around watching you. So that meant it was somebody doing the same thing that you were. But, somehow, you didn’t feel as if it were another trespassing explorer. You felt it in your gut.

“Acheron, hold on,” you said quietly, stopping. 

“Yes? What is it?” he asked loudly. Too loud, bumbling around with his footsteps echoing against the walls as he turned to face you. You winced, holding up a hand to shade your eyes from the glare of his light. 

“We need to leave,” you told him, speaking softly and calmly. “Now.” 

“But we’ve hardly seen anything,” he said. You couldn’t see his frown, but you could hear it. 

“I’m telling you, we need to leave,” you said softly, desperately trying to remain calm. “We’re not alone.” 

“Someone is here?” he asked loudly, shining his light in a large circle, catching it all on camera. “Show yourself!”

“Acheron!” you hissed. 

“Don’t you want a head start?” an unfamiliar voice asked. No. Not unfamiliar. Jarring though, because you didn’t recognize why you would know it. What memory was attached to that disembodied sound. 

Acheron let out a high pitched sound of terror which scared you nearly as bad as the voice, almost causing you to fall over.

“Who is that? Show yourself!” he demanded. No answer. Of course there was no answer. No sound, not even the faint echo of footsteps. 

“We have to leave,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Acheron, your voice an octave too high with stress. “We have to get out of here.”

“It’s nothing. I told you that the local youths often come here, did I not?” he asked, maintaining that feigned sense of control. “I demand you show yourself!” 

“Acheron, please,” you begged, tugging at his jacket. He kept his camera fixed on where the voice had come from. It was from the hall branching off of the entrance out of the pleasure plaza and into the courtyard, essentially barring your most direct route of escape.

“You really ought to listen to the lady,” the voice said, just as casual, just as playful, just as recognizable. You hadn’t really been aware of a distinct echo beforehand, but the room was large enough to cause the voice to bounce around, to obscure the speaker’s location. Not only disembodied, omniscient. And you were stupid and crazy but you were acutely aware of how dangerous this was, it was a primal instinct to recognize danger. 

Freeze finally ran its course, returning some semblance of sensation to your numb limbs to take flight. You didn’t think, you ran, turning away from the voice to bolt in the opposite direction. Right then, you didn’t care whether or not Acheron decided to follow. Since you couldn’t leave the way you came in, you picked the nearest door. Terror thundered in your chest, a compliment to the sound of your footsteps on the rotting floor. You, with Acheron right on your heels, entered into a music room or another sitting room, or some other area where the wealthy and powerful whiled away their hours of excess. You shouldn’t have looked behind yourself, but you did and you could see, silhouetted in the moonlight from the courtyard, the unmistakable form of another person. And then you were pushing Acheron further into the dark with a fistful of his jacket, driven only by the need to get away. The door was intact enough for you to throw it closed behind you, and the sound rattled through the air.

The scent of wet rot was stronger back here, but you didn’t even think about stopping. The door didn’t open as you both scrambled through the room and into the hall, but you knew from the plans that there were other ways in and out of most rooms in the castle. If not directly, then from above, or even from below. 

“This is the wrong way,” Acheron told you crossly, although his control was fraying with his labored breathing. 

“Just run,” you told him, pushing at his back. You could have let go and run past him, but you were too scared of being alone, of having to navigate this dark, creepy place by yourself. 

He didn’t argue. Or maybe he did, you didn’t even know, couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of your heart and harsh breathing, your body synthesizing musty air into iron-tanged rasps that cut up in the inside of your throat. You had no idea where the hallway you ran into led, but it didn’t really matter. Away, that was what mattered. The hallway was narrow and stank of humid rot, entirely dark save for your flashlights, but the room at the end had windows, filling it with blessed moonlight. Slamming the door behind yourself again, you continued forward, stumbling to keep up with Acheron. 

Until you were yelping in surprise, the floor giving out beneath your feet. There was a brief moment where gravity hooked beneath your bellybutton and yanked, and then the floor hit, and it hit hard. Although you instinctively tried to fall in a slightly upright position, the momentum dragged you into an awkward roll, your body curling so as to protect your head. For a miniature eternity, there was no air, there was no thought in your head, there was no light save for the blinding radiance as impact blazed white hot agony through your head. Gasping, writhing on the cold, hard floor, you blinked teary eyes, staring at the hole that had just eaten you with some vague idea that you were dreaming, that this was all a made up fantasy. It was unreal, and it was painful.  

A moment later, a beam of light hit your face. So bright, like a little sun. You sucked in a lungful of air, tasting blood. Then, almost unconsciously, you jerked sideways and lurched around onto your knees. The pain enveloped you in a mad rush all once, your empty body dry heaving with nausea. Only, there wasn’t enough air to expel the sour bile in your stomach, leaving you to choke and suffocate on nothing instead. That tapered off into a few pathetic coughs a moment later, your entire body shaking and clammy. 

“Oh dear,” Acheron said, his voice thin with fear. “Are you hurt?”

All you could manage in response was a groan, and then a broken sob. But fear was a good motivator to get moving, and adrenaline shocked your system enough to force you upright. Now that you could remember, more or less, how to breathe, the worst of the damage was where you had initially landed on your hip, your shoulder hitting nearly as hard a second later. It sent violent, lurid pain straight down your arm and leg, the entire left side of your body alight as if from a branding iron.

“I’m fine,” you croaked out, not knowing if it was true but knowing that it needed to be true. 

“Thank goodness,” Acheron said, his voice heavy with relief. “I don’t suppose you see any way to climb back up?” 

You couldn’t see anything outside of the hot spotlight from above, your ThruNite had gone dark and skittered away somewhere into the shadows. At first, you only felt panic at the realization, terror that you were stuck in the darkness. It took you a long moment to think past the pain and the dark and the fear to remember that you had a backup light. After a few tries of fumbling with the zipper on your sling bag, you got your sweaty fingers around the yellow plastic base of your second flashlight. It was nothing so good as the hefty ThruNite, emitting a buttery yellow glow, but it was something. You waved it around, although you knew it was a lost cause before looking. The hole you had fallen into was rotted all the way through, leaving a few jagged boards around the edges, some of which you had brought with you on the way down, and parts of which were embedded in your hands and knees. There was no way back up. 

“No,” you said, painfully staggering to your feet and brushing yourself off as best you could. “I’ll have to find the stairs, I think… I think there’s some in the southern wing. Meet me there and we can—” 

“And stay here?” he demanded. “Are you mad? No, no, I simply cannot. I shall… I shall run and send help. Yes, that is the best course of action.”

You squinted against the blinding beam of his flashlight, mute with confused shock for a long, silent moment. 

“Acheron, you can’t do that,” you said softly, more bewildered than afraid. 

“You cannot expect me to retrieve you myself,” he said defensively. 

“No, no. You can’t just… just leave me here,” you said weakly, panic closing in around your heart, ice fizzling out like bubbles in your head. 

“I will not put myself at risk for your own carelessness,” he told you harshly. “If you remain there, the rescuers should find you quickly.” 

And that was it. His light disappeared, leaving you blind and blinking up at the hole in the desperate hopes of seeing his face, of seeing some sign that you weren’t actually alone. 

“Acheron,” you called, unable to keep your ragged voice soft. “Please don’t leave me here.” Nothing. You called out again, and nothing. No footsteps, not even the sound of doors opening or closing, although the violent rush of blood could have covered noises like that. And then there was only your heavy breathing and the sour bite of vomit in your throat and the creaking sound of the castle’s breathing in time with your own. 

With shaking hands, you got out the walkie talkie. It took you two tries to find the button, and then the sound of static. “Acheron?” you asked. “Do you copy, Acheron?”  

You didn’t get an answer. At least, not from the walkie talkie. You heard something. From far away, up above, you heard this howling, like an animal, but very distinctly human. Your guts lurched, a shiver slithering down your sweaty back, all the way through your body. 

You quickly pressed the button down again. “Ah-Acheron?” you asked, looking around the empty room. The shadows of decaying furniture followed your yellowy light, almost mockingly avoiding it. “Acheron, are you alright?” 

The speaker let out a little burst of static, startling you. “Sorry, he’s pretty busy right now,” a crinkled voice on the other side said. “Can I take a message?” 

You paused, your chest clenching. “Who is this?” But you knew. You knew very well, you just didn’t know. 

“Your guilty conscience. Trespassing is a serious crime.” 

“Where is Acheron?” you asked. “What did you do to him?” 

“Do to him?” the man asked, sounding like he was offended by the question. “Nothing. He ran off as soon as he saw me, so now we’re playing a little game of hide and seek. Sorry, no girls allowed this round. You and I can have a match when I win, okay? Okay, so you’d better start looking for a really good spot.”

Your mouth was open, gaping with no sound coming out. You felt nearly as winded by this as you did from the fall, unable to think, to formulate any rational reaction. “I-I don’t understand.”

“You’ve never played hide and seek? Oof, your childhood must have been a real bummer. The point of the game is that you hide and I seek. Simple, right?” 

“I’m not… not playing,” you said. “I just want to leave. Please… Whatever this is, I… Please stop.”

“Come on, where’s your sense of sportsmanship? Even this coward is giving it a chance.” He paused, and then raised his voice, calling out to someone else. “Isn’t that right? Why don’t you tell her what a good time we’re having?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to... We’re sorry, so please don’t… don’t hurt him,” you begged, your voice wobbling with tears and panic.  

“I’m not sure I get why you’d defend a guy who was willing to abandon you here. I mean, who knows what could happen to a girl like you in a scary place like this. It’s practically falling apart. Not to mention all of the creepy and dangerous things that could be lurking around.” 

You shook your head, blinking back tears. “Please,” you said, although you weren’t sure what you were pleading for. 

“I’m in a good mood tonight, so I’ll give you some advice. First of all, the basement is no good. There aren’t very many escape routes, you’ll definitely get cornered. And, I don’t know if this is true or not, but I’ve heard that it's haunted.” 

“Please stop,” you begged. “I’ll leave, I’ll leave and-”

“Hey, hey, don’t panic,” he said soothingly. “You’ll need to save up all that energy for running. Oh, and you might wanna ditch the walkie talkie, it’s a dead giveaway.” 

All this time, you had worried about vampires. But it made more sense that some lunatic would use this place as hunting grounds. Preying on the stupid and reckless and your delusions that you were somehow cursed and connected to this place. You were cursed alright. It was the worst curse of all—blind naivety. 

“Please stop,” you begged again. It wasn’t that you wanted to talk more with the potential lunatic, but hearing his voice was better than not hearing it because at least it meant you weren’t entirely alone down here in the dark. But there was no answer, just some static. “Hello?” You asked, your voice even weaker. “Hello?”

No answer, over. Over and out. Ten-four. 

You stood there for a long moment, sore and sweaty and trembling, your body all at once wrung out and over energized, your heart beating way too fast. The light didn’t reach far enough, it was like the shadows were gnawing at the edges of it, attempting to retake their territory. A little part of your brain understood that you weren’t capable of thinking rationally, the part that recognized the insanity of all of the actions that led you here. But knowing that and overcoming blind, animal panic were two different beasts entirely. 

Escape. That was all you could do. At first you thought about searching for your fallen ThruNite, but you were afraid to linger in here too long. You had no idea where it had ended up, there were too many places in the room it could have been hiding. That left you with the weaker incandescent light and, if that failed, your phone’s flashlight. 

Your past self was a lot smarter than your current one, thinking to bring some water. That cured the rancid tang of metal in your mouth, settling you somewhat as you considered your options. Rather than abandon the walkie talkie, you shut it off. It was stupid, but you couldn’t just abandon your sole source of connection to any living beings. You checked your phone as well, but the same NO SERVICE bar sat at the top. 

There was no other way than forward. The room that you fell into didn’t have doors, only dark, decaying holes where doors might have once been. The one on your left was the source of the dank, rotting scent. It was completely flooded, the water covered with an inky, oily film, your light reflecting off of it unnervingly. When you steeled yourself to venture forward, you realized that the hall was slightly flooded as well. Not more than an inch or so, but enough to make your boots wet, and enough to make each footstep splash and squish, rendering stealth impossible. Then again, the light made that impossible anyway. Shining your light both ways, you debated which way to go, trying to remember the castle plans. The trouble was that you had no idea where you might have fallen. Everything was dark and creepy and awful and you just wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else. To close your eyes and imagine your way out of the situation, to stay right there without ever moving and escape. 

After a second of despair and terrified self pity, you went right. 

If you followed the hallway, you would find a way upstairs. That made sense, there had to be some practicality to the design of this forsaken place. Or, that was all you could hope for. In reality, the dark and uncertainty threatened to turn your guts inside out, vomit biting your throat as you skirted along the wall. It was so quiet, unnaturally so. In the silence in the absolute void of light, your mind conjured noises. Extra footsteps, the sound of breathing. Echoes where there shouldn’t have been. 

You were afraid to blink, that when you opened your eyes something would appear in the beam of your flashlight. But you didn’t want to see anything, either, it would be better to face death ignorant to its face. You wanted to shield yourself from whatever horrors might exist. 

Staying in place was a death sentence, going any further was uncertain terror. The man said the basement was haunted. By what? Ghosts? Witches? Vampires? Murderers? 

Did it even matter?

Each open doorway you passed came with the anticipation that something would jump out at you. Or, worse, that you’d look in and see the dark silhouette of something inside. Somehow, that thought was almost as terrifying as being assaulted. Animals attacked on sight, true predators were the ones who were patient enough to lurk, to wait, to watch, to toy with the fear of their prey. And that’s what you were. Prey.  

On and on. Down the deep dark hall, your footsteps squelching on the damp floor, down down down to the corner where you turned, your light terrifyingly weak, nothing more than a pathetic glow against the all consuming darkness. The moment you saw a set of stairs, you could have wept with relief. Maybe it was stupid because it wasn’t as if they would lead you anywhere good, but those stairs were the best thing you’d ever seen. You gave into the spine tingling fear and ignored the pain of your body to run to them, splashing out of the water and taking the steps two at a time. 

There was no door at the top, just a sharp bend leading into a wider hall, the stairs tucked away and likely used by the servants. You didn’t care. This hallway wasn’t flooded, and the scent of death and decay wasn’t nearly as strong. It left you with the same problem though. Where did you go from here? Where were you? 

Relief soured into dread. Now that you were upstairs, the game had begun. 

It would have been smarter to shut off your light, but without any source of ambient illumination, you would be completely surrounded by the darkness. You stayed very, very still, straining your ears in an attempt to hear any stray sound, anything out of the ordinary. But there was nothing. The castle creaked and groaned, and your heart raced, and your ears rung faintly. 

Indecision and fear nearly paralyzed you. Like drowning, you had no idea of which way was up, you were merely thrashing in the blind darkness, hastening your own demise in your desperation to live. 

You found yourself walking without thinking about it, clinging to the wall with some idea that it would protect you. Just keep going. There was a sharp turn and then you realized that there was a light ahead. At first you thought it was a trick of your imagination, but you switched off your flashlight and blinked fast to adjust to the darkness, eventually making out that it was light. Soft, pale moonlight. That meant outside, that meant escape. 

Continuing to cling to the wall, you hurried towards the opening, eventually turning to the corner and finding yourself within your originally stated destination. At least you knew where you were. Nowhere near the exit. 

What rotten, twisted irony. You could almost laugh if you weren’t so close to tears. The Golden Hall, now flooded with thin silver moonlight, was exactly as beautiful as the name suggested. You knew it not from the second hand descriptions—they didn’t even begin to accurately describe the sweeping, luxurious ballroom—but because you had seen it before.

Far above, the cold moon observed you through panes of broken glass. So close, yet impossibly far. Taunting, tempting, representing an unreachable whisper of freedom. Your knees almost buckled, giving into the pain and exhaustion as you considered having to brave even more of the castle if you were ever going to get out alive. The Golden Hall echoed your own personal despair, a decaying corpse of what it once was, its profoundly decadent construction fallen to ruin. But you could imagine—remember, it was a memory, constructed or otherwise—how it looked in its prime. Shining, lustrous gold. And a man, one with entrancing eyes and a sly smile. His hands had been cold but the feeling was so warm, your own heat igniting you both. 

“The point of the game is to hide, you know,” someone said from behind you. In your despairing trance, you had gone further into the ballroom. Now you whirled around, clutching your chest in terror. “Although I am impressed you found your way up. Even I get the creeps going down there. Somebody really ought to do something about the flooding.” 

Shaking hard, you flicked your flashlight on, illuminating the man in its weak, yellow glow. He didn’t shy away, looking at you head on. His footsteps were slow and measured, impossibly graceful. Yes, yes of course. So obvious, so brutally, painfully blatantly obvious that it would be him. In the dim glow of your light, the most you could make out was the gold wink of his earring, but you knew without seeing that his eyes were that lovely shade of green, tinged with the romantic oceanic blue, so striking against his tan skin and black eyelashes. You knew that as surely as you knew the creases of your palm, or the constellations in the sky. 

“I admit,” he said, breezing past your silence, “I do have a slight advantage. You hurt yourself when you fell, right? I could smell your blood all the way from the catwalk. I’ll let you know if it tastes as good as it smells.”

“Stay away from me,” you demanded, surprised at how clear the words sounded despite the saliva pooling on your tongue. 

“I mean it, you smell really good,” he said, ignoring you and continuing forward. “Hey, why don’t you make this easy for me and put down that light? Nobody likes a sore loser.” 

“I told you-”

“Yeah, yeah, stay away,” he said flippantly. But he did stop, tilting his head in consideration. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you? Fine. If you’re going to run,” he gestured behind himself at the exit into the dark hall, “now’s your chance.”  

