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serpentandlily · 6 months ago

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Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny VI - Eris x Archeron!Reader

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny VI - Eris x Archeron!Reader

Summary: You find yourself ensnared by a sly, cunning fox. A very handsome, irritating one.

Warnings: smut (minors dni), fluff, angst, misogynistic language/beliefs, violence

A/n: I hope this part is good enough for you guys to forgive me for being a week late!

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Part VI

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To your disappointment, when you woke up the next morning, Eris was already gone—the sheets cold on his side. You let out a sigh and got up, blinking the sleep from your eyes. It was only then you realized Willow and Ivy were fretting around the bedroom, the wardrobe doors thrown open and piles of dresses on the floor.

“What on earth are you two doing?”

Your handmaidens jumped in shock at the sound of your voice before Ivy turned to face you. “Oh, Lady, you are awake! Lord Eris requested we pack an overnight bag for you.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “For what?”

They both shared a glance before shrugging but they couldn’t hide the smiles on their faces. “We can only guess, my Lady, but he did not tell us anything.”

“Did he at least tell you where he’s taking me?” You sighed but they both shook their heads.

“No,” Willow grumbled, “Which is why we’re struggling to pack. We have no idea what you’ll need.”

But Ivy just smiled brightly. “We’ll just pack a bit of everything. That way you’ll be ready for whatever it is he wants.”

The look in her eyes told you she knew exactly what Eris wanted and your cheeks turned red. You let out a huff of air before falling back down on your pillows.

“Oh no, Lady, you mustn’t fall asleep again. We are to escort you to the stables in an hour's time. Willow will run you a bath.”

You let Willow help you get ready, your mind on Eris and what he had in store for you. Willow dressed you in a long burgundy gown that had a corset styled bodice that clung to your frame and a flowy chiffon skirt. Tiny roses were embroidered along the lighter side panels of the skirt.

Luckily, it wasn’t long before your handmaidens were presenting you to your mate who was waiting for you at the stables.

Eris was staring at you with an intensity that had your face full of color. It wasn’t until the two of you were left alone that his infamous fox-like grin spread on his face. He was dressed finely in dark brown breeches with riding boots and a tunic embroidered with small leaves along the seams.

“Would you like your own horse this time, bunny?”

Right, you did technically know how to ride a horse now. But you shook your head. “May I ride with you?”

“Who am I to deny a lady her request?” Eris purred, extending a hand out to you. Butterflies danced in your stomach as you took it, letting him pull you close so he could lift you onto Marigold, the horse.

He strapped the overnight bag to the horse before he lifted himself up behind you, wrapping his arms around your body to take the reins in one hand and pulling you back against his chest with his other. Your cheeks turned pink and you let out a content sigh as the warmth from his body combatted the crisp morning air.

Marigold started her trot into the woods and it was silent for a moment before you spoke.

"Where are you taking me?"

"It's a surprise," Eris teased.

"I don't like surprises," you pouted.

"No?" Eris's breath tickled the tip of your ear. He moved your hair to one shoulder, granting him access to your throat. He pressed a kiss against the sensitive skin there causing a shiver to run down your spine. "Well, that's too bad, bunny. You're getting one."

You were smiling without realizing it, so honed into the places Eris's body met yours. The morning birds were chirping, the leaves rustling in the chill autumn wind. It was enchanting. The Autumn woods were quickly becoming a sanctuary for you and your mate. You hadn't felt this happy in a long time.

You asked Eris an endless amount of questions about the Autumn Court, his brothers and family, and his life during the horse ride to wherever he was taking you. The sun began to set, sending streaks of golden light through the openings in the leaves. It wasn’t until you saw smoke curling around the tops of the tree, that you realized you were nearing your destination.

Soon, a small cottage nestled between the tall trees appeared. Moss and ivy clung to the outer walls, blending it into the earthy flora surrounding it. A path made of fallen leaves led towards the front door, flanked by wildflowers in various colors. The babbling of a creek met your ears as you squinting to see through the sunlight filtering in through the canopy of trees above.

“What is this place?” You twisted your head to look up at Eris.

