#every night lately i go to sleep and dream of my death

[batsinurbelfrey]

.

[lovifie]

Well, I Wasn't On That Tunnel ❤️

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Please don't look too much into the plot holes. Canon can suck my ass, I'm making my own, xoxo 💋

Pairings: Ghoap x Reader.

Warnings: Poly relationship, mentions of death, mentions of guns, rotating POV (mostly Simon's), Spoilers → amnesia, smut, voyeurism

“THE TUNNEL IT'S COLLAPSING! FOLLOW MAKAROV! I'LL TAKE JOHNNY OUT!”

That was the last thing Ghost heard of you.

It's been months since Johnny and you were declared KIA on that mission. 

You weren't even meant to be inside, you were the medic, you were supposed to wait outside. 

But the moment Makarov shot Johnny he panicked.

Ghost panicked.

And Simon panicked.

You came in running, panting for the effort of carrying with you the medical bag half your size. 

You were the one who told them to run. To go after Makarov and kill him. 

You were trying to wake up Johnny, Ghost knew it was a lost cause. He couldn't find the pulse, he was gone.

His Johnny was gone.

The last thing he expected was that he was about to lose you too.

Once outside, he kept looking at the tunnel. Waiting for you to come out, whether it was dragging Johnny's body or alone; it didn't matter. You needed to get out.

But after the tunnel collapsed and you didn't get out, it was Price who finally pushed Ghost away.

He barely remembers getting back to base, doesn't remember what Price kept telling him on the helicopter, doesn't remember skipping meals for days, doesn't remember crying himself to sleep for weeks.

But he remembers your face, he remembers Johnny's face.

Oh, what a coward he was. 

Two people that he loved, that found their way under his skin right into his heart. Two people that Simon wanted to grow old next to, two people that made Simon want to wake up every morning. 

And he was still not brave enough to confess his feelings to neither of them.

He used to stay awake late at night dreaming about how he would do it. After a long time of debating with himself, figuring out what those feelings inside of him were.

Until he figured out it was love, only to them have to face the complex situation of loving two people at the same time.

But even how complicated of a man Simon Riley was, when it comes to his wants it all turns simpler. If on the menu there are two dishes that he likes? He is getting both, obviously. Why choose?

So if all his lonely and twisted life he had never loved anyone, now he suddenly fell in love with two people. He wasn't going to give up one of them and their love just for society's norms.

Murder is also against society’s norms, and he gets paid for it. 

But it was too late now.

Maybe it was for the better.

He could lie to himself, agree that he never confessed because it was not his destiny. 

Not because they would have not loved him back. 

Not because they would have been scared of him.

Not because they wouldn't have been able to see past his mask. 

Not because they would have rather dated each other than him.

It's easier like this.

Simon knows how to mourn a loved one. 

What he doesn't know is, how it's possible he got a message from you this morning when you died four months ago.

You are stepping out of the shower, skin warm from the water and baby hairs sticking to your forehead; when someone knocks on the bathroom door.

You furrow your eyebrows at how hard they knock, the whole door shaking with it.

“Calm down, I'm almost finished.” You grumble, pulling the towel around your body. 

You drag your feet over the towel on the floor to walk closer, and open the door annoyed by the insistent knocking.

“I told you I am almost finish-” Your words are cut off by the barrel of a gun right on your face.

You don't even have time to panic, because you immediately recognise the stupid skeleton gloves holding the gun.

“Simon?” You whisper,scared that if you talk any louder he will disappear. Price and Gaz are behind him, slowly lowering their gun when they see it's you.

There is a glistering layer over Ghost's eyes that if you didn't known any better you'd think are tears.

You push his gun down, the man still immobile as if you were the ghost; and you jump into his arms, circling his neck with your arms.

“It worked! It finally worked!” You exclaim, tears slowly running down your cheeks. “I have been trying to contact any of you for months, it finally fucking worked!”

Ghost struggles to tell whether you are laughing or crying, a mix of the two. But he can't focus on that, he can only focus on your skin under his gloves.

God, how he hated his gloves right now. 

He bites the tip of his finger, pulling the glove off spitting it somewhere. And he snakes his hand under your towel.

He knows is improper, perverted even; but he needs it. He needs to feel your warm skin under his palm, your heart beating loud and fast. 

He surrounds your waist, hands big enough to rest on your ribs, right under your chest. 

Boom, boom… boom, boom… boom, boom…

He sighs, melting onto you, his tears getting absorbed by the mask on his face. He hugs you tighter, daring you to slip from his fingers again.

He bites his lips, copper taste on his tongue, to prevent himself from sobbing.

But the sobs can be heard, and Ghost it's almost disappointed with himself until he notices your body shaking.

It's you who is crying.

And he panics again, pulling back to look at you and you cup your face, apologizing. 

“I'm sorry. I tried my best, I really did.” He can barely understand what you are trying to tell him between sobs. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

He shushes you quickly, he understands; the survivor’s guilt is a special kind of poison. But he understands, he feels it too. 

“It's alright, love. You are alright, everything is going to be alright.” He hugs you again, resting your head on his chest. Mourning Johnny will be easier if you are together, he now hates himself for thinking you were dead; for accepting it.

For mourning you for months and now having you on his arms. 

Warm and breathing. 

He can only imagine what you went through. 

You entered the tunnel because he called for you, and then he left you inside with a corpse. 

How did you get out?

How did anyone see you get out?

How did you find a house?

How did you survive alone with the guilt?

Are the scars on your shoulder for getting out or were they always there?

Were you trapped under the debris?

For how long?

But that doesn't matter, he knew you were strong. That you were clever. That you were better than him. 

He already knew that. 

Gaz and Price remain silent, reading in the situation that there is something underlying that they don't know. Letting the two of you, have your moment. 

It's only when Gaz hears the almost unnoticeable steps get closer that he moves, turning his body and almost dropping his weapon in the process when he sees him.

“Johnny?” That's all he is able to see.

And that's all that is needed to hear.

Price and Ghost whip their head around like they have been smacked, coming face to face with the man.

There are still bandages on the side of his head, he looks thinner, less muscles, sunken eyes and dark bags. But it's Johnny. 

A scarred, angry Johnny. 

Holding the pistol on his hands pointing to Ghost's head.

Looking at him as if Simon was his greatest enemy.

“Johnny…” He tries to talk to him, keeping you behind his back by instincts.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP! WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?” Johnny shouts, his hands are shaking.

That explains it, why he look like a madman, why he looks so scared under the rage, why he keeps trying to look under him.

“Johnny, it's alright.” You finally say, moving from behind Ghost, softly pushing his arm back. You walk ahead, still only on the towel; and you walk up to Johnny. You rest your hand on the pistol, pushing it down with ease. 

You raise your other hand to the men, the signal of “wait”.

Johnny looks at you with utter confusion, eyes shaking moving around your face for any kind of explanation. His hand move around you, checking for any damage; the hand that doesn't have the gun clinging to the towel. 

You cup his face between your hands, the man bending down slightly to make it easier for you to reach; you whisper something to him making him relax almost immediately. 

And then you kiss him.

On the cheek, right beside the nose making him close his eyes for a second.

But it feels like a stab on Simon's heart. 

He tries to think rationally, you were just calming him down. He knows Johnny is always desperate for physical contact, that's all. Nothing else. 

He really tries to think logically, but logically the two of you are dead and buried under a tunnel. Not standing at the end of the hall, kissing and comforting each other. 

Something about it, about the possibility there is something more going on between Johnny and you; sends Simon's inner gears spinning. 

He sees the virtual space between the two of you, slowly getting in the shape of his body.

You whisper something to Johnny, he nods, touching your forehead with his for a second, before walking back. Looking at Simon with hate on his cerulean blue eyes. 

You sigh, watching Johnny move and turn to the three still shell-shocked. 

“As far as I can tell…” You whisper, once you are close to them. “He only remembers up to when he was 20, little more, little less.”

“So he doesn't remember anyone?” Price asks after a moment.

You shake your head. “Not that he hasn't asked me about, he asked about some people but I don't know them. He thought I was a nurse when he woke up.” You explain.

“What happened in the tunnel?” Gaz asks, looking behind you to check Johnny is not back. “How did you get out? And him? He was dead.”

You shake your head again. “Not yet. Almost… but not yet. I-”

“Bonnie! You want coffee or tea?!” Johnny's voice makes everyone jump.

“Coffee, please!” You answer without skipping a beat and turn to them. “I'll explain it later, alright? It's not the place nor the time.”

Price nods once. “Get dressed, I'll contact the pilot to let them know we are flying back tonight, right?”

“Roger that.” The three of you reply almost by muscle memory.

“I'll be fast, don't rile him up.” You say, before entering the bedroom closing it behind you.

Ghost feels Price's eyes on him. 

Wondering.

Asking.

What's between you and him?

What's between you and Soap?

What's inside his mind?

“Tea is ready.” It all gets interrupted by the amnesiac man calling them to the kitchen.

They walk together, sitting around the table. Gaz and Price find it almost easy to talk to Soap, about how happy they are to see him again, about how they are flying back later, easy chatter.

But Ghost can't. 

Not when Soap finally smiles at Price making fun of Gaz's cap and Ghost's breath is knocked out of his chest. 

That's his boy.

Breathing and warm.

Just like you.

He knows it's the universe talking, telling him not to fuck it up again.

Still, he feels his heart sink every time Soap looks at him with such a sour look. Offended even. His boy.

That would jump at any opportunity to impress him, to earn his respect, his affection. Now locked like he wanted to stab him on the chest, twisting the knife in the process.

He knows it's because of you, the way the man stared at his hand as you pushed it out of the towel didn't go unnoticed by Simon. 

Not the greatest first impression. 

Does it count as a first impression if he has known the man for years? 

You walk into the kitchen not much later, Johnny's eyes lightening at seeing you; his saviour. 

You walk past Ghost, your arm resting on his shoulder as you bend down to slightly knock your head against Soap's.

And that's it, that all Simon's needs. To be involved. He doesn't need to be in the middle of you two, he is fine with being in the sidelines, but he needs to be a part of it.

He knows you are on his side, you remember him unlike Johnny. You can be the bridge to get him to Johnny; to keep Johnny from running. Make a pack with him; keep the two of you close.

A turmoil of emotions keeps spinning inside Ghost's head, all the versions of himself wanting to be right.

The part of him he thinks is unable to love telling him to let the two of you alone, you are better of without him.

The part of him he thinks is unable to be loved telling him to not even try, save himself the rejection. 

The part of him that is still unsure of what even are his feelings telling him to not get involved, that it would only confuse the two of you.

But then there is also that part of him. The part called Simon Riley; that still holds onto the chance of loving and getting love.

And he looks at you and Soap, the way Soap looks up to you. The way he used to look at him. 

“Let's pack our things up, Johnny.” You say, patting Soap’s back. “The sooner we are back home, the better.”

And you smile at Soap so kindly, so wide, so warm.

He understands how you managed to calm Soap down. Waking up from what he assumed must be something close to a coma after getting shot on the head, not remembering anything, in pain, alone. And then you appeared, so soft and so kind.

He wouldn't blame Johnny if he was already in love with you, with you being literally the only thing he knows since waking up. 

Johnny stands up, walking out of the kitchen but looking back to make sure you are walking behind him. 

The two of you disappear down the hall, voices low as you move away.

“I can't believe they are alive…” Gaz comments, sipping his tea.

“Neither do I…” Price answers, sipping his. “Bloody necromancer…”

And you are, Simon was also dead before meeting you. 

“I'm gonna check on them.” He says, downing the beverage on a gulp that burns down his throat. 

He stands up, Price and Gaz look at him as he does. They are going to talk about him as soon as he gets out, but he doesn't care. 

He has made his choice.

He loves you.

He loves Johnny.

He walks down the hall, seeing the door ajar.

His hand reaches the knob when he hears it.

His blood running cold.

“Johnny…”

It's your sweet voice moaning the name. 

The unmistakable sounds of kisses inside the room.

“I don't like how he looks at you, bonnie.” The man whispers, his breathing unstable.

“He's your best friend, Joh-Ah!” You moan, interrupting yourself as you speak.

“I don't care! I don't know him. You are mine!” The man grunts, the sound of skin slapping slowly becoming more and more clear. 

“Johnny…” You moan again, and Simon is sure that he can hear your cunt squelch around Johnny's length. 

He opens the door the slightest bit, just enough for his eyes to see the way Johnny has you bent over on the bed. 

With you laying on your stomach on the bed, legs hanging from him without strength to push yourself up. Johnny behind you, a foot on the ground and the other on the mattress as leverage to keep sinking into your weeping cunt.

Neither of you bothered to take off the clothes, simply lowered the pants enough for Johnny to get inside of you. Your pants pooling on your ankles, legs limp with the rhythm Johnny has settled.

Simon wishes he could see your face, pleasure painted on your expressions with your face buried on the mattress. Johnny keeps your hands on your back, keeping you pressed against the bed. But the only thing he can see is Johnny's back.

So he sees perfectly fine when the man turns his torso around, still thrusting into you, and looks at Simon.

He looks straight into Simon's eyes, who panic just for a second for getting caught peeking into their room, into them together.

But the Johnny smiles, not the adoration-filled smile he used to gift Simon with. Instead, is the smile filled with pride that he only kept for after winning a match or catching an enemy.

Johnny raises his hand to show him his middle finger.

As he mouths “Fuck you.”

And Simon wants to laugh.

Johnny wants to play?

Then they'll play.

Game's on.

@waiting-so-long

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[obscure-imagines]

wet dreams - Zoro

🍃staring. Zoro Roronoa x afab!Reader

⚔️ preview. The swordsman feels like a teenager again. His body has never reacted like this to anyone, not even close. It's been years since he had wet dreams, and now they're coming in, hot, heavy, and nearly nightly.

tw/cw. unprotected sex, wet dreams, hand job, blow job, dirty talk, praise, exhibitionism (sex outside in the Crowsnest), cum play/swallowing, fingering, mutual masturbation, multiple reader orgasms, big dick zoro, fingering, overstim, mutual orgasm, etc… I pet names: (hers) angel.

🔫 rating. 18+ explicit I SMUT I wc. 3.7k

⚔️ aus. One Piece Live Action, pwp, acquaintances to lovers, etc…

🍀 mlist + an. I showed Sanji and Mihawk some love so I figured I might as well adore my big three and make it a full set with Zoro.

Zoro is exhausted. His body feels heavy as he lumbers around the ship, his footfalls a little too loud on the wooden deck. His eyes are practically shutting on their own, but he resists the need to nap.

He's been having problems lately... when he sleeps.

While he's able to keep himself mostly in check around you during his waking hours, his mind - and body - have been betraying him in dreamland.

He's woken up five nights this week with the soft sounds of your moans etched into his memory and his pants ruined with the sticky truth about his feelings for you.

Naps had once been a time of rest, but Zoro has been anything but restful since Luffy convinced you to join the crew two weeks ago.

Zoro hates feeling like he's not in control. He hates the way you seem so real in his mind's eye, only for him to wake up and watch you acting completely indifferently toward him- as if he didn't just watch you go down on his cock in explicit detail- as if he didn't just try to fuck you so hard you couldn't even walk-

Being around you is something like torture. His tongue gets tied, his heart races, and he's unable to hold a conversation with you about anything unrelated to piracy... and even then, he stumbles over his words and gets frustrated with himself.

