#kieran smut | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rose-tinted-kalopsia · 2 months

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≡;-꒰ 𝐊𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐍 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝑫𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝑳𝒆𝒕 𝑴𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒀𝒐𝒖

╰┈➤ ❝ kieran x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : pwp (with plot), (but like. there’s a lot of smut), angst, yearning, friends with benefits, forbidden love, secret love, hints of betrayal, teasing, heavy petting, clit play, oral (f. rec), fingering, handjob, dirty talk, praise, closet sex, vaginal sex (unprotected), creampie, multiple orgasms and slight overstimulation, mentions of masturbation (f), use of pet names “miss hunter” “pretty” “angel". lmk if i missed any tags! ((unedited!))

wc : 7.7k (. whoops)

an : "whoah roxie’s using 'angel' for someone other than xavier?!" LISTEN. IF IT FITS IT SITS!! also this one's kieran-centered because i found his character fun to pick apart for the concept, and if you want to get a stronger feel of that, i'd say read up the english lyrics to DLMLU <3

taglist : @darlingdummycassandra @milkandstarlight @thoupenguinman @valvinny @rafayelsheart @hunters-association (SIGN UP HERE)

AO3 LINK 🔗

It wasn’t supposed to end up like this. None of it was. But how far can the chains of loyalty and devotion really take someone… before they finally break?

This was not in the plan.

Your breath stuttered, hands gripping the silken sheets below you.

Sylus would be back soon.

Your body jolted at the touch of his fingers over the plush of your thigh—

The two of you were not supposed to be doing this.

Your heartbeat quickened at the thought, a whine falling from your lips, yet the head between your legs remained unhurried in his ministrations. His hands pressed down against your hips to keep you from moving, insistent on taking his time, allowing his mouth to place wet, open-mouthed kisses around the clothing still covering your clit. The contact was there, but it was barely enough.

You squirmed in his grasp.

"Kieran...!"

His only response was a low chuckle, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. You could really only let out another whimper; what else could you do? So easily would he have you at his mercy, his touch and his attention having become something that you craved.

"Kieran, please..." You tried, with no avail, to buck your hips up into him. His grip on you was stronger than you'd anticipated—unrelenting in the pressure, and enough for him to let out a scoff.

"Hey, easy, pretty," he mumbled. You could hear in his voice the mocking roll of his eyes. "As nice as it is hearing you beg... You really need to stay still."

Merciless, for certain.

You didn't know what else you should have expected from him.

Your fingers tightened their grip on the sheets as his tongue poked out against the crotch of your panties, leaving short, kitten licks that only made the damp spot on the fabric grow larger—

And you wished you could see him.

His mask, placed slanted over his head, covered enough to keep you in the dark. You could see tufts of his hair peeking out from behind it... but you couldn't see his eyes. He would never let you see them. Not like this. Not when it was never supposed to be like this.

The limit imposed was always a reminder of that.

"Kieran..." you reached over to lay a hand atop of his, the only workaround you could find. And you felt his movements pause at the contact. By now, your underwear was thoroughly soaked through, the fabric clinging to your folds enough to outline the shape of your cunt. "Kieran, why won't you just take it off...!"

You felt him smile.

He didn't answer; it wasn't as if you particularly expected him to. Instead, he settled for pressing his tongue flat against your entrance, slowly licking up a long stripe that lingered over your clit, parting your folds more obviously for him—and he did it again.

The thin fabric dipped slightly into your hole, only barely serving as any more of a barrier from the friction and heat of his tongue. Your hips struggled against his hold, thighs trembling over his shoulders—"W-wha—anh—! Kieran—!"

You felt his nails dig slightly into your skin almost as a warning, and the slight sting of pain had your moan clamping down into a sharp hiss.

"Why, huh?" he mumbled against you, and you could hear the laugh in his voice. He brought his teeth over to graze over your clit, the sensation making you shiver and gasp. "Mmm... 'Cause I like it this way."

He spoke as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. As if you'd been stupid for asking such a question, as if he were reiterating the power he had over your body in this moment... Because he did. You could only submit to his ministrations as he took your clit lightly between his lips, only to let it go and do it again.

And again.

And then the slow movements became quicker, gliding his tongue up and down the sticky mess seeping through your panties, lapping at your slit as if to coax out more.

You could barely take it.

Your head threw back as his name fell from your lips in a litany—a breathless chant of "Kieran, Kieran, Kieran!" that had him grinning against you. You could feel it, the sheer delight with which his tongue moved against you. And despite his own words, it didn't take long before he finally pushed your panties to the side, savoring the trail of slick that connected the fabric back to you, and reveling in the sight of your wetness.

You panted desperately at the exposure—waiting; anticipating. Though you couldn't see him, you were nearly certain of the way he would lick his lips in approval of you.

And then—

"Shi—shit!" You cried out when he finally, finally buried himself into you, the direct contact of his tongue against your walls making your head spin.

"Mmmm. S'good."

It was a muffled moan you could barely register, but the vibrations against you had your body jolting. And as if to grant you a moment of reprieve, his hands slid down from your hips to push your thighs further apart.

"Ki- Kier—iera—n—! Kieran—!" Broken moans of his name left your lips in desperate cries, finally able to arch your back into him, lifting your hips to grind against his mouth.

"Mhm? 'Most there, hm?"

Your eyes glazed over as your mouth fell open, feeling him knead at your thighs in encouragement. He didn't stop. His tongue kept working you, dipping into your hole to have lewd, sticky noises resound in the bedroom.

"Close... close, Kieran, m'gonna...!"

You could hear a proud grin from him, as he pulled away from you and whispered a low command:"Yeah, cum for me, angel."

It was enough.

Your head fell back, a wave of pleasure tearing through your body as your thighs tensed around him. His hand moved to rub gentle circles over your clit to ease you through your orgasm, whispering soothing phrases into the plush of your thigh.

Your chest heaved, eyes drawing up to the ceiling in an attempt to ground yourself.

"Holy shit," you breathed. And it was all the words you could really bring yourself to say.

Your vision felt too hazy to process. You didn't look as Kieran got up to adjust himself, leaving your side momentarily before running a damp cloth through your folds to clean you up. He was always nice enough, gentle enough, to be thorough with your aftercare. The faint sensation of your undergarments being changed didn't feel unfamiliar to you anymore. Not with him. It was enough for you to get your breathing evened out again, and only when you felt the mattress shift beside you did you turn—

A warm hand was placed over your eyes.

Soft, almost coaxing.

And you knew the voice that spoke.

"Don't look yet," he mumbled.

It was a softer tone than he had used with you earlier. It was a softer tone than what he would use with you, in general. A hint of desperation, a masked sort of regret laced into it...

But almost barely there.

In truth, you couldn't have known if you were deluding yourself into it or not. As much as you were inclined to believe that there was more behind the way he said those words, more behind the gentle kiss that was placed upon your lips—you knew that it was likely not the case.

It couldn't be the case.

In the same way all of this was never supposed to happen in the first place.

"Just let me stay here for a second..."

He sighed against you, trailing fluttering kisses over your jaw, placing another against your lips. There was a silence, only the rise and fall of your chests moving nearly in sync, the faint ticking of the clock on the wall a reminder of the time that ran forward. Because no matter how time seemed to slow down for you in his arms like this, you knew that reality would prove otherwise.

A fickle illusion, just as all of this had become.

He pulled back.

You knew, and he knew, more than anyone, that the leisure of time was not available to you. And once the hand uncovered your eyes and you adjusted to the light, his mask was back on, his fingers reaching to pull his hood back over his head.

He looked at you.

You could have been imagining things, but you could have sworn that he was smiling. You'd seen his face before. All things considered, you could picture the way he looked at you—no more than a figment of your imagination seeing how adamant he was never to show himself to you like this, but it was the only solace that you had.

"Boss's back," he tilted his head, "got a message from Luke, soooo... M'gonna go. He might want something."

You sat up quietly, drawing your knees up to your chest. You couldn't help but pout.

"Kieran..."

He shook his head.

It was enough for you to swallow your words.

The empty feeling in your chest continued to thrum—unspoken words solidified the limit he'd insistently put between you. It always ended this way. You'd be fool to think otherwise.

So instead of speaking, instead of saying unnecessary things that you didn't have to put out there, your eyes fell towards his hand as he reached over to give yours one last squeeze.

"Seeya later, Miss Hunter."

—❀

Kieran was cruel.

You were never sure what the nature of your relationship truly was, never sure of the feelings that swelled in your chest everytime he so much as looked your way. You couldn't even recall how things turned out like this at all, only that a single moment alone with him had thrown you into this spiral that you couldn't get out of.

... But he was so nice to you.

His presence had become a comfort—as much of it as you could find in this god-forsaken place they'd made a home of. The N109 zone wasn't your favorite place; it was far from that. And yet, everytime you found find yourself going back, you owed as much to the twins to have yourself stay.

You owed it to him.

And it hadn't always been that way.

You always thought that if there would be one of them you'd grow more attached to, it would be Luke—Luke was always much sweeter with his words. He was quick to notice any discomfort, quick to offer words of reassurance that—on the surface—could easily have been dismissed, but they meant something to you. It was easy to relax around him. You knew that regardless of the situation that you found yourself in now, Luke had already become a friend that you treasured.

But Kieran was different.

Kieran was more... quiet, more subtle.

Equally as infuriating at his brother when they'd put their heads together just to get on your nerves, but—calmer. More bearable, in a sense.

And even if his words tended to be harsher in comparison, he was gentler in the way that he treated you. Especially when Sylus was absent. Because he did tend to speak less than his brother, seemingly content to let him do most of the talking, but his actions spoke volumes. He would help you with things—offers he would follow through with. The whole debacle with the brooch was an entirely different matter considering their intentions, but it the first that you'd felt a little appreciated on his part nonetheless.

Now, you knew, that whether it was as silly as getting things off of the shelf for you, or as bold as helping you sneak into Sylus' bedroom to borrow Mephisto for the day, he could help you. Because he would do things—rather than say things. And silence from him became less daunting; more welcomed, when you realized that he acted outside of it.

He'd swing the windows open whenever possible—because he knew that you hated feeling trapped in their base, despite multiple words of reassurance from Luke that you weren't.

He'd throw an orange at your head so you didn't have to peel one yourself—he'd seen you struggle once, taunted you to take the matter to the chef, but never seemed to offer you an unpeeled one ever since.

And he was quick to draw the lines where they needed to be drawn. Keen to notice when his brother had crossed it, bold enough to chastise him for it and offer you a moment of solace.

Most of all... the calmer tone in his voice, harshness aside, made it easy to fall under his spell.

Because that was what you would call it.

A spell.

He could get you to fall into his arms with such ease, but you were never quite sure if he would be there to catch you. It was always just enough to keep you guessing, always just enough to hold you close... Yet he would simultaneously keep you at a distance that nearly had you questioning if any of his behavior ever meant anything.

As if he were toying with you.

Your mind flitted back to the first time you'd gotten intimate, and it was he who had breached that boundary first, yet also he who'd kept the offer just out of your reach.

It was torturous. He was cruel.

Yet you had scarcely the courage to ask him about it.

—❀

"Arguably, it's a lot quieter around here without Luke around."

It was a rare occasion to see the twins separated, but that night seemed to be as such. You recognized the figure in front of you with ease.

"Where's your brother?"

The first question you asked had him letting out a laugh, absentmindedly tossing a coin into the air and catching it back into his palm. He didn't get up from his seat on the couch, but he turned to you. The earring on his hood made a soft tinkling noise as he did so.

"Out on an errand. You know. Boss's orders..."

You noticed him regard you for a moment, a contemplative silence you'd become familiar with from him, before he stood up.

It had been your instinct to immediately take a step back.

But that didn't phase him.

It never truly did.

He was a little less difficult to shake up than his brother, especially when he was alone. Unfortunately for you, as you watched him close the distance between the two of you a little bit more— this was such a case.

"The boss told me to watch over you, you know. You're here to see him, right? So... I guess you could say I've been expecting you."

It was your turn to look him over, folding your arms over your chest, and whether because of their influence—just as much as Sylus'—or not, you were pushed, a little bit, to be bolder. So with a smile, you decided to play coy."Kieran, are you trying to intimidate me? Is that something Sylus would approve of?"

It gave you an inkling of satisfaction to have him pause in thought, because there was one thing you'd noticed about him—

He was obedient.

Careful.

Dare you say it; a lot more calculating than whatever impulsive decisions Luke was more prone to making.

"Hmm... No, maybe you're right."

He replied smoothly, but it seemed almost too easy. A pause ensued. Neither of you moved. It was a while before you realized that he wasn't quite... finished.

"Boss isn't here, though."

These were words you didn't think you'd ever hear from his own mouth.

"Huh? Yeah, but... You..."

You could have sworn he was grinning under that mask of his, and the sharp laugh that fell from his lips was as close to seeing it as you could get. You were almost certain you were in for something—until you weren't. He plopped back onto the couch with ease, and you let out a sigh of relief. You would gladly grab the slightest bit of mercy he would show you.

"Wasn't trying to intimidate you, Miss Hunter," he waved it away. "Anyway, like I said. The boss isn't back yet. So... Whatever business you have with him's gotta wait."

"...Yeah." Your shoulders relaxed. Kieran would rarely ever do anything against Sylus' orders. This wasn't one of those times. "Right. Of course. I'll just, uh... I wanted to look through the books..."

You cleared your throat, and your gaze moved from the figure in front of you to the shelves that lined one side of the room. You, yourself, let out a contemplating hum.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Kieran lift his head again.

It couldn't hurt to ask.

"Kieran, could you—"

"Nope."

His answer made you blink.

When you turned to him, he had stopped fussing with the coin.

"You ask me every other week or so. Come on. You can learn to do it yourself too, right?"

"...But you're right here."

"I'm sitting."

"You could—"

He shook his head, turning towards the shelves and away from you. It worked well to cut you off, and you had concluded to abandon your hope of convincing him—it was much more difficult with Kieran.

But he added,"Which one this time?"

Your eyes lit up, and you walked over to one of the shelves, pointedly raising a hand. "That one up there! Feel like I haven't seen that anywhere in Linkon. You guys sure have a lot of—"

Your eyes widened.

His hands slotted themselves easily on your waist, but you had barely a second to process the heat of his body so close to you before he hoisted you in the air.

Your breath hitched. This was a first. You didn't know Kieran to be the touchy one—that was Luke. Yet his grip on your waist was firm, nearly reminiscent of the way Sylus would hold you, and for a moment you couldn't quite do anything but look back and stare at him.

He let out a scoff.

"Why're you looking at me? I said I wouldn't get it for you, but I didn't say I wouldn't help."

It took a while before you could turn away from him and back to the shelf, and you cleared your throat. "Um... A little to the left, then. I can't reach it from here."

"...Seriously?"

He grumbled a complaint, yet did as you said, anyway. You reached a little further to grab the book, and—

Perhaps, seeing you struggle still made him shift to bring you closer to it, but the movement caught you off-guard enough to wobble slightly in his hold. His grip adjusted to keep you steady, the pads of his fingertips riding slightly up under your shirt, brushing against your skin. "Whoah, there," he clicked his tongue. "Easy, pretty. I'm sure you can handle heights just fine, so relax. It's just a bookshelf."

The contact, combined with his casual use of a nickname you had never heard from him before, had you reeling. And though the book was then grasped safely in your hands, you couldn't help but be hyperaware of the thrumming heartbeat in your chest as he slowly let you down.

"There we go. Not so hard, huh?"

You nearly jumped at the proximity of his voice. The coolness of his mask pressed against your cheek slightly; he could have well been whispering in your ear, his thumb having moved to rub gentle circles into your skin.

This was unnecessary.

You knew that it was.

And yet, something about it made you want to lean into it a little bit more.

His voice was so nice to listen to. His touches were so... gentle.

"Hm? What's wrong, Miss Hunter?"

You could have sworn his voice dipped an octave lower when he spoke next, and subconsciously, you allowed yourself to fall back into his arms.

The quiet chuckle in your ears made your knees weak.

"You're getting worked up over this? Huh? Funny... You never act like this when Luke touches you."

Your eyes closed.

He was mocking you.

"This... It's just—Luke has never—Not even Sylus has—" You stumbled over your words, feeling your face heat up as one hand snaked over to your front to rest just below your navel.

"So what are you saying, Miss Hunter? Do you still want something of me? You have the book. I can let you go."

A choice.

He was giving you a choice.

You could feel him loosen his hold on you at the mere mention of Sylus, and you knew that he was aware he was treading on thin ice. Now, in this moment, the most logical option was clear to you. It was probably just as clear to him, too.

Yet—

Your words fell silent. Logic, as you knew it, didn't seem to be at the forefront of your mind.

"Why so quiet?"

His voice became a whisper, and his hand dipped lower. With the other, he tilted your head back at him, and you could have sworn that he was smirking.

"Kieran..." you mumbled. "What are we... What are we doing?"

"What do you want to be doing?"

"...That's..."

"I know what you want. But I'll let you go if you don't say it. On the other hand, if you do..."

Throw away all morality and compassion, and this place will become a paradise.

His words from before rung clear in your ears, and it was almost ironic to recall them in this moment. Quiet, obedient, dutiful Kieran... You should have known to expect that there was still a reason he stayed loyally at Sylus' side.

You closed your eyes.

"Touch me, please?"

Another low chuckle fell from his lips, and then he was quick—you were pressed up against the wall, palms flat against the concrete, the book in your hands falling to the floor with a little thud. His hands dipped underneath the waistband of your clothing—

"Don't. Turn. Around."

His voice was more commanding than you've ever heard it, clearer-sounding than usual, and once his lips suckled on the exposed skin of your neck, you shivered with the realization that he'd taken off his mask.

"Kieran..."

His hand cupped your mound, a finger slowly sliding up your slit to gather your wetness.

"Mmm... So wet, angel."

Your eyes squeezed shut at the nickname, almost feeling as if none of this was even real.

Yet it was.

Kieran had you caged aginst the wall, his fingers rubbing slow, frustrating circles over your clit. He would slide his hand down to dip into your hole before moving back up, teasing, teasing, never quite giving you what he knew you craved. But he did it so... Well. He had the power to allow you to feel every second of pleasure he'd bestow upon you, that despite the teasing, despite the restrictions, despite the clothing he hadn't bother to remove from you... It felt better than if you were doing it yourself.

"Five minutes, Miss Hunter," he whispered. You could feel one of his fingers prodding your entrance, and you sucked in a breath to hold. "So I'll make this quick, and you have to cum. Got it?"

You barely nodded before his finger slid in, your face flushing at the wet sound of his intrusion. So warm, and long, and slender—you felt yourself clench around him, and he grinned, the laugh against the shell of your ear raising goosebumps all over your skin.

"K-Kiera—"

Your moan choked back when he curled his finger, and you knew that you were long gone. Faster. Quicker. He'd added a second finger to add to the sensations, pumping them in and out at a pace that had your legs trembling.

"Easy, easy."

He mumbled soft praises of encouragement into your ears, almost a stark contrast to the mockery and harshness you'd been exposed to just moments ago. It made your head spin—soft pads pressed up against that spongey spot in your walls with each thrust, and it truly didn't take long for you to come undone.

You could have slid down the wall if Kieran wasn't quick to hold you up, pulling his hands out of your panties to let you catch your breath.

His phone buzzed.

For a moment, a tense silence surrounded both of you.

"...Well, they're back."

And that was it.

He sighed, leaning over to give you a soft kiss on the cheek, and then he let you go. He took a step back, leaving you to scramble for support against the wall. When you turned around again, Kieran was holding out your book—his mask was one again, and he pressed a finger to his lips.

"Shhh."

He leaned in slightly, and you could see in your head, just as well, the wink that he was giving you.

"Our little secret. Not a word about it to the boss."

—❀

It never felt as good without him after that.

Perhaps, he knew it too; perhaps, he felt it, too.

But even recalling that moment—recalling all the moments that followed soon after—often ended with your fingers between your legs, desperately trying to mimic those sensations, only to fall short.

So it was you, who would go to him often. You who would initiate, you who would ask—it was never the other way around. Kieran was adamant in acting nonchalant about it. There wasn't a single moment that his mask would slip, in contrast to how you could barely keep up with how he carried carry himself. Because although his attitude towards you hadn't changed in the slightest, it was still the little things that had caused the room you had for him in your heart to only expand.

It was more than just pleasure for you. It quickly became your excuse to spend time with him.

Despite a majority of your encounters being quick, sporadic—the times where you both would take your time pleasuring each other were different. Softer. They felt more real. From the way he would ensure your comfort, to the way he would always make sure to clean you up properly—you didn't know what to think.

Because once the moment was done, you would go back to normal.

Friends.

Acquaintances.

It didn't help that Kieran had rules for your arrangement: One, that you were never allowed to see his face; two, that neither of you would ever speak of it to anyone else; three, that you would be quiet if anyone else was home; four, that the line was drawn, he wouldn't be inside you.

And, five, that you wouldn't dare to fall in love.

Rules.

Limits.

He made it clear to the both of you—it wasn't supposed to happen like this.

"I'm not one to be playing with the boss's property like this." He admitted it to you one night, lying on your pillow. It was almost a silly thing to say; you wouldn't have considered yourself to belong to Sylus, not when your relationship had been anything but strictly business.

But to Kieran, it meant something else.

You knew enough about him to conclude as such.

Quiet, obedient, dutiful Kieran...

Between him and his brother, he was always the one you'd seen closer to Sylus. There was never a question about it; his work came first. His duty came first. Rare were the moments he would ever put his loyalty anywhere but first priority.

"...You know, Miss Hunter, boss is really fond of you."

It made sense to you, then.

He'd broken just as many rules to be doing this with you. And his own rules, the limits he'd set, the boundary he'd built for the both of you—they were for him, just as much as they were for you. The reason this had all become a game, the reason he would never approach you of his own will, the reason he would only wait for you to ask him another favor, the reason he would torture himself for it—

"Don't let me love you."

He's never said it out loud, but he might as well have.

For to the both of you, this was only an illusion.

Reality was cruel.

Just as he was.

Because in this picture, it didn't matter what you felt.

He would play with you to ruin you. And you would come back to him. He knew that.

He's never truly stopped you.

—❀

"Kie- Kiera—nnmmf—!"

One hand pressed against your mouth, the other busy between your legs. In the tight space surrounding you, though your own hand was wrapped loosely around his cock, you could barely bring yourself to move. Your head was thrown against the wall, eyes rolling back into your head with pleasure.

"Gotta— be— quiet—" He grunted as his hips thrust into your hand, voice low and raspy as he chased his own pleasure. His fingers were unrelenting, driving you closer and closer to the edge in the way he knew exactly how to, and the movements of his hips seemed to match that pace eagerly.

The confines of the closet did nothing to hinder the state you were in, long gone and putty under the control he had over you.

It was dangerous.

You could hear the faint voices of Luke and Sylus conversing on the other end of the room, and this was the riskiest that the two of you had ever done with this arrangement.

You'd expected Kieran to stop.

You'd expected him to usher you out of the room, or to keep his distance from you until it was safe, but he didn't.

Today seemed... different.

He rest his head on your shoulder, hot, panting breaths reverberating in his mask as he continued to rut into your hand.

His fingers curled, and the hand against your mouth tightened its hold—he knew the effect that he had on you. He always knew. Telltale signs of your knees giving out from beneath you, of your legs trembling... Your eyes prickes with tears as he continued to shove his fingers in and out of you, bringing you well past your high for the second time that day.

"Good. That's a good girl," he breathed. His fingers pulled out of you with a wet schlick, but the hand on your mouth didn't leave.

You shook your head, barely holding yourself upright—

"Move your hand, angel."

There was a certain desperation laced into his voice, hips stuttering against your hand. You barely had the energy to move, let alone the space. The closet was unforgiving.

And, yet...

"Please, Miss Hunter... Please..."

You had never heard him plead you like this before.

It was enough.

He struggled to keep his own grunts and moans in check as you gripped him tighter, pumping your hand up and down over his length. Now that you were focusing on it, you were able to feel every vein and ridge, the pad of your thumb gliding over his tip to spread down more of the precum that had been leaking. Hips undulating, the friction over his cock seemed to drive him insane—you felt his body weight fall against you, and the wall of the closet remained the only thing managing to hold both of you up.

There was something about this that gave you a rush of exhileration.

You heard footsteps, and the door, and silence, before—

A louder groan seemed to fall from his lips, and his hips stuttered, spilling over your hand. Thick, and warm, and sticky, your own breath fell out in pants as he pulled away from you and your eyes were drawn to the mess he'd just made.

"Kieran... We gotta—"

Your eyes widened.

He was quick to settle his clothing before promptly carrying you out, and you gasped.

"H-huh?! Hey, wait! Kie, we need to— the closet stil—mmf!"

"Later. Later. I'm not done with you. Just— shit. Just be quiet."

His hand was back on your mouth, barely minding the fact that your hand was gripping his clothing if only to steady yourself in his hold. You knew the steps he was taking, the carpet leading straight to your room. And suddenly, the plush of your bed felt welcome—

But this atmosphere was a lot thicker and heavier than you were used to.

You couldn't help but crawl backwards until your head had bumped against the headboard, watching as Kieran's figure loomed over you.

You could sense it.

He was fighting to keep himself under control.

He fisted your sheets,

"Shit. Fuck. It's so hot."

Annoyed. He was annoyed.

You could only stare like a deer caught up in headlights, unsure of this atmosphere, unsure of what move he would make next.

And you should have expected it.

Immediately his hand whent to your eyes as you felt him shift to throw his mask elsewhere in the room, and then his lips were on yours.

You had kissed, a few times, here and there—but never like this.

You would doubt it, sometimes. What else could have been there behind all his kisses, what else he could have meant when he took your lips into his so gently, so lovingly, so... unlike him, in a sense, that you wished he meant something more.

It was more obvious this time.

His lips crashed against yours with a need to, and he was anything but gentle. Anything but composed.

It almost didn't feel like him.

All tongue, and teeth, and desperate breaths of air—he would barely give you space to breathe before he was back on you, his other hand moving to hold your chin, deepening the kiss as much as he possibly could. He kissed you as if he couldn't get enough. He kissed you as if he'd been deprived of it, all his life, that this was the culmination of the past several months of this game that you would play with yourselves.

"Kier—"

You couldn't speak; he wouldn't let you.

Your chest tightened with the overwhelming outpour of his passion, your legs tangling together enough for you to feel him press against you.

You couldn't do this.

Not like this.

"Kieran!"

Every breath you'd take was only swallowed back into his lips, as if he wasn't really listening to you.

"Kiera— Kieran!"

You felt him shake his head, his hips beginning to grind against yours.

"Kieran... Kie—Take off— Get your han—"

He spoke, this time.

"Can't," he rasped. You could feel him panting against your lips, before he cupped your face and dived in once more. "Can't."

This was stupid.

You couldn't understand why he would put himself through so much, when he had obviously been keeping every little bit of his own feelings sealed behind whatever composure he carried himself.

"Don't let me love you."

You could hear it in the way he kissed you, the way he moved against you, the way je almost seemed to have lost any control he had in his body and his only thought was to consume you.

"Don't let me love you."

But it was too late.

You tugged at his hair, a feeble attempt at pushing him off of you—and when it didn't work, you bit on his lip.

He was off of you in an instant, sitting up in the sheer shock of it all, his hands leaving yours to rub on his lips.

A mistake, perhaps.

A rule broken, perhaps.

His eyes met yours, and immediately, you sucked in a breath.

For all the times that you had seen him and his brother without the mask, this was the first time you'd seen him like... This.

Flushed cheeks, lips swollen and parted, chest heaving for the air he'd so gladly relinquised earlier just to keep himself attached to you.

His eyes were wide.

Yet he couldn't seem to look away from you.

Slowly, you brought yourself back up on one of your elbows, your other hand reaching up to cup his cheek.

"Kieran..." you whispered, softly.

You didn't say anything else as he gulped, didn't say anything else as tears began to roll silently down his cheeks.

"Can't..." he let out a slow, shaky breath. "I can't... I can't... Can't—"

Your thumb moved to caress his cheek, wiping away his tears. With a gentle tug, you pulled him back down to you, and he didn't resist.

His eyes never left yours.

"Touch me," you mumbled. The tips of your noses touched, and you gently nuzzeled against him, allowing yourself to lie back down on the bed.

"Take me."

You watched as he sucked in a breath.

And there was no going back. There never was any going back. It had been this way from the start; neither of you had cared enough to stop the dance that you'd began.

There was no going back.

Now that you've seen each other, now that you could take in the way his eyes could look so forlorn in love, for you; how his pretty features could transform into a need so blatantly displayed on his face like this...

There was no going back.

Not a word was shared between you any longer. And when he leaned forward, his lips melting back against yours was no longer overwhelming. Messy, lazy kisses were placed across your mouth, his hand moving back to rest upon your cheek as yours did his.

Soft. Careful. Gentle.

The kisses from him that you were used to, but now, able to look into his eyes like this, had your heart swelling with an emotion you simply couldn't pinpoint. Your fingers moved to tangle in his hair. It brought him to a pause, leaving your lips, resting his forehead on yours.

And he whispered your name.

No pet names, no nicknames—

Your name.

Your name sounded so sweet on his lips, his voice cracking slightly with the intensity of which he would speak it.

And you smiled.

"Kieran."

It was slow, the way he leaned in next, the flutter of his eyelashes tickling your skin, before he pulled back.

Clothes discarded.

You wouldn't have known where in the room he had tossed them to, when it only mattered that you could feel him. Warm, and soft... Heavy, and... Safe.

Skin to skin.

Finally.

You inhaled deeply as he dipped his head down to your neck, lips attaching to a particularly sensitive spot that he'd memorized, before he sucked. It drew a hiss from your lips, but that didn't stop him—a trail of marks worked their way down from your neck to your collarbone, before he looked up again.

And his hips pressed against yours.

Your breath stuttered.

You could feel him pressing against your lower stomach, hard and warm, still a little sticky, and very well leaking wetness onto your skin. Just a little, little shift of movement—

Your eyes squeezed shut at the sensation. His cock dipped between your folds, sliding against you with a tentative buck of his hips.

"Ah... Shit..."

The words fell not from your mouth, but his.

Hazy proved your vision as you opened your eyes once more to look at him.

His jaw was clenched. You could sense an inkling of self control sill dwindling in the back of his mind, a voice telling him not to.

You reached over to hold his hand.

"Kieran..." you pleaded, and the groan that left his lips as you moved against him sent shivers down your spine.

Inside. You wanted him inside you.

And so many rules were being broken, your arrangement having shattered into pieces the moment you laid your eyes on him—

But you couldn't care less anymore.

You needed him.

"Kieran, please."

It was a flicker of doubt that you saw pass in his eyes that made you grasp his hand tighter.

"...Angel, I can't—we can't—"

You whimpered as he let go of your hand, only to press your hips down against the bed. You couldn't fight against it; his grip was stronger than yours. Yet the feeling of his cock was heavy over your cunt. It was too close. It was almost there.