You didn’t think about the cheeky smile he wore, or the mocking tenor of the offer, or the reason he might let you run in the first place. You just did it, just ran, not looking back. There was blood in your throat and your entire body ached and you weren’t entirely sure you knew where you were going, but you didn’t pause. 

Step after pounding step, your heart racing, your breath coming out in sharp little gasps. Through the hall, which spanned miles and miles and miles, into the dining hall with its dust and cobwebs and ruined finery. You hit your bruised hip on the doorway which nearly sent you tumbling onto the ground. The red hot pain was so intense you had to stop and lean on the wall, your body physically refusing to go forward. 

Could you hear him? Were those his footsteps coming down the hall or your own telltale heart with its madness inducing beat? 

There was no time for your pain. If you couldn’t get away from here, you would die. That was a fact. Rubbing your sweaty palm on your hip as if to soothe it and sobbing dryly with all the pitiful disgrace of a child, you took off again. 

When you burst out into the pleasure plaza, the place of that first confrontation, hope reignited in your heart. It didn’t matter that there was still a significant dash to the exit, at least you knew where you were. Ignoring all else, you retraced your original ill-fated steps out into the courtyard. The moon was hidden behind the golden tower, peering into the front of the castle and leaving the courtyard nearly as dark as the halls. It didn’t matter. You raced across, blindly passing the one eyed deer in his long night vigil.

Until your toe caught on a loose rock, and you launched forward onto your elbows and knees, skittering forward across the ground. Once more, your flashlight was flung from your grip and landed somewhere ahead in the dense foliage. A harsh yelp left your mouth and you collapsed, completely boneless and exhausted and in genuine, insistent agony. Everything ached and the terror was relentless, pain consuming every panicked thought and infecting every inch of your body. You were doomed. Damned. Dead. 

Footsteps approached from behind. Easy, casual, measured. You flipped onto your back, wincing at the weight it put on your bruised hip. Your pursuer didn’t look dangerous. The outline of his messy curls gave him an innocent silhouette, and his hands were empty of any weapon. 

“Ouch, that must have hurt,” he said. “You should be careful, you could injure yourself if you don’t watch where you’re going.” 

“Stay away from me,” you got out between gasping breaths. 

“I bet you’re tired from all that running, huh? That’s fine, I think we’ve had enough fun for the night.” Without pausing, he dropped down onto his knees, one between your legs and the other astride your hip. You cried out in protest, getting your trembling arms beneath yourself to crawl backwards, but he caught you by the strap of your sling bag, and then with a fistful of your shirt to keep you in place, caging you in with his body. You couldn’t see the color of his eyes, they were only dark as he leaned down over you. 

“Stop it, please,” you begged, weak and trembling, tears sliding down your flushed cheeks, mixing with the sweat. “Just let me go, please.” 

“I’m sure you get this all the time, but you smell unbelievably delicious,” he said, his nose brushing your sweaty neck. You could feel your pulse jump against the thin skin there and you held completely still, a million thoughts slamming into each other all at once in your head. Vampires, murderers, insanity—anything and everything but most of all was just the mindless, irrational terror and despair. You were going to die. In a final spasm of rebellion, your back arched and legs kicked, but your body was caught between the jagged ground beneath and the firm press of his body above, pinned flat. And your hands weakly pushed at his chest, but it was a lost cause, and he wasn’t listening to your constant mumbling pleas to stop. 

Another pathetic sob hiccupped in your chest. You wanted your dad, you missed him. You needed him. And then you went limp because, now and forevermore, you were alone. 

“Come on, you don’t need to cry,” he murmured sweetly, a smile in his voice. You didn’t respond, staring up at the starry sky above. They were cold and without shape or form. Indifferent to your pain. 

The touch of his lips on your neck was shockingly cool, you almost wouldn’t have believed it was a mouth until you felt the needle-like puncture of fangs. That made you jump, squealing, but he held you in place which was probably a good thing because he was biting your neck and that could get dangerous fast. The pain sharply worked down through the rest of your body, the unnatural intrusion of something beneath the skin sending you right back into high alert. And then his lips closed around the created wound to suck.

A little whimper left your mouth, almost confused because even with the unambiguous pain of being bitten, there was something more. The wet release of sensation that followed the bite bloomed out from the point where his fangs pierced your neck in a flizzling wave. He sucked hard for a moment, but then went stiff against you, pulling back with a sharp intake of breath to stare into your eyes. 

He looked shocked, almost innocent if it weren’t for your blood smeared across his mouth. “You’re…” He breathed out that word faintly, reverently. There was meaning there, a meaning that you understood. Letting out a little laugh, a bubble of genuine exuberance, he released your shirt so that hand could delve into your hair, so he could pull you into a kiss. 

His skin was impossibly cold, unalive, and you could taste your own blood as he licked between your lips to part them. While his eyes were squeezed shut, dark eyelashes resting on his cheekbones, yours were wide open.

The kiss wasn’t violent, it was amorous. And familiar. He held you, practically cradled you against him. He felt it too, he understood what you had known from the moment you saw him.  

There was no way to escape the violently seated weight of your own body, of every sensation and feeling he inspired within you. Although, in another situation, the kiss might have seemed sensual, it was only grotesque and terrible. A display of affection in a moment of horror. You didn’t want it, your body thrummed with fear and pain, but you also felt yourself giving into the overwhelming wave of defeat. Even with all that was unnatural and terrible, this man’s kiss was imbued with some sort of cosmic sense of belonging. 

If the pain weren’t so sharp, you probably would have relented. 

Instead, you used it as an opening, as your final chance to reject this twisted insanity. Your hand scrambled out to the side, blunt nails scraping the ground and open wounds packing with dirt. But you found what you were looking for. Stray rubble, forced up and broken by the relentless roots of new growth, nature overcoming manmade structure. You wrapped your bloodied fingers around the chunk of displaced stone and swung at his head, thrashing against his grip at the same moment. 

It was enough to displace his body from on top of yours, maybe out of surprise because you certainly didn’t feel any human give of flesh and bone beneath the weight of the rock. You didn’t stop to consider that, or anything. He grabbed the strap of your sling bag as you scrambled away and you unclipped it without thought, refusing to let it catch you, to keep you trapped. It didn’t matter, you didn’t need it. You needed to escape. You were little more than a wild animal, the taste of your own blood on your lips, blood dripping down your neck, fear infecting every cell of your being. 

“Wait a second,” he called. Disgruntled, not pained. 

The first few steps, you were practically crawling, your back hunched like a beast as you used pure momentum to carry you into the atrium. And from the atrium to the breezeway, your back painfully straightening out, hip screaming in agony. You didn’t think about it, you just continued forward. Ran out into the night, ran through the woods, sticks and foliage catching your clothes and skin, ran down the dirt path to the road. There wasn’t a single thought in your head to get help, just to get away. And then you were flying through the night on your silver bike, your body pushed past the point of weary, into some territory where you weren’t even sure you were actually alive anymore, just acting because you had to act. Although it seemed to take hours of cycling down the dark road, there was this vague impression that no time at all passed before you were coming up to the inn, the bicycle’s wheels crunching across the gravel alley before you ditched it. 

Your room’s window was still open, the way you left it so you didn’t have to sneak in and out the front. The lights were on and they were warm and bright, inviting. You scrambled in, bloody and filthy and sweaty and shaking, and slammed the glass pane shut so hard it rattled, pulling the blinds shut to protect you from the night. 

And then you wept, and you retched, and you waited for sunrise.  

Act 4

“Die he or justice must; unless for him Some other able, and as willing, pay The rigid satisfaction, death for death.”

I.

1st day of Horsebow Moon

It’s all real. There is something living in El Dorado. He got Acheron, I waited all night and he never came back and they’re saying that he left yesterday but I know he didn’t. I left him there. I abandoned him there. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. 

If you find this, it means he came for me too. 

II.

A woman sat in the waiting room of the police station when you entered, her legs crossed as she casually read the paper. There was nobody else around, not even at the desk. A lazy fan swiveled in the corner, whirring loudly but not doing anything to cool the room so much as it just pushed around the warm air. It made the high necked shirt you were wearing that much more uncomfortable. Trying very hard to hide your limp—your hip wasn’t seriously injured, but you’d have a hell of a bruise for weeks—you walked up to the desk, peering into the back to check if anyone was there. No luck. It was almost eerily quiet. 

“Are you here to talk to the police?” the woman asked, looking at you over the top of her paper. 

You opened your mouth to respond before settling on nodding instead. 

She turned to the next page, her attention drawn back down. “What about?”

You hesitated, not knowing how to answer, or even if you should. Before leaving the inn, you hadn’t thought very hard about how you would present your story. The only evidence you had was your sore body, but you had to do something for Acheron. Even if he was annoying and rude and unpleasant, that didn’t mean he deserved to be dead and forgotten. 

“I know all of the folks on the force,” she explained. “I’m sure I could help you out.”  

“I… I’m here to give a statement, that's all,” you told her, aware of how hoarse your voice was. You sounded and looked rough, there was no hiding it.  

“Well, they’re at lunch right now,” she said. “Why don’t you sit down and wait with me?”

You looked at the empty desk, and then at her, and then sat down, once again trying not to wince at the way your hip complained. Really, your entire body complained. You used practically half a bottle of Bactine trying to clean up the mess of shredded skin on your hands, elbows, and knees. Not to mention the bruising. 

“I’m Judith, by the way,” she said.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said. 

“I take it you don’t know who I am,” Judith said, a hint of amusement in her eyes. That perked you up, just a bit. Not in a good way. So lost in your own miserable anxiety and fear, you hadn’t really considered how off putting her demeanor was before now. 

“Should I?” you asked. 

“You might be interested, at least. I’m the owner of El Dorado and the surrounding property.”  

You felt the blood fade from your face, your empty stomach twisting with guilt and fear, the sore muscles clenching uncomfortably.

“Don’t make that face,” she said, folding up her paper. “I’m not here to report you.”

“I-”

“That’s not to say I couldn’t,” she said, cutting you off, “but I figured I’d give you a chance to do the smart thing first. It’ll save both of us a lot of trouble if we agree that nothing happened last night and move on with our lives.” 

You froze. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Do you know the punishment for felony trespass?” she asked. 

“Acheron’s still in there,” you whispered, adjusting your high necked shirt again. “They have to save him. Somebody has to do something.”

“I heard your friend left town,” Judith said. 

“No, I saw him. He was real, and he got Acheron,” you insisted, tears welling up in your eyes. The words didn’t make any sense, even you weren’t entirely sure how much of it you meant. What you thought, what you felt, what you believed. Your head pounded with a violent headache, your entire body sore and clammy. 

“I don’t know what you think you saw, but hallucinations are a side effect of things like black mold,” Judith said, her eyebrow arching. “It’s dangerous. There’s a reason that place stays locked up.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it. Could that be true? Maybe Acheron had left after all, you weren’t exactly in the clearest of mental states. He could have escaped, it was what he intended. And the rest of it, the man who stalked, taunted, and attacked you, maybe there was some other explanation for that. Maybe you really were losing it.

“You can go ahead and make a report, if you want,” Judith said. “It won’t matter. All of the evidence points to your friend packing up and leaving. Without a body, the only crime here is yours. They’ll bury you in whatever charges they can make stick.” She paused, giving you a sideways glance to make sure you were listening. “None of that has to happen. No report, no paperwork, no crime. You go back to your inn, pack your bags, and leave town. Everybody’s happy.” 

A couple of answers came to mind, and then a couple of complaints. Eventually, you just nodded. 

“See? I knew we could handle this peacefully.”

“I’m scared,” you said softly, the pitiful admission leaving your mouth without thought. 

Judith sighed, looking at you with a disapproving mixture of compassion and pity. “Don’t worry. Even if there was something there, I promise you that it’s not getting out any time soon,” she said, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. That passed quickly and Judith stood up, tucking her paper under her arm. “I have to go. It was nice meeting you. I’d say that I hope to see you later, but-”

“I’m leaving soon. Tonight if I can,” you said quickly, getting to your feet as well. 

“I thought that might be the case. Well, then. Have a safe trip.” 

III.

1st day of Horsebow Moon

I took a nap earlier, while the sun was still out, and dreamed of him. He wants me to go back. Maybe I should, maybe it’d be better if I did. When he kissed me I… I don’t know. I think about it and I’m not scared, I just want to cry. My heart hurts. Why? 

I wish it had been me too. I really do. We could have gone out together in a blaze of glory, us rogues. At least I wouldn’t be alone, I wouldn’t be thinking that when he touched me, I didn’t want anyone or anything else, and I felt-

I can’t think like that. 

The past is written in ink and stone and blood and ash.  

I’m leaving tomorrow morning, it was the earliest time I could find to get out of here. I’ll have to get back in a car. Thinking about it makes me sick, but there’s no choice. She says it’s not real and I know that’s a lie. The bite on my neck is real, I couldn’t have made that up. She’s lying. They’re all covering up for this, that’s all I can think.  Earlier when I ordered food, the delivery guy acted so strange, like he knew. It’s insane to think, but I swear, everybody in this awful little town is in on it. 

I put the note from earlier under my mattress, just in case something happens tonight. For some reason, I keep thinking that it will, jumping at every little sound. The walkie talkie keeps bursting out static, like it’s connected to the other one, but that’s impossible because Acheron had the other one and the range isn’t that long. I could have sworn I heard a voice from it while I showered too. Maybe it’s connected to another channel. Maybe I’m insane. Maybe I’m going to die. Maybe he’ll come for me. 

Death doesn’t scare me, not really, but I don’t want to die alone.

Act 5

"And should I at your harmless innocence

Melt, as I do" 

I.

Fiercely clawing your way out of the heavy shackles of sleep, you shouted yourself fully awake, thrashing in an attempt to escape an unknown threat, sickness churning violently in your stomach. Being awake hurt. Why had you been asleep? Everything hurt. Fear was more potent than pain and you forced yourself to breathe, to focus on your confusion and make sense of the world around you. Unfamiliar, although that in and of itself wasn’t dangerous. You had always existed in a state of ever-shifting unfamiliarity. What was wrong, what was dangerous, was that you knew where you were. Rather, you had a feeling. 

“Woah, woah, easy,” he said, backing away with his hands up. You blinked rapidly, panting, trying to fight your way out of the haze. The tide of unconsciousness threatened to consume you once more, lapping at your heavy head, urging you back down. It was nearly more than you could take to keep your eyes open, but you fought it. Something was wrong, you needed to be awake. As your vision brightened bit by bit, you met a pair of green eyes, and your blood turned to ice.

“It’s you,” you said, your voice soft and close to breaking, mushy in your mouth. Nearly inaudible. Everything was sore and stiff and painful, and it was so unbelievably hard to keep yourself from drifting again. It had to be a drug in your system, but you couldn’t think properly to know how or why. “You… You’re-”

“I usually go by Claude,” he told you with a winning grin. And it was a smile you knew. Intimately, honestly, a smile so familiar you ached. 

You blinked hard, shaking your dizzy, heavy head in frustration, unable to accept what you were seeing and hearing. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t remember the last thing you’d been doing before you woke up here, the squishy bit of brain behind your eyes pounded at the effort. And that name. You knew it, you had long attached it to the man in your dreams no matter how little sense it really made.

Or maybe it all made perfect sense, and that was why you were so scared. Claude von Riegan, resident vampire of El Dorado. 

“I… What happened?” you asked weakly, tearfully. “Why do I…? Dizzy…” 

“Don’t worry, that’s from the little concoction I slipped into your food before that kid dropped it off,” Claude said. “It’s not poisonous or anything and, trust me, I would normally never use such underhanded tactics, but I couldn’t have you ruining things by making a big fuss. It’ll wear off soon.”

“No no no,” you muttered, your words bordering on incomprehensible with the effort they took to get out, “this can’t be happening. This can’t…” 

“Would you feel any better if I told you it wasn’t?” he asked nonchalantly, sitting on the sofa across from the bed, his arms spanning the back in a casual position. 

With blurry vision, your eyes took in the room around you. It seemed normal enough, if lavish. Big bed, large furniture. The smell though, that was distinct. Not rot, but old. Aged. 

“You have been having an awful lot of weird dreams lately,” he continued thoughtfully. 

You exhaled harshly, going still. Then, slowly, you met those playful green-blue eyes. They danced with candlelight and mirth. Enticing, exactly like in your dreams.

“I hope you don’t mind, I got bored while you were asleep and had a little peek at your diary,” he told you. “I’d love to hear more about that strange, beautiful man who haunts you in the night. He sounds intriguing.”  

Had you written about those dreams? You couldn’t remember what you might have put down, usually you just went in and dumped as many thoughts onto the page as possible. The invasion of privacy was like a knife to the bone, but you couldn’t think of what you should do about it, the world was too abrasively heavy to know what to do with anything. Tears gathered in the corner of your eyes. Tears! Like you were going to cry! It seemed impossible to fight, like you were just as helpless to yourself as you were to what was going on.  

“It was fascinating to see how much you pieced together. I’m glad you’re smart, I really am. It’ll make this a lot more fun.”

You shook your head again, which didn’t help the dizziness. “I want to leave,” you said, “I don't want to be here, I can't…" Your voice slurred a little, like you weren’t in complete control of your body. Your thoughts too, they kept getting away from you, slipping out from your grasp. 

"Out of curiosity, where would you go?" Claude asked. 

You sniffed pathetically, your thoughts falling to an abrupt halt against the question. "What?"

"If you left town right now,” he said, “where would you go?"

You stared at him, unable to figure out what he meant. 

