Luvsfics - Ive Walked With You Once Upon A Dream - Tumblr Blog

oh nothin just thinkin abt benjicot putting his pretty little bracken wife in a mating press with her knees pushed up to her chest and tears rolling down her perfect pleasure stricken face. she made one stupid joke about "going back to the other side bcus the food is better" and now she’s on her back with ben humping in and out of her tight little cunt, bcus he would rather fuck a blackwood kin into her instead of letting her go anywhere tbh. it happens fast too, one minute she’s laughing at her little joke and the next the she can’t hear anything over the sound of ben’s groaning in her ear. he’s senselessly mumbling about filling her up with little blackwood babies and marking her as his property forever, eyes rolling back into his head while he tries to keep his strokes nice and deep and even, trying to focus on making a point regardless of how heavenly you feel. he can’t decide weather to look at the way ur tears stream down ur face and hit the sheets or the way his cock makes ur cunt continue the froth up with all the seed he’s pumped into you. smug feeling washing over his spine as he knows you’ll have a hard time going anywhere now, swollen with his cum and only able to think of his name and nothing else.

hi! my ask box is open if u have a request or thought or anything u wanna say!

DELICATE TOUCHES — house of the dragon

Davos/Benjicot Blackwood x betrothed!reader

[ innuendo ]

Description: After Davos gets himself into a fight with another, his betrothed helps him clean up his cuts and bruises. Her soft touches only made him fall harder for his beautiful wife-to-be.

Authors note: Thank you so much for 450 followers! I appreciate all of the kind comments I’ve been receiving and I thank you all for the support!

Heavy steps rung through the walls of raventree hall as Davos made his way to his betrothed’s apartments. His nose bled red as well as his lip, A red bruise forming under his eye.

He gripped the hilt of his blade as his stomps grew louder to the ears of his wife-to-be. Her ears peaked up at the sounds of her door swinging open.

Her head whipped from her writing desk to the entrance of her chamber. To her surprise, her betrothed stood bloody at her doorway.

“Davos? Whatever happened?” She rushed over to him, taking his bruised face into her hands.

He winced at her palm connecting with his bruised cheek. She quickly moved her hand to rest on his chest, her eyes roamed over her body as she checked his bruises and cuts.

“Come, my love.” She led him to her vanity, forcing him to sit down on the dark red stool. She stood in between his legs, her bum facing his front as she searched through the drawers for a cloth.

His hands found their way to her behind, giving it a rough squeeze before she swatted his grabby hands away.

He smiled at her response. He was so in love with the woman in front of him, his sweet betrothed. The two had been promised since they were only children and grew to love each other.

Their wedding was only a few moons away and they couldn’t wait much longer. They longed for each other, in more ways than one.

“Ah ha!” She exclaimed and held up a white cloth. She poured water onto the rag from the pitcher on a nearby table, making her way back to Davos.

She tilted his head up with the tips of her fingers, lightly tapping the cloth onto some cuts on his lip. “Do I want to know what happened?” She asked.

He hands rested on her hip as he shook his head at the woman. His gaze fixed onto her features as he took the beautiful woman’s radiance in. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

“Everyday, dearest.” She giggled.

“Perhaps I should tell you more often, eh?” He said with a smirk.

Her gentle touches made his skin litter with goosebumps and butterflies dance in his stomach.

She wiped the blood from under his nose and dabbed the cut on his lip. He hissed slightly at the pain. “I’m sorry,” she said.

She placed a delicate kiss on his lips, “a kiss to make it feel better.” She smiled. He breathed out a laugh, “it must be healed already!”

His betrothed took a seat on his thigh, resting her head on his shoulder as she gazed up at him. “You must not provoke people, I hate seeing you like this.” She said softly, her fingers dancing across his cheekbone.

“He shouldn’t have said what he said.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“What did this man say?” She asked. His eyes drew to the wall in front of his, avoiding her sweet stare.

“He said that- if he were me- he would’ve already…fucked you bloody.” He whispered.

Her heart sunk. Davos was nothing but sweet with her, she was glad he wanted to wait until they were wed. He was the most respectful and kind man she had ever met.

He was incredibly protective over her, something she loved about him. “Do not listen to these cruel and disgusting men. I only belong to you. And- I love how soft you are with me.”

His eyes softened and gaze fixed back onto her. A smile was painted onto her face, and she quickly pressed a rough kiss onto his lips, making him wince in pain.

“I’m sorry! I forgot- heavens me..” she cried.

He laughed, “forget about it.” And his lips found their way back to hers, where they belonged.

rivalry — blackwood and bracken arranged marriage au

pt. 1 — bracken!reader x davos blackwood

au where two marriage pacts end the rivalry between the blackwoods and the brackens (i don't care if this has been done before this is my version gbye)

as always, warnings: misogyny, davos is a fucking FREAK, smuuuuut, dirty talk, breeding kink

lmk if u want pt 2 — aeron bracken x blackwood!fem!reader ;)

my fiancé actually loosely edited this for me so if this sucks it's his fault

____

“let’s get this over with.”

you gulped. you had been dreading this moment ever since your father announced there would be a peace treaty between your family, the brackens, and the blackwoods. the ceremony, the feast, and the dancing were not your biggest concern — but your wedding night? nothing could stop your hands from shaking — and your new husband, davos blackwood, surely wouldn’t step forward and aid you in your time of anxiety.

you folded your lip in between your teeth, playing with the exquisite shift that was custom made for this exact night — a night supposed to be consumed by the throws of pleasure and a hopeful future, possibly in the form of an heir. you couldn’t believe the brokering of peace came in the form of a marriage pact — to someone who would never see you as anything but a bracken, his enemy.

two marriage pacts, actually — you married davos blackwood, and your brother, aeron bracken, married davos' sister. two feuding families. bound not just by one marriage pact, but two — because everyone knew that only one marriage would not have been sufficient for peace. not only was he forced to spend his life, or the rest of yours, with a bracken — but his sister? forced to marry a bracken, as well? aeron bracken? of them all?

you could see it on his face — gray with sick. it turned your stomach as well — to realize you were loathed so much.

“i can’t change who i am,” you said suddenly, keeping your eyes on the floor. “nor my heritage. i understand you loathe the sight of me, for what it reminds you of — but i can’t change that.”

he didn’t respond. he just undressed with his back turned to you, save for his pants and under shirt. you watched the muscles in his shoulders and back ripple as he tugged off the garments, preparing for bed. you couldn’t see his face as he undressed — and you weren’t sure if it was good or bad. good because you could speak boldly — bad because he refused to look at you, and possibly would refuse your request.

“but as your wife... even if it’s the one you didn’t wish for…” you sighed, losing your thoughts and confidence. “i promise to not be a bother to you — the only thing i ask… is…”

he turned towards you then, but not completely. it was like he gave you his attention, but was fully aware of what he withheld from you — even though you were practically baring your soul to him. you weren’t in his head, you couldn’t be sure… but his silence was enough of a signal that he most likely would not understand a woman’s anxiety in a moment like this.

here goes absolutely nothing, you thought. you mustered up whatever courage you had — albeit very little — and continued, “you do not owe me anything — but i… i…”

“spit it out,” he bit.

your mouth fell slightly agape with his tone. it was the way feuding men speak to each other — not a feuding husband and wife. it was like you were stripped of your femininity and your new identity as his wife, and replaced with that of a rival male — causing you to come to the realization that this feud ran so deep that not even two marriage pacts with the hope of inspiring peace would be sufficient.

he would always hate you. always.

he’s going to hate you as if you’re your brother anyway, you thought. might as well have the stones to match.

you clenched your jaw, raising your eyeline. you refused to cower to a man when it wouldn’t make him hate you less — and especially not if it definitely wouldn’t get you what you wanted. you were afraid, and out of options. with a sigh, you responded, “be gentle with me the first time. just the first — that is all i ask.”

you held his gaze then — refusing to look away. he needed to know how desperate you were, to avoid that unfathomable pain as much as possible. you’d look him in the eye, the eye of the enemy of your family for the last few centuries — because otherwise the shame and dishonor was too great, and too heavy for a new wife to bear.

if you weren’t so intent on not seeming weak, you should have looked — actually looked — at your husband. at how broad his shoulders appeared in comparison to his lean waist and hips. his light eyes that seem to pierce you in a way that only a dagger could; sharp, and forever on edge. how he was so handsome that you might done anything to see him smile or laugh… but you couldn’t. wouldn't. you most likely would never get that chance — but you bet that he looked so handsome when he smiled.

but he would never smile for a bracken.

“be gentle with you?” he asked, accusation already in his eyes. his fists were bawled at his sides as he walked towards you. “as if your craven brother would be gentle with my sister?”

“how dare you even insinuate my brother would treat his lady wife with anything but kindness and respect!” you spat, leaning towards him with anger dripping from your pretty lips. “he may not like this situation any more than us — but he would never harm a woman, no matter what family she came from.”

he shook his head, glancing away from you. “you are actually naive enough to believe that?”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “if you’re stupid enough to believe that of him — then why would you want to be the very thing that you hope does not enter your sister’s bed this very same evening? — do you wish to be as despicable as you believe him to be, my lord husband?”

“watch your mouth, wife!” he spat through gritted teeth. “you would do well to mind your craven tongue.”

you mouth fell agape at his words. “my craven tongue, blackwood?” you scoffed at his words, suddenly too angry to be in the room with him. you didn’t want to get this angry — you wanted this to be as peaceful as possible. “i suddenly find myself wanting to leave this room — do enjoy our wedding night by yourself husband. i’m sure you’re well acquainted with your hand —“

you went to push by him, but he grabbed you by the elbow. he refused to let you pass, but you did not press the subject with words or jerking movements of your body. you did not know your husband — only his reputation from the mouths of kin. you did not dare push his anger — not when he could do with you as he pleased in this room, with no consequence outside these walls.

“i have been made very well aware of a bracken’s inability to perform their duty — but you will not stop me from performing mine, wife,” he grit, glaring down at you.

“i asked you to perform it honorably, husband! — if you can’t, then your reputation precedes you,” you spat. “so what will it be? i put the cards in your hands — so deal.”

his nose curled into a snarl, matching the hateful expression on his face. hatred poured from his veins, while you could feel your own resolve slipping away from your face. fear was creeping back in, as boldness only got a woman so far in the bedroom of an angry man. fear, fear, fear. it leaked from every one of your pores like tears, but you fought those. you blinked several times in order to hide what you could. if he saw the fear on your face, his own expression didn’t change.

…unless he knew the fear was always there, and he didn’t care.

“…please,” you whispered, anger still on your face but your voice threatening to break. “just tonight, husband — please.”

“i would never hurt a woman,” he spat, the flames on his face beginning to subside. “only a bracken —“

“i didn’t think you would hurt a woman,” you spoke, trying to soften your voice. “i asked — because others have described this pain as one of the worst. i was afraid, lord husband — but not of you.”

while you intentionally softened your voice, your husband did no such thing. he merely let his anger die with your words, most likely at the fact that you were the one to admit weakness. you were the one to admit vulnerability. you were the one to have to beg. you had won, but at what cost to your pride?

it didn’t matter now. all that mattered was getting this done. quick, done, and over with.

“lie on your back,” was all he said, holding your gaze.

your lips parted as your eyes looked down at the floor. you turned in place, and began walking towards the bed. you laid down on, fighting the urge to twist your fingers together in anxiety. you kept your head forward, but your gaze down and to the side. out of the corner of your eye, you could see your husband walk over to the bed and climb on top of you.

he unlaced his leathers as he spoke, both of you avoiding the other’s eyes. “avoid allowing your muscles to tense up — it will only make it worse.”

you whispered a small “okay,” barely audible.

you opened your legs, lifting up slightly at your hips for him to rest comfortably. he adjusted, before you watched him bring his hand to his mouth. you couldn’t help yourself — you watched as his lips sucked his long fingers past their opening, lubricating the digits. his eyebrows knitted together with the motion, before his fingers found their way between your thighs. you fought the urge to jump or squeal when you felt his warm, wet fingers thread through your folds.

he let out a sigh of discontent before glancing up to your face.

“trust me, alright?” he asked.

you didn’t verbally respond. you simply looked at him with your lips slightly parted, eventually nodding.

that was enough for him. he climbed down the length of your body, settling himself between your legs. he raised the length of your shift up to your stomach, leaving your bare from the abdomen down. in your nervous state, you took it as a cue to slip your dress off. when he saw the cool air hit your naked breasts and harden your nipples into a peak, his own lips parted — and you felt a growing mass harden against your leg.

“you’re beautiful, wife,” he spoke — seemingly without realizing it. you almost thanked him, before he added, “...for a bracken.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, ready to respond — when he dipped below your navel.

you sucked in a sharp breath of surprise — you couldn’t help it.

his tongue licked up and down the length of your slit, and dove in between your folds. you immediately covered your mouth with your hand, all of your muscles going tense. davos had wrapped his arms under your thighs, hoisting them around his shoulders. his tongue was thick and messy against your folds, causing them to glisten in the flames of the nearby fire.

and once his tongue made contact with the pearl at the very top of your slit, you let out an exhale of ease. it was not lost on your husband — who drew a circle around the circumference of the bud. when he noticed you relaxed more, he drew another. when he noticed you fought the urge to buck your hips up to meet his mouth, he drew yet another. he knew what was happening — but he wasn’t sure if you did.

when you began to fist the sheets with your one free hand, he didn’t stop drawing.

he locked his head in between your thighs with them thrown over his shoulders. your cunt was dripping juices from your sweet, untouched hole — and davos found himself ashamed to admit that he lost himself in the act. for a moment, he couldn’t help but forget the name of the girl above him — the one taking everything he gave her, and acting so grateful with the way she couldn’t stay still.

but after that moment… he could’ve ripped away and plunged into you, making the act become done and over quicker. he could’ve… but he found himself enjoying it.

he continued to draw those circles — those small, tiny, wet circles that sent you in a haze — as he slipped a finger inside your cunt. and then two. he was greedy for your reaction. he was greedy for the way he knew, he fucking knew, that you had never experienced pleasure like this — not by you or anyone else. him, a blackwood, would be the one to make you feel so good you would forget your name and house for even the smallest moment — even the smallest moment would be a win for his pride and for his house.

a small part of him hoped you’d feel shame at the fact he’d make you succumb to the throws of pleasure... but a larger part of him wanted to make you feel so good that you allegiance to your house wavered. ...but when he began to suck on your clit, sounds filling the room — he knew it would be both.

from below, he watched you shove the side of your face into the pillow and pull at its threads. your hips began to ride against his face, coating his chin with everything you could give him. he held you down the best he could — bratty little thing you were, but it was difficult as he also wanted you to lose control. he watched as you tried to bite your lip, harder and harder and harder — before you gave up. you left out a sob into the pillow, legs still shaking, and davos kissed your clit.

when davos crawled back up to meet you, every nerve ending had pins and needles. you were warm from head to toe — no longer in need of the fire, your shift, or any blanket. you were shivering, but not from the cold — but from the comedown, a stranger to passion and lust and pleasure. all three twirled around in your womb like a fire that had never been lit; a treasure to be discovered — only by davos.

“can i kiss you?” you asked before thinking it through.

davos had a look of being caught off guard. he wasn’t expecting you to ask, and you saw it flash on his face. you suddenly grew worried —

he didn’t let you finish your thought. davos leaned forward and kissed you.

he kissed you in the way you would expect a boy you love to kiss you — sweet, gentle, but with a growing passion that could only be shared in the bedroom. he held his weight with one of his strong arms, the other tucked behind the back of your knee. he pulled your knee to his hip and you wrapped both legs around his hips. you pulled him into you and felt the skin of his pelvis brush against your cunt.

“you’re so sweet,” you spoke against his lips. with obvious sarcasm, you added, “...for a blackwood.”

he laughed then. “you’re obedient for a bracken.”

you flicked his stomach, causing him to yelp — but you didn’t let him pull away for long. with both hands, you pulled him back to meet your lips. it hadn't even crossed your mind to ask him to wipe his mouth, for you did not want to. the old gods and the new would surely curse you for such lust filled thoughts — but you didn't care. how could you care when you had found a way to bring peace between a blackwood and a bracken, even if it was temporary? how could you care when you sharing one of the most holy of relationships, being the intimacy between husband and wife? how could you care when this night was going better than you could have hoped?

you could sense him bring his own hand down to his large member, feeling his forearm brush your thigh as he fisted his length. as much as you wanted to reach out and pleasure him — you were worried for what came next. the pain. the inevitable.

davos lined up the red tip of his cock with your tight hole, barely stretched out by his fingers. he slid his cock up and down the length of your slit with the intent of collecting as much of your juices as possible. with a slight push, he entered you.

you immediately let your head fall onto the pillow as the stretch began to burn. the pain on your face was evident, and davos guided his hand to draw circles on your clit once more. your muscles loosened, welcoming the pleasure that davos brought you.

“please,” you gasped, flicking your eyes up to him.

he stared at your face with an intense look of study. with his eyebrows knitted together, he brought one of your legs over his lower back and held you by the back of your thigh. the stretch was felt in the length of your cunt, as it stretched to fill his size.

davos was concerned for your well-being, of course, but something was beginning to curl in his lower abdomen. he wanted to take your by force — prying your legs open, holding your thighs in place, and drilling his cock into your swollen, dripping cunt. he wanted you to moan his name in his ear and pull at his hair or scratch his back — but he couldn’t, not yet. not just yet. not when you were you worried before, especially now that your attitude had been lost.

he had half a mind to point that out — lest that return.

“keep going,” you spoke.

“what if —“

“i’ll tell you to stop if it hurts,” you interrupted. “it’s all felt so good — i don’t want it to stop.”

he quirked an eyebrow at you. “is my wife claiming to know more than her lord husband?”

you squinted your eyes at him, ready to bite back. “i’ll have you know —“

but he didn’t wait for you to finish.

he leaned forward, placing both forearms on the side of your head. you could feel his lips against your earlobe, causing a quick intake of breath to overtake you. as he leaned forward to your ear, his hips leaned forward as well. his large cock was fully buried inside you now, rocking back and forth as it hit a spot so deep inside you that you didn’t know how he was able to fit. it felt like it was right behind your tiny pearl, which was being nudged by your husband’s pelvic bone. the combination was driving you crazy, only nonsense poured from your pretty lips…

“you’ll take what i give you, my pretty bracken wife,” he spat. “or should i say, blackwood, hmm? no longer craven?”

you wanted to bite back. you wanted to slap him. you wanted to push him from between you and make him finished himself off — but you couldn’t. you couldn’t fight your hips as they raised to meet his own, holding still as he pounded into your pretty cunt.

“a cock made you forget where your loyalties lie?” he questioned with a scoff, but never forgetting to smirk. “that’s all you need, wife? no one’s ever made you feel like this before?”

“you fucking —“

“say it,” he spat, almost growling against your lobe. his hips were snapping against yours as your cunt milked his cock, hoping for the spend that would seal the accomplishment of the marital duty. you were almost in tears from the frustration and the pleasure — not sure how to channel it, not sure what to do with it. “say it!”

“no one, davos,” you cried into the open air above you. “only you, only…”

his hands were tangled through your hair now, keeping your head upright as he sucked on your neck. little nips and bites sent shockwaves throughout your body, and your hips began to stir in the familiar way they had moments prior. davos’ weight held you perfectly still and taut, subjecting you to the pleasure his cock brought in the most perfect way.

“bet you can’t stand that you’re buried in a bracken right now,” you bit, almost succumbing to tears. “— can’t stand that only my womb will give you an heir —“

he yanked on your hair then, extending your neck so you were at his mercy. a strangled gasp left your mouth as you clung to him, which surprised you. you once asked for gentleness, kindness, sweetness… but if you had known how good this would feel… you wouldn’t have even bothered. you would’ve pushed and pulled him all night — subjecting him to the same insults that he hurled towards you if it meant he would fuck you this good.

“and i’ll coat your womb in everything i have, wife,” he growled, pushing his hand between your bodies to rub circles on your clit. “everything i have — until you’re full of blackwood seed. until there's blackwood in your veins. a full blackwood honorable enough to give me a blackwood heir.”

“i’ll never be —“

you couldn’t finish your sentence. the combination between his large cock taking you and his skilled fingers working you… it was all too much. you couldn’t handle the pleasure and the bittersweetness of his attitude, as you were already so close to your peak and losing to him. you could feel the heat rise to your cheeks, as well as spreading throughout your womb… ready for him…

“davos, please — “ you cried. “i’m so close. please don’t stop…”

“tell me you’re a blackwood,” he spat. “say it — or i’ll stop.”

“you wouldn’t —“

“i would dare, lady blackwood,” he spat, interrupting you. “now tell me who you belong to — or i’ll leave you unsatisfied with this pretty cunt dripping.”

he immediately began to slow down his hips, and you felt his fingers begin to slow as well. you tried to fight the incessant need to have him continue, but it proved difficult. soon, frustration replaced pleasure. anger replaced lust. need replaced pride.

“i’m yours, lord blackwood — !” you cried, pulling his hips back into yours. “please —“

he didn’t let you finish. immediately, his lips were on yours. he tangled your tongue with his until you could feel it down your throat. his tongue, his fingers, and his cock — they filled you whole, leaving you wanting for nothing. he held you to still so tight that all you could do was whatever he wanted. his own hips were thrusting against yours — chasing his own pleasure while you unraveled like pretty thread.

“this tight, perfect cunt…” he growled. “so many little blackwood heirs will bless this womb… seven hells…”

he kissed you once more, and you felt something break inside you. your head threw itself back against the pillow as every muscle in your body tightened and stood still. a sob left your mouth, incoherent — but when davos heard it, heard it crying for him and only for him, he broke as well. the heat and passion between two sworn enemies threw you both into climax that neither of you had ever experienced before. you pulled at his hair, while he bit down on your shoulder. and there was your bond — sealed in pain, pleasure, and blood.

when your peak had cooled, you found yourself clinging to your new husband as he still laid on top of you. he was breathing heavily, having expended much energy and couldn’t bring himself to leave your warm embrace. you began to scratch his back, hoping to relax him and get him to stay on top of you…

“that feels good,” he grunted from his spot in your neck. “are you sure i was once to hate you, wife? i find myself unable to remember why our families hate each other at this moment.”

you giggled. “we might not be able to help them… but i don’t see why it must carry into our union.”

“oh, wife…” he spoke, kissing your neck once more. “if our fights always lead to that — i believe our union will be forever blessed.”