Your hips struggled against him, and he could only groan—it didn't take long before it was he who started sliding against you, the friction having a mewl escape from your lips. You did everything in your power to get more of it—more of it. Your hips rolled with near pathetic desperation, and you could slowly feel him give in to your display of desire. His hand shifted, wrapping around his length, allowing himself to guide it through your folds—

"Shit... Fuck..."

His groans were like music to your ears.

You watched, panting, as his gaze moved downward—seemingly entranced at the way you were spread out for him, at the way you would force yourself to milk the friction of his tip against your slit... You could feel it nudge against your hole occasionally, but he wouldn't let it slip inside you. Instead, he would deliberately guide it through, slipping back up to your clit, bringing it down—the process repeated.

As much as you wanted to fuck yourself onto him, he wouldn't let you.

And you could barely take it.

"Kieran!" you cried out, still trying to lift your hips, trying to get more. "Please... please... Please, I'm so empty, just— Just a little, Kieran...!"

He hissed as he nudged once more over your hole—

And this time, he didn't pull back.

You felt your pleas swallowed back, nearly choking you, as he pushed inside of you just a bit.

His eyes moved up to yours, teeth gritted.

"This? Like this, Miss Hunter?"

The nickname falling from his lips this time felt so undeniably wrong. Yet hearing it did nothing to quell your lust—if only to tighten it.

And he knew.

Of course he knew.

You saw the corner of his lips curl up into a slight smirk, as he pulled back ever so slightly before thrusting back in—drooling cockhead breaching your walls, giving you the slightest stimulation, stretching you the slightest bit.

"You like that, huh?" He leaned forward to croon into your ear, the deep rumble of his voice so close to you sending a jolt through your body. "Like how that feels, Miss Hunter? Taking the tip of my cock like that? S'that what you wanted?"

And he continued like that. Only fucking the fat tip of his cock into you again and again, just barely giving you what you wanted. All while he would watch you. Intently. His eyes would never leave yours, searching, taking in every ounce of your reavtions, knowing full well that you could finally do the same to him...

And then he pressed in deeper.

It was slow; you'd barely noticed it.

But having been so used to just the tip of him inside you, the feeling of being filled a little bit more had you gasping.

"...I'm sorry," he groaned.

And that was it.

It was then that his eyes shut, and he fell forward against you. Your cunt throbbed at the way he would retreat, followed by each and every thrust forward sinking him just a little deeper inside of you. He would pull out, and try again—deeper.

Deeper.

A little bit more.

Almost there.

And no amount of self control, no amount of self-restraint could have held him back any longer.

A mix between a cry and a moan left your lips as he pressed himself fully inside you, cock pulsing deep within your walls, hips pressed against yours as you took him wholly, fully, right down to the hilt.

Your eyes were wide.

Your chest heaved with the need to steady yourself, and you saw the flicker of conflict pass in his own gaze again once they landed back on you.

Shakily, you reached a hand back up to cup his cheek.

Quiet, obedient, dutiful Kieran.

Every move nearly always calculated, always weighing the pros and cons, always the more... responsible one.

But was different, today.

Today, he was yours. And you were his.

You nodded, caressing his cheek.

And it happened in an instant.

Lips crashed back into yours, mirroring that same hunger from earlier, cock driving in and out of you with a force that nearly had the bed rocking He was no longer careful. He had everything, he had all of you, and he made it clear with the way he fucked into you that he wasn't about to let you go.

Your moans and cries were swallowed once more into his lips, but you didn't dare push him away. You allowed his hands to roam over your body, allowed his hips to snap into you. You didn't protest when he folded your legs back, allowing him to shove deeper, deeper, deeper into you, the sheer intensity of it all bringing tears to your eyes.

And when the kiss broke, he would pant against you, haphazardly wiping away at your tears, the sound of skin slapping against skin an echo in the room that mixed with your cries of pleasure.

He said it, then.

"I love you."

A shaky whisper.

He wouldn't stop his thrusts, wouldn't look away from you.

"I love you. Shit—I love you."

There was nothing he could do to stop it, then. Tears streamed down your face at the confession you'd waited so, so long to hear from him, a twisting in your heart accompanied that told you this was real.

You broke out into a sob, even as he leaned down to kiss it away, cries choked back into your throat as your arms qrapped around him tightly.

"I love you," you whimpered.

You felt him still inside you, groaning into your ear as his warmth filled you up.

"Kieran... Kieran... I love you."

He fell against you, your legs wrapping around his waist as his weight pressed you into the mattress. Your eyes closed, and you placed light kisses into his hair.

"Don't hide from me," you murmured. "Not anymore."

And it wasn't supposed to be like this.

It wasn't as easy as just being like this.

You knew it.

He knew it.

You had always wondered how far the chains of loyalty and devotion could really take someone...

But now, with him so close to you, you figured it couldn't matter so much anymore.

"Kieran?" you coaxed him up to look at you, reveling in the sight of his dazed eyes struggling to focus on yours.

You smiled, placing a kiss on the tip of his nose.

"Know that I choose you. And I always will."

⁺₊ / an: first of all this is funny to post bc ive had dms with @star-anons-blog over the fic she posted, and you won't believe that neither of us had any idea of what we were writing 😆 but we ABSOLUTELY synced bc by then i was halfway through this, and her fic is like, the luke pov of a similar situation/vibe so IF YOU HAVEN'T READ IT YET, ABSOLUTELY PLEASE DO, IT'S LITERAL PERFECTION. <3

also let me ramble a bit cause. the basis for this fic? it’s so interesting to me that a lot of the side characters are so closely attached to the main leads in themes of loyalty. i.e. xavier-jeremiah as captain/vice captain; rafayel-thomas as artist/manager; zayne-greyson as mentor/apprentice; and now sylus and the twins as boss/right-hand men. and it’s like, different themes of loyalty, too, but you know that none of them are willing to go against the respective mains. it makes you wonder… how far can you push that? what if they fall in love with mc, too? to what bounds of loyalty will they restrain themselves? and it’s so damn fun to think about and dissect, and i feel kieran's character, as separate from his brother, made him the perfect guinea pig for this <3

(but! i promise luke (and, yk, both of them) will get his (their) turn eventually!!)

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

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skyrigel · 3 months

Text

“Sweet nothing”

Pairing: Benjicot “davos” blackwood x fem!reader

Benji masterlist

Between war, blood and chaos, your husband founds himself running home to your sweet nothing.

Nsfw, Benji being a tease but absolutely feral for you, bath chamber hinted sex, kissing and biting, nudtidy, groping, consent is sexy, domesticated!ben, fancast! Benji.

“ Darling, did you miss me ? ” You opened your eyes to find your lord husband strolling in your bath chambers.

All the servants were walking out with their head bowed down and knowing closed smiles, Benji grinned when he caught your eye, before he trailed his gaze down at your naked body, drinking you in with a smug tug of his lips, rubbing his jaw.

“ I missed you.” you breathed, feeling your heart ache to touch him, to hold him, to breathe him in.

You were beginning to get out of water when Ben shaked his head, mouthing a 'love' before stripping off his clothes, one by one.

He was being torturous with the pace, he knew well how driven you were, your mouth agape as you saw him, so so long. He tossed his tunic, because teasing you was one of his greatest amusement, but then again, he was dying to be in your embrace and let everything mute in the background, and regardless to say how pretty you looked, like those sirens they talked about, luring him and he would, he would crawl and beg and plead and surrender, for you he was insane.

“ My lord.” you whispered, giving him that, ‘I'll never sleep with you again’ look and it only took a moment before he was stepping down in the bath, beaming.

His naked body disappearing in the mist of water, you followed his movements, his smile climbing to a grin as he reached you, taking your hand and pressing it to his chest. Beneath your palm his heart was beating for you, loud and rhythmic.

“ You have no idea how much I missed you.” you pressed a soft kiss on his chest, just near a bluish bruised wound. You hoped they were all dead, all of them who hurt him.

“ you can always give me a idea, don't you think my lady.” He pouted, sensing your worry as he lifted you chin with his finger tip, eyes sparkling with mischief, you pushed forward your hands to cup his face, needless to say about him. He was everywhere, cupping your ass cheeks to kneading your breast, pulling your waist as he placed sweet kisses all over, like a starved man and he was, a very starved man for your love, your affection, your body and all of your sweet nothings.

“ I missed this.” he bited at the crook your neck, you arched back, allowing more access.

“ And ? ” you asked because Benji liked that, liked knowing everything that swirled in your mind, to know what you thought about everything and nothing.

You couldn't see him as he was sliding down your body, open mouthed kisses all over your skin while you tugged at his soft hair, but you knew how stupidly he would have smiled.

“ And this.” he bumped his nose to your navel, looking up to meet your gaze.

“ Tell me more.” you whined, dropping your head back, Benji wrapped your legs around his waist, taking you out of the water as he laid you on the floor, climbing over you.

“ More ? ” He smiled, leaning to kiss your nose tip, then claiming your in hard embrace and clatter of souls, his lips soft and warm and sweet.

You were flushed under him, you didn't dare look between him and you because the hard length that pressed against your thigh was enough proof of how madly you drived him crazy.

Benji watched as your breath hiccuped in your throat, watching your heart swell and eyes dazed with lust, like blown back.

“say it my sweet love.” He was propped on his elbows on either side of your head, his own voice shaky, he wanted nothing less to dive inside you, take you all and leave nothing, to devour and to worship you. But he needed you to say it first. “c'mon sweetheart” He nuzzled his nose at the side of your neck, breathing in your scent, humming along.

“ yes...Ben.” you bited your lower lip as his shaft was leaking with pre cum, weakening your legs and the pressure in your pit grew, dazing your senses.

“ huh.” Ben perked up, relaxing in a smirk, pecking down your jaw as he raised one eyebrow, like he didn't listen. Bastard.

“ T-take me.” you demanded and pleaded and that was all he needed to hear, before his lips parted in a gasp, He's bloody going to moan every sweet nothing out of you. Oh, how sweet.

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loveanddeepthroat · 29 days

Text

Trouble

Pairing - Sylus x f!MC

Summary - As it turned out, lavish events in the N109 Zone were not quite your thing, and this one did nothing but prove it. You weren’t looking for trouble, but it often had a way of finding you.

Word Count - 6.4k

Warning - MDNI. 18+. Oral sex f!receiving. Fingering. Light bondage. Mention of murder.

You were in trouble.

Not that it was immediately bothering you. You were having a good time—it wasn’t your fault that the rest of your companions were quite clearly not.

And besides, it wasn’t as if you were breaking any rules. Sylus had simply advised that you remain where he and the twins could see you upon your arrival at the lavish event, and that’s exactly what you were doing.

Whilst you watched a delectable cocktail being made for you at the bar as per a stranger's request, the three sets of eyes in various places around the room burned holes in your head as they watched you and the nameless man like a hawk. You only threw a few glances at each of them, catching Luke waving the tips of his fingers against his neck in a warning to get away from the guy.

You did no such thing, however. Listening to people kissing Sylus’s ass to stay out of his warpath had quickly bored you half to death, and some stimulation was very necessary for your withering attention span. You didn’t think much of the man who had approached you at the bar. He was dressed up like every other guy in the room, but he held a familiar air of dominance around him. Just as a certain silver haired man fuming a dozen metres away did.

The man ordered you what he deemed as being the best cocktail you would ever drink, along with an identical one for himself. One sip had led to another, your glass completely drained in a matter of a few seconds. He had another one raring to go before your glass landed back on the mahogany bar.

“Didn’t I tell you? The perfect cocktail.” The slight grin he shot you revealed two golden teeth that replaced his natural canines. You imagined the man would be quite intimidating to look at for most, but you took down Wanderers for a living. He’d need to do a lot more than flash his expensive gold fangs at you to make you feel threatened.

Not that you were getting that impression from him in the first place. He actually seemed rather pleasant.

“It’s delicious,” you agreed, already starting on the second.

He perched himself on the stool beside you, taking a sip of his own as he studied you for a moment. “You came with Sylus, huh?”

You nod, not seeing any harm in answering truthfully. “Is it obvious?”

The man chuckled. “His eyes are like lasers through my skull,” he crooned. He turned his head to wiggle his fingers in greeting to your companion. You didn’t dare turn to look in the same direction. “So, what are you doing on your little lonesome, darling?”

A shiver ran up your spine at the pet name. It was almost as if Sylus had caused it as a warning to you. You could feel his patience thinning by the second.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you responded, starting to feel a bit like a worm in the sights of a crow.

Although you weren’t entirely sure which of the two men were making you feel so much pressure all of a sudden.

A blaringly obvious hand shot in the air a little distance behind the silver-eyed man beside you, catching your attention. Kieran had attracted more than just your attention as he threw his thumb back over his shoulder, eagerly coaxing you away from the man.

It was time to wrap things up.

You finally took the hint and slipped off of the barstool and onto your stilettos, your movement mirrored by the man before you. A large hand landed upon your shoulder, causing you to freeze up. At first, you thought it was his hand clamped there, but the sheer size and strength as it gave you a small squeeze was immediately recognisable.

Sylus.

Putting your face in one of the large fireplaces in the room sounded more appealing than looking up at him at that moment, so you kept your gaze on the sly smirk now spreading across the shorter male’s face.

“Sylus. It’s about time our paths crossed tonight,” he crooned. Gone was the admittedly quite charming face you had been accompanied by, replaced with one that could be compared to that of a viper.

This man was not someone you should have engaged with.

Sylus’s firm grip remained on your tensed shoulder, anchoring you to him. His voice was cool and indifferent, like he was already bored by the idea of conversing with the individual.

“If you fancied my attention, Frank, all you had to do was say,” he drawled.

Frank cocked his head to the side, his silver eyes dropping to your chest. You suddenly felt a little overexposed in the plunged neckline of your fitted black dress.

“I was just on my way to you when I stumbled upon a lonely little stray,” Frank purred, his cold, lingering gaze finally flickering back up to your face.

Hiding the disgust in your expression was difficult, but you had a feeling it would be wise to at least try. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the twins standing together, watching the situation unfold. They were always ready to get involved if required.

Sylus chuckled, not one iota of humour in it. “I didn’t take you for the type of man to take pity on a stray kitten,” he said flatly. “Especially one with its collar on.”

He slipped a long finger into the chain of your ruby encrusted choker, giving it the smallest of tugs. You didn’t hate it, and honestly, you felt it more in the pit of your stomach than you did in your neck. Now didn’t seem like the time to think on that, mind.

The backs of his fingers smoothed over your racing pulse as he pulled the digit back out of the small space in your tight neckpiece. You shivered quite noticeably, the sensation awakening the pulse between your thighs.

“As you can see, this one is already taken care of.”

You didn’t miss the flare of hostility in Frank’s silver eyes as he followed every movement of Sylus’s hand—even as it moved to hang from his trouser pocket with his thumb tucked inside.

“Maybe you should keep her on a shorter leash. Anyone could have gotten their hands on her,” Frank said tightly. It sounded awfully identical to a threat. “This is hardly the room full of people you would want to lose such a precious little thing in.”

Sylus didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed your arms and moved you to the side, away from Frank’s cold glare. Before you could even react, two strong arms either side of you hooked your arms with their elbows.

Luke and Kieran practically dragged you away, your feet struggling to keep up. As soon as you were released from their bone crushing clamps for inner elbows, you turned back to the interaction you were just kidnapped from.

Only to find the space completely empty.

“Okay, either you’re blind or really, really stupid,” Luke scolded.

You frowned back at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Excuse me?”

“No, we won’t excuse you,” he snapped. “We’ve spent the last ten minutes thinking up different ways to dispose of your body after Frank was done with you.”

“Honestly, woman. Do we have to take you over the basic commands, again? I looked like a tool flapping my arms at you!” Kieran chimed in, looking like he was telling off a toddler.

Unsure whether it was the alcohol or their incessant rambling, you were starting to feel quite overwhelmed. You weren’t sure what they had seen differently while you were sitting with Frank, but you knew that the man had to have had a sinister intention for occupying you.

“Wait, wait,” you cut them off as Luke started to scold you again. “Shouldn’t we go find them?”

They both stared at you for a moment before bursting into obnoxious laughter. You weren’t sure what the joke was, but you were confident you wouldn’t find it funny even if you did.

If Sylus had gone off alone with the unfriendly man, then surely he would need the three of you there, too.

“You’re lucky you still have a tongue in your mouth to be able to make dumbass suggestions like that,” Luke sneered, still shaking from his chuckles.

You clenched your fists at your sides, irritated by their insults. How were you supposed to know that Golden Teeth was an enemy? You weren’t exactly well versed in the good and the bad when it came to attending events in the N109 Zone.

If they were that concerned, they could have remained beside you.

Each minute that passed without a visual on Sylus felt like an eternity, but in reality, only three minuscule minutes went by before he emerged from a door beside the bar.

His facial expression gave away absolutely nothing, but the red split in his lip did. You swallowed as you watched his tongue peak out to run over the small laceration, followed by the pad of his thumb. It disappeared in an instant at his touch.

You began to walk towards him, curious about what the hell had just happened, and if Frank was still breathing. Before you could open your mouth, however, he bent at the waist the second he got close to you, his shoulder connecting with your stomach as he hauled you off of your feet.

“What the—what the fuck are you doing?!”

He did not dignify you with a response as he stormed towards the exit, his solid arm squeezing your knees into his ribs as you started to assault his back.

“Put. Me. Down,” you grit between harsh slaps to his back. You might as well have been flicking his ear for all the difference it was making.

He carried you straight out of the building and towards the matte black saloon car Kieran had driven you all in earlier that evening. You were utterly furious and embarrassed, doing everything in your power to wriggle out of his hold.

“I can walk!”

Sylus snorted. Snorted, like it was funny. No humour lay in his tone as he spoke, though. “Well that’s a little hard to believe.”

You whacked his muscled back again. “Meaning?!”

He yanked open the back door of the car, practically dropping you into it on your back. You felt it again, at the worst possible time.

That flutter of lust in your core.

It was something about the way he stood over you as you panted from the physical exertion of trying to fight his spine. He must’ve been able to see up the short skirt of your dress, and you hoped to god he didn’t spot any indication of your arousal on the cherry red thong you were wearing.

“Meaning, you had plenty of opportunity to use these apparent walking skills when your safety was threatened,” he growled, moving your legs so he could slam the car door, not interested in anything you had to say back.

You huffed as you pushed down on the unfolded mass of clothes in your backpack, trying to fit them all in.

It had been hours since you all got back from the absolute disaster of a night, and you had been holed up in the room you were occupying since then. Part of you expected Sylus to come and explain what the hell his problem had been, but he didn’t.

The longer you sat and dwelled on it, the more you wanted to go home. You only came to stay because he’d asked you to attend the event with him. He hadn’t mentioned that you were expected to stay by his side like an obedient dog. Nor had he bothered to mention the types of people you were to avoid.

Not only were you pissed at him, but you were pissed at the fact that he’d made you feel a certain way. Who in their right mind gets aroused by a man embarrassing you by hauling you out of a room full of people—likely with your bare ass on show.

Scientists would have a field day with your brain.

And although you hated to admit it, it wasn’t the first time you had felt that familiar feeling of lust at his touch. The last time you had stayed, you had to relieve yourself in the shower after training with him in the ring. Every inch of him was sculpted with perfect precision, almost as if an architect had dedicated their life to working on his blueprint.

If you were being honest, you weren’t bothered about the event he wanted you to attend when he’d asked you to join him. You just wanted to see him.

But at the end of the day, you had no idea where you belonged in his world. In Linkon, a friendly face buying you a drink wasn’t something to be feared. It was exhausting having to recluse whenever you accompanied him anywhere.

The clasps of your bag struggled as you tried and failed to clip them together. You had no idea how you were getting back to your apartment, but you were confident in your ability to just suck it up and figure it out. Even if you had to trek there in your most expensive pair of (uncomfortable) stilettos.

You slipped your feet out of them, throwing your barely closed bag over your shoulders before picking the silky, red shoes up. They’re far too noisy against Sylus’s marble floor for you to be able to slip out without being accosted by him or the twins.

Without so much as a squeak, you gently turned the doorknob, pulling the door slowly to peer down the long hallway. Nobody could be seen or heard, so you slipped out and carefully closed the door behind you to not draw suspicion.

You hurried yourself down the hallway to get to the front door, stopping dead in your tracks as you turned the corner.

Mephisto was perched outside of Sylus’s bedroom door, his beady red eyes on you in an instant. Like hell was the glorified magpie going to let you pass him without kicking up a fuss.

“If you keep your scrap-metal beak shut, I’ll be out of your feathers. Got it?” Your voice was a whisper, but you knew he could hear you.

He did not make a sound as you slowly passed him, keeping your eyes on his as he followed your every move across the luxury floors. By the time you had passed him, you were fully convinced that he was willing to let you go. The minute you took your eyes off him, though, he started to screech.

“CAW! CAW!”

“Oh for fuck sake! You couldn’t just work with me for once in your—”

“CAW!”

“I wasn’t finished you squawking little—”

You were cut off by Sylus’s door opening, his unamused expression still ever present on his face. He was freshly showered, silver hair dripping onto the bare expanse of chest showing between the lapels of his bathrobe. You had to swallow a noise that rudely made its way up from your suddenly dry throat.

Eyes as red as the rubies around your neck flickered between Mephisto, you, and the bag over your shoulder. He clicked his fingers, sending his winged companion away.

“I was under the impression that you were above cussing out mechanical crows,” he drawled, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe.

It wasn’t clear whether or not he was joking, considering the less-than humorous look on his face. Either way, you weren’t in the mood for it.

“I’m going home.”

“I can see that,” he responded immediately, nodding towards your barely closed bag. “And how, exactly, are you planning to get there?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling a bit like a teenager who’s just been caught sneaking out to a party. “I’ll figure that out myself.”

Holding his cold stare wasn’t usually a challenge for you, but you found yourself desperate to look away. You had compared Frank’s domineering aura to Sylus’s earlier, but it didn’t actually come close to the man before you.

You had seen men and women strapped with weapons that could swiftly eliminate even the most dangerous of Wanderers cower at the sight of Sylus. He was the true definition of a force to be reckoned with.

He raised a lazy eyebrow at you, his hand slipping into the pocket of his robe. “You’re not leaving without a ride home. You’re over the limit, and if I wanted you to be skinned alive walking through the N109 Zone, I’d open the front door for you.”

“You give me a lift then,” you rebuked, your patience already thinning.

Sylus offered half a shrug. “I could, but I don’t make a habit of going out half naked.” You hoped to the lord that he didn’t see your shiver at the fact that he was only concealed by a thin robe. “You’re welcome to ask Luke and Kieran.”

“And where are they?”

The corner of his lip curled so subtly that you almost didn’t see it. “Out.”

You growled at his relaxed attitude. Why the hell would he even suggest it if they weren’t around?

“They’re cleaning up a mess of mine,” he answered as if you had asked.

A chill ran through you. “Would that mess happen to be Frank’s body?”

Sylus turned away from you, strolling into his room. You weren’t entirely sure why, but you followed him in, suddenly wanting answers.

“Well?”

Dark tendrils coiled around the bag on your back, gently tugging it down your arms and carrying it out of the room, closing the door on the way out. You had a feeling your belongings were heading back to where you just came from.

Sylus fiddled with the sleek black turntable in the corner of the room, carefully setting a vinyl record into place. It was a stark contrast to the way he’d hauled you into the car.

“You’re aware of the saying, right? Curiosity killed…” he trailed off, putting the pin in its place upon the record.

You frowned at his back. “The cat?”

He blew out a short laugh, not an ounce of humour in it. “The crook.”

He turned back towards you, slowly making his way to where you were a little rigid by the door. There was that feeling again. That you were a worm in the sights of a crow.

“Tell me,” he crooned, stopping right where your forehead would connect with his heart if you took half a step forward. “What was it about Frank that had you feeling adventurous, hm?”

You forced yourself to look up at him, feeling your cheeks heat at how close you were. “What do you mean?”

“Kitten, I can read you like the nervous wrecks who attempt to double cross me. Don’t play dumb, it does not suit you.”

His eyes were fierce and serious, but you hadn’t a clue what he was getting at. Your silence only lasted a few seconds before he leaned towards your shoulder.

“What was it that attracted you to him?” He whispered so quietly that you just about heard him over the thrum of your rapid heartbeat.

Attracted to him? In the approximately two minutes you had spent with Frank at the bar, you hadn’t spoken more than ten words to him.

You stepped away, your back connecting with the door immediately. Even with the slight gap, his look over your much smaller form was rather harrowing. And yet you felt that unhelpful flutter in your core again, so strong that your knees wobbled in place. What was this man doing to you?

“Did you hit your head this morning?” You bit back, clenching the muscles of your thighs tightly to relieve some of the pressure there. “You think that I had an eye for him because he bought me a drink?”

He closed the gap again, his large palm resting against the door right beside your head. “Why else would you not walk away when you were quite blatantly warned to do so.”

“Maybe because I was tired of—” you cut yourself off before you could finish.

You had told yourself that the reason you hadn’t wanted to remain at his side was because you were tired of watching people practically tremble in his presence.

Now, though, you weren’t sure that was the sole reason.

Every woman in that damn room had an eye on him, and it had made you feel…strange. You weren’t typically a jealous person by nature, but tonight had proved you capable of such emotions. In fact, you were practically tearing the heads off of beautiful women in your mind, wanting to punish them all for having the audacity to look at him like he was a piece of meat.

Maybe you and him weren’t so different after all.

He cleared his throat pointedly. “Tired of…?”

You huffed rather childishly, turning your head away from his hard stare. “Of the attention that certain people were giving you,” you begrudgingly admit.

There was no use lying to him, since falsely having him believe that you were actually interested in Frank seemed like a sure way to get on his bad side—if you weren’t already on it.

With his hand that wasn’t resting beside your head, he took a hold of your jaw, carefully turning your face back to his. “And would these people happen to be women?”

You merely shrugged, having no desire to discuss the matter any further.

Sylus studied you for a moment, contemplating. He looked as if he couldn’t decide between scolding you or shaking some sense into you. You were almost shocked that he didn’t go straight to mocking you, but you had an inclination that he had felt the same thing whilst you sat at the bar with one of his enemies.

He dropped his head beside yours again, murmuring in your ear. “If you wanted my attention, sweetie, I would have given it to you.”

You almost moaned, his breath tickling the sensitive column of your throat. Lifting a hand, you grabbed onto his wrist to steady yourself, only for him to pull out of your grasp immediately.

A flash of fear shot through you at his sudden rejection, but it was almost immediately soothed as he pried your fingers open enough to slip his own between them, pinning your hand to the door.

“Do you have any idea the kind of danger you could have been in tonight?” It was a growling question that didn’t require an answer. You felt your breath pick up in pace, the swollen peaks of your nipples skimming the top of his abs every time your chest heaved. “Frank has been known to have a string of disappearing acquaintances. He wouldn’t hesitate to maim you out of spite to me.”

You shuddered at the thought of being so close to a killer. And yet the proximity between you and Sylus did not give you that same feeling of dread. You know that he has killed many before, and despite not having his death confirmed or denied just yet, you knew that Frank was now somewhere in the afterlife, hopefully being accosted by the people he had killed.

You knew, but you had to ask.

“Did you kill him because I was speaking to him?”

Sylus shook his head, pulling back just enough that he could look you in the eyes. “I killed him because it was long overdue. I’ve had men who have been sent out to keep an eye on that bastard, and many of them did not return,” he explained quietly, a hint of frustration in his tone. “If I had taken my eyes off of you for a second—”

He audibly swallowed, cutting himself off. You could easily guess what he was going to say, and clearly the mere thought of it was haunting him.

A wash of guilt fell over you. If you had just walked away when you were told, he wouldn’t have had to do anything.

“He wasn’t going to take one more person from me,” he finally gritted.

That very thought should have filled you with dread. It should have made you sick to your stomach.

But the mention of his eyes on you for every second you weren’t beside him caused a spreading warmth to grow in your chest. Despite the situation you hadn’t realised you were in, you had been safe that whole time under his watch.

“I would have thought you’d be glad to get me out of your hair,” you said, only half joking to diffuse the tension between you.

He didn’t seem amused by it at all, his grip on your hand tightening. “Like I said, kitten. If I wanted you dead, I’d be seeing you out of the front door instead of standing here, resisting urges I have no right to have.”

Your thighs pressed together again at his whispered confession. His eyes always warned of danger, but they were gleaming with desire.

You were not losing out on him tonight.

With the most tender of touches, you ran the tips of your fingers over his exposed chest with your free hand, feeling his steady breath falter. He swallowed thickly, suffocating your hand in his against the door.

“I apologise,” he whispered gruffly, his head dipping to where your collarbone was visible to him in the neckline of your dress.

You shuddered as his breath danced across your clammy skin, droplets from his wet hair falling against your chest. “For what?”

“Handling you the way I did.” His lips were mere inches away from you, and it took all your strength not to grab the back of his head and slam his face into your chest. “The thought of that bastard doing something—”

“Kiss me.”

Sylus didn’t give you a chance to cringe at your own slip up as every inch of him pressed you into the door, his mouth attacking your pulse with expert precision. You let loose a shaky moan, your nails scratching down his rock hard pectoral.

Every ounce of animosity you had been harbouring since the event dissipated at his touch. He was rough and unrelenting, his indistinguishable power overwhelming you in the most delicious way possible.

“Lower,” you breathed softly, wanting him everywhere.

You weren’t sure how he heard you, but he obeyed your hushed command. In one swift movement, his free arm clutched you around your waist, lifting you up. Both of your legs perched perfectly either side of him, suffocating his waist.

With his newfound access to your already exposed chest, he immediately got to work, sucking and biting at the thin layer of skin over your collarbones. The pain of sharp teeth sinking into flesh married faultlessly with undeniable pleasure, causing you to writhe against him.

A firm bulge pressed against your heat as he ground himself against your cunt. Even with the sensation being drastically muted by the material of your thong and his robe being between you, you appreciated the absolute weapon he was concealing beneath his nightly attire.

“Ah—” you gasped, the soft sound immediately erased by a sharp hiss as he sunk his teeth into your skin again.

His mouth slowly travelled down to the tops of your breasts, where he pressed uncharacteristically tender kisses to each one. You were a wriggling, desperate mess already, but he was still sane enough to take a moment to study your chest.

“I have always appreciated art,” he crooned.

He removed the arm that held you around your waist, purely holding you up with his lower body alone. Your breasts were granted a sweet release as he pulled the thin straps of your dress down, pulling the material out of his way like a man depraved.

It was the look in his eye. A million compliments that didn’t need to be put into words. You could see them. Hell, you could feel the utter captivation radiating from him.

Your free hand smoothed over the delicious muscle of his shoulders before curling around the back of his neck. With a swift yank of his head, his mouth locked onto one of your firm nipples. Back arching off of the door, you cried out as his tongue swirled and flicked the sensitive area, leaving you a little mindless.