You're just too beautiful.

The swordsman feels like a teenager again. His body has never reacted like this to anyone, not even close. It's been years since he had wet dreams, and now they're coming in, hot, heavy, and nearly nightly.

He does his best to be the last to go to bed, out of fear that someone will walk in while he's sleeping and hear his problem, hell, he wouldn't be shocked if they could even see it.

It's not even midday and Zoro feels like death. It doesn't help that it's hot out. The wind feels practically nonexistent. Everything is stale, sweaty, and full of tension. Even Sanji, who usually dresses in formalwear, has stripped himself of his button-up, opting for an undershirt instead.

Then there's you. Your shorts don't leave much to the imagination, and Zoro has to tear his gaze off of you every time you get within his line of sight. His cock is practically throbbing in his pants anytime you're nearby- anytime your soft scent lingers in the air when you walk past.

"You look like shit."

Zoro sighs at Sanji's words, refusing to look at the chef who's come to lean on the rail next to him, staring out at the sea.

"I mean it. And I'm not trying to be a dick, but seriously moss head, you look like you need some rest," Sanji presses on. "When was the last time you had one of your famous Roronoa naps?"

"I wasn't aware they were famous," Zoro sighs, this conversation is making him even more tired.

"We all know you get a little scratchy without your beauty sleep," Sanji smirks. "Go on, get some rest. It's a shit day, and it will be even more shit if you're in a bad mood. I'll wake you up for dinner."

Usually, Zoro wouldn't do anything Sanji suggests, he wouldn't even entertain it- but the idea of a nap is having a visceral effect on him. He's reminded of the exhaustion that's overtaken him, and the harsh sun is only making things worse.

Zoro lets out a deep breath. "I guess I could use a little shut-eye."

You let out a loud whimper as Zoro drags his tongue across your neck, holding you close on the deck of the ship. Above, the stars are twinkling, but to the swordsman, all that matters is you. He can hardly see anything else, his mind completely blank except for the feeling of your hand stroking his cock.

"I need more," you tell him, applying just the right amount of pressure.

He's tried dissuading you from sucking his cock, but you're absolutely insatiable for him. Stroking isn't enough, and the promise of filling you up all nice and snug doesn't satisfy you either- no, you want him in your mouth, and you're very verbal about it.

Who is Zoro to deny you?

With a sigh, he agrees, and you sink to your knees immediately.

God, you look beautiful like this.

Your thumb strokes the head of his cock, rubbing through precum as you bring your mouth closer.

You're always a bit of a tease, licking at him gently, pumping his shaft. Zoro can't help but release a small groan, eyes fixed on you, waiting.

When you finally take him into your mouth, Zoro moans, his head lolling back as he enjoys the feeling.

"That's it, angel," he tells you, reaching down to grab at your head, helping you find a rhythm. "Just like that."

You take him so deep, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat much too easily. The feeling of you choking around him has Zoro's abdomen clenching, and a familiar sensation is growing in his balls-

It's as if you can read his mind, your hand snaking up to massage his most sensitive area while you continue practically gagging yourself on his cock.

The sound is absolutely obscene, and Zoro's never heard anything so pretty.

"If you keep sucking like that, I'm going to cum," he warns you, wanting to hold out to finish in your perfect, needy little cunt-

The way you suck on him even harder makes Zoro think you want him to cum. You want him to release down your throat, want to swallow him up like the good girl you are.

Again, who is Zoro to deny you?

"Fuck, angel," he groans, orgasm rising even faster. "You're always so good for me."

You whimper loudly around his cock, stroking your tongue along the vein that runs the underside of his length while squeezing his balls, and that's all it takes for him to cum.

He lets out a grunt as he shoots his load down your awaiting throat, his brows knitted together in concentration and something close to overstimulation. He whispers your name, over and over like a mantra while you suck him dry, eager for every single drop he can give- you're his greedy little angel, and he loves you with every fiber of his being.

You pull off of him when he's done, staring up at him with eyes that reflect the stars above. Then, you stick out your tongue, proving to him that you'd swallowed all he had to give.

Zoro can't help but reach for you, lifting you back onto your feet so he can grab your face and press his lips against yours eagerly.

He treasures the moments you're in his arms, and there's something so satisfying about the salty taste on your tongue-

"Dinner!"

Zoro sits up so fast he nearly falls out of his hammock. His heart is thundering in his chest, and when his eyes quickly dart to the door, he sees that Sanji hadn't bothered to enter, only called out a word of warning.

Swallowing thickly, Zoro looks down at his pants. He can feel his cum, hot and sticky against his skin, his half-chubbed length angrily confined by pants.

Zoro's not sure who's more upset about being woken up from his dream, himself, or his cock.

Luffy has already gone through half the food by the time Zoro saunters into the dining area. The swordsman's eyes are downcast while he takes a seat next to the captain, and you're kind of glad for that- you want to watch him, but you doubt you'd be able to make eye contact with him right now.

Your skin tingles with the forbidden knowledge that you now have. Your mind keeps replaying the scene you'd walked in on not half an hour ago; Zoro, asleep, his brows knitted together, your name on his lips.

You hadn't stayed long upon finding him in that state, your skin too hot with the realization of what you'd just witnessed, and now, that fevered sensation returns.

You've always had a bit of a crush on Zoro, but you'd never in your wildest dreams imagined that it could be returned. Out of everyone on the ship, Zoro interacts with you the least. He practically avoids you, and you've just spent two weeks thinking he doesn't even like you-

No, this changes everything.

The man with green hair lifts his gaze, and your eyes meet momentarily, only for you to look away, skin flaring again. Your heart is practically beating out of your ribcage, and you can feel your panties sticking uncomfortably to your core.

You'll have to do something about this. You're not sure what- but... you definitely can't go much longer with this kind of unresolved tension. One dinner with a dripping pussy is enough.

You decide you'll have to confront Zoro, and something tells you that you'll thank God for doing so.

Once everyone is asleep, you slowly tiptoe out of the sleeping quarters. Zoro has been staying up late, keeping watch in the Crowsnest, and you feel like that's a perfect place to talk with him. There's no way he can escape... unless he jumps into the ocean and risks his life- but you don't think it will come to that... or at least, you hope it doesn't.

Carefully climbing the ladder, you think of all the things you can say to him. You're not sure where to even begin, and as you make it to the top, poking your head through the manhole to stare at Zoro's broad shoulders, all the words you'd planned slip your mind.

He hasn't noticed you yet, and it takes closing the ladder cover for him to finally hear you, whipping around with his hand reaching for one of his blades.

Zoro freezes. You both do.

Then his hand drops to his side. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought..." you bite at your lip, "I thought you might want some company."

He gives you a quick once over, then turns to look out at the sea again. "I'm good."

"Why do you act like you hate me so much?" you sigh, ignoring his dismissal and moving to join him.

"I don't act like I hate you."

"You hardly talk to me."

"I'm not a big talker."

You let out another exasperated sigh. There's some truth in what he's just said. "Then I'll talk."

"Go ahead."

Staring out at the sea, you're once again at a loss for what to say. After a few moments of silence, you decide to just... put it all on the table. "I walked in while you were napping earlier."

Zoro goes rigid next to you.

"What were you dreaming about?"

He's quiet, then he turns to look at you. "Sword fighting."

"I didn't think you'd actually lie to me," you frown.

"Who says I'm lying?"

"I just- I don't think sword fighting would lead to you moaning my name over and over."

Zoro looks out at the sea again. "You must think I'm some kind of pervert."

"Trust me, I don't," you assure him. "I'm kind of curious about what we were doing in your dream."

He sneaks a glance at you, and there's a hint of a smile that curls onto his pretty lips. "Yeah?"

You nod. "Maybe... maybe I've been having 'sword fighting' dreams too. We could... compare notes, or something."

Zoro lets out a laugh, shaking his head. The chuckle dies down into a groan. "Fuck." He grips the railing tighter, taking a deep breath. "You really wanna know what we were doing in my dream?"

"Yes, please."

The swordsman turns to face you, crossing his arms over his chest. "You were down on your knees, sucking the fucking soul out of my cock."

If your panties hadn't been ruined at dinner, they're definitely ruined now. "I was?"

"Uh huh. You were begging for it. Begging for every last drop."

Your mouth practically waters at the idea. "And did you give it to me?"

"Of course I did," he says softly, scanning your face. "How could I not?"

"Should we..." Your skin heats at the words about to come out of your mouth, "Can we make that dream real?"

Zoro sucks in a shaky breath. "I think I have a better idea."

"A better idea than me sucking your cock?" You're shocked.

"You're always so good to me in my dreams, maybe I want to be good to you."

Your pussy throbs at the insinuation of what he's saying. Most men would jump at the chance to have your mouth around them, but it looks like tonight, the swordsman wants to be the one pleasuring you-

He's just like the Zoro from your wet dreams, and you have a suspicion that when it gets down to it, he'll be even better.

You can't help yourself any longer, you practically launch your body at him, throwing your arms around his strong shoulders while his hands catch you. Your lips meet as if it's the most natural thing in the world, a soft groan escaping him when you swipe your tongue across his mouth, already eager for entrance.

The kiss deepens, and his hands grip you tighter, pulling you flush to his chest. It feels absolutely insane to be actually doing this in your waking hours- nothing your mind could conjure up compares to the real Zoro-

You can feel his cock already pressing against your hip and it makes you whine loudly, shoving your hand between your bodies to cup him through his pants. He's as big as you imagined he would be, and your pussy flutters with interest.

"Zoro-" you whimper, already needing more.

You've been waiting too long for this, for him-

He groans. "Say that again."

One of his hands joins yours between your bodies, but his slips under the waistband of your shorts, deft fingers rubbing you through your panties.

"Fuck, angel, you're already soaked-"

"Zoro!" you moan, louder this time.

"Tell me you want my fingers."

"God, I need them," you gasp when he leans in, pressing kisses and tracing his tongue along your throat. "I need you inside of me- any of you, I just- I need you!"

"Good girl," he says smoothly, pushing your panties to the side.

His fingers make contact with your dripping cunt, and he teases your pussy lips, just dipping inside enough to coat his skin before he circles your clit.

You cry out, squeezing his cock harder-

"Enough of that," Zoro practically slaps your hand away from him. "Tonight is about you. Let it be about you."

"Fuck, you're too nice to me-"

"Trust me, you deserve it." His fingers sink into your pussy and you moan loudly, leaning forward to begin peppering his own throat in kisses. You thread your fingers through his hair, keeping him close as he begins pumping his digits in and out of your wet core.

You can already hear yourself- the sick squelching of your pussy as he works you open. His palm rubs against your clit, creating a delightful pressure that has your legs shaking and your toes curling.

"You sound so pretty."

Who knew he'd be such a sweet talker.

In the exhibitionistic privacy of the Crowsnest, with the crew sleeping soundly below, Zoro is showing you his true colors, and you couldn't be happier.

No one has touched you like this in too long- but then again, has anyone ever actually touched you like this?

You can't believe how close you already are to cumming. Your skin tingles and you moan louder against his neck, moving your mouth up to suckle on his earlobe.

Zoro groans, and the sound goes straight to your aching core.

"Close already?"

All you can manage is a nod, your eyes closing as you focus on the pleasure of his fingers pumping into your wet hole. "Please-"

"You can cum for me," he tells you. "I wanna hear it."

You can hardly even stand on your own. If it weren't for his strong form, steady under your grip, you're sure you'd be falling. His free palm is on the small of your back, keeping you snug to his front while his fingers work you closer and closer-

"Zoro," you whimper again, feeling tears in your eyes from how tight the coil in your stomach has grown.

"Be a good girl and let go for me. Come on, I know you can do it."

You let out a strangled half sob as your high slams into you. Your entire body tingles with electric energy as your core clamps onto his fingers, which continue inside of you, working you through your orgasm. You shake against him, digging your nails into his shoulders while you whimper and moan, lips pressed to his throat.

"That's it," he praises you, a steady guide through one of the most intense orgasms of your life.

You nearly black out, only for his fingers to slow inside of you, drawing you back into your body. Zoro removes his hand from your pants, and you listen to him suck his digits clean, letting out a small groan at your taste.

"Can I lay you down?" he asks next, tone gentle.

You nod, unable to speak. Zoro softly helps you onto the wooden floor of the small Crowsnest, staring at you with dark eyes that seem to sparkle in the moonlight.

He slowly undresses you, watching as you lift your hips to help him remove your shorts. Your shirt and bra are next, and he's careful to set them nearby before removing his own clothing.

"You still want to do this?" he asks.

"There's nothing I want more."

Once he's naked, Zoro gets between your thighs, holding himself over you while you wrap your legs around his hips. You grab at his shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss.

His hard cock is too enticing for you not to touch, and soon, you're gripping it while your tongues battle. His moans are music to your ears, and you swipe your thumb over the head of his length to smear his skin with precum.

"You know-" he swallows thickly. "After today, after watching you cum on my fingers, I might not last that long."

"That's okay, I won't last long either." Your pussy is already aching for him again, and from the way his cock twitches in your hand, you know he's as into this as you are. "Just fuck me Zoro, please."

He kisses you deeply, allowing you to guide him to your wet hole.

He's big, but you're soaked, and slipping into you is much too easy. He sinks all the way in, his hips flush to yours when he bottoms out. You moan into each other's mouths, and you grab his face, wanting to keep his lips on yours as he begins to thrust into you.

"Fuck, Zoro, it's so good-" you whimper, pussy clenching tightly around him to earn another sound of appreciation.

"Angel, you're fucking perfect," he agrees, pace already quickening.

The sound of skin on skin fills the night air. You open your eyes, looking up at the moon and stars. It feels natural to be with him like this, under the watchful eye of the heavens-

Your nails dig into his shoulders when his hand adjusts your thigh on his hip. He drives deeper into your wet hole, and each thrust has your head spinning.

You can feel him everywhere, and it's the first time you've ever really felt full, complete.

"Zoro," you whisper, gaining his attention as you draw his lips back to your own.

You get lost in him. His cock is filling you perfectly, and his lips feel like they were made to be on your own.

That familiar tightening in your lower abdomen builds much too fast, and each thrust has Zoro grunting and moaning even louder-

"Fuck, angel, I'm close-"

"Me too," you assure him, pressing your forehead to his own and staring into his eyes. "You'll cum with me, right?"

He can only nod as you slip your hand between your bodies, fingers rubbing your sensitive clit-

Your core tightens even more around his thick length and Zoro lets out a deep moan-

"Shit," he mutters, "where should I cum?"

"Inside," you insist. "Cum inside, I'm on birth control, please, I want it, I need it-"

Zoro's hand balls into a fist on the wooden plank by your head, and he groans. "Can't wait-"

"Me neither," you whisper, eyes closing as the feeling ravages your body, "Cumming-"

Zoro buries his face against your throat as you both reach your highs. You can feel him painting your inner walls, making you even more full than you already are with his cock- it's the most delightful feeling.

Your toes curl as he fucks you through it all, his pace even harder than before, if not a bit erratic. The sounds he's making will be something you never forget, and you cling to him like a lifeline, tracing his muscular shoulders and gasping-

It's as if your orgasm lasts ages, and when Zoro's motions finally begin to slow, it's hard to even catch your breath.

