Bloody Ben Blackwood - Tumblr Posts

seeing as benjicot blackwood is in the next hotd episode, i’d BETTER see alysanne at some point this season.. she’s literally ben’s advisor to the point where she’s basically his regent

BENJICOT BLACKWOOD MENTIONED!!!!!! WE ARE TWO STEPS CLOSER TO THE LADS

-Benjicot Blackwood x smallfolk!reader

{The Realm seems to have spiralled into disarray, Benjicot makes promises of protecting you}

Short and sweet because I can’t help myself, Enjoy my lovelies 💕

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The days seem much longer since the crowning of Aegon Targaryen, the Realm quickly swearing their fealty to whatever side could offer up the best deal or come across as the most threatening. Men were quick to take up swords, training all through the day and deep into the night.

Benjicot was not exempt from this, immediately following suit. Although it came naturally to him, a sword in his hand gave him a boost of confidence like you’ve never seen before and suddenly he was ready to take off into battle with an eagerness that would put anyone on edge.

It took up most of his time, unfortunately. The growing space between the pair of you was noticeable, you wouldn’t hold it against him, you couldn’t. Especially not when he visits you at the end of every day with a boyish grin and messy hair.

“Missed you today.” He breaks the silence, standing awkwardly at the doorway, watching you potter around the small kitchen.

Several moments pass and you still don’t even give him a glance, focused rather stubbornly on the task of scrubbing down the already pristine countertops. He makes a popping noise with his lips repeatedly, trying to gauge a reaction or at the very least your gaze.

With a groan he steps over to the dress you have been working tirelessly on, you have a talent for weaving threads and fabrics with your very hands, crafting the most beautiful dresses for the pretty ladies of the Vale for a rather pretty sum.

“Do not touch that with your filthy hands unless you wish to spend coin on new lace.” You tell him, turning around to meet his grin.

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop your lips from curling into a traitorous smile, the sight of him all dirtied and bloodied looked so out of place in the backdrop of pastel colours and the softest fabrics.

He puts his hands up in mock surrender, allowing you to tug him over to the wash basin with a chuckle that passes through his chapped lips.

His expression softens as he watches the way your gentle hands begin to wash the mud and blood from his own, so much more delicate than his, not sullied by violence and battle, no, they only knew needlework and he vows to keep it that way.

“I said I missed you today.” He repeats his earlier statement, tilting his head slightly towards yours to meet your eyes.

“I suppose I should be grateful then, Lord Blackwood.” The words leave a bad taste in your mouth, despite the fact that there was no malice behind them, but still, that doesn't stop the regret that immediately swells up inside your chest at the deflated look he gives you.

“I sense I’ve done something wrong, have I?…” he treads carefully, his eyes searching your expression as your hands carefully work to free them of muck.

You shake your head, drying off his hands as you stare down at them with a troubled look. “No… forgive me I have been rather on edge as of late.”

He hums in understanding at your words, glancing around the room, trying to think about the right thing to say, before finally looking back down at you. In truth, he has never been good at this, words, but for you, he’ll try.

“You got me and I’m better than anyone in battle, you’ve seen it yourself, I’ll protect you.” He states with so much confidence in his tone you can’t help but chuckle, it was true he became a wildly different person on the battlefield, a man possessed by the thrill.

You avert your eyes to the sword that stands, leaning up against the wall with your brows pinched together in worry. Benjicot’s hands immediately cup either side of your face with care, the feeling of his calloused hands keeps your mind from drifting off to every worst possible scenario.

“Hey, look at me.” He whispers, tipping your head up ever so gently. “If anything happens you’ll have refuge at Raventree.” He promises, his tone carrying a seriousness that he does not always have.

“You sound so sure they’ll just take me in…” You whisper, unsure if you’d be welcomed at all.

“I will demand it, and so will my Aunt, she loves you especially after you made her that riding jacket.” His words warm your heart, a soft smile gracing your lips at the memory of Alysanne, the gratefulness of her tone and the excitement in her eyes.

A warm smile spreads across your lips, his rough hands still cradling your face as if you were the most precious thing across Westeros, the pads of his thumbs caressing the space under your eye.