“One of my personal residences,” Eris answered, staring wistfully ahead. “One few know about.”

As you drew closer to the cottage, Eris guided Marigold to a stop. He slid off the back, keeping one hand lingering on your waist.

“And you're sharing it with me?” Another secret Eris was willingly divulging to you. He had no idea how much it meant to you. He gave you a charming grin as he helped you down.

“There is nothing I wouldn’t share with you, bunny. What is mine is yours,” he said. He kissed the top of your head before guiding you into the cottage with a hand on your back.

As you stepped over the threshold of the hidden cottage, the scent of aged timber and a faint hint of herbs and spices greeted you. A snap of Eris’s fingers had the wood in the fireplace coming to life. Furniture made from weathered oak and mahogany filled the room, now illuminated by the warm glow of a crackling fire in the stone hearth. A plush armchair was nestled beside the hearth, a stack of books on top of it.

In a corner of the room, a spiral staircase wound its way upwards, disappearing into the shadows above. An opening straight ahead showed a peek of a kitchen. You spun as you walked forward, taking it all in before turning back to find Eris staring at you with a small smile.

“I come here when I need a break from my father and duties,” Eris said, surprising you once again with his candidness. “And I needed to come here today so I didn’t murder my brother for slipping that breeding tonic into your drink last night.”

Your eyes widened. “Reid?”

Eris nodded, his jaw clenching. “He claims he did it only to embarrass you a bit at dinner but then my mother sent you away. He says he had no idea that you’d run into those guards.”

You rubbed your arm, looking down at the floor as the memories of last night flooded your mind. “And you believe him?”

“I unfortunately do. That doesn’t mean he didn’t face any…consequences for his little prank,” Eris said as he walked towards you. He slipped two fingers under your chin and made you look at him. “But I want you to know, bunny, that nothing like that will ever happen to you again. Do you hear me? I will not let anything happen to you. I don’t care who I have to kill to ensure that.”

“But Eris—”

He placed a finger against your lips, silencing you. “No. No buts. I was blessed with the gift of fire and I will burn down this whole world with no remorse if that's what it takes to keep you safe. Do you understand?” You opened your mouth to rebuke his words but Eris shook his head. “I don’t want to hear any objections. They will change nothing. Just a simple yes or no, bunny. Do you understand?”

You searched his amber eyes for something, not even knowing what you were looking for. But you knew what you found. A heavy resolve, a promise, a need to protect. And you realized in that moment that you felt all those things as well. You swallowed, audibly.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I understand.”

Eris grinned. “Good.”

“So, why have you brought me here, my Lord?” You asked in a teasing tone, lightening the mood.

“I brought you here to have a break from the suffocating nature of my court,” Eris answered, guiding you further into the charming cottage.

“Well, I appreciate your consideration, my Lord.”

“Oh, back to formalities, little bunny?” That fox-line grin bloomed on Eris’s face. “I thought we moved past that last night.” He stepped closer to you, brushing some of the hair away from your face. Your cheeks turned red again causing Eris to chuckle, “Oh don't look so embarrassed, bunny. You seemed to quite enjoy having my affections.”

Butterflies danced in your stomach. His scent was too enticing, the power that seemed to burn all around him all encompassing. Your face was on fire, your heart too. But he was right. You had enjoyed last night. You had wanted his lips on you, his hands on your skin. That hadn't changed. Even now that the breeding tonic had worn off. That craving for his touch was still there.

"I believe you made me a promise last night, my Lord," you replied with a slight smile, toying with the laces of his tunic.

“I did,” Eris growled and took your hands in his. “I intend to keep it.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest. The look in his eyes caused another wave of desire to crash into you. Unfortunately, your stomach decided that was the time to make itself known. A small rumble sounded and you nearly cursed at it. But Eris chuckled and stepped away, to your disappointment.

“Come, bunny, I had the cook prepare us a light dinner,” he said, leading you to the kitchen.

Dinner consisted of an array of cheeses and breads, along with dried fruits and nuts. You were glad it was so light because you had more of an appetite for the male sitting in front of you than the food on the table. The sentiment seemed shared considering the lingering touches and heated looks Eris had been sending you. By the end of dinner, he looked quite pleased with himself for riling you up, sitting in his chair like it was his personal throne. Eris waved a hand and the dishes and plates disappeared in a blink of an eye.