He begins to press kisses along your throat again, working his way to your ear, and then your mouth.

You can't help but grin into each soft press of his lips against your own.

"You look happy," he muses.

"That's because I am. Are you happy?"

"Very."

Your smile widens. "So we're done not talking and pretending to be indifferent to each other, right?"

"Completely done."

"Good, because I don't think I could go back to that."

"Me neither," he admits.

"I like you a lot."

Zoro presses another soft kiss to your lips, his pretty eyes twinkling with emotion in a way you've never seen from the swordsman. "I like you too."

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! If you liked this, check out my fics for Sanji and Mihawk :)

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here

© obscure-imagines — all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any fic, reaction, or piece of original writing posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed.

[11cupids-tarot11]

A Letter From Your Future Spouse

➽───────────────❥

1 -> 4

Cupid's Services Cupid's Master List Socials

Tips appreciated!

C@sh app and P@ypal only!

$minnieplant3

@janellec03

LOVE U

- Cupid 𖥔 ࣪ ᥫ᭡ꗃ⋆࣪.

︻デ═一 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Pile 1- Four of Wands, The Fool, Page of Swords, Nine of Cups, Page of Wands, The Wheel of Fortune.

"Hi you! I've been sleeping a lot, can't seem to do anything else lately because of how tired I've been. Finally. I can sleep as much as I want to now because of a situation that just so happened to end recently. Death.

What now? See, I've been wondering the same thing. But let's not even worry about it, let's just sleep as much as we want to because we finally can, even if it's only a little nap time out of your day do it because I gotta see you one last time later, I've got a message for you in your dreams. Spirit will tell you, don't worry about missing it or when <3

Resting so much so when I do have to work, you know, find that balance again between work and fun, I can focus on what's so important to me a lot better, I mean really give it my all... You know? Lol

Sorry, I dream a lot, you might notice my head is always in the clouds. I have very air energy like a Gemini.

Things are finally clearing up for me! I feel at peace, maybe we mirror each other and things are also getting better for you too? You have to let me know, okay? I feel like I can finally breathe again, be optimistic without being scared the rug is going to get snatched from underneath.

I've been working so so hard on my craft, putting in so much love and effort into my work and I feel really hopeful that all of my productivity will pay off soon, consistency is key, right?

I really like the color yellow, 😄 talk again soon!"

Hope you enjoyed! Don't forget to do the poll below 👇🏾 ✨

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Pile 2- Knight of Wands, I forgot to write down the rest of the cards I'm so sorry 😞

"I have no problem with putting in hard work for anything I want, even you, you know? If you don't want me the moment we catch eyes I'll make you ;)

The moment I catch you I'm going to make sure I never stop loving you, I'll make sure every day is beautiful, even on our bad days we'll kiss each other good night before bed still. I love you!

Why do you keep worrying yourself? All of that doubt in that pretty little head of yours isn't good, you should lay it all to rest before you make yourself sick baby. Sleep more, practice some self care before you run yourself crazy, okay?

I'm so proud of you, you know, for whatever amazing things you've accomplished lately. I believe in you, I'll always be your #1 cheerleader!

You should go out and celebrate! Enjoy the sun, you deserve it my angel! Promise me you won't let this go by like it's just not that big and you'll go out and do something? Pinky promise?

Stay focused! You're on the right path, you're doing amazing! I promise you, all of this will be worth it, it's worth our future 💓 keep going, I know you can do it! 🎉"

Hope you enjoy!!☺️ Don't forget to do the poll below!!

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Pile 3- Queen of Cups, Justice, Four of Cups, The Moon, Three of Swords, The Star.

" Hi my love, you know I don't talk a lot haha, so I'll make this quick as usual and get out of your hair so you can go on.

I just want to remind you, you're my queen, my favorite, my whole world ❤️ I think red looks really pretty on you btw but anyway, I love and miss you like crazy at times like these.

I am going through something right now, a legal situation, a situation I wish would come to an end right now because it's so heavy on me, it's hurting me but I know at the same time it's happening to me because it's part of my karma, something that's forcing me to look so closely at myself, at every shadow because I think it leads me to you. My everything. We're going to get married, I'm so sure of it.

I'm keeping hope alive, I'm hanging on to every thread of it I've got. I'm working on everything right now, I'll catch up with you soon sweetheart 💋 I'm going to kiss you when I do, you won't be able to get rid of me. ;) "

Hope you enjoy! Don't forget to do the poll below!!

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Pile 4- Ace of Cups, The Hanged Man, King of Wands, Nine of Cups, Knight of Cups, Nine of Wands.

"I want to come to you with amazing news but I can't, I'm sorry to say, I've taken a turn for the worst right now. Don't worry, it's temporary.

I am slowly building myself back up, that's what I'm doing right now if you're wondering what I've been doing all this time. I'm healing day by day and I hope you are too sweetheart. I might be a bit stuck and tangled up right now, but I'm clearing through it!

I'm the kind of guy who will pursue you with nothing but kindness until I make you fall for me with your charm, I'm cute, I know I am, you'll love me, I have curly light hair, and a really cute smile. You'll think I'm so adorable.

I want to offer my heart to you, fully, 100%. You have me, all of me as long as you give me you in return, I hope you do, I can't be without you once I know you.

Take care my love ❤️."

Hope you enjoyed ❤️ Don't forget to do the poll below!!

[dollfacefantasy]

RESIDENT EVIL MASTERLIST ♡

everything on this list is mdni (18+)! | ☆ = one of kenny's favs

★彡[ʟᴇᴏɴ ᴋᴇɴɴᴇᴅʏ]彡★

RE2R Leon: Restless Dreams (18+) Leon's been working a lot lately. He comes home late one night when you're sleeping and tries to make it up Playing to Win (18+) / Part 2 ☆ Your new stepdad asks you to call him daddy despite being near your age Like Lovers Do (18+) Bored of the RPD banquet, you pull Leon away for some fun

RE4R Leon: Sleepy (18+) You wake up early in the morning with Leon sleeping on top of you Wash His Hair (fluff) You wash Leon's hair and help him unwind Daddy's Home (18+) You let the d word slip during sex and Leon won't let you live it down Just Like the Movies (18+) Leon dons the ghostface mask to let you live out a fantasy And If the Sun Comes Up (18+) | Part 2 Vampire Leon has to show you that the two of you are meant to be Leon Marks You Request (18+) Leon gets jealous and has to mark you as his Sweater Request (18+) You and Leon do the deed while he's wearing a turtleneck Chubby Reader Request (18+) You're feeling insecure, and Leon just can't have that

Infinite Darkness Leon: Let Them See (18+) Leon teases you in public then pulls over to deal with the problem he's created Baby Bunny (18+) / Part 2 Leon helps his sweet baby bunny through her heat End of the Night (18+) Leon finds comfort in his pregnant wife after a long hard day of being in the mob Needy Girl (18+) You're a needy little thing, and Leon just can't get enough of you Precious in Pink (18+) Leon plays with his precious puppy girl by watching her tail wag

RE6 Leon: Hold My Calls (18+) ☆ Leon takes a call on his flip phone while the two of you are doing it Blue Jeans (18+) Leon looks extra fine in his jeans and you can't stop staring Some Extra Lessons (18+) ☆ Professor Leon deals with his feelings for one of his students Under My Thumb (18+) Leon tries out a new toy with you during a dinner date

Vendetta Leon: You Make Me Cry Every Time (18+) Leon is going through a rough patch and takes it out on you Cool Rider (fluff) Leon gets you ready for a ride on his bike Role Reversal (18+) Leon's on the other side of the law for once

Death Island Leon and older: Video Games (18+) You're playing video games when Leon starts feeling needy Can't Help It (18+) ☆ Your dad's coworker needs a house sitter and you need him inside of you Cowgirl + Praise Kink Request (18+) Leon's got a praise kink and you ride him Down For the Count (18+) Play fighting with Leon gets a little intense Special Day (18+) Your husband wants to give you a special present for your birthday this year Did You Say Something? (18+) / Part 2 ☆ Spankings aren't working anymore. Leon's gonna have to use a different form of punishment Get Him Back (18+) ☆ Your ex boyfriend's dad comforts you after you and his son break up Little Bambi Eyes (18+) Leon grapples with his strange fixation on your tears

Misc. Drabbles: Just Can't Resist (18+) The First Time You Squirt (18+) Passing Out (18+) Quiet Night (18+) Kennedy in the Making (18+) Dimples Blurb When You Wanna Turn Your Brain Off (18+) Shower Sex (18+) Bulge Kink (18+) Blowjob on the Phone (18+) Black Cat Blurb (18+)

★彡[ᴄʜʀɪꜱ ʀᴇᴅꜰɪᴇʟᴅ]彡★

Puppy Games (18+) ☆ Chris develops a soft spot for the hybrid he's taken in and wants to make her birthday extra special

Teddy Bear (18+) ☆ Not even sleep will cockblock Chris

Pretty When You Cry (18+) Request for overstimulation and daddy kink with Chris

Dad-Bod Chris (18+) Must I say any more?

Playing Without Permission (18+) Pussy spanking drabble

That's What Daddy's For (18+) ddlg drabble

Past the Limit (18+) You misbehave and your boyfriend has to correct you. Even if his friend Leon is right there.

Thigh Praise Drabble (18+)

Everything In Its Right Place (18+) After Jill goes missing, your boyfriend isn't the same

Unconventional Lesson (18+) Throat training w/ Chris

Light of the Full Moon (18+) Your husband hasn't been the same since coming back from his latest mission.

★彡[ᴄᴀʀʟᴏꜱ ᴏʟɪᴠᴇɪʀᴀ]彡★

Infected with Infatuation (18+) You and Carlos are out on a mission when you come into contact with an unfamiliar plant specimen

★彡[ᴀᴅᴀ ᴡᴏɴɢ]彡★

May I? (18+) Ada teaches you how to be self-sufficient

Concealed Carry (18+) Knife play with Ada

★彡[ʙɪʟʟʏ ᴄᴏᴇɴ]彡★

Falling Fast (18+) In a situation like this you can't help but fall fast

★彡[ᴍᴜʟᴛɪ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ]彡★

Sharing is Caring (18+) / Prequel / Part 2 Your boyfriend wants you to get a little more comfortable with his friend

Better Than One (18+) Leon and Ada take care of their needy puppy before your heat arrives

Room for One More (18+) ☆ Tensions run high when you're forced to share a motel room with your current boyfriend and your former mentor

Sweet Escape (18+) Carlos leaves you in Chris's care while he's away for a few weeks

Which One to Choose? (18+) At a halloween party, you and your boyfriend play out a little fantasy with Chris and Carlos.

[the-oblivious-writer]

Too Sweet

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Drabble

Summary: You and Wednesday were simply night and day, contrasting personalities preventing any chance of pursuit

Warning(s): No dialogue, pining!Wednesday, & no pronouns but the word 'goddess' is used once

Notes: Based off of 'Too Sweet' by the lovely Andrew Hozier, this song feels wenclair coded - hopefully I get the energy to edit them to it one day. This is my first time writing for Wednesday, so constructive criticism is more than welcome, and much appreciated! 🙏 (as it always is)

Wednesday despised you. She loathed every fiber of your being, every word you spoke, every path you chose. Yet no matter how deep her hatred for you ran, it was all out of pure spite.

You were close friends with Enid, so inevitably that meant you and Wednesday often found yourselves in the same atmosphere. Sometimes you and Enid would have sleepovers and it did not take long for Wednesday to discover you were an early bird opposed to her late night writing sessions. 

You always looked so peaceful while resting. How do you sleep so well? Wednesday wondered. What do you dream about? It’s silly and utterly ridiculous, she knows. But her mind can’t help but stray when it comes to you. You have shown your own concern when it comes to the Addams’ erratic sleep schedule, if you could even classify it as one. You have always said to others—including Wednesday—to live right, to go to bed before the daylight. 

You wake up to watch the sunrise;  it was repulsing how rottenly pure that is. You were drunk on life, a poet—but far from Wednesday’s brand. You had a bright perspective; it was naive, yet wholesome. Your poetry revolves around the optimistic, steadfast side of life—while Wednesday’s consists of more realistic themes such as death, betrayal, and eternal heartbreak. It was a drastic contrast.

Wednesday could never bear such a naive way of life, so she simply doesn’t understand how you do. It was such a frustrating thought, the way you went about. Don’t you just want to wake up dark as a lake, smelling like a bonfire, lost in a haze? You lived such a reserved life in her eyes; treating your mouth as if it's heaven’s gate, your body like it’s the TSA. 

She wasn’t oblivious to the glances you spared her; it was an internal battle refusing to meet them. But there were consequences. Wednesday has seen horrific things, things she believes would force a person like you into abandoning their wide-eyed outlook on life; she refuses to be the one who corrupts you. She wishes she could go along, don’t get her wrong. You were a goddess on earth, inside and out; bright as the morning, as soft as the rain, pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape. Tooth rotting was what you were, but Wednesday did always deem herself a masochist. 

If you can sit in a barrel, maybe she’ll wait. But until that day, she’d rather take her whiskey neat, raw as the honey in your tea, and coffee black as the ink you use to craft your sugar coated poems. Your sweetness was too overwhelming for her to carry, the looks you gave her alone were laced in your perfection. 

Everything pointed to the evident conclusion; you’re too sweet for her.

-----------

A/N: I feel eh abt this one, but I need to experiment with Wednesday more if I wanna get used to writing for her

[southern-fried-simpin]

We Belong Dead| Alastor x Dead Wife!Reader

A/n: Hey everyone I know it’s been a LONG time since I’ve written something and I’m sorry it’s not DC related but I finished Hazbin with my fiancée MONTHS AGO and I’ve been wanting to write Alastor soooo bad! With all of that being said, let it be known that I do NOT condone or agree with any of the questionable actions and opinions of Vivienne Medrano, but I DO enjoy this show and a lot of the characters.

Warning(s): Floofy but suggestive, Alastor “using” reader and reader just kind of going along with it, mentions of murder, sad at first, human Alastor and reader mentioned, temporary unrequited love, Demi romantic Alastor, Alastor because he’s…Alastor, mentions of marriage, canon divergence, suicide, death, loooooong introduction and plot h🫠

“Mama, we’re gonna get married!”

Alastor had decided that you were both ready for marriage in the middle of the school yard and decided to announce this as his mother came to pick him up.

His mother feigned shock as she started to playfully chide him.

“You can’t just marry some girl you met on the first day of school!”

Alastor kept his arms around you as you both giggled and showed his mother the ribbon he had tied around your finger.

“Oh my!” She exclaimed.

“Obviously you two are very serious about this! How about we have your fiancée over for dinner after school one day so I can get to know her better, hm?”

Despite Alastor never having that wedding ceremony with you on the playground, you both remained close all the way up until you graduated high school. After that, you went your separate ways.

Several years later, when Alastor bumped into you as you were leaving the corner store one day, you ended up talking to him for hours. After which, you had started getting together more often. Eating out, going to shows, drinking and having fun together.

Somewhere along the way, however, having fun together turned into going on dates together. Going on dates turned into staying up late talking for hours about anything and everything, and lovely gifts.