____

lmk what you guys think!! who's ready for pt 2 w aeron?? - L xo

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The Caged Bird & The Leashed Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Chapter - 14 ✿:+ I Am His And He Is Mine 

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Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it. 

CW: MDNI, SMUT, NSFW themes, Sandor “my wife” Clegane, Unprotected P in V sex, Oral sex (M rec), multiple reader orgasms, grinding, spanking, biting, headlock (during sex), misogyny, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, mention of death, blood, threats of violence, mentions of arranged marriage, mention of family deaths.

A/N: Hey siri play bewitched by laufey 

Word Count: 8.5K

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱ 

The day had not even passed yet, and you were already attempting to find a septon to affiliate the marriage. Sandor said that he would, but you were he would have threatened the poor man into it. Besides, Sandor now laid in your shared chamber in a deep sleep after being fucked so well after so long of not having any of you.

So you took the opportunity to seek out a septon. However, Winterfell lacked one after the battle of the Bastards. You were half prepared to simply perform it yourself when you overheard Jon speaking about the men who had arrived in Winterfell to aid in the great War that was soon approaching. One of the men was a priest of the Lord of Light, Beric Dondarrion. It wasn’t the religion you or Sandor were raised in, however you didn’t care. If it eased the minds of Lords and Ladies that you and he were wed under a priest or septon you didn’t care what religion it was. 

You found the man easily, his description wasn’t hard to remember. A man with one eye.

You approached the man somewhat nervous that someone would overhear your inquiry or that he would refuse it, “Hello.” you spoke respectfully and gently. 

“My Lady.” The man said with a smile and a soft bow of his head. 

You smiled in return, “Beric Dondarian if I am not mistaken?”

He shook his head, “You are not. And you are Lady Arryn.” He pointed to the falcon embroidered onto the blue velvet of your gown that Sansa had made for you.

You looked down at the embroidering and smiled, “Is it that obvious?” You chuckled, “Would you walk with me?” You asked as you tilted your head towards the path you wished to follow. Beric willingly followed you, “I- I apologize if this is asking too much, but I am to be married and Winterfell lacks a septon.” 

“I am not a septon, my Lady.” He said as he shook his head,

“No, but I hear you are a priest, or close to one.” You said gently attempting to coax the man into marrying you and your betrothed. 

“I speak the Lord's words, that is all.” He said humbly

“We wish to be wed before the war. Tonight in fact.” You said cutting to the point.

Beric smiled, turned to face you, “What God do you follow?”

You faced him, “Well, my intended has no real interest in it, and I admit I pay little mind to it as well. But we were both brought up in the faith of the seven.” 

He sighed, “Not the Gods I follow, I am afraid. Who is the lucky man if I may ask?” He asked, attempting to divert your mind to something more pleasant. 

“Sandor Clegane.” You said softly, disappointed. 

“Sandor Clegane?” Beric asked with wider eyes,

“That’s right.” You nodded, looking at him with narrow eyes, unsure of his reaction.

“I’ll do it. Not the Gods I follow, but I can manage it.” Beric conceded, with a smile.

You stepped closer to him, “You know him? Sandor.” You asked with even more narrowed eyes.

Beric chuckled to himself softly, “I think you and I have much to talk about.” 

And talked to you and he did. He told you all of he and Sandors journey, and Sandors clear devotion towards you. It only solidified your commitment towards this engagement.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Later that evening, after everyone had either taken to their chambers or flocked to the taverns, you and Sandor met in the Godswood. You saw him before he saw you. He wore black leathers and an old and tattered black cloak in an attempt to remain discrete. As if his large size wouldn’t have given away who he was. 

You wore an ivory gown, with a blue lace trim. You were less concerned with remaining discrete. Come the morn you and he would be known as husband and wife, lord and lady throughout the realm. You’d have Ser Leon responsible for sending word around the realm, including Winterfell. 

As Sandor turned, his deep brown eyes widened at the beauty of your appearance. His mouth twitched as he held back a smile as you approached him. 

“You sure you want this? You can’t take it back.” He said softly as you came face to face with him.

“You’ve said that before.” You jested, remembered when he gave you the same lecture just before taking your maidenhood. Sandor sighed as his mouth twitched with annoyance. You smiled and placed a hand on his, “Yes, yes I’m sure.” You said sweetly, “Are you?” You asked, searching his deep brown eyes, he nodded as his hand came to caress your cheek. You smiled and he graced you with a soft smile in return. Your eyes quickly went to a man standing by the Heart tree, it was Beric, waiting for you and Sandor. “I found someone who could do it,” You said, still looking over to Beric. 

Sandor looked in the direction you were looking in. As his eyes fell upon Beric he huffed. “Fucking hells…” He said as you and he approached Beric. Beric smiled at the both of you as you came face to face with him. “The fuck you doing here?” Sandor grumbled, making you smirk.

Beric smiled, “Wedding you to the woman I separated you from.” Beric looked around, noticing you and he were alone, “No witnesses?” He asked, 

“Does it matter?” Sandor asked, 

“Suppose not-” Beric began,

Sandor interrupted, “Then get on with it.” He huffed. 

You and Beric smiled at one another, amused. “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” Beric said. Normally the groom would have had a cloak. Embroidered in his house's sigil, colored in his house's colors. But because he’d no time to have one made, nor did he have any desire to make you a Clegane, no desire to bring you closer to the horror of his family tree he wrapped you in the black cloak he wore. His protection would be fierce and loyal. Beric began “We stand here, in the sight of the Gods and… ourselves.” He said, noting the lack of witnesses, “In thanks and praise, to join two souls as one. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.” You and Sandor looked upon one another, his eyes were beautiful, and his gaze was warm. “Father, Mother, Warrior, Smith, Maiden, Crone, Stranger…” Sandors hand slowly and discretely found yours, “In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Hear now their words. Look upon one another and say the words.” Beric instructed, 

You turned to Sandor, peering into his eyes, your eyes filled with emotion “I am his, and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days, whatever may come.” You said, placing a hand on his scarred cheek. 

Sandor held the wrist of your hand that held his cheek, “I am hers, and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days, whatever may come.” He recited,

“Now the pledge.” Beric said, assuming Sandor would know what to do.

Sandor however did not know, “Pledge?” He asked looking back at Beric

“The pledge of love.” Beric explained, Sandor was still confused and narrowed his eyes.

“It’s the kiss.” You explained further.

It finally clicked, “In front of him?” Sandor asked with wide eyes. It was as if you had said he was to bed you in front of him.

“Come on, Clegane-” Beric huffed,

You turned Sandors face towards you, “I’ll say it with you.” you said trying to comfort him. Sandor sighed.

In unison you both said, “With this kiss, I pledge my love.” “With this kiss, I pledge my love.” 

The kiss you and he shared, was soft, gentle, and smooth. It was covered in love and felt like a form of worship. As you pulled apart. 

“Hold hands,” Beric said as he began tying a ribbon around your hands. “Now the vows.” Beric said hushly, pushing you to continue the ceremony, 

You smiled as you looked up at Sandor, “And I take you for my Lord, and Husband.” You said sweetly, and softly.

Resting his forehead against yours, he spoke his vows, “And I take you for my Lady, and Wife.” His words filled with you a bliss you hadn’t felt in so long. No more could anyone force you into a marriage you did not want. No more would your love be a secret. And forever more would you be his and he would be yours.

Beric finished tying the ribbon around your clasped hands in union. “Then in the presence of Gods and Men, I proclaim (Y/N) of house Arryn and Sandor of house Clegane, to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Cursed be he who seek to tear them asunder.” Beric smiled, as the both of you looked upon one another, at loss for what to say, “You are now, husband and wife.” Beric said less formally as he began to walk away, “I have mended what I tore apart.” He said leaving you and Sandor at the heart tree. Without a moment of hesitation once left alone Sandor grabbed hold of you by your arms. 

Pulling you up to meet his starved mouth. As his lips clashed with yours he pushed you against the tree, his hands roamed your body lustful, prideful of what was now his. You moaned into his lips, it was near torment to pull away, but you knew well enough this wedding alone would be scandalized. Being caught coupling against the heart tree within the Godswood would only add to that scandalization. 

“Not here,” You held his face, “In our own chambers. We’ve fucked enough in the woods.” You said recounting your brief days of freedom after the blackwater. 

Sandor nodded, and wasted no time rushing you off to your chambers. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・

In the beautiful light of the fire, Sandor unclothed before you, you watched mesmerized. You pressed your thighs together as he laid on your now shared bed. He looked upon you sweetly, as you took hold of your chemise and pulled it over your head. His eyes trailed over your naked body, he swallowed hard as he attempted to restrain himself from ravishing you right then.

You crawled towards him on your bed. You ran your fingers down his hairy and broad chest. Taking in all of him. You ran your hand over his scars, no doubt earned in battle, valiantly. Your hand stopped at one large scar that was just above his pelvis. Laying across his lower stomach. You thought of how deep it must have been to create such a scar. How his life could have been taken- without thinking of it you leaned down, and kissed the scar. Your soft warm lips made Sandors muscles tense.

His hand came to pet your head, running his hand through your hair, “Say those words again.“ He said, his voice so deep it rumbled in his chest.

“What words?” You asked, looking up at him, resting your chin on his stomach. The view made his arousal grow.

“You are mine.” He whispered, 

You smiled sweetly at him, “I am yours,” You ran your hand down his stomach, “Only yours.” 

“Mine-“ He began but was cut short by a groan that he tried to hold back behind gritted teeth as your hand found his tenting arousal.

You palmed it, with expertise, knowing just how he liked it, “And who do you belong to?” As asked, your voice is still gentle despite your clear power over him.

He smirked slightly, looking at you with love, “You.” he said, “Only you.” He said as his hand came to your chin, pulling you to his mouth. Almost immediately his tongue found yours as his hands found your body. Caressing your breasts gently, contrasting his calloused and rough hands. 

You continued to palm his cock, cherishing the moans and groans that left his lips and poured into your mouth. Unable to resist it, you pulled his length out from his small clothes. Stroking it, slowly, almost teasingly. 

“Fuck-” He hissed into your mouth with another sweet moan. You began to straddle his thigh as you rocked yourself against him as you continued to stroke his cock in your hand. His muscles tensed, only making it all the more pleasurable for you to grind yourself on his thigh. Making you buck your hips uncontrollably. 

You had to stop yourself, as an uncontrollable desire washed over you. You seized your movements, making Sandor near whine if he hadn’t stopped himself. Instead he grunted, “What the fuck are you-” He asked as you lowered yourself between his legs. He sat up, unsure if he’d be able to control himself if you began what you were about to. 

“Let me,” You said sweetly, “I’ve not done it properly to you.” You said gently as you stroked his length again, causing him to submit. He laid back into the cushion of your bed letting out a soft groan.

And so, you began. Taking his cock into your mouth, just the tip was enough to make Sandor grip onto the blankets, he grunted as you worked your way lower and lower. Careful to take your time. You worked your tongue along as you sucked. 

He was large, thick and long, it was indeed a challenge, but one that you were set on. And his moans only encourage you. Masterfully, somehow, you were able to navigate what he liked most simply by listening to his moans and soon you fell into a rhythm. As you did you felt your core beginning to ache, almost painfully. So you slid one hand into the wetness of your cunt as you sucked your husband's cock. His hand came to your head, not harsh or forceful, just tangling his hand in your hair. Wanting to be close to you. 

Once he noticed your hand, working you, his knuckles practically turned white gripping the sheets. “Fuck,” He hissed, “I can’t-can’t last long.” He said holding back pathetic moans. “I need your cunt.” He practically growled. 

You’d be lying if you didn’t need the relief either. 

So you released him, your lips swollen and your cunt aching. 

Sandor pulled your face to his own, kissing your wet lips. “Such a pretty fucking mouth” He said into your lips. As he was distracted with your lips, you straddled his lap, beginning to push yourself down onto his cock, only making him kiss you with more fury as he and you moaned into one another mouths. 

There was practically no burn, his cock was so wet, and your cunt was too. He could have slid in with ease, but you didn’t want him slowly. You plunged him into your cunt. Making him grip the plush of your hips. So tightly you knew it would be leaving a mark the next day. 

Your lips parted from him, wanting to hear his moans, the moans you were working so hard on to produce from him. “You’re mine.” You said in a breathy moan as you rode him. 

“Don’t forget that.” He said, as Your pace did not let up or slow. Moaning and not caring who heard it. Your hips rocked against Sandor as he moaned and groaned behind gritted teeth.

Without warning Sandor sat up, wrapping his arms around you as you bucked against him. His mouth ravaged your breasts, chest, and your neck. 

“Sandor!” You moaned, making him buck his hips up into you. His cock was hitting that perfect spot in your cunt, and mercilessly pounding against your cervix. You clenched around him harder and harder, pulsing, “Gods! I need to-Sandor,” You called out to him pathetically, “I need to-I’m going to-” You plead desperately. 

“I know birdie,” He said as he kept bucking into you, “Cum on me,” He said as his mouth went to your nipple, sucking at it as he bit slightly. 

The bite sent a shock wave through you and you couldn’t help it, clenching down on him you felt the tension in you snap and you felt yourself shake. He held you as you reached your peak, “I want to fuck my seed into you.” He groaned deeply against your hot skin. All you could was nod, blinded by your orgasm. But soon you were shot back to reality as his seed shot deep within you. You felt the heat painting you from inside. 

The only thing you both could do was collapse into one another arms as you laid there recovering the euphoria. 

Panting against one another, laying in one another arms, feeling the others hot and sticky skin. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・

That was nothing like the wedding you were always promised. You were always told you were to marry a highborn lord, maybe even the prince. You were going to wed in a great sept, with all the lords and ladies of the seven kingdoms in attendance. Your father would give you away, and then you’d be shipped off to live with that lord for the rest of your days. But this wasn’t the wedding others wanted for you, this was the wedding you wanted for you.

Sandor had carried you off to your bathing chamber. After drawing you a bath he lowered your naked form into the warm water. He only in breeches, bathed you. Washing water over your hair, careful not to get any in your face. 

“I want to know more.” You said, your eyes half lidded, in pure bliss at that moment.

“About what?” He asked gentler than normal.

“You. Your life.” You said sweetly, as you looked into his eyes. His eyes looked like a baby calf’s. Deep brown eyes, with long thick lashes. They made you smile.

“What about it?” He asked, rubbing his thumb against your cheek.

You smiled and shook your head, “I don’t know, that’s the issue. What of your family?”

Sandor sighed, “Father was a Knight for the Lannisters, Mother was a bastard of Crakehall.” He looked down, thinking back to her, “I don’t remember much of her. She died giving birth to a sister I don’t remember either.” You placed a hand on his, you didn’t know that you’d had that in common, “My father died hunting with Gregor. He says it was an accident but I know it wasn’t.” His tone got darker, “The day he died I left our keep and Gregor inherited it all. I went to King's Landing. I became the Lannisters' sword, their dog. I never went back to the keep.” He said, returning his attention back to you. 

“You never want to go back?” You asked, with narrowed brows. 

He shook his head stoically, “I’m just a second son. That land isn’t mine.” He said as he began to clean your nails with a washcloth.

“Your brother is a Queen's Guard now. He has given up his land.” You said gently.

He stopped, and looked at you, his eyes filled with... Fear? “I don’t want to go back there… I don’t want you there. When Gregor attacked me, it took three men to pull him off. Three fucking men to pull him off his own little brother.” He began to rile himself up, 

“Shhh…” You said as you caressed his face, rubbing your thumb against his cheek. 

He put his hand on top of the hand you caressed his cheek with, “I don’t want you near him.” He said earnestly, “My brother has taken any family I have ever had, he can’t take you.”

You sat up in your tub, getting closer to his face. “He won’t.” You said just as earnestly. As you sat back, you directed the conversation more pleasantly. “You are much more than a second son. What do you want?” Sandor looked at you confused, “My ambitions can’t be all we attend to. What do you want?” You asked gently

He thought for a moment, then answered, “Peace. I want to lay in a bed with you, after a day of eating, drinking, and fucking.” 

You smiled, and took his hand, “I think we can accommodate that.” You said as you playfully bit onto his hand.

He smiled at you slightly, “I thought for fucks sure, you would marry some cunt lord right in front of me.” His tone darkened again,

“I wouldn’t have been able to.” You said as you kissed his hand.

“You wouldn’t have had the choice.” He sighed, “I don’t believe in fairytales and holy vows. But… here we are.” He looked at you in awe, as if you’d hung each star in the sky. “What's this vow? The one you promised to your mother. I never asked.” He asked, realizing he should have asked long long ago. 

You looked down, fidgeting with your fingers, taking a breath before beginning. “My mother tried to give my father a son for as long as I could remember. Always on her childbed. And each time, she lost the babe. I was the only living babe she birthed. You can imagine the disappointment my father felt.” You sighed a laugh, attempting to make light of the pain you felt. Sandors eyes however felt the pain you did, “But with each birth it was more and more difficult.” You continued, “Her last babe came early… far too early. The maester wasn’t even in the Eyrie, he was below in the Moongates. It’s miles from the Eyrie.” Your eyes stared off somewhere distant, as if you were there as you retold the horrible tale. “My father left to retrieve him personally, as my mother labored. She didn’t want any of the handmaidens touching her. The pain was too great. She laid there bleeding and screaming. She only allowed me in. All her handmaidens were huddled in a corner of the room, watching in horror.” You shook your head slowly, thinking back on it, “When the babe finally came, my mother had lost so much blood, she knew she was dying. She held my face and made me promise that I would keep her son,” You took a deep breath fighting back emotion. “and her house, safe.” You looked back to Sandor, “I held that boy in my arms for hours. Edmure, I called him. He was so small, and fragile. I didn’t let any of the handmaidens touch him. I just sat there on the floor holding him. Rocking him back and forth. When the maester finally came, he demanded I give him the boy. So I did.” A single tear fell from your cheek as you finished, “He died right then.” You wiped it, and looked down. “My father named me heir, maybe to mend our broken bond, maybe to mend his favor to the Gods for he’d done to my mother. But not until he agreed to marry my aunt.” You said, your tone deeper.

After that. The truth was that if your father wasn’t beloved by you, or already dead in the ground, Sandor would’ve beaten him to a pulp for what he’d done.

Sandor forced you to look at him, pulling your gaze to his by holding your chin up. “I’ll help you get it. If anyone tries to stop you I’ll kill them. Anything you want I’ll bring it to your feet.” He vowed, as you rested your forehead onto his. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱ 

The next morning, you were missing in attendance at Jon’s small council meeting. What they didn’t know was that you were sound asleep in your chambers with your new husband. 

Jon sat there, annoyed as he said, “Where is (Y/N).” He looked to Sansa expecting she’d know, “She is part of this council, she should be here.”

“Unwell I presume.” Sansa said stoically.

“We must allow her some grace. The morning after your wedding night is often tiring or so I hear.” Varys, Tyrion's spider said. The air in the room was sucked out, Varys looked around “I surely cannot be the only one to know. They did it in Godswood last night.”

“Married to who?” Jon asked with furrowed brows,

“The Hound.” Varys said.

“The Hound?” Jon asked in disbelief. 

“The Hound.” Sansa said, unphased by the news.

“You knew?” Jon asked Sansa, angrily.

Sansa shrugged, “I assumed it would happen.”

Jon scoffed, “How would you assume that? A man like that-”

“I shall retrieve her.” Sansa interrupted Jons ramblings, as she stood up ready to retrieve you.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱ 

That night you fell asleep in one another’s arms. You were holding him close to your naked form. Rocking your hips slowly, with his cock still in you. When you finally drifted into sleep, neither of you moved from one another. So when you awoke he was still in you. 

“Mmmphm.” You groaned as Sandor slid out of you,

“Sorry.” Sandor said as he brushed your hair from your face. 

“It’s alright.” You smiled softly, “I’m just happy to sleep beside you.” You rested your chin against his chest looking up at him, he kept staring at you. “What?” You asked with a sweet smile.

“Beautiful.” He whispered as he caressed your face. 

“I am a mess.” You said, and you weren’t wrong. Your hair was tangled from sleep, and you were half naked as your chemise was falling off of you.

“No.” You asserted, as he pulled your face close to his, kissing you sweetly. 

“Handsome.” You said rubbing your nose against his.

“Fuck off,” He grumbled, 

You raised your brows at him, “You don’t believe me?” You asked offendedly. When he shook his head you leaned down and bit his arm. Not deeply but enough to leave a pretty mark.

“Ah!” He moaned, “Fuck are you doing?” He asked, 

“You think I’m a liar?” You said offendedly, 

“Look at me.” He sighed, confident that he were not handsome. 

“I am.” You said softly, confident that he was.

Just as you were about to kiss and most likely fall into another hour of fucking, a knocking at your chamber door interrupted any plans you may of had.

Sandor groaned as you in haste flew out of your bed and found a robe to cover yourself. 

As you walked to the door you opened it slightly to see Sansa standing there. 

“Is there something needed of me?” You asked softly,

“Your presence in the council meeting.” She said a bit annoyed. 

You quickly stepped into the hallway with Sansa. Closing the door so no one would see your naked husband in your bed. “I am sorry, last night I could not find sleep-” 

She interrupted you, “I am not stupid. The dragon queen's spider saw you and the hound wed last night.” 

You sighed, “Well, I suppose that makes things easier.” You attempted to jest.

“Why did you not tell me?” She asked, earnest and hurt.

You stepped towards her, “No one was to know, not until afterwards. Then I would have told you, of course.” 

“I would have made you a gown.” She said finding it hard to stay upset with you.

“I’ve no doubt it would have been the most beautiful in the realm.” You smiled, and she smiled back in return. You placed a hand on her arm “I am sorry.” You said earnestly. She sighed and nodded. Soon turning her attention to the state of your hair.

“What happened in there?” She asked

“Many things.” You said with a smirk.

“Many things?” She questioned.

“Many things.” You restated

Sansa huffed a giggle, “Rest, I’ll mend your obligations.” She said as she left.

You did as she asked, 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱ 

As you rested your husband, now taking his duties seriously, set out to find you something to eat. 

Not before finding trouble in the courtyard. 

Word had traveled fast since one of the spider's informants had seen you and the Hound wed. And Sandor was not a fan of the new looks he was getting. They were different from the fearful looks he was used to. 

Some man, a knight of some minor house in the North approached Sandor, “They call you the Hound. What noble lady would marry a Hound?” He asked unreasonably confidently. The other knights around him began to snicker, “Tell me, did you fuck her like a Hound, that why she was forced to marry-” The man couldn’t finish his insult before the Hounds fist met the mans jaw. The man hit the floor, his mouth bleeding and his jaw more than likely broken. All the snickering ceased.

