Since hearing the Drift Away SU cover audio on tiktok, the idea of being a humble gardener at Castle Dimitrescu who admires her from the get go has been in my head, non stop. So, I introduce you to this drabble. I’ve stuck it under the read more. It might be a 2-3 parter, because I want the POV to get a smooch. If you want a second or third part, please let me know!
Summary: Reader interrupts Lady D in her alone time, and pays the price. Softly, though :)
Warnings: Blood mention, vampire feeding, one swear, fluff
A gardener?
You’ve never really seen yourself as such. A plant tender, maybe. A witch first. Hired as Castle Dimitrescu gardener. Pay was housing and food, and low probability of torture. You plucked the dead blooms from the Courtyard’s violas. Around your waist, a pocket purse. You carefully place the blooms inside, humming at the thought of making tea with them later.
You paced around the pillars of the gazebo in the small garden’s center. The springtime sun was shining down, baking the marble to a delicious, almost intoxicating temperature. The only reason you sought this castle was to evade the village. Your family long lost, you managed to find refuge in the village below for some time before the residents caught on to your practices. You never practiced dark magic, but they weren’t ready to hear you. In fact, you spent most of your time practicing with actual craft. To you, a relationship with the Earth and her offerings & capabilities was much more enticing than selfish acts of lust, revenge, and anger.
You scoffed at the thought of your past neighbors. They shared a world with actual living breathing monsters & supernatural beings, and you couldn’t hang a little thyme from your rafters?
Your pocket purse full, you fasten it shut. “Watering needs done,” You hum to no one in particular, and fetch the watering can.
You noted the absence of birds, bugs, anything really. It was peculiar to you, but a lot of things in this world go unanswered. Making your rounds, you can hear faint screaming followed by blood thinning cackling. You make a face. The Mistress’ daughters, you assumed, were up to their usual banter or misbehavior.
You heard LOTS of rumors about the inhabitants here, dating back long before you were even a thought. No doubt the truth enticed you, and portraits of the mistress here you had seen in the village piqued your curiosity even more. The photo you saw, you reflect. She had pale skin, the darkest hair. Her stare was so cold, but alluring. You caught yourself over-watering.
You had yet to even lay eyes on her, the Mistress in question. The handmaiden told you that speaking, or even seeing the mistress in your position was far unlikely. She had told you to consider that a bonus, but to be quite honest, it had faintly disappointed you.
Just as your duties were through for the afternoon, you could hear a piano. Slow, melodic. You followed the sound. The Opera Hall. You knew it was small, the piano in the center. You had passed through once or twice on your way to the Courtyard Gardens. But those times, it had been empty. Now, someone inside charmed you with their performance. Who could be in there? You pressed your ear to the wood of the door to listen all you could. A classical piece you did not recognize. You never really bothered with the likes of music anyhow.
But this piece, the way it was being played, simply hypnotized you. Abruptly, it stopped. Your heart dropped. What changed the pianist’s mind? Suddenly, the large wooden doors you had supported yourself on swung inward, and you fell to the marble. You let out a sharp gasp at the shock of it all, and looked to meet her eyes.
Oh, The Mistress. You had underestimated the sheer size of her, it took your breath away. You recognized her stare immediately. You gawked at her golden eyes, her face, her lines. Her dress hugged her frame so deliciously. Your jaw unknowingly hung open.
“Are you spying on me, pest?” She purred, obviously amused at your astonishment of her.
“I, um, -” You struggled to get to your feet, your disheveled hair tangled in your nervous-sweat fingers. “No ma’am, I- I didn’t mean to intrude.” Your heart skipped a beat as she advanced toward you, backing you up into the courtyard. You tripped on the stairs. She caught you. You could not wrap your head around the encounter. The way her gaze held you, you felt weightless, but at the same time, a thousand pounds. Her hand gripped the entirety of your top, wrinkled into the strength of her hand that dwarfed multiple parts of your body.
“Who are you to me, anywho? What are you doing in my garden?” Annoyance hinted in her tone, she was tired of your silence.
“I’m your castle gardener, My Lady. I’ve been housed here for over a week.” She set you down, gentler than you anticipated.
“I see.” She hummed, and stood straight to cross her arms. “And what do they call you?”
You tell her. She did not respond. She absolutely towered above you. Her hat blocked the sun, you were standing in her shade and for the first time, had enough sense to catch the scent of her perfume. Oh, her perfume. How did she manage to wear a scent that caught the essence of being regal? Your heart once more started to pick up its pace, which lit a devilish smile on the woman’s face. Could she hear it?
“Since you have interrupted my activity, I fear I have no choice but to return the favor.” She turned away from you. The implication of her statement sent a chill down your spine.
“My Lady, I do so ever apologize with the greatest sincerity. Your playing, it was so-” You held the thought. No word could capture what you heard. How it made you feel. She turned to look at you over her shoulder, the corner of her golden eye gleaming at you. She seemed to love frightening you. Your adoration of everything she presented to you had won her attention, time, and mercy, you figured, for interrupting. How had she known you were there?