One such gift being your engagement ring.

Looking back on it now, you don’t know how or why you thought it was normal for a man to propose after 6 months.

On the outside, Alastor was the husband that every woman dreamed of. He helped you clean and cook, he never raised his voice, and he always bragged about you. On the inside however, something felt stiff. Tense. Off.

Alastor rarely ever initiated kisses, he barely touched you, and he disappeared in the middle of the night rather frequently.

After he was killed, it all made sense. You weren’t his wife so much as you were his alibi. Who would have thought the vicious killer that buried his victims on a hunting ground had a wife waiting at home? A wife who, despite what everyone believed, was oblivious to his crimes. It didn’t matter, though. In a matter of days, you lost your job, your friends, and your peace of mind. In the weeks that came to pass, you slowly lost your mind and your will to live as well.

You died in your sleep after taking a cocktail of pills with a glass of brandy. The police found you in bed wearing your most expensive nightgown, your hair neatly styled, and makeup done perfectly.

Just like before, time had gone on, and your time in hell had been quite interesting. Maybe even a bit enjoyable if you were being honest. The old saying rang true: Hell truly had no fury like a woman scorned. Your arrival in Hell was a testament to that.

Armed with your broken heart and raw, stinging rage, you made a home for yourself and began your own business. Anyone who got in your way was sliced open with the very weapons you sold. You were very aware of Alastor’s presence, but made no effort to contact him. He had no idea you were here, either.

That changed a few days ago.

Who should you see while on an outing in Cannibal Town but your darling husband. He looked different, but you recognized him almost immediately. He offered to walk with you and followed you even after you declined. Every day after that, he miraculously ran into you everywhere you went. He was relentless in trying to get your attention. He would try to talk to you and when you ignored him, he would carry on speaking like it was nothing. Today you finally cracked when he invited you to come to a hotel. The Hazbin Hotel, specifically.

“Why?”

“Well, I thought I might show you this little…business venture…I’ve been working on recently! After all, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen my lovely wi-“

“Don’t call me that.” You spat.

His smile never faltered, but his eyes held a look of momentary discomfort.

“Ah, and here we are!” Alastor pointed his staff towards the building in front of you. It looked like some place from when you were alive, except old and decrepit.

Ever the gentleman, Alastor held the door for you as you walked in before he followed suit. Not 5 minutes passed before a woman with long silver hair angrily stomped in your direction.

“Alastor! Where have y-,” she paused when she noticed you by his side, “who…who the fuck is this?” A blonde was following close behind her.

“I’m glad you asked!” Alastor’s smile broadened. He proceeded to introduce you as his beloved wife to everyone in the room, and then introduced them to you, completely ignoring the looks of shock and awe on their faces. Before anyone else in the room could speak, Alastor hastily took your hand.

“Now, if you excuse us, we have some things to discuss.” With that, you and Alastor promptly dissolved into a shadowy mist.

The lobby was silent then as everyone stared at where Alastor and you once stood.

“Ssso…that was weird for everyone elsse too…right?”

Meanwhile, upstairs, Alastor turned after carefully locking the door to his room.

“Now, I suppose I owe you an explana—“, he was cut off by a resounding smack when your hand connected with his cheek. Alastor’s head turned with a sharp snap. He stood completely still there for a moment, eyes wide and smile looking painfully forced. If it had been anyone else, they would’ve been dead by now, but you? Well…he always liked how feisty you were. Alastor cleared his throat before speaking again.

“Alright…”, he said while turning to face you. “I probably deserved that…”

“You deserve a lot worse than that actually, but go on.”

“I know, and I can’t…” Alastor suddenly felt unsure of what to say. Granted, The Radio Demon was not one for heartfelt apologies (or any apologies for that matter) but if anyone deserved one from him, it was you. Yet, there he stood: the feared Radio Demon, lost for words at your mere presence.

There was a long and uncomfortable silence.

“Do you have any idea what you did to me?” You finally said. “What I suffered because of you?!”

Alastor offered no response.

“What FUCKING-“ you paused as tears began to well in your eyes. Your face red and splotchy and your lips quivering as you started to sob.

“You lied to me-“

“I did.”

“You used me!”

“I did.”

“You told me you loved me!”

“I do.”

And that gave you pause. Had he loved you? Really loved you? No. It had to be a lie. He couldn’t possibly-

“I know I can’t make up for everything I did and everything that happened…” Alastor said while walking towards you. When he stopped, just a few inches from you, you had to look up at him. Alastor was taller than you in life, but now he towered over you. He gently took your hand in his. “But I’ll spend the rest of eternity trying…for you.”

You watched as he gently kissed your fingers. With tears in your eyes and an uneven breath, you laid your head on his chest.

You missed him. You tried not to miss him, but you did and there was no use in denying it anymore.

“One chance,” you finally said. “That’s all you get.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

You looked up at Alastor and locked eyes with him briefly. The feared Radio Demon wanted nothing more right now than a chance to have you back. His eyes flitted between your lips and your eyes before he dipped you low. To anyone else, it would be an over-the-top gesture, but to you? Oh, how his theatrics made you blush and swoon.

“So…what do you say, darling?” He leaned in closer, almost touching his forehead to yours.

“Do we have a deal?~”

You raised a brow at his words.

He chuckled then.

“Ah, I apologize for my poor choice of words. What I meant was: May I have the honor of courting you, my dear?”

Your eyes softened and you smiled up at him.

“Yes, darling.”

[esmedelacroix]

Miguel As A "Boy Dad" !

boydad!miguel o'hara who isn't afraid to shower his son with love ♥︎

Miguel And Your Baby Bump ! ← previous part ♥︎

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅🍼𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.‧₊˚ ☁️⋅🍼𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.‧₊˚ ☁️⋅🍼𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.‧₊˚ ☁️

boydad!miguel o'hara who would come home from work late to find his baby boy surprising him by walking up to him for the first time. He felt a little sting in his heart because he couldn’t be there to watch his first steps but seeing Gabriel smiling ear to ear and greeting him made him feel much better. “Come here my love,” Miguel would say he crouched down with his arms spread out he would scoop up Gabriel, and smother him in kisses.

boydad!miguel o'hara who will always be the one to get up whenever Gabriel has a nightmare. “Daddy?… I had a bad dream,” you hear your son’s quiet teary voice call out with your door cracked open a smidge letting in the light from the hallway. Miguel slowly gets up as you sit up as well. “Go back to sleep Cariño[honey] I got it,” Miguel would whisper softly giving your head a soft pat.

boydad!miguel o'hara who would hold his little boy’s hand while walking him back to his room. The next morning you would wake up seeing that Miguel hadn’t come back to your room. You would peep into Gabriel’s room to see him and Miguel cuddled up on his Lightning McQueen bed. Miguel's body being far too big for the bed making you laugh to yourself hearing his soft snores.

boydad!miguel o'hara who would always take note of the things that Gabriel liked. Gabriel liked Hot Wheels? Miguel would come with a whole race track. Gabriel liked Star Wars? He would plan a family costume for Halloween. Gabriel liked Legos? Miguel would randomly come home with a Lego Death Star for them to build.

boydad!miguel o'hara who was always so protective of Gabriel when the two of you found out he was allergic to peanuts. He always checked everything before he ate them. The two of you also wiped all peanut products out of the house. Miguel always has his Epi pen wherever they go.

boydad!miguel o'hara who helped Gabriel make his first crush a Valentine. He went out late at night and got candy and arts and crafts supplies so they could make a handmade card for his crush. “What if she doesn’t like me back?" Gabriel asked worriedly. "How could she not like you back? You’re a nice boy and you look just like your mother, which makes you the most handsome boy in the world because your mom is the most beautiful in the world, he explained giving Gabriel a pat on the back as he left for school.

boydad!miguel o'hara who always went to his son's events and supported him whether it be his baseball games or the musicals that he was in. Miguel took time to practice with him in your front yard and took you Gabriel to see your favorite productions on Broadway. Miguel was convinced Gabriel would be a famous musical theater actor.

boydad!miguel o'hara who would document Gabriel's life from his first "Dada" to his first baseball game, all the way to his first musical, the time he came out to his family, and his wedding where he married his awesome husband.

boydad!miguel o'hara who went all out every Pride Month all throughout Gabriel's high school career after he came out to the family. Nothing made Miguel happier than the fact that Gabriel felt comfortable coming out to the two of you as his parents. He felt the most accomplished as a father knowing that his son felt like he could tell him anything.

boydad!miguel o'hara who loves his son unconditionally.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅🍼𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.‧₊˚ ☁️⋅🍼𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.‧₊˚ ☁️⋅🍼𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.‧₊˚ ☁️

[websterss]

THE DOOR WITH THE BLUE AND PINK BUTTERFLIES — AZRIEL

SUMMARY: You and Azriel had dreamed of nothing more than to be parents. You were ready for it, you just weren't prepared to have that dream be ripped away.

WARNING(S): angst, mentions of death, mentions of slight blood not really, mentions of stillbirth, grievance, and mourning, just angst all around really...

WORD COUNT: 3,038

PAIRING: Azriel x fem!Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy it This is my first Azriel fic and I'm nervous. Feedback is always welcomed!

MASTERLIST

You had dreamed of a life worth waking up to…in the room down the hall. Dreamed of the cuddles and nose kisses that would cure your bad woes away. Dreamed of the giggles and laughter, ones you’d hope would be replications of yours and Azriels combined. Dreamed of the late-night cries and restless nights of sleep. You wanted it…more than anything else. You wanted the life you were ready to live that awaited behind the door with the blue and pink butterflies.

The room you spent countless hours parading around and holding up color swatches to. It drove Azriel mad, having you make him repaint and coat with a new color you fell hopelessly in love with, but you knew he’d do it all over again to hold onto the hope you shared that was now gone.

Azriel stood at your bedroom door, his chest closing in on itself as he felt you hurt. He felt your hate, your grief…he felt empty knowing that the stillbirth wasn’t felt one-sided. He felt the loss of his two unborn babes.

You spent the days in your bed crying. Your bedsheets and pillowcases had long since turned soggy, and you no longer had the energy to cry any harder. Azriel took the brunch of your earlier breakdowns. holding you as you wept and pleaded to have them back. It had taken Rhysand to shut down your mind. Having you fall head forward into Azriel's neck as he held you.

“Rhys…please! I beg of you!” Azriel had cried out to his brother for help. Your pain had gone right down to his side of his bond and as much as he didn't want to he needed a moment's worth of quiet. Rhysand had only nodded cupping his brother's crying face, knowing Azriel wasn't doing this out of anger, but because he wanted you both to stop hurting for just one night, but that pain would never stop coming.

“Don’t you dare…don’t you dare! Rhysand no!” You wept as Azriel held you in his arms. “I don’t wanna sleep…I don’t wanna sleep yet…” It only took one glance at Azriel and Rhysand had pressed his forefingers against both your temples. Azriel eyes shut, and the last thing he heard was your whimpers dying out quietly.

His betrayal hurt, but your body ached more, your heart throbbed, and your stomach twisted into knots. You had done everything to prepare for their arrival. Had spent hours selecting their names, stocking the nursery, and speaking to them every day. Now you barely had the strength to get up and eat. Much less Azriel but he was doing his best to hold it together for you both. He lost two precious gems, he didn’t want to end up losing his beautiful diamond too.

He watched with a heavy heart as Madja checked your pulse for the umpteenth time this week.

“It would be best to start eating child.”

“I did everything you asked of me...” You murmured staring off into space.

“You need to gain your strength back, little one. Don’t tell anyone but you’re my favorite apprentice I've ever had. I’d hate to see you go so soon.” Madja brushed back your hair.

“I did everything right Madja…” Your breaths growing labored again.

“I know child. I know you did.” Madja's heart ached for you both. “Unfortunate and unfair circumstances.” She mourned for the beautiful twins she had to help you deliver. She looked up at Azriel as he hastily wiped a tear from his cheek.

“Child, when is the last time you’ve eaten?” She directed her firm tone at the Shadowsinger.

“I don’t want to eat.” You muttered.

“I won’t eat until she does.” You and Azriel spoke at the same time.

“Stubborn…” Madja cursed amongst something else you couldn’t comprehend.

Madja let out a small sigh before she pulled you into an embrace and pressed your head into her shoulder as she rubbed your back. In your moment of vulnerability, your emotions grew even more intense. You felt the tears on your cheeks mix with Madja's as she kissed your temple. Madja's heart broke seeing the once vibrant young woman that filled rooms with joy and energy, turn into a lifeless zombie of her former self. She broke seeing Azriel lose himself even further, falling back into his shadows for comfort. He resembled that of a scared lost babe, trying to find his way home again. When she received the call from Feyre, she knew the whirlwind of emotions that was going to follow.

-

"Where is she?" She called out as soon as she and Rhysand winnowed in. She didn't even think about it when she stuffed her bag with everything she needed.

"Third door down. The girls are trying to keep her calm... nothing's working." Rhysand followed right on her tail.

"She's having twins Rhysand of course not child!" Madja cursed as she hurried her footsteps.

The scene before her was a mess. The house a disarray, and the living room thrashed, probably where the panic started. She heard Feyra and Nesta ordering Cassian for more towels from upstairs. She climbed up to the second landing. Her eyes immediately fell onto Azriel's, finding him holding his stomach in pain with tears in his eyes, as he sat with his knees to his chest.

"Madja I can't feel them-" He could barely get out before she walked right past him.

"Get him up." She called over his shoulder. "I need you three in there."

"Why?" Rhysand asked as she followed the cacophony of your wails of anguish.

"I need you three to help hold her down, the girls won't be enough."

"Hold her down?"

"Get him up!" Rhysand had scrambled to haul him up on his feet. Ushering him into the room he had half a mind to go into. Azriel cried harder seeing your blood stain the sheets.

"Madja-" You cried out to her. Slightly relieved she was finally here to help you. "I-I can't feel—feel them. I can't feel—" You choked up.

"I'm here child. I'm here." Madja cleaned her hands and then checked under your nightgown. Your heart sank as she tried keeping her eyes at bay from watering. She hovered her hand over your stomach and as she paused, you knew it wasn't a good sign.

"M-Me or them?" Your lips quivered. "Madja? W-What's wrong? Are they okay? If you can...save them please. S-Save my babies please!" The healer only continued to remain silent. She looked up briefly at Feyre and Rhysand, her mind opening up to them.

Madja? Rhysand bent his chin in concern.

I cannot feel they're heartbeats. She thought. Feyre shed a tear at the news.

"Madja?" Azriel's voice pulled her thoughts away. "Are the babes okay?"

"Child..." She began somberly.

"T-Tell me..." You inhaled deeply, gripping Azriel's and Rhysand's arms tighter.

"...I can no longer feel their heartbeats. The twins I'm afraid are stillborn my child." A tear shed down her cheek.

"N-No." Your grip loosened up, as Azriel's grew stronger.

"And I need you to be very strong for me for this next part because you need to push them out."

"I-I can't-" You began to protest.

"You can! I know you can. You, my dear are the strongest person I have ever had the pleasure of knowing...and I will be here with you every step of the way. We all will."

You had barely mustered a disheartened nod before she told you to begin pushing.