You sat frozen in your chair as he eyed you, drinking the last of his wine from his goblet. His gaze was enough to set you on edge, predatory but it didn't frighten you in the slightest. In fact, it made you come alive. He set his glass down before standing, making you hop out of your chair. If you had it your way, he'd toss you over his shoulder again like he did the first time you'd met and carry you straight to the bedroom. But instead, he leaned against the kitchen cabinets and beckoned you to him.

You'd never felt more like a bunny than in this moment. Like a hare about to be caught in a trap.

As you stepped close to him, he brushed the hair out of your face, hooking it behind your ears before taking your cheeks in his hands. His touch was so warm, so comforting. Who cares if this was a trap? If this was the fox you were to be ensnared by, then so be it.

“I need you to understand something before we continue down a path I know I will never be able to return from, bunny,” Eris began, his amber eyes glowing in the candlelight. “Whatever happens tonight is your choice. If you want to go back to the manor, I will take you. If you just wish to sleep, that is what we will do. Anything you don't like, just say the word and I will stop without question. Do you understand?”

A moment of silence passed as you processed his words, the care he was spelling out for you. Your hand fell on his chest, lingering over his beating heart. One you now knew was good—at least for you. And you realized it was never the fox that had ensnared the bunny but rather, the other way around.

Because this Eris, the one standing before you now, was entirely reserved for you and you only.

“Eris,” you whispered.

“Yes.”

“Kiss me,” you breathed out. “Please.”

“You'll never have to beg me, bunny,” Eris purred before finally pressing his lips against yours.

The kiss became heated fast, leading the two of you to stumble around the cottage until he was pushing you up the stairs. You giggled, taking your skirt in your hands to rush up the steps. You barely made it through the threshold of the bedroom door before you were grabbing Eris by the lapels of his shirt and pulling him into a frenzied kiss. He groaned, eagerly kissing you back as he kicked the door shut behind him.

Your hands slid down to the buttons of his shirt, feeling his muscles tensing under your touch. But Eris pulled your hands away from him before breaking the kiss. You whined at the loss of contact, lips swollen and breasts heaving with pants.

“Not so fast, bunny,” Eris said with a wave of his hand that had every single candle lighting in the room.

You gasped as the room came to life, as the light illuminated the large four-poster bed covered in dark red, velvet sheets and fluffy pillows in all shades of Autumn. A small hearth warmed the room and textured fabrics hung from the ceiling embedded with faelights that gave the room a hazy and comforting atmosphere.

“Come here,” Eris rasped, holding out his arm.

Your heart fluttered as you took it, letting him draw you close. He spun you around and moved your hair to one shoulder before his hands drifted down to the laces on the back of your corset. His nimble fingers began to expertly unlace your corset while he pressed a kiss to your exposed shoulder. You let out a breath at the feeling of his warm, soft lips against your skin.

You reached back to help him with the ties, too eager to wait, but he ripped your hands away. “Relax, little bunny,” Eris purred. “Let me do all the work.”

Your heart started beating faster.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Eris smirked against your skin, satisfied with the response.

He finished unlacing the corset and your dress dropped to the floor, pooling around your feet and leaving you in just your underthings. You were nearly shaking with anticipation, your breathing heavy as he lightly brushed his knuckles down your spine, causing you to shiver.

Eris leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Get on the bed.”

“I thought you were doing all the work,” you teased.

“You’re right,” Eris smiled before he picked you up by the hips and tossed you onto the bed as you squealed, letting you fall on the soft cushions.

He prowled towards you with a grin, unlacing his own tunic and tugging it off. Your gaze fell to his chest, his muscled abs. Your breath caught in your throat. Eris already looked like a God but he was built like one too.

Eris’s eyes roamed your body, his hands fisting like he was restraining himself.

You held your breath as he slowly hovered over you, his eyes searching yours for a moment until he found the certainty he was looking for. And then he kissed you again and your body came to life once more. Sparks skittered down your skin, crackling with energy.