He finally let go of your hand, hungry to feel more of you. One hand pushed up your thigh, the skirt of your dress riding up with the movement before he squeezed your hip. The other cupped your neglected breast, thumb brushing over your pert nipple as if it were the joystick on a gaming console. Up, down, left, right, and all over again.

It was almost too much, and yet you still wanted more. He ground himself against you again, your head slamming back against the door with a reverberating thud. You felt it this time. The thickness of his solid shaft, followed by the damp sensation of your arousal.

You needed him there. Now.

“Mm—” you mumbled pathetically, unable to get a word out.

Sylus chuckled against the breast he was feasting on. “What was that, sweetie?”

All you could do was wriggle yourself against his cock, hoping to convey a message to him without the need to trip over your words. You wanted to swallow up every inch of it with your warmth, leaving it glowing like a damn firefly with the glistening sheen of your essence.

“I know that pretty mouth of yours can talk,” he whispered against the column of your throat. “Tell me what you want.”

Your mouth was dry, like the space between your legs had stolen your saliva to lubricate you further.

“More.”

Sylus clicked his tongue. “There are nicer ways to ask.”

You knew he wasn’t being serious, but you would have begged on your knees at this point. He had to have felt your legs trembling against his waist, aching for him to fill you.

“Since you haven’t specified…” he began, pulling his head back completely.

For a second, you thought you had actually irritated him. There was a darkness in his stare, a hunger. You couldn’t figure it out, but it didn’t matter once the dark tendrils of his Evol snaked around your arms, dragging them up above your head. Your eyes widened.

Was he going to leave you tied up here?

“Do you trust me, sweetie?”

Any sane person being restrained against a door by the literal epitome of bad news himself would have frantically shook their head.

But you didn’t. You trusted him with every damn crevice of your soul.

“Y-yes,” you stammered.

He brought up a hand to stroke your side before hooking it under your thigh, along with the other one. One swift lift had you hurtling upwards, as if you weighed no more than a spaniel puppy.

Your legs were quickly on his shoulders, securing him a front row seat to your soaked thong. Getting any wetter had to be impossible, but your position was serving to give it a good try. Wrists tightly secured above your head, your legs wrapped around his neck, and his warm breath fanning over your damp thighs.

No throne in the most lavish palace on earth would be more tempting than this seat of yours.

His crimson eyes flickered up to your face, a flash of uncertainty in his gaze. “Is this where you want me?”

You nodded rapidly before his hand came up to hold your jaw, halting your wordless answer.

“Words please, kitten,” he requested.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please, Sylus.”

He grinned, an unnerving and yet exciting sight. Wasting no time, he gripped the flimsy material of your cheap thong, tearing it at the seams to grant himself access to your bare cunt.

There was no teasing. No small pecks to your inner thighs. Not even a warning before his hot, balmy tongue lapped up a line of your juices through your folds, slowly dragging over the bundle of nerves nestled within. It took him no time at all to figure out where that heavenly little mound was, as if he knew your body like the back of his veiny hand.

Teeth. Tongue. Lips. All three of them fighting brutally for their moment on your clit, as if he couldn’t figure out which to use first. Your brain could hardly keep up with the flitting between this and that. All you knew was that you didn’t want it to stop.

Your legs tightened around his head in a bone-crushing squeeze. The suffocation only served to push him further, like he was fuelled by the possibility of having his jaw crushed like a damn walnut between your thighs.

“I could think of worse ways to go,” he growled against your hole, nose buried deeply into your folds to inhale your scent.

He pressed further into you, his tongue penetrating you with a greedy lick down your plush walls. Your hips jolted of their own accord at the sensation. He was your puppet master, making you grind and flinch on demand with his calculated actions.

The more his tongue slid in and out of you—the tip of his nose perfectly hitting your clit every time—the more of him you wanted inside of you.

Gone were your soft, airy moans. You were crying out to whoever would listen, announcing to the world beyond the walls that you were being fucking devoured by the most feared mouth in the N109 Zone.

A mouth that could bring grown men to their trembling knees with one mere bark of an order.

You were drunk on it.

He slowly withdrew his tongue, immediately swallowing. “Like candy,” he murmured.

He licked at his lips, eyes trained on the concoction of his saliva and your fluids with awe. His hand shifted from where it had still been gripping your thigh, the soft pads of his fingers tracing circles around your hole for lubrication.

“Can you handle them?” He didn’t look up as he asked, fixated on the patterns he was repeatedly drawing through your folds.

“Mhm,” you mumbled.

He clicked his tongue. “Words.”

“Yes.”

He seemed to make quite the habit of just diving in as soon as he had permission. In one swift push, he impaled you on his lengthy index finger, his knuckles pressing against your pelvic bone.

You cried out towards the ceiling. “Fuck!”

“You must’ve had some pretty disappointing experiences down here, sweetie,” he purred. “You’re so very tight.”

Every muscle in the lower half of your body was quivering with need, your hips unable to still themselves. He wasn’t wrong, nobody had ever truly left you gasping or crying out to the heavens.

You had a feeling he was about to change that.

Slowly, he dragged the digit back out, making sure to scrape down on your walls as he did. He began a steady rhythm, plunging his finger in and out of you lazily. His eyes held a repertoire of fascination, as if he’d been dreaming up this moment for quite some time.

He didn’t rush to add the second digit, but as soon as he did, you lost all sense of reality. The curling and pounding was precise and calculated, every brush of your neglected g-spot extracting a whimpering moan from you.

“Ngh…oh fuck,” you managed through a shuddering breath.

“Good girl,” he praised huskily. “I want to feel you come undone. Can you do that for me, darling?”

If he kept talking to you like that, it was going to happen a lot sooner than he would expect. The mental challenge of holding back was near impossible, and seemed to be displeasing him.

He picked up his pace. Firm, brutal bucks of his hand giving you every push towards that edge that you were trying to keep a distance from. You were yanking at the tendrils gripping your wrists, crying out pathetically at the sheer velocity of his fingers.

“I hope you’re not holding back on me,” he warned quietly.

He wanted you to finish. He was so very desperate to feel your release that he was practically shoving you towards it.

You couldn’t deny him.

The building pressure in your core gave out as you orgasmed, a litany of thuds marrying the sounds of your pleasured cries whilst you writhed against the door. Sylus, at the feeling of your walls contracting around his fingers, became a little breathless himself. He didn’t slow his pace, helping you ride out the waves of pleasure until your very last whimper.

By the time you had caught your breath, the restraints on your hands slowly loosened, and you expected to be put back down onto solid ground.

Instead, Sylus brought his mouth back to your folds, clearing up the aftermath of your first real orgasm. He was slow and gentle, savouring the taste like a vintage bottle of wine.

He was gentle when lowering you back to the floor, your legs trembling beneath you. You kept a hold of his arms, looking up at his hazy eyes. Anyone would think that he’d been the one on the receiving end of oral sex.

You wanted to give back. You wanted to see everything beneath his robe.

And apparently, your need was rather obvious.

“Not tonight, kitten,” he murmured, fixing your dress to cover your exposed body.

You didn’t know if you were more perplexed or hurt. Why not tonight? Did he not see you capable enough of being able to return the favour?

He brushed a strand of your unruly hair behind your ear in a contrasting manner to how he’d been handling you earlier. “I won’t know when to stop.”

You shuddered at the thought. “I’m okay with that.”

It wasn’t a lie. He could bend you over the railing of the balcony for the whole city to see, and you wouldn’t bat an eyelid.

But he wasn’t budging, the corner of his glistening lips curling upwards at your eagerness. “I don’t doubt that.”

He leaned towards your ear, his voice a low whisper.

“But it’s going to take a lot more than my saliva and your sweet fluids to help you take me, sweetie.”

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bunbunlovestowrite · 2 months

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Sylus both loves and hates going shopping with you.

He loves it because spoiling you is his love language and he adores when you give him 360s of clothes you buy, especially lingerie. Not to mention how good it feels to him when he pulls out his card to pay, making the cashier and people in line jealous of both you and him. It also gives Sylus an excuse to ride his car instead of his bike for storage, and because he’s terrified you’ll fall of the bike.

But he also hates it because he’s your personal bag holder. Everyone stares at the two of you as you walk through the mall because he’s holding 12+ bags with ease. Spoiler alert, he can’t feel his arms now and he’s pretty sure his blood was blocked from his hands.

But he does it himself cause he’d rather die than let you take fashion advice from the twins.

#fem reader #x reader #love and deepspace #sylus x reader #l&ds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace x reader #xavier love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #Rafayel love and deepspace #Luke and Kieran

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strang3lov3 · 1 month

Text

Dinner and a Show

A corrupt FEDRA soldier catches you and Joel sneaking back into the QZ. He’ll look the other way, but you’re gonna make it worth his while. (4.8k)

Warnings - dubcon/noncon, smut, mean!joel, dark!joel, pervy!roman, mmf threesome, dirty talk, degradation, implied age gap, m/m blowjob, m/f blowjob, masturbation, nipple play, cunnilingus, daddy kink, edging/orgasm delay, unprotected piv, facial, come eating, creampie, coercion, knife play, guns, drugs/drug use, threats. Fic help - thank you @noxturnalpascal, @beefrobeefcal, and @endlessthxxghts for your help and eyeballs and for cheering me on! A/N - I don’t know what came over me, but I think this is my favorite thing i've ever written. please enjoy with me

Super quickly: Joel readers who aren’t familiar with Roman - you don’t need to know a thing about Succession for this story. Roman’s a creep and that’s about it.

And for my Roman readers who aren’t familiar with Joel/TLOU, Joel’s a smuggler, they’re in the Boston Quarantine Zone (safe area from the infected) and Roman works for FEDRA, the corrupt military authority that controls these QZ’s after the outbreak.

“Are we almost back to the QZ? I’m fucking exhausted,” you complain. Joel’s a couple steps ahead of you in the dark, damp tunnel. Every step is agony. Your feet ache, your hips are burning. You cannot wait to be back in Joel’s shitty, dilapidated apartment. “It hurts.”

“Well, you shoulda thought of that before gettin’ fucked up off our merch,” Joel replies in a clipped tone. A pang of guilt runs through you. A couple of days ago you had stolen from a baggie of pills Joel had intended to sell, and Joel caught you red-handed. He doesn’t bring you along for smuggling runs, but this was meant to be a punishment for your thievery. It was his way of letting you know just how serious your fuckup was, that losing merch is not something that can be brushed off. These are pills he sells to provide for you, you selfish brat. He brought you along to show you how dangerous, how treacherous the trips he makes are. Joel made you raid some old pharmacies buried under the rubble of the bombed buildings, forcing you to see the fungal overgrowth up close and personal. If you wanna waste his pills, he’s gonna make sure you’re responsible for replacing them.

Joel shines his flashlight at the ceiling when you reach a dead end, illuminating a hole covered by a wooden pallet. “Here it is,” he says. He moves a crate against the wall and reaches for the pallet, grunting as he pushes it out of the way. He hoists himself up and climbs out of the hole, then crouches down and extends an arm to you. “C’mon, kid. Gimme a jump. I gotcha.” You step forward and reach for Joel’s hand, wrapping your other one around his thick forearm, his veins protruding. You jump and at the same moment Joel lifts you, pulling you up until you’re safe on the floor. You catch your breath and rub your sore, aching legs as Joel moves the pallet over the hole again, taking in your surroundings. The air is cold and damp, broken windows show a dark, cloudy sky.

That signature metallic clatter of a gun startles you, and Joel freezes when he feels a barrel pressed against his skull. “On your knees,” a voice says. “Show me your hands.”

You watch in horror as Joel shifts to a kneeling position and raises both arms. You come to your senses quickly and reach for your own weapon, a knife that Joel allowed you to bring along on the smuggling trip. He wouldn’t let you carry a gun.

The man points his gun at you. “Clever,” he taunts. “You too, on your knees and arms up. Try anything, and I’ll shoot, I swear to god. I’ve just been waiting to use this thing, you have no idea.”

That cadence - not particularly deep or masculine, but very commanding. That snarky tone. It takes you a second to place it, but you quickly realize: it’s Roman.

Roman, who works for FEDRA. You’ve heard rumors about him, experienced him a little bit yourself. He’s a total pervert, a sexual deviant. He likes to peek in peoples’ windows, jerking himself off as he watches them shower, change clothes, sleep, fuck. He catcalls women, the most disgusting, lewd comments that seem to shock even himself. And he gets rather affectionate when he pats down civilians, his hands lingering longer than they should in places they shouldn’t be. Other FEDRA soldiers are just violent and cruel. Roman stands out by abusing his power in an entirely different way, but nefarious all the same.

“Not at her,” Joel says to Roman. “She ain’t gonna hurt ya. Point it right here. At me.”

“Oh, what a gentleman you are. How very chivalrous,” Roman shifts his aim to Joel. “Very gallant.”

“Weapons on the ground,” Joel commands you. “Do as I say.”

“Daddy knows best,” Roman adds, taunting you. “Listen to your daddy.” Joel glares at him.

Carefully, you put your knife on the ground at the same time as Joel shrugs his backpack off his shoulders and places all of his weaponry on the ground. Roman uses his boot to slide each item out of reach, then begins patting Joel down first. “So broad,” he coos, gloved hands patting down Joel’s shoulders, then his arms. Joel winces in disgust. Roman pats down his waist, hands traveling lower as he gropes Joel’s bulge. Joel grunts in surprise, maybe even a bit in pleasure.

“Your turn, sweetheart,” Roman says to you. You turn to Joel and look at him with wide eyes, waiting for him to do something to stop Roman from patting you down that way too.

“Don’t look at me,” Joel spits. “You’ve only got yourself to thank for this.”

Unlike how he pat down Joel, Roman takes off his gloves for you. He pats down your shoulders, squeezing the muscles there. He snakes his hands beneath the hem of your shirt and touches your bare skin, the procedure turning into more of a caress than a quick patting. His cold fingers travel up your torso, where he fondles and gropes your breasts, twisting and flicking the nipples. You gasp, “Please,” as you wriggle under his touch, like you’re trying to run and hide from his hands.

“Sit - hey - sit still, or I’ll call for backup and they won’t be a fraction as friendly as I’m being to you right now. So just - just chill.”

You take a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut as Roman continues to knead the flesh of your breasts. When he’s done, his hands slide down your back and under the waistband of your jeans, where he massages your asscheeks, fingers dangerously close to your pussy.

Roman finishes patting you down, then steps back. “What a handsome couple,” he murmurs. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today. Forgiving.”

“I can give ya half off on our pills,” Joel offers. “We’re not lookin’ for trouble.”

“Half off, huh?” Roman scoffs, “I’m not a junkie, Joel, you know that. Different animal entirely. Keep your pills.”

“Name the fuckin’ price then,” Joel snaps.

Roman chuckles. “So impatient,” he teases. “Slow your roll, Texas. We’re taking our time with each other today. Don’t rush me, big guy.”

Your blood turns cold. “Joel,” you plead.

“Don’t,” Joel seethes in a hushed tone.

Roman continues, “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m feeling hungry. Famished, even. And bored. So fucking bored, you have no idea how boring these fucking patrols are. But you…” Roman takes heavy steps toward you, then caresses your face with his hand. “You make it interesting.”

“What do you want, Roman?” Joel says.

“Dinner and a show,” he answers. Joel scoffs at that, considering how FEDRA hoards rations. “Sounds kinda kinky. Kinda fun and sexy. I think, at least. What do you think?”

You open your mouth to protest, but Roman continues, “Sorry. Don’t, uh, don’t know why I asked. Doesn’t really matter what you think, because it’s what you’re doing,” he says. “And forgive me, I just wanna clear something up before we get started. I didn’t hurt you, so you don’t hurt me. Right? Does that sound fair?”

“Right,” Joel gruffs.

“Right. I’m putting my gun down, okay?” You turn your head to watch Roman set his assault rifle down with the rest of yours and Joel’s weapons. He empties his pockets and holsters to show that he’s unarmed, then points to his radio on his vest. “One wrong move from either one of you and I’m calling for backup. They won’t play by the same rules, so keep that in mind.” Roman warns, tapping his temple. Think it through. He looks right at you, smirking. “You look so disconsolate, you poor thing. I’m letting you off easy, considering what the alternative is. Don’t you think?”

You have to bite your bottom lip to keep it from wobbling. “Tell him ‘yes,’ sweetheart,” Joel urges, seemingly already resigned himself to his fate, which makes you nervous. Roman’s words play over and over in your mind. Dinner and a show. Who’s eating who? What’s the show? “Yes,” you whisper, answering Roman.

Roman winks at you, pleased with your answer. “Okay,” he says, clapping his hands together. “Joel first. I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you, Texas.”

Joel is repulsed by Roman’s crudeness. “Jesus,” he whispers under his breath. Roman points to an old, worn out rocking chair and snaps. “Pants off,” he says, and Joel follows orders. Roman watches as Joel unzips his jeans and sits on the rocking chair, his thick, meaty thighs spread wide. Roman turns to look at you. “You,” he says. “You get him hard for me.”

“M-me?”

“Y-y-you?” Roman mocks. “Yes, you.”

You remain on your knees, trembling as you take in the gravity of the situation. “Move,” Joel barks at you. “Right here.”

“See? Joel gets it,” Roman ridicules, grinning down at you.

You scramble to your feet and meet Joel where he’s at on the chair. He pushes you to your knees and you grip his thighs, too nervous to actually do what’s being demanded of you. Your hands shake as you reach for Joel’s cock, unsure of what to do exactly. Joel’s less than sympathetic at your hesitancy. “Do you like this fuckin’ mess you got us in? C’mon, jus’ fuckin’ do it. Don’t make this take any longer than it has to.”

He takes your hand and wraps it around his cock, guiding you to stroke him. You’ve fantasized about intimacy with Joel before, but never, never like this. Not under the threat of Roman, and Joel was always kinder. You feel so nervous, so vulnerable and out of your depth. Joel’s cock hardens to full mast beneath your touch, guided by his hand. He has you swipe your thumb over the tip, so smooth and soft. His shaft is warm and slightly sticky with sweat. Just as you’re getting used to the weight of Joel’s cock in your hand, Roman stops you. “That’s enough, sweetheart. Be a good girl and have a seat while you watch me suck your daddy’s cock.” You nod and stand up, Roman swats your ass as you sit on the couch opposite the rocking chair. Despite the fear and your discomfort, a small part of you feels curious, maybe even excited by the prospect of watching Joel get pleased orally. You’ve heard it happen before, sure. Never had the pleasure of watching.

“I’m trusting you,” Roman says to Joel. “Don’t fucking try me.”

“Whatever. Jus’ get it over with. Enough with the fuckin’ theatrics.”

You watch as Roman sinks to his knees, parting Joel’s thick thighs even more. Joel groans as Roman wraps his cold, bony fingers firmly around the base of his cock, his hot breath fanning over the tip. Roman leans forward and moans when he licks Joel’s cock, swirling his tongue around the blushed tip. He swipes over the slit, humming at the heady taste of Joel’s salty precum.

You can’t believe what you’re watching. It feels wrong to watch Joel in such a vulnerable position, but he doesn’t seem bothered. He keeps a straight face, looking mostly annoyed. You look at your feet and pick at your nails awkwardly, listening to the lewd noises of Roman slurping Joel’s cock.

“Hey,” Joel snaps. “Don’t look at the ground, look at me. Can’t come ‘less you’re watchin’,” he says.

You nod quickly and watch Joel fold one of his arms behind his head, the other finding Roman’s head. He pulls off Roman’s hat and tangles his fingers in his sleek strands of hair, grunting as Roman bobs his head up and down on Joel’s cock. There’s nothing romantic or lustful about the interaction in the slightest. It looks transactional for Joel, a means to an end, but erotic and arousing all the same to you.

“Take off your top,” Joel says. “Play with your nipples f’me.”

“J-Joel…” you whimper, looking at Roman. Roman tilts his head and looks at you out of the corner of his eye, smirking as his mouth is stuffed full with Joel’s cock.

“Don’t mind him right now, sweetheart. He’s gonna see it all anyway. Focus on me,” Joel commands. “You answer to me.”

You take off the clothes covering your torso, then bring both hands to your chest where you pinch and twist your own nipples. “Suck your fingers, first,” Joel says. “Get ‘em nice an’ wet.”

You suck your fingers, first two on one hand, then two on the other before playing with your nipples again. Tracing your areolas, flicking over the pebbled, sensitive buds.

Roman’s eyes are shut as he sucks on Joel’s cock, pumping his fist in tandem. Joel watches you intently, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths as Roman continues to pleasure him with his mouth. Licking the underside, tracing along Joel’s thick veins, Roman’s scruff chafes Joel’s hairy inner thighs. He presses sloppy kisses down Joel’s shaft before sucking his heavy balls into his mouth, one by one. Joel looks achingly hard, his cock is dark red and angry.

Roman kisses his way back up Joel’s shaft before taking the length down his throat entirely, causing Joel to squeeze his eyes shut and groan. Joel’s face is flushing, his jaw is tensing and Roman feels him getting close, dick twitching between his lips.

And then Roman abruptly stops. He pulls his mouth off of Joel, leaving him a frustrated, pissed off mess.

“Nice,” Joel spits in anger. Roman stands up, his arousal visible through his pants, and pats Joel condescendingly on the cheek. “Poor baby,” he says, then turns to you. “Your turn, sweetheart.”

Your stomach drops and your blood runs cold. Roman approaches you and sits next to you on the couch, gently forcing you down before unbuttoning your jeans and hooking his fingers over the waistband. He pulls both your jeans and underwear down and off your legs in one fell swoop, and you can only watch Joel with pleading eyes as Roman’s hands slide up your legs, parting your thighs. “I like how pliant you are,” he whispers. “Docile. Submissive.” You gasp when he reaches down and pulls a jackknife from inside his boot, unfolding the blade from it. He told you he was unarmed. “This isn’t a threat to you,” he purrs. “I know you’ll be good for me, but I have less faith that Texas over there will behave himself. So this is going here–” Roman presses the blade flat against the skin of your tummy, “And if your daddy does something he’s not supposed to…” Roman drags the blade along your skin, dangling the prospect of slicing you right over your head, “Or if you get smart with me…I will make you regret it. I’ll fucking - oh, I’ll fucking make you regret it.”

You nod in understanding. “Yes, Roman,” you whisper.

“Yeah, not so hard to understand, huh? You’re a smart girl.”

Roman kisses his way up your legs, then your inner thighs. He catches you by surprise when he licks one long, fat stripe up your cunt, gathering your arousal on his tongue. Joel snaps his fingers twice, “Right here,” he says. “You look at me.”

It feels wrong to hold Roman’s head, though your fingers feel inclined to tangle themselves in his hair. Instead, you reach behind yourself and hold onto the couch cushion as Roman laps at your cunt, pulsing with need. He pulls away to admire your pussy, creamy with your arousal, dripping onto the couch beneath you. “What a mess you’re making,” Roman marvels. “I’m flattered, really. All this for me, huh?” He slides his thumb up your slick folds, then circles your clit.

“Fuck,” you whimper. You want to watch Roman, but your eyes stay fixed on Joel as he lazily pumps his own cock in his fist.

Roman shoves two fingers into your mouth, two fingers that you instinctively suck on. Roman pulls them from your mouth and pushes them inside your tight hole, stretching you a bit. You gasp as he curls his fingers repeatedly inside you, stroking that sensitive spot. “Ro-Roman,” you cry. He brings his face back to that space between your thighs, pointed tongue drawing lines up and down your folds before dancing circles around your clit.

“You’re enjoyin’ this, aren’t you,” Joel accuses. You can’t stop your moans from spilling past your lips as Roman fucks you with his tongue and slender fingers. “Look at you, all spread out for him. I’ll be goddamned.”

Roman pulls away from your cunt and grins proudly, lips and face shiny with your arousal. His eyes - usually a light hazel color - are turned dark. Dark with hunger, lust. He dives right back between your legs where you grind on his face, feeling that perfect nose of his buried in your curls, teasing your mound.

“You’re soakin’ him, hon, drowin’ the man,” Joel snarls. “Thought this was ‘sposed to be a lesson to ya, a learnin’ experience. Look at you, rubbin’ yourself on his face like a bitch in heat. Fuckin’ pathetic.” You do feel pathetic. You feel so ashamed of yourself for liking this the way you do. It makes you feel icky inside, humiliated.

Roman eats you voraciously, like a man starved. He loves the smell and taste of you, musky, feminine, sweet and sweaty all at once. You’re like dessert to him. He could spend eternity between your thighs and Joel’s, alternating between having his mouth stuffed full of cock and pussy. He loves how similar yet different they are, the way they feel under his tongue. His tongue laves over your clit, the knuckles of his hand gripping his knife have turned white.

“Roman, Roman, oh my god,” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut as pleasure builds in your lower stomach. You find yourself pushing your cunt towards his face, hands flying to his head to keep him right fucking there as your orgasm quickly approaches. Sensing this, feeling the way your wet heat begins to pulse and squeeze his fingers, Roman pulls away from you, betraying you just as he betrayed Joel. You let out a long, guttural cry of frustration, tears that have built up in the corner of your eyes begin to spill down your cheeks.

“Quit the bitchin’,” Joel barks at you. “Gonna make this worse for us both.”

Roman’s eyes widen as he wipes his reddened, swollen lips. “Jesus Christ, Joel,” he says, letting out a breathy laugh. “Ease up on her a bit. She’s allowed to be disappointed. Aren’t you, sweetheart?” Roman wipes your face clean of your tears, and you can smell yourself on his hand. You’re not sure why it arouses you.

“Joel, trade me places,” Roman says. Roman and Joel swap places as you’re still laid out on the couch, pussy clenching around nothing as you anticipate being filled. “I like this. Fucked up musical chairs,” Roman giggles. He sits down in the rocking chair, warmed by Joel’s body heat. Joel finds you on the couch and unbuttons his shirt before shucking off his boxers, stroking his large, swollen cock. “Break a leg out there, Texas.”

Joel pushes your legs far apart and slots himself between them, then hovers over you, his heavy cock held between his thumb and first two fingers, eagerly making its way toward you. “Joel,” you sob.

Joel reaches for your face, digging his fingers into the hollow of your jaw and forcing you to look at him. His deep brown eyes are cold and piercing as he wears a threatening scowl. “Don’t make it harder than it has to be,” he growls, pinning both wrists above your head. “Now be good. Open up.”

Joel fits the thick, blunt head of his cock inside your entrance, then slides inside you in one swift motion. The stretch and ache of it all has you squirming, writhing in pain. Joel dips his head and brings his lips close to your ear, “Shhhh,” he hushes, his sharp, aquiline nose tickling your skin. “Quit your cryin’. You’ll get used to it.”

Joel buries himself to the hilt, then pulls out of you all the way. He pushes himself back inside, slowly, watching the way your body reacts. He shifts so that he’s pinning you down with just one hand, the other he brings to your mouth. He pushes his fingers past your lips to pacify you, to quiet your whimpers as he begins building his pace. “Breathe through your nose,” he reminds you. “You need to adjust.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as he rolls his hips, fucking you with increasing fervor. His cock reaches all the places you need it to, stretching your walls perfectly. In time, the pain dissipates and is replaced by pleasure. Joel chuckles darkly as your whines of pain turn into soft moans of ecstacy.

Roman sits on the chair and observes, his brows knit tight together as he strokes his cock. He spits in his hand and works himself harder, faster, admiring the way you and Joel fuck. He loves Joel’s strong biceps, his toned back, soft belly and his plump ass cheeks flexing as he rocks his hips into yours. And you, Roman loves the way your thighs wrap around Joel, clinging onto him for dear life. Your lips are parted as you moan Joel’s name, your tits bouncing with his every thrust. What Roman loves most of all is that place where your bodies are joined, all the obscene noises your cunt and his cock are making together.

“There she is,” Joel purrs, watching as your eyes roll back into your skull. “Oh, fuck - goddamn.” You’re so soft, so wet, so tight, pussy squeezing around his cock as he draws in and out of you.

You rock your hips to meet Joel’s thrusts, chasing that feeling of your clit grinding against his pubic bone. Joel adjusts himself and then licks his own fingers, then reaches between your bodies. He feels the wet heat radiating from your cunt as his fingers touch your clit, rubbing circles into the sensitive bud. “Oh, daddy,” you moan. “Daddy, right there.”

“Really? S’that how it is, sweetheart?” Joel taunts. “Am I your daddy?”

You nod desperately. “Please,” you beg. In your head, you’re silently thanking Roman for planting that seed.

“I can be your daddy,” Joel pants. “S’all you needed, isn’t it? Daddy’s cock in ya?”

“Yeah,” you moan.

“Didn’t have to get the law involved, sweetheart. Jus’ ask me next time you want me to fuck ya, goddamn.” You moan as Joel increases the pace, chasing his long-awaited orgasm. He slows to a still, then reaches for the back of your head. He guides you to look at the place where your bodies join. “Look at us, hon. You’re takin’ it so good, creamin’ my cock.” Joel pulls out of you nearly all the way for you to see his cock, velvety ribbons of your arousal coating his length. The scene is salacious, pornagraphic, as you watch him sink into you. “Fuck me.”

Roman can’t handle it, being the odd man out. His fist seems to pale in comparison as he watches Joel fuck you, listening to the wet, sticky noises. He feels as though he’s lost all control in the situation, and he needs it back. He wants to get his dick wet too. “Stop - stop it,” he says. “Flip her over.”

Joel groans and presses his forehead against yours as he catches his breath, then pulls out of you. You feel so empty without him inside of you.

You look at Roman, awaiting further instruction. “Get on your hands and knees,” he says. “I know, I know. Pardon the interruption, I couldn’t help myself.”

Your sore thighs quiver and tremble as Joel flips you onto your stomach, then grabs your hips to pull you up. He lines his cock up with your entrance once more, then pushes inside of you as if to stake his claim, causing you to grunt. Your pussy is Joel’s, not Roman’s.

Roman kneels on the other side of the couch, where you’re facing. “Open,” he tells you, pressing the head of his cock against your lips. He’s long like Joel, but not quite as girthy. You part your lips and don’t bother teasing him, swirling your tongue around him the way you would with Joel. It seems that Roman doesn’t require that of you either; he grips the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair before bucking into your mouth, pushing his cock as far down your throat as he can. You gag and choke on it.

“Breathe,” Joel reminds you. He’s the one to set the tempo, fucking you deeper at this angle. He rocks your body with each thrust, Roman uses Joel’s pace to measure how he should fuck your mouth. It’s awkward to start, but evens out in quick time.

Your head spins. Behind you, Joel’s fucking your cunt, hands on your hips, fingers bruising your flesh. In front of you is Roman, fucking your mouth and holding your head steady. You’ve never felt this way before, but between the two men there’s nowhere to run, nothing to do except let your mind go blank and focus on the feeling of being fucked at both ends.