Sandor looked around at all the men and said, “Any more words come out of any of your cunt mouths about my wife, I’ll take your head.” He began to walk before Tormund stopped him.

Tormunds eyes were wide and hurt, “She’s your wife?” he asked, 

Sandor looked at him with pride as he leaned in, “Aye. She’s my fucking wife.” he said in a deep and low voice, as if it were a warning.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

It didn’t take long for Sandor to hear another person's opinion on his new betrothal. As he was leaving the blacksmith, after getting his dragon glass ax, he was approached by Jon. 

“You married (Y/N), In the late hours of the night?” He asked angrily.

“Aye.” Sandor sighed, already tired by the interaction.

“Why?” Jon asked, clearly upset by the entire situation.

“Fuck do you think?” Sandor said, walking past jon.

“Why her, why my cousin?” Jon asked, following him.

“You share no blood with her.” Sandor said, his tone much calmer than Jons.

“Answer the question.” Jon commanded,

Sandor stopped and stepped closer to Jon, “She’s a strong woman.” 

Jon’s eyes narrowed, “Aye, a strong woman who’s run from every betrothal that’s been offered to her-“

“Offered?” Sandor scoffed, knowing all of your other betrothals were against your will.

“Why her?” Jon finally asked.

Sandor stepped enough closer to Jon, making Jon take a step back. “We both know ‘Why her?’ What you and I both want to know is ‘Why me?’. And for fucks sake I don’t know.” He said earnestly

Jon searching for a reason could only find ones that weren’t true, was she pregnant, was he forcing her? “Did you- did-“

Sandor, knowing where his accusations were going, stopped Jon. Worrying if he finished his sentence he’d have to beat the cousin of his wife. “You’re protective over your own. Over her. I appreciate that. But she’s my own now too. And I protected her fuck lot better than you did in Kings Landing. Protect your sisters too. Don’t believe me? Ask her.” Sandor’s tone was softer now. Understanding Jons confusion because shared it too. “Dont think she’s some lost fucking babe in the woods. That fucking woman is more clever than that bald cunt you cling to. The only reason you have this bloody castle is cause of her. Without (Y/N) those Bolton animals would be here. My wife knows what she’s doing.” He said with pride, “Now, I’ve got to find something for my wife to eat.” Sandor said as he left Jon to stew in his anger and confusion. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱ 

You however were no longer resting in your chambers. You were now walking with Ser Leon, around the battle preparations. You saw the men creating the armor for your knights 

“You should be plating their armor with leather.” You said the man creating the armor.

“The Vale is known by silver and blue, My Lady.” The man said, 

“The Vale will not survive this war if their soldiers die from the cold. Then they will not be known for anything. Plate them in leather.” You corrected the man. 

“Yes, my Lady.” The man nodded his head. 

You turned to Ser Leon, “And I want each man equipped with dragon glass swords, as well as daggers.” You said confidently.

“A wise choice my Lady.” Ser Leon said. 

“When the time comes, Brienne of Tarth will lead the Knights into battle. You will lead our archers at the castle walls, Ser Leon.” You said 

“My Lady, If I may…” Ser Leon said, and you nodded allowing him to express himself. “A Knight of the Vale should lead the Knights of the Vale.” 

“Ser Leon, you have stepped up the challenges that Ser Cole left behind. And you’ve done a wonderful job at it. If we win this war I want you alive for the next. Is that clear?” You said with the cadence that of a queen.

Ser Leon nodded, “Yes, my Lady.”

You smiled, “Good, on with it then.” You dismissed him. As he left you noticed behind him was your Lord Husband.

“Husband.” You said smiling.

“Wife.” He said in return as he walked towards you.

“Did you get your ax?” You asked. Sandor held up the ax, allowing you to examine it, your pretty fingers gliding across the blade, “A pretty weapon isn’t it?” You said as you looked at the deep black color of the dragon glass.

Sandor smirked, “You know about weapons now do you, birdie?” He asked strangely seductively for a man who was hesitant to kiss you in front of another man just that night. 

“I’ve become accustomed.” You said, raising an eyebrow at him.

Sandor leaned in closer to you, “I like watching you bark at those men.” He whispered,

You smirked, “I like the way you look at me when you watch.”  

“Well…” He said, stepping even closer to you, “Some of your pretty knights keep following me around.” 

“Does my Lord Husband not wish for this?” You asked, Sandor shook his head with a smirk. You looked behind him, noticing the two knights in question. “Ser Máximos.” You said, 

“Yes, My Lady?” Ser Maximos said,

“You and Ser Agustin are dismissed. And let it be known my Lord Husband needn’t any protection. He does well enough on his own.” You commanded,

“Yes, my Lady.” Ser Maximos said as he and Ser Agustin left. 

You looked back to Sandor, seeing his eyes hungry and lustful “Come Husband, I’ve a gift for you.” You said sweetly as you led him back to your shared chambers.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

And a gift you did indeed have. You had black armor made for Sandor, now that his last set of armor was ruined after he and Brienne’s battle. 

“I had it made.” You said as you helped him put the armor on, “You cannot fight in a war without armor.” Sandor looked at you like you know that he could fight a war without armor, “I would not send you into one unarmored.” You explained. 

“No bird?” Sandor asked as he looked at the armor, noticing that you did not brand his armor with your house sigil. 

“You aren’t a knight of the Vale. You’re not owned.” You said clasping the last bits of his armor onto him “You’re a true warrior, in your own right. I wouldn’t brand your armor.” You said as you looked him up and down, as all of his armor besides his gloves were on, “Do you like it?”

“It’s armor.” Sandor huffed, not caring for the aesthetics of what he wore, “Thank you.” he said softly.

“The men who made it said it was quite difficult to get it right.” You said running your hands along his armor, admiring his body. 

“That’s cause I’m a big fucker.” He grumbled, 

“Yes…” You said lost in the filthy thoughts you were having by simply laying your eyes on his form in the armor. Your eyes found his, “It’s a good thing.” You clarified. Your hands found his, as you looked down you noticed his right hand knuckles were bruised, “What happened to your knuckles?” You said, running your thumb along them.

“Mhpm… The man's jaw was harder than it looked.” He said with a shrug, trying to blow it off completely.

“And why did you feel the need to hit another man?” you questioned, 

“Because I didn’t have a blade.” Sandor said, you tilted your head at his response. Your face obviously showed that you were not satisfied with his answer. “The fucker had it coming.” He said frustrated, and angry thinking back to what the man had said. “Said some cuntmouthed shit about you.”

“What?” You questioned gently, 

“Some old maid horseshit.” He huffed. You still stared at him waiting for more information unsatisfied with the answers he was giving you. “You were forced to wed me because I defiled you, there.” He huffed. 

You smiled at Sandor. You hated to admit it, but it aroused you. That he would hit a man over an insult. His armor didn’t help calm your arousal either, you trailed your fingers against the skin of his neck, “I wasn’t forced. And I like it when you defile me.” You said seductively. Sandors hand came around your throat gently, about to ravage you, until, just like this morning, a knock fell on your chamber door.  

“Who is it?” Sandor barked, angry someone dared interrupt. 

“Ser Leon, my Lord.” Ser Leon said from behind the door.

“Fuck does he want?” Sandor rasped, low enough just for you to hear. 

You smirked at his frustration, “What is it, Ser Leon?” You asked loud enough for Ser Leon to hear from beyond the door. 

“Queen Danerys, Lord Snow, and Lady Sansa have requested your council, my Lady.” Ser Leon said. 

You sighed, kissing your husband once more, sweetly before making your way to the council room. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ 

As you sat among the council members, Jon, Sansa, and Daenerys, your Lord Husband stood behind you, acting as your sworn shield. 

You and the council heard the plea of Jaime Lannister, begging for him to be allowed to stay and fight in Winterfell. It was clear that Daenerys was not happy with the prospect of having the murderer of her father stay. And that you could understand. 

However when it came time to decide whether or not he would be staying, Brienne of Tarth defended Jaimes plea.

Sansa, trusting her own sworn sword stated, “I trust you with my life. If you trust him with yours, we should let him stay.” 

Daenerys, unhappy with this judgment, turned to Jon, “What does the warden of the North say about this?” 

Jon, painfully conceded, knowing it would upset her. “We need every man we can get.”

Daenerys, still unhappy, in a last stitch effort turned her attention towards you. “And the East?”

Unafraid with your husband behind you, you stated confidently, “I trust the judgments of Lady Sansa, and Jon is right. If the threat is as great as you say, we need every man we can get.” 

She looked upon you with angry eyes, “Very well.” Dany conceded, angrily.

As you rose from your chair, your Husband stood behind you. You and he walked down the hall together, 

“I don’t think she likes me.” You said to your husband.

“Then she’s a cunt.” Sandor said,

“Saved your life did she not?” You questioned.

“Eh.” Sandor said, not disregarding any of that.

You smirked, and you looked back to Sandor, “How do you feel about it? Having another Lannister here.” You asked, genuinely wondering if it had made him uncomfortable.

Sandor shrugged as you and he walked, “Least that one didn’t try to fuck you.” He huffed.

“Fair point.” You said as you and he entered the library where you and Sansa were to discuss further battle plans with Lord Royce. 

Not long after, Daenerys entered the library. You and Sansa stood in her presence. 

“I would like to speak to the Ladies alone.” Daenerys said, looking at Lord Royce and Sandor.

Sandor stood his ground behind you. Unwilling to take any command from anyone other than you. You looked at Sandor, “It’s alright.” You said softly. Sandor nodded and left you, Sansa, and Daenerys to speak in privacy. 

“I thought we were all on the verge of an agreement about Ser Jaime.” Daenerys said as she stepped towards you and Sansa. 

“Brienne has always been loyal to me. I trust her.” Sansa said, in her tone it was clear that she did not trust Daenerys.

Daenerys smiled, “I wish I could have that kind of faith in my advisors.” 

“Tyrion is a good man.” You said, attempting to defend your former betrothed, “He can be arrogant but has been nothing but decent.” 

“I didn’t ask him to be my advisor because he was good. I asked him to be my hand because he is good, intelligent, and ruthless when he needs to be.” Daenerys said as she stepped closer to you and Sansa. “He should have never trusted Cersei.” 

“Neither should have you.” Sansa said, boldly. 

“I thought he knew his sister.” Daenerys said, with a smile.

“Families are complicated.” You said, sitting down.

“Ours certainly have been.” Daenerys said as she sat down as well. 

“A sad thing for us all to have in common.” You said, trying to bridge a commonality between the women in this room. 

“We share more than that. We all know what it means to lead people who aren’t inclined to accept a woman’s rule. And we’ve all done a damn good job of it, from what I can tell.” Daenerys said, kindly. Sansa smiled at her words. “And yet, I can’t help but feel we’re at odds with one another. Why is that?” She asked softly. 

“What happens afterwards?” Sansa asked earnestly, “We defeat the dead, we destroy Cersei. What happens then?”

“I take the Iron Throne.” Daenerys said, you felt the tension in the room rise once again. 

“What about the North? It was taken from us, and we took it back and we said we’d never bow to anyone else again. What about the North?”  Sansa reasserted. You admired her boldness but knew she was choosing a dangerous path.

“Excuse me my Ladies-“ Lord Royce announced as he entered the room.

“What is it?” Daenerys said angrily at the interruption. 

“Theon Greyjoy has arrived, my Lady.” Royce said.

“Theon?” Sansa said in disbelief. 

She and Daenerys left the library in haste. You however, overwhelmed with the interaction, stayed behind. You cleaned up the books that you and Sansa were using. As you did, Jon entered the chamber.

“So, you’re a married woman now.” He said, 

“Said the vows willingly.” You said in a sigh, not wanting to explain your love. 

“The Hound?” Jon questioned you sharply.

“Sandor Clegane, is his name.” You corrected him.

“And you? Lady Clegane, now?” Jon asked, almost taunting you.

“I’ve kept my name.” You said calmly.

“He’s alright with that?” Jon questioned.

“According to law, If a Lady born in a higher station than her betrothed she keeps her name. Besides, he doesn't care about names.” You said as you put the books you were using back on their correct shelves.

“You sure he’s… right for you?” Jon asked, calmly.

“Why do you care?” You asked, turning to face him head on.

“You are my cousin-”

You interrupted him, “That’s not what you said when I arrived in Castle Black.” You said defiantly.

Jon sighed, “I was wrong. We might not be blood but I care. I do not wish to see you harmed.”

You scoffed, “And you think he will harm me? Why? Do you place a judgment on him because of his name?” You asked, walking towards him.

“I place judgment because of the brutality the Cleganes have inflicted.” He said, as if he knew better than you did. 

“You’re playing the role of a protective brother now?” You held in a laugh, amused by how ridiculous his accusations were. He did not know him at all. 

“Just heard stories is all.” Jon said

You signed, “He isn’t like his brother. He has committed dishonorable acts in the name of the King. But what was he to do? Besides, he has long atoned for them.” You said, attempting to ease Jon’s worries. 

“You don’t think he’ll harm you?” Jon asked softly, 

“I know he won’t.” You said confidently, “He is my Lord Husband, my sworn shield and sword. He serves me with faithfulness, valor, devotion…” Your strong headed and defiant demeanor dropped, replaced with a more soft and earnest one, “and love.” You said with a smile.

Jon sighed, and nodded “Alright then. You’re an intelligent woman, a strong one too. If you trust him-”

“I do. More than anyone.” You asserted,  

“Then I’ll stand by him.” He said, finally giving in.

“Good. You've got a war to prepare for.” You said sweetly, with a smile. 

Jon smiled softly and nodded “I’ll ready my men, you ready yours.” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ 

As you went down to observe your Knights training, you noticed one much larger than the others, dressed in black armor. Your Lord Husband. 

“Ah!” Sandor shouted as his sword clashed against the other knights.

“Well struck, Lord Clegane.” Ser Leon shouted from the observation deck. Sandor rolled his eyes at the new title the Knights had given him. 

“Ser Leon?” You said as you approached him.

“Yes, my Lady?” Ser leon asked,

“How well do you believe my Husband will fare in the war?” You asked as you watched how savagely your Husband fought.

“Your husband?” Ser Leon asked, “The Lord Clegane will fare very well. Most men need to use two hands to hold a sword that big. Forgive me but I have never seen a man fight as he does.” Ser Leon said with a hint of intimidation in his voice. 

“Neither have I.” You said with a smirk as you watched your Husband from below fight. You hated to admit it but it was making you wet, watching him brutally swing his massive sword, and land each blow. 

“Excuse me, my Lady-” Ser Leon said as he left your side to correct another Knights training.  “Ser Meryn! Do not hesitate-” You tuned out the rest of what he was saying as you watched your husband.

“Ah!” He shouted as his sword turned the knight's shield into a pile of splintered wood.

“I yield! I yield!” The knight shouted, Sandor dropped his heavy sword to the ground and walked off panting and huffing.

You smiled, biting your lip. “Very good, Husband.” You shouted down to him from the deck. 

Sandor waited for you at the bottom of the deck. Once you finally reached it you and he began to walk back to your chambers. “Those knights keep calling me Lord.” Sandor complained,

“You are a Lord now.” You said, amused by Sandor’s hesitation to the role. 

“I’m no Lord.” He said, huffing still out of breath from the training. 

“You are now that you married to me. If you didn’t wish to be then you shouldn’t have.” You said sarcastically. 

However Sandor did not find the jest funny. He pulled you into your chambers as soon as you reached them.

“Enough of that.” He barked,

You ignore his words, mesmerized by his armored body, and the wetness between your legs. “Your armor suits you well.” You said as your eyes trailed over his form. “I want to you to take me,” You commanded, “I want it hard.” Your hands grasped at the breastplate of his armor, pulling him closer.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” His voice is dark and deep. 

“All day I have been arguing, and commanding other men. All day I’ve been preparing for a war.” You said removing your shoes, and your socks. Rolling them down from your thighs, it mesmerized Sandor. “I’m frustrated, and aggravated. And now all I want is for my Husband, to fuck me hard enough I don’t have to think of any of it for just a moment.” You practically pleaded,

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He said, gently.

“You won’t, my love.” You said sweetly as you walked over to your bed. 

You lifted your skirts presenting your ass to him as you bent over the side of your bed. You looked back at him with sweet and longing eyes. 

Palming his hardening cock, Sandor walked over to you “Whatever my wife wishes.” He said as he landed a firm spank against your ass, making you yelp. “What you fucking get for biting me.” 

“Do it again-“ You asked, and he obeyed, “Mphm!” You moaned,

“You like that?” He asked as his hand fondled your ass, soothing the spank he landed on it just a second ago.

“Mhhhmmmmm” You bit your lip, and turned yourself onto your back, looking up at your husband.

“My wife is a dirty little bird.” He said with a smirk,

“You make her one.” You said as you began to palm at breeches.

He grabbed your wrist taking it away “Ask nicely woman, I’m not one of those knights you bark at.” 

“Please, my love-“ You begged, as he wanted you to, “fuck me- fuck me like a warrior in battle.” 

He smirked, and grabbed ahold of your dress by your neck line, “This dress has been teasing me all fucking day. Pushing your perfect tits up just begging for me to fucking rip this open.” He said as he ripped the fabric with ease. As your breasts came exposed his eyes trailed over them, “Fuck…”  He continued to rip off your gown until it was ripped clean from your body. Leaving you in your small clothes. However, that only aggravated him more, “Give me these.” He said as he ripped them off of your body, making your gasp. He looked at your small clothes, at how wet they were. “Seven fucking hells, birdie. You don’t need prepping do you? You’ve been this needy for my cock all day?” He asked, and you were so wanting that you couldn’t bring yourself to speak any words. All you could do was nod. Sandor smiled, “Show me. Show me how needy my wife is for me.” He said stepping closer, between your legs as you laid against the edge of the bed. 

You began to rock your hips, rubbing your bare cunt against his clothed erection. “Please, please, please,” You begged, so desperate you tried to press the tented bulge of his pants into you. Sandor looked down and saw the visible wet mark you were leaving on his breeches. Without warning he pulled his hardened length out, and plunged himself into you, “Ah!” You cried out, He continued to push himself in and out of you at a brutal pace. “Harder!” you commanded. He hesitated for a moment, but soon flipped you over onto your belly. Continuing his brutal pace he wrapped his arm around your throat. Putting you in a headlock as he hammered his cock into your weeping cunt. 

As he held you close to his chest, you held onto his strong arm as it was wrapped around your throat. Choking only slightly. Sandor licked and kissed at your ear as he moaned and groaned into it, “You feel too fucking good-fuck-keep clenching around me!” He commanded, as if you had a choice. It felt so good your cunt was spasming uncontrollably. “That’s it, that’s it, taking it so fucking well for me.” He encouraged you as his other hand pinched at your nipples, then roamed down towards your cunt, rubbing at your clit just as brutally as he was fucking you. He couldn’t help it, normally he’d wait for you, normally he could wait as long as he needed to but you were moaning so beautifully, and you were clenching around him so well he without any warning, spilt his seed into you. 

The feelings of the heat was everything you needed to push you over the edge. You shaked hard, as you felt yourself cum on his cock, feeling your juices flow out of you and onto him.

Sandor laid you down gently, leaning over you, he brushed your hair out of your sweaty and flushed face, “Are you alright?” He asked, out of breathe, 

You smiled up at him, “I am going to fill your belly with wine and chicken.”

Truth was, he had gone easy on you.

NOTE:

BIG SHOUT OUT TO THE GIRLS WHO GAVE ME SMUT SUGGESTIONS LMK IF YOU WANT CREDIT— I am growling and snarling behind the bars of my enclosure. Also I have such a good idea for a new fic and yall aren’t getting it for so long lol. Anyways….. enjoy..

Bambi

Beloved Tags: 

@dontfollowjuststuff @merfic @broadsdrinkwhisky  @vikingswhore0

@the-queen-of-sorrows @eddiesbongwater @not-neverland06  @symonedoesart 

@wyvernnest @bdudette @frosch-thefrog @patrick-hockstutter @vikingswhore0

@drymushroomfics @dream-a-little-nightmare @lavenderbreeze3

@spookymicrowave @caldrien 

Do you think larys had a boner when sitting on aegon’s bed with his foot out

I think we can all agree Larys did the best effort to not get turned on with Aegon’s foot... 😭

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 2.06

MYSARIA X RHAENYRA???

You know I’m about to make a banger out of this one.

I love you. It's ruining my life. (Part II)

pairing: Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!fem!reader (no descriptions of reader except that she wears dresses and has long hair)

warnings: 18+, smut, cannon typical violence, cursing 

summary: You and Benjicot Blackwood return to the woods where your story began. Things get heated. 

word count: 3.6k

author note: Thanks so much to everyone for your kind words about this little story. This is my first time posting fanfiction, and I am overwhelmed by the response. And in case anyone is curious, I pretty much listened exclusively to Taylor Swift’s “Guilty as Sin?” while writing this. Love you babes. Happy reading! 

part I can be found here

A madness plagued you, of that there could be no doubt.  

Days had passed since the boundary stone incident. But you could barely bring yourself to leave the confines of your chambers. You did not want to see anyone. Not your father. Not your fellow ladies or maids. And certainly not Aeron. 

You only wanted to see Benjicot. Lay eyes on him and hold him and confirm that you were not alone with these feelings. 

In your heart, you knew that he must feel something. No Blackwood would withdraw from a challenge with a Bracken as quickly as he did after your plea without feeling anything. But your mind played tricks on you, turning over every interaction, every look, every word between the two of you.No promises had been made. No tender feelings shared. 

What if you had imagined it all? That thought alone kept you awake at night, tossing and turning with no relief. 

And gods, did you crave relief from this sweet torture. 

You felt trapped beneath your own skin, aching and longing for something that you could not fully name. But even though you did not know the full language of lovers, did not know exactly what happened between a couple when they lied together, you knew enough. Knew that pleasure could be found between your thighs with a twirl of your fingers. Knew it was a sin, but could not bring yourself to care. 

You could not get the look of Benjicot’s enraged face out of your mind. Flushed cheeks, wide eyes, snarling mouth. Even the cuts, bruises, and blood on his hands called to some primal part of you. The way he defended you, fought for you. He was a force, and the thought of having all that frenzied energy focused on you was enough to send you over the edge. 

You touched yourself to images of Benjicot that flashed through your mind. His face hovering over you. His arms encircling your body. His hands touching you. Unlacing your dress and removing your small clothes. Warm, strong, calloused hands traveling across your breasts, hips, and thighs. Moving higher and higher until he reached the core of you. 