"You don't know, do you?" Claude asked, but his tone was all-knowing and smug. "I thought as much."

"I do, I just…" you said. But you didn't. You had no idea about anything. What you would do, what you were doing, everything was a confused mess and you just needed to get out of here, get away. Your breathing was picking up, your heavy head spinning with it. 

“Shh, calm down,” Claude said gently, switching from the couch to the bed. It dipped with his weight and you didn’t think to move away, just stayed where you were and looked at him, attempting strength but only managing desperation as you tried not to break down completely. “I can tell you’re scared, but I’m not going to hurt you.” He paused, smiling non-threateningly. “And, you know, I wouldn’t have had to do any of this if you didn’t play hard to get last night. So why don’t we agree we were both in the wrong and move on? Forgive and forget, no harm done.” 

“I-I want to-to leave,” you insisted, taking inventory of yourself to figure out if you were even capable. Everything was so foggy, disoriented, your body unbelievably heavy. It was getting better, but slowly. You weren’t sure you could leave the room, let alone escape. 

"Sorry, but that's not gonna happen," Claude said, and it wasn’t a threat but the casual way he spoke made the statement that much worse. He was simply telling you something that was. A fact, a forgone conclusion. 

"Someone will… will come looking for me," you said with more confidence than you actually felt, grasping at straws to make your case because you didn't have anything else. 

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Claude said. "They still think that I'm too weak to leave, seeing as the Macbeth bloodline has completely died out and all." He smiled at that, meeting your eye knowingly, unflinchingly. "Without the blood that roused me from my accursed slumber, there's no way I'd have the strength to steal somebody all the way from town and back."

Pieces began to shift into place. Slowly moving, scraping together as your fogged brain did its best to comprehend what he was telling you. The vague outline existed, but you couldn't quite pin it down, couldn't quite see the whole. 

"My blood…" you mumbled, pressing your hand to the puncture wounds on your neck.

"But," Claude continued, ignoring you, "let's say that they know you're here. It's not impossible. Are you really going to place a bet on complete strangers risking their lives for you when they can't even be sure you're still alive? Personally, I wouldn't."

Your breathing, already unsteady, was only getting more out of hand the longer this conversation went on, the pressure behind your eyes mixing a headache with the threat of tears. A hot flush worked its way through your body, a sure sign of genuine panic, some potent mixture of terror and the effect of whatever drug he'd given you. 

“Hey, calm down. I'm not trying to scare you,” Claude said, “but I'm not gonna lie to you either. So let’s get to know each other a little. I’m sure I’ll surprise you.” 

Surprise you? The enormity of what was happening finally settled somewhat. He had kidnapped you, presumably by drugging you. He had killed somebody. Many people, maybe.

“Are you going to kill me?” you asked, your voice trembling and small.

Claude huffed, slight irritation wrinkling his brow. “No,” he said. “Frankly, I’m offended you’d even ask.”

“You’re crazy,” you said. “You… you killed Acheron, you…” You put a hand to your neck again. The needle-like punctures had bruised, the skin tender and sore. 

“Okay, okay,” Claude said, trying to placate you. “I know I might have gone too far, and I’m sorry. I promise I won’t do that again. I was just a little excited, you know? I’ve been stuck in this place for centuries all on my own, too weak to leave and haunted by the ghost of my terrible, yet sympathetically tragic past.” 

He paused, eyebrows up as if expecting you to say something, prompting you to say something. How could you possibly respond to that? He spoke so fluidly that you could almost miss the way he casually threw around the word ‘centuries’ as if it were normal, as if it made perfect sense.

“Doesn’t that make you sad?” Claude pushed. “Doesn’t your heart just ache for the pain I must have been feeling all this time?”

“You’re crazy…” you whispered again, unsteadily sitting up against the headboard, drawing your legs closer to yourself to put as much distance between the two of you as possible. You couldn’t ignore the evidence that there was something weird going on here, but you couldn’t ignore reason either. A crazy guy with razor sharp teeth living in a castle famous for its vampiric and occult ties hunting and killing trespassers was more reasonable than the alternative, wasn't it? You couldn’t just give up and submit to the fantasy, not entirely. You needed to make this make sense, to find a valid explanation other than the impossible. 

“You already tried that one,” Claude told you. “And, for the record, I’m not crazy. If you think about it, and I know you have, this is meant to be. Who are we to deny fate?"

“Fate?” you repeated. “No, that’s…” Crazy. It was crazy. Everything about this was insane.

“Then why are you here?” Claude asked, raising an eyebrow. “Ah, actually, don’t answer that. I already know. Oh! Speaking of which…” He stood up to find something, pawing through the mess haphazardly left on one of the tables before straightening up with a phone in hand. 

“That’s mine,” you said, tensing up.  

“Yeah, you left it here. Aren’t you glad I took care of it for you?” he asked, waving it around as if to taunt you into lunging for it. 

“Give it back.” 

“What’s the magic word?” 

“Give it back.”

“Ooo, how very charming,” Claude said, oozing sarcasm. But he gave it to you anyway, tossing it onto your lap casually before sitting back down. “You know, if you’re going to break into creepy forbidden castles, you probably shouldn’t take something so important. Especially the thing that has all of the information about where you’re staying, what you’re doing, who might care if you go missing suddenly… Or, actually? You should do that, it makes things easier for me.” 

You clicked the home button, greeted with your familiar background, a flower your dad found for you on the lake. That was last year. Not so long ago, but it felt like a lifetime. You weren’t sure what you were looking for as you swiped the screen to unlock it. There was no service here, you already knew that. The phone may as well have been an expensive brick for all the good it did you. 

“I’m astonished by how much information can be crammed into such a tiny little device,” Claude said. “Although, in your case, there wasn’t very much to find. No friends, no family, no home… I’m sorry about your dad, by the way.” His voice lacked all levity when he said that, almost like he meant it. 

“Don’t,” you said, stiffening. But it was a weak kind of anger. Whatever he had used to drug you sent your emotions way out of whack, fear and anger and sadness getting all knotted up and leaving a lump in your throat.

“Nobody to worry that you’ve gone missing. Nobody for you to miss,” Claude continued to muse. “Nothing for you to leave behind. If I didn’t know any better, I’d wonder if you weren’t waiting for this exact thing.” 

“That’s… You’re wrong.” 

“Of course, I do know better,” Claude said, ignoring you, “I know why you risked life, limb, and the law to break into my humble abode. Rather, I know why you think you did. You want to know why you’re cursed, and why all of these terrible things happened to you. You think that when the truth is laid bare, it won’t hurt anymore. Once everything makes sense, you won’t feel so alone and scared. You and I are pretty much the same in that regard. I can’t stand not knowing things.” 

You shook your head quickly, refusing to hear his words. He wasn’t right anyway, he was just assuming, just pretending like he knew you for the sake of some twisted power trip. Then again, he was right, wasn’t he? Your brain wasn’t so focused that you could simply deny the truth, deny that you thought answers would make the pain stop. 

“Amateur prose aside, you’re right about almost everything—the curse, Lady Macbeth, Old Derdriu, me. You are cursed, Lady Macbeth was a witch, I am a vampire, and so on and so forth,” he said flippantly, disregarding the supernatural as if they were matters of tired fact. “But I have to say ‘almost’ because you’ve misunderstood something very important. Honestly, your little tirades border on willful ignorance sometimes. I can’t tell if you’re intentionally missing the point or if you’re just that obtuse… Er, no offense. You know what I’m talking about, right?”

“No,” you said. 

Claude huffed, frowning. “You’re probably the only girl in the world to come face to face with the literal man of her dreams and still insist that you don’t believe in fate. I’m actually a little amazed right now.” 

“You’re lying,” you said. “You’re lying so I… Because I’m…” 

“You’re not insane, if that’s what you’re going to say,” he told you bluntly. “You’re not weak either. No, you just want a way out, don’t you? There’s nothing for you out there, you know that. You’ve been searching desperately for someone to swoop in and give you direction again.” 

“No,” you said again, refusing to hear those words or to believe them.

“Careful,” he said, “if you lie too much, I might just feel compelled to do something about it.” 

Your breath caught, your body freezing in place. “You’re crazy,” you whispered, tears burning your eyes. 

“Aaaand back to square one,” Claude said, rolling his eyes. “Okay, I see we’re not going to get anywhere like this. Time to move on to Plan B.” He twisted up onto his knees, like he was going to crawl towards you.

“Don’t come near me,” you said with wide eyes, clumsily scooting away, covering your neck defensively. Your body wasn’t moving correctly, your limbs awkward and ungainly. Although, if you were honest, he didn’t look that intimidating in the warm light. No, he looked beautiful. That was the point, wasn’t it? Those green eyes, the soft hair with one little curl flopped over his forehead, the pretty face, the little gold earring, all of it was meant to entice. Vampires were beautiful on purpose, they were both bait and trap. 

“I told you, I’m not gonna hurt you. All I want is to get to know you a little better,” Claude said innocently. “Thing is, I’m a hands-on kind of learner.” 

“Stay away from me,” you told him as firmly as you could manage, watching him distrustfully with this terrible tingling sense of anticipation. Like you wanted him to do something.

“I mean it. Fear and pain makes your blood all sour. Pleasure, on the other hand…” He trailed off with a grin, letting the implication speak for itself. “Well, we’ll get there.”

“No,” you said, winding up your arm to throw your phone at him. It was hard to keep your arm lifted, the muscles were so heavy that they trembled with the strain. Claude’s eyes widened, and then narrowed, his irritation obvious. 

“Oh, come on. There’s no need for that.”

“Stay away from me,” you said again, your voice coming out more like a whine. At this point, your thighs were clamped so tightly together that the muscles ached, your arm wavering from the weight of your phone. Claude reached for your wrist, but you dropped the phone before he could do anything, deciding to make your escape instead. 

There was no surprise that you, unsteady and dizzy and drugged, nearly fell off of the bed when you tried to jump onto the floor. You definitely would have face-planted if a set of cold hands didn’t catch you.  

“I know this is happening pretty fast,” Claude said, gently pulling you against him. You couldn’t do much to stop him, your head spinning, your mind on the fraying edge of sense from the sudden shake up of blood. He was inhumanly cold, but the fabric of his buttoned shirt was soft. The smell was wonderful, clove and orange and something lower, masculine. “Believe me, if I could give you more time, I would. But we have to make do with what we’ve got, right? And I’m…” His arms tightened around you, not that you were at risk of escaping. When you nervously peered up at him, Claude caught your eye hungrily. His throat worked hard as he swallowed. “Honestly, I’m starving.”

“Stop,” was the most you could offer, slurring the word. You realized that there was no heartbeat in his chest. Of course there wasn’t, he wasn’t alive. His cold hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, tracing along the warm, sensitive flesh of your back, to your ribs. “No,” you protested, squirming. His body was unyielding and firm against your own in the most intimate of ways. You had never been this physically close with another person, not like this. 

“It’s okay,” he told you, his nose brushing the crown of your head. 

“It’s not.” 

“It is,” Claude affirmed, unendingly gentle. He was tracing little patterns on your back that made you shiver. You should have been fighting to get away, but the scent of him was intoxicating, and you felt… Not peaceful, there was too much about all of this that was uncomfortable and scary to be peaceful, but you didn’t feel displaced. “You don’t want to be alone anymore, do you?”

Your composure finally collapsed, tears welling up in your eyes. You hid them against Claude’s cold, empty chest, clinging to him because you had nothing else. 

“It’s okay to let it all go,” Claude told you, continuing to pet your skin sweetly. “I’ll make you forget, at least for a while. I don’t want to brag, but I’m the best you’ll ever have. I’ve had a few years of practice to really hone my technique, you know? You won’t remember a thing by the time I’m done with you.” 

Your heart pounded heavy and hard once, twice. 

“What do you mean?” you finally asked, mumbling the words against him to hide your red face because you had a feeling you knew what he meant, the price he’d demand to cure your loneliness. In a way, it made sense. Another piece of a puzzle that would fit in just as it was meant to, as it had been destined to. 

“Wait…” Claude pried you away from his chest, gripping your chin to force you to meet his eye. You tried to avert your gaze, but there really wasn’t anywhere else to go, anywhere to hide. “What do you think I mean?” 

Your thighs squeezed together, heat rising to your face.

“I dunno,” you said, trying to squirm away, overly aware not only that you were in his arms, but practically cradled in his lap. 

“I can’t tell if you’re being coy or not,” he said. “I guess it doesn’t matter either way.” 

“What doesn’t?” you asked. 

“I’m talking matters of the heart,” Claude said, letting go of your face to wrap an arm around your waist, his grip impossible to fight even if you weren’t still dizzy and leaden from the drug. “And matters of the body. More specifically, your body.” His other hand delved down, slipping beneath the elastic waistband of your sweatpants to press against you through your panties. You hissed out through your teeth, thighs clamping down around his hand like a vice. Claude only groaned, his palm grinding against you. “I’ve gotta say, it’s awfully cute. You’re so warm and soft.” 

“Stop,” you protested, your voice thin and your face hotter than ever. 

“Pleasure makes your blood sweeter,” he said, the air of his words brushing against your ear. “The more, the better.” 

You shook your head, hiding your face against his chest. “I… I don’t…” 

“It’s a fair deal, don’t you think?” Claude asked, his fingers teasing you through the thin fabric, curling to press between your folds, skimming over the sensitive flesh beneath. You squirmed, your hands weakly tugging at his wrist. “We both get something out of it.”

“I… don’t…” you stammered out again, not sure where you were going with it. 

“And it’s much more respectable than a messy quickie out in the courtyard. Blood as precious as yours deserves to be savored in its finest form,” Claude said, dragging his finger over your clit, the extra friction of the fabric adding to the sensation. You shuddered hard, heat sinking low in your gut. “I think we’ll start with three and go from there.” 

“Three?” you asked breathlessly, your head spinning so hard you had to rest it against his chest.  

“Yeah, I’m going to make you come three times,” Claude said, his tone more than a little indulgently condescending. “To start with, at least. You know, to sweeten you up. It’ll soothe your nerves too. As for what happens from there…” He shrugged, the movement impeded by the way he was cradling you. “I like the spontaneity of figuring it out as I go. It’s more romantic, don’t you think?” 

“Nn…no…” you said, your stomach sinking, sickness and something else—something that was decidedly interested in the proposal—swirling dangerously low within you. Claude hadn’t stopped teasing you through your panties, and you weren’t really pulling at his wrist anymore so much as just holding on.  

“What, are you thinking more along the lines of four? Five?” he teased. “We’ve got more than enough time to kill.” 

“That’s not…” You whimpered, holding tighter against him when he wedged the fabric between your pussy’s outer lips to grind even harder against your clit. It bordered on too rough, but it was working as intended, your clit swelling hot and needy, your hips jumping forward in an unintentional chase for more. “I can’t… do that.” 

“Did I mention how good I am at this?” Claude asked. “Not that I get the impression you’ll be too terribly difficult.” 

You whined in objection, squirming in a half-hearted attempt to escape. 

“That’s not a bad thing. The opposite, actually. Like I said, the more, the better,” Claude said, his other arm wrapping around your waist to adjust you, to make it easier for his other hand to work between your legs. You were too sensitive and you didn’t know how much of it was natural and how much of it was from the drug, only that pleasure was pooling up quickly in your core. 

You swallowed against the excess saliva pooling on your tongue, past the lump in your throat. “I… I don’t…” 

“What?” he asked. “You don’t… something. Sorry, I didn’t catch the last bit.” 

“I…” 

“You weren’t going to lie and say you don’t want this, were you?” Claude asked, his cold lips brushing the shell of your ear. Your hips jerked, your mouth falling open. You could feel the way your body was coiling up tense, desperate to come. It would be a quick flash of pleasure, hidden and tight beneath your clothes, but it was still pleasure, it was still good. 

“I’m—mmm…” You pressed your lips together to stifle yourself, holding even tighter against him. The wave of heat was building too fast, too frantically. Exhaustion, drugs, your general mental degradation, you could pin the blame on any number of external factors so you didn’t have to take responsibility for what you felt. The result was the same though, and it was you and you alone who chased the tantalizing build of pleasure.

“Do you feel that? That’s the sweet, sweet feeling of me being right yet again,” Claude said, saccharine and smug. “Feels good, doesn’t it, sweetheart?”  

It was the pet name that really did it. Nobody had ever said something like that to you, and the heavy weight of it in his voice pushed you over the edge with an anxious little jerk of pleasure and a choked noise in the back of your throat, with a hot flash that made your clothes feel too tight, that made your clit pulse beneath his touch, rubbed raw with the friction of fabric. It was awkward and cramped and thin and it was everything, you clung onto him as the fizzles of heat sparkled out, your muscles contracting, your mouth open and silent. 

When it was over, when Claude quit rubbing those evil little patterns over your sensitive clit, you let out a shuddering breath, trying to calm yourself down. Without the distraction of pleasure keeping you on edge, you felt the bite of nausea in your throat. The recognition that this was wrong, and that you had no idea what to do to fix it, or even if that was possible. 

“The thing is that when you come, your body releases all sorts of hormones. It’s a fun little cocktail that behaves in basically the same way as sugar. For me, at least,” Claude explained, unceremoniously dumping you onto your back in a boneless splay. “A couple of orgasms is… It’s like the difference between gnawing on a day-old biscuit and savoring a cinnamon bun with icing.”

“What are you doing?” you asked. You tried to hold onto him, but Claude easily knocked your arms away so he could pull your sweatpants off. They were cast somewhere to the side before he hooked a cold hand under your knee, lowering himself between your legs. “What-”

“I’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth,” Claude explained, looking up at you with bright eyes. He looked so innocent, so sweet. So mischievous. “You don’t mind, right?” 