-

“You both are a pain in my ass…a beautiful pain…but still a pain.” Madja shook her head, hearing Azriel scoff at her choice of comforting words. “Can I be honest?”

“You always are…” Azriel grumbled now shifting to the end of the frame of the bed.

“I do not care if you don’t want to eat. you need to eat. Precisely because I don’t want to have to receive an urgent call from Rhysand or Feyre telling me you idiots gave out on us. I refuse to have you leave this world so soon.” You looked up and met her arched brow.

“Madja—“ You began to protest.

“Eat. Both of you or I'll shove my hand down your throats and force-feed you.” Madja gestured to the nightstand with a tray stacked with two bowls and glasses. You’d been eating a few crackers, but she didn’t think that was enough. She had brought over soup from the kitchen in hopes you’d finally get some real food in your gut.

Azriel and you shared glances that told her you’d rather starve together than either of you eat at different times. Madja was about to argue but she knew she’d be arguing into the wind with you two. Your bond was too strong.

”I don’t want anything Madja...” Was your only reply as you hid your gaze from the healer and your mate, whose faces were so deeply etched with worry. Azriel was taking your pain on like he deserved it. Slowly withering away alongside you. It was you and him against the world, against death if that's how you wanted it. He wouldn't let you go alone. "It hurts..."

”I understand it hurts, but you gotta put something in your stomach or it’s gonna hurt even more.”

“Please…” You pleaded again, your voice hoarse and cracking as you spoke.

“Please Madja...” Azriel was soon echoing your pleas with the same breathless voice as tears formed at the corners of his eyes.

"Come." She motioned Azriel to sit on the other side of the bed.

Azriel met your somber gaze before he walked over and slipped into the bed with you. Shifting closer until his chest was pressed against your back. You slowly moved your head from Madja's chest and leaned it back against Azriel's chest. Madja looked between the two of you and gave a slight nod. The two of you both watched as she twisted around and then placed the tray down in the middle of your laps. She gripped both your hands before gesturing to the soup with crackers.

"Won't eat together, then you start together. Eat, I talk." You grumbled then let your shoulders fall at the two spoons she held out for you both. You took one from her, as did Azriel before allowing you to slowly sit up. Once situated, Azriel watched you slowly take the first spoonful then took one of his own from the bowl. His shadows vivaciously sprang to life as you both ate in silence together. "It won't pass...not for a long time." You both looked up at her for a moment before looking down again.

Azriel swallowed the soup without tasting it. It would take more time for him to start eating at a regular pace again. He took his time, enjoying the warmth of the soup as it slid down his throat. As you started to eat a little more from the bowl, he kept his gaze trained on you, watching every movement you made. He had not stopped worrying about you. You were weak and vulnerable in this state, as was he, but he refused to let you fall again. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to your temple as a tear fell down your cheek. When you cried, he wasn’t far from crying too. Tears of his own soon fell at the feeling of that bubble of anguish building up in your chest again.

"This kind of loss…it stays with you forever. The empty hole in your chests." She puts her finger in the center of your sternum gently. "That my dear child will fill itself up again within time. I'm not going to give you my apologies because I know you both have had enough of everyone's condolences, but I can give you the reassurance as your healer, and your friend, that it'll happen again, and again, and if doesn't then you can try again another time."

Azriel listened but remained silent. He had always been one who believed actions spoke louder than words. He couldn't force himself to believe that the pain and sorrow would eventually pass, but he could trust in her words this time. Her actions had proven themselves enough, you wouldn't be sitting beside him without her. If there was anyone he would be willing to trust it was Madja. She had been another mother figure to him after losing the two he did have. Her words brought an empty comfort to him, but her love brought warmth and familiarity like that of a mother's embrace. He knew she meant well. Madja always tried.

Madja's words of promise brought Azriel some hope. You could see the worry in his expression as he chewed on a spoonful of soup and nodded to her words. He knew she was right. If it wasn't meant to be now then you could always try again in the future. Madja's fingers caressed your skin softly. She could see the grief that lingered in your eyes. Her hand grazed against your cheek tenderly and her thumb swiped your tear away.

“And if it doesn’t?” You asked, your head tilting to one side as she spoke. You felt so lost now, so confused about what was to be of your grieving family of two right now. If you’d be okay after this and how you were supposed to move on. She had offered hope to fill the empty gap, but that void of that missing piece in your heart ached. It ached for your twins that you wanted more than anything to be resting in a cradle next to your and Azriel's bed, or for that night to have been a promise of new life blooming from within you, instead of death taking it from within you.

Azriel's head fell to the side, his gaze drifting to your intertwined hands. He knew that Madja meant well, but it didn't make her words any less painful to hear. He wanted more than anything to see your belly swell again. To fall asleep each night knowing you were cradling two precious gems within you. The thought of that possibility made his heartache. He couldn't even imagine the thought of trying again, it was too much.

"I don't want it to happen again Madja…I don't want to experience this pain again." You whispered, your voice shaking as you let out another sob. The pain was only going to get worse, and you weren't sure what to do. To you, it wasn’t even about conceiving another baby, but the fact that you lost the twins you held so dearly within your womb. Azriel gently scooted you closer into his arms. Your bodies pressed against each other as he pulled you into a gentle hug. "I don't think I could go through that again." You shook your head.

“Neither could I…” Azriel whispered. He kept his eyes focused on you as he caressed your back and held you close. It wasn’t so much the grief that caused your hearts to break, but the thought of going through the journey again only to have the same results. Would you be able to handle losing your babes again? Azriel knew he wouldn't be able to. Would there be a point break in your hearts that you both wouldn't be able to take on any more pain? That thought alone scares him. Azriel pulled you into his body, burying his head into your hair. His body shook with every word he tried to hold back, but his voice gave way.

"I'm sorry my love..." He mumbled with his lips pressed against your forehead as he hugged you tighter. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the images of you almost giving out on him. You could feel the drops of his tears fall on you, but he refused to let go. Azriel held you close, his breathing becoming heavy as memories of the night flooded his mind heavily.

"I'm here..." You whispered sweet nothings of reassurance to him.

“I can't promise that we won't go through this again…” Madja’s heart skipped a beat at your tear-filled eyes. You both wanted nothing more than to conceive another precious babe in the future if you're both up for it again surely, but you both fear the heartache that would follow if it takes the same turn again. Madja is right, that kind of pain will never truly heal or leave you. You can only pray that it won't happen again. You both turn to her. "But I can promise you'll have many many beautiful babies. Your body will allow it my child that is my reassurance. I can't take away your pain, your grievance of your lost twins, but I can give you the hope for better days and the expansion of your little family that will continue to grow and grow." She brought her hands up and cupped the sides of your faces.

"Promise?!" Azriel's voice was filled with hopefulness as if he could already see the light at the end of this dark and twisted tunnel. You could finally see some relief wash over him as she explained. His hands reached up and rested against her palm as he focused on her every word.

Madja's words brought you comfort, at least for now. Her promise of conceiving future babies gave you hope that one day you'd still have your dream of a big family with Azriel. You wouldn't have to carry the weight of the twins' death on your shoulders alone. You had Azriel alongside you, and Rhysand, and Feyre, and Nesta, and Cassian, and Mor, and Amren, and Madja. She was right though, she always was–the hollow of sadness wouldn't go away, but it could be filled. You'd make sure to make that empty in ache that burned you whole again, if not now, then you and Azriel would have the future and many years to come. That was all you could hope for now.

"That I can promise you." You both nodded as she pulled you into her embrace. Your and Azriel's minds wander further down the hall, where the door remains closed. The door with the blue and pink butterflies. 

[platinumshawnn]

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.

TAGLIST:

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[madamechrissy]

Lucid Dreams

Pairings: Nanami Kento x Fem Reader ( reader is a ghost)

Summary: You died a year ago, and now a really hot Nanami Kento moves in to the apartment you're tethered to. You love to fuck with him, shuffle his papers, knock over his things, but you also love to watch him sleep. One day, he ends up seeing you. And... yep, how do you move on to the next realm? Maybe by getting railed by Nanami!?

NSFW- smut, lovemaking, explicit sex

Word Count- 3.5k- This is just a cute little story I got a request for. (It's literally crack fluff smut) Happy ending don't worrryyy. Just fluffy silly cute shit.🤭

Nanami Kento stepped into his new apartment, it was all redone since you had lived there, what’s it been since you died, a year now? You looked at how handsome this man was, dressed in a suit impeccably, sliding the jacket off to reveal toned, perfect arms. You step closer, and suddenly he shivers, as if he could feel your energy, but there’s no way…

Your energy had been fading lately, perhaps the longer you have been dead the less you have, but something about his presence made it flicker once more. You’d had fun haunting the last couple that lived here, ugh but their love annoyed you, because it’s not like you got any love in the twenty five short years you had on this plane of existence.

You expected heaven or something? Or some other life… but no, you just lingered here, in your old apartment, which looked nothing like it did. You could get down almost out of the building, just enough to stare at the moonlight longingly, remembering what it was like to talk.

You don’t talk, no one would hear you anyway.

Well…

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” You murmur as this blond sexy man rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt, revealing toned forearms.

Maybe you do speak?

You watch him every day, for a week, come home and do the same routine, over and over. He takes off his glasses, he sighs, he sets down his briefcase, he sighs, he goes to take off his jacket, he sighs. Yes this man sighs a lot, and pinches the bridge of his nose, exhausted from the long hours he clearly works.

You worked a lot too back in the day, overworked yourself to death, hoping for an early retirement, until someone hit you with a car

Yeah.

Maybe that’s why you can’t leave, you’re still so pissed, when you had to look down at your body, when you had to see your parents cry, before they left and never came back around. You couldn’t see them, no you were stuck here, and you don’t know why, endlessly lonely and bored. But… now?

Nanami Kento is here, and you enjoy his presence. You watched him from the shadows, your translucent form barely outlined against the wall. As the days turned into nights, you observed him with a fascination that flared up deep inside you, watched him as he slept, when his usually stern face would relax. You would always brush his hair back, but then one day you realize something.

His hair moved.

You touched him!? He opens his eyes, and you gasp, hovering over him, and the hazel eyes widen, but then he blinks, and you disappear. Nanami sits up, shirtless and chiseled within every inch of his life, fuck the man is absolutely beautiful, and he’s looking around the room.

“Hey, is … fuck I’m losing it. Is someone there?” You gasp, backing away from the bed then, as Nanami looks around, clearly sleepy and confused.

“Yeah.” You whisper, curious, and he bolts up, and then you see it, the bulge in his boxers, and you flush bright red… can ghosts blush!? Maybe? He was clearly huge, and apparently ghosts can get wet too.

Huh.

“Listen, I need my sleep. Please don’t annoy me.” You’re in shock, at how casual he is, and you laugh suddenly, apparently he notices because he glares. “Seriously, go… do ghost things and let me sleep.”

He’s back in bed, and if your heart still beat, it would thud.

You keep watching Nanami Kento, but now you mess with him, jumbling up his papers, just to enjoy the delight when he would yell at you. You would move his toaster just an inch, mix his spoons and forks, laughing maniacally as he would get so flustered, shifting them back. He is always so meticulous, that throwing him off becomes your new thrill.

On one evening, you watched as he flipped his light switch several times, each attempt to illuminate the living room met with flickering bulbs. You’re giggling as you keep fucking with the lights, clearly annoying this man, and you could feel bad, but he’s so cute when he’s annoyed.

“What now?” He mutters, and your laughter echoed softly in the corners of the room. Nanami’s head whipped around, eyes narrowed in irritation. “You are here again. Can you stop fucking around? Do you need to watch a movie?”

“You’re asking a ghost to watch a movie?” He whips his head again, as the storm outside rages, and the lightning illuminates the room, and suddenly his eyes are dead on you, wide in shock. Your eyes go wide right back. “Fuck… can you…”

“See you. Yep.” You fade away, frightened then, and he reaches for you in a few long steps, gripping your arms. You feel his touch, just like you had when you were alive, hot on your skin. “I’m touching you!?”

“I don’t know how you can even see me.” You whisper, and he just keeps holding you, this six foot something gorgeous man, and you don’t know how you look to him. “Am I ghost like?”

“No, you look like an… alive person. Is this offensive to you?”

You laugh softly. “No, I’m not offended. I know I’m dead. Just didn’t know how I look to you, to me I look the same.”

“You look beautiful.” You freeze, as does he, a blush on his high cheekbones, his lips pursed a bit. “I see you in my dreams. You give me those?”

“No, I wouldn’t know how! Um, you do?” He nods then, and you tentatively cup his face, feeling the stubble on his jaw. “Fuck if I was alive I’d have been simping so hard for you.”

“Simping? You talk odd.”

“You talk like an old man.”

“Not a ghost at least.” Your eyes widen, and he goes to apologize, but you just laugh then, breathless. “I’m sorry.”

“I can’t believe this. Hello, Nanami Kento.”

“What happened to you?” He murmurs and you sigh, looking down, enjoying his touch far too much.

“I was hit by a car.”

His beautiful hazel eyes fill with concern, why can you even feel his warm breath, his body heat? How?

“I'm so sorry. Why are you…”

“A ghost?” He nods. “I don't know. I was a good person, just worked a lot like you. I didn't have anyone too close. I don't think I have unfinished business.”

“That's horrible. Are you stuck here?” You nod. “How often do you watch me. Hmm?”

You giggle at his question. “Not when you're naked. That's not very consensual is it.”

“Uh huh.”

“Your body is beautiful though from what I have seen.” Nanami blushes again, and it makes his cheekbones stand out even more. “Hey don't worry I'm not trying to date, I'm dead.”

He grimaces, he still hasn't let go of you. “Your humor is morbid.”

“Morbid? I'm dead. Duh.”

“Dear lord. Listen how can I help you move on?”

“Tired of me knocking your cups over?” You smirk and he glares down at you. Fuck he's hot.

“I'm very tired of it, yes. But also I'd like to help. What's something you wish you did before you died?” Nanami asks softly and you hum, touching his chest then, feeling the heart pumping blood in his veins, his hard muscles under your palm.

“Wish I worked less and relaxed more. Wish I had a life. Wish I had loved. Fuck my life was depressing…” you frown as you speak, and Nanami studies you seriously. His hands are sliding down your little shoulders, down your slender arms, making you tremble.

“I know how that feels. I could say the same. Well what do you-”

“Can I try something?” You whisper, cutting him off. He nods. You tiptoe, because no you can't float, that's so bullshit by the way, and you press your lips to his, feeling them hot on yours. You moan softly as little sparks float, making you feel alive. He is tense, unmoving. “There, a perfect kiss. Have I moved on?”

He shakes his head, and your breath catches when he yanks you to him by the waist, pressing you up against his hard body. “You're still here,” his voice is husky now. “I've had some interesting dreams.”

“Oh? Tell me.”

“Where you're on top of me in my sleep… where you're sucking my cock and I can't see you.” You blink rapidly, as his words fill you, and he's caressing your lower lip as he talks.

“Oh yeah?” Your hands trail down his perfect abdomen then, feeling it tremble. “Ghost head, huh?”

“In another dream I get you to manifest long enough to return the favor. And you dissappear once you cum all over my face.”

Now you are soaked.

Wait can you still fuck!?