And when you reached that pentacle of release, it was his name you sighed allowed. 

This madness had to end. 

So, in the early morning hours before Stone Hedge woke, you made your way back to the woods where it all began.  

You did not know how long you walked but you suspected hours. The sun was steadily rising in the sky, warming the air and casting shadows through the trees. You only vaguely knew the right direction to Raventree Hall and prayed to both the old gods and the new that you were on the right path. 

Not that you really had a plan once you reached Raventree Hall. It was not as if you could march up to the front door, knock, and demand to see the heir. The fact that you were a Bracken almost guaranteed that at best, such a request would be refused, or at worst, end with your head on a spike. 

But even when your legs began to tire and sweat dripped down your brow, you pushed forward—determined that today would be the day you received answers. 

That is until you tripped over a tree root, stumbling to the ground. You landed awkwardly on your front, both hands throbbing from cuts and scrapes you gained while trying to break your fall. But at least you had not rolled your ankle this time. 

Just as you began to pick yourself up, you felt a presence behind you. You were not sure if your imagination was playing tricks on you, but the forest itself seemed to quiet. You could no longer hear the wind rustling the leaves, nor birds chirping or insects humming. 

All your attention focused on one thing. Him. Benjicot. Every part of your being knew he was the one behind you. 

You felt the ghost of his touch before he surrounded you. His front to your back, both kneeling on the ground. His hand brushed against your hip before he leaned in and whispered, “Didn’t I tell you that these lands were not for Brackens, my lady?” 

You tried to turn to face him, but Benjicot stopped the motion by bringing his arm across your stomach, caging you against him. “How typical,” he scolded. “A Bracken who can’t do what they are told.” 

Your senses were overloaded. You could practically hear your heart pounding against your chest. Everything about Benjicot pulled you further and further into his snare—his touch, his scent, his voice. You had never felt so helpless. And you liked it.

But as quickly as Benjicot had trapped you, he let you go. One moment, he was supporting your weight against him, and the next, you were unmoored and alone. Leaping to your feet, you turned to finally face the man who had singlehandedly ruined your sanity and good sense. 

Benjicot had put distance between the two of you. At least two strides away, he was no longer within your reach. A part of you rebelled at the distance. For six years you had longed to be in his presence and have his attention focused on you. And now that you were here, in this place where your fates first intertwined, you could not bear the space. 

But something held you back. The look on Benjicot’s face. He’s angry.

You had witnessed his legendary temper in action, had seen the bloody results. But Benjicot’s anger had never been directed toward you. Even when you first encountered him in these woods all those years ago, he had not been angry. Exasperated and intrigued, sure. But never angry. 

Yet there was no mistaking the look on his face now. His eyes were cold and distant, his lips turned down. He looked at you as if you were a stranger. And you did not care for that at all. 

Breaking the silence, Benjicot asked, “What are you doing here?”

His gruff voice sent a thrill down your spine. For a fleeting moment, you tried to keep your composure, tried to mold your face into a mask of indifference as he had done. But you had neither the patience nor skill to do so. Your emotions always stayed close to the surface, threatening to unleash and break free at any moment. 

“What am I doing here?” you repeated back to him. “I’m here to see you. I thought that was rather obvious.”

Benjicot’s eyes narrowed at your tone. A break in the unfeeling facade he had erected. “I told you that these woods were not safe. I told you to not come back here. I told you—”

“I know what you told me!” Your own anger rising to meet his. “I have thought about what you said to me in these woods every godsdamn day for the last six years,” you seethed. 

Benjicot rolled his eyes at your tantrum. “And yet, here you are.”

Unbelievable. You threw your hands into the air in frustration, eyes seeking the sky for patience. “Well maybe I would not have had to go traipsing through the woods if you had bothered to do something about our situation!” 

A beat passed before Benjicot responded. “Our situation?” he asked, amusement echoing in this tone. “And what situation might that be, my lady?  

You, once again trespassing on Blackwood land in violation of the assize? You, who apparently has no care for your own wellbeing, wandering into these woods alone and defenseless? As helpless as a newborn fawn, completely at the mercy of those who would strike first and ask questions later? That situation?” 

You wanted to tear the smug look off his face. Maybe you really were a Bracken through and through. Because at the moment, you understood with perfect clarity why your ancestors had feuded since time in memoriam. 

You did not know why he was acting this way. Why he was trying to push you away. Why he refused to acknowledge the meaning behind your words. Except— 

What if he did not share your feelings? What if you had really imagined it all?

Your anger fled as quickly as it had appeared; replaced instead by a wave of nausea at your own foolishness. Of course, he did not feel the same way. You were a Bracken. Maybe he thought you were a pretty face to look at, maybe he would have had you warm his bed, but he could never love you. 

You felt the color drain from your face. Trembling, you turned away from him. You could no longer bear to look at him. You needed to get away. Needed to leave this place while you still had the strength to stand. 

You fled. Running as fast your legs could carry you, you weaved through the trees with no thought for direction or destination other than away, away, away. 

The moment you turned away, Benjicot realized his mistake, letting his anger over your lack of self preservation win out over the joy he felt when he found you again in these woods. 

And perhaps his anger was a result of the shame he felt. Shame for waiting so long to go to you that you had felt the need to put yourself at risk to seek him out. 

Benjicot had faced countless opponents and impossible odds, and never once had he wavered. Never once had he questioned his skill or fortitude. But the thought of you being in danger, or gods, someone hurting you, was enough to send him into a panic. 

He chased after you. 

You might have gotten a head start, but Benjicot was faster. He knew these woods like the back of his hand, and there was no place you could go, no place you could hide, where he would not find you. 

Spotting you up ahead, Benjicot surged forward, grasping your arm and pulling you into him. You collided into his chest, nearly sending you both to the forest floor. But Benjicot caught you, both of his hands now resting on your arms to steady you. 

You were both breathing heavily. No space existed between you now. You did not understand him. Did not understand why he did not let you escape in peace. You were close to tears but refused to allow Benjicot Blackwood to steal anymore of your dignity. 

“Let me go, Blackwood,” you demanded, trying to pull away from his grasp. But Benjicot held firm, tightening his bruising grip on you. 

Shaking his head, Benjicot pulled you further into arms, until you stood chest to chest, with your arms caged in between. He was a good head taller than you, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. 

Your breaths mixed together as the silence dragged out between you. Only when you tried to pull away again did Benjicot finally say, “I have watched you from afar.”

You finally stilled. Eyes widening, you waited for him to continue. “And I know you have watched me, too.”

Color returned to your face, as you tore your eyes away from his searching gaze. “Do not hide from me now, Bracken.” When you failed to respond, Benjicot scoffed, “I never took you for a craven.”

You felt your blood begin to boil. How dare he call you craven. Shoving at his chest with all your strength, you shouted, “The only one craven here is you, Blackwood!” 

“Oh, please enlighten me, how am I craven?” 

You stopped shoving at his chest, letting all of your frustration and ire rise until all you could see was red. “You dare admit to watching me, yet you refuse to acknowledge my feelings!” 

Benjicot flinched at your accusation. Now it was he who refused to look you in the eye. 

But you pressed on, “Because if you have been watching me for as long as I have watched you, then there can be no doubt as to my feelings. No doubt as to where my heart lies. But you ignored me for years. And now you have the audacity to mock me when I seek you out?” 

Benjicot’s eyes were back on your face, his gaze soft and pleading. A complete departure from the anger and fury he had shown you earlier. This man looked like your Benjicot. The boy who had rescued you. The man who had defended you. The one you loved with all your heart. 

His voice was quiet but his words strong, “I am a simple man, my lady. A simple man who needs plain words. What are these feelings of which you speak?”

Closing your eyes for a brief moment, you sucked in a breath. You swore that he would have no more pieces of you. Swore that would you put an end to this madness. But your heart would always rule over your head. 

Finding your courage, you opened your eyes, and reached for his hand. Bringing his hand to your lips, you pressed a kiss to the cracked knuckles and whispered, “I have loved you ever since we met in these woods all those years ago.” 

Benjicot stilled. You were not sure if he was even breathing, but you pushed on, “You occupy all my thoughts and haunt my dreams. You consume me, and I—” You cut yourself off before you could continue. 

You tried to remain unaffected, but the longer Benjicot held you, the more your body betrayed you. You felt your blood racing through your veins, felt the heat rising to your cheeks, felt a slickness begin to gather between your legs. You tried to pull away again to give yourself a moment of respite from this torture. 

But Benjicot was having none of it. 

He watched the way you squirmed under his gaze. Watched the way your chest heaved from the force of your confession. Watched your cheeks grow flush and warm. And when he caught your eyes again and saw your gaze drift to his lips before licking your own, he knew he was a goner. 

“My lady,” Benjicot’s voice was like gravel, “had I known you were so afflicted, I never would have left you alone for so long.” 

Hauling you closer, Benjicot traced his fingers from your collarbone up your neck, watching as your pulse jumped. Cupping your cheek, he brought his face close to yours, mere inches separating the two of you, and confessed, “From the moment you cut yourself on my dagger, I have loved you.”

Now it was your turn to still. For so long you had waited to hear these words, waited to be in his arms. 

Benjicot kissed your forehead, mumbling against your skin, “No one else could ever compare to you, my lady.” He moved to kiss your jaw. “You are the bravest”—a kiss to your cheek—“strongest”—a kiss to your temple—“most beautiful woman I ever met.” 

Kissing the corner of your mouth, Benjicot pulled back momentarily to stare into your eyes. “From that day until the end of my days, there will only ever be you.”

You were at your breaking point. You could not hold yourself back any longer. Flinging your arms around his neck, you pulled Benjicot toward you and kissed him. 

And oh, what a kiss. 

Your advance might have thrown Benjicot initially off guard, but he recovered quickly, remedying the situation and taking control. One hand in your hair and the other at your waist, he moved your head to the position he wanted, slanting his lips over yours and feasting. 

His kisses left your breathless. Your head held no thoughts other than more, more, more. Benjicot’s teeth nipped at your lips, forcing your mouth to open and surrender. He wasted no time in stroking his tongue against yours, exploring and claiming. And when his hand moved from your waist to knead your breasts, you moaned into his mouth and pulled him closer. 

Your taste, your sounds, your very being—Benjicot wanted it all for himself. You owned him, body and soul. And he was greedy to own you in return. 

In the haze of his kisses, you did not realize that your feet no longer touched the ground. Benjicot had lifted you in the air. You wrapped your legs and arms around him, bringing the hardness of him against the softness of you. 

Your back was against a tree, but you did not feel the rough bark. You only felt Benjicot’s lips and hands, moving across your flesh, mapping and exploring. But when Benjicot made his way to the bottom of your dress, running his hand over your delicate ankle, he paused and pulled back. There was a question in his eyes—did you wish to continue?

You nodded eagerly. No doubt or hesitation with your choice. 

And Benjicot smiled. That wicked, feral smile he donned just before a fight. Another searing kiss to your lips before his hand began to move up your calf to your thigh. He was so close to where wanted him. Where you ached for him. 

But Benjicot paused just short of your cunt. And when you whined at his delay, he laughed and asked, “Tell me, my lady. Have you ever touched yourself before?”

Words were beyond you. You felt dizzied and dazed, but you managed a nod. 

Benjicot moved his hand another inch higher. Lips grazing your ear and hot breath on your neck. “And tell me, what did you think of when you touched yourself? What did you imagine when you brought your fingers to your warm, wet cunt?”

You wanted to die. This surely must be hell. You shook your heard, too embarrassed and flustered to answer. 

Benjicot started to move his hand back down your leg, but you clenched your thighs, trapping his hand between them. Raising your head, you glared at him, but all he did was smile. “I know what you want, my lady. And I am eager to please. All I ask is that you answer the question.”

Wicked, cruel, insufferable man. 

But you were desperate. An impossible ache had built inside you, and you knew that Benjicot was the only one who would relieve you.

So you put aside your pride. Clearing your throat, you whispered, “You. I thought of you, Benjicot Blackwood.”

And that was all he needed. Pushing aside your small clothes, he exposed your cunt to the air. You cried out at the feeling, arching against him as he finally slid his hand between your folds. 

The first brush of him against you dragged a groan from deep in your throat. Benjicot groaned in reply, delighted at the wetness he found waiting for him. His thumb circled your clit, pressing and dragging and teasing. His other hand worked your breast while his lips pressed into your neck. 

It was an assault on all fronts. Your body had never felt so hot. And when he plunged one finger into your core, you bucked your hips in response. 

“I thought of you, too.” How he managed to talk, you had no idea. But even through the haze of lust, you heard him. “Thought of you spread naked on my bed when I took myself in hand. Thought of your tight, wet heat on my cock. Thought of how soft you would feel, how perfect you would be for me.”

“Benji—” You whined as he added a second finger.  You had never felt so full in your life. 

“That’s it,” he murmured, lips against your ears. 

You pulled Benjicot’s face away from your neck and captured his lips with your own, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. 

Benjicot groaned, plunging his fingers in and out, hard and fast. Your existence narrowed to the feeling. You were so close, the tightness becoming nearly unbearable. You just needed one final—

The sound of your name on his lips was your undoing. Release barreled down upon you, so much so that you felt like you could break in half. You cried out Benjicot’s name, as his lips covered yours once again. The kiss was all teeth and tongue. You felt as though you were being devoured. 

You clenched around his fingers again, and Benjicot let out a curse. He stroked you through your release until you were limp in his arms, kissing you all the while. 

You could barely catch you breath. And when Benjicot finally pulled away and withdrew his hand, you met his stare and lost your breath all over again. Because the smile he gave you now was one you had never seen before. It was soft and tender and just for you. His lady. 

You wanted to stay in these woods forever. Your own sanctuary that could not be touched by outside forces. Just when you were about to express that desire, you felt Benjicot tense against you. 

And that’s when you heard. Voices. Loud and angry and coming closer by the second. 

You shot Benjicot a panicked look and watched as he transformed in front of your eyes. Gone was any trace of softness or warmth, replaced instead by a hard and vicious look that had you trembling.

Bloody Ben now stood before you. 

Lowering you to the ground, Benjicot tucked you between his body and the tree. He looked around, trying to decide the best course of action. You could practically see his mind at work, thinking through the various scenarios to get you to safety. 

You saw the moment he reached a decision. Leaning down, he pressed one final kiss to your lips and asked, “Do you trust me?”

You did not hesitate. “Of course, I trust—” But before you could finish, your world went dark. Benjicot Blackwood had once again knocked you unconscious. 

He only hoped that you would forgive him for what he was about to do. 

-- Let me know what you think! And don't worry lovelies--I'm already working on part 3.

taglist: @painted-flag @majoso12 @strollthroughstars29 @a-whiterose

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𝒄𝒘: sexual content ahead, husband!bale!batman, fem!reader on top, riding, some dirty talk, soft sex, not my best writing but fr fr don’t come for me im just trying to post things okay? ahhhhhhh 😔🤚🏻 maybe some typos 😚 i oughta be ashamed of myself fr fr 😔😔🤚🏻🤚🏻 ₊˚⊹♡

₊˚⊹♡ 𝒃𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆; eccentric billionaire, former eligible bachelor, orphan boy, son, rich playboy.

Labels. These were all just labels Bruce never particularly cared for nor paid attention to, monickers used to try and simplify who he really was so he could be easier understood. Labels used to better classify him because rich men like him supposedly didn’t have depth or purpose beyond what the media claimed him to have.

They were just labels, words that barely scratched the surface of who he really was.

Bruce had been called many things in his life, too many awful and offensive things he had quickly learned not to pay attention to. Caring gave them meaning, he was told so early on, caring gave them significance. Now, he really couldn’t care less.

Throughout the course of his life, throughout all the tragedy and grief, Bruce had learned to ignore it all; the names, the judgments, the looks, the labels. His indifference had become second nature, an innate response to anybody trying to provoke him.

He didn’t really have a choice anyway. There were too many people praying on his downfall since his birth, too many people biting at the fruits of his labor to see if they were ripe enough for the taking. Selfish, greedy, money hungry men desperate for his demise.

Sharks lurking in untamed depths ready to snatch him up if he swam too far, hiding in the black shores with their sharp teeth bared and beady eyes hungry.

Despite what many people believed, Bruce didn’t have it so easy in the sense of work and spirit. When you were rich like he was, famous like he was, as powerful as he was, everyone believed you couldn’t possibly be burdened by anything.

That he was too spoiled by the grandness of life that it had gradually bled into a lack of work ethic, that it was his last name that gave him any status at all, that it was his reputation that gave him everything he had without him having to ask for it.

He had the money to fix any problem, the influence to hide any scandal, the face to get him out of any situation he needed to get out of.

He was CEO of Wayne Enterprises for gods sake, son to Thomas Wayne, a man that was great and beloved all in his own right. Yes, people had doubted Bruce’s ability to lead, to run a business after so long of being away from it, but then he came back and proved them all wrong as he usually did.

Being someone so honorably renowned in Gotham City, someone that carried the Wayne name at that, it came with its own barrel of familial obligation and responsibility outside of his own personal commitments. He couldn’t disappoint anyone, could never fathom disappointing his late father.

Working by day a normal man with a bullet on his back, a price on his head to any hungry buisness man willing to do whatever it took to get to the top. Then working by night as Batman with the bruises and scars to show for it. Someone every criminal and lowlife in Gotham City wanted dead.

Batman, not so much a label as he was a separate being entirely. It was Bruce, but he couldn’t find any similarities between the polite buisness man wearing a suit by day and the other man wearing a blood stained mask by night. One was forced to coerce with society in the manner of business and passive aggressive smiles, another undertaking the grueling task of removing the grime from it.

Bruce Wayne was all expensive cologne and hand shake deals, money hungry tabloids and self absorbed white collars. It was a life always on display, always the center of attention, always everyone else’s focus.

Batman was purely mystery and intrigue. Hidden from sight yet found in every shadow, heard in the trembled whisper of every breath. No one knew who he was yet he had somehow gotten all of their attention. Everyone eager to know who was behind the mask but no one ready to answer for why he existed in the first place.

The only similarities they shared were the cause for conspiracy. Whether it was Bruce or Batman they stole every headline — always someone trying to figure them out, bring their true identity to light and spread more moral quandary about whether they were right or wrong for every choice they made.

Pure opposite lives he juggled in the same two hands.

No, he did not have it easy. Always more enemies than friends and more snakes than family. Every hour, every minute, every second he spent left exposed there was always someone right behind him ready to push him if he faltered.

He had to be careful; always be passive and nice, diplomatic and respectful to those he knew wanted him gone, to the people who wanted his seat at the head of the table and the money in his bank. Bruce had to be the CEO his father wanted him to be, the one he was destined to be, the one etched into his history before he was even born.

He had a reputation to uphold, a legacy to live, a job to do.

But no, it was not always easy.

Being rich and handsome like he was did have its downsides, as meager as they may seem to less fortunate individuals. Many people hated Bruce Wayne just for those simple, superficial things alone. His looks, his status, his job he was so rightfully given. Apparently this made him an asshole, arrogant, narcissist.

It was looks of hatred and envy from men he’d never even met, women he’d abandoned after a steamy two hour hookup (not that he did those anymore but women loved to hold a grudge), businessmen who cursed him to hell and back for his amount of wealth and fame he had no control over.

He didn’t care about these people anyway. These rambunctious, single minded people who preyed on the weak and ate the hopeless. They were all self centered, arrogant, narcissistic. Self absorbed scum unwilling to put in the hard work necessary to be as successful as he was.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, Bruce was often regarded as someone lonely, someone lost, someone desolate and pitiful. He was a coward, hiding in his soulless black mansion under thick piles of money ever since the fatal death of his parents. So sad, an orphan, just depressing.

That was hushed whispers behind his back and somber stares, awkward, harrowing smiles from coworkers and the front pages of newspapers. Bruce Wayne back from hiding after all this time… living on his father’s name… will he fail or carry on the legacy of the great Wayne fortune… yada yada yada.

Just more words. Pointless and purposeless, written to appease the swill of Gotham with no real substance behind them. Gossip, false news, attention grabbing headlines that were purely speculation.

However, as much as he hated labels — more so his — whatever names he got called behind his back, Bruce couldn’t find it in sensible reason to argue that they weren’t pieces of who he really was. Fabrics of his character torn out thread by thread and poked and needled at by societies curious hands.

They were just pieces, stretched and torn so far from the truth but yet the original strings were still there, hanging on in remembrance of what he truly was chaotically intertwined in the lies and deception of what people thought him to be. Too shredded to be properly understood but still thriving in the undercurrents of whatever he was now being labeled as and people were now foolishly believing him to be.

Yes, they were just labels. But labels that were not so far from factual truths.

However again, none of those words mattered to him as much as this did, as much as the one label that he truly cared about.

Husband.

Your husband.

The only title he held in the same esteem as Batman and Wayne Enterprises CEO, perhaps even higher. It was one of the only labels that carried a semblance of true meaning, one he didn’t shy from.

Husband. It was the only honorific that mattered to him, one of the only sentiments that made him feel actual pride in who he was. Husband was something real, concrete, not some anonymous opinion in a paper or a cruel murmur in a hallway.

It was the label that pierced him through and through especially in moments like this, moments when your hips were rolling deeply on top of his and he was buried balls deep inside your warmth.

He couldn’t think about anything in this moment. Nothing and everything at the same time as your finger nails, freshly manicured and glittering, gripped into his shoulder blades as you rolled your hips once again.

Bruce winced pleasantly, jaw clenching as his head leaned back into the softness of his black silken pillows. Brown hair frazzled and stringy, his smooth skin alight with a soft, lovesick glow.

You rolled your hips once more in a soft soothing motion, nothing too rough and nothing too fast; the evening had called for something more sensual in the delicacy of Bruce’s touch and the softness of his words just an hour prior.

“Oh Bruce…” You sighed dreamily, hands pressing into his bulky arms as he sighed out a trembled breath from his nose.

Your thighs tightened around his waist, his heavy hands squeezing your hips but not as to pressure you, only to keep you connected to him at the hilt so he was never too far out of you.

“That’s good, sweetheart, get it just like that… mmhmm.” Bruce swallowed heavily, voice low and raw as his eyebrows furrowed over darkened hazel eyes. Fingers thrumming on your skin as you pulsed around him, wetness seeping out of your full entrance and gliding down his length until it could leave a memorable darkened patch on the sheets.

You whined quietly, voice high pitched and greedy as the length of him filled you up and pressed into every soft wall surrounding him. He was always thick, always perfect, always felt so fucking good it made your muscles tense and spasm.