“Now, no more worrying, hmm?” He announces, pressing a kiss against your forehead with a smirk as you agree with a small whispered ‘Alright’

The pair of you soon find comfort in the warmth of your bed, listening to him ramble on vividly about his day, his hands moving all over the place to get his point across and for the time being everything seems to be peaceful.

-Benjicot Blackwood x Arryn!Reader

{Benjicot doesn’t mind getting his hands bloodied if it means protecting your honour}

word count- 1.7k

!CW!//vulgar language, descriptions of blood// Enjoy my lovelies💕

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The Vale was all harsh winds and rain since the sun had first begun to rise above the horizon, a thick layer of fog rolls through the high mountains and over the hills creating a rather eerie atmosphere around the courtyard of Raventree hall.

You sit on the balcony that overlooks the training grounds with your sister, Jeyne Arryn, protected from the light rain by the stoney overhang. You both had been asked to unite your houses for a few days in hopes of getting the men more accustomed to the sword and shield a little faster.

It had been going great in all honesty, they seemed to have lifted each other spirits despite the pressure of the looming war.

“Is your friend down there?” Jeyne smirks, looking over at you with a playful gleam in her eyes.

She takes joy in the way your eyes widen ever so slightly, how you move away from the edge to slouch back into your chair. “No, not yet.” You mumble, crossing your arms over your chest in a harrumph.

You roll your eyes at Jeyne and the sound of her chuckles, smiling into her cup whilst she continues to tease you. Her jabs are soon cut off by the sound of men cheering and metal clanging together in excitement.

You immediately lean back over the stone railing of the balcony, looking down at the group of men searching for…

Benjicot. He had made quite a name for himself over the past few moons, his way with a sword was… wild to put it more kindly. He was a madman on the battlefield, charging in with absolutely no fear, the complete opposite of the shy boy you grew up with.

For a small second your gazes meet. He waves softly, sending you a sweet smile which you happily return before he’s dragged away to the training yard by his friends.

The sound of your sister’s giggling snaps you out of the moment, your face twisting into a small frown. “Do not start.” You huff, slouching back into the chair with a pout.

Your sister makes small conversation, keeping it light as you watch over the training. Benjicot found it hard to stay focused, his mind drifting over to the fact that you were watching him with your pretty eyes.

The pair of you shared plenty of fleeting moments together, lingering touches and sweet whispered words. You danced along the line of friends and something more but neither of you took the leap, too scared of ruining the deep friendship you have.

Benjicot sits on a tree stump, cleaning his sword with a rag as his eyes glance between the balcony where you sit and the men around the training yard. He was miles away, thinking about how he could see you tonight… perhaps a walk through the garden… or maybe sneaking you into the kitchens.

His mind soon gets away from him, all of his thoughts consumed by you… but then again when are they not?

The sound of two rowdy men snaps him out of his trance, his expression immediately darkening with his brows pinched together tightly. They sound drunk as they speak horrid nonsense about women, barely able to hold their swords let alone stand on two feet.

“I’d fuck her… bet her cunt is tight too, ey?” The taller one says, harshly nudging the other man's shoulder almost sending him tumbling to the floor.

Benjicots fingers tighten around the hilt of the sword, his knuckles going white with anger. He hopes for their sake that they’re not talking about you. “Mhm… bet shes a squealer.” The other man agrees, the pair of them chuckling.

The sound goes right through Ben, his blood running cold as he watches them cast their predatory gaze over to you as you lean curiously over the edge of the balcony.

The sword that he was cleaning drops to the floor with a dull thud. He acts way before he thinks, his body moving without hesitation and before he knows it he’s coiling back his arm, colliding his tight fist down against one of the taller drunkards face as the other scurries off.

A crimson colour stains his knuckles, the blood warm and wet in between his fingers. The adrenaline overshadows the pain that shoots down his arm, reducing it to a mere tingle that he’ll surely feel later on. He watches the fool drop to the damp, cold ground, writhing in pain whilst clutching his nose as it weeps a thick red.

Benjicot opens and closes his hand, trying to lessen the ache. “Perhaps next time you’ll hold your tongue.” He sneers before storming off with a mean glare that makes everyone step out of his way.

You had watched the whole scene unfold, worry immediately settling in the pit of your stomach, etching across your face. Your sister tells you to ‘stay put’ however her words fall upon deaf ears as you rush back inside, running down the halls and the twists and turns of the castle.