Roman’s not gonna last long. You’re moaning against his shaft in time with each of Joel’s thrusts, the vibrations going straight to his gut, down to his balls. He won’t last long at all. Joel’s in the same boat, straining to keep it together. Your wet cunt is squeezing him so tight, dripping all over his cock. Joel leans forward and reaches for your clit, rubbing steady circles into it with a firm pressure.

“Mmm,” you moan. You feel like you’re being fucked into pieces, but Joel’s ministrations on your sensitive clit have you reaching your climax. You gasp and choke on Roman’s cock, stimulating him in a way that he loves. “You gonna come, sweetheart?”

You look into Roman’s eyes as he pumps in and out of your mouth, bracing yourself for release when -

“Hey,” Joel swats your ass, “You ain’t comin’ till I say.”

Roman wishes he could hold out longer, keep up with Joel. But he can’t, so instead he pulls out of your mouth and furiously strokes his cock. He groans as comes, painting your face in milky white ribbons of his spend before he falls back on the couch, gathering a bit of his come on your face and pushing it into your mouth. “Yeah, listen to daddy,” Roman taunts with a grin. “Be a good girl.”

Joel lets out a low moan, unable to stave off release much longer. “F’ya wanna come on my cock, do it now,” he says. His permission is all you need to let go. As pleasure washes over you in waves, powerful and overwhelming, your cunt squeezes Joel’s cock and coaxes his own release. He fucks you harder as you come together, Joel’s own orgasm filling you with a deep, satisfying warmth as he spurts hot ropes of his come inside you.

Finally, he pulls out of you. He watches his spend drip from your poor, stretched cunt, and pushes some of it back inside you. You flop on your back between Roman and Joel as you catch your breath, eyes fluttering shut as you bask in the stillness. You’ve never felt so empty.

Roman pushes some hair out of your face and sucks his teeth. “Wow, Joel. Some gentleman you are. You’re just gonna leave her like that?”

Joel glares at Roman with an incredulous look on his face. “What?”

Roman points to all the places on your face he’s decorated with his come. “Clean her up,” he demands. “Fair’s fair. You’re the only one who hasn’t used your mouth, aren’t you?”

Joel rolls his eyes and slides off the couch, then kneels in front of you, knees popping as they press into the dirty floor. He holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, then licks all of Roman’s spend from your cheeks, nose, and forehead, wincing at the bitter, salty taste.

Roman wears a satisfied smirk. “We’re square,” he says.

Wordlessly, Joel lifts you up and helps you dress yourself, then dresses himself. He collects your belongings, then guides you to the exit. You walk in a daze, legs and thighs still sore.

“Curfew’s at six,” Roman taunts. “Better get home soon, Texas.”

If you enjoyed, please reblog, send me an ask, comment something nice 🩷 your kind words keep me motivated to write.

Tagging my roman readers and others who've expressed interest in this fic <3

@ovaryacted @razrbladekiss @romaescapes @taeslarityy

@dorims @atinylittlepain @joelsdagger @goldenispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @gaeela-6

@bean-is-reading @slutsoutgutsout @galarian-weezing-on-prep @cum-a-calla @pastelpinkflowerlife

@kolsmikaelson @moth-maam56 @kothku @cult-of-escapism @swiftiegirliepop @bluecookies-and-ink

@kappasbbgirl @magpiepills @highinmiamii @verstappensrealwife @lilipads @thesummerpetrichor @party-hearses

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hitoshitoshi · 1 month

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Just thinking about kitten hybrid!MC x Sylus where he dresses you up in pretty collars and lingerie while he has you sat on his lap, looking all pretty while he has his business meetings. His hand stroking kitten hybrid!MC's cute little ears, twirling your tail with his finger, your tail having a silk bow tied to the end of it. Any straying eyes that goes towards his pretty little kitten gets a bullet to their head because no one looks at Sylus' kitten without permission (except for Luke and Kieran).

The twins are the exception because they have such good fashion sense and dresses you up in clothes that they know would make Sylus so hard. Just to fuck with him, they put you in lacy red panties that have a hole where the crotch would be, but not just any red, but the same shade of red as Sylus' eyes. Especially with a matching set that was basically strings that didn't cover anything. It's such a pretty shade of red that makes your eyes shine more. Perfect for when he makes you cry out of sheer pleasure from his cock.

Next thing you know, Sylus calls Luke and Kieran to cancel his plans for the day. Why, you ask? So Sylus can breed his kitten hybrid!MC properly. To stain that red into white with his cum.

Discord 18+ | Masterlist If you like otome games, including Love and Deepspace, you should join Linkon Lounge! A discord server that's LGBTQ+ friendly (only serving those who are 18+) where we all can share our interests, talk to roleplaying bots (Caleb, Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, and Sylus), and have fun game, movie, and stream nights where we stream games and/or cards that we pulled that others want to see. It would be super fun to have you as a member of our server.

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ithilwen-blackwood · 3 months

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Redoing the list of Benjicot/Davos Blackwood fanfics cause the first one was messy and I JUST discovered how Tumblr links work lol

Anw here's the new list girlies, enjoy!! 🖤🎀

PART 1 - PART 2

Sworn Rivals

Sweet Violence

Synopsis

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Fighting Words

Lady Strong

Betrothed

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

This is Better

Blackheart

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

A Treeline Promise

Chapter 1

Dull Blades

Would you want to marry me, Benji?

Born to Die

Prologue

Chapter 1

The Shortest Marriage Tour

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

The Dragon and the Raven

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

The Wolf, the Raven, and the Arrow

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Blood Lust

Loyalty's Embrace

The Bridge

What They Don't Know

You are Mine and I am Yours

I Like Her That Way

Sweetling

Starlit Sands

His Bride

A Realisation

The Ballad of the Raven and the Dragon

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Pretty When You Smile

Love Mirage

From Eden

Sweet Nothing

Beneath Weirwood's Shade

At Your Service

Sweet Bliss in the Abyss

I Will Wait

Lies and Sneaking

The Blackwood Knight

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Modern Benjicot/Davos Blackwood

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Subtle

Once Again

The Love of a Bracken is Meant Only for a Blackwood

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

A Dragon Flees

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Nameday Celebration

Welcome Home

His Lady's Love

Lady Blackwood

An Arsonist's Lullaby

If the stars said you couldn't love me

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Feral and Stray

All Good Intent

A Prophecy

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Cinders in the Dark

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Fight Like a Girl

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Father and Son Bonding

Bracken Bunny

Thorn of Winterfell

The Realm's Jewel

He's got a way with words

His Princess

The Great War

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

#house of the dragon #benjicot blackwood #bloody ben #house blackwood #benjicot blackwood x oc #benjicot blackwood x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #kieran burton #davos blackwood

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hihomeghere · 7 months

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Fishing in the dark | Arthur Morgan / Reader

Word Count : 1.3k (a little guy) Summary : You and Arthur have a private evening away from camp on the Dakota River. Warnings/tags : Cursing, unprotected piv, talk of nudity (both male and female), cursing, reader can swim, s3x in the river, established relationship, set in chapter 3

The Dakota River was now your favorite place to be at sunset. The cool breeze coming off the sparkling water, your body cushioned by the bed of grass. The way the setting sun cast a golden light over everything it touched.

Getting away from the gang for a while had been Arthur’s greatest idea yet. After all that mess in Valentine had led you to Clemens point. Sat on the east coast of Flat Iron lake, near the town of Rhodes. Getting eaten alive by mosquitos while the heat of the Scarlett Meadows sun beat down on you.

And although you thought maybe a room in Rhodes would have been a better way to keep each other company, you couldn’t beat this view.

Arthur stood on the shore, fishing pole in hand. His tall silhouette dark against the golden light, his shadow growing longer on the rocks. What a sight, every subtle flick of his wrist, his bicep tensing and he pulled on the pole. You didn’t even know why he was still fishing so late. He had already caught dinner, which you had prepared over a small fire. While along the shore you had picked some burdock root and common bulrush for camp, knowing that Miss Grimshaw could find some use for the plants. At long last the sun fell below the horizon, a sliver of burnt amber spreading across the sky before being enveloped by a dark blue. The moon slowly rose above you. A beautiful yellow spotlight peeking through the trees.

Arthur stood, still as a statue, as though he was carved of marble. A wicked thought entered your head, slowly you moved to unlace your boots. Pulling them off until you could dig your toes into the grassy floor beneath you. Then you untied the strings to your skirt. Letting the fabric fall, along with your shirt. Leaving you standing in only your chemise, and it wasn’t long before that was discarded as well.

Arthur had heard the slight rustling of fabric behind him, but he was honestly too preoccupied with the pole in his hands. Enjoying the quiet serenity of the river. That was until you ran butt ass naked into it.

“Darlin!” He yelled his eyes widening in shock as your laughter joined the sound of water splashing.

“Come on cowboy!” You called submerged to your waist, your breasts above the water for any passersby to see. Maybe it wasn’t your best idea yet, the freezing water chilling your bones.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He chuckled, unfortunately amused by your actions even though he knew he shouldn’t be.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” You called back, teeth chattering by the sudden drop in temperature.

“It looks like you’re giving anyone that passes through a free peep show.” He called his hand resting on his gun belt as he not so casually adjusted himself. You stepped back further into the dark water until only your shoulders and up were visible.

“When did you become such a prude?” You chided a teasing smile on your lips.

“When someone could lay eyes on my woman.” He said laying down his pole, crossing his arms over his chest. You felt a shiver run down your spine, whether it was from his words or the cold water you couldn’t tell.

“Well get in here and claim your woman before someone else does!” You called, a shit eating grin spreading across your face.

Arthur sighed, looking down as the brim of his hat shielded most of his face from you. Your grin only grew as he unbuckled his gun belt, letting it fall to the ground. He pulled his suspenders off his broad shoulders. He shook his head, his own grin growing on his face as he began to pull off his clothes.

“You’re gonna get it girl.” He warned, his eyes taking on a dark haze. His lips pulling back into a smirk, looking down at you like prey. An electric shock of anticipation ran up your body as he finally pulled off the last layer, his cock springing up against his stomach. He stepped forward, wading into the water. “Jesus!” He yelped, a shiver running through him.

“It’s not that bad!” You called with a laugh.

“Not that-“ He shook his head, “Christ I can’t feel my toes.” He muttered swimming over to you, his arm wrapping around you pulling you close. You wrapped your legs around his waist as you held onto his shoulders

“Hey there.” You grin, watching the water droplets run down his face.

“Howdy.” He muses, you place your hands on his chest, feeling his heart beat against your palm.

“Still cold?” You ask sweetly.

“Very.” He chuckles.

“I think I could warm you up.” You say biting your lip.

“Please do.” He says softly as you lean forward. Your nose bumping against his as you stare him down. He leans forward pressing his lips against yours. His tongue swiping along your lower lip as he pressed you down onto his pelvis. Clenching around nothing as his cock bumped against the nub of your clit, a soft moan leaving your throat.

“I can feel that.” You said softly, biting your lip as you looked into his eyes.

“I’m sure you can.” His chest rumbling as he chuckled. He moved his hand from your waist and reached down between your legs. The tip of his length catching against your entrance. “Think you’re wet enough?” He teases, his teeth glinting in the moonlight as he smirks.

You bite back a rebuttal as he slips inside you with ease, he swallows your gasp as his mouth covers yours. Groaning into your mouth, a deep almost primal noise. One that sends pleasure shooting through your body. You whine as he pulls out slightly, only to press your body down onto his pelvis. His cock rubbing against that spot inside you.

He knows this dance like the back of his hand, how to make you tick, more specifically how to make you scream. The hand that’s not holding your hip with a vice like grip moves up your body, his hands splayed against your stomach. Before reaching up to cup your breast, pinching your nipple.

“Arthur.” You gasp, feeling him rut against you, growling against your neck like a wild animal.

“Feel so good darlin’.” He huffs against your neck, nipping and kissing as he continues his attack on your pussy. His cock thrusting deep strokes against your walls. Your body is buzzing, your toes curling as he brings you closer and closer to your peak. He can feel you flutter around him, his lips quirk up. He moves his hand down to between your legs, rubbing your clit.

You cry out, a pitiful noise as you cum around him. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your brows knit together as your jaw hangs open. He smirks, tilting his head back as a low, shit, leaves his mouth.

His hips start to stutter as he pounds into you, trying to reach his orgasm while you’re still working through yours. He’s quick behind you, his hands holding you so close against him you’re sure you’ll have bruises. He thrusts into you one last time, a choked groan rumbling in his chest. You hold onto him as his dick twitches inside of you. Painting your insides with his seed. You smile up at him lazily, watching his face contort in pleasure.

“Shit darlin’.” He huffs, his chest rising and falling rapidly against your own. The bite of the water is no longer a thought as his warm body presses against yours.

“You warm now, cowboy?” You tease brushing your nose against this neck, pressing a kiss over his pulse point.

“Very.” He chuckles, “But I’d like to get my beautiful girl out of these waters now.” He says grabbing a handful of your ass before throwing you over his shoulder. “I ain’t done with you yet.”

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tempting-andromeda · 1 year

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More nsfw headcanons because I can

Warning: NSFW, choking?, bondage, pinning, power play, crying, marks?, knife play, temperature play, drunk sex, humiliation, hair pulling, idk what else

Characters

Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch Van Der Linde, Charles Smith, Javier Escuella, Sean MacGuire, Lenny Summers, Kieran Duffy, Micah Bell, Eagle flies

Send in requests if you want to see specific characters or if you want me to add characters to the list !

Arthur Morgan

He has a thing for shoving his fingers on your mouth. It’s like a good way to rile him up. If you kiss his fingers and slowly put one in your mouth he watches you in awe.

Insists he doesn’t want you to go down on him but when you do he lets out the most animalistic moans and says the dirtiest shit ever

Whenever you moan sometimes he’ll respond with “yeah?” In the most seductive voice

He likes when you wear his clothing while you ride. Like wearing his signature blue shirt or his cowboy hat??? Drives him absolutely wild

Sometimes he tries to humor you by being submissive but after a while he takes control and uses your own words against you. He’s a huge tease about it

John Marston

Cannot stay still for the life of him. If you tie his hands down he’s using his hips. He refuses to stay still and it becomes a yoi problem once he’s free

He grabs everything. Thighs, ass, chest, sheets. He always has a handful of something whenever y’all are fucking.

Whenever he’s in control he likes to copy your moans and cries. He’ll be like “yeah? Yeah? What ya screaming my name for?” While he pounds into you

He’s the worst at serious sex. He always says something weird or awkward during it like “you want the marston special?” And if you bring it up he’ll be so bratty about it

Likes to pin you down. Even if he’s not being rough. He’ll hold your hips down or hands down while he kisses your neck.

Dutch Van Der Linde

He draws out everything. Like he’ll sit between your legs running a finger up and down your thighs while you beg and he’ll just whisper dirty things in your ear

kinda likes when you disobey him and he gets to spank you to make you “good” it riles him up so much

Sometimes he doesn’t do any work and he’ll just make you sit on his lap and ride him. Like he touches you but he won’t move his hips because he likes how desperate you get for him to take over.

Eye contact is a must. He’ll place soft bites on your wrist and ankles while making eye contact the whole time.

He likes to make you cry. Not the type of crying from when he’s mean but he likes when you get so overstimulated you cry.

Charles Smith

Loves to be the one to undress you. If you’re taking of your shirt he’s hands are quick to replace it and he insist he does it instead.

He cannot do quickies. He has to have you for over an hour and he makes sure it’s worth it.

Absolutely worships you. He can spend an hour just kissing you. It’s the worst and the best at the same time.

He likes when you leave marks on him. Like scratch marks, indents from your nails, bite marks, hickeys. It makes him feel so proud and he can’t take his mind off you when he sees them.

Likes to indulge in your kinks. he’s probably not the kinkiest but if you ask him to try out something he’s willing to and he usually does his best.

Javier Escuella

He likes to tell you what to do. He’ll tell you to flip over or to spread your legs and every time you obey him he gets even more turned on.

Loves to tease. He’ll tease you for hours, gently rubbing your thighs while you sit by the campfire, letting you sit in his lap while he lets you feel him harden under you, roughly grabs your hips while he slides behind you

Even though he likes to tell you what to do he loves when you tell him where to cum. He gets so eager.

He loves to stay in you after he finishes. Even if you asked him to finish somewhere else he’ll push himself back into you just to feel you.

Idk why I feel like he’s into temperature play. Like letting his knife get warm over a candle and then dragging the flat side over your skin.

Sean MacGuire

If you initiate intimacy he’s crumbling. He has the most active sex drive ever. Seeing you exist is a turn on for him so if you initiate it hes drooling over you.

Once he spilt his drink on you while y’all snuck off to have a quickie at a bar and now he’s addicted to drinking whiskey off of your skin.

He’s either real slow with foreplay, spreading your legs and putting you on full display for him or he’s super eager, bitting and pulling your clothes off.

He whines when y’all fuck but he refuses to admit that. He always says he groans like a man but in the moment he whimpers and whines in your ear.

Sometimes when he’s too excited he cums too fast and continues like it never happened. Like he’ll take a moment to catch his breath and then he’s back at it.

Lenny Summers

It’s rare he’s rough but sometimes he’s asks if he can “let loose” with you and it’s rough. His hands are gripping onto you and he’s just growling and grunting

Constantly pushes your hair out of your face to see you because he likes seeing your reactions. It gives him a huge confidence boost.

He likes for sex to be slow and sensual to make it more intimate but sometimes he gets too into it and he’ll press gentle kisses to the shell of your ear while he says stuff like “I promise next time I’ll be gentle”

His favorite position is missionary. It’s nearly impossible for him to stay in any other for long. Y’all can start with like cowgirl or doggy but as soon as he gets into it he flips you into missionary.

Sometimes he’ll beg but he always begs for something you’re already doing or he’ll just beg for you not to stop.

Kieran Duffy

His chest is so sensitive. If you even place your hands on his chest to brace yourself or just to pat his chest casually he’s holding back a whimper.

Gets so embarrassed when he’s turned on he doesn’t try to initiate it like others do he just slowly grinds himself against you.

He loves to bite the back of your neck when he’s behind you. He’ll slide his arms over your chest or waist and kinda nuzzle himself against your neck and just slowly bite your neck

Sometimes he doesn’t even take his pants off completely he’s so eager to have you. Like he’s able to pull himself out of his pants but they’re barely half way down his thighs (you usually have to take them all the way off)

He can barely make out anything when y’all are intimate. He’s just a whining mess. If he even gets anything out it’s probably him begging for something

Micah Bell

He LOVES embarrassing you. Like he’ll cover you in hickeys or not properly clean you up and make you walk around camp.

He makes you give him head while he’s busy. He likes the idea of you being a personal toy for him.

Doesn’t like when you’re automatically submissive. He thinks it takes all the fun out of it. He likes when you try to act all bratty.

He’s probably the most rough out of everyone but he doesn’t have an occasional gentle streak that he uses as a “treat” for you.

He gets too jealous sometimes so he asks you questions and makes you yell out his name like “so who’s fucking you like this tonight, whore? Me or him?”

Eagle Flies

Loves when his hair is pulled. It drives him crazy. the smallest tug makes him moan so loud.

No matter what position he needs to be close to you. His hands need to be on you and he needs to be able to kiss you, anywhere

He will say the most forward shit out of nowhere. Like he’ll have you in the most obscene position and he’ll say something like “wanna marry you one day.” Out of the blue

He whimpers when he’s about to finish. He’s not ashamed about it either.

Sex is one of his favorite ways to relieve stress but he makes sure you also feel good so he gives the best aftercare afterwards so you know he’s truly grateful

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estarlias · 6 months

Note

Gojo smut? Maybeee smt with shower sex?

SO SLIPPERY!🫧—

contains🪸: shower sex, size kink, he manhandles you a bit, not proof read, prob unrealistic, doggy style or somethin, pet names (princess, good girl, etc.)

a/n: YESSIR ASK AND YOU WILL RECEIVE!! this is the first smut i’ve ever posted i hope u like it 😭

“S-Satoru..” Your angelic whines reached his ears and he chuckled. Gojo had you in a difficult position. Hands and knees on the floor of the shower while his hips thrusted at an inhumane pace behind you. The warm shower water trickled down your back, a stark contrast to the way his cold hands were palming your breasts.

“Mm? What is it princess?” He bent down further, whispering in your ear as his dick hit even deeper inside you.

“This is not what I meant when I asked to go the shower-” You mumbled unhappily, irritated with your boyfriends seemingly endless supply of stamina.

Gojo chuckled lowly, a sound that sent shivers down your arched spine, “Why’re you complaining about it despite the fact that you’re clenching so tightly around me- fuck-!”

His hand left your breast and moved down to your neglected clit, rubbing small, soothing circles on it.

Your eyes shut closed in pleasure, the light touch his slender fingers were giving you wasn’t enough. Your thighs trembled, threatening to close around his hand with him still inside you.

“But if you want to stop, we can stop..” His voice sounded needy as he stopped moving his hips.

Just as quickly as his fingers found your clit, they left and he pulled out, sighing with a pout on his face.

“Just wanted to give my pretty girlfriend another orgasm but I guess she doesn’t want it.” His large hands wrapped around his dick, stroking it slowly as the warm water hit both of your faces.

He hid his smile behind his other hand as he watched you struggle to sit up, your body sore from being put in positions that you were surely not meant to be put in.

“‘s not what I meant..” You mumbled, kneeling in front of him and giving his tip a small kiss.

Gojo hissed in pleasure, gently stopping your head from going any further. “No? You wanna continue?”

You nodded, moving back and leaning back on your elbows as the water hit your chest, making your nipples glisten with warm water.

“Use your words.” Gojo grinned, getting down on your level as he started to kiss and nibble on your boobs.

“Please, Satoru?” Your fingers ran through his wet hair, earning you a soft hum from the man above you.

“Ask again, pretty girl.” He mumbled against your skin.

Rolling your eyes, “please, Satoru? My amazing boyfriend? Love of my life? Please?”

He smiled, “anything for you.”

Gojo kissed your neck, slowly making his way down your body while his hand started to guide his dick to your pretty pussy.

The water and the remnants of your previous orgasms made it easy for him to re-enter you for the umpteenth time this night.

“Fuck- you feel so good for me sweet thing..” Gojo moaned sharply, leaning down to kiss and bite gently on your neck, leaving behind a trail of love marks that would surely turn into hickeys by the morning.

His fingers found your clit once again and gently pressed and rubbed against it, quickly working you up once again.

“Toru.. please.. feels so good, don’t stop, please god don’t ever stoppp!”

He smiled, pulling away from your neck to stare into your fucked out eyes.

You disheveled, sweat and water combined together making your hair stick to your face. But to him, it didn’t matter. It was a blissed out state he created, and you looked beautiful. You were beautiful.

“Keep looking at me pretty girl.. that’s it, cmon, cum for me.. please.” His eyes never left your face, his thrusts becoming less coordinated as he started to reach his high.

“‘m cuming! Satoru-“ You whined, legs locking around his waist in an attempt to pull him closer. Gojo groaned in response, biting into your shoulder as he came simultaneously, the feeling of your tight pussy clenching around him being too much for him.

His fingers continued to fuck you through your orgasm, circling and rubbing your clit until you started to squirm from overstimulation.

The two of you were panting, the room was silent except for the gentle sound of the shower head sprinkling water out.

Gojo pulled away from your neck with a smile, “Can we go again?”

EXTRA: “The water bill went up by 17%.”

“Oh? Why’re you looking at the bills in the first place, that’s my job as the breadwinner of the house..”

“‘toru, you’re literally a trust fund kid, your dead ancestors are paying the bills.”

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #satoru smut #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x reader smut #satoru x reader smut #!! kieran’s thirsts🪸#jjk smut #satorugojo #jjk gojo #jjk gojo smut

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sugurouge · 11 days

Text

— cupidity : luke x f!reader x kieran

summary: with the head of onychinus at their feet, only a fool would find fascination with his assistants. but something about their masks and little tricks keeps occupying your mind. what will it be? the cookies you come into the kitchen for, or the twins eager to find a much sweeter treat?

content warnings! food is part in the beginning, deceiving, manipulation, pet names (princess, pretty, little minx), female oral receiving, manhandling, non-established relationships yet they all are aware that reader belongs to sylus

wordcount: 2.5k

a/n: listen, sylus is a bit more lenient here.... let a girl dream! 🌝

inspired by this playlist on youtube

How did you manage to find residence in the care of Onychinus’ leader, surrounded by men that are all ten times more fascinating than the residents of Linkon? How was it possible to not only feel attracted to Sylus, but his assistants as well? How greedy can one person become, really?

Both, Luke and Kieran, found a comfortable nest in your mind, as you wondered what lay beneath their crow masks, behind the devilish horns.

But weeks have passed without any improvements. They remain covered up, you remain unwilling to resonate with their boss. By now, you find yourself growing rather shy whenever the double trouble is near. You’re never sure if they even glance your way, yet your eyes remain fixed on anything but them, except for a few stolen glances. How could you not succumb?

Their witty remarks towards their boss have you chuckling despite the circumstances. You would never admit this publicly, but all three men have become rather hospitable, much nicer than you ever imagined people of their ranks to be. There’s no harm done if your eyes happen to rake over their figures for a second or two.

Or so you think.

Only a fool would believe they haven't noticed your stares. Haven't teased their boss over your eyes glued to them instead of just him. So a bet has been made. Rather uncharacteristic for Sylus, the bet is about you. And if they manage to make you fall for their little trap, they are invited to enjoy a little entrée.

You’ve been up late as of recently. Horror movie marathons during the spooky season are just your cup of tea, especially alongside those decatend sweets you have been stealing from the kitchen at night. So here you were, up way past your bedtime again, searching once more, for a sweet treat. You wander through the halls on your way to the kitchen, feeling secure that you won’t encounter a soul. Yet, as soon as you find the cookies from this afternoon, cool fingers cover your eyes. The sound of the treat hitting the tray echoes through the spacious room as a gasp escapes your lips.

“So, you’re the cookie monster.” Another finger trails down your spine, causing you to subconsciously stand straighter, bringing you a little closer to the lean torso behind you. “Been wondering who’s been stealing my late-night snacks.” A low, slightly raspy voice whispers beside your ear. You can feel his presence hovering above you, yet his full touch remains elusive. “I—I didn’t know anyone had dibs on leftover cookies…” you attempt to calmly excuse your so-called wrongdoings. “Well, I do. I’m a hungry guy, y’know?”

Instead of replying, your mind begins to piece together the idea that if he is here to grab a snack, he surely mustn’t be wearing his mask. Suddenly, the hand covering your eyes seems easy to grasp as you quickly turn your head to look into Kieran’s face. “Nuh-uh,” he’s too perceptive, as if he can read your thoughts just as well as Sylus. You find yourself caged between the counter and his body, which is now pressed closer to yours, successfully preventing any escape. His fingertips squish your cheeks, forcing you to stay still. “No stealing glances either, princess,” he sounds unbothered, quite unlike his skilled reactions to your little moves a moment ago. Kieran reaches for a cookie to finally indulge in the sweet taste. Between bites, he continues his little ramble. “Can’t unravel that secret over some cookies; we enjoy your attention too much. You look so adorable when you try to stare without being caught. Luke would never forgive me. You’re far too eager to know what we look like…”

“I don’t!” Your protest comes a heartbeat too quickly, too eager in its denial. It prompts another chuckle from Kieran, a sound that seems full of mockery. “You’ve got to get better at lying if you want to survive in the N109 zone. But boss probably told you that already.”

The feeling of defeat steals the bite from your words; at this point, you just want to retreat to your room. “Just eat your stupid cookies and leave,” you demand, making Kieran laugh once more. “Aww, don’t tell me you’re giving up that easily.” At that, he offers you a cookie as well. You can feel his gaze boring into your side profile; from the corner of your eye, you make out the sharp features of his face and fiery eyes. He’s far more tempting than that cookie. “Say please,” his demand is so sweet, so soft, it almost doesn’t sound like the same person.

The shivers running down Kieran’s spine are worth more than the treats before him. The way you make a simple word sound this good is nearly diabolical. “Please,” you manage to choke out, before your teeth graze over the inside of your lip. “See, I’m nice. I know how to share.” The little demon behind you muses.

You bite into it, nibbling on the snack with your eyes glued to the counter. “I’m actually really good at sharing things, y’know? Had to learn that since…”

Your sweet moment gets interrupted in an instant. Like Kieran summoned the other demon with the start of his sentence as a deeper, muffled voice now joins your conversation. “Your amazing big bro always made sure to give you a taste of his treats.” You would have even preferred to have Sylus join this scene rather than Luke, but tonight seems to hold no favours for you.

“You know that I’m the nice brother. The caring one. Never keeping things for myself.” There’s a double meaning behind Luke’s words. You’re sure of it. Kieran can hear the whimper you try to suppress. He drinks in the defeated expression that spreads over your features. “If you wanted cookies, you could just get some yourself.” The younger twin quips back as the older brother draws closer to you both. Their grips exchange almost seamlessly.

Your focus shifts from the younger to the older twin. Suddenly, your head is being cradled by Luke’s hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “You’re not here for cookies,” you state, and the way you sound so proud has them both laugh again. “I’m not?” Luke challenges, his head tilting sideways to have the little jewellery dangle off his horn. His touch leads down along your jaw to rest on your throat and dance over your exposed collarbones. Your pulse quickens, doesn’t it?

“But I’m here to grab something sweet as well.” In the next moment, Kieran covers your eyes once more. The sensory deprivation leaves you too aware of the sandwich they have created. You’re caged between the twins, back pressed into Kieran’s chest to leave you open and vulnerable for the surprises of Luke. However, you didn’t anticipate the stillness that welcomes you in the dark. You expected them to overwhelm you the moment they unite, teasing you until you run back to your room all flustered. Instead, you’re starting to feel awkward, too exposed for your own liking, as even Luke’s touch leaves your figure. “Then… then grab it,” you murmur, desperate to break the ice. “Grab what?” they both ask in unison. Luke’s previous statement seems to have already slipped past their memory, you conclude.

“The swe-” you’re cut off by shock bursting inside your body as a pair of lips encases your own. Hungry, hot, he devours your words and pants until your knees turn weak. Kieran wraps a hand around your waist, holding you a little closer for stability.

“Delicious,” Luke mumbles against your lips, “thanks, princess.” Upon these words, he pulls away and fixes his mask, your dumbfounded reply of “You’re welcome,” nothing but amusing to him. However, as he turns to leave, Kieran is the one to protest. “Hey, what about me? I wanna kiss her too!” he can feel you tighten in his hold, can notice the difference of temperatures from your heated cheeks to his icy fingers as they remain to cover your eyes.

They both freeze as your pretty voice speaks up, cross your heart and hope to die. “I’ll close my eyes!”

A “huh” in unison meets your promise. You feel this awful stillness make a reappearance. If only you could guess what they are contemplating.