“How rude of me not to ghost cuddle you afterwards.” You grin then and he moans softly, as you feel how hard he is against your tummy.

“How long until you disappear again?”

“I don't know, this is all so weird. Fuck I'll try though.” He snatches you up then, and your legs wrap around his narrow hips, then you're slammed into the wall, and somehow you don't just go through it, your physical form is there, as he holds you up. He kisses down your throat and you cry out, hands in his silky blond hair.

“Nanami!” You whine out, and he kisses down your chest, as you eagerly grind against him.

“Even better than the dream…” His words make you ache, yearn for more, to be real to not be dead. Fuck the life you could have had.

“Nanami I can't. I can't do this. It'll hurt too much having a taste.” He looks at you then, lips parted, big hands sliding your top right off your head. Huh, that comes off?

“Why shouldn't you. It's not fair what happened. How long have you been alone?”

You're crying, and yeah ghosts can cry, those tears are falling and disappearing as they do. “But what if I move on and can't see you again?”

Your eyes lock, as you realize what you're saying. “If it's your time, darling, it's your time. But for now, I'd love to fuck the reason I'm constantly hard. If I fuck you well enough, would you please stop shuffling my papers?” He pouts then, and you giggle, fuck you’re a ghost but you’re giggling, in his arms.

“I promise.” You brush his hair back, as you had so many nights, having watched him sleep, having watched him just existing so beautifully, and now? He could finally see you.

Your lips meet in another kiss, and then he’s sliding a hand to cup your breasts, nipple rising against his hard palm, fuck he’s just so warm, and alive… you errantly wonder if you feel weird to touch. What does a ghost feel like? But when he sinks two fingers up under your skirt (Yep you died in a skirt) and groans-

“Fuck you’re so hot.” You figure you feel pretty good. And fuck if he doesn’t make you wetter than you’d ever been alive, he makes you feel alive almost. But you’re still not tethered to the Earth, you’re only tethered to Nanami.

“Please…” You whisper, and he eagerly lays you on his bed. “Oh shit, I was scared I’d fall through!”

He chuckles. “You’re kinda bad at being a ghost you know.”

“What!?”

“Yeah, you aren’t very sneaky.” He slides your skirt off, kissing up your thighs, and you feel his hot breath where you’re soaked, making your hips rock up. “I saw you a lot of times but I wondered if I was hallucinating. I work too much.”

“You really do. Nanami promise me… you’ll… oh fuck!” He licks you then, right up your slit, groaning against your pussy.

“Promise what, Darling?” He murmurs, and you struggle to remember.

“Oh… promise you won’t- ah - work so much. It didn’t do me any good, Nanami… now I’m dead and-”

“You feel alive to me. You feel perfect.” You’re crying, your little glittery ghost tears, as his eyes, seductive and lidded stare up at you, and he grips your thighs. He laps you up and you fall apart, like nothing you’ve felt before, yanking on his usually perfect hair.

“Fuck, worth dying for a taste of this.” You whisper out, and then he’s got two fingers in you again, working spots you have no clue are there, his mouth sucking in your clit, and you shatter, cumming all over his handsome face.

“Good girl.” He murmurs, and you cum again as he scissors his fingers into you. “Should I say Good Ghost?”

“Both work, shit, shit you’re so good. I wish I’d had you around.”

“I wish I could have met you.” He murmurs, leaning above you then, and your thighs wrap around his hips, as your little hands run up and down his body. Somehow this feels perfect, this feels right. “This is insane, isn’t it? Are you just a dream?”

“No, Nanami… you’re the dream. Maybe there’s something good for me… mnh! Oh fuck.” He’s rubbing his tip along your folds, and you soak him. He’s so huge, and thick, bigger than you had alive, but there’s no pain, just ridiculous pleasure when he slides inside your entrance, his brows together, lips parted.

“Oh fuck… Darling.” You cry out then, gripping him so tight, so afraid how quickly this would end, as he’s kissing you, as he’s entering you, stroking faster and faster, the bed creaking and the headboard smacking the wall. “You feel so perfect. You’re just so, so beautiful.”

“Oh my god!” Was there a god for you? Maybe Nanami was it. As he works over you, as he tears you apart, until you’re spasming around him, sobbing against his neck, as he keeps making you cum, fucking you from one orgasm to the other. “Nanami… mnh.. Nanami!”

“Don’t even… what was… your name?” He whispers, grunting as he fucks into you, and you struggle to remember, what was it? Oh. You tell him, and then he whispers it in your ear, as his cock is steadily slamming into you, against your cervix, so deep you felt you two were one.

“Kento… call me… Kento…” He huffs, slowing now, your thighs are pressed up, and if you weren’t a ghost? You’d let this man get you pregnant.

That’s how good it is.

“Kento! Oh Kento… it’s so good I- ah!” He’s pressing your thighs against your breasts now, groaning as he fucks you so hard, until he slows, and his eyes catch yours in the night.

“Darling, can I-”

“Can’t get a ghost pregnant- ah- do it!” He’s moaning now, and he fills you with a few more pumps, before hot liquid shoots inside of you, and you cum right with it, clinging to him like he’s your life line, rubbing your hips up for more. He kisses you, so sweetly, over and over, and you fall into it, into his arms.

“I don’t want this to just be once. Don’t go.” He murmurs then, and you’re crying now, as he leans down, easing out and making a mess of your cum and his, and you feel yourself fading. “Darling, please.”

“I don’t wanna go either. I don’t.” He’s holding onto you, and you feel it, some odd pull, like you’re being split in a million directions. “I wish I could have known you, Nanami Kento. Please, don’t make my mistake. Just live, okay?”

You see his own eyes glittering with tears. “I feel like I should have known you… you look so familiar…”

“Maybe we’ll meet in another life?” He just sighs, holding you close, and you hum, eyes fluttering shut. Ghosts don’t sleep, right? Why were you… sleepy?

He’s caressing your cheek, and you hum happily. “There were more dreams. Maybe… stick around? We can try them all?”

You smirk a bit, looking up at this beautiful man, one you wish you could have known in your short life. You brush his tear aside, smiling. “You deserve more than a ghost, stuck in the apartment.”

Then you fade.

It was a beautiful time with…

******

You wake back up, in your body and you’re… alive!? You rush to the mirror, realizing you’re in your apartment. You check the phone, and it’s the next day, the day after you died. No fucking way…

You rush out, and bump right into him.

Nanami Kento!?

You look up at him, wide eyed, and he’s staring at you curiously, a little smile on his face, he looks not as tired as the Nanami you knew, is he the same, you wonder? You realize he’s stepping out of the apartment next to you, and your mind goes insane, have you been in a coma, was it a horrible dream?

“Hey there, I’m Nanami Kento, just moved in.” He holds out his hand, and you take it, trembling, and he frowns a bit. “Sorry, are you all right?”

“Uh… no. No I’m not. Do I look familiar to you?” You ask then, softly, and he nods just a bit, a blush decorating his cheeks. Yours joins as you remember vividly, his tongue on you, his cock inside you.

“Very familiar. Do you work at the same building as me maybe?” You shake your head, sighing, and you realize he has his briefcase. “You are familiar but I just can’t really place it.”

“Huh… sorry I’m being weird huh? Should I let you go?” Then you wonder, can you leave this apartment? “Actually. I gotta go somewhere to.”

“Well, come on then.” He tilts his head, pushing up his green framed glasses, and you touch your chest, feeling your heart beat steadily. Was this heaven, was this another dimension?

Then as you all are outside, a car zooms toward you, careening off the busy streets, and you remember, this is when you die.

“Fuck!” Nanami has thrown both of you out of the way, onto the sidewalk, and he’s on top of you, breathing heavily. His eyes go wide then, as do yours. “Oh my god… you were dead in my dream.”

“I dreamt of you… that I was dead… I…” You’re trembling, and he eases off you, helping you stand on shaky legs. “Was it some prophetic dream? Was I supposed to meet you? This is fucking weird. I’m not dead!?”

He chuckles then. “You’re so not dead. I remember it all. It’s like a fuzzy dream though isn’t it?”

“Oh my god. You saved me!” You’re sobbing, and he holds you close, and you feel it all crashing, everything together. You can’t explain shit, except you are supposed to be in this man’s arms. Your neighbor.

“Should we get you checked out? I knocked you on that concrete hard.” He brushes back your hair, inspecting it then. And you just giggle.

“Do you remember fucking me too?” He’s bright red, his nostrils flaring just so, and then he’s dragging you back into the building. “Hey!”

“Fuck work.” He slams you against the wall of the elevator, pressing one too many buttons, as he cups your face, sighing. “You told me not to work to death, I remember it all.”

“This is fucking crazy.” He nods, but he’s kissing you, and oh god it feels even better, as your own heart thuds against his.

“I won’t let you fade away again.” You hear the emotion in his voice, and your arms wrap around his neck. “You were a really annoying ghost.”

“I was good in bed though.” He moans, your tongues are entwining, teeth clinking as you messily kiss, and then you’re in your apartment, ripping each other's clothes off, in a maddening state.

Both of your phone alarms go off, and you laugh softly.

“I was gonna wait a year to relocate.” He murmurs, and your eyes fly open, as you realize what changed. “Something made me leave.”

“I’m so happy. Fuck… do you think ghost pussy is better by the way? I need your expert opinion.” He’s chuckling now, yanking at his cheetah tie, and you stop him, shaking your head. “Oh no, leave that on.”

So you died… but then you didn’t? And Nanami Kento saved you, and he already knows you, he knows where to touch and where to kiss. You all both don’t go to work that day, no, you are going to get some R n R. <3  Somehow, and some way you were supposed to always end up in his arms, it feels like heaven.

[spicysix]

📖 + "I think... I'm in love with (Name)" || "Congrats on being the last one to find out" prompt w eddie omgomgomg💗 also congrats on 400 angel <33

thank you my loveee 💖💖💖

here comes, hope you like it! (a little dialogue heavy, sorry for that!)

join the celebration!

every day for us, something new

"Gonna make some more popcorn, guys! Get the next one ready," you said, getting up from the couch where you were sitting between Eddie and Argyle.

"Get me another coke, please!" Robin, from the floor, asked.

"Oh, get me another beer, sweetums, will 'ya?" Eddie joined in.

"No one else ask me anything, I don't have hands for more!" you exclaimed before leaving for the kitchen.

Movie nights were routine at this point. After all the trauma and the babysitting and the saving the world, the least you all deserved were some fun nights chilling with your friends. Steve or Nancy would host, you'd all take turns choosing movies for the week, and you'd get together to watch and gossip and just be around each other in non-threatening ways. There was no bond like the one created between life-or-death situations.

Eddie's eyes followed you as you walked out of Steve's living room. Jonathan chuckled.

"What?" Eddie asked and Nancy and Robin groaned in unison.

"You are. So. Dense," Nancy complained.

"I don't think he's dense, I think he's just stupid," Robin completed. Eddie hated how she and Nancy came to sharing a single braincell lately.

"C'mon, let's take it easy on our brochacho. The matters of the heart aren't easy," Argyle said, words all considerate but his smirk was nothing but teasing, and Eddie wanted them all to just shut the fuck up.

There was a loud noise from the kitchen, and Eddie was up on his feet in an instant.

"Don't worry, I'm okay!" you called out before anyone could even say anything, to Eddie's relief, and he sat down again.

All of his friends were looking at him funny. What was this plot against him, honestly?

"What's going on?" he asked, waving his arms around in annoyance.

"Dude. Use a single neuron. You'll understand," Steve advised, letting out a dramatically exhausted sigh.

Eddie just stared back at them, one at a time, for several minutes. Trying to find the answers in one of his friends' eyes, or just hoping to be scary enough to make them tell him at once.

"I can't do this, he's the dumbest man alive," Jonathan said after a long while in silence.

What were you even doing in the kitchen for such a long time? Popcorn gets ready in like, five minutes.

"He's never been in love before, maybe he just doesn't recognize it," Steve pitched in, and he knew that information because Eddie had told him once.

What did it have to do with anything?

"What does being in love has anything to do with this? Who's in love here? No one's in lov-" he started, and then he stopped.

Thought about your smile, and that funny little laugh you saved only for his stupid jokes. The way you'd hug him tighter and longer than everyone else. The way you and Robin shared perfumes, a fragrance he didn't really like much, but on you he'd love - something about the way it'd interact with your natural skin smell, and it intoxicated him in the best of ways. He thought about how soft your skin was, and how he loved when you ran your fingers through his hair. He thought about how he thought about you first thing when he woke up, and he thought about you last thing before sleeping. How he thought about you even when asleep - how he'd dream of you, and him, your hands clasped together, your lips on his.

"Oh my god, I think I'm in love," he muttered.

"Congrats on being the last one to find out," Nancy answered. He just looked at her, freezing, hands trembling a little. "What are you thinking about so much, just go!" She nodded at the kitchen and, once again, Eddie was up on his feet in an instant.

He practically ran to the other room.

"Steve, your cabinets are a nightmare," you said, back turned to the door as you heard steps.

"Not Steve," he said, and you turned to face him. That smile, the one reserved just for him, on your lips.

"Eddie! Here to help me? Does anyone want something else?"

He just shook his head and walked closer to you. Took your hand on his, and your skin was just as soft as he thought about constantly.

"Is everything okay?" you asked.

He nodded, "Yeah, just came to a realization."

"Care to share with the class?" your words all teasing but your smile was nothing but sweet. He wanted to kiss you.

"I want to kiss you," he said out loud.

Your smile grew wider, "Well, do it, then."

And he did. And it was so much better than in his dreams. Yous lips were soft and tasted of whatever soda you were drinking, and your hands craddled his neck and you sure could feel his pulse going a million miles per second. But he didn't care, because you seemed eager for more, tongue poking at his lips and he let you in, and it was like fireworks exploding inside his head. He feelt fuzzy, and warm all over, and the happiest he's ever been. Because he's in love with you, he realized, and he was kissing you and you were kissing him back.

It felt like years before you separated, both panting a little.

"Oh, man, I like you so much," you mumbled, lips still almost pressed to his so he feelt every vibration in each of your words. It tingled him, head to toe, in and out.

"That's my realization," he responded, and you gave him another peck, and another one, and you were kissing him again when you heard steps behind you.

"C'mon, slow lovebirds, where's my damn popcorn? I wanna watch the sequel!" Robin showed up, picked up the popcorn bowl and her coke before leaving again.

You and Eddie laughed, and you gave him another peck, and another one, and you were kissing him again.

Neither of you got to watch much of the sequel.

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Hi! Can you please write part 3 of bale batman x assistant reader as his wife? And how he handles jealousy after their marriage? Thank you 😊

Hello!!

I actually wrote something about this a little while ago, but because I feel like just linking the post is a bit of an asshole move, I'll add some of my thoughts!

I hope that's okay <3

Here's my previous post :)

~Fi 🐝

(My inspiration for Bruce has been dwindling, I desperately need to watch the movies again)

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ♡

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

He will always, ALWAYS call you his wife. More than your actual name. He has to keep reminding people that you're unavailable and that you're his and his alone. Bruce perks up immediately whenever your name is mentioned. He's policing all of his employees at this point lmao

maybe someone talks about you to a coworker about how innovative you're thinking for the company is, that you're kind and exactly what this industry needs and Bruce just pops up out of nowhere like "who are you talking about? Hm? Oh, my beautiful, amazing, perfect wife? I couldn't agree more."