He kissed his way down your jaw, your throat, all the way down until he was scraping his teeth against your pebbled nipple still hidden under your bra. You gasped before slapping a hand over your mouth.

Eris’s eyes shot to yours and he growled, “My one and only rule tonight is that you let me hear those noises, bunny. Do you understand?”

You gulped and pulled your hand away from your mouth, nodding your head though your cheeks turned pink.

“Good girl,” he purred before continuing on, leaving a trail of kisses down your exposed stomach until he pressed a kiss to the dampened spot on your panties, right between your legs. You breathed out his name, so on edge.

“Gods,” Eris groaned. “You smell absolutely divine.”

You might be a virgin but you weren’t completely naive when it came to sex. You had certainly read enough romance novels to prepare you for this moment. But you hadn’t expected to feel like this—to feel so utterly captivated by Eris, aching for his touch.

“I want to see all of you, bunny,” Eris murmured, his amber eyes drinking you in. He toyed with the straps of your bra as he gave you his famous grin that made him look all the more fox-like considering the absolute hunger in his gaze. “May I?”

“Yes,” you said, breathless with butterflies ravaging your stomach. The desire for your mate ate away any embarrassment you might’ve felt otherwise.

His grin grew, his elongated canines exposed. Eris slowly pulled the straps of your bra down your arm, the silky fabric moving softly against your tingling skin. And then his hands were beneath you, arching you up slightly so he could unhook your bra.

He gently pulled the garment off of you, tossing it to the floor.

“Beautiful,” Eris groaned, his hard cock pressing against your thigh told you just how true that statement was to him.

Shyness started to creep in and you quickly covered yourself with your arms, blushing bright red. Eris tsked and moved your arms away. “Don’t be shy, bunny. It’s just me and you here.”

Just you and Eris. Just you and your mate. His words eased you and you felt your body soften underneath him. His large hands caressed you as he kissed his way down your neck until he finally took one of your breasts in his mouth.

You hissed, your hands flying to tangle themselves in his hair. He grinned against your skin as he continued his ministrations, making you feel hot with need. You whimpered as his cock rubbed against you.

“Please, Eris,” you begged, not even sure what you wanted or needed.

Eris sat up, his hands sliding to your waist. “Is my bunny ready for something more?”

You nodded, eagerly, squirming under him. He hooked his fingers around your underwear. “Lift your hips for me, babygirl.”

Your heart swooned at the new nickname.

“Gods,” Eris groaned as he finally peeled off your final piece of clothing, baring you fully. “Gods, you are so beautiful.”

You felt…vulnerable as he drank in the sight of your bare body laid before him. Your toes curled at the predatory look in his eyes. Something about the dominance, the control he held over you in this moment made every rational thought leave your mind—his scent of crackling embers and cinnamon was intoxicating.

Eris leaned over you again to run his hands over every soft curve of your body. His hand drifted back between your legs, gently caressing your throbbing core. You whimpered, bucking up into his touch.

Eris smirked against your lips. “Is my little bunny ready for me?”

You swallowed harshly while nodding your head.

He pressed a kiss to your neck before whispering, “I need your words, bunny.”

“I’m ready, Eris,” you whimpered. “Please, don’t stop.”

“I already told you that you’d never have to beg for me,” he murmured. He kissed his way down your neck, his body sliding down yours. Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“What are you doing?” You didn’t want to wait any longer, already going crazy with want. But he didn’t stop.

“Relax,” he purred. “Let me take care of you.”

He pressed a kiss to your stomach.

“My little bunny,” he murmured against your skin.

Another kiss to the spot between your hips. “My babygirl.”

And then he was kneeling on the floor, hooking his arms around your thighs and yanking you to the edge of the bed. You gasped, raising on your elbows to look at him. He kissed the back of your knee, tickling you, before he moved his way up your thigh, leaving love bites along your skin.

“I need to taste you.” His voice was full of hunger, lust, as he left marks all along your thigh—sucking and biting the soft skin.

You gasped as he ran his tongue up your slit, grasping the bedsheets in your fists. The books you read always made this act seem hot but feeling it was something else. Desire flooded you, leaving you panting for air.