The Maesters chambers are where you find Benjicot. His aunt walks out of the room with a displeased expression, however, the candlelight gives away the amusement that flickers through her dark eyes.

She greets you with a warm smile, nodding her head. You return the action before slipping into the room, your gaze immediately finding his as he gives you a sheepish smile.

“Hey…” his words break through the silence, the crackle of the hearth taking over once more as you wordlessly walk deeper into the room.

His hand was submerged in a dark oak basin, the water inside had long turned murky with a minty almost medicinal aroma. You sit down on the chair adjacent to his own, brows pinched together in concern.

“Where’s the Maester?” You ask, looking at him with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Gone to get some sort of balm… I don’t need it.” His words make you tut, shaking your head as you watch him pull his hand out of the water. He seethes a little in pain, teeth clenched.

You reach over for a cloth, drying off his hand but whilst being careful to not cause him any more discomfort, he was already shifting and squirming in his chair.

“What even happened?” You sigh, holding his injured hand against your lap. Your thumb ever so gently caresses his palm in such a way that it makes his mind spin and his heart skip a beat.

He swallows, clearing his throat. “They— they were making… distasteful… comments towards you. I won’t repeat them.” He tells you, shaking his head firmly.

“How silly… look at your hands over some words.” You scold lightly, although there was no real bite to your soft tone. You couldn’t be, in fact, the thought of him defending you like this sends a pleasant warmth blooming through your chest. Although you wouldn’t tell him that, for his own sake.

“I’m fine, I have no regrets. They deserved it.” He states, watching the way you bring his knuckles into the candlelight to assess the damage.

They were red raw, the skin split open at the tips of each knuckle save for his thumb. A purplish colour tints the delicate skin, the shade darker around the cuts then fading off into a more dull colour. It certainly was not fine.

“You should be more careful.” Your words are hushed, whispered into the air, so soft that if he weren’t sitting so close to you he probably wouldn’t hear you. His eyes meet your own once more, admiring the way the candles cast an orangey light across your pretty features.

His fingers itch to reach out and tuck a loose curl behind your ear, to graze the back of his fingers along to warm cheek. But he refrains, even the mere thought has his stomach swarming with nervous butterflies.

You take another thin sheet of cloth, edges ragged with loose threads and the fabric an off-white colour. He looks at you with a quizzical expression, watching you dip one end of the cloth into the basin.

Before he can ask any questions you’re already leaning closer to him, knees bumping together. Your hand reaches out to ever so gently cup his jaw, fingers curling against his cheek to hold his head still whilst you wipe away a small mud stain just under his eye.

“Thank you…” he says, breath hitching in his throat at the way your thumb brushes along his warm cheek.

“No, I should be thanking you, really.” Your words make him smile, his eyes softening. “Thank you,” You add, your eyes searching his own.

He doesn’t speak, he can’t, not with you so close to him. He fears that he might have ruined the moment when silence wraps around the room. He suddenly doesn’t know what to do with himself or if he should move the hand that rests upon your lap.

He lets out a small noise in the back of his throat, trying to will the words from his lips but none come and it only serves to cause his mind to spiral, cursing himself and his inability to speak.

The feeling of your lips against his cheek brings him back, his worries and fears ebbing away until the only thing that was on his mind is your flowery perfume and the softness of the kiss. He finally lets out a breath. His hand rests against your knee as you pull back, a pang of disappointment hitting his chest.

“You don’t need to thank me… I’d never let anyone slander your name, but either way, you are welcome.” He finally manages to speak, the words tumbling out of his lips rather ungracefully.

You entwine your fingers with his own, minding his roughened knuckles, holding his hand ever so gently with your own. His thumb caressing the inside of your wrist, the calluses feel strangely nice.

“Perhaps afterwards we could walk through the gardens?” The suggestion makes his heart skip a beat, the image was already vivid in his mind, walking arm in arm with you.

“Of course, if it would please you, my lady.” He replies, hoping the words sound more graceful than before.

You hum in agreement, nodding your head. Your warm hands still in his own, the kiss lingering on his cheek, your knees pressing against either side of his own and your honeyed gaze still upon him… he realises he’s completely doomed, you hold his heart in the palm of his hand.

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