You rolled your body in that delectable way he liked once more, barely moving yet every part of him felt the sparks of pleasure thrum through his skin and make his thighs lock up.

Bruce groaned hotly at the action, eyes flickering down to the wet mess of where your pussy was sucking him in. It was messy, glistening, shared arousal in white strings of mutual attraction. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass from where it sat perched on his strong thighs.

“Mm, fuck, honey.” Bruce breathed out gruffly more to himself than you when the sight of your wetness smeared all over him made his heart spike.

You didn’t respond, chin down to your chest and eyes closed as you focused on the pleasure in your own lower regions, the fullness and heaviness that filled you up and refused to part.

“Ohhh, feels so good-“ You gasped as a heavy spurt of pure pleasure sparked up your tummy, hole clenching around him tightly as an obscene gush of wetness leaked down his cock and onto his thighs.

Bruce licked his dry lips, eyes staring up at you heatedly; at the tightness of your shut eyes, the sweet moans gasping out of parted lips — lips, lips that were glossy and plush from all the needy kisses you shared with him just a mere moments ago.

He was enraptured by you, by your naked physique all soft and sweaty on top of him but he didn’t care. You were just so beautiful, pussy so perfect wrapped around him, squeezing his cock so good it made his mind fog up with indescribable pleasure.

“Yes, sweetheart, god, yesss…” Bruce agreed huskily, his head resting back on his pillow once more as you bucked your hips. His thighs tensed, toes curled, a grunt sounding in his throat as his hips rose to further dig himself inside you.

He couldn’t help it; like a soul to a light he sought you out, your warmth and tightness so snug and comforting around him he didn’t ever want to be apart from you.

You whimpered at the intrusion, nails digging into his skin in a painful sting that Bruce was too fucked out to really notice.

He swallowed hazily below you, eyes closing then opening to look down at the way your pussy molded into one with his hard cock as you rocked gently against him. Deep inside you where he was meant to be, stomach and pelvis and thick thighs soaked with your gushing arousal.

Fire shooting down his legs and tummy with every soft bounce back down on him, illicit wet noises sounding in the room with every desperate grind.

He loved that sound, your wetness mashing with his thick base. But not nearly as much as your melodic sounds gasping out every so often because his cock made you feel that good.

His mouth was terribly dry from his own grunts and moans, handsome face and muscular chest flushed pink, the air so so hot he could feel his own dark hair sticking to the dew on his fevered head.

His hands, big and clammy, dug into the soft fat of your hips to help you dig into him in that way you both liked, the one that had you both gasping hotly into each others mouths as you leaned down to give him another sloppy kiss.

You couldn’t quite get it right though, too distracted by the feel of him so deep inside you that your lips stuttered on his. Moving messily against him as you whined into his mouth once more, the tip of his cock so high up inside you it almost hurt.

He was always so big, so round and tall that the stretch alone always seemed to ache pleasurably with every short thrust he made inside you.

“That’s good, sweetheart… that’s it… just how you know I like it…”

Bruce breathed heavily against your lips from where you were leaned on top of him, naked breasts mashed to his chiseled chest and hands gripping onto the headboard now.

You needed something sturdy, something unbreakable to tether you back to him when you felt the pleasure making you float too far.

His breath was hot against your sore lips, mingled with your low moans and spoken just above the subtle creaks of the bed; sounding every time you moved above him in a sensually quickened pace that had your toes curling and thighs tensing.

“So beautiful, sweetheart, so good…”

Bruce couldn’t help but compliment you even in the most nasty of times, voice clenched yet breathy, spoken through hot breaths and pressed teeth as your wetness dripped down his length once more.

You moaned sweetly at his doting words, his voice cracked and low in that gravelly salacious tone you loved so much.

You clenched around him in response, his fingers tightening on you as he let out a handsome groan from the feeling. You watched as his head sunk into the pillow beneath him, eyes clenched shut and a heavy grunt leaving his chest.

The sight was attractive, seeing him so wrecked from just a few simple back and forth motions you were carefully orchestrating.

You felt a wave of stinging pleasure spike up your thighs and down your legs, up your tummy and into your head until your whole body was tingling. Your eyes brimming with unshed tears as sweat prickled at your skin and your legs burned from sitting for so long.

You didn’t care about the pain, too drunk on the sensations of his thickness rubbing inside the most intimate part of you, your hips rolling in desperate circular motions so he was never completely apart from you. You liked keeping him inside as much as possible, to feel that fullness and that dull burn to remind you of just how big he was.

Bruce loved it too, resting inside your warmth, comfortable, letting you take him however you wanted in whatever way you needed. He was always a giver, always a good husband when you needed him to be.

“F-fuck, Bruce, you feel so good.” You gasped wantonly, voice quiet yet fragmented, needy and breathless as your nails dug into his skin.

“Yeah, honey? It feels good?” Bruce replied just as quietly, being sure to thrust up into you just a little bit harder so you’d gasp some more for him.

It was lewd, lovely, his dirty words spoken onto your quivering lips and his meaty hands gripping your thighs to help aid in your eager movements.

It felt so good, so right, being there with him in the darkness of his room with only the sound of your shared panting and moans filling the silence.

It was hot and perfect; his hands on your thighs gripping hard enough to show you he doesn’t want you to stop, your mouths ever so often pecking together in a sweet kiss you couldn’t continue, fond gazes in darkened irises.

“Feels so good, Bruce, I can’t—“ You whimpered out all cutely, sliding up from his chest until you were sitting straight up once more. You could feel him shift inside of you, hardness still prominent and throbbing. He pressed against your walls, invading every nerve point as your clit rubbed against his naval in the new position.

Bruce gripped the flesh of your ass between his hands, helping your soft rocking motions against him as he spoke, “Yes you can, pretty girl, you always do for me. You’re doing so good, sweetheart, you have no idea…”

The praise made you smile brokenly. Your skin so hot it felt burning yet every grind against your husbands hard cock made your legs go numb. You whined and bucked above him as a tightness started to stretch in your tummy.

“Always for you, baby…” You managed to mumble shakily, lovingly, hands sliding over the abs on his stomach as you sat back on his lap so not a single inch of him wasn’t inside you.

Bruce clenched his jaw at that, hands digging into your hips as he thrust his own up to meet your soft grinds. Sparks, electricity, all of the cliche metaphors for how good he was feeling shooting down his cock and into his legs as his knees tensed up.

He felt lightheaded yet completely grounded, here to his mattress. Floating in the skies yet simultaneously stuck on earth with you, his gorgeous wife who always made him feel sane and normal.

Your hair was tangled around your shoulders and falling over your flushed cheeks as you stared down at him with a fond glimmer in your eyes, bright and burning under the lust so boldly wanting.

The stretch of him inside you was so good, his gravelly moans so good, the way he was making you feel so so good.

You exhaled as you settled your weight down on his pelvis, pussy sore yet eager as you squeezed around him once more. Love struck eyes looking down at him passionately as the moon cascaded a light gray glow behind you.

Bruce felt the air escape his lungs, lips parted as he stared up at you in utter devotion; you were so beautiful, so sweet, felt so fucking good around him he couldn’t even think straight. Brain numb and thoughtless, only you and your perfect pussy, you, you, you.

You took a moment to stare back at him. Unspoken love was whispered in the shadows of your eyes bright and glittering as your movements picked up into polite, subtle bounces that had Bruce digging his hands into you, breathy sounds escaping his lips.

“Ah, Bruce…” You mumbled weakly, voice soft and needy as you tossed your head back and moved your hips up and down so his cock was hitting that sweet spot inside you he usually loved to tease.

“Such a good job, sweetheart, so beautiful like this…” Bruce spoke huskily, staring at your heaving breasts as they jiggled and beckoned him forth, beautiful and pure as you rode him to high heaven in your most organic form.

You hummed into a delicate moan, a smile quirked on your lips at his praise as you felt his hands slowly start crawling up the exposed expanse of your waist.

Warm and big and tender as they moved up, up, gentle fingers tracing over your ribcage as your flesh prickled at the touch. He was delicate, always intent on your pleasure over his as he admired your form above him, the feel of your skin under his textured hands that had hurt so many.

You trusted him, your husband, enough to see you like this. Trusted him enough to have you like this, to allow his bloodstained hands to wash over you like he himself was something pure and untainted, bestowing him your presence like a merciful deity to their promised worshipper.

You bit your lip as his palms enveloped the fat of your breasts into them, molded perfectly into his larger hands as he squeezed and admired them in a fashion so familiar for him; he always loved your breasts, enamored with the softness and weight of them in his greedy hands.

You stared down at him with a heated tenderness, the look of a wife irrevocably in love with their husband as he stared up at you with the same fervor.

When he was here, with you, there were no labels, no obligations and no judgments. With you he was just yours, another body made of flesh and blood and bone melded to yours in the conjunction of where his body ended and yours began.

He was no one but he was your everything, hands on skin and lips on collarbones, sweat amongst sweat and heady moans breathed in the gasps of kisses shared between two lovesick spouses.

In this space, in this moment, with you on top of him and his hands all over you any remnants of shame and Wayne inspired obligation was vacant. All he needed to do was sit and let you take him, sit there and be of use when you wanted to use him.

He was a good husband, the best husband to you, his perfect and lovely wife who never addressed him as anything more than yours. He wasn’t this, he wasn’t that, he was just everything and more in the confines of silken sheets under the safety of his mansion.

No cameras, no gossip, no press and no watchful eyes. Serene, tranquil, just you and him and the great love you shared that transcended any label or common sense humanity could fathom.

Yes, he was Bruce Wayne. Eccentric billionaire, former eligible bachelor, orphan boy, son, rich playboy. But those things did not define him, did not set his reality in stone so easily as your love did. He was all those things but he was so much more.

You never judged him, looked at him as anything more than the most important thing. You regarded him with love no matter his past, his present, and hopefully and most likely your shared future.

You didn’t care for labels or surface value lies like everyone else did. You ripped him at his seams, tore him apart to see what was inside and he was ever so grateful for it, for that loving animosity that bared his soul to yours. You were straightforward, heart to heart or nothing at all because then what was the point?

There was no purpose without pain, without pleasure, without love. You suffered, you loved, and you were most definitely bringing him pleasure. All blunt and raw emotions too passionate and loud to ever try and hide or make lies about. No secrets, no deception, no labels.

This night, every night just like this one — nights spent in your arms deep inside where he needed to be most, were nights where his mind was bare and he was just yours. Nights when he didn’t have to put up a face or make up a lie or tell a tall tale.

He was Bruce, he was yours, he was just this. And most importantly, he was just your husband. The only label that really mattered and the only one he ever really cared about. ₊˚⊹♡

tagging , @little-miss-chaoss , @ghostslillady , @boobaeri , @prayingal

The cunty factor he’s giving to us this season it’s just insane.

"not all men-" you're right, jacaerys targaryen, heir to the iron throne, prince of dragonstone, the eldest son of queen rhaenyra targaryen and laenor velaryon, a dragonrider, would never treat me like this

release

jacaerys has been stressed and uses you as a release

c.w: kinda angsty, ep 4 minor spoilers, rough sex, p in v, implied no fem release, nontarg!reader, not proofread

you could see the irritation growing on his face the longer and longer the council went on.

The more his mother refused to engage in the war and now with her sudden absence the men on the council grow greedy you watch his face snap into a pure look of rage as the council is dismissed He storms quickly out of the room and you can’t help but rush after him.

When you find him he is in his room, he throws a book at the door as you enter and you just narrowly dodge it. He looks startled to see you and for a split second the look of angry leaves his face but it quickly returns as he begins to rant to you.

“where could she have gone? does she not realize this is the pivotal time for action!.” you nod though you don’t necessarily have an opinion. you know his mother must have her own worries about the war but you also understand jacaerys frustration. he is angry. he has not had a second to process his grief and he wishes to channel it into rage.

you cant take his pacing and the way he pulls at his hair and his incessant mumbling to himself. so you walk towards him and grab his shoulders. he freezes as he looks at you, “jace please you shouldn’t be stressing yourself out like this, lets just sit down and have some tea-“ he suddenly pushes you against the wall and his lips lock with yours. when you gasp into the kiss he presses his tongue past your lips as he grinds his hips into yours.

you gasp when you hear a tear while he tugging at your dress and you can barely hear him mumble to himself, “need you, need you.” over and over to himself and you let him, knowing he needs an outlet for his anger so he does not explode on council.

you suddenly feel his cock rub against your slit but not pushing into you just yet. he presses his sweaty forehead against your neck and you can tell he’s holding himself back. “jace its okay, let go.” he lets out a bunch of heavy breaths as he has an internal conflict with himself. you stroke his hair as you push your hips against his to let him know its alright.

He suddenly shifts his hips and he’s thrusting inside of you as he bites onto the side of your neck. he is usually a delicate lover, only taking you on the bed and usually going soft and slow for hours but now he’s thrusting into you against the wall without any regard for prep or care.

his hands grab your hips so hard you’re sure they’ll leave bruises tomorrow and he keeps you firmly in place as he ruts into you. you can feel him groaning and growling into the side of your neck. he’s angry, he’s so angry at everything, but you feel the hot tears hit your neck as he spends his seed inside you and he begins sobbing into the side of your neck.

“i hate them, i hate them all.” you shush him and keep him close in your arms. “i know jace i know.” “i want to kill them all.” you press a kiss to the side of his forehead, “wait for your mother to return and then we can kill them all.”

---

perm jace taglist (open)

@earth4angels @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 @jacesvelaryons @ravenn-darkholme @damewritesalot

everything you do with jace is SO GOOD i need more

TAKING HIS ANGER OUT ON YOU — jacaerys velaryon x betrothed!reader

[ Sex content, unprotected sex, rough sex, mentions of marriage ]

“Jace-!” She gasped as he pounded into her from behind, her bum high in the air as she laid her head on his soft sheets, gripping them tightly.

He panted loudly, his thrusts quick and rough, no intention of stopping his pace anytime soon. “Slow down, my love..” she breathed.

“Fucking traitorous- usurper cunts.” He spit. His cock filled her cunt so wonderfully, the burn in her belly blossomed with his fast pace, his tip constantly hitting her most sensitive spot.

Her moans were loud and passionate and only fueled his drive to make her peak, her cunt could always make him feel better.

Her soft hand found its way behind her, gently holding his own as he pounding into her. An action so delicate for one so vulgar and a symbol of her love for him no matter what.

He felt himself throb inside her slick, tight cunt. The wet sounds of her core rang through the room and almost echoed in the background of her whimpers and moans.

She was so close, nearly tipping off the edge. “Right there! Please- Jace-!” She gripped onto the pillow below her.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” he groaned as he took his final thrusts inside of her sweet cunt, he ran a soothing hand down the small of her back.

Euphoria erupted within her, the burning hot pleasure of her peak running rapid through her body as her cunt spasmed around his thick cock.

Jace quickly followed after, his grip tight on her hips as he filled her with his spend. They were to be married in a few moons, so why not start the process sooner?

a little death.

PAIRING: aemond targaryen x afab!reader. WORD COUNT: 0.4k

CW: filthy smut, creampie, cowgirl position (save a dragon, ride a targaryen), unprotected sex. dirty aemond smut really. mdni <3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: a little drabble i’m reposting from an old account! hotd season two has brought back every filthy emotion i have :) like, comment + reblog if you enjoy and i’ll give u a kiss c: (divider by the ever talented @/cafekitsune)

ABSTRACT:

aemond was always sure he'd die in battle, surrounded by lesser men. but here, balls deep in your pussy, aemond understands there's nothing more fatal than the sight before him.

aemond's willing to bet you could put the street of silk's finest out of work, mesmerised by the way you rotate your hips onto his length, tits bouncing in rhythm with your perfected movements. he can't force his sapphire gaze from your cunt if he wanted to; your slick coats his dick and drips down onto his tightening balls.

his pretty lady wife, typically adorned in the riches and glory of the targaryen dynasty, weeping on his cock. he ought to light a candle to the seven, aemond thought as you fucked yourself back onto him in a daze. he was fucking you silly, or maybe you were, he didn't care to know anymore.

"fuck, fuck, aem, please," you cry, pathetically grinding onto his cock, as he leans back onto the headboard, taking you with him. chest to chest, your shaky arm comes down from its position next to your lover's face to furiously rub your clit. heat curls in your pussy as aemond slightly reangles his cock inside of you and begins to thrust back into you.

"you're making me feel so good," aemond all but moans into the crook of your neck, his callused fingers gripping your hips as you chase your release. he smells of dragonback and you, you register in some part of your brain that hasn't been fucked to absolute ruin. you feel his tongue dart out to lick up the column of your throat, the taste of your sweat causing aemond to let out a sound akin to a growl.

but it's the pressure of his teeth at the juncture of your neck that has you seeing stars, eyes rolling back as you clench around aemond's cock for the last time that night.

you fall onto his chest as aemond's pace quickens, desperate to flood your pussy with his cum, to mark you as his from the inside out. aemond grunts, bucking his hips into your abused hole. your legs quake as he heaves you up and down his cock, the overstimulation threatening to wring another orgasm out of you.

"i'm gonna fill you up," you mewl at his warning, feeling aemond's fingers grasp you tightly, your cunt clenching around aemond as he finally cums. your mixed spends seeps out of your cunt, a ring of white forming around the base of aemond's cock. planting a kiss on your forehead, aemond pulls you into him, content with watching himself drip out of you.

I have no idea how to continue my Jace fic, lowkey might just give up 😭💔

the love of a bracken is meant only for a blackwood

benjicot blackwood x fem!bracken!reader

warnings: tiny bit of angst, overprotectiveness, family issues, weapons, blood, teensy weensy bit of smut at the beginning, piv

summary: being in love with your house’s enemy dating back centuries is not exactly… ideal. especially with a brother who only cares about you when it involves his (father’s) ideals.

a/n: part 2??? or too cringe???

“fuck! fuck! ben!” the sounds of moaning and bed creaking fills the west wing of raventree hall.

you grasp your lover’s raven black hair as he thrusts and moans into your neck. he grabs the back of your neck to look at him “go on. go on my love—fuck! cum for me!”

the black wood boy rests his forehead onto yours as his thrusts quicken as he chases your high. your moans bounce off the walls as you reach the precipice of pleasure. “I’m-I’m gonna cum! fuck! please, please, please…” your lover breaks your pleas with a searing kiss. with one final thrust you cum with a guttural moan.

as you cum benjicot pulls out and cums on your smooth stomach and full breast; pearlescent release dripping down your smooth body as he drops to your side and pulls you into him. as the panting subsides you curl into your lover and kiss his chest.

“I love you” your blackwood confesses into the h/c confines of your hair. the confession leaves you warm yet chilled. fluttering yet scared. and the worst of all: loved yet heartbroken at the thought of loving the one thing you cannot have.

you look at benji with a sadness in your eyes trying not to let the tears stinging behind your eyes cross the painful threshold of your lids. the ferocious voice usually used by the ferocious warrior now strained, “I-i love you, too.”

tears sting benji’s eyes as the same dreading thoughts that plague his lover’s mind plague his. the dreading thoughts of a centuries long feud between the two lover’s houses. the dreading thoughts of their families’ bringing a reign of bloodshed and terror if they find out of the boundless love between the blackwood heir and the bracken spare. the dreading thoughts that one day his love might not be his to have.

the borderwood of bracken and blackwood were comforting that day. the usuallly sweltering heat now a comforting warmth as you walked through the wood of your homeland. the slight breeze nipping through the air bringing comfort to your skin.

the comfort is slowly dragged away as thoughts of your brother run through your mind. your brother, the very protective entity that follows you around to make sure you don’t get into trouble. the trouble of course being the blackwoods.

you couldn’t count the amount of altercations that had transpired between the young blackwood lord and aeron, your brother. oddly enough that’s how you and your lover met. merely the age of eight and ten while you and your brother played duel by the wall one evening when a raven haired boy came over to pull at the “little bracken girl’s” hair.

only at the age of ten and four did anything romantic transpire between the bracken girl and blackwood boy. the tale one day would be heard by their great-great-great-great grandchild of the name Samwell Blackwood of the Nights Watch. the story of how they became one would be told another time, another day.

your steps quicken as your thoughts run around of what had transpired earlier that day. the way benjicot made you feel; the only one who could make you feel that way. the words shared after. the first time the two of you had said it in so many words. the afterlying thoughts of family, how they would—

crack!

the sound of the stick cracking reaches your ear before you realize you fall. the sting of the scratch on your leg like a spider, though only a flesh wound. as you assess your injury you hear voices. the baritone of your brother aeron’s voice talking to your cousins reaches your ears before you see him not before he sees you.

“sister! what are you doing out here? so close to the craven’s wall?” his queries were brash and quick. the only thing that could make him so harsh towards you were the mentions of the balckwoods.

his questions make your heart race as you try to think of an excuse as to why you were so close to the wall. you finally compose yourself to make a simple enough explanation as to why “relax, brother. crasses wandered too far off while I was tending to her in the pasture. stellane can attest to that; she was with me up until I told her I would bring crasses back. no need to worry.”

aeron’s once tense shoulders relaxed as he lead you and your cousins back to the pasture. “you know I worry. especially when it comes to those craven cunts who think-“

“who that they can take over bracken land. yes, brother, I’ve heard it all before from you and father. I need not hear more.” the lecture your family given to you over and over since birth burns your ears as you roll your eyes. “do not roll your eyes at the sins the blackwoods have committed against our house, sister.”

you huff and return your gaze to aeron, “I get to roll my eyes when I’ve heard the story a million times before…” you kick a rock out of your way as you continue, “…the blackwoods have forsaken our house, y/n. the Blackwoods only bring the seven hells, y/n.” you laugh bitterly as you continue, “stay away from the bloody blackwoods, y/n. I’ve heard it all before!”

aeron’s gaze turns to you stern as ever and harshly places his hands on your shoulders causing you to stumble. “that’s because you need to learn! a girl like you could never understand-!”

“I understand that our house doesn’t even know what we’re fighting for anymore! I understand that you, brother, don’t fucking understand-!” a slap sounds through the pasture, echoing off the wall you, he, and your cousins didn’t know you were traipsing across. the slap rings through your ears as you bring a hand up to your cheek.

tears begin to sting behind your waterline and they fall as your brother begins speaking, “you are little girl who doesn’t-“ a voice booms across the small confines of the wall, loud and deadly.