“Mind what?” you asked, trying to close your legs, to hide yourself from him. The panties you were wearing were old and plain, far from anything even approaching sexy. But the idea of removing them was worse, you couldn’t stand thinking of him looking so forwardly at your bare pussy. The humiliation would kill you. “Please stop,” you said, your voice pinched and small. 

“Oh, wow, would you look at that?” Claude asked, his finger tracing the wet spot soaking through your panties. Your hips twitched, the muscles in your thighs tensing. “It looks like you don’t want me to stop.”

“Don’t look,” you said, squirming in an attempt to get free. 

“Don’t look?” Claude repeated, feigning guilelessness. “So it’s okay if I touch, but only so long as I keep my eyes closed? Good to know.” 

“No, that’s not-” 

He cut you off, his tongue replacing his fingers, dragging over the wet spot with a depraved sort of intensity. And his eyes, as he said, were closed. Already, the sane thoughts of sickness and doubt were beginning to scatter anew, your body responding to the promise of new pleasure. Claude exploited that, continuing to lickyou through the damp fabric of your panties while you squirmed, settling for covering your face in place of fighting him off. Not that he was looking. 

“You’ve been alone for a long time, haven’t you?” Claude asked, hooking his fingers beneath your panties to slowly peel them off. You fought that, but it wasn’t hard for him to wrench the cotton from your grasp, the elastic tearing before he got them all the way down and off. When he ghosted his cool fingertips over the bruise on your hip, you shivered. “I’ve barely done anything and you already came once. Every time I touch you, it makes you twitch. I thought you were just discrete, not writing about any boys in your diary, but the truth is that you’ve had nothing to write about, right? Well, until now, that is.” 

“What are you doing?” you hissed down at him, finally panicking enough to grab his hair, trying to pull his head out from between your legs, shame raging a horrible storm within you. Claude groaned, flashing a grin up at you as he casually tossed one of your bare thighs over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, you can pull my hair all you want. I don’t mind,” he said, his cold lips brushing your inner thigh. You thought of his fangs and how easily they had pierced your neck, falling still as he passed the artery there. But that wasn’t his destination, you realized. Claude separated your outer lips, staring at your bare pussy for a long moment before his head dropped forward. 

You yelped when his cold tongue began to draw relentless patterns over your swollen clit. His fingers kept you spread open for him and you couldn’t breathe, every single muscle in your body pulled taut in preparation for the orgasm you were being enticed into. Disgust and humiliation remained constant, sure, but it wasn’t enough to dissuade your body from the pleasure. 

Even when your thighs closed around his head, certainly suffocating him, Claude didn’t falter. Even when you pulled at his hair, even when your hips jumped against his face, he just groaned, doubling down. He had to have been putting on a performance, considering how loud he was, eating you out as sloppily as possible so you had no choice but to revel in the depraved noises. The rest of it was all you. Your moaning, your whimpering, your gasping. Your body didn’t belong to you, you couldn’t force yourself to stay still, couldn’t stop the noises from leaving your mouth, couldn’t stop the hot coil of pleasure from building and building and building. 

“I c-can’t,” you got out breathlessly, “I-I… I can’t.” 

“Just keep telling yourself that,” Claude said, looking up at you from beneath thick, dark eyelashes. “It’ll make this a fun surprise. For you.” 

Forcing your hips flat against the bed, his wicked tongue continued to push you even closer to the precipice. You whimpered, tossing your head back because there was nothing else you could do. It was embarrassing and awful and you hated it, but you knew you weren’t far off. Heat ballooned up in your core, all of your blood seemingly rising to the surface and making your entire body too hot, too tight, too tense. 

Claude’s lips closed around your clit and sucked and you came with a helpless cry straight out of some trashy porno, your entire body tensing and shuddering and completely overcome with nothing except for the raw sensation of pleasure. By the time you were spent, your fingers were twitching, the rest of your body limp and sweaty. 

“See what a difference a can-do attitude makes?” Claude asked, looking up at you with a big smile. You shook your head, breathing too hard, too fast. Unable to meet his eye. “As in, I can make you do anything I want. Funny how that works out.”

“I-I need… a moment.” 

“No you don’t,” Claude said. Messily, hungrily, he moved up from between your legs, his lips tracing your abdomen, your stomach, your ribs, pushing your shirt up to gain access to more and more of your bare flesh. When you realized he was trying to remove your shirt and bra, you fought it, desperate to retain some modesty. 

“I don’t want-” 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Claude scolded. “Remember what I said?” 

With his supposed can-do attitude, it wasn’t difficult for him to get your shirt and bra up and off, shoved past your shoulders and arms until the knotted wad of fabric dropped onto the floor. You tried to cover your bare tits, but Claude barely paused, simply slapping your arms away so he could map your chest with his mouth too. Palming one breast, pinching the aching nipple between cold fingers, he wrapped his lips around the other. 

“Claude, I don’t-”

He effectively shut you up by biting your nipple. Not with his fangs, and not hard, just enough to make you squirm, writhe against him like you had last night, stuck between his unyielding body and the mattress. Sweaty and hot and desperate, but now for completely different reasons. 

You made another sound that was intended to be his name but didn’t come out that way, it was barely language, and far from comprehensible. 

Claude groaned, the fingers of his other hand pushing into your pussy at the same moment, driving right past the tense muscles of your entrance and deep into you. The weight was enough to make you really moan, the feeling of him stretching out your inner walls electrifying your entire body. You could hear how wet you were for him, feel how easily his fingers curled and scissored inside of you, reigniting the little ember of need low in your core. His mouth switched to your other nipple, leaving the first red and aching, and all you could do was hide your face, one hand threaded through his hair as if looking for an anchor point. You thought you needed a break, but already you were back in it, already wanting to come again.

His fingers fucked into you with a sloppy sound. In and out, curling and scissoring and not at all gentle. Not that it mattered. Your body was entirely pliant, moving with him. More than that, responding to each swipe gleefully, needfully, pulsing around his cold fingers and sucking them deeper, your back arching to press your chest harder against his mouth, your thighs squeezing his hand to keep him in place.  

“You’re tight,” Claude said, pulling off your nipple with a slick pop. “Is it possible that you’ve been saving yourself for that special someone?”

You shook your head, more than a little aware of the way his taunt made you tighten around his fingers. So close. Just a little more and you were going to come for him, the heat having gone from a smolder to hellfire beneath your blushing skin, your entire body wound up.

“Do you mean to tell me that you haven’t been suffering all by yourself, waiting for your prince to show up and take care of you?” Claude asked, making his point with each hard thrust. “Cause, I’ll be honest, that’s what this feels like to me. Sensitive, tight, needy… Those are all classic symptoms of neglect.”

It was difficult to breathe. Difficult to think.  

“Please,” you breathed out and you weren’t sure how he heard you, you could barely hear yourself over the crushing thrum of blood in your ears, but Claude responded with a groan. 

“By the way, that is the magic word,” he said. Despite the quip, he fingerfucked you roughly and carelessly. His mouth on your tits was beyond pleasurable. It was exquisite, terrible. You came again, your entire mind clearing out as pleasure shuddered through you, stoked by each thrust of his fingers. They kept on curling, teasing, grinding against your g-spot, going as deep as they could each time. Your orgasm felt like it lasted too long, leaving you wrung out, shaking and almost confused. Maybe that was just because of how hard you were breathing, your brain wasn’t getting enough oxygen.  

Sweat slicked your skin and tears had dripped down your cheeks into your hair and everything glowed when you managed to blink your eyes open.

“You don’t mind, right?” Claude asked, his mouth moving up from your sore nipple to your neck. His hand hadn’t stopped moving, fucking into you. He pulled his fingers out only to add a third, to add that much more impact to each thrust. 

And he. Didn’t. Stop. Claude didn’t so much as pause when he bit into your neck, pushing you past numb overstimulation, past the discomfort, and right back into the cruel build of yet another orgasm. Unlike last night, the piercing sting of his fangs into your flesh was only good, hazy bright red and sharp, followed by the sweet, cool release of his mouth fixing around the wound to suck. It hurt, but the pain was only an aspect of pleasure. And when Claude groaned happily, his tongue lapping at your blood with the same desperation you felt beneath the assault of his fingers, you moaned openly. 

You came again when he bit into your neck a second time, his fangs digging into your flesh mercilessly. The needling sting made you writhe, but his fingertips curled at the same time to press against your g-spot and you couldn’t help it. At this point you were so wet it was dripping past his fingers, slicking your thighs and the bed. Claude sucked even harder at your neck, enough to make you lightheaded. 

Whining, you pulled halfheartedly at his hair. Not for him to stop, but because you wanted him to fuck you. Actually fuck you. At this point you probably were insane, but you didn’t care, all you could imagine was how full you’d feel, pierced by both his fangs and his cock. 

“You want another?” Claude asked, pulling away from your neck. When he pulled back, his lips were wet with your blood, his green eyes alight. “Some girls would be begging for a break right about now.”

“I…” 

“No, no. It’s okay to be a little greedy sometimes,” he said, grinning, the picture of poise and control despite the lunacy swirling within his gaze. 

“Nn-no, I want you-you to—” You let out a high pitched mewl when his other hand dropped to touch your clit in time with his fingers inside of you, writhing desperately, helplessly. This wasn’t what you wanted, you didn’t think, but already sense had flown from your mind, replaced by the intense dread and need that had reduced you to a babbling, mindless thing.  

He had to have known what he was doing to you, how far your mind had degraded, but that didn’t seem to matter to Claude at all. Torturing you with the dual assault of his fingers, he moved back down your body, muttering for you to hold still before his fangs punctured your inner thigh. Biting the sensitive, giving skin hurt in a different way than your neck, but you were already on your way to coming against and when he sucked hard on the wound, you just whined, gripping his hair in a desperate attempt to stop yourself from falling apart completely.  

Claude moaned, sucking hard as you sobbed and moaned and trembled through another orgasm, dripping and squeezing his fingers, twitching with overstimulation and pain and pleasure and the raw rush of ecstasy. He finally let up when you whined, his mouth releasing your thigh and pulling his fingers out of you with a final little press against your g-spot that made your legs jerk. What little sense you might have had before was long gone. 

“Now… What was it you wanted me to do?” asked as he sat back. “You were mumbling, I couldn’t quite understand.”

You turned your face away from him in embarrassment, still trying just to breathe, let alone speak. Claude laughed indulgently. Warm, sweet, even affectionate. He leaned over you to press a kiss to your neck, lapping at the beads of blood that had welled up. Even as you burned, he was cold.

“Look at me,” Claude told you softly, sweetly. 

And you did, meeting his eyes again because you were beyond refusing. What you didn’t expect was for him to take advantage of the way you were gasping for air and shove his fingers in your mouth. They tasted like you and maybe a distant part of your mind was disgusted by that, but it was so much easier to do what came naturally and suck on them, your tongue cleaning his skin of your wet arousal. The reaction seemed to amuse him, and, curiously, he pushed his fingers a little deeper. Predictably, you choked. Claude pulled them out with a spill of saliva. Filthy, but everything was already so wet, the added mess made little difference. 

“Oop, sorry,” he said without the slightest shred of repentance, sitting up and unbuttoning his shirt, tossing it aside. You could barely remember what had happened to your own clothes. “I’d hate to put words into your mouth, so why don’t you tell me what it is you want.” 

You shook your head, closing your eyes in an attempt to collect yourself. More than ever, reality loomed as a detached concept, floating above you and below you but not quite stable. There were reasons that was probably dangerous, but you couldn’t think hard enough to know. Every time you tried, it was just the heavy thump thump thump of your heart, and sweat, and your heavy, heavy head. 

“How about I tell you what I want, and you can let me know if it's agreeable to Her Highness?” Claude asked playfully. You peeked at him from beneath your eyelashes, barely coherent enough to be surprised that he was naked. Beautiful, the warm tan of his skin belying the bloodless cold beneath. Vampire biology, as it turned out, was comparable enough to human biology. “I want to see how many times I can make you come on my cock before you either beg me to stop or pass out. Preferably while enjoying a little more of your blood.” 

You blinked, some sense returning to your head as your eyes followed the trail of dark hair down his abdomen to his cock. A bit of fear because the sight of his hand stroking it made you very aware of what was about to happen, and then his words registered and you froze up entirely. 

“Oh, don’t make that face, that was a joke,” Claude said, scooping you up. The world rolled, your head heavy and limbs limp. “I won’t let you pass out, you’d miss all the fun.” 

“Dizzy,” you muttered, trying to hold onto him for stability, everything he just said fleeing your head as the reality rolled and twisted and shifted incomprehensibly. You couldn’t be afraid of what was happening when you didn’t even know what was happening, although that was distressing in and of itself. 

“You’re okay,” Claude said sweetly, brushing a lock of hair from your face, capturing your attention back onto him. Something to hold onto. “I’ve got you. Just relax, let me take care of you.” 

Amidst the blurry, disorienting world, his eyes were familiar and clear. Beautiful. You must have muttered something in the affirmative because it made him laugh, the sound rumbling in his bare chest. Claude kissed your lips, your cheek. Then you were turned around and falling forward. It was difficult to balance on your hands and knees. He had to settle for your knees and elbows, your arms were trembling too much to hold you. 

“You really are gorgeous, you know that?” Claude said, his hands tracing over your waist, down your hips. He didn’t put any pressure on the hurt one, simply tracing the very tips of his fingers across the ugly bruise. With how sensitive the skin was, it actually felt good, tugging a harsh shiver down your spine. “I’m serious. I mean… Look at you. Not that you can. I guess you’ll have to take my word for it.”

Shame made a brief reappearance as Claude groped your ass, playing with your body a moment before spreading your cheeks, exposing you enough to run the tip of his cock through your slick folds. That made you shiver even harder, your body tensing up, your pussy squeezing around nothing, dripping a little more in anticipation. 

“A meaner man would make you beg,” Claude said, nudging the blunt head against your hole. You exhaled shakily, desperate and nervous and filled with red hot lust. 

“Claude,” you said.

“You’re lucky I’m so nice.” With that as your only warning, he nudged his hips forward. Once the head was in, you were more than wet enough for him to slide in smoothly. 

But Claude still took his time, holding you tightly against him to fill you with little rolling thrusts, his cock dragging against your fluttering inner walls bit by bit so you could feel everything. He held onto the headboard with one strong arm, the other holding your back flush against him which was good because, especially now that you were so full, you had no control over your body. In contrast to your feverish, sweaty skin, Claude was cold and smooth, his flesh unyielding and hollow. Your pussy worked around his cock, adjusting to his size. Any discomfort was easily smoothed out by how right it felt. How perfect.  

“Scratch that, you’re going to be lucky if I ever let you leave my bed,” Claude said, his voice a bit harsher, more affected, his arm tightening around you. 

You whimpered, your body unintentionally responding to what should have been a threat but only registered as a delicious promise. Claude still hadn’t moved. Every little movement made you tighten and flutter around him, a new reminder of how deep he went, how completely full you were. Claude groaned in turn, the sound muffled against your neck. 

When he bit you again, you could feel the way your cunt clamped down around him, your hips desperately twitching in an attempt to make him move. The piercing ache of his fangs spread through your skull, your spine, and then his lips latched onto the wound as if to soothe it. The sound of Claude sucking against your skin was beyond lewd, sloppy and wet and needful. 

“Please,” you whimpered. Not to make him stop, but to make him move, to fuck you properly. He pulled off of your neck with a slick pop. 

“I thought you’d want me to be gentle,” Claude teased, pulling out of you slowly. He didn’t take on the sensual tone of a lover, remaining playful despite what he was doing. “But that’s not true at all, is it? You want to be used. You want me to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk, let alone escape from my devious schemes. Then you’ll have no choice but to be a pretty little blood bag for the mean, mean vampire of El Dorado. Am I right, or am I right?”

The words made your cunt tighten despite yourself. “I-” When he thrust back into you, his hips smacking loudly against your ass, you could feel everything. Every ridge, every vein, it was rough and rocked you forward. Only, he held you in place, leaving you with no escape. 

“Exactly, I’m right,” Claude said, repeating the motion, making you cry out pathetically. “Of course, I almost always am. You’d think I’d get sick of it at some point and say something wrong just for a change of pace, but…”

You weren’t really listening to him. How could you? Each thrust was hard enough to practically throw you forward, but the cage of his arm kept you in place so he could keep up the rough pace, fucking into you like you were little more than a doll. You wanted to meet him halfway, wanted to participate, but you were too far gone to possibly keep up. Luckily, Claude didn’t seem to mind either way. 

His fangs buried into your neck directly on top of the wound from last night and it should have hurt horribly, but instead it threw you over the edge, your pussy tightening around his cock and your body trembling as you came. The sensation was hard and rough and completely physical, pleasure blooming out from the place where his cock slammed into you and spreading outwards in wonderfully sensitive sparks of heat. 

Claude growled. You could feel the vibrations in his chest, his throat. The iron tang of your blood mingled with the filthy scent of sex, and the sound of him slurping at the skin of your neck was nearly as lewd as when he ate you out, like the sex was the same as the blood drinking, the two acts intrinsically linked.

The inside part of your consciousness remained in the heavy, hot confines of your body, desperate for a break so you could come down from the orgasm but unable to deny some hot, painful desire for more. The outside part of your mind floated above, like a balloon, disconnected and distantly interested in what was happening, almost like this was a dream. The two parts warred. One mind focused only on Claude and the pure physicality of it all, the other in a state of disbelief that any of this was happening at all. 