“Man, since when did you get so obedient?” Kieran wonders, but Luke leaves you no room for a reply. “Probably since I kissed her so well, right?” Your eyes are finally uncovered, yet it's incredibly difficult to keep them closed as you’re promptly being turned on your heels, face cradled in the already familiar chill of Kieran’s hands to let his lips clash with yours.

His kisses are slower than Luke’s, more passionate. You give back too willingly, kiss him with greed, unrelenting. It makes Luke almost envious. If it wasn’t for the great view of your back, you grace him with. Those tiny shorts doing a poor job at covering your ass. With one glide of his fingers, you feel blunt nails push into the plush tissue while the fabric between your legs is getting dragged higher and higher into your pussy. Kieran feels almost bad for the moans he swallows, yet only a fool would stop kissing you during a time where you feel more bold, more needy. The palm of his hand finds rest on your back, to push your tits against his chest and make you arch further for Luke’s games. For his hands to grab your hips, to pull your ass against his crotch, grinding carelessly against your pulsing cunt.

They push and pull you back and forth between them, their greedy hands unrelenting in their advances while turning you into a willing mess.

“Greedy minx,” the older twin murmurs, but he sounds a little too pleased for you to take the insult seriously. you feel deft fingers lace around your throat to draw you away from Kieran’s lips and into Luke’s chest. “I wasn’t done yet!” the younger twin’s protest fills the space between and Luke’s chuckles vibrate against your back. “I thought you’d be dying to eat her out instead of just kissing like teens,” Luke teases his brother. How they manage to have filthy banter like this is an enigma to you. “you’re right,” the younger of the two replies while already going down on his knees in front of you. It’s getting really hard to keep your eyes closed. But you promised.

His touch makes goosebumps decorate your thighs. How could they not chuckle about your cute reactions? “You want him to eat you out, right, pretty?” Luke mumbles, his chin rests on your shoulders. It’s a comfortable spot to be. “Let him know how much you want his tongue,” he encourages. You signed up for a kiss, now you’re having them undress you in the kitchen. “W-what if anyone walks in?” you try to reason with them, but your panties are discarded regardless of your words. “We'll give them a good show,” Kieran breathes the words against your pussy. You feel the tip of his nose tease the sensitive skin. “Now tell me,” he urges as well, while his fingertips are the only stimulation you receive as they dance along your skin. You hum, what kind of silly reply is that? “You’re smarter than that, kitten.”

They can’t possibly all be here for those damned cookies.

You struggle in their hold and cannot keep your promise. Your eyes fly open wide, yet you only think about staring towards the door, towards the familiar raspy voice mocking you, like he always does. “Sy-” once again, your words are cut off by the twins. Your moans sound whiny as Luke pinches your nipples through the flimsy fabric of your top while Kieran hoists your legs on his shoulders to devour your pussy.

It’s impossible to keep your eyes from rolling in their sockets, to keep your hips from grinding against Kieran’s face.

The atmosphere shifts around you three as Sylus draws near. You feel it in the way Luke’s body stiffens, how he releases your breasts from his ministrations. “Boss, I thought you said it’s okay if we play with her once.”

Yet the nonchalance dripping off Sylus’ words and reactions causes you to look at him once more. His eyes roam your body. Luke subconsciously obliges and reaches for the neckline of your top to expose your tits to dark red eyes as well. “Once, yes,” Sylus speaks too calmly as he watches you get eaten out by one of his assistants.

You quiver so much under Kieran’s tongue, you really like the twins that much better than him?

His brows crease in wonder, lips pursed slightly. He’s clearly not accustomed to women that seem immune to him. “What else did I tell you?” Sylus inquires. You know he’s not talking to you, yet your staring contest addresses every fibre of your body.

Kieran drags his tongue along your pussy, his teeth graze your clit before toying with the nub, flicking against it until your moans echo through the kitchen. But the way Luke and Sylus continue their conversation makes everything seem awfully miniscule. Large hands cup your tits once more, to play with your nipples and squeeze the fat. “No fucking, no fingers, no stretching her,” you whine upon the list of rules, missing exactly that sort of friction they are prohibited from giving you. “Only allowed to give, not take,” Kieran mumbles into your folds, you feel his cheerful grin too clearly as your thighs press against his cheeks. “That should be enough to kill the curiosity of all three of you,” Sylus concludes, arms now crossed in front of his broad chest. “Isn’t it, kitten?”

You were already too far gone; you didn’t even register the words until the all too familiar pet name. Once more, do you entertain the three with your surprised “huh?” as your body can only produce moans and whines from the twin’s actions. How can he still expect you to think?

The tap of Sylus’ fingertip against his temple is nothing short of a mockery, a smirk spreading on his face over how amusing you are to him. “Do you want more, sweetie?” Upon his question, he comes closer as well, just like you are close to your orgasm as Kieran seems too caught up in your pussy to stop himself or give you grace. However, to that specific question, you can offer a nod, a quick little nod begging him, them, for more. Sylus watches almost happily as your chest heaves in exhaustion, he notices how wide your pupils have gotten as your little mind is all but consumed by naughty thoughts. “More you shall have, but not from them,” he concludes, the ghost of his touch teasing your cheek while keeping enough distance for Kieran. “Apparently I need to teach a stray kitten her place.”

You come undone, the mental overstimulation even greater than the physical one as your body craves for more, pussy practically begging to be stuffed.

If only you could be able to enjoy the high coursing through your body. But Sylus has other plans as he hoists you over his shoulder with ease, a firm spank to your ass his little welcome present to his misbehaving pet. “I'll give you all night if that is what you need.”

dividers by @/cafekitsune

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #lads x reader #─ .✦ tea's words #love and deepspace luke #love and deepspace kieran #lads smut #love and deepspace smut #about.lukekieran #lads kieran x reader #lads luke x reader #tea's words #love & deepspace x reader

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skyrigel · 2 months

Text

“The Great War Part-3”

Part 1 || Part 2 || Benjicot masterlist

Pairing: Benjicot “Davos” blackwood x Bracken!reader

~ When mist of past finally clears up and you are faced with an ineffable truth of life, you reach for your darling husband's hand, surviving the great war [ wc : 4.7k]

๑⁠˙⁠❥⁠ 18 + nsfw, p in v ( rough ), missionary position, breeding kink, blood kink, size kink, fingering, c- word used in sexual context, orgasm denial, first time, love confessions, jealousy, confused feelings, poetic subtexts, bad writing?! Proofread

I might write an epilogue someday but this is it, thankyou everyone for reading and following along, also this is for @ihateitheretaylor for our three years of surviving the great war by reaching for each other, love you to the moon and saturn.

Benji's whole face glittered under the weirwood tree, his hand inevitably touching his heart as he saw you.

Your maiden cloak adored in golden and silver embroidery, house's sigil glistening, a red stallion in golden fields, like the strands of your future husband's hair that were blazing against the sun.

His grin absolutely splited his whole face, lines stretching wide as he gazed at you walking towards him with your brother.

“ Who comes ? ” His smile true to his words,

“ Who comes before the gods ? ”

Aeron paused for a moment before he looked at you, his arms brushing your shoulder as he nodded, a tight smile but a smile indeed.

“ Y/n of House Bracken, comes here to wed. A woman trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of gods. Who comes to claim her ? ”

Benji raised his chin, instantly looking back at you like he couldn't get enough and for a fact—he really couldn't

“ Me, Benjicot Davos blackwood of House blackwood, lord of Raventree halls, I claim her.” He winked at you, “ Who gives her ? ”

Aeron took your hand, his smile genuine when he glanced back at you.

“ Aeron Bracken of House Bracken, Brother of lady y/n, son of Lord Amos Bracken.” He turned to you, blinking back the watery haze, you gulped down the lump in your throat.

“ Lady y/n, Do you take this man ? ”

Your face grew warm, and there were many realisations in life, some slow and crashing as waves, some quick and bold as lightning, when you looked back at the man who was going to be your husband, the man you remembered from a long time ago, a distant memory and sometimes as though it was taken from yet another lifetime— his youthful face, bright eyes, chortling laughter that echoed through your soul. So many years gone in punishing him for something he never did, cursing him as you sleep talked.

So when you saw him, it struck you soft as a breeze, hard as a blow; you would love him so much, perhaps you already love him or perhaps there was still time but it will eventually come your way, and you will love him so deeply, so, so much that the oceans would be jealous, you will love him so blazely that the sun would burn in agony, so luminous that the stars would be envious.

That's the way you would love him, and it wouldn't be faith that will tie your hearts and bind your souls today, it will be a choice, his and yours to not be parted, not even death could do so. You smiled, no longer fighting your blush and letting it crimson your cheeks.

“ I take this man.” You said for the all the gods to know, him, who stands here with his goofy smile, too big for his face, him, who calls you darling while you roll your eyes, he's is the one, you would have him.

Benji reached for your hand, joining your souls together through the tips of his fingers, Aeron backed away as you and Benji kneeled against the old gods, head leaned together.

“ I vow to protect you, to honour and love you, to respect and support you, my darling wife.” no yet, He had chosen you already, a very long time ago.

His thumb smeared across your knuckles, voice dripping with sincerest affection.

“ I vow to stand with you, in life and death and what follows after, to be with you in bad nights and good days.”

Your heart was beating too fast, grasping this moment to be forever your reality, it scared you how you had no control, you chose him because there was nothing else you could do—there was going to be no you without him.

A day ago you hated how much he tormented you, hated how much he ached your heart with his sweet honey like words.

And now you hate him how truly alive he could make you feel, like he has set your soul on fire, his laugh booming across the bloodshed while you're reaching for his hand.

“ I will always love you, my lady. In days when I would forget life, breath and myself— i would remember you like an oath.”

Benji pressed his forehead against yours, taking half your misery—half your pain.

“ From this day...” You said along with him, smile tugging at the corner of your lips,

“ till forever falls apart.” Benji smiled, side glancing Aeron and his glea only rippled more.

“ Can I kiss my bride ? ” He asked you, soft as a whisper and you blinked, hands sweaty in his, entwined for lifetimes to come.

“ You may.” You said, closing your eyes and even then you could feel his giddiness that rushed into you, the press of his lips against yours, it wasn't feral, it wasn't bloody, it was as sweet and as gentle, like the poets would say.

Perhaps it was Aeron's throat that cleared itself so loudly that blinked open your eyes, feeling your knees ache in the tendons.

“ You look so beautiful darling.” Benji winked, helping you get up—his tongue caught between his teeths— removing the husk from your gown.

And just like that, he was your man now.

~~~

The wedding was small but the feast that followed was wild, everyone was drunk and happy, it was truly a blackwood and Bracken wedding, one should have seen the smirk that passed between Bracken's when blackwood's pretty girls started serving wine, pouring up to brims with their sweet sly smiles and curvy beautiful bodies.

And ofcourse it wasn't missed how prideful blackwood's were being with their extraordinary arrangements, nose red and tongue loose with alcohol.

“ Bout' time laddie, bout' time—” One of the blackwood knight's chortled, patting his company with enough force to make his food come back on surface, “—should've seen his face...saw him in between bloody battle and oh lordie— should've seen the little Rat, squeezing between,” He made little vague gestures from his greasy hands, “ like a cunty little —”

“ Oh shut up, will you ! ” the said little rat of his tales snapped back at him, his Bracken mates laughing while he fumed with a red face.

“ Amusing, isn't it ? ” Benji leaned to your ear, making you shiver when his mouth grazed your ear shall, “ My heart, my shine, my darling beloved wife.”

“ Very amusing...” You said, turning to him and his beautiful face, pink on his tips, hair sticking to his forehead and a grin only fools in love had, but their on the corner of his mouth sticked a crumb, you shouldn't, really, but then you saw how Raventree hall's ladies saw him, their lusty gazes and seductive smiles, even now, they would bloom like a flower if his drunk sloppy gaze merely sprinkled by, like many realisations that followed today, this was also one of them, the one that wanted to tear away those prying eyes and keep him all to yourself, to burn those heart that desired for him, to ruin those dreams that they staged, he was yours, your husband, your lord, and you were his, his wife, his lady, and when the great war comes, it will be his hand that you will reach for, only his.

“ Here—” You blushed, “ let me.” You smeared away the crumb with the soles of your fingers, smiling a small, you don't remember watching the sun rise in the long time but if anything, it would be the way Benji smiled in that moment, forever mesmerizing.

As if on cue, your golden moment was ruined when Martha came over, she was daughter of lord in court, it was evident with the silk on her body, and her sweet calculated smile, something only courts knew.

“ It is so gracious to meet you, Lady y/n Bracken—”

“ It's lady Blackwood.” Your fork penetrated deeper into meat, “ Now.” you added with a smile, Martha nodded, her jaw hardening.

“ Ofcourse, Lady blackwood.” she tilted her head, fiddling with the chain on her neck, Benji was watching your sloppily, leaning on your shoulder and despite he was quite heavy, you weren't going to tell him that.

“ Congratulations, It is really credible what you did...to tie the two house together, a duty not anyone could do.” She bit her lower lip, shifting her sharp eyes to Benji who was putting more crumbs on his mouth, looking back at you with his chin raised.

You knew where she was getting at, duty and honour, to rub it on your face that this marriage is loveless, that it's just a duty that would end with two or three babes and forever isolation in chambers, but she didn't knew what you did, she didn't know the love that was swirling, had been, for the longest time, since one of these feasts with slurred laughters and nonsensical conservations where you saw each other.

“ Ben...” You pouted, ignoring her forced flashing of teeths, doing away the crumbs on his mouth while he fancied leaning in to kiss your tips, “ I am tired...can we—”

“ Darlin’ me too, shall we ? ”

It took a lot of nerves to not to burst in laughter the way Benji hurriedly got up, almost knocking his elbow in Aeron's face who sighed, but also smiled when he saw you watching your beloved husband.

You wondered where the wine was gone when he hooked your elbows together, all the while Martha hissed under her breath, haughty faced.

“ I wasn't expecting that...” You huffed, glancing at Benji, he was buzzing in excitement, practically floating mid air.

“ I...Martha was actually my first.” He shaked his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose, all colours drained out of your face, your knuckles clenched to bloodless flesh.

“ You know what I mean ? ” He asked, staggering behind you while you increased your pace, blinking back rapidly.

“ Ofcourse I do.” You snapped, not bothering to keep low in the dark of the tower, footsteps echoing through the night.

“ Okay, right...I wanted you to know—”

“ That you slept with another woman ? ” you turned around to him, his body knocked against you and in some other time, it wouldn't matter much, a forehead bump but he was drunk, you were angry, and times were changing, as both of your bodies tumbled down, he caught you by the waist, shifting you on top of him, a loud thud and soft ‘oof’ and a whimpered groan that was your own.

“ Are you okay, darling wife ? ” You pushed back the hair that crept out of your braid before you looked at him, propped on his elbows rested back, you shifted aside, letting your body fall next to him on the hard cold floor.

“ Yeah...you ? ”

Instead of answering you, Benji snorted first and then an absolute wave enveloped him, he was crackling with laughter, chest shaking as he glanced at you, turning away to clutch at his chest.

“ What's so funny ? ” You raised your brow, he shaked his head, taking the gods name in vain.

“ Oh Darling...” He flipped to your side, face to face as his eyes crinkled, watering at the sides, face flushed with rosiness and devil taking over his mouth. Soft and warm and pink.

“ You,” He whispered to you, taking your chin between your fingers and raising it towards him, “ are all the more breathtaking when you're jealous.” and here it was, the word, the feeling that roared like a monster on loose to destroy anyone who as so looked at Benji, a very feral twisting of heart.

“ No.” You lied, He shaked his head, leaning in, breath sweet and warm, you knew what that mouth was capable of, to kiss him was confetti bursting in your mind.

“ Liar.” He declared, gazing into your eyes and an ineffable pull broke lose, your lashes fluttered and the next moment he was kissing you and you were kissing him back.

The feral beast inside you said, devour him, make him yours, let him forget all the ones that came and gone, let it be you, only you.

You never knew how something could be more precious than air, a stiffled whine escaped your throat as he pulled away, catching a breath, grin dancing around his mouth, teasing you to catch — you weren't the one to turn down mockery, grabbing the side of his face and pulling him to you.

“ Oh my love...” He hummed inside your mouth, battling you for domination, tongue swiping across your lower lip.

He slided his hand in under your thigh, pulling you to his lap, he was dazed and drunk but in that moment, nothing could be sober more, when he picked you up from the floor without breaking a sweat and only sticking his tongue out when you watched him wide eyed.

“ I hate you.” You said, the feeling that clenched inside you was same as that unsettling tug in your navel when you spent your nights dreaming about him, when you touched his bloodied face, when you tasted his blood on your finger tips, it left it's mark, your thighs weak at the sensation that pulled inside your spine.

“ I can drop you.” He swayed your body in his arms, taking the stairs one at a time.

“ You won't.”

He smiled, “ No, I won't.”

Your face grew warm when two servants giggled softly, opening the door of his chambers or now—yours too.

It felt natural to be in his arms and to kiss him, like you had known him and this intimacy from ages ago and it baffled you how you had lived so far without starving to death without him.

“ Are you comfortable or is it just because we are married ? ” He asked, face illuminated by the moonish glow.

“ I..does it matter ? ”

“ Yes darling, it does...I want you to be happy, to be safe with me...I want you to know that we want this together.”

“ I want this.” You told him, not blinking as Benji's smile reached his eyes.

“ I love you.” He kissed your nose tip, pulling back expectantly but you only stared back, your heart heavy in your ribs.

You do, you know it, or well you will, it's going to happen and no matter what, it won't change, but deep inside, you didn't know how to form it in words, to say it and not feel sorry, to say it and erase back the years you gaslighted yourself into hating him.

“ I...” You breathed, and he understood, knew you like he was half your soul, his smile was small but he showed no sadness.

“ You don't have to say it back darling.”

And how could you not say it, the way you knew how much your heart would bleed from his love, flowing down your chambers to dripping through your veins, how much you love him, he was summer to your bleaking heart.

“ If I don't say it back, would you still love me ? ”

“ Darling.” He sat down gently in front of you, stroking your cheek as his gaze dropped to your lips, pulling it back to worship your eyes.

“ If you don't say it back then I will say it again, then we'll be even.” and the smile that tugged on both of your faces was worth every great war.

“ You are my first.” you told him shyly, hoping he understood or you were about to die out of shame.

But Benji just about died, his eyes flickered and raked you in, he had bowed, biting his lower lip while nodding.

“ Okay..okay..right.” He smiled, “ Fuck, I will be gentle baby.” His mouth twitched in a grin.

“ you must've had lot's of experiences.” you laughed, it came little bitter but Benji shaked his head, taking your hands and guiding them to his face, he looked cute, face cupped by your hands, your wedding band shinning.

“ I've slept with women but I never made love to them, it's my first time too.”

“oh.”

You lowered your gaze, Benji's touch was like fire, a wild feral flame erupting around you and you craved him, craved to get burnt by him, He softly raised your chin, and his eyes raised in a question.

“ I am not tired...if you're not.” You added quickly, feeling your nerves snap, were you too desperate, would it be bad if you were ?

Because this was your first time and so was his, making love, yes, to make love with your bloody feral husband, to touch him, to feel him, to have him, to keep him.

The way Benji's brow knitted together had you gasping for breath, you would take his refusal if it were that but you waited for so long, that the possibility of tommorow doesn't amuse you, to wait seemed torment.

“ Is that dress too heavy Darling wife ? ” and damn, you could die like that.

~~~

Those treacherous fingers weaved through the back of your dress, knots opening and with each moment he was closer.

You watched his reflection, he would occasionally glance, his blush breezing on his face as he wouldduck down to place a sloppy kiss wherever he liked, but when he looked up with that blazing look in his eyes, you knew it was done, you gave him a tilt of your head, face mere inches apart.

“ I want you....”

And so it goes, his heavy lidded eyes drank you in, his fingers moving your dress down until it fell down in a puddle of pastry around your ankles.

Benji grabbed your waist, he was going senseless in his brain, he couldn't think anything, his brain was short circuiting at all the things he would do to you.

Your back pressed against the soft silks as he climbed over you, his guard discarded somewhere, his chest bare and gleaming.

You breathed but Benji was breathless, mouth agape at your beauty, slowly his hands roamed around your shoulder, kissing every inch and praying to old gods and new because he didn't deserve you, you were all pretty things, bright and shine and him ?

Blood, chaos and thunder.

“ Oh my...oh darling—” His hands trembled, the need to mark you down like a blood stain and the urge to protect you like a dog.

To carve your pretty body and to bruise you blue and claim you all, it was confusing. And romantic. And very much turning him on.

“ Fuck ! ” He growled, your nipples were hard under his thumb and the pleading look you had in your eyes, he wanted to tease you, to make you beg on your knees and get it what you wanted but he was just a man, wild or lunatic, just a man who loved his wife so much, how could he refuse you anything even if it were the moon, he would steal a dragon and fly so high to give you what you wanted, to make true every wish, every dream you had, to fulfil you completely.

All breath was knocked out of you when Benji lowered his mouth, licking the skin of your breast and looking up for approval.

You whimpered at the sensation that practically had you shivering, your knees weakened as his tongue teased your hardened bud, wet and drooling mouth, placing hot kisses.

“ Please, please...Ben—” you tugged at his hair, he was sucking at plump flesh, his other hand rubbing your thigh, heating your whole body up.

“ What ? ” He said, strangled and needy despite trying to be the one to be incharge.

“ Ben... Please—” you heaved, pulling him to you but he pulled away, looking into you eyes and you saw how bloody bastard he could be sometimes when he wanted to be.

“ Darling...” You pouted, and he was just a man, gone before the words even made it out, his fingers teasing your entrance before he placed a kiss on your heart and took your tits in his mouth, humming like a starved man.

Heaven was an utopia concept that Septa talked about, but really, Septa never had made love because this is what it truly felt like, in his arms, in his bed.

Your moans filled the night as his teeth digged in your flesh, Benji was trying his best, the way he tried to stop kneading your breast too fast but ended up fisting it roughly between his palm, softening the pain with the sweet nothings he whispered.

“ How pretty...how soft..mmmm.” He nuzzled closer, you liked him that way, his hands rough, his words soft.

Your hands inevitably reached down between your legs and you just about felt the slickyness before he grabbed your wrist, pulling it back with a devilish grin.

“ Darling, no.” He kissed your finger tips and smiled, poking his tongue out to lick away the white thick juice that calloused your tip.

Whatever he did was enough to untie the knot in your stomach, your pit lurched like sea waves and wanted to crash the shore so badly that you would die begging him.

“Oh darling, how feral you are ? ” He teased, pinning your wrists above your head, his whole body pressing you down, placing a hard kiss on your mouth, squeezing your lips and sucking them dry.

All the while his knee socket digged between your thighs and like you were born to do it, you started moving along as the pressure built up, sparks flying.

“ c'mon, c'mon...do you want a kiss ? ” His jaw slackened as you grew your pace, hips buckling at the intensity and he was kind of very impressed, enough to smile down at your blue and purple bruising bod, releasing your torment.

His fingers only waited a moment before he was knuckles deep, your breath hitched and moans ribbed apart your throat.

“ Benji, oh lord..ah..mm” you hoped he heard the ‘ I love you's ’ you were chanting for him.

“ You're so wet for me...so wet baby.” His mouth dropped to kiss a mole on your tummy, all the while penetrate his finger deeper and then one became two, immediately having your back arch, hips buckling as two turned to three, digging inside you, huffing when he angled them in a way that had you closing your eyes and lose yourself to him.

“So tight for me darling.” You opened your eyes to find his lips on your ear shell, whispering it down to you and his fist inside you, just basking in your warm tight cunt.

“ Benji... darling...” Your face crumbled as tears rolled down, and a greater woman wouldn't beg but you would do anything to have him take you, anything.

You looked just in time as Benji climbed on top of you, his arm on top your head that propped him up so he didn't crush you down.

His fingers glided back from your folds before something thicker than his finger touched your clit.

“Oh.... dear lord.” your chest raised at the heavy intake of air, but He was massive and hard for you, his shaft angry at the unattention.

“Just the tip darling.” He pecked your swollen lips, a droplet of blood sat atop, curtsy by him that he gladly tasted, “sweet.”

You remembered thinking Benji wasn't a liar but in that fucking moment, he was the biggest liar to ever lie, his length pushing down and getting lost in your folds.

You glanced between you and him and shuddered at the thought of being split open by his cock, half his length shining and struggling to wrap inside you.

“ Fuck—” He cursed, “ Your tight pussy I-isn't letting em' in.”

Your thighs ached as he pried them apart for more access, his face red and breaking sweat. He managed to go ball-deep inside you, proud tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“ Benji...” You whimpered, face blotchy with tears that spilled while he kept telling you, it was just the tip and if anything, saying darling wife after every word.

The feeling of freefall, that comes after flying high and higher and not bothering friction and gravitation that pulls, it was just like that, when Ben looked into your eyes before his first thrust inside you, you were flying in the sky with him.

One thrust — and you were falling, your body wasn't your own and it was shearing, it was gleaful, it was infinite.

Your insides clenched as he pushed more, then more and each time his nerves popped harder on his neck, his eyes clenched closer to heaven but he would open them again, using his free hand that wasn't opening your legs to wipe away the tears that streamed down your face, relishing in your soft moaning that screamed his name.

Four thrust down and his restraints broke the chains, he was no longer in control, pounding inside you and all he could do was keep telling you how good you were.

He was bloody, the way he grabbed your arse cheeks to slam his entire length in, spiralling your whole world, bruising you blue.

“ Darling, so good...so good for me.” just when he pulled out only to thrust back in your swollen cunt again, balls deep in your sweet cunt and liar said just the tip.

“ Just like that...mmm..yeah.” just when you thought you were about to split open, with stars in your eyes.

“ Baby love...I love you...I love you.” and his feral took a peak when he leaned to pin your shoulders down, you were fighting for realease but he kept telling you not yet, not now.

“ Benny please...” You cried, but you can take that, you were being so good, such a nice doll to him.

“ I love you...oh my darling, love you so much...let me fill you with my babes..” He moaned out. “ Darling—” he croaked, thrusting harder inside you, the bed shook with his pounding, his face another blissful sight but even through the daze, he wouldn't stop gawking at you, watching you moan on his cock, all your sweet nothings just for him.

“ please... darling, let me see you carry our baby...”

And you had no say before your insides were filled with his juices, warmness spreading inside and out and everything melted in a slow daze and perhaps that's chaos.

The way you came on his cock, silvery misty substance mixing with his own and he dropped his face next to you, sniffing your sweet sweaty hair and placing a soft kiss.

“ That was...” He trailed, shifting his weight next to you and you felt breath rushing in your chest, “....so good baby.”

“ hmmm...” You closed your eyes letting the moment sink, when his arm came and wrapped around your waist then spooning your whole body.