He gets so stealthy after being in the batman business that he scares them half to death because he's just there all of a sudden. After hearing some of the complaints the employees make (you're not at work as often anymore after Bruce insisted you focus on some hobbies instead) you're seriously contemplating putting a little bell on him just so you don't have to worry about anyone getting a heart attack.

He always has to be touching you in some kind of way. His go to is a hand on the small of your back or on your thigh when you're sitting down, he loves holding your hand, too. His thumb will brush over the cool metal of your wedding band and it puts his mind at ease.

Every single employee knows not to flirt with you, even as a joke. Not after Jake suddenly disappeared after Bruce caught him sweet talking you... (he may have a received a strongly worded letter from his landlord ((Bruce)) and, what do you know, for some reason, any other living opportunity in Gotham is unavailable right now)

He brings you flowers at least once a week (or until the ones he gifted you before can't hold their own anymore and wilt). They're always fragrant and bright in color, whatever is in season right now. And they stand nicely on your desk in a beautiful crystal vase that catches the light perfectly. He catches himself looking at them more than he he would like to admit.

Or, more specifically, he wants to see if he can catch you admiring them. He's gotten a new appreciation for these small things since you came into his life. They way you cup the delicate blossom and inhale its sweet scent is a picture he will dream of forever.

Bruce makes sure that you're only addressed as Mrs. Wayne (unless it's someone close like Luscius or a very nice coworker of yours) making it clear to everyone, again, that you're his. He gifts you a necklace with his name on it, which you wear proudly, and Bruce can't help but grin when he sees his name glint in the sunlight against your skin.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

I'm so sorry for kinda half-assing my Bruce posts lately, but I can barely write anymore 😭

I usually write at night but I'm tired then too so I'm like "Oh, I'll just write during the day." BUT GUESS WHAT I'M ALSO TIRED DURING THE DAY

Fucking iron deficiency istg

I basically sleep all the time and when I do write, it's not a lot bc I'm literally falling sleep halfway through so yeah

[dollfacefantasy]

And If the Sun Comes Up

pairing: vampire!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: leon knows that you and him are meant to be. if the only way to show you that is to sneak in during the night, then that's just what he'll have to do.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, somnophilia, non-con, biting, blood, reader is tied up, spitting in mouth, overstimulation

word count: 4k

a/n: hey everyone. when he fucks u so good, u think u love him, am i right? i wanted to get one more done for halloween and i'm kinda late, but it's still halloween here so idgaf. i hope everyone enjoys. also i'm trying a new style with the header image so yeah. as always i really appreciate reblogs and comments <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz

i made a playlist of songs i listened to while writing here.

It’s the middle of the night with moonlight shining down through the slits in your blinds. You’re sleeping off a stressful week tonight. You lay between your soft blankets with your head resting on your cool pillow. You had been in a peaceful, dreamless slumber, but now whimpers erupted from your unconscious form as you felt a persistent sensation between your legs.

You still aren’t fully awake. Your eyes briefly flutter, and your hips shift, trying to alleviate the disturbance that was disrupting your rest. A long whine escapes your throat as cold hands wrap around the tops of your thighs and keep you in position.

You gasp softly as your mind struggles to differentiate dream from reality. When you try to close your legs, you’re met with resistance. You start to come to as your limbs tug more forcefully on whatever was keeping them spread. You could vaguely feel the sensation of restraints around your ankles. It’s difficult to see in the darkness of your bedroom, but you can hear something unfamiliar. Soft grunts and groans emanate from the bottom of your bed.

You weakly lift your head to figure out what was happening. Your eyes were still sleepy, and your mind was still fogged from returning to lucidity, but you could still recognize the sensation of someone lapping at your cunt like it was their final meal.

Looking down between your thighs, you see a mop of blonde hair. At first, the sight brings you mere confusion. It didn’t make sense, and you struggled to process it. But as the gears in your brain began sliding into place, terror coursed through your veins.

A strangled cry leaves your lips, and you thrash harder to get away. You realize your arms are bound too, connected together by your wrists that were secured at the level of your navel. The adrenaline in your system makes you much more alert. You could now see the long, toned body of this stranger. He wore tight, black clothing that allowed you to see his definition. His strength was obvious from that alone if you couldn’t already feel it from how he held you in place so easily.

Once he notices you’re awake, his head pops up. Your eyes widen as they connect with his piercing irises through the dark. Fear moves through you in sickening waves. Every cell in your body yearns for him to just get away.

“Shhh, sweet one. It’s alright,” he whispers. He rubs his fingertips on your inner thigh in an attempt to soothe you. His voice is husky yet familiar, and his eyes are glazed over with arousal. From what it looked like, he had been doing this for a while.

You don’t stop squirming. Your heart pounds so erratically that it feels like at any moment you’ll go into cardiac arrest. As your breathing picks up and becomes shallow, your cries become breathless. 

His brows furrow momentarily at your response, but then his expression softens. You felt like you recognized him, but you couldn’t be sure.

“My darling, there’s no reason to be afraid,” he says and presses a few small kisses to your thigh, “Calm yourself. I’m not going to hurt you.”

You’re still so freaked out by the fact that this is even happening that your brain fails to formulate a response. You stare at him in horror as your squirming becomes weaker and your muscles begin to freeze out of fright.

“Good girl,” he whispers and caresses your hip, “This is for your pleasure, angel. Just relax. I know I may have startled you, but there’s no need to carry on.”

He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your clit causing you to softly yelp in both protest and pleasure. He chuckles and pulls his face back. His thumb begins lazily swiping through your folds, up and down. As soon as he cracks that smile, you’re able to place him.

“Leon?” you ask, your voice still raspy from sleep. Your drowsy mind couldn’t figure out why the man you’d seen only in passing at your job as a waitress was eating you out in your bedroom in the dead of night.

“Yes, beloved?” he answers, looking up at you with genuine curiosity as if nothing was off.

Now that you know the identity of your mysterious trespasser, your fear fades, and anger takes its place.

“Leon, what the fuck? What are you doing? And what are you doing here?” you say, your voice wavering. You try to stay focused and not let yourself be distracted by his thumb sliding around your slick. He doesn’t seem too fazed by your reaction.

“What does it look like I’m doing, pretty baby?” he whispers, “Making you feel good. You had a hard week, little doll. Let me make it better. Then I’ll explain.”

With that, he returns his head to the junction of your thighs. He parts his lips and begins making out with your pussy. Your eyes widen at his words, but the feeling of his tongue on your most intimate spot pushes your protests back down your esophagus. Instead, you whimper and take your lip between your teeth.

Erotic, wet noises from his lips and tongue working on your cunt spill out into the bedroom. Your cheeks heat with the shame of how good it felt, but there was really nothing you could do but take it. His tongue circles and laves at your clit with intense dedication before gliding down and fucking into your dripping hole.

His fingertips trace soothing circles onto the soft skin of your thighs while his mouth continues working you to the edge. He starts grunting again like he had been doing when you were sleeping. From the sounds alone, it seemed like he was getting as much pleasure from this as you. His breathing was heavy. You could feel it fanning across your pelvis.

You whine, your physical resistance dying down as release gets closer. You can feel his smug grin against your skin.

“L-Leon…” you stammer out through moans.

“Hush, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “Let it feel good. Your body knows it’s right. It knows what you need.”

He flicks his tongue on your swollen bud a few more times before you come undone. You jerk and spasm against the restraints on your wrists and ankles. Broken whimpers fall from your lips as your head fogs with the euphoria of release.

He watches from below with wonder. “There you go, pretty girl,” he breathes while thumbing your clit, “Give it all to me. You don’t need to worry about anything else.”

You ride out your release on his tongue. When you finish up, you look down at him with half-lidded eyes. He continues to gaze up at you with a look of love, his pupils dilated and his chin covered with your arousal.

“Leon. Explain,” you say, trying to sound firm, but your voice was hazy from your release.

“Why so many questions, little one? Did that not feel good?” he asks, “Did that not feel like everything you needed?”

“Leon. What are you doing in my house at three in the fucking morning… touching me like that?” you say, your voice picking up some of the intensity you initially intended.

He sighs and shakes his head, but still sports that smug smile. “You’ll see in time, my love. I know you’ll feel it too,” he says.

My love. Those two words struck you like an itch you couldn’t scratch. All these weird pet names. You barely knew him. He was always nice to you, but in a cordial kind of way, remembering your name and little things you’d told him about your day when you gave him his order. You weren’t even friends. You definitely didn’t consider yourself to be his love.

“Feel what? What are you talking about? You sound crazy,” you say.

“You’re my mate, sweet one,” he responds. He looks at you as if it’s a fact and speaks as if this was the most normal conversation, like you weren’t tied up and nude from the waist down.

You blink at him in disbelief. The words ring through your mind.

“Your mate?” you repeat incredulously, the only response you could think of.

“My mate,” he confirms, “I know you can’t understand it now. But you will. I’ll-”

“I barely know you!” you raise your voice, “Just cause I smile at you and can remember your order that doesn’t mean I want to fuck you! And it sure as Hell doesn’t mean we’re mates.”

He remains calm as he continues to speak. “You may not know me, but I know you, sweetheart. I love you, but you aren’t the most observant. I’ve been watching, and I know we’re meant to be. I know it’s right for you.”

The thought of him watching you while you went about your life, clueless as ever, disturbed you to the pit of your stomach, but you tried not to let that show. 

“Oh my God, you’re delusional. Fucking delusional. You think we’re soulmates? Like what? Like we’re written in the stars or something?” you mock.

“No, darling. Not written in the stars. It’s written in our DNA, something tying us together. I can sense it. You have the sweetest smelling blood I’ve ever come across.”

Your eyes widen at his explanation.

“What… What are you talking about? You can’t smell my blood, Leon,” you say.

“If only I couldn’t, maybe then I wouldn’t have to do this,” he says, his voice growing more hushed, “But I can. You have to understand, little love. I’m not a man of normal appetites.”

The way he spoke freaked you out. Various horrific ideas ran through your head about what he meant by unusual appetites. Your anger was slowly exiting, and your fear was seeping back in. Your limbs tremble as you try again to pull yourself out of your bindings.

“Sweetheart, all throwing a tantrum will do is tire you out,” he chides, "And while it’s not required, I would prefer if you were conscious to see how good I can make you feel.”

“You’re fucking insane!” you exclaim with a shaky voice, tears of terror pricking at your eyes, “I don’t know what gave you this sick fantasy that we’re true love and meant to be or whatever. But that’s all it is. Leon, I-”

“Enough,” he says, his voice dropping to a more commanding tone, “If you’re not willing to understand, I’ll just have to make you more agreeable.”

With that, his mouth returns to your cunt. He sucks your clit between his lips and flicks his tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves. One hand holds your thigh like it was before while the other comes between your legs and prods at your entrance.

You’re whimpering in no time, still being tender from your previous release. Your hips squirm and writhe as he pumps two fingers in and out of you.

“Quit moving,” he growls and tightens his grip on your thigh.

The gravelly harsh tone lights the pool of arousal in your belly like a match falling into gasoline. You clamp around his fingers and mewl softly. A sharp exhale leaves his nose and smirks.

“Good baby, deep down you know you want this. You’ve only had my fingers so far, and she already knows to get nice and tight for me,” he breathes before returning his attention to your pussy.

His fingers continue working you open, scissoring inside your hole as they move back and forth. The whole time he relentlessly plays with your clit, flicking, sucking, circling. Short, strained cries come from you as your back arches off the bed.

“There we go, pretty baby. Cum again for me,” he purrs, “I doubt you’ve been with a guy who could make you cum even once.”

You didn’t even fully register his words because you were so wrapped up in the throes of ecstasy. Your body convulses as release washes over you again. You shiver in waves, whining and babbling as he continues pleasuring you through the high.

As you come down, he doesn’t ease up on you. His fingers tease you a bit before applying enough pressure to overstimulate you. He adds a third finger into you and continues maneuvering them skillfully, hitting all the right spots.

His mouth doesn’t stop either. He spits onto your pussy and dives back in, licking up your slick and flattening his tongue to massage you into bliss.

He brings you at least two more peaks, eating you out until your mind is nearly melted and you’re a whining, drooling, nonsensical mess.

When he finally feels that you’ve had enough, he moves up, coming face to face with you in a blur. You flinch at the quick movement, and draw a chuckle from him. His hand wraps around your throat while his eyes give you a predatory scan. He lowers his head to the crook of your neck and inhales deep.

“Smells like cherries,” he mutters before laying a few soft kisses up your neck and behind your ear.

You shiver at the gentle contact and a quiet whine escapes you. Your nipples are hard beneath your top from the countless highs he brought you and the fluttering of his lips against your skin. It’s not long before his other hand is sliding up your body to squeeze and fondle your breasts, his thumb teasingly swiping across the hardened buds a few times.

“I don’t need you to understand this, my love. I don’t expect you to. It’s a little out of your depth anyways,” he whispers and nips at your earlobe, “What I expect is for you to take it like a good girl and let me show you what you need. I think you can already see that you’ll be begging for more by the end of the night whether you understand it or not.”

Your thoughts are too muddled to formulate an actual response. Instead, you just watch him with your blissed out stare. He leans back and pulls off his shirt, exposing his muscular torso and chest to you. The moonlight coming through the blinds illuminates him just enough for you to feel more desire building in your abdomen. He smiles at your impressed reaction, and that’s when you see it.

He has fangs.

It’s only a glimpse, but you would swear on your life that it was the truth. His canines are clearly sharper than normal, it can’t be your imagination. And with all his talk about blood… You felt like you were losing it. There was no way he made you cum so hard that you’d believe in vampires.

“What is it, precious?” he asks softly as he undoes his belt and starts lowering his pants. His tone projects innocence, but the look on his face makes you think he knows exactly what you’re fixated on.

“Nothing, I- I- it’s-” you stutter. Your jaw almost drops as his hard cock springs free from his boxers. It was long and thick and you weren’t even sure that it would fit.

He climbs on top of you again, his strong, thick arms boxing you in on your bed.

“What’s the matter? Like what you see? Or is it that you don’t think I have a pretty smile?” he asks, flashing his teeth again. The fangs are in clear view now. Their existence is undeniable.

He can hear your heartbeat speeding up and your breathing getting shallow. It brings him a twisted sense of pleasure that he doesn’t dwell on. He lazily strokes himself in preparation to enter you.

“What are you? You… you can’t be…” you say, your voice dropping to nearly a whisper.

“A vampire?” he asks, “That’s probably the term easiest for you to understand, so yes, my little doll. I am a vampire.”

Your eyes widen. Your fearful gaze locks onto him.

“It’s not like a movie, baby. I can eat garlic and clearly I don’t need to be invited into your house,” he explains, almost as if he’s trying to lighten the mood, “But I have a bloodlust.”

You’re stunned. This couldn’t be real. “So what? I’m like your personal blood bank or something? Is that what being your mate is?”

“No,” he scoffs, “Being my mate is what it sounds like, angel. In all my years, I’ve never met another who makes me feel like you do. You’re my love, the light in the darkness I’ve been existing in. My personal heaven and hell wrapped into one perfect vessel.”