Neither mattered, really. Within your chest, your heart raged in a double time beat, racing against the blood loss and the syrupy thick pressure of exertion. Superficial pleasure raced over your skin like electricity. Claude bit into your neck again, drinking even more of your sweetened blood with desperate fervor. You tensed up, realizing that you were going to come again with a twinge of panic. Your body rebelled at the idea, but it would be more painful to deny the pleasure, it would leave you shaking and wanting and desperate and it would hurt. 

“You just can’t get enough, can you?” Claude asked. You moaned wetly, pathetically. He licked a wide stripe up the side of your neck. Even now, his tongue was impossibly cool against the bleeding wounds. 

He let you fall down, pushing your torso into the mattress. You went without protest, boneless and limp. Claude held you up by the waist, his thrusts slowing down as he experimented a few times. You didn’t really realize the point until your body jerked with intense, almost aggressive, pleasure. 

“That’s it, right?” Claude asked, a smile in his voice. You weren’t sure why he asked in the first place, your body’s reaction to him hitting your g-spot was more than telling. It felt good, beyond good, but it was in an electrified, panicked sort of way because at this point you were overstimulated and dizzy and every time he fucked into you it was unbelievably pleasurable, so much that it hurt. It didn’t help that Claude was being so rough, his thrusts losing tempo. And you just took it, jerking each time, spasming around him, moaning helplessly, that coil of heat building with too much intensity, with too much raw-nerve pressure. 

“C-aa-n’t,” you gasped out between thrusts, your voice heavy and wet.  

“Can too,” Claude told you, twisting your hips a little, enough to add that little bit of extra sensation. You pressed your face against the sheets as you came, your moans coming out practically as sobs because of how utterly overstimulating it felt as your pussy unintentionally clamped down around Claude’s cock, forcing more pressure on your g-spot, cruelly dragging out your own orgasm. He was muttering something, praise maybe, but you couldn’t hear it above the roaring of blood in your ears. 

Pretty soon Claude moaned loudly, layering your name with the heavy sound of pleasure. You realized that he was coming too, slamming into you roughly before his hips stuttered, flush with your ass. You shook and gasped and whined, your pussy fluttering and squeezing him, accepting the torment. Inviting it even, dripping around him even as he buried himself too deep inside of you, finishing with a few heavy thrusts. 

Claude laughed lightly after a few moments, although it sounded more like a sound of exhilarated joy than humor. You hoped he wasn’t laughing at you, although you couldn’t do anything even if he was.

He kneaded your ass, spreading your cheeks to watch himself pull out of you with a rush of wetness. Shame had burrowed deep into your gut, but you felt enough to pull away, to press your thighs together as soon as you had the chance.  

“I may have gotten a teensy bit carried away,” Claude admitted. 

You didn’t open your eyes or respond, not even when he threw himself down onto his side and gathered you against him. He was cool and smooth, his flesh inhuman against your own. You were the feverishly sweaty one, although you realized as he held you how cold you felt on the inside. Cold and sore and empty. 

“I know you’re not asleep,” Claude said, nuzzling against the side of your neck, lapping up the blood before sucking lightly at the freshest wound, groaning at the taste. 

You didn’t move. If you did, if you acknowledged the cold or him or the discomfort or anything, you would have to deal with how awful you felt. Blood loss felt a bit like altitude sickness, at least insofar as it left you lightheaded and nauseous. The sore overstimulation was different, but you definitely didn’t want to deal with that. Mostly, you just wanted to stop existing and shirk the discomfort and pretend that none of this was real. 

Claude pulled away from your neck, smacking his lips contentedly. 

You continued not to move as he adjusted himself, his arm leaving your waist to reach for something off to the side. “Can you sit up a little?” Claude asked. Your head spun as he pulled you upward regardless of your answer, the world lurching. Your pussy leaked uncomfortably, coating your thighs and the damp sheets. Every inch of your body either ached or felt clammy and sour. Your head pounded with a headache. Your skin was too tight, sweat dripping into the scrapes and bitemarks. A straw appeared at your lips, urging you to finally open your eyes. “Here—drink this.” 

You looked at him from beneath fluttering eyelashes, meeting those pretty green-blue eyes before looking at the bottle he held. 

“Whassit?” you asked, your voice slurred and barely recognizable. Your stomach protested at the thought of taking anything, but your mouth was bone dry and tasted like blood. 

“Water,” Claude said, pushing the straw past your lips. You just accepted it. Maybe you shouldn’t have, he already admitted to drugging you, but you weren’t thinking clearly and it was easier to just do what he said. “Humans need a lot of water. Especially after losing so much fluid.” He paused, smiling playfully. “Do you always get that wet or am I special?”

You blinked at him, taking in a few more mouthfuls of water before dropping the straw. Claude set the cup aside, wiping the excess water from the corner of your lips, and then smoothing over your hair, pulling you against his chest happily. It was easiest to let it happen. He really did smell good, spice and citrus and musk and Claude. The man of your dreams, he called himself.   

“They thought they could trap me here forever. After their massacre and the fire, they…” Claude didn’t finish that thought, his voice troubled. There was no heartbeat in his hard, muscled chest, but you could feel the rumble of his voice. “She had family, sure, but her blood was cursed. No Macbeth woman would be able to release me from this place ever again. And then you came.” He paused, petting your hair again. “More than once, if I recall.” 

You groaned softly, eliciting a laugh from him. 

“Yeah, that was in poor taste. Unlike you, who tastes excellent,” Claude said affectionately. A moment later, he sighed, returning to a somewhat serious tone. “Anyway, the point is that, vampire or no, I’m man enough to admit that I needed saving just as badly as you. That’s enough, isn’t it? We really should stick together, us accursed outcasts.”

You didn’t say anything, you weren’t sure what you were meant to say. Your thoughts, still, were little more than confused slush. And, more than that, you weren’t sure that was the sort of thing that needed a response. 

Claude accepted your silence and kissed the top of your head. And then he just held you. Not like he was afraid you would leave him, but like he was afraid you would cease to exist altogether, his arms nearly desperately keeping you pressed against his chest, his hands brushing your back or nose ruffling your hair as he reminded himself that you were still there.

And maybe those thoughts were just projections, but you didn’t think they were. 

II.

1st Day of Ethereal Moon

Now it’s just us two. Me and Claude ruling the world. Explorers, adventurers, wanderers. Rogues who hide behind the horizon to keep the night close. I told him that the other day and it made Claude laugh. It didn’t hurt even a bit to say, either. Dad would like him, I think. Claude likes discovering things and chasing mysteries and all that too. There’s always somewhere new to go, we never stay anywhere long enough for people to notice our shadow. It can be hard sometimes, but I’m not alone. It’s as good an ending as any. 

Happily ever after. 

#claude von riegan #fe claude #claude von riegan x reader #fe claude x reader #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #my writing #not sfw #tw.drugging #tw.dubcon

[fiction-box]

Hello there ^^

Are your requests still open ? If yes I’d like to request a character x reader scenario or headcanons (which ever is better for you) for Dimitri and Claude (separately pls) with a female or gender neutral reader (not Byleth) who is asexual ?(When someone identifies as asexual that means that they don’t feel any sexual attraction towards any gender)

Scenario for orientation/inspiration : They just confessed to each other, but the reader wants them to know that they’re asexual before they get official, since it can be a potential dealbreaker. So the reader tells them that they don’t plan on ever having s”x with them, will also not do any compromises (not even for children/heirs) and tells them that they should search for another partner if they’re not happy/accept it, since the reader will not step over their boundaries for a partner or their partners pleasure.

If you don’t want to write both, then please just for Claude. I hope you are well and have a great day/night ^^

Happy Thursday, my lovely! I finally got some free time to put my writing into an online sheet, so you can imagine this work has been crafted over the course of several weeks. I'm going to attempt to post much more often (as I have wanted to for so long now), but life happens and I tend to be busy.

In any case, I hope you enjoy this work despite my tardiness. Have a wonderful weekend.

To everyone, please feel free to fill my inbox! My rules are pinned to the top of my blog, so request as much as you'd like after reading those!

The story will be continued under the cut.

“What are you doing out here so late?”

You whipped your head around in shock, getting a good look at the man that had snuck up on you.

“Goodness, Dimitri,” you sighed, placing a hand over your chest in an attempt to quell your racing heartbeat, “a little more warning next time? You almost scared me right off the bridge!”

The moon shone high in the sky, illuminating the bridge to Garreg Mach’s cathedral in a faint, white glow. You found yourself stopped at the center of it, taking in the way the trees created long shadows in the night.

But now your eyes were trained on the new King of Fodlan. His appearance here, in the middle of the night, ran almost too coincidental with where your thoughts had been headed.

“Ah, my apologies,” he returned with a chuckle, “You never did answer my question, though.”

At this, you ducked your head, “I…just…”

How were you meant to communicate the reason without scaring him off? You were hopeful, yet fear engulfed you. That was why you were here tonight. You wanted to sort out your feelings…about him.

“Was that…too intrusive? I do not mean to bother you.”

You wished you could find the courage to speak, or even just to look at him.

“Perhaps I ought to leave you here, for tonight. Know that I am here to talk if you wish.”

Hearing him shift to move finally prompted you to return his gaze, “No, that’s not what I want. It’s just…hard for me to find the words. The easiest way to put it would be to say that my thoughts were keeping me from sleep. I figured a walk might help me work through some things, but I’ve had no such luck, so far.”

“I see,” he nodded once, stepping forward to your side, staring out at the view that had held your attention for so long tonight. “I could say I came out here for a similar reason, myself.”

You kept your eyes on him, “If you wouldn’t mind sharing, may I ask what it is that has kept you up so late?”

He turned to you slowly, his face turning darker, “I suppose you will find out, eventually. I might as well tell you now.”

“Oh, well, if I’m going to find out anyway, there’s no reason for you to say it.” 

Perhaps it was some plan or strategy for the Kingdom to rebuild, you reasoned.

“You can deliver the news to me alongside everyone else.”

Dimitri gave a light chuckle, “No, I’m afraid that wouldn’t be proper.”

Propriety? You wondered. There must be another matter on his mind, then.

Lightly, the blond reached out for your left hand, placing it in his own and bringing it to his lips. The action made your eyes widen and your heart skip a beat.

“Dimitri…”

“I believe I have fallen in love with you.”

Involuntarily, you took a step back.

You weren’t ready for this conversation, yet. That was part of the real reason you came out here. Yes, you were in love with Dimitri, but things weren’t that simple. You loved yourself, too, and you would never betray yourself. Not even for the love of another.

In truth, it was your love for him that made you hesitate. You weren’t interested in…copulation…but for stability reasons, Fodlan’s throne would need an heir. Seeing how the Kingdom had taken over Fodlan, it would be safest to keep the rule within the current royal bloodline. Namely, Dimitri’s.

That wasn’t even considering his crest. The crest of Blaiddyd had been a symbol of great power for generations. How selfish would it be for you to cause its end all because you weren’t interested in sex?

So, though you loved Dimitri, you weren’t planning on ever making your feelings known to him. The world would be better off with the two of you apart.

And yet you had found yourself coming here for a walk, anyway. You had questioned whether or not to ruin everything if only to save your bleeding heart.

And somehow, you wound up in this position; Dimitri coming to you with his heart in his hands while all you could do was step back.

Selfish and selfless. A fool all the same.

“...I see…” the royal waivered, lowering your hand, “Forgive me, I believe I have read all this terribly wrong.”

Say something, you idiot! Don’t let it end like this!

“I can’t.”

He stopped himself just before releasing your hand.

“...what?”

“I want to say it back. Truly, I do,” you began to explain softly, “but, thinking of the future, I know that I could never.”

“Why not?” he questioned, stepping in towards you, “Is there something wrong with me? Are you unable to forgive the sins of my past?”

He looked down to the side, “If that is the case, I do not blame you.”

“No, that isn’t what I meant at all!”

“You are a noble, so that cannot be what you are worried about. You are kind, beautiful, compassionate, patient…no doubt the people would love you.”

“Please, stop,” you begged under your breath, shutting your eyes.

Dimitri lifted your hand once more, grasping it in both of his own, this time, “You would make a wonderful mother. I have always dreamt of having a large fami-”

“That!” you almost sobbed, pulling your hand out of his. Even just hearing him say such things made your head spin and your stomach swirl, “That is the reason I cannot…we cannot…”

“You…do not wish to have a family?”

Why is this so hard? I wish it didn’t have to be this hard.

“I don’t want to…to have sex.”

“But…”

“Please, don’t try to change my mind,” your eyes met his, “If I thought I could manage it, even just for an heir, I would have done so in a heartbeat for you. But I have thought about it, and I have tried to change my mind.”

Your arms wrapped around yourself. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, and your throat was beginning to tighten, “I love you, Dimitri. I love you so much that it hurts, but I just…I can’t do that. I could never betray myself.”

For a moment, there was nothing. You closed your eyes, and a droplet made its way from the corner of your eye down your cheek.

Suddenly, your tears were being wiped away. Dimitri had taken off his gloves and was cupping your face with his hands. His thumb swiped under your eyes, and the prince let his forehead rest against yours.

“That is all I would ask of you. Just knowing that you return my feelings is enough,” his eyes never left yours, “I love you. Not for what you can or cannot do, but because of who you are. We can work together to find the solution for that issue, but know that you are worth so much more than your desire to have children.”

He made you feel so foolish for even worrying. Of course you could work it out together. So long as you had one another, the rest could fall into place.

Separating his forehead from yours, Dimitri wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his chest. Though his armor was cold and unforgiving, his hands were warm. Kind, just as you had known them to be.

No matter what would happen next, you would always have Dimitri. He was all you needed to trust that everything would turn out for the best.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, this is where you ran off to?”

“Woah! Who-?” your heart practically leapt into your throat as you spun around, quickly backing into the railing.

Claude laughed, though his gaze darted between you and the railing for a moment.

“Hey, take it easy! I just didn’t think you were the type to come to the Goddess Tower when you’re worried, is all. Don’t, uh…don’t throw yourself over the railing about it.”

Your eyes widened further than they had already once you realized how dangerous that could have been.

“Oh my-!” swiftly, you put distance between yourself and the rail. “N-No! That wasn’t my intention at all!”

A bit of tension left the royal’s body, at that. The release was visible.

“Good.”

A sigh turned into a breathy laugh from Claude, “Seriously, don’t scare me like that. I don’t know what I would have done if that encounter went differently.”

Like this, you could see just how shaken your leader actually was. It seemed to have quite the impact on you, too.

“Well…don’t follow people into towers only to scare them at the top! You scared me!”

“Okay, okay! It’s my fault, I’m sorry. Can we just…move past this now?”

You nodded, and a beat of silence passed between the two of you.

“...how did you know I was worried?”

“Intuition,” the wyvern rider smirked. “Come on, you don’t really think I see you as the type to ditch an informal celebration, right? One in your honor, no less?”

“It’s for all the Golden Deer, not just me.”

“I’m not hearing any argument on that first part.”

You paused, clenching your teeth behind your closed lips the slightest amount and looking to the side.

“Yeah, not really helping your case, there. You know you can trust me with anything, don’t you?”

He looked so lucid, and yet…timid? Sheepish?

…Afraid…?

Well, so were you.

“It’s…my mother. I just needed to get away from everyone; I didn’t want to ruin the celebration by forcing everyone to put up with me when…my heart really isn’t in it.”

“Oh,” that strange emotion from before left his eyes. Almost like he was…disappointed? “Is she sick?”

“That’s not it,” you turned away from him a little, shifting in the same direction as your gaze. “She sent me a letter. Now that the war is over, she’s going to force me to get married.”

Claude’s expression grew pensive, “...To force you…Do you not want to get married at all?”

You looked at him, then, “No…yes?” you took a breath, trying to start over, “It’s, um…I…”

“Take your time. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

He says that, but he seems to be more interested in this topic than the last…

Glancing aside again, you took a breath and released it.

“I’m afraid. I’m completely fine with marriage, but I can’t…” another deep breath as you lowered your voice, “I refuse to have children. Even the thought of sex makes me sick. Of course, there’s the matter of promising to spend my life with a stranger or someone I don’t love…though I wouldn’t hesitate to do that if it meant…”

Your eyes found Claude’s, only to see his expression frozen in what you believed was shock.

“Ah,” you recoiled slightly, “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have unloaded all that on you!” You blushed more than you knew capable, ducking your head out of his sight and covering your face with your hands, for good measure, “Just…forget I even said anything!”

“No, you’re completely fine! I’m just surprised this is the first time I’ve heard about any of this!” he reassured you, “I was just thinking,”

Well, that could have gone worse, at least.

“Let me get this straight,” you calmed yourself down enough to look at your house leader, noticing that expression from before returning to his face. “You would rather marry a complete stranger than someone you loved, just so long as you knew you wouldn’t have to have sex with them?”

You nodded, afraid he was judging you.

Instead, Claude let out a breath of air through his nose, “In that case, I think I have a solution to both of those problems.”

He crossed the short distance between you, taking both your hands in his own and lifting them before you could process what was happening.

“Marry me.”

“-! Claude…” you breathed.

“I love you. I love you enough to respect your boundaries because what matters to me is that I get to spend my life at your side. The thought of you marrying some stranger just to be true to yourself…Even if you don’t love me-”

“I do!” you cried, beginning to tear up. “I do love you, Claude, this is just…I didn’t want to force any of this onto you. A lot of people see this sort of thing as a deal-breaker, and I…I couldn’t do that to you-!”

Claude let go of your hands, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him. He felt you shake as you took a breath, tears now flowing freely from your eyes.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore. I love you, just like this.”