“Enough of this. Come, you walk with me.” She cleared the courtyard in a feat you could not match. You jogged up to meet her at the main doors, admiring the grace in the way she bent through doorways. You followed her to the entrance hall, down and up another stairwell, and eventually to the library. You were certain the staircase to the library had been more attainable at the other end of the courtyard, but you were not about to protest. Your walk had been silent, you noticed worried and empathetic glances from maids you passed on your trek. It made you nervous, to say the least. What had the Mistress meant by returning the favor? What did the maids know that you didn’t?
She shut the door behind you as you entered the library. The floor to ceiling windows allowed golden sunset light to flood the room. You turned to see her, hard to ignore the feeling in your core upon seeing her stare so intently at you. She looked at you with purpose, but what it was, you had not the first thought.
“Do you know why I’ve brought you here?” She cooed, her figure half in the sun, half out. You could not make out her expression, but her eyes were clearly on you.
You shook your head, noting your mouth had gone dry.
“Cat got your tongue?” She snickered at you, and you felt your cheeks turn red. “It’s because it’s quiet. No one will hear you if you protest.”
You froze as she came to meet you. “My Lady, truly, I will not ever-” You whimpered, she knelt to meet your eyes.
“Shhhhh,” She held a gloved finger to your lips. She reached behind you then, pulling a nearby chair to you both. It was massive in size, perhaps custom made for the Mistress. She took you by the shoulders as she sat in it, allowing herself to properly size you.
“After this, you should know to no longer interrupt me.” She cooed, moving your hair with a now ungloved hand to reveal your bare neck. Her hand was cold. Deliciously. You couldn’t help gently lean into her touch, despite your paralyzing fear.
“What are you going to do to me?” You’re nearly in tears, this pleases her.
She grinned, wider now than before, revealing her fangs. Oh God, her fangs. Your eyes widened. You flinched to run, but her grip was tight on your shoulders. Her intoxicating laugh echoed against the walls.
“You can’t go anywhere now, darling.” She pulled you to her body, with a swift and strong movement you were forced into her lap. She stared at you adoringly now, but the hunger in her eyes was still plain to see. You were trapped.
Oh God, oh fuck, the rumors were true. The rumors ARE true. You’re living them first hand. You can’t decide between fear and lust for this woman’s touch. Her left hand, it too ungloved, raises to meet your neck, your jawline. She traces you with her thumb. Her lipstick is so red, so enticing. She licks her lips, her fangs poking the corners.
Why hadn’t she forced herself already? She seemed to enjoy taking you in. However, you anticipated it to be a painful restraint. She petted you until you relaxed, her grip then tightened.
“I must ask that you make this easy for us both, pest.” She leans closer to you, her breath hot on your skin. Her lips are hairs from your veins, your pulse is in your ears. You can hardly see or hear. Give in to her, give in to her, you seem to plead with yourself. With a shaky sigh, you tilt your neck so slightly upward.
It is instant. A lustful growl escapes her throat, you swallow a scream as she pierces you. The sensation is unlike any other. The slice she gave you burns, like fire it burns. She holds you tighter and tighter, her swallows and mouthing more ravenging the longer you allow her to feed. You somehow feel willing to let her drain you. What about her made her so irresistible that you allowed her to harm you? You melt into her body, and can’t help but let a moan escape your lips. This, she loves. Her teeth gnaw your skin, she is humming in bliss, seeming to lose herself. You hold onto her, fingers tightening in the fabric of her dress. You release another moan, but your strength starts to fade. You are lightheaded, it is almost dreamy. Dimitrescu inhales sharply and stops, realizing she may be getting too far. She sits up and your head falls back against her arm. Again, you feel limp, and weightless. You never want to leave. How badly you wanted her touch again, to feel that orgasmic sensation of her on your neck. How could this be punishment?
“Darling?” She whispers, licking your blood from the corners of her mouth. You can barely open your eyes to see her. If you had, you would see she has very obvious concern on her face. She propped your head into the crook of her arm, the softness of her body, her breasts, is so comforting and so warm.
You hum in response, delayed to her inquisition. She sighs in relief.
“You made it very easy,” She strokes your jaw again, and you turn into her touch. Her eyes soften at this, but you do not see. “But I want to save you for later.”
What? Is she talking to you? You can barely hear her. The voice she has; milky, smooth, alluring. It is purring you to sleep. She stands and gently sets you in the chair. She carefully drapes a throw over you, and you succumb to the numbness of your “punishment”.
Dimitrescu takes a few steps back to admire you for a moment. Sure, you were just the gardener and she was hungry, and truthfully, she was annoyed you had eavesdropped on her alone time. But, something about you, so meek and nimble but not afraid to give to her, enticed her. She forced herself to turn away and leave you, careful not to disturb you any further.