“bracken! you strike a lady this close to blackwood this close to blackwood land?”

your eyes soften and your eyes sting more as you see your lover standing there with your brother.

aeron saunters over to the blackwood boy and draws his sword, as he does one of your cousins tries to hold him back but your brother pushes him away. “what’s it to you, craven? this is bracken land, no place for traitors of your kind.”

benjicot’s eyes trail from the bracken’s sword to his eyes and smiles cruelly. “I believe seeing a lady in distress makes it a matter to any passerby, does it not?” your brother brings his sword up to your brothers neck and you gulp down another round of tears, “aeron, stop. he hasn’t done anything-“

“shut up, stupid girl!” his harsh words are cut off as benji pushes his sword away and takes him by the collar. “you speak to her like that again, I’ll gut your throat.” his words cut the air like a knife. aeron smirks and pushes your lover off of him, “what do you care, craven? my sister isn’t of any concern to a fucking blackwood.”

“this isn’t the time or place—“ your yells are fruitless as they fall on deaf ears. benjicot looks up as he smiles gravely and turns to your brother. for a moment everything is silent. then your only horror comes out of your lover’s mouth. “it’s a concern to me when fucking your little sister every night”

“you fucking blackwood! I’ll fucking kill you!” your brother goes feral as he hears those words and charges. as aeron goes after benji your heart stops at his words and your tears fall. your brother lands a swift right hook but his victory doesn’t last for long.

benjicot tackles your brother to the floor. he lands a swift punch to aeron’s leg and twist him over to land on top. grunts and sounds of pain fly through the air as your lover and brother brawl in the grass. for a swift moment your eyes meet ben’s and a look of sorrow in his eyes, no remorse for what he did but an apology for what he said.

it takes nearly five minutes for your cousins to pull the boys off each other. your brother clearly taking the brunt of the damage. a limp and bruises on his face as he tries to fight off the other bracken boys. “y/n, is what the craven says true?”

the question burns through your mind as you return your eyes to your lover’s. his eyes dark and hard before he catches your sorrowful, soft e/c one’s. for aeron the moment seems to take too long, “answer me!”

“brother… I’m sorry-“ the dam finally breaks as tears rush from your eyes. your voice breaks as you speak. “I can explain! aeron!” aeron stalks up to you and strikes you again. “there is not explanation! a whore of the blackwoods is no sister of mine.” he lands a final blow and you crash to floor as he walks away with your cousins.

your cries deafening to anyone who can hear. “aeron! brother!” you get up and try to run to your blood “let me explain! please! I love him!”

he turns to you one last time, “listen here, sister” his words bite as he says them “you dishonor our father! me! our house! you sully the bracken name for whoring yourself out to a blackwood cunt. if I ever see you walk the bracken grasses again, I’ll personally make sure you never come back” with his last words he walks away, your sobs heartbreaking. the only sound heard in the pastures of bracken and blackwood are the soul-crushing sound of your sobs.

as you cry you turn to the saddened eyes of your lover. “y/n, I didn’t-“ “shut up! shut the fuck up!” you walk up to the bracken boy, a broken look in your eye. “don’t you see what you’ve done? this is your fault! if you would’ve just kept your mouth shut—“

“he would’ve found out anyway!” he interrupts you “him, the rest your family, my family. they would’ve all found out one way or another.” his voice usually soft and gentle with you now harsh and cold.

“you don’t know that, ben!”

he looks away from your heartbroken eyes, “fine. if they wouldn’t have found out, what then? you or I would be sold to the next highest bidder? you a broodmare, me married off to some cunt from some lowly house in need of title? is that what you wanted?”

“of course not!”

“then what? what do you think would have happened?” his harsh words slash you like a dagger. his eyes finally meet yours again, “truly, what do you imagine would have happened?”

words fail you in that moment. scenarios run through your head, none good, none how you wanted. as you think you can only come up with one thing as tears trail down your supple cheeks. “I-i don’t know! are you happy? is that the answer that you wanted to hear? the little bracken girl wanting to be happy in her little dreamland! everything turning out in the end! is that what you want to hear? little daydreams running though her head as she wishes to be with the one she loves? the one she cannot have? is that it?”

benjicot’s lips start to wobble and his tears finally fall. his loves words hitting him all at once. the guilt, the pain, the torture of seeing his girl cry heartbroken because of something that he did. “y/n, I didn’t mean-“

“that’s just it! you never mean it that way! you never mean for it to happen…” you look to the cloud-clad sky and breathe, you look back to your lover’s pain-stricken eyes and sob “I want you to leave. I never want to see you again. I never want to hear from you again. and I don’t want you near me again!”

you pick up your skirts to leave. as you do, benjicot takes your small wrist into your his big hand. “y/n, please.” his voice small “i love you” he cups your cheek and places a tender kiss on your lips. the kiss soft and gentle as he fights for your love. once the two of you part he rest his forehead on yours as he whispers “i love you, y/n. ‘a bracken’s love meant only for a blackwood’ that’s what you always tell me. please, my love” his voice cracks “please”

you taste the mix of your salty tears on your lips as you kiss him again. this time the Blackwood’s heart breaks as he knows this is your goodbye. your last goodbye to him. to your love. once you part you brush the hair from his eyes away as you mirror his whisper “I’m sorry.”

as you walk away it’s his turn to sob “y/n! please! don’t go!” this time he says it in a low whisper against the droplets that have started to fall from the sky “I love you…”

as you walk away you hear his sobs. more tears fall from the long broken dam of your heart. you don’t turn back to see the boy’s heartbroken voice. as you reach sight of the bracken fortress you come across a heartbreaking realization: you never said ‘I love you’ back. the only boy you had ever loved ripped away because of a centuries old rivalry that no one cares to remember what it was built on. your one and only love slipping through your fingers because of your torn fealty of your blood and your love.

‘the love of a bracken only meant for a blackwood’ what a joke you’ve come see. the love of a bracken is meant to tear apart, not to bring together you realize.

a heartbroken girl and a heartbroken boy on two sides of the same coin. always close but never to touch. one right, one wrong.

though, a rare melding of a coin unties the two sides, touching once more. heads and tails, bracken and blackwood, united. none yet to see. the rage of one house and the merriment of another. yet to be seen as the fates had foretold it. ‘all in good time’ as they say.

for now, our raven and stallion broken on the two sides of their fealty. of their blood. of their blood.

a/n: holy shit! I am sorry you guys. that is A LOT more angsty than I thought it was going to be. also, I’m really sorry if this is cringe or weird. I don’t know if this is my best work, but I hope you like it. this is my firsts time writing for bloody ben so I hope it turned out all right.

any and all comments and feedback are appreciated and I am in desperate need of a beta reader. so, if you’d like to help me with that DM me and we’ll get that all worked out. again, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy, and I hope it wasn’t too cringe

Hands on Me

Benjicot Blackwood x Fem!Reader x Aeron Bracken

Warnings: threesome, this is just pure smut, fingering, oral (male recieving) probably ooc because we don't see much of them

Summary: Aeron and Benji have a difficult time sharing.

a/n: this is my second time ever writing smut, so don't come at me lol. @lovebabe18 @cypherpt5fttaehyung

The hot air in the tent was shared by three naked bodies.

You lay between the two men — Benji to your left and Aeron to your right. Benjicot’s lips were on yours, muffling your moans, while Aeron’s were on your breast, sucking on the hardened nipple. One of each man’s hands were between your thighs, rubbing at and finger fucking into your wet cunt.

Their hands accidentally overlapped each other's many times as they attempted to pleasure you.

Benji released your lips. “Back off, Bracken,” he practically growled the words out. His pale face was flushed and you couldn’t tell if it was because of his usual shyness or because of the fact he was sharing a girl with his sworn enemy.

Aeron let out a small grunt as he reluctantly looked over at Benjicot, his hand now resting on your thigh.

“You back off, Blackwood.” You knew Aeron was trying to be intimidating, but his soft voice was not aiding him in doing so.

You had this peculiar arrangement with the two boys. During times of sexual need, the boys would come to you for help and you to one of them. Neither were fond of their enemy fucking the object of their desires, but you were not ready to commit yourself to anyone. And besides, you liked the drama.

You let out a small, annoyed whine. “Must you two argue right now?”

“Blackwood started it.”

Benji scoffed. “Me? You were the one getting your fat hand everywhere and hogging her.”

You roll your eyes and rest your weight on your elbows so you can get a clear look at Benjicot and Aeron.

“You two are acting like children,” you say, perhaps regretting this scheme of yours. When you had sex with Benji, it felt pleasurable, and the same could be said for when you fucked with Aeron. You had thought it would feel even better with the both of them, but you were beginning to feel impatient. You’d not finished once!

Aeron and Benji opened their mouths to form a rebuttal, but you beat them to it. “Perhaps, I should find another man to help me finish, if you two won’t.”

Instantly, Benji flipped you over so you were laying on your stomach. You let out a pleased grunt in return and rested on your hands and knees.

“I think something ought to be done about that sharp tongue of yours,” Aeron says, situating himself in front of you.

Ben grabs your thighs and spreads them to fit his body between your legs. One of his hands held onto your hip as the other grabbed his cock, rubbing it against your slit. He let out a small moan, feeling how wet you are. “Fuck.”

You lean forward and take the tip of Aeron’s cock in your mouth. The Bracken lets out a moan as he shuts his eyes, focusing on the way your tongue feels on his cock. Aeron reaches one hand out and digs his fingers into your scalp, tugging on the strands of your hair.

Suddenly, you feel Benji thrust his cock into your cunt, forcing you to fully take in Aeron. They both whisper profanities as you gag on Aeron’s dick. Benicot gives you a moment to get used to the feeling of his dick in you before moving in and out.

Your upper body is delightfully pushed towards Aeron in time with Benji’s thrusts. You try not to neglect the man in front of you by focusing on the sparks of pleasure shooting through you because of Benji, and instead focus on Aeron.

As best as you can, you hollow your mouth and swirl your tongue around Aeron’s cock, sucking him off. He lets out small moans and — when he can form them — words of praise. “Just like that,” he gasps out.

You move your head back and forth on Aeron’s dick, helping him face fuck you. You rest one of your hands on his thigh for stability as you continue to pleasure him with your mouth.

You moan when you feel Benji’s fingers rubbing circles on your clitoris, bringing you closer to ecstasy. Your sounds of pleasure eventually lead Aeron to his release first. You feel him tense before finally cumming. The salty liquid invades your mouth and you sputter. It dribbles down your chin and onto the ground underneath you. Slowly, he moves out of your mouth.

You and Benji are quick to follow Aeron in finishing. Your cry out in pleasure as you cum, Benji’s fingers and cock bringing you to completion. You can feel Ben’s balls slap against you and the sound of his heavy breathing. You grind against Benji’s cock and pelvis before he finally releases. He quickly pulls out of your hole and paints your ass and thighs in his cum.

You slump forward and lay down on your stomach, mind hazy from everything that’s just happened.

Someone’s hand wraps around your shoulder and tugs you toward their chest. Your eyes flutter open and see that it’s Aeron. Suddenly, Benji’s hand wraps around your waist and pulls you towards him, trying to force you away from Aeron.

You could already hear the argument that was about to begin.

“ Pretty when you smile ”

Pairing: Benjicot blackwood x Bracken!reader

“A settlement was made but they never said anything about the pretty bride and a smitten groom.”

Drinking, arranged marriage, fluffy fluff and smitten!Benjicot, slurred humour.

“ They never said about the pretty part.” you looked up, as lord of Riverdale stumbled, his face splitting around his huge grin, almost devilishly.

“ Look at you.” Ben slurred, despite knocking a goblet along with his contents down, he managed to slump next to you on the bed, with a low thud and sheepish laugh.

“ You're drunk.” you almost snarled before you bit back, “my lord.” you smiled, he wasn't actually offended, he smiled just the same, like a fool that nicked a coin.

“ I almost refused—” he hiccuped, “ but then I saw you and darling.” he propped on his elbow, reeking of whatever he was drunk on, perhaps a wine that was made on the northern aisles. His eyes widened more, like he was looking at you for the first time and it made you smile, it did back then too when he married you by the gods, taking your hand forever, smiling and it was inevitable not to, but you smiled anyway.

Brides never smiled, especially those who were traded for peace, it was duty.

But then again, who wouldn't ? Ben had that glint in his eyes that was funny but also, relaxing, like the sun rising and whispering, it's going to be alright or the moon basking and singing, you're safe child.

“ saw you...” he murmured against your jaw, tracing a fine line, his fingers sweaty and syrupy, until he stopped at the corner of your mouth, watching you intently.

“ M-my lord..” you weren't sure what to say and you never did, the words strangled on their way, wrecking before they ever made it out. Benjicot amused himself, his cheeks flushed but this rosey glow that devoured his way was new, perked only when you smiled, like you had done at the wedding few hours ago.

“ You are so beautiful.” he cried, like it was a chanting, a prayer. You could taste his skin on your tongue, as his thumb slowly dipped inside, swiping across your velvety mouth.

“ Thankyou my lord.” you wouldn't blink, his sweetness was too much, almost getting you intoxicated.

“ shhh.” his mouth curved in 'o', face reaching up close to you, eyes dazed but you could see your reflection back. “ call me Ben, or benny.” He giggled, it wasn't very odd to hear that rich melodious sound tingle your skin, so close to you, like waves crashing.

“ or benji.” he added after a chortling, you couldn't help the snort that escaped you, surprising you while Ben only grinned.

“ You are so pretty, especially when you smile. ” he said, joining his lips on yours in a constellation of stars, every thought bursting into sweet nothings, his mouth was sweet, fruity and toxicating, the glee you felt inside you was very similar to nicking a extra goblet of wine that was appropriate for a lady, like floating and feeling nothing could touch you, like almost a dream where everything could be true, like music and poetry, like everything beautiful, kissing him felt like kissing the sky, no, it felt bigger than the whole sky.

And they never said about the love part, but perhaps...

lies and sneaking

summary; requested: you are sick of being stuck inside the stone hedge walls and decide to sneak out. You end up running into the worst man you know but it leads to a lot more.

fancast!benjicot blackwood x bracken!reader

w.c: 1.4k

c.w: fluff, minor angst, twin!aeron bracken, minor smut, benjicot is annoying, not proofread

perm benjicot taglist: @lyssaluvs @yeolsbubbles @lenasvoid @at-a-rax-ia @poppyflower-22 @helpyourself-9 @kiraflowersworld @randomgurl2326 @valdezthg @mysticmusicinkpop @tiredsleepyhead @secretf1lms @hardkiddonut @hydrxxxmrti @stlzking @smh-anon @shootinqstars101 @charvsz @helo1281917

you were giddy that you had even managed to sneak out of the castle at all. despite the late hour the town seemed to be as alive as ever and you could barely believe it.

But you got careless and weren’t paying attention until you bumped into somebody’s back. “oh my gods i am so sorry.” the guy turns around and waves his hands, “no no its,,,” his face drops and you freeze upon seeing him “bracken.” benjicot blackwood. Of course you had to run into him. he was the fucking worst. always tormenting you and your brother, not that you never tormented him back, you all were stuck in this endless hateful loop.

you shush him and look around desperately praying nobody heard him. “please just act like you never saw me.” you try to move away from him but he grips your arm and pulls you into his chest and peers down at you a large grin. “oh i dont think so.” you try to pull away from him but he keeps an arm firmly wrapped around you. “what would your dear old daddy think about his precious little baby sneaking out to town to do gods know what.”

you huff and manage to shake your way out of his arms and hiss at him, “if i am going to get caught i might as well make the most out of it.” you turn away and just pray he truly does not knock on your fathers door and tell him you were here. you thought that would be the last of it and you would not see him again but you hear footsteps trailing behind you and you stop and the footsteps stop too.

you turn around and glare at him while he still has that mischievous grin on his face. “what do you want?” his smirk cant seem to leave his face, “im merely making sure the pretty little pampered princess makes it around okay, wouldn’t want you getting hurt.” you tsk and turn away from him, “fine follow me i dont care.”

you walk for awhile merely looking around the town. “you have no clue where to go huh?” you groan and turn around to him throwing your hands up with annoyance. “yes okay i have no clue where im going i just want to have a little fun but the only place i ever go into town is to the bookstore with aeron but i doubt that would be any fun right now.” you scratch your head in frustration. he takes a step closer to you and you step back, “i can show you somewhere fun.”

You want to say no that he should just go fuck off and leave you alone. but you’re sure he knows a good place to go. is he even trust worthy? no he definitely is not. “fine.” you still cant help but accept his offer and he grabs your forearm and begins to pull you along with him. you almost want to ask him where hes taking you but you dont get the chance before he walks you into a building and you’re immediately hit with the strong smell of alcohol and sweat.

you cough lightly into your fist but he just pulls you against him and continues to walk along. “why are we here?” “where else are we supposed to have fun hmm? you have any ideas?” when you say nothing he hums, “thats what i thought.” when he walks up to the counter and buys the two of you a bottle you take the opportunity to look around the place. It was packed, bodies at every corner and turn, you can see people dancing and turn your head when you see a couple in the corner having way too much fun. suddenly you feel a hand on your ass and turn to look at the guy and he just grins at you.

Benjicot sudden pushes the guy on his chest and glares at him. “get the fuck away from her.” the guy runs away at benjicot’s hard stare and deep voice and you place a hand on your chest to calm your racing heart. you dont know what has your heart racing, the fear or the fact that ben had gotten protective over you.

you shake the feeling from your head you shouldn’t be thinking like that. he is a blackwood for god’s sake. He pulls you to a darker corner of the room and sits you down next to him. pouring you a cup of the ale. The two of you just sit and chat for a while, you hate to admit it but he is good company, hes funny, he pays attention when you talk.

The more and more you drink and the closer and closer you sit next to each other. you don’t know who makes the move first, you think it was him or maybe that was your brain denying it had been you but neither of you reject the action. you grab the collar of his tunic and he grabs your hips, placing you on his lap. his fingers reach down and touch parts of you you never dared to. biting onto the fabric on his neck as your legs quiver from your peak.

Your peak brings a sort of clarity and guilt and dread washes over you as you can feel benjicots hardening cock on your thigh. so you run. you run and run until you can see your home back into view. you cannot believe you had done that and you would never forget it, how could you be so stupid? but as you toss and turn in bed you want to regret it but you cant. you want to see him again. but he’ll probably never want anything to do with you since you ran out on him. this is as it should be you remind yourself you two are supposed to hate each other.

you hope to let yesterday be nothing more than a memory as you tend to the cattle in the afternoon. you hear footsteps approaching and you turn around a smile at the sight of your brother. “brother i…” your words trail off as you see the furious look on his face, “aeron?” “were you in a brothel with benjicot blackwood last night?” you freeze. how could he have found out? “what,, what are you talking about?” you try to laugh it off as a joke but he just glares at you. “answer me.” you shrug as you begin to sweat, “no, that’s ridiculous.” “then why have i been informed you two were seen together last night?”

You feel heat crawling up every inch of your body. you did not want to lie to him but you certainly could not tell him the truth. “i was at the establishment and he let me sit as his table thats all.” “what in the hells were you doing there?” “i am locked here everyday with nothing to do i just wanted to see what it was like brother!”

You can see him having an internal conflict at your words. you want him to believe you. to drop this all in its entirety and move on. but he hardens up and he looks you in the eyes. “did benjicot blackwood touch you?” you straighten up and grab his hands, “no of course he did not aeron.” he turns his head away slight. you can tell he does not believe you and you heart aches, you love your brother but you cannot admit to him the truth.

“Benjicot Blackwood never touched me; I swear this to you, upon the memory of our mother!”

You know its a bad move to bring up your mother, his face completely softens at her mention. he has not been himself since she passed but you know its the one thing to get him to believe you. and he does he nods, “i believe you. im sorry for believing such rumors.” you pull him into a hug and stare out into the distance as he wraps his arms around you. you feel like absolute shit but at least it was over and that was that.

At least until later that day lord blackwood and benjicot show up at your father’s door and you find out benjicot had asked for your hand.

|| REPOST TO SAVE AN ARTISTS LIFE 🙏||

A poor attempt at a background ,but aemond and idk maybe Alys maybe a poor attempt at a OC

The shortest marriage tour pt 2

summary: After your engagement to benjicot you come back soon after to stay with him for a month. Your dragon causes some trouble and you grow closer to your future husband.

fancast!benjicot blackwood x targaryen!reader

w.c: 4.3k

c.w: fluff, crazy ben but reader is also crazy ! brackens being brackens, the lads are the best, reader basically has rhaenas book dragon, minor nsfw mentions, next part will be smutty i swear, more fluff, not proofread

a.n: the heavily requested pt 2 of 3 okay i did not expect to really get so into this but im so glad it’s received so much love !! next part will be the wedding and will be steamy i swear but i hope you like it 🫶

benjicot taglist: @spider-stark @earth4angels

part one - part three (tomorrow!)

You left only two days after your engagement to go return to your mother but not before the blackwood hall threw you a celebratory feast that had you way more embarrassed than you thought you would be.

You managed to meet the head of house tully and very pointedly insisted about a barrier between house blackwood and house bracken to which he eagerly agrees under your harden stare and a very pointed look from your father has him assuring you it will be done before winter and ben thanks you with a sickly sweet smile and you try not to flush.

“i hate being nice.” you mummer to your father and he just laughs.

as you walk to the carriage to leave ben chased after you and handed you the history books you bad been asking for. “you remembered.” “of course i did.”

you could not drop the smile on your face as you read the books the whole way home. “is blackwood history really that interesting?” You did not care about his teasing as you continued to read and you miss the heartfelt look he has as he looks as his lovestruck daughter

Your mother is shocked when you arrive back so soon, almost thinking you quit your tour early as she did as a child but when your father assures her you've chosen a husband she is overjoyed.

Three long weeks go by and summer turns into fall. he began to think he would not see you again until late into the season. He did not expect his life to turn out like this, he had thought he would marry one of the tully girls and he would live his life bored out here until his father died and he will be lord of the house and then his life will be even more boring. but you had come into his life like a lightning bolt. Quick and sudden where it startles you but he was more than happy at your arrival. He wished he got to spend more time with you but you had assured him you would return as swiftly as possible.

One day he is training out in the yard with oscar and kermit as he always was until kermit suddenly looks up and freezes. oscar shakes kermit who keeps his eyes on the sky, “whats wrong with you ?” “dragon”

The two of them look up and he can faintly see it. A dragons shadow heading straight to them. “does it look close really close to anyone else or is it just me?” A dragon shriek fills the air and the three of them stumble back as the dragon lands right next to them. “if this is how i die tell aly i always had a crush on her.” Ben glares at oscar who just shrugs. “what?” “my aunt? seriously?” “what? shes a real looker.”