Your tears came even faster as you outright sobbed into his chest. Not even your own mother had said such words to you. At home, you were more of a nuisance than a noble; a pawn that was reluctant to be played.

Pulling away slightly, you wiped your eyes and looked into Claude’s green ones.

“I…I have to be sure. You’re really okay with spending your entire life with me without…a-and you won’t with anyone else, either? Is that really what you choose?”

The Almyran King chuckled, “Well, I can’t say it’s a path I anticipated for myself, but I can’t say I anticipated you having this preference, either.” He smiled at you, “It just goes to show I have so much more to look forward to learning about you, and I can’t imagine letting anyone else get ahead of me, there,” Claude winked.

You didn’t move, waiting.

“Just like I said, though, a large part of my happiness comes from being near you. There’s no way I’m giving any part of it up just so I can bed someone each night. You’re the one I fell in love with, not your body or what you could have offered in the bedroom.”

Finally, you sighed and felt something in your chest relax.

“Don’t get me wrong, though! I still expect you to have a pillow and a blanket waiting in there! This isn’t gonna work if I wake up with my back stiff each morning.”

Giggling, you stepped back into him, the two of you holding one another with silly grins on your faces.

The future looked brighter with someone who loved you at your side.

#fe3h dimitri #dimitri fe3h #dimitri x reader #fe x reader #fe3h #fe3h claude #fire emblem x reader #fe3h x reader #fire emblem #fiction #claude von riegan #fe dimitri #fe claude x reader #fe claude #fire emblem three houses #fluff #claude von riegan x reader #claude x reader #dimitri fire emblem #claude fire emblem #fe16 #claude fe16 #fe16 dimitri #three houses #romance

[yuna17kang]

An extraordinary morning with Claude

This is my first attempt at writing a story like this. I would be happy if you could leave me a feed and what I could improve.

I hope you like it ^^

It's a ClaudeXReader story.

Lets Start ~

The war had been over for about 2 years. But Claude was still very busy with many tasks. He always comes home very late and then gets up very early again. In the long run it really annoys you because he always wakes you up.

He either talks to subordinates or friends, sometimes he wakes you up when he is writing letters because his pen makes squeaking noises when he writes. Sometimes you'd like to just get up and take the feather away from him and hide it.

But then there are days when he lies next to you and cuddles with you until you both get up together. You love the days the most. You love it when the sunshine slips through your curtains and lands on your skin. While you lie in his strong arms that are around your waist.

At that moment you hear his heartbeat and all the thoughts you had disappear, and all your fears are blown away for the moment. You feel safe and secure in his arms.

But today it wasn't like that. You were woken up by a disgusting squeak and you looked up. There Claude sat at his desk and wrote letters again. You turned around, but it was no use. This time the squealing bothered you much more than usual.

So you got up and went to him. You hugged him from behind and placed your head on his shoulder. He grinned a little and stopped writing. He put the pen aside. "Did I wake you up sweetheart?" You nodded slightly and he placed his hand on yours that were around his neck.

He leaned his head slightly against yours and stayed that way, enjoying it with you for a moment. You saw your opportunity. You grabbed the pen and ran away. He just looked confused but quickly realized what happened. "My Love, would you please give it back to me?"

You ran to the bed and jumped on it. You stood and glared at him. "Nope, you won't get those back." You don't normally do something like that because his job is really very important, but today you felt like you had to do it.

You bounced around on the bed and Claude stood in front of you. He started grinning and watching you jump around. "You're sweet as always, even when your little child comes out of you." He was still beaming at you. He also wanted to climb on the bed but you jumped down and ran around the room. He ran after you and at one point you were too slow and he grabbed you.

He pulled you into a hug and you started laughing. He held you tight and didn't let you go. "My Love, would you now explain to me why you stole my pen?" You looked up at him briefly and then back down at the floor. You placed your head on his chest and listened briefly. It beat very quickly. "I'm sorry, I wanted to stay in your arms a little longer," you said a little quietly, but he still heard you.

Suddenly he let go of you and took the pen. You looked after him, confused. He put the pen on the table and came back to you. You still looked at him confused while he just grinned. "What are you doing? You have to do your chores." He took your hand and pulled you to the bed.

He sat down and you stood between his legs and looked down. His hands were on your waist and he beamed at you. "I can do that later. You have priority now, sweetheart." You beamed at him and gave him a kiss on the lips.

So you lie down again and cuddle for a while. You lay a little on top of him and he stroked your back with his fingertips. After a while he just stopped and you noticed from his even breathing that he had fallen asleep. You started to smile and briefly looked up at him. So you listen to his heart again and fall asleep in his arms again.

~ End

Have a Lovely Dayy ^^

#claude von riegan x reader #claude von riegan #three houses #fire emblem #fe3h #fe3h oc #my writing #fe claude #fe3h claude #claude x reader #fire emblem three houses #fluff #fire emblem 3 houses #x reader #x y/n #x you fluff #sweet

[jojosbizarrefanfics]

Reminiscing — Claude von Riegan x Reader 🍋

Fire Emblem brain rot is real & there aren’t enough fics for my faves so I’m here to fix that

Starting off with Claude! 💛

Includes: public sex, oral, glove kink if you squint. fem!reader is a fellow golden deer student & alliance member

The only sound in the library was that of your own footsteps, and even that was barely discernible. But they caught Claude’s attention regardless.

“I’m surprised you can see anything. It’s so dark in here.”

He grinned from his spot at the desk. “My eyes have adjusted. Looking for me?”

You nodded. “I thought I might find you here. You haven’t changed that much, you know.”

“Come on. Take a seat. There’s two chairs, after all, and I’ve missed your company.”

You joined him and pushed your chair closer to him, not bothering to pretend you were there for any other reason than to spend time with him. Claude was receptive to the feeling of your chin on his shoulder, having leaned closer to you as well.

“Whatchya reading?”

“I’m trying to get some clues on… well, everything. Rhea especially. There’s some stuff that just doesn’t add up, but it’s starting to make my eyes go crossed.”

“Sometimes the best thing you can do is take a break, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He sighed in contentment and, out of habit, brought his lips to your temple. He stopped himself before he could kiss you, even though you wished he would, but his lips still ghosted on your skin. “Sorry. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Don’t stop on my account,” you said with a wink. “Reminds me of when we’d sneak out here late at night to just cuddle and read.”

Claude laughed and pressed his lips to the spot where they still lingered. Finally, you thought. “Well, my dear, I remember us doing a lot more than just cuddling and reading when we’d show up after dark.”

“Goddess, I’ll never forget when we almost got caught. I thought Seteth was gonna start looking under all the tables.”

“I’m shocked he didn’t. You think anyone else is up this late?”

“I didn’t see anyone on my way here.”

“Noted.” Claude had a twinkle in his eye that I knew all too well. “I’ve really, really missed you. I mean, I know you’ve been there at the round tables your father can’t make and all, but I feel like it’s been years since we’ve had a moment alone like this.”

“I get it. Big man in charge and all.” You playfully nudged his shoulder with your own.

Claude laughed, the breathy type that you’d call a giggle if he wouldn’t fight you on it and that was reserved just for you. “I wish you could be by my side through it all.”

“Who says I couldn’t?”

“I have a lot I have to do. It wouldn’t be fair to a pretty lady like you to keep you waiting.” He poked your nose when he said it.

“Claude, if this is about Almyra—”

“Huh?”

“Oh, come on! You may have been the most clever in our class, but you weren’t the only one with half a brain.” You rose an eyebrow at him. “I haven’t told anyone. But we’ve spent enough time together and you’ve said enough sweet nothings to me that I could put the pieces together.”

“I can’t really lie to you when I’m close enough to kiss you again, so I guess I’ll have to just opt for shutting you up.”

Claude smirked as he brought your lips together, effectively doing as he said he would. His hands left his book entirely, one cupping your face and the other resting on your thigh. It was as if your distance over the last five years never happened and you were picking up right where you left off.

One of your own hands tangled in Claude’s tousled hair as the other gripped for his tunic. His hand on your thigh gripped your flesh in response, and he took his time feeling it between his fingers. It wasn’t long before his tongue pressed past your lips like it had hundreds of times before.

“Have I mentioned how much I’ve missed you?” Claude said against your lips between kisses. You felt like you could hardly catch a breath; once Claude started, he didn’t seem like he was willing to stop. “Five years was way too long.”

“You know, Claude, you always could have just knocked on my door.”

He chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind for after the war.”

He remembered he wouldn’t be here after the war, but east beyond the mountains, but he pushed the thought aside as he continued to kiss you. He didn’t have to worry about what he’d do with you then; he just had to worry about what he’d do with you right now.

“But since I’ve got you here and now, mind if I get a do-over from five years ago?”

“I remember being pretty happy with your performance.”

“Yeah, but now we don’t have to worry about any interruptions.” His lips moved to your neck as his hand on your thigh crept up until he was at the seam of your undergarments. “What do you say?”

“I won’t stop you.”

“Excellent.”

He moved his hand on your face to your blouse to unbutton it as his lips followed, kissing passionately and slowly down your chest and breasts. You palmed his groin as his finger slipped past the seam of your underwear, tracing your entrance to tease you. He still had his gloves on and the sensation of the leather shot a chill down your spine.

You could feel him beneath his trousers, stiffening as you continued to grasp for him. You moved up for the waistband and pushed your hand beneath it so you could feel his bare skin, running your hand up and down his shaft the way you remembered he liked. This caused Claude to moan against your skin, his breath hot and heavy against your nipple.

“Scoot your chair out a bit for me, will ya?”

You did as he instructed, which allowed for Claude to slip beneath the desk. He parted your legs with his hands and hooked your undergarments with his thumbs to pull them down your legs.

Claude started by kissing up your thighs: open-mouthed, hot, and heavy. Your fingers combed through his hair and gripped when his tongue finally dipped between your legs, mouth enclosed over your clit. He moaned as he tasted you and dove in deeper, eager for more after craving you for the last half a decade.

“Oh, Claude.”

Your sighs encouraged him to keep going, along with your tightening grip on his hair. His fingers dug into your plush thighs as he carried on with his ministrations, refusing to stop until he felt your release. Even when he did, Claude didn’t stop, but only picked up his pace to send you over the edge.

When Claude finally came out for air, some of your cum shined on his lips. He licked them clean as he emerged from beneath the desk.

“As sweet as ever. Want to get on the desk?”

“Right now?”

“It used to be a little fantasy of mine,” Claude said. “Are you up for it?”

“I dunno, Claude,” you said with a smirk on your face and a wink. Your stomach faced the desk and you reached across it to lightly grip the opposite edge. “Maybe if you promise me that you won’t be so distant anymore.”

Claude kicked off his boots as he undid his trousers. He was even harder than he was when you were stroking him. As he placed a hand on your hip and another on your mid-back, you felt his cock slide against your lower lips.

“I promise.” He sealed that promise by pressing your torso down against the desk and by sliding his cock into you.

Claude was slower here than he was with his tongue. He took his time feeling you again, relishing in the way your walls seemed to wrap around him with an easy perfection.

It was like you were made for each other.

He’d definitely be keeping that promise, he thought. It was never his intention, but there you were—whether it be sharing longing glances across a round table or within his grasp at the library desk, you were always there.

Claude filled you with each thrust, retracting only halfway when he’d pull back. He didn’t want to leave you, and you felt so warm and soft beneath him and around him that he felt like his head was spinning. You weren’t much better off as you came around him, your third orgasm of the night making your nerves feel like they were electrified. Your moans spilled out in the form of his name like a prayer.

Perhaps, he thought as his hips slowed and his thrusts deepened, you could share his dream with him after all.

“Wanna swallow me up, sweetheart? You feel so good, but we are in the middle of a war here.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, come on.”

Claude withdrew from you, as much as he didn’t want to. You were quick to turn around and lower to your knees, despite your wobbly legs. Claude exhaled in relief at the feeling of your lips around him. He watched you with an intense look in his dark green eyes; when you looked up at him with his cock in your mouth, it was hard to tell exactly what he was thinking. His hand gripped your hair as he released down your throat, tasting as mildly tangy as you remembered.

Claude helped you up and, with a tenderness he seldom showed, helped button your blouse back up once your undergarments and his trousers were back on. You both took a moment to collect your breaths, doing so between soft, delicate kisses that Claude would place upon your lips.

“Dare I ask you to stay the night with me?”

“What are you scheming now, Reigan?”

“Mm, just how I’m going to make you Queen of Almyra one day.”

You laughed. He felt relieved that you read it as a joke like he intended, but he knew in his heart that he was serious.

“We’re adults now, Claude. I don’t think anyone will throw a fuss if they see us a sharing a bed.”

“Fair enough. So is that a yes?”

You nodded. “I’d like that. We can make up for lost time, if you will.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.” He winked at you and held out his hand. “Shall we?”

As you left the library, you saw a figuring approaching down the hallway.

“Oh, hey Teach!”

“Professor Byleth! What are you doing up so late?”

“Can’t sleep,” Byleth said. “I was just going to grab a book in hopes that it would help. I take it you two couldn’t also?”

“We were just heading to bed after getting some research in. We were hoping to find some clues on Lady Rhea’s whereabouts, but no such luck. Time must have slipped past us.”

Byleth looked you both up and down. While your clothes were straightened out, you were sure your hair was a mess.

“Right. Well, good night, you two.”

“Good night.”

As you and Claude head down the stairs of the monastery, you sighed. “That was close.”

“Talk about perfect timing.”

#claude von riegan #claude von reigen #claude von riegan x reader #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem fanfic #fire emblem smut #Claude von riegan smut #Claude x reader #not sfw

[thatanimewriter]

REACH FOR MY HAND.

➳ synopsis: in those years since being separated by your friends due to the war edelgard started, you managed to find love in the chaos with your old best friend

➳ character/s: claude von riegan, felix fraldarius

➳ warnings: swearing, blood, mentions of violence, mentions of death, actual violence, descriptions of injury

➳ notes: felix’s is a mix of emotions. it’s angsty, but then its kinda comedic at the end?? idk what i’ve done, i just word vomitted.

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 + 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

── 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐄 𝐕𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐍.

you had always been close with claude during your time at the monastery

helping him with pranks

convincing him not to do others

but the bond you’d built with him was quickly cut off when edelgard was revealed to be the flame emperor

after the battle of garreg mach, everyone split

your contact with claude was discontinued and you worked alone to bring about peace

but something about your friendship with claude had changed when you saw him again at the goddess tower

‘claude?’ you called, standing at the top of the staircase. he turned away from the window to face you, mouth slightly agape as he took in your appearance. five years really did wonders for some people. you walked towards him slowly, unsure of his reaction. he noticed the way your hand gripped your weapon tightly and his heart shattered.

‘are you scared of me?’ he asked, halting your movements.

‘what?’

‘you look ready to fight at any moment. do i scare you?’ he repeated. your eyes widened at his observation. the underlying look of fear in his own made you pause as you realised words wouldn’t prove shit. holding your arm out to the side, you dropped your weapon, using your foot to kick it to the edge of the room. his gaze followed it before returning back to you, who now had your arms open.

as he moved to stand in front of you, he hesitated to embrace you, concerned for any hidden weapons you may have. the moment you smiled at him warmly, tears gathered in your eyes, he let go of his worries, holding you as if it was the last time he would ever see you.

‘welcome back,’ you said quietly, stroking his hair gently as he buried his face into your neck. as you pulled away, a gloved hand came to cup your cheek and green eyes scanned your face, noting any scars that had decorated your skin. pulling you in again, he planted a kiss to your lips, memorising the way you fit together.

‘i missed you,’ he mumbled, leaning his forehead against yours as he looked to the ground and at that moment, you realised that he was no longer the prankster he once was, no matter how much he tried to play it off. leaning in to give him another kiss, he got all the reassurance he needed. things were going to be ok.

── 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐒.

there was no chance of you getting to know felix any other way except training

somehow, you learnt more about each other through the way you sparred

then it progressed to eating dinner together in the dining hall

then it was thrown out the window in a flash

if you weren’t on the battlefield, the echoes of people’s screams filled the silence

and in the silence, felix was nowhere to be seen

however, when things finally started to silence in the battlefield, there he was

a scream tore itself from your throat as you were thrown against the crumbling stone pillar, collapsing to the floor of exhaustion, vision hazy as you looked to hubert who was readying another spell. resting your head on the ground in defeat, your hand gripped your side, coating it in blood as you tried - and failed - to ease the pain.

only until a familiar yell reverberated through the air did you raise your head once more, the fatigue washing away as you see felix, eyes filled with rage as he came at hubert with a barrage of attacks, allowing no time for the mage to fight back.

as other members of the blue lions joined the fray, felix fell back, racing to your bloody figure that rested on the floor. as he rolled you onto your back, muttering an apology as you cried out in pain, you noticed an air about him that you’d never seen before. panic.

‘you did well,’ he said, using the little healing magic he knew to numb the fast-spreading pain that stemmed from the wound. ‘fuck, this is bad,’ he whispered to himself, calling for mercedes with an unrecognisable vulnerability in his voice.

‘felix?’ you asked, meeting eyes with your old friend. he remained silent, giving you the opportunity to speak. ‘i...’

‘please just fucking spit it out.’ it would’ve come across as rude if not for the tears lining his eyes and waver in his tone.

maintaining eye contact, you spoke once more. ‘i love you.’

if you had the energy to laugh, you would have looking at his shocked expression, but you both didn’t have the energy nor the heart to seeing the tears roll down his cheeks gently. sniffing, he opened his mouth to respond, but soon closed it, finding himself at a loss for words. you reached for his hand, stroking the back of it gently, ignoring the fact that he was shaking.

leaning down, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, bringing a smile to your lips. as he pulled away, you gripped his collar weakly and brought him back down, connecting your lips properly.