“ My sweet love.” He said, out of nowhere and time passed, your naked bodies tangled in each other, drifting in a peaceful sleep.

~~~

It was one of those dreams, his face dripping with blood, yours or his, you didn't know but the urge to touch him was forevermore.

But then the reality struck you and with more convincing you opened your eyes to moonlight lighting his whole face.

His nose was nuzzled in the crook of your neck and his innocence brighter in the sky full of stars.

His sweet warm mouth drooling over your chest, a bead of his drool cooling your skin.

And the urge was sudden, like lightening when you smiled at your beloved husband.

“ Benji...” you whispered and he didn't move, sleeping and snoring softly.

“ Ben....” you tried again, ofcourse there was tommorow awaiting, but your heart said speak now.

“ huh.” He sleepily hummed, smearing his cheek on your warm body, smiling dopily like it was a very sweet dream.

You smiled, forever remembering the memory when you reached for his hand, entwinng your fingers together.

“ I love you.” You said, “ I love you so much darling.”

And just like that, you survived the great war.

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platinumshawnn · 1 month

Text

Bound by Blood and Fire | Benjicot Blackwood - pt vii

Synopsis: On the morning of the much-anticipated wedding, the feud between the Brackens and Blackwoods comes to a head, leaving everyone on edge. Benjicot’s first day as a husband sees him as the acting Lord of Raventree, as Samwell heads to the Redfork to confront the Brackens despite Benjicot's eagerness to go on his houses' behalf. Nonetheless, Serra and Benjicot celebrate a successful wedding.

masterlist | playlist | backwards | forward

A/N: hi sorry this is late, I wanted to make sure ch 7 was done as well as I could physically manage it but will probably come back and edit more later. also, sorry again if it’s a mess, I’ve been busy getting ready to move back to uni which depletes me of any last will to live every time <33 also peep the special edition banner lol

Content Warning(s): MDNI — 18+, adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content (i.e. m/f smut), mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation -- basically drama and porn idk

Word count: 17.5k

She did not like to describe them as nightmares — vivid and coming at her too fast it left her dizzy, but sometimes she did not know any other word for the dreams that kept her awake at night, plagued by images of her mother. Sleep had been a fleeting thing the past two nights, Serra’s head pounded and she felt nauseous that morning when she woke after a dream of her soft face, sad as she had cupped her daughter’s young face, only to be torn away by the Stranger in death — they had previously only happened every other moon, giving her a break at least. But they had been relentless as of late, never allowing her more than an hour of rest, leaving her aching for her mother to soothe her like a child when she woke. She had sobbed the first night after her kiss with Benjicot, just as she normally did. By the third night, she was drained and had no more tears left in her body to shed.

She wanted to speak to Kermit about it, just as she always had, but he seemed to be avoiding her since that day in the yards — his face still ingrained in her memory, angry and disgusted as she knelt by Benjicot, tending to the wounds he had inflicted. It seemed Benjicot was too, as she hadn’t seen much of him since.

The few times she saw him were only when it was necessary and he had no choice but to sit across from her at the table during breakfast and dinner, but he avoided her eye. The most she had gotten was a subtle shake of his head when she had stopped, seeing him training alone with a wooden doll in his usual spot; Ser Alistair at her side and dragging her away too, his eyes darting towards something above her — she assumed by the defeated expression, it was her eldest brother by the clench of his jaw.

The room smelled of lavender, thick with the scent from the several bunches that had been brought in and placed strategically around the chamber as she was dressed in the meantime. Her eyes were closed as her handmaidens continued to flit around her like a group of nervous birds; busy with the last touches to her dress fixing the red and blue maiden cloak around her shoulders and fixing her hair — she swore she had felt fingers on her neck, startled by their cool touch as her necklace was twisted, a soft hum of hushed voices around her.

Her head turned, whipping towards the sound of where a distant voice had come from, her eyes finding Grace, who looked at her with a concerned gaze, “My lady?” She asked.

Serra froze, delirious with exhaustion she presumed as she let out a sharp exhale, turning to look away, “Sorry, I…” she stammered. “I thought you said something.”

“I asked if you slept well last night,” Grace replied, touching her shoulder.

“No,” she admitted. “Sleep has not come easy these past nights.”

Grace smiled, small and sweet as she stepped in front of her — it was a weird thing to no longer have Orpheus at her feet, mulling over her, “Wedding day nerves?” She softly asked.

She let out a short laugh, tired and strained, “I suppose so.”

Her handmaiden looked down, smiling as she fixed her cloak’s clasp one last time, “You’ve nought to worry about, my lady.”

“And why is that?” She asked, looking down at her.

The girl shook her head, smiling, “I’ve seen the way Lord Benjicot looks at you.” She simply replied as though it was the most obvious thing. The words confused her because as far as she remembered, it was not — her mouth opened to reply, but she was silenced by the soft knock against her door.

She turned as it slowly crept open to reveal her father, who scanned the room with his eyes as he entered, slower than usual and visibly uncertain of his presence there.

Serra was nothing less than radiant in her wedding gown, the deep red silk contrasting beautifully against her skin. Her auburn hair, a trait she had inherited from him, had been painstakingly woven into an elaborate braid, adorned with small, delicate pearls. But it was her eyes, so full of uncertainty and quiet resolve, that held his gaze.

“Father,” Serra said, her voice soft but steady. She inclined her head slightly, a gesture that made Elmo’s heart swell with both pride and sorrow.

“Serra,” Elmo replied, his voice more gruff than he intended. He cleared his throat, stepping forward to take her hands in his. “You are… you look every bit the lady I always knew you would become.”

Serra’s lips curved into a small, wistful smile. “Thank you, Father.”

There was a pause, a brief moment of silence where neither spoke. Elmo searched for the right words, something to ease the tension he knew she must be feeling, but he found himself at a loss. What could he say that would comfort her when he felt the sting of the day so acutely?

“I know this is not easy,” he finally managed, his voice low. “But you are strong, Serra. Stronger than you think. And this marriage… it will bring much-needed peace to the Riverlands. That is something to be proud of.”

Serra nodded, her eyes downcast for a moment before meeting his again. “I know, Father. I understand what this marriage means for our house, for all the houses of the Riverlands.”

Elmo squeezed her hands, then released them, stepping back slightly. “Are you ready?”

Serra hesitated, glancing toward the window where the ancient trees of the godswood could be seen in the distance, their black leaves whispering in the wind. She took a deep breath, then turned back to him with a more confident expression.

“Yes, I’m ready.”

Elmo smiled, a fleeting expression that quickly gave way to something more sombre. He extended his arm, and Serra took it, her grip firm and steady. The hallways were quiet, the only sound was the soft rustle of Serra’s gown against the stone floor as they descended the stairs and approached the entrance to the godswood, Elmo could feel the change in the air. The cool breeze carried with it the scent of earth and leaves, a reminder of the ancient roots that held Raventree Hall in its grasp.

When they reached the edge of the godswood where the two sons of Elmo Tully and Samwell waited along with Maester Edric, their eyes turned to watch as Lord Elmo Tully led his daughter forward. At the centre of it all stood Benjicot Blackwood, dressed in the dark colours of his house, his young face set in a mask of calm reserve.

Elmo felt Serra’s grip on his arm tighten as they approached Benjicot, and he gave her a reassuring pat. When they reached the heart tree, the weirwood’s blood-red leaves rustling above them, Elmo turned to face his daughter one last time.

“Who gives this bride?” Lord Samwell asked.

“I, Lord Elmo Tully, of House Tully, give Serra Tully, my one and true daughter, to Benjicot Blackwood of House Blackwood in marriage.”

Her hand shook as his arm slowly slid away from hers, fighting the urge to reach out for her father and drag him back to her side as he stepped back. She looked back at him, eyes wide and scared as he gave her an encouraging nod -- she looked straight ahead, facing the large weirwood tree that hung dead over them, Benjicot’s back still to her. She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled -- once, two, thrice before she slowly approached him, her feet sinking into the earth with each step. It was then that she noticed Benjicot’s head was lowered, bowed to the tree with his eyes closed as his hands remained clasped behind him -- she looked up at the Weirwood, its face staring back at her, horrifying and sobbing.

“Do you, Serra Tully, take this man?”

She hadn’t realised she had been standing there, in a daze and lost in thought until Lord Blackwood’s voice drew her back to reality. She looked down from the tree, looking at him and finding those familiar dark eyes that held such intensity, she had to force a breath inwards -- Benjicot’s head lifted, turning to look at her, “I take this man.” She echoed.

There was a moment of silence, Benjicot’s hand emerging from underneath his cloak to extend to her and waiting expectantly for hers; steady and confident as she looked at it. She finally lifted hers, her right in his left, palms pressed together and fingers laced -- his touch felt searingly hot against hers as she was guided to a kneeled position, moving her cloak back with her free hand to prevent herself from getting tangled in it as she sunk to the ground. The ground beneath her was damp from the rain, soaking through the white dress that had been meticulously chosen for her.

Benjicot’s head bowed again, lowered and looking towards the ground as he took a deep breath, closing them again. She watched him from the corner of her eye, swallowing thickly before she mirrored his actions and lowered her head, her eyes however open and fixed on her lap. She could hear Samwell’s voice from the day prior still, explaining the ceremony to her step-by-step so she didn’t make a fool of herself, the breeze the only noise that passed through them. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling as Samwell gently laid a hand against the crown of her head for a moment, along with that of Benjicot’s, withdrawing after a moment. She did not know what prayer to offer at that moment, her thoughts still racing as she tried to slow her breathing -- she could only imagine what Benjicot’s only silent plea was as she fought for a word of prayer to come to her.

Mother above, guide my heart and his in this union. Bless us with love, patience, and understanding, that we may grow together in harmony and strength. Grant me the wisdom to be a worthy partner to him, and the courage to face whatever trials may come. May our bond be as unbreakable as the vows we speak today, and may we find joy in each other’s company, now and always. I ask this humbly, with hope and faith in the path before us.

The silence lasted too long for her comfort as she finished her prayer, peering towards Benjicot again in her peripheral vision. His head rose after a moment, not daring to look at her yet as he opened his eyes, looking up at the tree -- he seemed to feel her stare on him as his head turned slightly, just enough to catch her eye and subtly raise an eyebrow at her. His eyes darted up as a way to gesture to her to stand before he slowly pushed up from his knees, Serra fumbling to follow him to her feet — his hand steadied her, still holding hers as she clutched her dress with her free hand.

He released her hand as they stood, turning to face one another. Benjicot’s hands lifted to her chest, his knuckles brushing her skin as he unfastened the clasp of her cloak; her eyes fixed on his face and watching the look of concentration that etched itself into his features -- his movements were cautious, careful not to damage it as he unclipped it and slowly slid the cloak from her shoulders, finding her eyes as he pulled it towards him. He looked away, holding the cloak out to her father who stepped forward to gather it, turning to look at her again. Samwell held out a cloak that resembled Benjicot’s, large and of their house colours — it was daunting to look at, unsure if it would fit her or leave her swimming in its fabric as Benjicot lifted it, holding it in front of her and shaking out the fabric — he swung the fabric up and around her, letting the cloak rest against her spine and enveloping her shoulders. The cloak was heavier than her own, a thick wool that would keep her warm amidst the rainy weather, rough against her fingers as she fisted it; her head lowered. She avoided his eyes as he fastened the cloak around her shoulders — his hand nudged her chin as he withdrew, encouraging her to look up at him again.

A gentle breeze blew through the Godswood, the silence filled by the distant sounds of ravens that seemed to constantly hover over the estate, his hands moving to cup her face — his hands were hot against her cheeks, gentle in handling her and holding her gaze. Her attention was drawn to the freckle on his forehead, down to the scar on his nose, his mouth that lingered close to hers but not yet touching, igniting reminders of the memory of his kiss in her room days earlier; though there was a restraint that was not there the time before, hesitating.

Benjicot leaned forward finally to close the gap, her eyes fluttering shut as his mouth found hers in a kiss that was slow and sweet; tame in comparison to the ones she had the memory of, exploratory and shy as his lips melded into hers. A warmth spread throughout her chest and limbs until it radiated to her fingertips, her heart rate increasing with nervous excitement as she instinctively reached up to touch his cheek.

Serra withdrew when she felt a trickle of rain land against her brow, her head tilting to look upwards towards the grey skies, covered in thick, full clouds that threatened to downpour -- Benjicot’s eyes followed hers for a moment, scanning the sky before he looked down at her again. When she looked back at him, she was met by a shocking tenderness that she didn’t recognise in him, his mouth pressing into a small, lopsided smile.

His eyes briefly darted towards where his father stood in front of them, looking to his wife then. She let out a startled yelp as he moved forward, sweeping her off her feet by hoisting her over his shoulder; her hips pressed against him, knocking the wind from her lungs for a moment as her right hand flung out towards his back -- she felt him sway as he adjusted his stance, bouncing her slightly over him so he could adjust her positioning as well, her eyes stuck on his heels.

She heard a low snort, quiet and unable to source who it belonged to as the ground beneath them moved; swaying with each step he took towards the house. Her father reached out to touch her shoulder as they passed, Benjicot’s body shaking with a laugh as her father uttered a soft, “Don’t drop her please.”

Serra was terrified to move or squirm as he walked, his cloak clutched tight in her hands as if somehow that would help break her fall if she slipped off; struggling to breathe with his shoulder pressed into her stomach. She watched as his feet led them inside, the dirt path covered in a layer of leaves that crunched under every step, the rain beginning to pick up -- the men who had joined them in the Godswood followed in silence behind them, her head briefly lifting to find her brothers, her father, and Samwell in tow. The doors were opened for them as they returned inside the grand halls of Raventree, the halls lit and lined with guards and staff who waited for their arrival -- she counted the pairs of feet as they passed, her eyes lifting every so often to catch the odd look of subtle amusement from a young guard or the giddy smile of a handmaiden as he carried her towards the hall.

They arrived to open doors, the room already lined and filled with several men and women from the Riverlands; other highborn noble couples, lords, and their children. It was only then did she feel him crouch and let her down, her feet making contact with the floor as he slowly placed her down. She stumbled back a step, red-faced and flustered as she quickly fixed her dress, steadied by a hand of his around her elbow and looking ever so proud of himself as he grinned at her -- she let out a breathy laugh, wide-eyed. A sudden chorus of applause erupted within the room, her head whipping around to face the room that welcomed them, lit and basking in the warm glow of the lighting of the ornate chandelier that hung over the rows of tables; Benjicot’s hand finding her back and sliding up her spine as he moved to stand beside her.

Serra could not remember what it was like to attend a wedding under the old gods -- the few she had attended had been in her childhood, whilst most of the ones she attended in her life were of cousins and relatives who followed the Seven -- but it stunned her how extravagant and beautiful the tradition was, the familiar house colours of burgundy, silver and grey lining the walls; the streamers and banners of their sigil reaching every corner of the space. The tables were lined by gold silverware and utensils, the smell of wine and food wafting towards her and overwhelming her senses as she blindly found his free hand and held it.

“I hope it is all to your liking,” He quietly said, leaning into her side.

She admired the candlelit room, the faintest hint of the dwindling sunset casting in through the window that overlooked the hall; the familiar symbol of House Blackwood over the head table at the front of the room, “And more.” She replied, eyes sweeping over the crowd once more. She looked up at him with big, doe-like eyes and smiled wide, his expression softening with a look of adoration.

“Good.”

Serra was startled by the sudden announcement as Samwell joined them, his voice loud and carrying to every corner as Benjicot guided her forward and in the direction of the head table that awaited them;

“Presenting Benjicot Blackwood, heir to Raventree Hall and scion of House Blackwood, and his bride, the Lady Serra Blackwood, daughter of House Tully. Let all bear witness to this union, a bond forged in honour and sealed in love, uniting the ancient houses of Blackwood and Tully!”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Benjicot was never much of a dancer.

He did not particularly enjoy it, although he knew a few basic dances as had been expected of him; it was not something he ever found himself eager to do so willingly. In fact, in his twenty years and as a man, he had only found himself on the dancefloor if it was by his father’s order and he had no other choice — he lacked the grace for it, all long limbs and clumsy as he had to think hard about every step.

It was an embarrassment, he assumed, for a highborn man to not know much beyond basic steps — but even as a boy, he had gotten strange looks, watching as he struggled through each dance and having to consciously count himself through the steps without tripping over himself. He knew he looked ridiculous doing it, and despite that he was not keen to admit it, he was a prideful man who did not enjoy putting himself in a position to make a fool of himself if he could help it.

He relented though for Serra’s sake, unable to find it within himself to deny herself the little pleasure of three dances when they had first arrived; despite cringing at the thought while she looked at him with big eyes, pleading and childishly excited — she had tried to conceal it, but there was no denying the giddiness when he had reluctantly agreed and been pulled immediately towards the dance floor. He had hurried back to his seat as soon as he could as he had met his part of their deal, leaving her to Emrys, who had swept in immediately and asked for a dance himself; Benjicot didn’t have the heart to object, because he trusted her, and he trusted his cousin to know his limits. He quietly sat at the head table, nursing a chalice of wine that he slowly sipped, his eyes fixed on the dance floor and watching slowly as the drunken stupor of wine took hold of the guests as the band continued, the sound of joyous laughter and discussion present over the soft lull of music as Lord Elmo and his father conversed among themselves with Benjicot sat between the two men — even his father who did not care for the taste of wine had taken to indulging himself to a couple of cups.

“I do not mean to interrupt, my Lords,” Maester Thaddeus said as he approached the men from behind, appearing between Benjicot’s chair and his father’s on his right as the conversation ceased.

“Then do not,” Samwell said, visibly already annoyed by his presence as he waved him away and looked back to Elmo who raised an eyebrow.

“It is urgent.”

Samwell froze, sighing and looking up at him again, “Very well,” he replied. “What is it?”

He stuttered a moment, “I’d first like to offer my congratulations to the young Lord Benjicot on his union of course,” he said, earning a tight smile from Benjicot.

“Thank you, Thaddeus,” He replied.

The elderly man nodded, a forced smile on his face — however, he sensed there was more to the conversation as he glanced between him and his father, “I have also come as there has been news from the borders— there have been more men spotted near the boundaries again…”

Benjicot frowned, looking at his father.

“—This is hardly the time for this conversation, Thaddeus,” Samwell muttered, his voice sharp with irritation as he lifted his drink to his mouth.

“—Amos Bracken among them.” He added.

His father stilled, the chalice at his mouth frozen in time as he then lowered it to the table and turned his head again, “Amos has joined them?”

“It seems so, my Lord,” Thaddeus admitted,

His father let out a gruff hum, the news hanging over them as he brought his wine to his lips and downed its content in silence; eyes turning to look over the crowd of guests and friends who were blissfully oblivious to the news, “Let me go.” Benjicot pleaded, leaning towards his father, “I can be there within less than an hour on horseback. I can take Emrys and Henry, we can provide support to Davos and his men—”

“And repeat the mess you made last time?” Samwell snapped, looking at him then.

Benjicot hesitated, “No.”

His father contemplated his answer, staring at him and setting his empty chalice down, “No, Benjicot.” He finally said, looking away.

“Why not?”

“Because I said so,” He answered quickly. “You are hardly married yet, your marital bed still cold and untouched, and you would sacrifice yourself to Amos Bracken before your wedding night is over?” He asked, dumbfounded by the suggestion and turning his head to look at him with a frown.

He swallowed, glancing towards the room as it dawned on him that there was more to consider than just throwing himself to the wolves of battle — he had grown so used to carelessly throwing himself into these waters, that he had forgotten to consider his new wife, “I can come right back— go there and confront him, I can be back before midnight—”

“Benjicot, you have duties here,” Elmo said. “I admire your enthusiasm, I do, but your duty is here with Serra.”

“—and I will perform my duty, I assure you,” He insisted, “but this was my doing, let me go and put things right back as they were. Let me fix the mess I have made.”

“Your father and Lord Elmo are right, Benjicot,” Thaddeus said, interrupting him before he could utter another word. His eyes darted between the three men, blindingly rapidly, “that brings me to the second matter at hand.”

“But…”

Samwell reached over quickly and grabbed his wrist on the table, silencing him and only shaking his head, “What is it, Thaddeus?”

“There is the matter of the bedding ceremony,” He suddenly said.

Lord Elmo choked on his drink, practically throwing his cup down and eyes bulging as he coughed — Kermit, from his left, grabbed his shoulder and grabbed the napkin in front of him. It had been the first time Benjicot had even noticed the eldest Tully son, making eye contact briefly as Benjicot shoved his chair back to avoid the spill of wine, his hands flinging up, “Shit,” Benjicot exclaimed.

“Sorry,” Elmo coughed, “I apologise— pardon me. There will be no bedding ceremony.”

Samwell let out a sudden snort of laughter, earning a series of shocked expressions as he wiped a dribble of wine from his chin that he had accidentally spit out while laughing at Elmo’s horrified expression — the conversation had never risen before this moment, a tradition that Samwell himself had participated in as a young man on his wedding night. He had neither had this conversation with Benjicot, as it had slipped his mind in the days leading up to the wedding but he had expected a better reaction from Lord Tully. Benjicot looked at his father, a frown etched deep into his features as he set his chalice down.

“I will not have a dozen overweight, elderly men in the room with my daughter to watch her…” Elmo muttered, disgusted by the idea as he stammered, “engage in the marital act.”

Samwell laughed again, bringing his cup to his mouth for another sip, “I do not see what is so funny about this, Samwell.” Elmo said, turning to look at him. “I find the whole bedding ceremony utterly repulsive.”

Lord Blackwood shook his head and held up a hand, still chuckling as he swallowed his drink and set the cup down again, “Forgive me, Elmo, I…I do not mean to offend you.” He sincerely said, his voice low and quiet. “I just assumed you were a man of tradition, given your house’s reputation.”

“Not that one.” He readily snapped. “Do you not recall how mortified Alannys was? Serra is too fragile for that, I could not subject her to that.”

“Oh, I have never forgotten.” Samwell smiled, leaning into the table with his elbows and clasping his hands together as though he was praying; his knuckles pressing to his mouth as he eyed the Lord Tully, “It is only a mere suggestion, right, Thaddeus?” He asked, his eyes lit up with amusement as he looked to the maester who stood over them. Thaddeus hesitated, glancing between the two men before he offered a reluctant nod.

“It is…optional I suppose,” He slowly said. “It is just a precaution as a means to ensure the marriage is properly consummated.”

He reached across towards where Benjicot sat, grateful that his sister had whisked the young bride away, as his hand clasped his son’s broad shoulder with a firm squeeze, “I do not doubt that my boy here will be able to fulfil his duty, isn’t that right, Benjicot?”

The young man avoided his gaze as he stared at the table, sighing deeply and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment; humiliated enough as was, he heard Kermit let out a quiet snort while he too looked away. His eyes briefly glanced across the table, looking up through his lashes towards where Elmo grimaced and rolled his eyes — his father let out a final chortle, “There is no need to make more of a spectacle of the young bride and groom, no need to further embarrass them.” Samwell said, waving his hand dismissively and standing up from his chair. The maester nodded, still wary as he stepped back.

Benjicot watched as he scanned the room in search of Serra, soon finding her all flushed cheeks and smiles as she laughed, the pair at an appropriate distance as they danced — the sight could have bothered Benjicot, but he was comforted by her smile, relaxing in his seat. She appeared at ease — he assumed the blush on her face was in part from the wine as her head tipped back in laughter. His father waved towards Alysanne who stood in a nearby corner of the dance floor, her dark eyes lifting to catch the movement and standing up and away from the wall to gently push her way towards his wife.

After a whisper in her ear, Serra nodded, still breathless and smiling wide as she politely thanked his cousin for their dance before retreating with Alysanne from the floor. The two women quietly spoke as they walked towards the doors that exited the great hall, his wife’s head twisting to look back over her shoulder and finding him with her eyes before she exited — her smile softened, nodding her head in his direction as Benjicot pressed a hand over his mouth to conceal the small smile the sight of her brought to his face. At last, she turned and left the room, Samwell’s voice loud and clear as he spoke over the room, the music ceasing, “Honoured guests, the hour grows late, and it is time for our young lord and his bride to fulfil the ancient duties of marriage. Let us raise our cups and bid them a fond farewell for the night, wishing them a fruitful union and a blessed future."

His father raised his chalice, the room mirroring his actions for a moment before there was applause — the sound caused Ben to internally cringe as he took one last drink from his cup with clammy hands, forcing down whatever contents remained. He tuned out the sound of cheers of his name, wishing him well and blessing him as he stood slowly. His chair dragged across the ground, his father looking at him and offering a tight smile — for the first time in years, he found a look of pride and adoration in his eyes. His father moved to meet him as he circled the table, a hand touching coming to the back of his head and bringing his forehead to rest against his own.

A moment of silence passed between them, the music resuming as they stood together.

His father released him, stepping back and nodding, “You’re going to make a fine husband and father, my boy.” He said, blinking rapidly.

Benjicot sucked in a deep breath through his nose, nodding as he forced a smile that was small and timid, “You will be a great Lord of Raventree.” Samwell added, his voice quieter this time as he spoke.

He couldn’t put a finger on it, but his tone was off and held an edge of emotion that caused a shiver to run down his spine; the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge. His brows furrowed, head tilting slightly as he opened his mouth to question the sudden need for vulnerability but he was interrupted again, “Your bride is waiting for you. Go on.” Samwell said, his tone stern again. His father’s smile was something melancholic as Benjicot nodded and slowly parted ways, heading towards the doors; feeling the room’s eyes on him as he walked. The doors closed behind him as Ser Eryn followed close behind.

“Is he aware of your intention to go to Redfork tonight?” Elmo asked, the two men staring after the young Lord who had taken his leave.

Samwell shook his head, “Not yet.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Alysanne and Serra walked in silence a majority of the journey back to her newly shared rooms — the only noise that passed between them was the sound of fabric and heels with each step, the music from the great hall growing quieter the further they walked from it, her head down and watching her feet. Every so often, Serra could hear Ser Alistair’s armour from behind them clank, his footsteps heavier than both of theirs.

It was only once they reached the door did Alysannespoke, touching her elbow in a comforting gesture, offering a small smile that resembled her brothers as it did not quite reach her eyes, “This is where I leave you, my lady.” She softly said.

Serra reached to take her hand, pulling it from her elbow and holding it with her own as she let out a breath, “Thank you.” She replied.

The elder of the two women nodded, squeezing her hand, “I pray that my nephew is at least respectful.”

Serra let out a choked laugh, nodding again. She did not know how to approach the question, her gaze dropping briefly and refusing to release her hand just yet, “Something troubles you.”

She swallowed, “What is it like?” She asked, her voice small and shy.

Alysanne’s eyebrows shot up, eyes widening as she processed the question with parted lips that formed an ‘o’ as she glanced towards the guard who stood only feet away. She pondered her next words carefully, shifting uncomfortably as she glanced towards the guard who tried to keep as much distance as he safely could manage, “I’m not sure I am the best person to talk to you about this.” She quietly said, “Did your mother never teach you about such things?”

Serra shook her head, looking up at her.

“Oh, my dear.” She said, letting out a breathy laugh that hinted at her uncertainty, “You will be okay. It can be uncomfortable at first, but it becomes…tolerable. That is as much as I can tell you. The rest will come naturally.” Alysanne said, using her free hand to gently cup her cheek and brush her thumb over the skin there in a soothing manner, giving her a tight-lipped smile.

The door opened beside them, a handmaiden stepping out and curtsying to the pair, “We are ready for you, my lady.” She quietly said.

Alysanne withdrew from her, gently guiding her by her shoulder toward the room as Serra took one final, deep breath and shakily exhaled with one last look to the older Blackwood woman before she walked in behind the young woman who had come to retrieve her.

The servant girls had helped her in stripping down to the simple, cotton chemise that fell to her ankles, her dress being neatly folded away for her while they made work of the pins that held her hair in place; allowing it to fall freely down her back while another pulled back the blankets for her. She was grateful once for the help for once as her hands shook the moment she entered her chambers, frozen and unsure what to do as they got to work. Her eyes had just watched, silent as they brushed out her hair with nimble fingers, pulling down the blankets, quick and quiet -- they were gone just as quickly, one young girl mumbling a soft comment of, “Good luck, m’lady” as she left. Serra wasn’t fully sure what she was to expect — her mother was gone before she’d even had a chance to ask these questions, and her brothers and father did not believe in entertaining such improper conversations. She did not even know how to ask about the events of one’s wedding night — she was the first to be married, but surely, her brothers would soon follow with their betrothals and she supposed she was the one to have those answers.

Her gaze was fixed out the window, picking at her nails as the moments seemed to drag on, alone in silence as she awaited for…well, she wasn’t sure. It felt like hours before the sound of the door opening again startled her, turning to find Benjicot entering the room, his gaze timid and to the ground as he entered; briefly raising to look at her from across the room as he closed the door behind him. She could faintly hear the distant shout from the celebration hall on the other side of the house, her shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath as she turned to face him, her lips parting. Benjicot’s movements were wary as he slowly walked further into the room, yet to say anything to his new wife as he approached the settee; his left hand rising to reach across his chest to his right shoulder and making fluid, easy work to undo the pin that secured his cloak, allowing the fabric to come apart. He pulled the cloak from his shoulders and draped it over the seat, the pin reflecting the light of the fireplace that had been lit before her arrival before bending to unlace his boots. She watched his actions closely, unsure if she should approach him or let him come to her; twirling her fingers anxiously as she took a couple of shy steps towards him just as he stood upright. Benjicot’s gaze rose from the task, looking at her and watching as she moved toward him and straightened up — the light of the fire cast light across half his face, enough to make out his features as his eyes scanned down the length of her body.

His hands reached next for the belt that hung around his hips, undoing it and placing it with his cloak, the metal of it clinking with the move. His head dropped to look down as he moved to lift towards the strings of his leather vest, beginning to fumble them undone just as she closed the gap to approach him until she was stood directly in front of him and reached out towards the strings his hands were preoccupied with, “Here…let me.” She quietly mumbled, his gaze going to her face, allowing his hands to drop to his sides after a moment and nodding once. She sheepishly glanced up at him, her fingers trembling as she undid the laces until the vest could be discarded amongst the growing pile of his clothing.

There was a break in the discard of his clothing, Benjicot instead distracted by her features, a hand reaching up to take the ends of her hair between his fingers and playing with it, fiddling with the strands before his hand rose to brush some behind her ear. His thumb brushed along the shape of her cheekbone as it came to drop down, slow and curious, as if he was trying to map out every curve and dip of her body head-to-toe; the hand ceasing at her jaw and taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger. She swallowed, her attention fascinated by his features up close in this light -- even in this light, if not even more, he was strikingly handsome. Her right hand lifted, palm and fingers placed to his chest, splayed out as her hand pressed flat against his sternum to feel that familiar thrum of his heart just beneath his ribs; feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each breath. Her gesture prompted a smile from him, mouth curving upwards and a dimple appearing on his left cheek as she felt his heartbeat quicken under her palm.

He let go of her chin, stepping back just enough to be able to pull the burgundy doublet up over his head and remove it fully, leaving him half-undressed in just his underclothes. Serra fought the urge to reach out and once again touch him, feeling a jolt in the pit of her stomach as her eyes explored the skin, letting him come forward to her again as he stepped closer until he was chest-to-chest with her; hands coming to her waist as his fingers pressed into her sides. Even through her clothing, as little as it was, she could feel the heat of his touch radiate through the fabric as his face hovered so close over hers, his breath brushed over her lips; close but not quite touching as her eyelids fluttered, her breath quickening and instinctively finding hold of him by his shoulders. She felt as he drove her feet backwards and towards the bed until her knees met the frame, so close but not yet kissing her, leaving her in the balance of anticipation and desperation. She practically pushed herself forward into him as his hands slid up her sides at a tantalisingly slow pace before coming to a rest at her ribs, just below her chest and using one hand to cup her right cheek.