And then Eris was devouring you…devouring you like you were the sweetest fruit he’d ever tasted. You tossed your head back against the pillows, crying out his name in pleasure.

“Eris,” you mewled. “Gods.”

Eris’s own hand slipped down to rub himself through his pants at the sound of your cries. His other hand rose, replacing his mouth to rub circles on your clit.

“I’ve got to get you ready for me, bunny,” he whispered, his finger toying at your entrance making you squirm with need. You weren’t sure what he meant by that until a single finger slowly slipped inside of you.

You moaned at the feeling, your back bowing off the bed. Eris slowly pulled his finger out before thrusting it back in you. You couldn’t help your hips from grinding down in rhythm with his thrusts.

“That’s it, babygirl,” he praised. He gave you a few more thrusts before he slowly started to add another finger. You hissed at the feeling of being stretched, sucking your breath in. “Breath, bunny. You’re doing so good.”

Another thrust had you finally relaxing, the slight pressure replaced with hot pleasure. You moaned his name as Eris continued to fuck you with his fingers, his mouth sucking on your clit again. He didn’t stop. Not even as your moans came out as pleas, as his name fell out of your lips over and over again while he pushed you over the edge, your vision going black with all the pleasure as you orgasmed.

Still, he continued to devour you, causing you to writhe, overstimulated with pleasure. Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair, pulling slightly as you cried but Eris merely growled, “I’m not done yet, bunny.”

You weren’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. You ultimately decided it was indeed a blessing as he brought you to your second orgasm with his tongue and fingers far more quickly than your first. You were gasping for air as he made his way back up the length of your body, smiling with satisfaction at how unraveled he had made you. You couldn’t help but grab Eris’s face in your hands, marveling at his striking and cruel beauty.

“You’re never escaping me now, bunny,” he growled, running his nose up the column of your neck and groaning at your scent. “Now that I’ve got a taste of you, I’m never letting you go.”

“I don’t want you to,” you murmured, your heart beating in your chest.

“Good,” he answered, kissing you and letting you taste yourself on his lips. His hand was back between your legs, stroking your still sensitive core. You moaned into his kiss, your hips thrusting up against him.

He grinded his hips down, rubbing his hard cock against you and you gasped, breaking the kiss. The unbridled hunger in his gaze had your heart racing as he stared down at you. “Do you still want this, bunny?”

“Yes,” you whispered, quickly. You were sure you’d go insane if he didn’t fuck you at this point. He sat back on his haunches and began to unlace his pants. His hard cock sprung free from its constraints and your eyes widened as you glanced down at it.

Eris tossed his pants somewhere behind him, chuckling as he noticed you observing him. By feeling alone you’d known his dick was big but seeing it now, you felt slightly intimidated. You sat up a bit and reached a hand out, lightly stroking him with curiosity.

Eris groaned, his hips twitching into your touch. He gently pulled your hand away, resting over you with one arm next to your head. “You can explore later. I need you. I can’t wait any longer.”

You nodded, swallowing with anticipation. He stared directly into your eyes as he guided himself towards your entrance, pausing one last time to allow you the chance to stop. But you placed a hand on his cheek and pulled him into a kiss instead. Eris kissed you, hungrily. His tongue parted your lips as he devoured you. He lined himself up before slowly starting to push into you. He wasn't even an inch in before he felt the resistance. He kept you locked in a kiss as he pushed farther in, stretching you out to the point of pain.

You cringed slightly at the feeling, pulling away from his lips with a hiss. But the way Eris stared down at you with so much reverence and care comforted you. Still, you grimaced as the pain increased, as the stretching felt more like he was tearing you in half.

You hissed again and Eris peppered kisses to your face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, unable to tell him to stop apologizing. He grunted as you dug your nails into his biceps while he continued to thrust in slowly. “Fuck, bunny, you’re taking me so well.”

His praise caused your heart to flutter, making you relax more until he was seated all the way. He groaned, glancing down at where both of your bodies were now connected. Your grip on his biceps were still tight as the pain started to soothe into a warmth that began to spread throughout your body.