Your head is spinning with everything you’re hearing. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips before leaning back onto his knees and positioning himself at your entrance. He stares at you with his eyes, glossed over with lust. He reaches for your confined hands and brings them to his lips.

“It will all make sense soon, darling,” he says, “Soon enough we’ll be together in this.”

He takes one of your fingers into his mouth, keeping eye contact with you the entire time. One of his fangs presses into the pad of your finger, and draws a small drop of blood. You wince at the pain, but you’re quickly distracted by the guttural groan Leon emits as he smooths his tongue against the warm liquid.

He pushes inside you and tilts his head back. Your finger slips out of his mouth and smears some blood on his lips.

“Tastes so fucking sweet too, Christ,” he grunts as he begins thrusting.

Despite the circumstances, he felt good. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say it was the best you ever had. He filled you up perfectly. A string of whines and whimpers expel from your mouth into a long moan.

“That’s right. You know it’s perfect,” he mutters, “Soon, it will be just me and you. For all of eternity. No one else. The entire world could burn, and you and I could fuck on top of the ashes.”

Your own head falls back, and he sucks your finger back into his mouth to taste more of your blood. He moans around your digit, his hips beginning to piston with more intensity. His hands lock onto your hips, so he has a firm grip to slam into you with.

You felt a mix of shame and fear, but you started to believe him. You felt something inside you that told you this was right. This was what you longed for. What you needed.

He starts leaning over you more. He had to see you, had to see your mind changing about him, the look in your eyes shifting from fear to lust. One of his hands rises to hold your jaw and direct you to look at him.

“Open your mouth,” he commands, eyes boring into you.

You do it with no hesitation. Your lips part and your tongue lolls out obediently. He smirks, still rolling his hips as he slowly spits into your open mouth. His saliva leaks from his lips, lands on your tongue, and starts sliding to your throat. The feeling combined with that look in his eyes almost made you cum on its own.

He feels the same. Watching your pretty eyes become unfocused as you accept what’s happening had him digging his fingers into the flesh of your cheeks in order to hold on. Once he felt you had enough he pats your cheek.

“Swallow,” he grunts and reverts his primary focus to fucking you into the mattress.

And you do this too. You swallow it all. A garbled moan erupts from you afterwards, and your eyes roll back as he strokes all the sweet spots inside of you.

“Good girl,” he coos with a low tone, “Taking it perfectly. Just like you’re meant to do.”

You lift your arms and loop your bound wrists over his head to pull him closer. He follows your guidance, but his face looks almost pained. He keeps his face further than you want. You whimper and try to pull him down to the crook of your neck more.

“Sweet baby, you have to be careful. I can’t… I have to make sure you’re safe my love. I don’t know if I can control myself if I’m that close,” he breathes.

“What? Control how?” you babble, still not really focused because of how his cock is battering your insides at the moment.

“Your blood, baby. It’s too strong. I won’t be able to hold back. I could hurt you,” he says.

That almost snaps you back to reality for a moment. “Like what? You wanna bite me?” you ask with a curious expression.

For a change, this time he has no words. He nods, still maintaining eye contact.

It wasn’t your smartest moment, but you don’t hesitate as the words leave you.

“Do it.”

His eyes flash with a look you can’t read in your state.

“Sweetheart, I… I want to, but it’s not safe,” he whispers, but you can hear the desire in his voice.

“If we’re really mates then you should be able to stop yourself. Prove it to me. Prove that I’m yours and you’re mine,” you say, your voice taking on a whiny quality from how close you were getting.

He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t resist when you were asking for it like this. He slowly lowers himself to be level with your neck. His thrusts become slower but deeper. He takes another deep breath of that scent before baring his teeth and sinking them into your flesh.

You gasp and pull your arms around him as you feel the punctures. At first it hurts, but then he begins to softly suck, coaxing your blood into his mouth. You both let out simultaneous moans. His eyes flutter now and his grip on your hips tighten.

He’s getting lost in his own world of euphoria now as he feeds off of you, gulping down that sweet, hot liquid. You tremble as pleasure courses through you too. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt before. It was light and airy while being grounding and all consuming. You couldn’t hold on for any longer.

He growls as you cum, the feeling of your cunt latching onto him is almost too much. He manages to hold it together for a handful more thrusts. His breathing is rough as he cums and his thrusts are sporadic. You feel his muscles tensing as he groans into your neck. He spills rope after rope of cum into you.

When you’re both done, both of your bodies are trembling. Your sweaty skin is pressed to his which is still ice cold. He goes limp on top of you, breathing deep as he comes down from the high. You could feel blood trickling down your neck as his mouth disconnects from your throat.

You didn’t know what to say. The fog of lust was clearing and while you didn’t regret your decisions, this was still weird. You remove your arms from him, and he takes that as a signal to pull out and roll off of you.

He pushes his disheveled hair out of his face and gives you a crooked smile. His mouth was still red with your blood. He reaches over and starts untying the restraints around your hands. You watch him quietly.

“So you said soon… we’ll be in this together?” you ask awkwardly.

He lets out a short laugh as he gets the bindings off and drops them to the side. He runs his fingers through your hair and kisses your forehead before getting out of your bed.

“Soon, sweet one, I’ll change you to be like me. A vampire,” he says, using a teasing tone for the last word, “But not yet. I know you’re not ready, and my goal isn’t to scare you. I truly love you.”

You just nod because you honestly didn’t know what to say to that. Even if you felt something for him, you wouldn’t say it was love. Yet. 

You watch him put on his clothes as you reach down to start untying your ankles.

“So… you’re just leaving?” you say, almost sounding disappointed.

“Yes but don’t be too sad, my love. You’ll see me as soon as the sun sets again tonight,” he says.

He finishes putting on his clothes and leans in to give you one more passionate kiss before he leaves. You could still taste your blood on him.

[daisy-has-too-many-wives]

Hello everyone.

This is William; Daisy's brother.

Daisy's actual name was Charlie. They asked me to tell this to you all.

The message ahead was pre-written, in case of this situtation.

"hi guys :]

ive asked my brother to post this in case of something awful happening, so i hope you will never have to see this.

if you are reading this message, then im probably dead, or at least incapacitated

basically, ive got a lot to say, so im just going to say it.

when i first joined this community, i was not in a good place of mind; but seeing you all, and talking to you was starting to be the highlight of my day

i didn't realise how big an affect this would have on me in the long run

thank you all. so much.

you are all such lovely people, never forget that; every moment that ive spent on this accursed website, i have felt loved, and respected. everyone is so kind and so lovely.

thank you all so much, for this time, with you

and to abby, my love, thank you so much for being with me <3 i can't believe that i somehow managed to get together with the girl of my dreams. i love you so so so much, i love you to infinity and back <333 thank you so much for being with me through this - you are such a lovely, genuine, kind, sweet, beautiful person. thank you my darling, i will always love you.

and to you, my dear (probably) mutual, i thank you so much for this journey that weve had

you all mean so much to me, and i love you all so much 💕

this is me, signing off, for the last time

thank you :]

goodbye"

Charlie passed away an hour ago. The cancer spreading was detected too late, unfortunately.

It wasn't a painful death; they passed away peacefully, in their sleep.

I want to let you all know how much they've talked about you all in the past two weeks. How their face would light up when tumblr was brought up, how they would smile at me and tell me about your various antics.

I think that all of you made my siblings life better; that talking to all of you was the highlight of their day.

Thank you all - you made my sibling a happier person. And some of you, I think, genuinely became a part of their life.

Charlie loved you all so much.

"Even when I'm gone, I will still look at you from the stars, and my smile will be like comets across the night sky." - Charlie Dinh, 19/05/2000 - 22/09/2024

[lunarfleur]

Sure! I don't mind requesting something new! So you write somewhere in your works how Miles 42 and reader met through location, "whether it be going to the same school or living in the same building or whatever"

I wanna' see a fanfic in Miles pov how he and reader met and how their relationship developed throughout the process! I wanna' know if he's going to make a move in interacting with reader or such. :))

Mr. Tambourine Man ~ Earth 42! Miles Morales

A/N: Many people will tell you this song is about a drug dealer. I, however, have always taken Mr. Tambourine Man as an analogy for youth. Take this as you will.

Tagging: @juneberrie @sluggmuffin @hiyaitssans @nagi3seastorm @luvjunie @milesmolasses @n1cole-ghost @kombuuuu

This is x fem! Reader

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.

I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to

Growing up, Miles had always been the dull kid in the corner of the classroom. It was his nature.

He didn’t really remember his dad’s death, but there was always a sort of emptiness in the Morales apartment that never got filled. The emptiness has always been there, in his home and in his mother.

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me

In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you

On the late nights, he hears his mother sitting in the living room all by herself lonesome. She sits on the couch, in the same spot she has been all these years; next to the spot his father would have taken up.

He can imagine it: his mother curled up under a blanket, her husband’s arm resting over her shoulders. He’d kiss her head and the spot behind her ear. She’d pretend to pay no mind and act as if he doesn’t still make her giddy like he did back when they were young.

Though I know that evening's empire has returned into sand, vanished from my hand.

Left me blindly here to stand, but still not sleeping.

But his father was not there. The late Jeff Morales did not get to stay up with his wife, watching the television as their child sleeps. He was dead, but it sometimes felt like his ghost was haunting the city. He’s gone, but it’s like he’s still there.

As he grew up, Miles did not get the joy his classmates did. He watched his mother work like a dog to support the two of them. He spent many nights alone, waiting for her to come home.

It was sad. Miles was sad.

My weariness amazes me, I'm branded on my feet.

I have no one to meet, and the ancient empty street's too dead for dreaming.

So here he sits, in the corner of his studio art class, his last period of the day. Miles is behind an easel, dried paint covering his hands and table. There was music playing in his headphones, but he wasn’t really listening. It was to block out the other noises.

The door opens, and in walks a girl he’s never seen. It was an odd feeling, at first, a shred of nervousness he didn’t quite understand.

He looked around the room, at all the other students and seats, only to realize the one next to him was the only one open. Perfect.

She talks to the teacher, nothing he can hear, snd watches as she slowly makes her way over to the spot next to him. Miles turns away, picking up his paint brush to avoid and other contact.

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.

I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.

In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you.

Unfortunately for him, Miles looks unapproachable. He looks like he should be friendly and open. He’s got those big, brown, shiny doe eyes and dimples. His face is dusted with freckles. His lips are big and plush. His nose sits perfectly in the center of his face, blending together nicely with every other feature.

However, people avoid him. He’s quiet and keeps to himself. Miles is sort of a mystery, someone people don’t know much about. He’s got eye bags and an RBF, so people leave him alone. Sometimes it seems as if he’s invisible.

Take me on a trip upon your magic swirling ship.

My senses have been stripped.

The girl sits down, taking out her supplies as she was most likely directed. Tense hands moved shakily. Her breaths were harsh. Her eyebrows furrowed tightly against her forehead. She was nervous.

With a skip of his heart, Miles clears his throat. Her head snaps over quickly, eyes wide with anxiety as he stared her down.

My hands can't feel to grip.

My toes too numb to step.

“Uh..I’m Miles.”

She hesitates, biting the inside of her cheek before nodding.

“Y/N.”

Miles doesn’t look away. Y/N peeks over at his canvas. Her lips curve down into a smile, any trace of her previous fear gone. Her lips pressed together tightly, eyebrows raising. No tension, no anxiety.

“You’re really talented.”

“…Thanks.”

Her smile did not falter. She looked at him for a moment, and that one moment felt like an eternity.

Her nose, cheeks, and lips were a blend of heaven sitting on her face. Her hair was smooth and clean. Miles swore her eyes looked like stars.

Y/N was definitely beautiful.

Wait only for my boot heels to be wandering.

I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade into my own parade.

Cast your dancing spell my way, I promise to go under it.

“What, uh,” Miles spoke again, “what class was you coming from?”

He watched as Y/N fumbled with her schedule, a blue piece of paper crumpling in her hands.

“I have Spanish II, but I was in the office.”

Miles nodded, a small simper forming across his lips.

“I’m in there, too.”

Y/N grinned at him, eyes squinting slightly. It was almost bright.

Though you might hear laughing, spinning, swinging madly across the sun, it's not aimed at anyone.

It's just escaping on the run.

“I’ll walk with you, tomorrow?”

It came out as a question, and Miles would be lying if he said that didn’t surprise him. There was a fuzzy, warm feeling in his stomach that, for a second, made him question if he was getting sick.

Y/N chuckled, a simple melody that sent flowers blooming across his skin. It felt like goosebumps, but much more intense. The sensation matched that of bathing in the sun.

“I’d like that.”

And but for the sky there are no fences facing.

And if you hear vague traces of skipping reels of rhyme to your tambourine in time

Y/N glanced over to a small group of kids sitting diagonally from them. They were watching intently, eyes wide with curiosity. As quickly as it came, Miles’s almost cheerful expression fell back into place. The corners of his lips dropped, so did his eyebrows. In less than a moment, he was tense once more.

It's just a ragged clown behind.

I wouldn't pay it any mind, it's just a shadow you're seeing that he's chasing.

They turned away awkwardly, returning to their projects. Y/N sucked in a breath. There was tension within her chest. It was a sudden, sharp sensation in his fingertips.

“So did you just move here?”

Y/N smiled, nodding.

“Yeah, from New Jersey.”

Miles nodded along intently.

“How come?”

“Family.”

Questions and answers came as the two packed up their things.

And take me disappearing through the smoke rings of my mind, down the foggy ruins of time

The loud and obnoxious bell rang, and every other student in the class shoved past one another to get out of the room.

Far past the frozen leaves, the haunted frightened trees.

They walked down the hallways together slowly. For the first time, he felt as if he could ask questions. For the first time, someone answered. She answered.

Out to the windy beach, far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.

“So, what’s Jersey like?”

“Well, it’s fun. The food is great.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Miles snickered.

Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky, with one hand waving free.

“Do you like New York?”

“I’m…adjusting.”

“Adjusting?”

“It’s easy to get lost, here.”

Smiling shyly, Y/N pressed her lips together firmly. Miles could almost feel the heat of embarrassment coming from off her face.

“You just need someone to show you around. It gets easy, after all while.”

Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands.

“What’s there to show?”

Miles smiled, looking at the girl next to him as they stepped down the front steps of Visions Academy.

“The sky.”

There was a sudden melancholy feeling that ran down Miles’s spine. It was the same feeling he’d felt on those late nights, waiting for his mother to come home.

Miles did not remember his dad’s death. He didn’t remember the funeral. He just remembered the day the apartment felt less like home.

With all memory and fate, driven deep beneath the waves, let me forget about today until tomorrow.

“It’s the same sky as the one in New Jersey.”

“Different view.”

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.

“You’ll show me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll show you.”

I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.

“Good.”

“I’ll show you my mural, too.”

“Mural?”

“For my dad.”

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.

Miles nodded, smiling. She nodded back, humming in reply.

Miles had always been so much like his father. The same smile, the same attitude, the same wit.

Y/N looked at Miles curiously, and Miles became painfully aware of that fact. Birds sung in his lungs and trees grew in his mind. Fresh air.

“Let’s go, Miles. I’m expecting a tour.”

In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you.