The dam of anticipation in her broke as his lips finally and fully pressed to hers, relieved as he truly and completely kissed her without restraint. His lips and tongue still held the lingering taste of wine from dinner, sweet and warm as his tongue slipped between parted lips to lick at her tongue with his own. The combined sensation of his mouth on hers and his touch left her feeling hot and flustered, a warmth pooling in her belly as she sharply inhaled a breath through her nose; sharing a breath with her husband, whose hot breath tickled her nose and cheeks. It seemed as though any thoughts of battle were long gone and left at the door as Benjicot put his all into the kiss, leaving her dizzy and breathless.

She was grateful for the moment of air, catching her breath as he parted from her to lean away just long enough to guide her into sitting back on the mattress. She scuttled backwards to give him room to follow between her knees, watching instead amidst the dim glow of the orange flames, as hands went to his waist to untie the lace of his breeches and push them down, leaving him completely and fully bared to her once the final layer of his undershirt was discarded. She sat up against the pillows, knees pulled to her chest as he crawled up to her, too anxious to look anywhere but his face as he approached her on the bed. Soon enough, he was face-to-face again with her, kneeling between her knees that were guided down and apart with one hand that then settled against the bed over her hip as he pressed a kiss to her mouth, simple and sweet in contrast to the kiss moments ago. She lifted a hand to his face, stroking his cheek.

“How much do you know about…” He quietly asked, mouth parted from hers as he sought the words. She shook her head in reply.

“Not..a lot.” She admitted.

He inhaled, letting out a breath against her lips as he nodded too, hand closing around her hip, “Move down, lie back.” He instructed in a hushed tone.

She shyly moved to shimmy herself down and onto her back underneath him, her hands withdrawing toward herself and resting over her abdomen, flat against her belly as she waited for his next move. Her wide, curious eyes watched his movements closely as he readjusted himself between her legs, his thighs brushing hers and running fingertips down from her collarbone; down her body, his touch leaving a trail of heat in their wake as they trailed down the thin fabric until he stopped at her thigh. He grasped her chemises’ skirt and gently tugged it up until it could be bunched at her waist, leaving her bare to the elements as the breeze from the room tickled the flesh of her thighs, raising gooseflesh along the skin as her thighs rested over his, leaving her hips angled towards him.

“I have heard that it hurts.” She announced, his eyes going to her face. “The first time…I have heard from other ladies that it hurts.” She further explained, restating herself to clarify her point. She could see the small smile on his face as he leaned over her, mouth coming to hers in another sweet kiss, though she could feel that same heat simmering below the surface from earlier.

“I cannot guarantee it won’t…it is different for men.” He said, pausing. “Though I can promise to do my best not to bring you too much discomfort. Try to relax.”

Her breath quickened, her heart hammering beneath her ribs as her hands slid up from her belly to the neck of her gown as she nodded, her lips brushing his. She watched as he moved back further on the bed, one hand over one of her knees while the other rose to his lips, pressing the digits to them — she couldn’t help but watch, curious and fascinated by his actions, gathering saliva with his fingertips; ensuring they were coated to his liking before his hand lowered between her thighs. It was then, that his stare caught hers once again, her bottom lip being taken between her teeth and sucking in a deep breath through her nose; shy and burning with embarrassment as her gaze turned toward the roof of the canopy of her bed and fidgeting with her fingers as his hand finally made contact with her skin again. She felt the pressure of his touch, the pads of his fingertips gentle in sliding up along her folds, his saliva combining with her slick arousal to allow the movement to glide with ease as fingers pressed against the pearl above her entrance. She could hardly control the clench of her belly, the warmth pooling there spreading like wildfire and igniting every nerve in her body when his fingers slowly began to rub against it with circular motions, his eyes stuck on her face and watching her from his place between her legs, gauging her reaction.

Her chest rose with a deep breath in, too engulfed by embarrassment to move under his watchful gaze and swallowing when she dared to meet his stare, startled by the soft expression on his face — for once, he just existed peacefully, no signs of frown lines around his brow or mouth. He was just the boy Lord of Raventree — youthful and handsome. His actions caused a charged jolt to shoot up her spine, the warmth once in her lower belly intensifying as her right knee moved to press against his side, with a soft mutter of ‘oh’, her hips shifting against his touch.

“Does that feel okay?” He suddenly asked.

She had to muster the courage to choke out a reply, afraid of her voice at that very moment, instead giving him a small nod. She could see the relief on his face as he leaned into his free hand that pressed flat against the mattress beside her waist, buried in the deep red blanket that covered the bed. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch him amidst the battle of figuring out where to place them — did she grab hold of the blankets? Of him?

“You can touch me, you know.” He stated like he had read her mind. She could make out the smile on his face and the tone that teased her, leaning forward to kiss her, a small muffled gasp of air being drawn in; every inch of her body aflame as the heat that spread down her belly, her thighs, until the sensation rested in her toes, tingling. At his words, almost like she had no control over her body, her right hand reached out towards him, leaned over her and made contact with his abdomen; the lean muscles rippling with movement as he adjusted himself so the hand by her waist could move to plant beside her head, his face hovering over hers. Benjicot withdrew from her lips, leaving her mouth chasing after his for a moment, her chin lifting while her fingertips traced down his abdomen until they stopped just between the dip of his hips. The feeling of his skin and the lewdness of the entire situation was thrilling, inciting an involuntary whimper.

He readjusted, his hips coming closer to hers, enough so that his pelvis brushed hers while his hand moved; taking her whimper as a cue to proceed. His hand dipped, using the slick her arousal created as a lubricant to gently ease a finger into her, slow movements, readily on the lookout for any sign of discomfort that would prompt him to stop — her eyes widened up at him, mouth falling agape and walls fluttering around the digit at the intrusion; he could see her brows furrow, audibly withdrawing a sharp intake of air through parted lips as she seemed to be trying to decide on whether it was a sensation she welcomed. Benjicot stilled, his thumb reaching to brush against her clit and resuming the slow and steady movements against her.

The hand that had been awkwardly placed at her chest finally moved, gripping his bright bicep tightly — he watched as she dropped her head back against the pillows, a whine of approval leaving her mouth that eased any worry in the back of his head. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her throat, the dip between her collarbones and dragging his lips up along the length of it, before settling at her pulse point and gently using his teeth to nip at the skin there, earning a content sigh as her head turned to bury into the pillow. Once he felt her muscles loosen, he edged a second finger in, his eyes never leaving her face; her hand at his hips sliding to his back and dragging her nails down his spine.

Benjicot had no desire to overwhelm her — as much as his primal desires wanted nothing more than to fuck her senseless into the mattress, quick and relentless, he bit back his impulsive urges. His face nuzzled against her chest, nose brushing along the curve of her breast, feeling as her hand rose to lace itself at the roots of his hair, fingernails scratching his scalp and earning a groan of approval at the sensation. His fingers curled upwards as they slowly thrust into her, his fingertips pressing up into her walls, a sensation that felt as though his fingers worked in behind the delicate bundle of nerves — her mouth opened with a sharp gasp, moaning as her hips shifted against his hand, lifting into his palm. Her hand in his hair tightened, tugging him upwards and back to her face, her mouth messily finding him in an open-mouth kiss that was more pants of air than anything; his mouth wandering to proper kisses to her chin and cheeks.

“Oh.” She softly breathed, his thumb picking up pace against her bud.

His chest pressed to hers as he laid his weight overtop her, hips between her thighs as the heel of her left foot pressed into the back of his thigh. In the move, Serra was reminded just how little separated them now; feeling the weight of his hardened cock brush against her pelvis -- relishing in the sacredness of the intimacy shared between husband and wife, in the privacy of their chambers. She was suddenly grateful that there had been no public spectacle made of their departure following the feast, no bedding ceremony that involved several ageing men standing in their room to witness it — she had heard the stories of others' bedding ceremonies at supper, mortified by the thought.

Her thighs ached as a pressure built in her belly, warmth pooling there like the embers of fire, stoked only by the ministrations of his hand; his forehead resting to her collarbone as his gaze lowered between them. His nose brushed her chin as he moved to watch the movements of his hand as his fingers moved in and out of her, coaxing every gasp and choked moan from her he could — Serra felt blessed to have a husband who had been gifted with the generous gifts the gods have given him, her chest arching up into his and clinging to him as a cry left her. The coil wound tight within belly snapped finally, her thighs clamping tight around his waist as her head pressed as far back into the mattress it could, stuttering out a mantra of his name as pleasure wracked through her body; her walls spasming around his fingers, “Fuck!” She sobbed.

His head snapped up towards her at the curse, his eyes on her face as her peak consumed her, body and soul — it seemed such a vulgar expression from a girl who usually presented as demure and calculatedly proper, cautious of ever behaving as anything less. It seemed harsh coming from her mouth but piqued his interest as he pushed himself back in line with her eyes as he eased her through the aftershocks that shook her to the core. His lips grazed hers, pressing a kiss to her mouth and swallowing the whine that left her, her eyes still squeezed shut — harsh as the sound was from her mouth, he ached to be the reason she cursed again, to push her over the precipice of pleasure until she could not find any other words. Pride swelled in his chest as her lips met his in a kiss that was eager and desperate, pulling her up with his free hand by the front of her nightgown.

She slowly sat up with him, an arm hooking around his shoulders as she leaned up into his kiss — skin hot and heavily breathing as his hand withdrew from between her thighs, earning a shudder from his wife. He sat back on his knees, his mouth parting from hers briefly to reach for the hem of her chemise with eager hands, her eyes on his and chest heaving with each breath as he pulled the gown up and over her head. He sensed her hesitation as her arms lifted with the task, dropping back to her sides once the fabric was discarded off the edge of the bed and gripping the pillows with nervous hands as his face hovered over hers — his right hand rested against her ribs, sliding down her side to the hinge between her hip and thigh as she gripped his shoulders. His nose nudged hers in an affectionate gesture, her lips parting as she let out a content sigh, exhaust already clearly written on her face as she lifted a hand to cup his cheek.

His hand at her ribs slowly trailed upwards, his thumb coming up underneath her breast and brushing over the hardened nipple there, “My lovely wife,” he breathed, his hand fully moving to envelop her breast in his palm and squeezing gently, “My Lady Blackwood…”

Her head tilted backwards with a soft mewl of appreciation, leaning back into her other hand that was still buried among the pillows, her eyes fluttering shut. His mouth connected with her sternum, the bed dipping beneath his weight as he abruptly slid down the bed, utterly consumed by his lust as he laid on his stomach; her thighs being dragged up and over his shoulders with his face eagerly coming between her legs. Serra released a startled gasp as his mouth attached itself to her, tongue swiping up her folds and finding her bud once again with his lips this time — his tongue dipped into her, pressing open-mouthed kisses against her womanhood as she clutched tightly to the bedding. One of her hands found its way back to his hair, fisting it between clammy fingers as her chest heaved with heavy gasps for air, “Oh gods.”

Benjicot released a guttural groan from below her, the grown-in facial hair scraping the delicate flesh of her thighs with each desperate lap and kiss, only heightening her senses as her thighs attempted to close around his head. He could feel her thighs tense, trembling underneath his touch as his mouth continued its ministrations, her body slumping back into the pillows with a cry, “Ben— Ben.” She breathed out, voice cracking with a weak cry of pleasure.

He could have stayed there forever — between her thighs, listening to her cries if time would have allowed for it, drinking in the image of her as he glanced up; her chest pushed up and arched against him as she writhed against the mattress with whines tumbling from her mouth.

She tugged him desperately away from her, her body ablaze as he eased off the mattress and was guided up until he was pressed against her; bare chest to hers, her soft skin slick with perspiration against his as he caught his breath. His hands planted against the mattress behind her, her thighs loosely around his waist as his pelvis brushed her own, “Do I satisfy you, wife?” He softly asked, ducking his head to briefly capture her lips with his.

Serra whined against his mouth, his hips reflexively grinding against hers and brushing against her sensitive skin. Her arms moved around him, coming up underneath his arms and palms pressing to the planes of his back as she pulled him flush against her, “Yes.” She gasped against his mouth.

It was a simple enough response, but it stirred something in him, causing him to release a moan of his own. His left hand moved to reach between them, his hand wrapping around his cock and bringing the head to her entrance; swiping up through her folds. He felt as she tensed, releasing a gasp that caused him to hesitate — the heels of her palms pushed against his back, pulling him into her again, the cue he needed to proceed; his hips aligned with hers as his hips angled into hers before slowly sinking into her.

His mouth opened with a soft groan, her face pinched up in a wince as she let out a sharp gasp at the intrusion, “Fuck.” He muttered.

Her hands adjusted against his spine, slipping down to his waist from his shoulders, her fingernails digging into the flesh of his hips. His gaze rose to her face, breathless as he withdrew his hand from between them to lift and cup her cheek as her head pressed back into the pillows with a strangled whimper, his thumb tilting her chin down and bringing her face back towards his, “Okay— you’re okay,” He soothed, her mouth agape as his hand held her chin in the crook between his thumb and forefinger with a delicate touch as he bottomed out; her walls tight and clenching around him.

Her chest heaved, eyebrows furrowing as she squeezed her eyes shut; Benjicot’s hips slowly withdrew, his movements slow as he rocked into her, another whimper on her lips at the stretch and burn of him embedded into her. She felt his mouth over hers, lips brushing hers as he spoke, his forehead pressed to hers, “There you go…” He encouraged her. “Just breathe.”

The hand at her jaw removed itself, reaching to find one of hers and lacing his fingers through hers as his palm pressed against her own; her hand being pinned against the mattress above her shoulder. His mouth captured hers in another heated kiss, a subtle distraction from how full of him she felt — his pelvis brushed hers with a slow roll of his hips, drawing a soft moan from her. It was a relief to earn some noise of approval finally that did not hint at pain, Benjicot leaned his weight into her and supported himself by his free arm as he leaned into his elbow, “Gods.” He breathed out, his hips rutting into hers.

Just as Alysanne had warned, there was discomfort — tight and feeling as though she could have split right then and there, beneath the weight of him, but it stoked a flame within her; a flush of warmth spreading down her body as her hips lifted into his, Benjicot’s face burying into her neck and arching into him. Her chin lifted towards the ceiling, a sharp breath being inhaled as she then let out a high-pitched moan and moved a hand to grip the back of his hair; her thighs opening further to welcome him. She gasped, the sounds of them both echoing within the room as Benjicot held her in place; pinned beneath him as he mindlessly fucked himself into her, his pelvis brushing against hers in a way that could have brought even the kingdoms to their knees. She felt his mouth find the corner of hers in a kiss, her mouth agape and lazily responding to him as another soft meek of appreciation slipped from her mouth — her senses were still raw, the hair on the back of her neck standing at attention.

A guttural moan left her husband, clamouring to come back to her face as his nose bumped hers, his mouth hovering over hers. The hand that previously pinned hers released, his hand coming to cup her cheek as she instinctively hooked a hip around his waist to pull him into her — her eyes found his, half-lidded and looking at her with nothing shy of awe and adoration; a warm glow in his eyes that elicited a flush of colour to spread across her face, mouth opening in another cry as she felt herself spiral, losing her grip on that last thread of reality that kept her grounded; tumbling through her peak as she clung to him, her nails digging into his flesh.

His forehead pressed to hers, slick with sweat and hair clinging to his skin. His hips snapped against hers twice more before he let out a euphoric sigh against her mouth, spilling himself into her and screwing his eyes shut. His weight moved off his elbow, laying full into her after a moment; her arms still around him and holding him against her as the room was filled by the soft pants of the husband and wife catching their breath, warmed by the fire that still burned across from them. Benjicot did not move, with his belly pressed to hers and lying between her thighs, still buried inside her as his head soon found rest against her neck — even if Serra had the desire to move, she couldn’t with her thighs around his waist and buried into the mattress underneath him. She blindly found the hair at the nape of his neck, fingers carefully carding through the roots as she slowly came to her senses; her eyes scanning the canopy above her and processing what had just happened — was this marriage? Was this what she had to look forward to?

In the fog of things, with the last traces of euphoria still coursing through her veins, marriage did not seem so daunting — it seemed pleasant and blissful.

Benjicot stirred against her, moving just enough to press a kiss to the crook of her neck and then another to her collarbone; lips wet against her skin as he licked them. His left hand found her ribs, sliding up her body and stopping below her breast as his hot breath tickled her skin, moving finally to look at her face again and slowly scanning every little fine detail his eyes could find. Serra gave a breathless smile, letting out a soft laugh — in the dim lighting, she saw Benjicot’s mouth quirk upwards, “You’re alright?” He asked, voice barely a whisper.

“I think so,” She answered.

He pressed a kiss to her mouth in that same breathtaking way that she craved for an eternity of, before he withdrew his hips; his body pulling away from hers with the action as he shifted — she was painfully aware suddenly how empty she now felt, besides that warm sensation of him between her legs. His head lowered to press a kiss to her chest as he shuffled back on the mattress and rolled over beside her; sprawled out on his back and let out a tired sigh. Her head turned to look at him, watching the way his chest rose and fell with slow, deep breaths with his eyes closed with a hand over his chest — she wasn’t sure what came next exactly, staring at him, waiting.

An eye opened, turning his head slightly to look at her, visibly exhausted as they shared a look -- his eyes averted from hers quickly, his mouth opening as though he wanted to say something but instead, she was met by silence; his hand moved to find hers, lacing his fingers through hers and gently squeezing it as they closed again, relaxing as her thumb brushed along the back of his hand.

A sudden bang on the door was followed by a shout, “Plant the Blackwood seed deep, cousin! Make us all proud!”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure he already has.”

Benjicot leaned up on his elbows, his gaze fixed on the door and opened his mouth, his brows furrowing as a series of drunken cackles followed. He listened to the clamour of his cousins, stumbling over one another as a thud followed, presuming one of the boys had fallen; Serra shifted beside him, his head turning to look up at her with an incredulous look, eyes widening as he then rolled them; a shy smile on her face as she let out a quiet laugh.

“Don’t take too long! The boys are missing you!” Emrys shouted.

“Shut up— take your time!” Henry silenced his younger brother, the sound of their clamouring footsteps heard from under the door, “We’re entrusting you two to create the next legendary Blackwood heir!”

“I could kill them, you know,” he suggested, voice quiet and looking back towards the door, “kill them, we flee to the woods and live in a modest little hut of our own. It’s sounding oddly appealing right about now.” He grumbled.

“Not like this,” She replied, shifting to lean over and press her lips to his shoulder in a kiss. Benjicot looked at her, his nose brushing hers in close proximity, “We will have to return sooner than later, you know.” She mumbled.

“We don’t have to,” he remarked. “We could just stay here the rest of the night— surely, I think the council and my father would understand if we were busy trying to secure the Blackwood line.”

The suggestive tone in his words left her speechless, face warming as she could only muster a shy smile against his mouth as he leaned in, closing the gap to press another kiss to her mouth, “You’re the heir. We can’t.” She quietly managed to mutter against his mouth, feeling as he let out a hum into her lips. Her right hand lifted quickly and wrapped around his neck, fingers gentle as she nudged him back, “We can’t.” She repeated, her voice firmer.

She watched the look cross his features, a grin on his face as his gaze dropped to her mouth for a moment, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, “If you say so,” He teased.

Benjicot moved quickly, lunging to his feet and bending to sweep up his clothing; finding his pants rather quickly and pulling them back on, leaving them on his hips untied. Her eyes watched him, entranced as he found his undershirt and slid it on — while collecting his clothing, his fingers plucked up her shift that had been strewn on the floor in the moment. He looked proud of himself, smug as he sauntered towards her, a hand lifting to gesture her up and towards him with a summon of his fingers.

Serra felt the urge to shy away under the heat of his gaze, a self-satisfied smile on his face as she slowly moved to slide off the bed and stand in front of him in all her entirely; bare beneath his gaze. One of his hands reached out to graze up her side, nudging her arm to cue her to lift them to which she complied, her arms raising to allow him to easily glide the fabric down her arms and over her head. Nimble fingers worked to tug the fabric down over her chest and belly, the fabric enveloping her thighs with touches that lingered, brushing along the expanse of her body as he gave the gown one last fix.

Her hand reached out suddenly, his eyes darting towards it and back to her face — he relaxed, allowing her to proceed and reach out. She avoided his eyes as she moved to tuck his shirt into the pants, straightening out the straps over his shoulders; her hands then began to make swift work of lacing him up at his waist, fastening the article of clothing around his hips. She finally glanced up as her hands dropped once the task was completed, finding him still watching her with that same look; he chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, dimple prominent with the action as he seemed to be lost in thought.

“Do you need help with your dress?” He asked, voice hushed.

“I can summon Grace,” she said, smoothing out the shirt over his chest. “I don’t imagine you have any experience with dresses, you need not worry.”

Benjicot withdrew and walked backwards towards where her ladies had previously neatly folded her dress over a table to keep it from being wrinkled, a grin on his face, “You underestimate me, my dear wife.”

Her eyebrows shot up, following his steps in moving forward towards him with slow, tentative steps, “And pray tell, why might you know such things…husband?”

“I’m observant,” He nonchalantly replied.

She stepped forward until she stood in front of him again, her husband reaching for a flagon of water that sat atop her writing table; searching for a cloth but coming short and instead settling on a handkerchief among her things. Benjicot tipped the flagon enough to wet the piece of fabric by pouring water into it, offering it to her with a look that flickered between her face before lowering south between her legs — she eyed it, sucking in a breath as she dawned on the realisation of his suggestion when he gently shook it. She reached out to accept it and retreated to a stool to clean herself near the fire; the sound of rustling fabric behind her as the once pristine handkerchief was stained by a light spotting of blood and the reminisce of their duty, wincing.

She glanced briefly over her shoulder towards him, finding him delicately handling her dress and holding it over his arms, waiting expectantly.

She huffed as she tossed the handkerchief to a nearby bin for soiled clothes, standing and straightening her shift. Benjicot offered her an arm as she stood, her thighs clamping together uncomfortably as she uttered a soft ‘thank you’ — he only let out a hum, seemingly focused on the task with a knitted brow as he helped the dress over her head; circling her to straighten out the back. Serra was used to the routine of others dressing her, feeling hands at her waist and neck, fixing her dress; but it dawned on her that Benjicot was too — it was a thought that she found discomforting, but unable to find it within herself to say anything as she felt the cloak of his house colours settle on her shoulders; his fingers sliding underneath the fabric to fix it against her skin. His hand closed around her shoulder to turn her, facing one another as he reached to fasten the cloak but was stopped by her hand, “I can do it.” She insisted.

He looked up at her, nodding. She did not mean to become so irritable the more she thought about it, but the words had come out before she could even think to restrain herself — she leaned up and kissed him, to soothe the wound before she backed away. The thought lingered, however, her father’s words echoing in her memory; angry as he rambled on about ending their betrothal on the spot — she pondered the tone of his voice when he denied the claims of a child, running through that moment a thousand times since and analysing every little detail; the sincerity of his words. He had been exhausted from the beating and she had never thought to question it before.

She couldn’t help but picture a child with his bright eyes and matching dark hair, chubby, rosy cheeks and all smiles — dawned in yellow and red to match their mother’s house, and the thought made her feel sick and dirty, feeling as though to some degree she could have been responsible for taking the father of a child away from them before they were even granted the chance to know him, true or not. The thought made her want to crawl out of her skin that she could have been responsible for such an idea — the anger and shame she held within her body could only be directed at the man in front of her, not towards a child who had no say in the matters of their conception; they were not responsible for bearing that burden of accountability for something beyond their control before they were even born. Serra swallowed.

She learned that Benjicot seemed to have a way of making dressing look like an art form that he had mastered; in his own oblivious world and doing it with such ease, practised as he walked throughout the room whilst tying his shirt closed, and pulling the doublet over his head. He had hardly paused as he fixed his hair with his fingers, plucking up the leather vest and pulling it on; Serra watched as he easily tied it back together and snug against his body, barely giving any mind to her task at hand. His eyes briefly lifted as though he felt her watching him, and there it was again — that small knowing smile on his face, looking up through his lashes as he tugged the vest to straighten it against his chest; that smile that made her heart swell within her chest, a juxtaposition to her resentment towards him for betraying her before he had even allowed her to do right by him and prove herself, and bringing a child into the world that he had no intention to claim — the flurry of emotions that coursed through her veins and haunted her thoughts involved nothing but shame.

She lowered his eyes from his, embarrassed at being caught staring as she collected her stockings from the table and sat once more to roll them up her legs underneath her dress, the fabric rising with the task. Her skirts were shoved back down and smoothed, turning to find her husband waiting with her shoes in his hand, having already pulled his boots and cloak back on — she hesitated, looking at them and his face before he slowly crouched to set them down in front of her. He helped her into them, offering her a shoulder for her to lean into as she stepped into them; her hand planted against his shoulder for stability as she swayed, legs ready to give out underneath her. Once she released him, he stood and stepped back, letting out a breath as he rolled his shoulders.

“Are you ready?” He suddenly asked.

She silently nodded.

A thought dawned on him, his eyes going to the bed and holding up a finger to her as if to signal one moment — he moved to brush past her, bent over the bed and observing it; she internally cringed at the sight of the blood stain where she had been moments prior, but Benjicot seemed unfazed as he quickly made work to strip the sheet from the bed. She watched him lazily fold it up, balling it and holding it against him as though that would do anything to conceal what it was he was carrying — his cloak half hid it as he returned to her side, taking her hand in his free one and sliding his fingers through hers.

The walk back towards the great hall was a long one, silent as she felt all the eyes of Raventree on her; servants and other house staff bowing their heads whilst uttering blessings to them as they passed — she hated to admit it, but the only thing that grounded her at that moment was Benjicot’s hand, his shoulder bumping hers as they walked, his pace slow to accommodate hers; and every so often, his gaze occasionally drifted to find hers, his eyebrows raising when she made eye contact as if he was checking that she was okay. Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, Benjicot summoned Ser Eryn towards them and muttered something to him.

“Can you summon the council and maester?” His voice was low enough that she could hardly make out his words, her ears ringing as she briefly looked into the room that was still bustling with celebrations; the room still buzzing with men and women who were drunk, stumbling over themselves and dancing as music filled every corner. She could vaguely see her father had remained at his seat, joyfully laughing as he spoke to a Lord who she recognized from House Piper — Ser Eryn quietly replied with a question, “Yes, the Lord Tully as well— and my father.”

“Your father is…preoccupied, my lord.”

“Where is he?”

“I’m not too sure, unfortunately. He stepped out shortly after you, but he should return soon.” Ser Eryn replied.

Serra looked towards the two men finally, Benjicot’s expression one of confusion as he reluctantly nodded and dismissed his sworn protector. The guard bowed his head before he retreated into the room before she was pulled out of sight from the room, around the corner towards the wall. They were silent, hand-in-hand, the sound of laughter and shouting from the room; listening to the drunken lords and ladies who excitedly whispered as the council crossed the room, the Lord Elmo in tow as Ser Eryn had been instructed to do. Benjicot’s gaze fixed on the side of her face, her eyes up towards the ceiling as he trailed a thumb across her knuckles in a soothing gesture. She briefly turned to look up at him, a small smile on his face as she gave his hand a reluctant squeeze.

“My dove,” Elmo sighed as he entered the hallway, shoving past the men of his council to get to her.

Serra’s eyes tore from Benjicot’s, looking to her father as he immediately reached out to grab her by her shoulders with a gentle hold and looking her over — he cupped her cheek, “Are you alright, my dear?”

She shyly nodded.

Her gaze darted over his shoulder, watching as the maester was handed the bed linens by her husband — the exchange was quiet, Maester Edric unfolding the sheet and assessing them, as everyone seemed to wait in silence for his response. Serra felt the need to curl up and die, mortified by the display in front of her father, while her brothers were hidden amongst the councilmen.

“The union has been successful— I can confirm the marriage has been consummated,” Maester Eric stated after a long pause, looking at Elmo. His old, wisened eyes looked then towards Serra, his voice softening, “You have both done well.”

Elmo clapped his hands together, startling his daughter, a relieved mutter breaking out amongst the men who surrounded them; the enthusiastic congratulations being extended immediately to the young boy lord, “Oh, the Gods shine down on us today— Serra, my dear, you make our house proud.” He excitedly said, his attention turning to Benjicot as he approached her side, “Benjicot— you too.” He rambled, reaching to shake his hand.

“I should make the announcement,” Her father suddenly announced, eyes widening as he brushed past them in a hurry.

Serra’s mouth opened to protest, embarrassed enough by the bows of heads and congratulations that now surrounded her; feeling as though there was a hand at her arm or grabbing her hand every second — she found it overwhelming as she leaned into Benjicot, who steadied her against his chest. His hands rested on her shoulders, holding her against him as she let out a breath, forcing a smile in the direction of Robbard Mooton as he begrudgingly offered his congratulations with a mutter before shuffling away with a scowl. She could hear her father clinking his chalice with a utensil, drawing all eyes to him as his drink was held high.

“This sacred bond between our houses is now complete, sealed in the eyes of gods and men. The honour of House Tully and House Blackwood stands strong, and this marriage shall fortify the ties between our families for generations to come.

May this union bring prosperity and strength to our houses, and may the love between Benjicot and Serra grow as deep as the rivers that nourish our lands. Tonight, we celebrate not just a marriage, but the forging of an alliance that will endure through the ages."

“Congratulations on your union, sister,” Kermit spoke from behind him as Robbard excused himself quickly. He stepped forward, hands clasped at the hilt of his sword and visibly tense as he spoke from behind gritted teeth.

Serra could tell he was avoiding Benjicot’s eyes and had no desire to be there — she could see the tension in his shoulders, forcibly squared and trying to appear as large as he could, stiff as a board as he stood upright, looking down his nose at her, “Thank you, Kermit.” She softly replied.

He hummed, not yet leaving as he stared at her, his expression tense with annoyance as though being there in that moment was a burden forced upon him. To see him so withdrawn from her, denying her of any genuine warmth and kindness that she had always known him for caused her heart to ache, fidgeting with her hands for a moment before she stepped forward to reach for one of his hands and took it between hers, “I should hope that soon enough you will be married too— happily and blessed by the Gods.” She nervously said, offering him a timid smile.

Benjicot’s hands squeezed around her shoulders, as though he was trying to soothe her from the anxiety that washed over her in that moment, staring at her brother with intense focus.

“I suppose I will be,” He replied, the answer cold and distant as he glanced at her husband behind her. She could faintly see the twitch of his eye as he found Benjicot, hardly suppressing the scowl of disgust that crept across his face, “Thank you, sister.” He said, pulling his hand from hers.

Benjicot fought the urge to scoff aloud, his eyes rolling in response to his friend’s attitude and the comment -- it took everything in him not to lunge at him and violently shake him like his father had done to him several times as a boy, hoping to shake some sense into him. Kermit wasn’t stupid, Benjicot had grown fully aware of that after years of friendship, but his behaviour was childish and ridiculous in his eyes -- that despite the bond he had with his sister, he was willing and quick to resent her for a mistake that was not hers to bear the consequences of. His jaw clenched, withdrawing his hands to his sides and watching as his sister attempted to reach again for him.

“Kermit, I—“

“I should let you get back to your celebrations,” Kermit snapped. “I’d hate to ruin your night.” He muttered, looking back down at his sister who let out a quiet ‘oh’, small like a child and blinking rapidly a couple of times whilst his gaze darted one last time towards Benjicot. The way he toyed with his wife enraged him, letting out a low growl of annoyance that came from deep within his throat -- how could he torture his sister over some petty feud that had nothing to do with her?

His eyes turned back to his sister. Benjicot witnessed the way a look crossed his features -- a look he could only describe as a moment of remorse as she looked down, his features subtly softening like he wanted to take it all back -- Benjicot wanted him to. He wanted him to regret it and take back his attitude; for him to apologise and beg for her forgiveness, prove to them both that it was a mistake and insist he was happy for her. Benjicot could bear the thought of him being angry with him -- he had grown used to it after several squabbles as boys that led to Kermit being angry with him for days and avoiding him like he was the human embodiment of illness; Benjicot was used to that silence and knew he would come crawling back with some subtle hint he had forgiven him with some excuse of training together, or whatever he could muster. But he knew his sweet wife could not.