Ben ignores him and looks up at the rider of the dragon and he lets out a sigh of relief. “did you shit your pants?” “probably.” oscar lets out weakly as he falls on his back laying on the grass and you laugh. he missed you. You slide off your dragon and use your teeth to pull off the gloves covering your hands as you walk towards him with a smile. “sorry it took me so long, my father and brother were acting like fucking nut jobs.”

He laughs as you run your hand down your face, clearly recalling the memories of the men in your life and grins as you glare at him. “what is so funny ser blackwood?” He takes your hand and presses a long kiss to your hand, his eyes staying on yours. he watched as your face softens and you smile.

“i have missed you.” “Smooth talker.” He lowers your hand but keeps his hand tightly in yours as you greet kermit and roll your eyes as you see oscar still on the ground. “oh dont be dramatic oscar.” “the realms flower does not care that a knight has fallen to his death? how heartless.” “if a knight dies from fear he is no true knight.”

You lean over oscar and offer him your hand and he takes it allowing you to help him up. The three of them still flinch when your dragon cranes its head to look at them. “is it going to eat us?” You laugh and shake your head. “she doesnt eat little boys with their trousers full of shit.”

Benjicot could not take his eyes off the light pink dragon. he had heard tales of your dragon, morningstar, hatched right before you were born and you grew up side by side with you until you were old enough to fly around with her. The dragon tilts her head at him but makes no move towards him simply settling herself to lay on the ground.

Oscar and kermit make themselves scarce as the two of you stand side by side, making up some excuse about being needed by his father, “You think theyre scared of her?” “scared shitless im sure.”

You hum and look to ben who continues to have a staring contest with the dragon, “You wish to meet her?” He looks at you as though you are crazy but you simply shrug and smile at the dragon fondly, “you scared?” “shes a fucking dragon.” You huff and cross your arms, “she is my best friend,” he sees you faulter as you speak and look down at the ground. “It would be nice if you were acquainted.”

the weight of your request dawns on him. You wished to share this part of you with him, you honor him by allowing him to befriend your greatest treasure, your other half. He cant help but feel his heart begin to race though it has nothing to due with nerves.

“Do i just go up and say hello?” A grin befalls your face and you grab his hand. You say some words in a language foreign to him, he believes it to be high valryian and he takes a small step back when the dragon turns to face him fully at your words. Her bright green eyes staring into benjis as she leans down further to be face to face with him. “Stay calm, she will not harm you under my command.” He finds himself believing you and he takes a shaky deep breath.

You watch his every move slowly lifting your joined hands and placing his palm on her snout. He is shaking but you don’t think he knows that. You are shocked at how well he manages to keep himself calm knowing even some of your blood relatives would get freaked out at the mere idea of doing this with a dragon.

Morningstar suddenly curls herself into a ball and closes her eyes leaving bens hand hanging in the air. “She likes you.” “How do you know?” “she did not try to bite off your hand.” he whips his head to look at you alarmed and you just laugh at his face, “i felt so awful for the maester that day.” “this actually happened?! and you just let me do that?!” you elbow him in the side before you lace your hand with his again, “I knew she would like you because i like you, you idiot.” He blushes and coughs into his fist as he awkwardly wipes his hand along the front of his tunic.

The two of you walk towards the castle where your sure to get a warm greeting from samwell. What you dont see is a raven landing on one of morningstars black horns and she opens one of her eyes to peer at it as it stares down at her. Normally Morningstar would shake her head to scare off the birds that would land on her but she didn’t simply closing her eyes and allowing the content raven to perch on her horn.

Samwell greets you as expected and is shocked at your sudden arrival. You appear confused at this, much to the confusion of everyone else in the room. “Did the carriage not come?” Samwell assures you no carriage has arrived and this has your scratching your head. “A carriage was sent out days before i even flew out, it was meant to arrive last night to inform you of my arrival.” As if on que one of the guards bursts into the room. “A royal carriage has arrived my lord.”

You let out a sigh of relief. The carriage had all your stuff in it as you did not take anything with you on your flight out you would probably be left wearing aly’s old stuff she never took with her before she left for winterfell. “There is nobody in the carriage correct?” The guard nods, “The only things in the carriage are your belongings princess.” You let out a sigh of relief, you had feared daemon or even jacaerys had snuck their way into the carriage to bother you and torment benjicot though you are happy they listened to your demand that you wished for this to be a solo trip to get to know your soon to be husband a bit more before your winter wedding.

You offer to help the men carry in your stuff though they quickly dismissed you and insisted they could do it until you were left standing alone admiring the room. One month. One whole month out here alone without a family member in site. its odd. but you must remember this is what your life will look like once you are married, you will relocate to the riverlands and live out the rest of your days here. You were even going to leave most of your stuff here as you left knowing you would soon return.

You flop back onto the bed as you lose yourself to your thoughts. You’ll rest your eyes for a bit is what you tell yourself but when you next awake and you look out the window and see the sun still glaring. you guessed you were not out for long but / blanket had been thrown on top of you at some point. as you sit up to rub your eyes a maid walks into the room and greets you asking if you rested well. You affirm you did and she tells you lord blackwood had been concerned since you were asleep for so long. There was no way. you ask her if it was the next day and she nods. Did you truly sleep all through the afternoon into the next day? Dragon riding did tire you out but surely not this much.

Maybe you had simply been so stressed with your mother pressing you about the wedding to your father and brother breathing down your neck about your betrothed you had never really had a moment of peace growing up and it was even worse now a days maybe you simply enjoyed the peace without the ringing in your ears. She asked if you would like some lunch and you agree watching as she rushes off to make you a plate.

Suddenly the room is quiet again except for the chirping of birds. It was so peaceful out here. As you look out the window you admire how gorgeous it truly is. You live dragonstone truly and even the keep you enjoyed but there was something so nice about the greenery and the bright sun, you felt as though it was always rather dull and grey in dragonstone but here? there was nay a cloud in sight and even in fall it looked as if it was early spring.

You did not even notice the maids return until the clanking of glass hitting a table she pulled up besides the bed for you. you thank her and she bows and turns to leave but not before informing you lord blackwood and benjicot were away on business for the morning and would return later in the day. “where did they go?” “one of the minor houses princess i forget the name now my apologies but they should be back before night fall.”

you hum and nod, a part of you sad you wont get to see ben today but you remember you’re here for a whole month not just a couple days. She leaves and you mindlessly eat your lunch. as you think of what to do today. Maybe you’ll go to the library, you remember it was very nice when benjicot had showed you around.

And thats exactly what you do with the history books benjicot had given you in hand, they had been throughly read through front to back a more than once. You hand them to the book keeper before walking around the library and grabbing a random book off the shelve and reading for a while. It just so happened to be a book on winterfell’s history and thought of his aunt aly who left for winterfell to marry lord cregan stark right before your first arrival and you were meant to meet her at your wedding as she just had a new born and couldn’t make the trip out now to see her though she states shes eager to meet you and cant wait for the wedding.

You finish the majority of the book before you grow bored and take a hair pin to keep your place in the book before getting up and stretching your legs. You hear a faint growl and you think morningstar must be growing restless and decide to go greet her.

When you begin to walk over she perks up and purrs at you and you stroke her chin. You press your forehead against her nose and she continues to purr loudly. You pull away at a sudden shriek and look to see a crow resting on her horn staring at you. you tilt you head at it, she normally hates when animals come near her especially birds and when they rest on her horns she grows especially annoyed yet she seems find with the crow resting on her horn. You almost get to ask her why she was letting him rest there until a voice cuts through.

“excuse me princess.” You whip your head to the right and your dragon perks up and growls. You shove her with your hand as you take in the man before you or more like the men in front of you. A group of four standing only mere feet away from you, the man in front catches your eye in particular with his long hair that ends right near his house sigil. The yellow. The red stallion. Brackens.

This is the first time you are seeing any of them in person and you straighten up. You know the blackwoods hate them but you are the princess and you cannot let your peers influence you in relations with the different kingdoms. “I'm so sorry i did not hear you approach.” The man shakes his head and lightly smiles, “I did not wish to startle you princess. i had just wished to inform you that your dragon had wandered its way into our lands yesterday evening.” You lightly gasp and turn to Morningstar who seemingly senses an impending scolding so she quickly fly's away with a shriek and you glare at her retreating form.

You quickly turn back to the bracken boy and apologize. “I am so sorry she is the very curious type. If any of your cattle has been eaten or structures destroyed please tell me i will be more than happy to compensate you.” He quickly shakes his head and his hands, “No no no just gave the cows a good startle, they wouldnt come out to eat breakfast for hours.” You stop the chuckle that boils up your throat and he smiles at your reaction. “She will get a very stern talking to and no blacksheep for a week i assure you. I am very sorry,” your words cut for a moment and you eye the sword at his waist, “ser?”

He straightens up, “aeron bracken.\,” You nod and he holds his hand out. You hesitate. You shouldnt. Benjicot would be furious. But it would be terribly rude to refuse him so you swallow your complaints and place your hand in his to which he brings it up to his lips and places a light kiss on the back of your hand. “my princess, it is an honor to meet you-”

“bracken!” Aeron flinches back, quickly dropping your hand and looking over your shoulder, a pure look of fear coursing over his eyes. You don’t even get the chance to turn around before a hand is gripping onto the fabric on your back and pulling you backwards and a familiar figure stands in front of you, his hand tightly gripping onto the sword on his waist.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Aeron scoffs as he cranes his neck to look at you, “What? Is it illegal to speak with the princess?” “Oh fuck you,” This was the first time you were hearing him speak like this, a harsh gravel in his voice and using foul language it was almost like it was another person. You slowly walk your way to stand facing him to his side where you can see the harsh glare on his face. “you know exactly what you’re doing bracken.” The name is spit from his lips like venom and aeron takes a small step back as benjicot gets in his face.

“Im not doing anything, unless you feel threatened by me. What? you think the pretty princess is going to leave you?” Benjicots hand slams into his chest causing aeron to stumble back and one of the bracken boys stumbles over and falls to the ground. “You will shut your fucking mouth! You are to never speak to her or even look at her you fucking prick! You think she would look at you you’re barely even a man certainly no fucking knight.” You feel a heat rising at your neck and in your stomach, if you were being more than honest you try not to press your thighs together, at his actions.

You did not like being spoken about as if you were not here but it was his mannerisms the way he held himself tall and chest puffed out while the bracken boys cowered in his presence. You should step him, stop them before they go too far but you are too interested in seeing how far they will push it how far he will push it. You are greedy. You want to see him lose it a little more. You look towards oscar who's already looking at you with a smug look. he wiggles his eyebrows at you and makes in inappropriate hand gesture causing you to look away and scoff. Were you really so obvious?

Yet suddenly aeron pulls his sword out and points it at benjicot and you grip your daggers handle and almost go to step forward but suddenly stop as benjicot laughs and steps closer to aeron. A large grin on his face as his tongue is freed from behind his teeth. “You wouldn’t dare.” Oh gods.

Aeron faulters at benjicot’s confidence but suddenly another look overtakes his eyes and you decide to finally step in. “Are you two done licking each other asshole?” The two turn to look at you and you curse as you step in between them, aeron lowers his sword but you pay him not mind as you turn to look at benjicot who does not look at you simply continuing to glare at aeron. “Back down ben, seriously.” He faulters slightly but his glare is still as strong as ever, “He has some nerve-” Your hand suddenly slams into his shoulder and he finally meets your eye in shock. “You will look at me while i speak to you.” The darkness leaves his eyes in an instant and the sweet glow returns to his face and he lowers his head, “I am sorry princess.”

You turn away from him, satisfied and look to aeron who also lowers his head but says nothing in return. You almost miss it if you did not have as keen ears as you did, one of the men behind him murmurs to himself, “Bitch.”

It happens in an instant, your hand is gripping on his hair and your dagger is pressed against his neck, its close enough its drawing blood that runs down his neck into his tunic. “You forget yourself. I am the fucking princess.” A drop of sweat runs down his face as he spews out apologizes you dont care to listen to. You are quick to cut off his rambling. “You are all going to get the fuck out of my sight. and i am never to see you again or hear even a word of you any of you bothering him. You should be thankful i am feeling merciful for the next time i see you i will kill you.”

You shove him away and take a step back, “get the fuck out of my sight!” They all scurry away before you are even finished speaking and you let out a sigh of relief as they are finally out of view. You turn around with a huff and wipe your dagger clean on your sleeve. “Do you think they will complain to lord bracken? ugh i do not wish to send a fucking fruit basket to house bracken. But what would they even say, oh father i insulted the princess and she threatened to murder me?”

When nobody says anything you look at them and tilt your head at their amazed faces. “What?”

“You are the scariest person i know princess.” You lightly gasp and place a hand on your chest. “Oscar you forget yourself.” A flash of fear grows in his face but it dies out as soon as you start laughing. “That was not funny.” “yes because it was hilarious thank you.”

You look at ben who is yet to say anything but he merely stares at you with what you can only call wonder in his eyes. His words speak more words than anything. ‘thank you’ You lightly smile and nudge his stomach with your elbow before you look out into the bracken lands direction. “We certainly need a fence here. Or maybe a hundred foot tall wall. ill have it started immediately and oversee construction myself.”

You begin to murmur to yourself about about making a trip to see the tullys and get someone to come out and make sure the land is divided rightfully, you’re sure both of the lord will also have to be present and that is sure to not be a good sight. A hand is places on your shoulder and you look at benjicot, noticing that it was just the two of you out in the field, you had not even realized the other boys at left. “ben-” He places his lips on yours and you almost stumble back but he wraps his arms around you to keep you pressed against him. His lips are a lot softer than you had thought them to be. You kiss him back of course you do. Your hands grip his shoulders as he hums into the kiss before you pull away. He chases after your lips and you giggle and smile as your wrap your arms around his neck.

“How long have you wanted to do that ser blackwood?”

“For as long as ive known you my lady.”

Your month long visit goes much quicker than you thought it would. You make a visit to the tullys who immediately set up an official deeming of the lands, lord bracken was not happy to see you though you acted like you could not tell. The day where the lands were settled was a long dreadful one where the men would not stop arguing until nightfall. Both of their heirs were present but aeron did not even lift his head with you at benjicots side. The matter is settled and you offer to pay for a speedy production of the wall between them, though both men originally refuse the amount they all were willing to spend would have production done far later than you would like and you throw down a large sack of coins and tell them to get it done quickly.

You and ben spend every second you care together. Sharing secret kisses and going on little dates like he had prepared a picnic for you one day then took to skip rocks with him by the lake another day. Everyday felt like something new and you have never been happier. It was the last night before you left and you found yourself never wanting to leave. You place with the ties on his loose tunic as you cuddle against his chest. the two of you were laying under the weirwood tree. a blanket wrapped tightly around you two but it was really him who was keeping you warm.

“I want to be married here.” He looks at you with wide eyes but you keep your gaze on the ties. “Under the weirwood tree. Like the way of the old gods.” He presses a kiss to your forehead where you can feel his smile, “Nothing would make me happier my lady.” “Then consider it done.” You knew your family would not be happy but you do not care, it is about what you wanted anyway not them.

You leave the next day, dreading saying goodbye to him as you strap a small box onto morningstar while the rest of your stuff would stay here. You take forever to let go of him, keeping your head firmly pressed against his neck and he rocked you the two of you. He assured you he would write to you and you would him. The next time you would see him would be the wedding in two months and it could not come any quicker.

THE BRIDGE

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!Reader

Summary - Your wardship with House Blackwood was meant to bridge the chasm between your families. Years later, you return to Stone Hedge as the whispers of war spread—only for Lord Tully to call for a hunt.

Warnings - fem!reader, complicated sibling relationship, fighting, (probably excessive) mentions of blood, talks about hunting/killing wild animals, !angst!, adult language, reader def suffering from identity crisis, probably deviates from canon some, kieran burton fan cast for benji, all characters 18+

Word Count - 5.6k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

When Grover Tully, the Lord Paramount of the Trident, sent word for each of his bannermen to send forth a handful of their finest House members to a most desolate area of the Whispering Woods, no one thought it wise to object. 

“Lord Grover is an ornery old crow,” your father, Humfrey Bracken huffed as you readied the horses. “But you would do well to earn his respect.” He clamped a hand on your brother’s shoulder, pride gleaming in his eyes as he said, “Whatever he’s planning, I want you to show him that House Bracken stands strong. Understood?” 

Keeping his chin held high, Amos hesitantly mutters, “If you wish to impress Lord Tully, you might think twice about sending her.” 

Even with your back turned, you could feel the weight of your brother’s stare, his eyes boring a hole into the back of your head. 

Your father shrugged, a disinterested gesture. “Grover said to send our best,” he said, “and when it comes to a bow and arrow, no one's a better shot than her.” 

For the next day-and-a-half, you rode at a distance from the group your father selected—your brother, Amos, and two of your male cousins. And while they laughed and jeered and yapped, you remained stuck in your own thoughts, playing your father’s words on a loop. 

It’s the only compliment he’s ever paid you. The closest he’s ever come to acknowledging you as Bracken. 

You hate him sometimes, you think. For agreeing to peace all those years ago—for sending his only daughter to ward with his rival of all people. He must have known it was futile. Must have known that one girl could never bridge such an ancient chasm. 

He must have known—and yet he sent you anyway, only to call you back years later, tearing you away from the only home you had ever known and leaving you to feel like a stranger in your House. 

Grover said to send our best. 

Are you a Bracken, then? Is blood all that determines a House? 

No one’s a better shot than her. 

But your skill is that of a Blackwood, born under their tutelage. 

Deep within the Woods, a steady mist of rain falls from the sky, leaving your skin uncomfortably damp. In the distance, a low hum of chattering voices signal that the four of you are drawing close to Lord Grover’s camp—and that the other House’s have already arrived. 

Your thoughts shift, wondering who Lord Samwell sent to represent House Blackwood—fearing that you might already know the answer. 

A strange tightness floods your chest, coiling around your lungs. 

It’s been months since you last saw the heir to Raventree Hall. Many, many months—and you can’t help but think any reunion might end in bloodshed with Amos by your side. 

As if he heard his name ring through your mind, your brother slows his horse to gentle trot beside yours, cocking a neatly groomed brow at you. “Tell me, sister—were you always this dour?” He asks, feigning intrigue. “Or did half-a-decade with the Blackwoods simply drain the joy from you?” 

A bit ahead, your cousins chortle at his jest. 

You don’t pry your eyes from the path ahead, refusing to look him in the eye as he continues without waiting for an answer. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised—a mere day with those insipid cravens would have me wishing to swallow my own blade.” Removing a hand from the reins, he pantomimed the act—gripping an invisible hilt and shoving it towards his lips, letting a dramatic choke rip from his throat. 

Riding a bit ahead, your cousins chortle at his jest, shooting amused glances over their shoulders. 

“No need,” you answer without thinking, your tone impassive. “Aly would have an arrow in your eye before the day was up.” 

Your cousins fall silent. 

Amos stiffens, jaw clenched tight. “She could try.” 

You know Black Aly would, if given half the chance—and you have no doubt that she would succeed, too. She was the one who taught you how to string a bow and sharpen arrows, how to aim and never miss. 

When you don’t respond, Amos pulls his horse in closer—as close as he can get without spookings yours. “Look,” he utters, low enough that your cousins can’t overhear, “I don’t know how things were done at Raventree—but you’re home now, and you would do well to remember where your true loyalties lie.” 

Again, you don’t speak. Don’t think, either. 

Amos sighs. “Your blood runs gold, sister. You’re a Bracken, through-and-through. Take pride in that—and don’t bring shame upon our name. Understood?” 

Strange. 

You had seen your own blood before—more times than you can count, actually. Scars mottle your skin like stars in the sky, a reminder of the years spent training and the memories of nights spent with friends who were supposed to be enemies. 

Never once had it looked gold to you.

Only red. 

“I understand–” a pause, a breath, a heartbeat– “brother.” 

Nausea twists your stomach. The familial title curdles on your tongue even as Amos grins at you. There’s nothing affectionate about the gesture—how could there be? He doesn’t know you. Not really. 

Blood or no, you’re little more than strangers to each other—and yet, even so, you can see he’s trying. Trying to know you. 

Ahead, the camp comes into view. Banners hang above tents: white for the Mootons, blue for the Pipers, purple for the Mallisters. 

And red—for House Blackwood. 

Amos gives you one last glance, a pall mimicry of what you believe is meant to be love in his eyes. “You’re home now,” he reminds you again, as if you need to hear it,“be glad for it.” 

With the Tully’s guards now in earshot, Amos doesn’t bother with waiting for a response. He snaps the reins, urging his gelding back to the head of your group, already bellowing his greetings. You watch him go, transfixed on the yellow-gold of his tunic—identical to yours. 

Approaching the guards, you tell yourself that your brother is what home is supposed to look like. That if you were to slice your veins, gold would pour from your wrists. 

Not red. 

After checking in with the guards and tying your mare up in the makeshift paddock, there was no time left to freshen up before you were expected to join Amos and your cousins. With all the Houses now gathered, Lord Grover wasted no time in calling you all to the heart of the camp. 

Still, you try to make yourself presentable—using your fingers to comb through tangled, windswept hair and smoothing the wrinkles from your gold tunic, careful not to disturb the ornate brooch pinned above your heart. 

According to the guards, everyone was given one upon arrival. “All Houses are required to wear them,” they explained when Amos pressed them on it, “Lord Tully’s orders.” 

They were all different, it seemed. Yours was a delicate thing, fashioned from silver and pearls in the image of a blooming dahlia, while Amos’s was clunky and shaped like the sun. He’s still fumbling with it when you finally push through the small crowd, taking your place at his side. 

To your left, separated only by a group of five Frey men, you feel the wary glances being cast your way. You almost turn your head—almost glance back at them, if only to see what they might do. What he would do. 

Would he even acknowledge you? Or simply look away? 

The answer, thankfully, is one you don’t have time to learn. A servant garners attention, dragging a simple, plush chair to the group’s center. Following suit, another two servants assist the aged Lord Paramount from his tent, guiding him into his seat. On his right stands his eldest grandson—and your favorite Tully. Tall and dark-haired, Elmo looks more fearsome than he actually is, sparing you a quick, discreet wink when he spots you. 

“You may all be wondering,” Lord Grover wheezes, his lungs fighting for breath, “why I have called upon you all today—the many great Houses of our land.” 

As he speaks, old, gnarled hands punctuate his words, gesturing out to the many men gathered ‘round. His fingers shake with effort, his shoulders bowed beneath the weight of his many, many years. But his chin remains high, and his tone commanding—if a touch quavery. 