‘you missed a spot,’ you said hoarsely.

‘you’re the fucking worst.’

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #claude von riegan #felix fraldarius #fire emblem three houses x reader #fe3h x reader #claude von riegan x reader #felix fraldarius x reader #fire emblem three houses imagines #fe3h imagines #claude von riegan imagines #felix fraldarius imagines

[frickingnerd]

having a baby with claude von riegan

pairing: claude von riegan x fem!reader

tags: reader briefly worries about losing the child, angst with a happy ending, mentions of reader not eating enough

you really couldn't have picked a worse time to get pregnant than during a war

well, it's not like you had planned to get pregnant now of all times

but now your stomach was getting bigger with each day and you knew exactly what that meant

you decided not to tell claude about his child yet, since you knew your boyfriend was busy leading the alliance and really didn't need to worry anymore about you than he already did

you tried to hide your body under some baggy clothes, hoping that nobody would notice the baby bump underneath

and you still joined your comrades during battle against the adrestian empire, so that nobody would get suspicious

battles were starting to get harder for you, since you couldn't move as swiftly as you used to anymore

even your life at the monastery was being more difficult than usual, since there wasn't much food for everyone anymore, but you had to eat for two people now

eventually, you couldn't hide your pregnancy anymore

you had passed out in the monastery and claude had rushed to your side to bring you to the infirmary

he tugged you into bed there and when professor manuela started to do a check up on you, the two of them noticed the baby bump you had been hiding

by the time you woke up, it was late evening and claude was quietly sitting by your side, his head sunk into his hands

it took you a moment to remember how you had even ended up here and you panicked, lifting the sheets and putting a hand onto your stomach

you could still feel the heartbeat of your unborn child and relaxed when you realized the baby was alright

but now you had to explain to claude why you were keeping the child a secret from him

he looked up as he noticed you were awake

his eyes were filled with tears and it broke your heart seeing him like this

"claude, i…" you felt horrible for keeping it a secret from him. he looked so upset

"don't ever worry me like that again, y/n. i thought i would lose both of you…" 

he wiped his tears away and inched closer to you, gently taking your hand

"i'm sorry, claude. i didn't want to worry you. and i didn't want to lie to you either" now you could feel the tears coming up in your eyes as well

"i know, y/n. i know…" he pressed a soft kiss onto your forehead. "you just wanted things to stay the way they were. you wanted to stay by my side and you didn't want to burden me. is that about right..?" 

you nodded quietly in response

"as much as i wish you could stay with me, you'll have to stay in the monastery from now on. no more battles for you, my love" 

you knew this would mean that claude would be away for days at times and you wouldn't get to see him

but you also knew that this was the right thing to do

he'd take care of winning the war, while you stayed behind and take care of your child

and once the war was over, the two of you could raise your child together

#claude von riegan #claude x reader #claude von riegan x reader #x reader #angst #fluff #headcanons #fire emblem #fire emblem three hopes #fire emblem three houses x reader #fire emblem x reader #fe claude #fe claude x reader #pregnancy #baby #x you #x y/n #x female reader #fire emblem three houses #fe3h x reader #fe3h

[feral-pansexual]

Waking up with Claude is somewhat odd, but certainly not unwelcome. He's used to waking up at the asscrack of dawn, both from his years in Almyra and his war years succeeding his time at Garreg Mach. It's not uncommon to be awoken by the scratching of his quill on parchment, sending letters to the other nobles of the Alliance. Or conversations just outside the door with underlings or old school friends.

Mornings like this one, however, are your favorite. There's no indication as to what has woken you, but Claude's fingers scratch gently against your scalp, head in his lap as he leans against the large headboard of your shared bed. He'd reading; you can vaguely hear the pages turn somewhere off to your left. It doesn't quite matter what all he's doing, though; you drift back to sleep with his fingers still in your hair.

#claude von riegan #claude von reigen #fe3h claude #claude von riegan x reader #waking up next to.. imagine #imagine #fe3h #fe3h imagines #claude von deer #golden deer #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem #fire emblem x reader #x reader

[rain-and-a-nice-nap]

Hello! This is a continuation on the childhood au, but you could probably just read it on its own if you wanted. I’ll probably make a part two at some point. It’s kinda edited, kinda proof read, gender neutral and shouldn’t have reader physical descriptions. Wasn’t meant to be this long, but I initially wrote it wonky so I’m splitting it into parts. 2,666 words, please let me know if you have constructive criticism lmao I don’t do a lot of creative writing.

It started with a bump.

You were getting your lunch in the dining hall, planning to go sit with your Blue Lions afterward. Filled with anticipation for the delicious-smelling food that you were piling onto your plate, you had no awareness of your surroundings.

Behind you was a group from the Golden Deer house. If you were listening you would hear that they had just begun bickering about which food on the menu today was healthier. But you hadn’t, you were unaware. Focused on other things.

Unlike you, however, was a green-eyed boy who had been dying to talk to you standing just a few steps away, at the head of the group. He was always aware of his surroundings and the way he expressed his every thought, more than most would give him credit for.

“No, no. The beast meat Teppanyaki is surely better for bulk than anything that you were suggesting! Though I can’t deny that the flavor is quite good.” It was a polite argument, to be sure. It was mostly between Leonie and Raphael, though Claude couldn’t be sure which had spoken, now that he was setting his plan in motion.

“Woah, Woah,” he chuckled, deliberately taking steps backward as he was speaking, “Now, I feel like-!” He cut himself off with a gasp, as he pulled a little too good of a fake trip, now actually teetering backward into you.

You had felt a shoulder hit yours and spun around and caught him just in time, your face showing genuine surprise, and his face lightly mirroring yours. Luckily, you had just set down your plate so you could grab a glass of water and some silverware and had free hands.

“Hey, thanks, stranger!” Your attention re-focused on the smirk that your dear friend replaced his shock with.

Helping him stand straight once again, you huffed a light chuckle, practically choking on your emotions. You caught on to what was going on and took a moment before neutralizing yourself and your facial expression, despite the emotions running through you at seeing your friend so close.

“Sure! You’re the golden deer house leader, right? I think I saw you at the practice battle just last week.” You said, desperate to form a connection again, “with your talent with the bow, and your professor's undeniable tactical skill, you might be quite the challenge at the battle of the eagle and lion!”

This caught the full attention of his friends, who had been watching the interaction as soon as their house leader had fallen onto you. Leonie perked up as she figured out where she had recognized you, almost pushing past Claude.

“That’s where I recognize you! Y’know, you were pretty good yourself! You were also there for the bandit fight on that excursion!“ She remarked excitedly, retelling how she watched you hold your ground amidst the bandits before most of them tailed the house leaders. She began to recall how surprised she was to hear that they had been rescued by Jeralt and their newly dear professor.

With the “oohs” and “aahs” of the other group members and the telling of their own stories, you were invited to join them for dinner. Claude sat in front of you, the gleam in his eye ever twinkling as he winked at you, and tapped your boot with his own under the table. Both of you are overjoyed to see each other again, both pretending the joy is coming from the conversation at hand.

Then a hug.

One of the things that you and Claude did for years was take a nap together. Sometimes that was just how he would get his sleep in. Occasionally you would have sleepovers so that he would get a full night's rest on the rough days. Even if you weren’t together napping, just knowing that you were within walking distance had always helped to ease his mind when he needed it to.

Another one of your things was goofy hugs. This started at the beginning of your friendship and was one of the ways that Claude could subtly make sure you still wanted him there. You had run into each other in a corridor and he had an odd smile on his face, one that you now know means he wants something. It was a silly hug, one that you barked a laugh during before you both headed off in your respective directions to perform your palace chores.

It had been a few days since the group dinner, in which you would run into some of them and share a greeting. One of those folks is Claude. On this particular day, you were going opposite ways in the courtyard.

The gold of his cape caught your eye as you turned into the courtyard. Holding back the depth of your joy, you gave him a smile and a wave. One that he returned with glittering eyes and his odd smile.

“What do you want?” You laughed stopping in front of each other. He shared your laugh as he opened his arms to you, knowing that he would be welcomed by yours.

“How dare you accuse me,” he said in jest, “a friend can’t just stop and say hello to another?” You barked a laugh and gave in, walking further towards him and embracing him with a tight hug.

“Not when you make faces like that, Goldie.” He scoffed at the name and began to squeeze you. Now he had you.

He let out a huff as he picked you up and spun you around. You had more muscle than last you met that was for sure, he made a note to lift more in his time here.

You weren’t expecting him to do that and yelped, hands flying to his shoulders and eyes wide as he spun you. He hadn’t been expecting you to do that either and began to laugh as he set you down, laughter getting stronger by the second.

The few students that were in the courtyard had their interest piqued by the sound of howling laughter. If they turned and looked, they saw a deer folding over in laughter and the flustered lion he was depending on for stability staving off the urge to laugh too.

—

People who often spent their days at Garreg Mach might have noted seeing their very own golden deer and a blue lion around the academy together from time to time. Not always, as they were their own people, but enough to shake their heads and laugh at their antics. “These two couldn’t have known each other for more than a few months, but it seems like it could’ve been years!” They would joke.

Of course, you had, but they didn’t need to know that. Now that you’d built a reputation as infamous goofballs together, and your respective identities apart, you could begin being closer. First, there was spending late nights studying at the library, then moving the studying outdoors and getting back to having your forest naps together. Finally, it was lounging around in each other’s rooms turned into occasional secret sleepovers.

Sometimes, Claude goes to your room. While he wishes you were there too, sometimes you are not. In those times he clings to the comfort of your smell, and how it reminds him of home, and all the good outcomes of his goals. He thinks about how he has someone who truly knows him and what he wants and who supports him still. Wants to be there for him. Still thinks that he’s a good person. He thinks about how maybe some of those traits are showing up in the likes of the professor as well, and he feels less alone.

On this day, that very professor gave their golden deer a task. The professor had begun to look towards the blue lion house for recruitment. While they already had recruited a few, their sights were set on you. You were, after all, quite the combat talent. Typically, our dear professor would invite you to lunch, but today they wanted tea and you were nowhere to be found. Usually, this is all good and fine, but the professor wanted to ask if you would assist the Golden Deer for the month.

It was the weekend before the new month and Claude planned to nap for quite a bit of it. He finished his breakfast and stretched as he made his way to the dorms when the professor put him up to the task. So, he sauntered over to your dorm and flopped onto your bed, ready to nap until you got here and pretending his stomach didn’t flip when his favorite smell reached him. It was an efficient plan, really.

Until he started having a dream with you in it.

————-

Originally, you weren't supposed to even be in Fodlan. You were to see him again when his mission to unite Fodlan and Almyra bore fruit. He was pretty insistent on it, to the point where he completely avoided you for a month and a half. That was until you finally got a hint of what was going on and cornered him on his way to one of his chores. It was a long talk filled with tears and heartache. To make it worse, admittedly he didn't know how much longer he could keep it up, because napping together had become your thing and sometimes his source of sleep.

So, after conversing with his Fodlan people, the plan was to send you to Faerghus a few months before he would go to Fodlan, and you would have to find your way into the officer's academy. Of course, there were many contingency plans, and that wasn't even the original plan, but you came in and told everyone to have faith in your abilities, and you stuck to your guns. Your way would be much less of a hassle to everyone, and you already knew how stressed they all were. Adding more stress for them by making them figure out your future was not going to be one of those stresses, not if you could help it.

It was only after sparse and vague letters and finally meeting up with you at the officer’s academy did he find out what happened to you.

After you had said your long and heartbreaking goodbye to Claude, you were snuck into Fodlan on a ship that first stopped at an Almyran port for supplies. Their destination was the empire, but they had to get around the Kingdom first. You lived as a crewmate for about a month before you left the ship and set out into the freezing woods of Faerghus, where you fell ill because you came from the polar opposite climate.

You had bumbled through the woods, vision darkening, as you heard the roar of some giant wolf that you had caught a glimpse of maybe a day before. You really hadn't intended for this, you figured that maybe if you had read up a bit more, this could be been avoided. When you turned to check behind you, you came to see the large wolf was only a few paces behind you.

In the absence of your hazy vision, you had shuffled into the root of a grand tree. Your attention was pulled forward as your body was pulled to the ground. You couldn’t even feel the pain because you were so cold. Rolling onto your back with closed eyes and a shiver, fate was accepted, whatever it may be.

Upon this acceptance, fate did indeed act, as you had heard a yell and the sound of a weapon making contact with its target. The snarling of the beast followed, with several more shouts from the person before you.

Unbeknownst to you at the time this was to become the mother of your Fodlan family. She was quite strong. One has to have such strength to survive so deep in Faerghus. She would call out to you, pleading with you not to sleep, as she carried you home to her wife and several of their kids.

Their kindness brought you guilt when you had to lie to them upon waking. A sympathetic, “oh no!” Or two as you told them a story you had come up with during your time on the ship. Your family lived on the outskirts of the region, but a legion of bandits ascended upon the town and set fire to it all, and your family sent you out of your charred home to escape into the woods. But you had a friend from home who had just gone off to the officer's academy, so you had planned to meet up with your only neighbor that lived by joining the semester that overlaps his.

Claude had once brought you to a theatre, where you watched a play together and the two of you proceeded to spend months learning how to fake cry. He wasn’t so good at it, but it became a tactic that you used here. Again, you felt bad, truly you did, especially when they pitched in some money after you had worked several jobs to afford the officer's academy. They had taken up a few jobs for you too, and every time it comes to mind your eyes water.

They were kind people and truly hold a place in your heart. So much, so that you write a letter to them at least once a month, especially before missions.

———-

Only, in Claude’s dream, upon reaching Faerghus from Almyra, your fake back story became true in these later times. In his dream, upon trying to run from a camp invaded by bandits, you were grabbed and there were too many for you to fight on your own.

But you were alone, and out of his reach. Crying out as they dragged you to the duke of the alliance’s doorstep. You had been figured out after being held by these bandits and brought before the hand of judgment for crossing the border. He couldn’t expose himself to save you, and even if he wanted to, he knew you wouldn’t let him. He cares for you deeply, and you are his everyday priority, but he can’t put you above his goal. You both knew that.

Fear and adrenaline pulse through him as he thinks maybe he could figure out something else, he couldn’t let this happen to you. He can’t lose you! But before he could even begin strategizing you were sentenced to public execution. His stomach dropped, and his head hurt. This is wrong, this can’t be happening.

But in front of his wide and teary eyes, there you were. Claude could do nothing but stare as-

You walked into the room and closed the door with your foot which made it slam. Claude jumped and his eyes flew open, wildly looking around the room and processing. He watched as you set down your bags, he supposed that maybe you were out in the shops. His body shakes at the memories his mind came up with. Claude recalls having similar thoughts and dreams before.

A deep-rooted doubt surfaces once again. One that makes him pull on a mask, even in front of you. He fears being caught. He fears that even though you change your hair and words and actions to one that someone from Faerghus would have, they would figure out you had known Claude far longer. This outcome would cause the loss of you and his dreams.

He can’t help but overthink the outcome. His mind screams at him to run from you, keep you away. Keep you safe and his dreams alive.

Even now as you turn and smile at him, with such genuine care, he wants to run even as his heart feels the warmth of your gaze. He wants to go back to pretending he doesn’t know you.

He flashes you a smile, one that he doesn’t use for you. “Hey! Uh, Byleth wants to see you.” He says, getting up from the bed and stretching, trying to stay cool so that you remain none the wiser. Claude smiles once more before he leaves your dorm.

You still your movements, shocked that that just happened.

#claude von riegan imagines #claude von reigen #claude von riegan x reader #Claude von riegan #gender neautral reader #Claude von riegan x gn! reader #Claude von riegan x gn reader #fem reader #male reader #angst #reader insert #fe3h

[cryo-regalia]

change of plans

all claude needed was that journal and the golden deer leader’s determined to get it. however, claude’s just a little too soft when it comes to his teach in distress ft. claude von riegan

— THEMES: gender neutral!reader, slight angst, comfort fluff, spoilers (claude’s real name + a cause for sorrow / white clouds), poison threats, invasion of privacy, slight implication of ng+, watch out the reader has a knife, claude is a little mean at the beginning.

When he said that he would sneak into their room to take their father’s journal, the tones of his voice implied that he was cracking a joke, being as playful and mischievous as people knew him for. An attempt to cheer up his favorite professor, his Teach; anyone could assume that. Anyone with a decent amount of faith in humanity and in him, anyways. The Goddess knew that the somber mood needed to be broken somehow, though Claude understood why it was there in the first place and truly meant it when he said his condolences. His smile was as easy as it always was whenever he was surrounded by the inhabitants of Garreg Mach—pulled upwards at the corners, but never high enough to poke at the undersides of his eyes. He couldn’t let them know too much and get too close, now could he? It was simple enough that it could get past the more innocent and naive individuals, but for those who were far sharper and observant? Well, he’d let the people of Fódlan come to their own conclusions. Teach always had this way of making him act so bizarrely, more like Khalid than he would usually allow himself to be here, perhaps that was why his smile, for just a few moments, became genuine when he tried to comfort them following their return from Remire. The same could be said for his seriousness when he posed the question in the first place.