Kermit visibly hesitated, his shoulders slouching with a breath, reaching forward to gather one of her hands with one of his own and lifting it. He kissed her knuckles, his head bowing as he lowered her hand, her head whipping up to look at him as her hand fell back to her side.

Serra timidly nodded, too worried she would worsen things if she pressed further — she longed to reach out, to bridge the widening chasm between them, but the words tangled on her tongue. Her eyes followed him as he turned on the ball of his foot and descended back into the hall that still roared with festivities, disappearing among the crowd and straining her eyes to catch one last glimpse of him. She hardly noticed as Benjicot stepped closer, his head lowering until his lips brushed the shell of her ear, “It’s not you that he is angry with,” Benjicot assured with a whisper.

She instinctively sought his hand as the familiar, soothing weight of it rested again on her shoulder, her hand lifting across her chest to entangle their fingers at her left shoulder, “It does not make this any easier,” She admitted.

His lips pressed to her temple in a comforting kiss, “I know,” Benjicot hummed, her cheek leaning into their hands as he stood upright, “But he will come to see reason eventually— he could never stray too long from you. You are two halves of the same soul if I ever saw one.”

Her head turned, looking up at him — he offered a small smile, his hand pulling from hers to brush some hair behind her ear and neatly tucking it away from her face, “Come now,” he instructed, finally pulling from her and finding her hand in his once more. “You only get one wedding night, we mustn’t squander it worrying about things we cannot control.”

Benjicot waited, looking at her expectantly as he gently tugged on her hand, encouraging her to move — her eyes had turned to stare after where her brother had gone, hesitating still to join him, “Please,” He said, forcing her forward a step as she looked back at him, “Do not let your brother sour the mood tonight. I will make amends with him in time, he will forgive us both. He will always care for you, no matter how he feels now— this does not reflect his true feelings.” He reasoned.

“I just want my brother,” she sighed, relenting and allowing him to lead her back into the hall as she found rest against his side; nestled under his arm that held her against him, seeking respite in his warmth and calm demeanour among the overwhelming chaos of the celebrations that were not yet close to dying down still. The room remained loud, the lights too bright for her eyes as she closed them, trusting him to lead them both through the crowd.

His hand found her waist as they walked, the moment brief and intimate, “You do have him.”

She was reminded of Oscar’s presence as he greeted them at the doors, his smile one of pride and warmth as he stood just inside the hall; her father was too distracted by a conversation with two men as he rambled excitedly to notice her arrival and acknowledge her further.

She felt guilty that she seemingly had forgotten he too was there, in all the chaos of getting ready, exhausted from a sleepless night of tossing and turning in bed; when her youngest brother was present and participating in the celebration of her new union, unable to conceal his giddiness, his hands clenching around the hilt of his sword as though it would somehow hide in plain sight that he was itching to approach her.

Oscar, in his wisdom and knowledge despite his youth, had always been skilled at reading a room and understanding the importance of timing -- he also knew Serra and knew that she would be overwhelmed amidst everything happening and had restrained himself from unintentionally contributing to things.

She realised that he was correct — despite Kermit’s current tantrum, she still had a brother — boyishly smiling at her like she had hung every star in the sky, proud and eager for her arrival that he was borderline bouncing on his feet as she entered; she was relieved to see a face that did not overwhelm her with thoughts of duty and expectation, nor guilt for experiencing even the smallest amount of bliss on her wedding night. Her youngest brother, proper and pristine as ever, turned to face her and Serra could only feel relief. She relaxed against Benjicot’s side, pulling from him to hurry towards her brother, her hands extending for him before she had even reached him — Benjicot was right that she at least had Oscar at that moment. It had dawned on her that she had hardly seen him all day, even after the wedding ceremony, only having caught brief glimpses of his hair in the crowd.

His hands found hers, bringing one to his mouth to place a kiss across her knuckles quickly, “You look radiant,” He commented as she stopped in front of him, “just like our mother, you know.” He commented, his compliment flowing with such ease she knew he was sincere. She could never doubt Oscar, because he was truthful and did not make it a habit to say anything that he did not mean.

Embarrassed, Serra felt herself become choked up at his words, emotion crawling up the back of her throat and tearing up as she blinked to rid herself of the tears that threatened to spill. She could not pinpoint the exact root cause for the tears as she let out a sad, melancholic laugh that was strangled; but she was painfully aware that in the weeks since her arrival of loneliness and isolation that she had carried since she had stepped foot into Raventree, that childish need for her mother gnawing at the back of her mind, “Are you not happy?” Her brother asked, concerned by her tears.

She shook her head quickly, “No, it’s not that,” she assured. “I am…I am happy.”

“Then why do you cry?”

She hesitated, “I just wish she could have been here.” Serra admitted, pulling a hand from his and cupping his cheek affectionately, “She would have been proud of the man you have grown to be.”

Her brother stilled as a look crossed his features, unreadable and unblinking as he stared at her the weight of her words rested heavy over them and visibly swallowed. He let out a small noise that resembled a forced laugh from his nose, “Is this what marriage does to one?” He quietly teased, touching her hand on his face.

She laughed, leaning forward and pressing a tender kiss to his forehead and brushing over his head, smoothing out the stray curls that she knew to be unruly since he was a babe.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Benjicot did not feel the need to intrude on the tender moment between the two siblings, watching as his wife soon became distracted by a conversation with her younger brother -- he had stayed a majority of the interaction but felt it necessary to give them a moment of privacy. As a boy, he envied what it must have been like to have siblings that ran about the castle, filling its halls with noise as they laughed, played, and fought -- he had watched them a majority of their childhood; and witnessed the unconditional love and bond they shared, expressed through defending one another, loyal to one another even when the others were not present.

He was fortunate enough to have his three first-cousins who grew up only down the hall from him, the sons his Uncle Willem’s pride and joy, and becoming something of his playmates -- but he yearned for what it would have been like to have had brothers and sisters of his own, who shared his blood entirely.

He had tugged at his sleeves, fixing them and looking away as Serra leaned in to press a kiss to Oscar’s forehead, his gaze scanning the room and averting anywhere else they could. The room had begun to stink of wine and old food that had been left to go cold, their guests too distracted in dance and song to pay it any mind, too drunk to even stay on their feet as he witnessed several men stumble over their own feet and scarcely catch themselves. His thoughts were distracted by his disgust at the sight, never quite understanding the appeal for impairing the mind of its ability to think clearly and act in better judgement -- even at his wedding, he felt no desire to join in and follow their lead. Even as Emrys and Henry approached him, breathless from laughter and red-faced as Henry slung an arm around his younger cousin’s shoulders and pulled him into his armpit to ruffle his hair, “There’s the man of the hour,” Henry remarked, a laugh in his voice as Benjicot strained to pull himself from his grasp, “Way to do us all proud, Benji.”

Benjicot fought the urge to wretch at the nickname, finally freeing himself from his grasp with an exasperated sigh, “How’s it feel to be a man now?” Emrys snickered, being shoved by the young heir who rolled his eyes, face reddening in embarrassment.

“A husband no less, aye,” Henry added.

Benjicot straightened his tunic, casting a wary glance around the room before turning back to his cousins with a strained smile. “Well, it feels like I’ve been handed a rather heavy set of responsibilities,” he said, trying to sound lighthearted. “And as for being a husband, I suppose I’ll have to adjust to this new role, just as you two seem to be adjusting to your wine-soaked festivities.”

He cast a sidelong glance at the revellers, his voice lowering slightly. “I’ll leave the grand display of ‘manhood’ to you, Emrys, and you too, Henry. For now, I’m more inclined to focus on not making a fool of myself.”

Emrys feigned an insulted pout as a hand pressed to his chest, mimicking a wound, whilst the eldest of the three laughed with his head thrown back, “So he’s too good for us now, you hear that?” Henry teased.

“Always was,” Benjicot taunted, teasing him as he shoved his cousin back a step. He paused, allowing for the sound of the festivities to fill the silence as his two cousins snickered, looking around again -- he suddenly noticed his father’s absence, despite looking around twice before he settled on the realisation he was nowhere to be found. His brows furrowed, mouth ajar, “Henry, do you, uh…happen to know where my father went?” He asked, looking at his cousin who took a sip from his chalice.

He appeared visibly confused, looking at Emrys who swayed absentmindedly, drunk as he seemed to be oblivious to the fact, “I don’t actually. Oi-- Emrys,” He called, drawing his brother’s attention back to the conversation, “Where did our uncle go?” Emrys snorted suddenly, “He went to the Redfork, you know this.” He said, his tone suggesting it was the most obvious thing.

Both men snapped upright, tense and confused as Henry lowered his head, frowning, “What?” The two men asked in unison.

Emrys let out a small laugh, grinning as he looked around, his eyes slowly returning to face them -- his smile dropped when he faced them again, “The Redfork…Davos and a few men went out to patrol this afternoon, there was some spat at the borders with some Bracken boys, Aeron Bracken among them,” He said, his tone again suggesting it was a widely known fact as he looked between his brother and Benjicot but instead met by silence, “It escalated into a full-blown battle, Samwell and Alysanne left a half hour ago with Robb and some of his men at the borders. More are to join them within the hour.”

“What the fuck do you mean they left?” Benjicot spluttered angrily.

Emrys attempted to force a laugh to lighten the mood, but the sound was cut short as Benjicot’s eyes narrowed, shaking his head, “You…” He started to say but stopped himself, “You truly didn’t know?”

He twitched, fist coming up quickly and ready to grab him by the shirt but stopping himself, and forcing out a frustrated sigh, “Obviously not, you dumb…” He growled, once again having to stop himself, his cousin’s eyebrows raising, “And what of your father?”

Emrys glanced around again, slow to process and blinking in shock as he stuttered for a moment. He frowned, “He, uh…he has stayed behind by instruction of your father, I believe.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Figure it out then,” He snapped, grabbing his tunic by the shoulder and forcing him to move a couple of stumbling steps as he began to seek his uncle. His head turned, scanning the room and trying to look through every face that his eyes could find, coming up empty.

“Get your bloody hand off…” Emrys began to argue, trying to pull from him. Benjicot shoved him, his anger bubbling over, releasing his shirt to allow him to tumble forward.

“Benjicot!” Serra exclaimed, catching his cousin as he merely missed falling into her and Oscar, wide-eyed and helping him up to his feet, “Are you alright, Emrys?” She asked hurriedly, her tone panicked as she looked at him, visibly concerned.

The blonde straightened his clothing, scowling as he brushed off her hand from his shoulder, “Yeah, your husband is just being a moody cunt.” He replied.

Benjicot’s head whipped towards him, pausing his search just long enough to scoff, “You fail to tell me my father has gone off to battle and I’m moody?” He spat.

“I’m sorry,” Emrys sarcastically shot back, “what would you have had me do? Barge into your room while you were fucking your wife? Yeah, I bet you would have listened to me then.”

Benjicot lunged forward, being caught by Henry as his arm wrapped around his shoulders to force himself between the two men; the youngest Blackwood being dragged back and out of the way of his grasp by Oscar and Serra. Her body acted as a barrier, forcing Emrys behind her as she flinched away from Benjicot’s hand.

Benjicot’s gaze was forced upon her by the action, a look of hurt crossing his features as he looked at her, “What the hell is going on here?”

His gaze tore from hers to the sound of Willem’s voice, stood behind Oscar with Kermit and Lord Elmo, who appeared visibly annoyed by the disruption -- the music had since ceased and all eyes were now on the group who was all heavy breathing and oblivious to the attention their argument had drawn to themselves. Serra quickly stepped away from Emrys, whose hand had instinctively found her elbow, her gaze down as Willem’s eyes focused on the simple gesture with a confused frown.

“Did you have any intention of telling me my father had taken it upon himself to go off to battle?” Benjicot curtly questioned.

His uncle hesitated, “Yes, we were going to tell you in the morning. Though I was not expecting you to return tonight, nephew,” He slowly explained. “You were expected to be busy with your… new wife.”

He tensed, jaw clenching as he roughly shoved Henry’s arm off of him, “And yet here I am.”

“It appears so,” Willem responded, his tone firmer now.

“Why did you not join him, then?” He asked.

“I was given strict instruction to remain here.”

Benjicot let out a bitter laugh, “For what reason?”

“To ensure you remain here, should you be stupid enough try to ride out and join your father.”

Benjicot stared at him, stunned by the admittance as they stood in silence. He shifted his stance uncomfortably, looking around at the crowd that watched, looking down suddenly before he looked up after a long pause, “Why would he do that?”

Willem sighed, “Because he knows you, Benjicot.” He said, slowly stepping past the young Tully’s and towards his nephew, “As do I. We cannot afford to possibly lose more than is already at stake, especially when that involves the heir, should he be slain in battle.”

He felt like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum over not getting whatever it was they wanted, swallowing thickly as his face burned with shame and clenching his fists at his sides, “We cannot guarantee Serra is with child yet, even if the marriage was successfully consummated-- you remain the apparent heir until that happens. You are where you need to be, Benjicot,” He quietly explained, stepping closer until he was nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with him, “Safe and alive, as we need you. So please…do not make any more of a scene than you already have. Enjoy your wedding. Behave.”

Benjicot felt the need to look down to avoid his gaze that was pinned to his face, looking down at him and speaking to him with that familiar edge his father possessed whenever he did something that was out of line like a petulant child, his voice calm and low enough that only he could hear it. He hated it with his father, but he hated it more coming from his uncle. He nodded after a moment.

Willem mirrored his actions by nodding and forcing a strained smile as he muttered, “Good,” he said, turning to face the crowd and clasping a hand on his shoulder, “My apologies, honoured guests. There was just a misunderstanding, but it has been resolved. Please! Continue, enjoy yourselves!”

His hand dropped from his shoulder, stepping past him to return to wherever he had come from, leaving him frozen in place -- Benjicot felt nauseous again, his heart pounding as he stared at his feet, unwilling to face his family and that of his wife’s that he knew had yet to move on from him; even the room hesitated to move past the scene. His uncle clapped his hands loudly, barking an order at the orchestra, causing the slow resumption of music that could not alleviate the tension within the room.

There was a slow shuffle of feet, the crowd dispersing around him, “Benjicot?” Serra called out to him, her voice soft and quiet among the whispers.

He watched as her feet appeared in front of him, visibly pausing before she reached out to him and pressed a hand to his chest, “Benjicot.” She repeated, attempting to gain his attention.

He could feel every violent thrum of his heart against his ribs, feeling as though his head was trapped underwater while his eyes fixated on the hem of her dress. Her other hand came up to his cheek, her head ducking to find his eyes, “Look at me, Benjicot.” His eyes finally snapped up to hers, teeth and jaw clenched tightly, “It’s okay.” She softly said, her thumb brushing his cheek as his expression softened, leaning into her as if his life depended on it as his body gave out from beneath him. She wrapped an arm around him, her hand moving from his cheek to his nape and bearing his weight against her own.

“It’s okay.” She repeated.

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strang3lov3 · 2 months

Text

Boundaries

Roman reads your diary when you're out of the house and learns all of your dirty fantasies about him. (3.5k)

Tags - stepdad!roman because I was in that kind of mood, stepcest, smut, daddy kink, age gap, (i aged roman for this so just picture him as dilfy as you'd like - perhaps pedro pascal aged. or joel miller aged if you're nasty), dubcon, some hitting, unprotected piv, blowjobs, vibrators, overstim, creampie, come eating, dom!roman - yes I know. I know I know I know. Let me have this let me pretend he’d fuck my brains out until they’re dripping out of my ears. He’s also a huuuuuge creep in this but I’m into that. I love this little dirt boy slime puppy. Fic help @beefrobeefcal for your beautiful eyes and @noxturnalpascal for your generous editing 🩷 A/N - ROMAN GIRLIES I am sorry for taking my sweet fucking time on getting him out to you in a timely manner but he can be difficult to nail down. I hope you like this icky stepdaddy version of him 🩷

Roman’s bored today. You’re not home right now, you’re out and about spending his money on god only knows what. He shouldn’t complain, though. You’re not as bad as his wife - your mother - who buys bags and bags of clothes and those single-function kitchen gadgets. He knows he’s one to talk, that really, he doesn’t need all of the square footage of his massive apartment or the fancy light fixtures or closets full of clothes he doesn’t wear. But he still doesn’t get it. Your mom doesn’t even cook.

Roman’s lonely, despite his marriage. He married your mom when you were still a teenager. He didn’t see much in her and he doesn’t think she really saw anything in him either, but neither of them seemed to really mind those facts. It was for appearances, mostly, there was never any love in it. Never any sex, either. Your mom could impress her family and friends by marrying rich, and Roman could appear to live a normal life. It makes him feel like Dexter a little bit, and that she’s Rita. Although, he feels like Rita too on some days.

Roman checks his phone. 9:17pm. Your mom is gone too, she’s out getting drinks with her old friend from college. At least they’re out of the house. They get rowdy and obnoxious when they drink. Roman figures he might as well go to bed, so he gets up off of the couch and heads up the stairs. He’s just about to go to his bedroom when he catches a whiff of something strong and fruity coming from your room.

A lit candle. You and your stupid fucking candles. Your room is covered in them, all different sizes and colors and scents and brands. You leave them lit all the time, and Roman’s constantly having to remind you to blow them out. But you’re not here right now, and who knows when you’ll be back. He goes around your room, blowing the candles out for you.

Roman doesn’t go into your bedroom often, the door is always closed and locked. But he catches glimpses now and then, he sees that you leave your bed unmade with your sheets and blankets crumpled up together and he wonders how strongly it smells of you. Not just your shampoo and body wash, but your sweat too. You. And he sees clothes on the floor, a bra hung on the closet door. Bottles of nail polish and acetone and used cotton pads on the vanity where you apply and remove your makeup. Lotion on the nightstand, a jewelry dish filled with sparkling gold trinkets. All of the things that make you up. He gets to look at it up close now, messing with the tchotchkes on your dresser and bookshelf as he strolls through your room. And he snoops through your bathroom too, opening your medicine cabinet and finding razors, and Midol, and mismatched earrings.

Roman lies down in your bed sheets to smell you like he’s always wanted to do, bunching them under his nose only to be disappointed when he finds that they’re freshly laundered. Only then does he feel like a creep, but not enough to stop what he’s doing. He’s learning so much about you. Roman opens the drawer of your nightstand and finds a THC cartridge and chuckles. You little pothead. He finds a little satin bag and pulls your Satisfyer from within it and smirks as he brings it to his nose and sniffs it, hoping for even the briefest of whiffs of your scent. Not much. He puts it back in its bag and stuffs the bag in your drawer, his fingers grazing over something else deep in the back. He pulls it out - a journal. You’re so difficult for Roman to understand at times, this is the fucking jackpot.

He situates himself against your thick Tempurpedic pillows, ones that he purchased for you, and he opens your journal. Your handwriting is loopy and a mix of cursive and print, but he manages to make out the words anyway. There’s some entries that are just nonsense - “Bugs flew into my hair”, and “Lost in a maze, following orange tabby cat”. He assumes these are dreams you’ve written down. He flips through the pages some more, hoping that maybe he’ll come across one of your sex dreams. He wonders which celebrity it’ll feature. Probably Pedro Pascal, but he hopes it’s about someone weird like Conan O’Brien or Liam Neeson.

Roman. Roman is the first name he finds, and it’s within an especially long entry. Not a dream, no - you were most definitely lucid for this one. There’s details, adjectives and adverbs, words like ‘desperate’ and ‘sexy’. You’ve written in detail the way you believe he would fuck you. The things you’d want him to do to you, the things you want to do to him.

He should feel sick to his stomach right now. You’re decades younger than him, he used to help you with your algebra homework at the dinner table. So fucking gross, so wrong. Roman likes it wrong. He likes it when there’s something off about it, something that would ruffle feathers if people knew. He wonders, do you like that too? Or do you feel ashamed of yourself, do you feel sort of icky inside? God, he hopes you feel humiliated by yourself.

But he doesn’t feel sick, he feels excited. Thrilled, even. Thrilled that it’s now 9:44, and you don’t like to be out late. Minutes feel like hours as he waits for the sound of your careful steps up the stairs, down the hall. He can barely contain his smirk when he sees the shadow of your body on the floor right before you walk through your bedroom door, face dropping as you see him laid in your bed, your diary in his hands. “Hey, kiddo!”

“Roman–”

“You’re out past curfew,” he teases. “Isn’t very becoming of a young lady, you know.”

Your cheeks heat up and your bottom lip begins to wobble. “Roman,” your voice shakes, “P-please, don’t read that.”

“Oh, you’re too late for that. You should have gotten one of those diaries with a lock. Like, maybe one of those ones where you use your voice to unlock it. Or is that before your time?” Roman pauses, waits for your response. He’s not met with one. “Yeah, I read it all. You’ve got a lot of insect nightmares.”

“Did you - did you read anything else?”

His smile tells you everything. “Mhm. I think it’s cute that you think I’d make love to you. That’s how you put it. Very romantic, very The Notebook-esque. No pun intended, of course.” Roman wiggles your diary in the air.

You’re gonna be sick. “Oh my god,” you whimper. “Oh my god, Roman. I’m sorry - you–” you seethe, “That was private.”

“Ooh, defensive! No, I get it. I really do. You’re embarrassed. You’ve been fantasizing about fucking your stepfather and you’re embarrassed. What would your mommy think?”

Tears begin to blur your vision and you stomp over to where Roman lies on your bed and attempt to rip the journal from his hands, but he’s stronger than he looks. He yanks it back towards him, pulling you on the bed as he does. “C’mere,” he says. “Let’s read your bedtime stories. Is this what you think about before you sleep? While you play with your pussy using that little toy in there?”

“Please, Roman. Don’t do this.”

“Yeah, I guess that’d be rather redundant, wouldn’t it? Because you’ve written everything in here, and I’ve read it all. I don’t know,” Roman sucks his teeth as he scoots closer to you, too close for comfort. His body touches yours, he brings his face too close to yours as he speaks. You feel claustrophobic, surrounded by him. Like there’s nowhere to run. “It occurred to me, sitting here, reading your dirty little fucked up fantasies about me, that you’ve got me all wrong in your head. And that just kinda bugs me, I guess?” he says. “I don’t know. If you’re gonna fantasize about your stepdad you should do it right. Like look - ‘long, thick, and veiny’,” Roman repeats your own words back to you. “I’m flattered, sweetheart, really. You’ve described a pornstar’s dick, and that’s sweet. But–” Roman unzips his pants and pulls out his cock, already rock-hard and leaking, a pearly bead of precum sitting pretty at his slit. “See? Painfully average.” He strokes himself slowly, squeezing his cock as he does. You’re almost in disbelief, and you should feel disgusted by this. Disgusted by Roman, by his actions. Disturbed by him for putting you in such a vulnerable position, making you feel so small. But goddamn if this isn’t what you’ve wanted. You can read between the lines, see that Roman’s casualness means that on some level, he must want this too. It appears as though your feelings are reciprocated by him, and that’s humiliating in an entirely different way than being caught for having them in the first place. It shouldn’t feel good like this.

“Look at you,” Roman says. “You don’t give a shit. You’re fucking- fucking salivating over there. Why don’t you get on your knees?”

The door’s wide open. Your mom could come home at any point, walk up those stairs and see her husband on your bed with his cock out, and you sitting right next to him, your eager eyes devouring him. Enabling him.

“On your knees,” Roman demands. It’s not a suggestion this time.

The memory foam mattress slowly springs up as you slink off of it and onto your knees, just like Roman asks. He moves with you, lifting his hips to push his pants and boxers down his thighs, and then unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off, revealing his soft, lightly toned body to you. His cock stands at full mast and looks imposing above you despite the way he described it as average, painfully average at that. Maybe it’s the context of the situation. The way that if you take him down your throat, that a line will be crossed and that there would be no way to go back.

Roman sees you weighing it in your mind as he holds his cock between his thumb and forefingers. He doesn’t want you to think, or second guess this, rather. You’ve done enough thinking to know that this is what you want. It’s why you wrote it all down, right? You want this. You fucking want this.

With his free hand, he reaches for the back of your head and pulls you close, tangling his fingers in your hair and looping the strands around his fingers as he pushes you down on his cock. He’s met with resistance as you push back, opting to swirl your tongue around the head and tasting that headiness of him, savoring him the way you wanted to. Roman swats your cheek, “Hey - quit that. Don’t fucking tease.” You wish he’d rub the skin he hit, show you a little kindness and make it hurt less.

“Wider, open wider,” he grunts. You open your jaw to allow him to push himself into your mouth inch by inch. He smells musky, heady, stronger than you would expect despite his pubic hair being so neatly trimmed. He tastes salty, the bead of precum that meets your tongue tastes so bitter and rather unpleasant, just like Roman is. But you love it anyway.

Roman takes your hand in his own and wraps it around the part of his cock that you can’t reach with your mouth, squeezing your fingers tight so that your knuckles grind against each other as he twists your hand up and down. His other hand is still tangled in your hair as he fucks himself into your mouth, making lewd grunts and moans. None of it feels pleasant, it’s just his cock in your throat, sliding in and out. It’s mechanical, emotionless. You feel like a fuckdoll.

Roman decides then that he wants to push you to your limit, so he pulls your hand off of his cock and forces himself down your throat entirely, his hand pushing on the back of your neck, causing you to gag and choke. He displays his strength again as you try to pull yourself up, but he holds you right where he wants you with his hand firmly on your head. “Nuh-uh, you're not quite done,” Roman says, “Choking builds character. Breathe through your nose. You’re fine. Hey–” he taps your cheek, “You’re fine. Relax.”

You know he’s right. It’s like the way they say to try to relax if you know you’re going to be in a car wreck, tensing up makes it hit harder. You try to relax your jaw and open your mouth wider as Roman fucks your mouth, but you still choke on him, drooling all over and making a mess of his lap. Zero gentleness as he bounces your mouth on his cock to an increasingly faster rhythm for his pleasure alone. Tears are spilling down your cheeks as you take Roman’s cock as far down your warm, wet mouth as he wants you to.

“Mmph–” you groan in discomfort.

“Oh, shut up,” Roman pants. “Fuck - just - just shut up. You’re fucking fine.”

Your nose brushes against that coarse patch of trimmed hair at the base of his cock as he forces your head up and down on his member over and over, gripping his muscular thighs for stability. You whine in discomfort as Roman really forces himself into you, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. He giggles at the way you gurgle and sputter on him. “Listen to you,” he taunts. “God, you’re making this so fun for me.”

Roman moans and grunts, his head tilted back as he uses your mouth. Your jaw aches and you don’t think you can take much more. With a deep groan, Roman pulls you off of his cock. “Fuck,” he says. “Get- stand up. Up. Take your clothes off.” He lays on the bed, arms folded behind his head and his hard cock standing up tall, shiny and wet with your saliva as he watches you take off your clothes. You don’t actually consider if you want this or not, you just do as Roman tells you until you’re completely bare in front of him. He looks predatory, threatening even, as he lays there on your bed. “You have your mother’s hips,” he tells you, smiling sickly when your face falls at his comment. He knew that’d ruffle your feathers.

Roman sits up and leans toward you, reaching for your arm and pulling you onto the bed with him so that you’re straddling his hips. He brings a hand between your thighs, humming when he feels just how slick you are. He ignores your clit entirely, skipping past it to push two of his fingers into your pussy, curling them rhythmically as he brushes against that sweet spot inside of you. “Fuck, Roman,” you moan. And as quickly as it begins, it’s over. He’s impatient and needs to be inside of you.

Roman sucks on his slick fingers and then puts both hands on your hips, pulling you down a bit, lining his cock up with your entrance. He rubs the thick head up and down your dripping seam, coating himself in your arousal. “Come on,” he says. “Like you wrote about. Let daddy make sweet, sweet love to you.”

Oh, you like that. Daddy. It adds another layer of fucked-up to all of this that affects you right where you need. Roman watches how your eyes go wide and your lips part. “My, oh my. Is that how we’re doing things? I don’t recall reading about your daddy kink but color me surprised, I guess. Dirty, dirty birdy,” he hums, still teasing your cunt. “Very cliche, you know, but I’m not here to yuck your yum. I will happily be your daddy.”

With that, Roman pushes his cock into you. That slow, gradual slide inside your body stretches and aches and hurts, causing you to bite back a moan. His warm, hard cock fills you just how you need, just how he needs too. Roman sort of whimpers once buried inside of you completely, but he doesn’t allow you a moment to get used to him before he’s thrusting his hips, guiding your own as he does.

You feel unsteady and grip Roman’s shoulders for balance, he’s surprisingly broad. As he moves his hips he insists on looking at you, not with any love or adoration but intimidation, perhaps. At least that’s how you interpret it. He’s so fucking handsome - his once sleek strands of hair, all different shades of brown and gray are becoming mussed. His brows knit together as he focuses on his pleasure, his dark, hazel eyes scanning up and down your body. You fall forward and bury your head in his neck, the rough scruff on his face brushes against your skin, scratching you.

You like the way Roman fucks you. Even beneath you, he holds all of the power. His thrusts are sloppy and harsh enough to make you forget about how disgusted you feel by yourself, by him. With Roman inside you, all thoughts are gone. All there is is the in and out, his warm hands holding you down with his nails digging into your skin as he pushes himself inside you over and over again.

“Oh- hey. Sit up.” Roman’s thrusts still and he leans to his side to open your nightstand and rifle through your belongings for the second time. He pulls out that little satin bag and removes your vibrator from it. “You come on this thing when you’re thinking of me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you answer.

“Mm-mm,” he tuts. “We went over this. Yes, who?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl.” Roman holds down the power button and the toy buzzes to life, then clicks it a couple more times to increase the power. He wriggles it between your bodies, “I wanna watch you come on it,” he says.

It’s less than a moment before he’s back to fucking you, everything now intensified with the toy vibrating on your clit. It never takes long for it to get you off but with Roman inside of you, you’re done for. Your orgasm approaches quickly, thighs twitching, moans becoming stuttered and broken with your release.

“Do you always come this easily?” Roman pants, “Or just for me?”

“Just - just for you, daddy.”

You wait for Roman to come too, but it never happens. He keeps going, fucking you til you’re an overstimulated mess, adding insult by using his free hand to tease your nipples, flicking and twisting the sensitive buds. He likes the way you moan louder when he does that.

“Too much,” you beg. “Please - I can’t.”

“You’re such - fuck - don’t be a pussy. You can take it ‘til I’m done.”

Another orgasm is beginning to approach, threatening to send you over the edge a second time. Those tears from earlier when you were on your knees for Roman are falling freely now.

“Oh please, the fucking tears. Why are you crying?” Roman goads, still fucking you relentlessly. “You like it this way. I know you like it this way.”

You do like it this way. You like the way Roman fucks you like he’s an animal, how he makes you feel like you’re one too. But you need that come down, that final descent from pleasure, because it’s painful at this point. Your quiet sobs of exhaustion and ecstasy do nothing to slow Roman down yet. “I want one more,” he demands.

“Roman–”

“Yeah, one more. Do it for your daddy.”

Roman grunts as he fucks you hard, you’ve only now noticed how damp he is with sweat, and how damp you are too. That particular thought makes you feel queasy, the idea of your sweat mixing with his. It feels more intimate than coming on his cock, somehow. This is so fucked up.

You don’t know where release begins and ends, it all feels so intense. But you must’ve moved the right way, made the right sounds, because Roman seems satisfied enough to finally spill into you. You welcome the warmth of him coming inside you, as well as the pain in your shoulder as he bites you there to muffle himself.

When he’s satisfied, he gently flips you over and pulls out of you, his cock already soft. His spend drips from your core and he uses two fingers to push it back inside, then licks the remnants off his fingertips, humming with satisfaction. You’re all fucked out, an exhausted look on your face. Roman pulls a blanket over your naked body and pushes some hair out of your eyes. “This is on you,” he warns. “Whatever happens, whatever you’re feeling right now…this is on you. You know that, right?”

You nod. “Yes, Roman.”

Roman likes you like this. So pliant, unquestioning, willing to accept a responsibility that’s really not yours to accept. You’re more desperate for him than he thought. He presses a long, gentle kiss to your forehead just to get under your skin and fuck with you. “Sweet dreams, kiddo.”

I'm really sorry about the "you have your mother's hips" comment. I know that was out of line. But I don't have self control and the ickier it is the harder I nut. (also if you enjoyed,,,,please tell reblog/send me asks/comment <3 )

tagging some friends i think might be interested based on if you've rb'd or commented or talked about my Roman stuff before <3 @dorims @atinylittlepain @joelsdagger @goldenispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @gaeela-6 @bean-is-reading @slutsoutgutsout @galarian-weezing-on-prep @cum-a-calla @pastelpinkflowerlife @kolsmikaelson @bookmarkingfics @moth-maam56 @kothku @cult-of-escapism @swiftiegirliepop @bluecookies-and-ink

#roman roy x reader smut #roman roy x reader #roman roy smut #roman roy #roman roy x you #succession x reader #succession fic #succession #kieran culkin #kieran culkin characters

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