“I hear rumblings,” he continues, “from the South-East.” 

Lord Grover’s eyes, milky with cataracts, shift in the direction, staring blindly into the towering trees of the Whispering Woods. Beyond them, even. 

“Whispers of a great danger brewing in the Crownlands—within the King’s own court, if rumors are to be trusted.” 

Your spine turns to steel. 

Those rumors, you know, are as true as they come. Over the past several months, they had moved through the realm like a venomous serpent. Slithering from mouth to ear, hissing tales of the two factions that now divide King Viserys’s council. 

The Blacks and the Greens. 

The rightful heir and the first-born son. 

And the very reason your father had called you home. 

“War is coming,” a deep, foreboding warning, “and should it reach the Riverlands, I wish to know that we might stand united in its wrath. That we will not allow petty rivalries–” a pointed glance at your brother, and then to your left where, without looking, you know the Blackwood heir stands–“to tear us apart from within.” 

A heartbeat passes. Then another. 

The forest holds its breath. Cradles the Lord Paramount’s words in the air, weaving them around the many great Houses of the Riverlands. 

You wonder if this is what strength looks like. What it sounds like. 

You fear you already know which side of the war Lord Grover’s strength might fall—and you pray that you’re wrong. 

Placing a firm hand upon his grandfather’s shoulder, Elmo takes a step forward. “In an effort to promote civility between our Houses,” he announces in a tone that demands respect, “we have arranged for a hunt.” 

Your brow furrows. A hunt? 

“You will be divided into two person teams, working with an individual outside of your own House.” His gaze shifts to you, dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Teams have already been decided. Upon your arrival, each of you was given a pin—your partner will bear a matching one. And while there will be no winners or losers, you should know that once you leave camp, you will not be permitted to return without a trophy of some kind.” 

Discontent spreads. Low murmurs fill the air. 

Amos voices his frustration louder than the rest.  “And when is this hunt to take place?” 

Elmo grins. “Now.” 

Instantly, murmurs grow to shouts. 

“You cannot be serious, my Lord!” 

“It is already sunset!” 

“Is this a jest?” 

Elmo’s grin never wavers, unphased by the protests—and Lord Grover appears content to let his grandson contend with everyone's bickering, exhausted from what little talking he had already done. 

“Might I suggest you move quickly,” Elmo speaks over the crowd. Glancing upwards, he squints at the black clouds rolling overhead, an amused lilt to his voice as he adds, “Lest you wish to be caught in the coming storm.” 

With no more than a curt nod to the crowd, Elmo turns on his heel, already veering off in the direction of his own tent as servants begin to help Lord Grover rise. 

“This is absurd,” your brother grumbles. 

You ignore him. Storming right past him, you make a beeline for the fleeing Lord. 

“A hunt?!” 

Fond as Elmo is of you, you know better than to shout at the future Lord Paramount of the Trident. Your voice remains no more than a harsh whisper, even as you shoot daggers into the back of his head. 

“At night, no less! In the middle of a gods-damned storm! Have you lost your mind?” 

“What? You think it’s a bad idea?” He chuckles, keeping a steady pace. “Of all people, I thought that you might appreciate the challenge of it all.” 

You stay on his heels. “Who is he?” 

“Who is who?” 

Further from the crowd now, you grow bold. You reach out and snag his arm, forcing him to stop and face you. “Ignorance isn’t a good look on you, Elm.” You grind out, “Swear that you didn’t pick him to be my partner.” 

A wrinkle forms between thick brows, feigning innocence. “What makes you think that I chose your partner?” 

“Because I know you. You’re always scheming—jutting your big nose into places it very well does not belong!” 

Elmo opens his mouth—hesitates—and then frowns. “Am I truly that transparent?” 

“You may as well be made of glass, Elm.” 

His pout deepens, still dancing around your question. “Well, let's say that I did choose your partner—theoretically, of course!” Your eyes roll. “I think you would find my choice to be quite suitable. If anything, you might even thank me-” 

“This isn’t a game, Elmo!” Desperate now, you can’t stop your voice from rising. “If you paired me with him, then Amos will–” 

“Kill him?” Elmo ventures. 

“Yes!’ 

Pursing his lips, Elmo’s gaze falls somewhere over your head. “Well,” he sucks in a breath, “it seems we may be past the point of stopping that from happening.” 

Your mind goes blank, your thoughts scattering like shards of glass. 

You spin on your heel, head whirling around in search of Amos in the throng. Less than a second and you spot him—not because your gaze was drawn to the familiar gold color of your own House, but because of the wall of stark scarlet standing before him. 

Blackwoods. Two of them on either side of the Raventree heir. 

And Benji—his hands pressed to your brother's chest, roughly shoving him back into one of your cousins. 

“Do me a favor,” Elmo's sigh cuts through your panicked haze. “Keep the two of them from plunging a sword in the others’ belly, would you?” 

Any other time and you might have told Elmo off, cursed him for putting you in this position—future Lord Paramount be damned. 

But not now. Not when centuries of rivalry serve as proof that nothing is more dangerous, more unpredictable than this—

A Blackwood and a Bracken—your brother and Benji—standing toe-to-toe. 

Mindless adrenaline is all that thrusts you into motion. Mud splatters up the legs of your trousers as you practically run in their direction, demanding as soon as you’re in ear shot, “What is this?!” 

Amos doesn’t acknowledge you. Neither does Benji. 

Chests-puffed, they remain locked in their foolish staring match, neither of them willing to be the first to back down. 

Finally, one of your cousins sneers, “Seems that Benji-boy here thinks we’re gonna let him take you out into the woods.” 

A sharp, nasty laugh rips from Amos’s throat. “As if I’d let that happen!” 

“We’re partnered for the hunt, you imbecile.” Benji’s tone is that of lethal calm, even as he glares down his nose at your brother. You look to his chest—spotting the silver dahlia pinned at his breast. “If you have a problem with it, take it up with Tully.” 

“You think I’m stupid, Blackwood?!” 

Benji’s brow lifts a fraction of an inch, as if silently proclaiming—I just said so, did I not? 

Scowling, Amos juts his finger against Benji’s chest. “I refuse to give a Blackwood an opportunity to defile my sister!” 

Benji’s answering grin is something wicked as he purrs, “Oh, if I wanted to defile your sister, Bracken, I could’ve done so a long time ago.” 

Your pulse pounds—caught somewhere between offense and desire as Benji’s words echo in your head. 

Both feelings fade to fear when Amos reaches for the hilt of his sword, wrenching it from the sheath at his hip. In a blink, more weapons are drawn—your cousins holding swords, the Blackwoods holding daggers. 

Not Benji, though. 

Benji doesn’t flinch, even with your brother's sword poised at his throat, ready to kill. Something flickers in his eyes—a shift that you know all too well, sending ice skittering across your bones. 

“I won’t have this,” Amos seethes. “You will find another partner—or I swear on my House that blood will be shed!” 

Benji leans closer. Let the tip of the blade dig into his flesh, a rivulet of blood rolling down his throat. 

Red. 

“Is that a threat, Bracken?” 

You can hear your brother swallow—feel his panic as if it were your own, as if it was his fear coursing through your veins. Still, his voice remains steady. “Consider it a promise, Blackwood.” 

A blink and steel was glinting before your eyes. A single breath and Amos was out-maneuvered and out-matched—the clash erupting and subsiding in one seamless heartbeat, ending with your brother's sword in Benji’s hand. 

A shuddering breath slips from your brother's lips as Benji presses the steel to his throat, a perfect mirror of the position they were in just moments ago. 

“What’s the matter, Bracken?” Benji croons sarcastically, head hilting. “Do I frighten you?” 

There’s a lull to his voice—an eerie stillness that sends a chill scuttering down your spine. 

Amos was ignorant—to pick a fight with Benji, to think he might actually win it. But he’s your brother, too—and you know that if he were to be slain right now—right here—an even larger chasm will take the place of the one you were once meant to bridge. 

“Stop.” 

The demand is no more than a breath. A soft, terrified sound. 

Yet still, it makes Benji’s focus waver. 

“Leave him.” You force yourself to speak louder. Stronger. “Now.” 

You take a step closer—a hand outstretched, reaching towards Benji. His attention shifts, settling on you. He blinks—his stormy eyes, dark with rage, finally starting to clear. 

Benji’s movements languid as he steps away from your brother. Your cousins rush to Amos’s side as he stumbles back, frantically checking the heir of Stone Hedge for any sign of injury. 

They found none. Not even a scratch upon his throat, where his own sword had just hovered. 

Benji passes you the sword—a silent conversation passing between the two of you. 

You could have killed him, you glare. 

I could have—Benji agrees with a small, self-satisfied smile—but I didn’t. 

One of your cousins, bold and stupid, steps forward. “Is that all it takes to keep you at heel, Blackwood?” He glances between the two of you, his lip curling into a sneer. “A dog and his bitch,” he taunts, “how sweet–” 

A cry rips from his throat, cutting his insult short. You expect it to be Benji, having noticed the way his fists had clenched from the moment your cousin so much as looked at you. And perhaps it would’ve been—if your brother hadn’t grabbed the fool by the scruff of his neck, yanking him backwards and shoving him to the muddy ground. 

“Say what you want of him,” Amos tells your cousin, his voice gruff, “but you will mind how you speak of her.” 

You don’t know what to make of that. Of Amos defending you. Of knowing that if he hadn’t, Benji would have. Or that, even after that, Amos doesn’t quite know how to look you in the eyes, looking to the grass and the sky and anything that isn’t you. 

You’re a Bracken, through-and-through. Take pride in that. 

But did he take pride in you? 

If you wish to impress Lord Tully, you might think twice about sending her. 

“What’s done is done.” With a pointed look towards Lord Grover’s tent off in the distance, you say, “Now is not the time nor the place. If you wish so badly to fight, save it for when the war begins.” 

On one side of you, Benji remains silent, watching you with a curious glint in his eye. On the other, Amos hesitates. 

“I don’t trust him,” he says. 

You wonder if he doesn’t know how to say: I’m worried about you. 

“You heard our father,” you tell him, chin high, “when it comes to a bow and arrow, no one’s a better shot.” 

Perhaps there are things you don’t know how to say, too. Like: But I do. I trust him with my life. Maybe even with yours, too. 

Begrudgingly, Benji meets your brother's gaze, fighting the urge to scowl at him. “For years, no harm befell your sister under my watch—and you have my word that none shall befall her now,” he vows. “I swear it upon the Old Gods.” 

“And the New?” 

You consider stomping on Amos’s foot. 

Ignorant. To continue pushing— 

“Fine.” Benji’s brusque answer takes you by surprise. “Upon your false Gods as well, then.” 

Amos, to his credit, argues no further, only echoing the Raventree heir. “Fine.” 

For a fleeting moment longer, they stand there, eyes locked. Amos is the first to turn—the roaring tension dissipating into a hushed hiss as him and your cousins storm off. Benji stays, even as his own men begin to back off, as if listening to a silent command to go find their own partners. 

You look at him. And he smiles—a shy, awkward thing. 

“I’ll wait for you,” he says, a barely perceptible pause in his speech. “At the edge of camp—you can find me whenever you’ve gathered your things.” 

You open your mouth to speak, to say something—but the words take root in your chest, leaving vines to crawl up your throat. If you speak, you worry about what might come out. Worry it won’t be as delicate as the dahlia pinned above your heart—above his, too. 

So you close your mouth. Say nothing. Nod—and turn, trying to keep your legs from shaking as you walk back to the makeshift paddock to get what you would need for the hunt. 

True to his word, you find the heir of Raventree at the edge of camp, leaning against a towering oak and using the tip of his dagger to idly pick dirt from his nails. 

You brought only what was necessary—your bow, strapped between your shoulders, and a dark-leather quiver slung over your shoulder, stocked with already-sharpened arrows. 

Light rain mists over your face, the sky groaning with a low rumble of thunder. The forest floor squelches beneath your feet as you trudge towards him. Forever on-guard, Benji wastes no time in pushing himself off the tree, adjusting the dagger in his palm so that it can be easily plunged into another's belly if necessary. 

But then he sees you, dressed in Bracken gold with damp hair sticking to your cheeks, and looses a breath. Relaxing at the sight of you—his rival, according to centuries of precedent. Your rival, too, you suppose. 

Benji doesn’t look like your rival, though. 

Sheathing his dagger at his hip, you see no trace of the lethal Lord who, mere moments ago, was willing to go head-to-head with the heir to Stone Hedge. This boy—stuffing his hands in his pockets, a light flush crawling up his throat—is not Benjicot Blackwood, the heir of Raventree Hall. 

He’s just Benji. 

“Ready to go?” He asks when you’re closer, his voice a familiar caress so unlike the eerie lull it held earlier. 

It takes everything in you to erect an icy wall around your heart, colder even than Northern winds. You shove past him, your shoulder knocking into his as you go and earning a perplexed stare. “Let’s get this over with,” you snap, plunging into the depths of the Woods and leaving him to follow behind. 

Ten minutes pass. Twenty. 

Dawn crept swiftly through the Riverlands, casting a pall shadow over the Whispering Woods. Overhead, dark clouds seem to grow thicker, obscuring what little light the moon has to offer. 

A fool’s errand. An impossible task. 

That is what Elmo Tully had arranged—not a hunt. 

With the sun hidden beyond the horizon and a near-constant rumble of thunder, any animal in these Woods would either be asleep or hiding by now, trying to escape the incoming storm. To find a trophy to bring back to camp—even something as simple as a hare—was unlikely. 

Still, knowing the guards won’t let you back in without one, you keep walking. Keep plunging further into the Woods, praying to the Gods that you might find something to take back to camp. 

Twigs snap a few paces behind you, wet foliage squelching beneath purposefully heavy steps. A low, careless whistle tests your patience. 

With your bow hanging from your hand, you grumble, “You’re being too loud.” 

Benji feigns innocence. “Am I?” 

“Yes,” you hiss through gritted teeth, never slowing your pace. “Be quiet—unless you wish to scare off any game and spend the night sleeping on wet soil.” 

He chuckles—loudly. “Have you looked up lately?” Benji asks. “The sky looks as if it’ll crack open any minute now! Any animal with sense is hiding right now, anyway.” 

True. 

“Then we find one without sense, then.” 

Benji snorts. “The only thing without sense in this forest is Amos Bracken.” 

Without warning, you stop dead in your tracks—leaving Benji to nearly stumble into you. You cast a glare over your shoulder, cold enough that a chill seeps right into his bones. “You’d do well to keep quiet, Benjicot.” 

His lip curls, revealing a flash of slightly crooked teeth. “And since when do you call me Benjicot?” He asks, a ribbon of disbelief lacing his own name. 

Your jaw tenses, a muscle feathering there. 

I don’t know, you think, a pang of uncertainty cracking the ice wall around your heart. 

You reinforce ice with steel—turning fully now so that you’re face-to-face, dropping your bow to the ground by your feet. “I won’t let you speak of him that way,” you say, ignoring his question. “My brother is the heir to Stone Hedge–” 

A bemused laugh cuts through your words. “Oh, he’s your brother now, is he?” 

You speak over him, voice rising. “To insult him is to insult the whole of House Bracken–” 

“Fuck House Bracken,” Benji growls. 

He takes a half-step closer, towering over you with no more than a foot between you. You don’t falter—don’t look away. 

“I am a Bracken."

His head tilts. “Are you? Last I checked, you were practically raised on Blackwood soil.” 

“Perhaps,” you admit. “But my wardship is over–” 

Benji cuts you off. “Tell me, where was your brother all these years, then? Your father?” He doesn’t let you answer. “No more than a brisk-fucking-walk separating you and yet neither one of them cared to visit with the forgotten daughter of Stone Hedge!” 

You’re a Bracken—

“You don’t know them,” you protest weakly, your resolve crumbling. 

—through-and-through. 

“And you do?” He challenges. Another step, his chest inches from yours. Warmth radiates from his body, seeping into yours and melting melting melting. “Why did your father call you home?” 

His words are no more than a breath fanning across your cheek. 

Vulnerability permeates your gaze, bearing an unspoken truth. Because war is coming, you convey with no more than a flicker of your lashes, and fate has already decided my role in it. 

Benji’s lips tighten to a thin line—and you would’ve thought him ashamed of you, if not for the pain glimmering in his stormy-eyes, lined with silver. “Your father,” he utters, “he will declare for Aegon Targaryen—won’t he?” 

You’re a Bracken—

You debate the merits of telling him the truth. Of betraying the plans of your house. 

—Take pride in that. 

“Aegon Targaryen is the King’s true-born son.” You speak, though you know the words are not your own. “To sit the Iron Throne is his birthright.” 

The birthright of a drunken craven. 

The betrayal of a beloved princess. 

Benji blinks. Shakes his head, his tongue darting along his lips. “He called you home to fight. Humfrey Bracken’s forgotten daughter—useful at long last.” 

Rage coils in his tone. Instinct makes your muscles tense. 

Nothing is more dangerous than this, your thoughts whisper, a Blackwood and a Bracken, toe-to-toe. 

There’s nothing dangerous about the way Benji’s looking at you, though. His gaze soft and tender, calloused hands clenched at his sides—holding himself back, you realize. Not from fighting, but from reaching out to touch something he’s not certain is his. 

“Will you do it?” Benji asks, hesitant. “Will you fight for the pretender?” 

I don’t want to, you think. 

It’s your brother's words that slip past your lips. “I have no choice. My blood runs gold, Benji—a Bracken, through-and-through.” 

His brow furrows. Then a hand shifts to the sheath at his hip, sliding his dagger free. “Give me your hand,” he orders, nodding to where they hang at your sides. 

You remember his vow to your brother—that he would let no harm befall you. Even without it, you would’ve trusted him. Wholly. Unconditionally. 

You lift your hand and, without hesitation, he grips it on his own, pinning the steel tip of his dagger against your palm. 

You hiss—hand stinging as the blade drags along your flesh, leaving a thin, shallow cut. 

“You’ve always had one foot on either side of the boundary,” Benji starts, his words rushed. Carelessly tossing the dagger to the ground, he grabs your wrist tightly, lifting your palm up towards your own face. “But your blood,” he tells you, his eyes desperate, “has always run red.” 

It drips down your wrist—a rivulet of crimson, spilling between his knuckles as he refuses to let go. Red as the color of his tunic—as the specks of blood dried on his own throat, drawn by your brother's sword. 

Gold on your back. Red in your veins. 

A Bracken by name, but… 

“It’s not too late,” Benji says, his words slow and cautious, still cradling your hand in his. “You can come back to Raventree.” Thunder rumbles. Storm-cloud eyes fall to your lips. “You can come home.” 

You think of Amos. Of your brother. You’re home now, he had said, a shadow of love in his eyes, Be glad for it. 

But home was ancient stone, crawling with moss. Home was the deep, muddy moat that you always threatened to push Benji into when he was getting on your nerves. Home was Black Aly’s voice, scolding you whenever your arms were still too weak to string a bow. 

Home was a dead weirwood tree and a boy with stormy eyes. 

But duty… 

That was something else entirely. 

Closing your hand around Benji’s, your chest fills with water as the last of the ice melts. Hard steel turns impossibly soft, your feet shuffling until your body is flush against his—still-entwined hands pinned between your chest, trapped between fabrics of gold and red. 

Benji leans down, his forehead pressing against yours. There’s nothing dangerous about him. Nothing unpredictable. 

You know him—from the crook in his nose to the scar above his lip. From the lull of his voice to the weight of his steps. His quick temper and his shy smiles. 

High above, the sky cries out. Thunder booms, lightning cracks. Misty rain turns to a violent downpour. 

And he leans in, oh-so carefully. A trembling breath against slick skin, chapped lips hovering over yours. 

“You can come home,” Benji whispers, repeating himself. You can’t think—can’t breathe, as he utters against your mouth, “Let me take you home.” 

And he kisses you. A tender, desperate kiss—the kind that drives your lips apart with the sheer force of it. He tugs his hand from yours, slips it out from between your bodies and brings it to rest on the back of your neck, tangling his fingers in damp, rain-soaked hair. 

Restraint is no more than a breath in the wind. Desire curls in your stomach. Your pulse pounds in your veins, rich with red red red. 

But then there’s your brother’s voice in your head: I don’t trust him. 

And you know what he meant was: You’re my sister—my blood, red or gold—and I’m worried about you. 

You pull away, breathless and broken, one half of your heart lying on either side of the boundary stones resting miles and miles from here. 

Lips still close enough to brush against yours, Benji pants. “Say yes.” The love in his eyes isn’t a shadow. It’s a bright, blinding light. A proud declaration and a howling plea. “Say you’ll come home.” 

You look down—to the sigil embroidered on your tunic, to the still-drying blood on your palm 

An estranged brother and a forbidden lover. 

And you. 

The bridge to a great chasm. 

The futile remedy to centuries of enmity. 

You take a step back—reaching inside of yourself, pulling shriveled vines up your throat, knowing that the words hammering in your chest will be anything but delicate. That they’ll taste of rot in your mouth. 

“I’m not sure I have a home, Benjicot.” Pain echoes across his face, each syllable a rusted dagger in his heart. Another step back, grabbing your bow from where it laid in the mud, abandoned what feels like a millennia ago. “Not anymore.” 

When you turn to leave, thunder crashing overhead and a sob caught in your throat, you go alone.

The heir to Raventree Hall doesn’t dare to follow. 

You walk in silence, your bow hanging at your side. Behind you, there are no snapping twigs and no low, careless whistling. There’s only rain and—

A branch creaks overhead, halting your steps. Your bow is drawn in a single breath, the cut on your palm stinging as you  slide an arrow from the quiver slung over your shoulder, readying to shoot. You look up, drops of rain splattering against your cheeks as you scan the trees. 

There. 

Perched on a wet, mossy limb was a pair of beady eyes staring down at you. A raven, letting out a low, curious croak. 

A single shot and you could go back to camp. 

A single shot, you tell yourself, and your blood might finally run gold. 

A breath—and then the bow string goes slack. 

You slip the arrow back into the quiver.

a/n - does any of this even make sense? idk, you tell me lmao. overall, just wanted to play around with capturing the confusion that might ensue for a reader who has no clue where their loyalties lie anymore, lost in who they are and who they think they're meant to be--anyways, hopefully the ending makes sense to you because it makes sense in my brain

anyways

benji tag list (so sorry if I missed you!) - @jacaerysgf @lenasvoid @valdezthg @xzydra11 @snixx2088 @lianna75 @kennafild @ghostinvenus @heystaystray @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @a-song-for-ages