The problem was that he wasn’t joking and Claude was going to get Jeralt’s diary, regardless of what kind of tactics he had to use. After Seteth so rudely confiscated the book he was reading about the Immaculate One and Rhea was as tight-lipped as usual, he was growing thin on answers the Church was so adamant about keeping a secret. But he knew he was so close to getting what he sought and it was all thanks to Teach was either just as much in the dark as him or pretty damn good at keeping a secret. He couldn’t tell just yet, but he knew that book would give him what he wanted. Maybe what I want is Teach, a part of him whispered in his ear but he frequently tried to pay thoughts like that no mind, including now. He knew Garreg Mach’s new professor better than he’d admit and figured an ultimately harmless poison wouldn’t be needed after some consideration. That didn’t mean he didn’t have several bottles of it stashed away under the floorboards of his room—some that would give a week’s worth of a nasty rash to something much stronger that could leave someone curled over a toilet for a solid month. It sure would be a shame if they were to develop a miraculous stomachache or an illness that conveniently faded in less than a week. Kidding, kidding! Depending on how he was feeling, of course. Strong potions like that could go bad if he let them sit for so long like that, too.

Was it the nicest thing he had done? Not in the slightest. Asking to take the only remnant of their deceased father was shallow, he would admit that, but he promised he would give it back when he was finished If it was for Teach, he’d follow through with his promises. The problem was they really did say “no” despite his heartfelt promise to keep it in good condition and hand it back when he was done. He was a man of his word...sometimes, but now was definitely one of those times. Claude’s initial plan was to just pickpocket it when they weren’t looking, to slip it into his uniform, to visit their room when they were busy and take it then, but that scheme of his was a failure before he even got a chance to attempt it. Teach took it everywhere with them. Sometimes it would be tucked into their arm, others set someplace close where their eyes would be on it at all times and they could grab it if it got too far. They didn’t read it very much so much as they just looked at it, as if its mere presence was enough for them to keep it around rather than the contents. He supposed they went through it already, but the wasted opportunities itched at him so bad that it was driving him insane. He couldn’t exactly blame them, though. If it was the last thing he had of his mother, he’d have it with him at all times. It was only natural that they would be so protective of it, but unfortunately so was he.

At twenty-three hundred hours, Claude knew it was his time to act. Two knights would pass by the first floor of the dormitories in search for any questionable figures or a student who dared break the curfew set in place, each going opposite ways but met at the staircase beside the dining hall. They’d pass one another and go back and forth, sometimes pausing for just a moment to peer around when something caught their eye but rarely letting anything sway their duty. One would go as far as to the front of the greenhouse and the other to the training hall, and the time between then was his only opportunity to strike before he’d have to wait in hiding once more. Wyvern Riders and Pegasus Knights would patrol overhead, soaring high above the monastery grounds for anyone or anything that went overlooked by those stranded upon the land. Those concerned him the most, their unpredictability especially, but he was mostly safe within the darkness cast by the midnight sky and the wooden aisle above him that lead to more dorm rooms. The wooden crates and barrels and shrubbery also created enough cover for him, but he would have to hope that his luck wouldn’t run out this moon when he stepped out from behind it. He had about two minutes two undo the lock as quietly as possible and get inside without alerting Teach. Easier said than done, he silently chimed, but if he could go uncaught in Castle Riegan than he was sure that he could get away just as clean in Garreg Mach.

Clover eyes peered around the crate he took refuge behind and carefully watched the Knight of Seiros pass by. Claude didn’t know his name and didn’t really care to change that, but he did know that he was appointed a Knight for a reason. The thought of the repercussions nearly gave him a headache and his charming smile wouldn’t have as much of an affect as it usually did. At least Teach went along with him and his brilliant schemes. The second that the man approached the training hall, Claude was on his feet and shuffled around in his breast pocket for only a moment to produce a small, silver object that he carefully slipped into the lock. It was a lot less refined than he would have preferred, but he had far less time to copy Seteth’s skeleton key than he would have hoped and he didn’t care how it looked so long as it worked. He wiggled it left and right and twisted it each and every way as footsteps that echoed like tormenting thunder in his ears, taunting him, reminding him that there was no room for error. He was about to scowl and back off until it smoothly fell into place. The Golden Deer beamed in relief and and twisted the lock, followed by the doorknob, and then slipped inside. He slowly shut the door behind him, one hand on the knob and the other against the wood, but the tiny click sounded far too loud.

Claude stilled for a second, two, and then three, before releasing a breath when there was no movement from the occupant and turned to give what was inside his attention now that he no longer had to give the Knights of Seiros any more mind. For now, anyways. It was difficult to make out much within Teach’s room, to no fault of their own. His eyes had become adjusted to the dark of the night and was only help he received, other than the strings of moonlight that slipped through the cracks of their closed windows, but that didn’t mean a torch or candle wouldn’t be helpful right about now. He couldn’t risk it, however, and made do with what he got. He first searched through their desk and each drawer that he could budge open without being too obnoxiously loud, turning over books, boxes of tea, and whatever else made up their tiny collection of belongings, but found nothing close to what he was looking for. He patted through the clothing hung over their chair and found nothing but dark stains on the ends of the sleeves. He had a solid feeling he knew where that was from, but wasn’t trying to think about it for any longer than he had to. Then he made his way over to the bed with long yet slow steps, cringing when the floorboards beneath him creaked but became relieved when it hadn’t nudged Teach out of whatever dream they were absorbed in.

He dropped down to his knees beside their bed and checked beneath it, but found nothing. Literally nothing. He knew they were a mercenary and all and therefore didn’t carry much on them, but their lack of belongings was somehow sad. He might just have to offhandedly mention something to Hilda about that. Ah, he could see the shopping spree now. He raised his head up to the sheets around Teach’s sleeping figure and glanced around. He’d be blind to not notice the gleaming blade of their dagger beneath their pillow. A habit, he surmised and couldn’t blame them. He didn’t have any plans on breaking that habit himself. Like with the desk, he found nothing at first and slowly reached towards their blankets and shifted it downwards. If they were attached to the diary during the day, who was to say that they wouldn’t be during the night? As mischievous as he was, Claude didn’t just pride himself on his schemes, but his observational skills. Many other features, but that was beside the point. Their lack of movement in everything but their expression was concerning, and if it wasn’t for the way their face scrunched then he would have assumed that they were dead. He would have convinced himself of that if he hadn’t rest his finger beneath their nose and felt their breath. Their eyes squeezed together and their cheek turned to rest against their pillow, followed by a groan.

Immediately, his mind raced with a variety of plans he could go with if they abruptly woke up. He could slip underneath their bed and hope that he had enough room to pull his legs close to him so he’d be able to fit without his feet sticking out. Or their desk, he could squeeze himself under there. It’d be a tight fit, but he’d most likely be able to stay hidden without any light there to expose him. If he was feeling particularly reckless, he could escape through their window and hope that he could undo the latch as quick as he could nock an arrow. Fortunately for him, they had yet to wake up and had not a single clue of his presence—wow, that was incredibly creepy. Still, he wasn’t out of the clear just yet. Perhaps he was hallucinating, but he could have sworn their hair moved on its own, as if someone was brushing away the strands that slipped in front of their face to comfort them. Instead of him. Claude nearly sighed in exasperation of the thought as he proceeded to slowly shift the blankets around. Now really wasn’t the time for those kinds of thoughts, no matter how much he liked the thought of Teach being by his side, leaning against him, their conversations. The Golden Deer paused when something that definitely wasn’t cloth brushed against the pads of his fingers.

It was some kind of leather, and slightly smaller than his hand, small enough that he could easily wrap his hand around it. It wasn’t very thick, but it had a surprising weight to it that he wasn’t expecting. For someone like the Blade Breaker, a tiny belonging like this was most likely a pebble in his palm. From within the bunched up blankets that made up something similar to a makeshift nest, he pulled it out from its hiding place and brushed his fingers along the side. A buckle with a small emblem attached to it (A Faerghusian emblem, he noted) kept it shut together, but it was loose rather than clicked into place. Claude almost felt bad for taking it now, imagining them staying up to read it and falling asleep to the writing of their departed father. He hoped they’d forgive them when they woke up, but he planned for this to be something he took to the grave. The House Leader grinned triumphantly to himself as he rose to his feet with his Treasure in hand, slowly moving to the door. There would be no use in trying to read it now, especially when Jeralt’s writing was as dark as the room around him, but that didn’t stop him from flipping through the pages as if he could. Claude wanted to be excited—and he was, don’t get him wrong—but that was almost too easy and he wasn’t out of the woods yet. He still had to get back to his room without being noticed, and strengthen the lie forming on his tongue in case of emergency.

“No...Don’t...”

Claude still immediately as if he had been cursed and turned to stone, the thunderous thumping of his shoes fading into the silence that held him in a suffocating grip. Whimpers and strangely desperate groans sliced through it like their trusty blade and mixed into the shuffling of cloth that had him itching to run before he could be caught where he stood. Slowly, he twisted his head over his shoulder and to Teach’s bed where green eyes cautiously watched, glancing to any and all escape routes and hiding spots between watching them. More pleas and whimpers fell from their lips and he loosened up only slightly when he realized they weren’t talking to him, let alone awake. A nightmare, he easily presumed. He could only imagine what it was about if it left Teach of all people so distressed and his ever incessant curiosity craved that knowledge, but he supposed he’d never know. The door was right there and while returning to the second floor dormitories would be a task, he could escape all the while. His feet got to work, moving one after the other but less intent on stealth behind the hurried movement and he acted without so much as thinking or considering his options. The mattress dipped beneath him and his hand sat on their shoulder to nudge them awake with enough force that it could stir them without him receiving a dagger to the eye in return.

“Hey, it’s just a bad dream,” he started, softly. “You’re okay, Teach.”

With a sharp and panicked gasp, their eyes flew open and it took him a few seconds to realize that they were suddenly sitting upwards and given even less time to reel back before their heads could collide. Any later and he would have earned a solid bruise on his temple, as proven by the brief gust of cool wind that fluttered between them and brushed his skin like silk cloth. Hazy [eye color] met green and in the same moment Claude found himself gripping onto their wrist as a short blade pressed against his throat. It was inefficient in comparison to the havoc the Sword of the Creator could do with a single flick of the wrist, but he knew a sharpened blade when he felt it and a threat just as well. He tried to push their arm back, but was met with a strength he shouldn’t have been surprised by and a pinch to his skin that would no doubt draw blood if it hadn’t already. The Golden Deer leaned back until he was drawing to the edge of the mattress, careful not to fall but ready to leap off and run should he need to. The reaction wasn’t surprising, but that didn’t mean it was any less deadly if he took even the slightest step out of line. He released them in favor of raising his hands up and spreading his fingers out, wiggling them for emphasis, but the lack of reaction said enough for him to know that they most likely didn’t notice.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! It’s just me!”

They were both still for a few seconds before Teach hesitated and lowered their dagger, cautiously. “Claude...?” They slurred, sleep no doubt still tied to their consciousness.

Claude just barely caught onto the mangled jumble of letters that made a somewhat coherent and mumbled apology. They slipped their surprisingly nice dagger back under their pillow like it was its sheath, the hilt sticking out far enough to grab in case there was an actual need to use it but covered enough that the blade wouldn’t nick them if they laid back down. They dragged their hand over their face with a long, suffering sigh, most likely letting any and all adrenaline wear off. With the weapon out of their hand, the Golden Deer eased up slightly and shifted to his original position on their bed. It was so bizarre to see Teach so shaken that he didn’t know what to do with himself, let alone what to say. They were the Deer’s shining beacon of victory, an enigma that seemed to be several steps ahead of their enemies with a brilliant intellect and possessed a smile that left him dazzled. Sometimes at the worst times, but he wouldn’t admit that to just anyone. They led mercenaries, battalions, and his own classmates into battles that seemed impossible but returned to the monastery in one piece and triumphant, wielding a variety of weapons with such ease that even veteran Knights of Seiros could be put to shame. But now there was nothing but a strange churning in his gut that he was surprised to realize was concern. He wasn’t here to make meaning connections with people he saw as pawns on a chessboard, and yet here he was attempt to resist the urge to wrap his arms around the person in front of him.

The Ashen Demon, the undefeated mercenary that was whispered in fear across Fodlan, was still human, after all.

“What’re you doing in here?”

The journal weighed heavy in his hand and he nudged it behind him. “Oh, you know, just on a midnight stroll,” Claude hummed impishly. “And I heard some noises from in here so I decided to check in on you. Sorry, Teach, but sometimes my curiosity is just too much for a mortal man to resist.”

Before they could try to pick holes into his story, he continued: “Bad dream, huh?” He only got an unimpressed huff in response. “Care to talk about it? I’m pretty good at keeping a secret.”

Teach was quiet and didn’t make a sound other than their soft breathing, sniffles that he thought were figments of his imagination, and the shuffling of cloth. Claude was ready to take that answer (or lack thereof) as their refusal and prepared a quick and playful farewell. Just as he was about to rise from where he sat and make his grand escape, he stopped when they started to speak.

“The chapel. It was about the chapel.” Claude didn’t say anything. Teach gripped onto their blankets while tears lined their downcast eyes. I keep seeing the same memory with my father...Monica. That man. It keeps replaying over and over and all I can do is watch. No matter how many times I try again, I’m always too late, and when I try to run to him, I only get farther. I did everything I could and it wasn’t enough. I failed him. What if they take one of you, too, and I can’t do anything to stop it? Or they actually manage to defeat us. Defeat me.”

One by one, beads of water slipped down their cheeks and collected at their jawline. Each left wet lines down their skin in their wake or dampened the disheveled strands of hair in front of their face. They looked just as startled as he did by the sight of the waterworks, if not more, but didn’t seem to know what to do about it other than wipe it away with their fingers. Their valiant efforts were in vain, however, because the water never stopped as it was a fountain of several years worth of unshed tears and he wondered how correct he was about that. Claude didn’t know what possessed him to do it—the goddess, he silently joked—but he reached over and took their hand in his. He gently pried their fingers from their tight clutch on their blanket one digit at a time and then locked them together in a firm hold. He knew he could definitely be a lot more rough with them, but kept his grip loose enough that they could pull away if they really wanted. Did he want them to, though? No, not really. Awful timing, man. He looked them in the eye and turned his head to try and keep eye contact with them, even in the darkness of their room. If one of the deer, let alone one of the more gossipy members of the other Houses, caught wind of this, he’d never live it down, but in the moment he didn’t really care.

His other hand, meanwhile, wiped away the stray tears on each cheek, one by one with a soft touch like he was handling a baby wyvern. “You’re the strongest person I know, and you’ve always saved our skin in the nick of time. Some old bastard isn’t gonna defeat my Teach anytime soon. Besides, you’re safe. No one will harm you with me around.”

“But what if...”

“No buts. I’m being serious, I won’t let anything happen to you. I have your back. All of us do.” He gave their hand a squeeze that was slowly returned. “That dream of yours sounds...horrifying. I’m sure it can’t be easy seeing that, but you’ll be okay. And listen, I didn’t know your old man that well, but I do know that man was nothing but proud of you. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be in your shoes, but I’m in your corner.”

Something resembling a sad laugh fell from their lips after a beat of silence, but he loved the sound of it all the same. “I don’t even know why I told you all that, but thanks.”

“You must trust me that much then,” he quipped with a wink. It was supposed to be a tease, but it came out as something he couldn’t put his finger on. Sincerity? Teach was making him soft.

A warm smile mixed with tears pulled at their eyes and for a moment, maybe two or three, he froze where he sat and just stared with his breath lodged in his throat. Claude could feel his lips part but nothing came out and it was probably for the best; he didn’t want to risk saying something utterly stupid. Their eyes twinkled with someone he had never seen from them before and highlighted by the already present glossiness, the bottom lids curved upwards into crescents because of their upturned lips. Their smile was small, but so powerful and warm like a secure hug. They were genuine and trusting and slammed into his conscience, as if reminding him for his true reason for being there. How deserving was of them and their trust when he was so cautious of them, literally conspiring against them just to get a material item out of impatience? Now he felt like an idiot, an undeserving idiot, but if he could be a bit more selfish then he’d love to see their smile more. Their smile softened slightly and just as he opened his mouth to say something—what he was going to say, he had no idea, but a jumble of words formed at the back of his throat—they died on his tongue when they leaned forward. A small weight rested on his shoulders and he quickly realized how close the two of them were, freezing in place out of habit than any actual intent.

“Yeah,” they whispered, breath ghosting the skin of his neck that caused tiny hairs to raise, “I guess I do. And...Claude?”

"What’s up?”

“Can you...Can you stay? Just for a bit longer?”

"Of course,” he said and cleared his throat, “Anything for you.”

“Thanks again.”

It took a bit of time, but their finally body relaxed against his and they made themselves comfortable against him as if he was a human pillow. They were drifting off easy enough, so he supposed he might as well. He would have chuckled at the thought, but he didn’t want to disturb them from what he hoped would be a peaceful slumber. His heart hammered against his chest and thundered in his ears, and he hoped that they couldn’t catch him in such a moment of weakness. His hands lifted from theirs and loosely hung around their body until he locked his fingers together in Fódlan’s worst embrace. Sitting like this was for so long by no means comfortable and was starting to kill his back. Claude had half the mind to lay down and bring them with him, but how many boundaries would that cross? Not many of his, but what about them? Of course Teach was making him all frazzled. He should have been frustrated, disgruntled, but all he could do was released a tiny feigned miserable sigh from his nose. This would have to do for now, he decided as he shifted so his cheek rested against their head. His eyes fluttered shut, his original mission long forgotten and disregarded, and instead let himself ease up against them until sleep started to pluck at his consciousness.

“Claude?”

“Hm?”

“I’d like my journal back.”

© cryo-regalia. all rights reserved. do not edit, translate, or repost my work.

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