“Breath for me, babygirl,” Eris whispered, kissing your jaw. You nodded, eyes squeezing shut. You hadn’t even realized you’d been holding in your breath. The exhale of air from your lungs made your body soften fully and soon the pain was overwhelmed by the pleasure of having him inside of you. You moaned out his name, trying to let him know you were ready for more.

“That’s it,” Eris groaned, feeling the tension leave. He slid out only a fraction before pushing back in—just enough to make you whimper. He brushed some of the damp hair from your forehead with a tenderness that had the bond in your chest aching.

You were desperate for him to start moving and you realized he was waiting on some cue from you—some sign that you were ready for him. But talking felt impossible right now, your brain empty of all thoughts except a need for your mate. You lifted your hips, your breath catching with the movement. Eris grunted at the feeling of you around him.

You breathed out his name again and that seemed to finally snap his restraint. Yet he was still gentle as he pulled all the way out of you before slowly thrusting back in. Your back arched at the new feeling. You finally released your grip on his biceps, stringing your arms around his neck instead.

Eris began to move faster, deeper. One of his hands slid down your thigh, guiding you to hook it around his hips. The new angle caused him to hit a spot inside of you that had moans spilling from your lips. Eris kissed any part of you he had access to—your cheeks, your lips, your ears, your neck. His lips were hot, warming your skin as if you were standing next to an open flame.

“So beautiful,” he whispered. “So beautiful.”

His thrusts into you had you sliding against the silk sheets, had your breasts bouncing and your core throbbing around him with pleasure.

And he was watching you the whole time with a devotion that had you breathless. His whiskey amber eyes so focused on you and your pleasure, like it was all that mattered to him in this moment. His rhythm quickened, his strokes faster and faster as you spiraled underneath him—coming undone completely.

It was overwhelming in the best possible way. Your bodies together as one. The feeling of the mating bond singing in your chest. The bliss of finally sharing yourself with someone you were falling in love with. Someone who held you like you were his entire world. Someone who saw all the unseen parts of you—the parts no one else had cared to look at.

The culmination of everything had fire licking its way down your body, warmth spreading through your veins. Each thrust had a new wave of pleasure crashing into you. Each kiss had your heart beating to the tune of his. You were his in this moment—heart, mind, body and soul. And he was yours. Your fox. Your mate. Your Eris.

Your vision went white as you toppled over the edge for a third time, screaming his name as you were consumed by his fire. Eris cursed as he rode out your orgasm, his pace growing sloppy as he lost himself in the feeling of you. He pounded into you, over and over again. You were mindless as you lightly grasped his cheeks, staring into his beautiful face—your body still in its state of bliss.

“Mine,” he grunted. “You are mine.”

“Yours,” you agreed. “And you belong to me.”

Those words had more of an effect on him than you could ever imagine. He groaned your name, his jaw tensing before he cried out and gave one final thrust inside of you that had the entire bed shaking. His forehead fell against yours as he climaxed, shuddering and panting for air.

You stayed like that, wrapped up in each other for who knows how long. Just you and him. You and Eris. Nothing else mattered right now. Not his father or his court. Not your sisters or your mysterious powers. No conflict, no war, no pain. Nothing but the two of you and the eternal flame that connected your souls.

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You should've known that the euphoria wouldn't last for long. The universe always had a way of making sure the highs were met with the lowest of lows. So when you returned to the Forest House with Eris the next day and were summoned immediately upon arrival to the throne room, you were not surprised. Still, a lead weight dropped in your stomach. Eris had staunchly tried to argue that you could remain within his chambers while he dealt with the matter but the guards had been adamant that the High lord had requested both of your presences.

He held your hand tightly in his as you walked into the throne room together. Beron sat on his throne, Seraphina on her smaller chair to the side of him. Eris’s three brothers stood at the bottom of the dais—each of their faces unreadable. Reid’s face was covered in bruises and you winced, knowing it was your mate that was behind it. Still, you couldn’t find it in you to feel bad. Not after what he had done to you.

Eris had glamoured your scents, not wanting to give his father any ammunition to use against you. The Gods knew how traditional the Autumn Court was. Beron would be displeased to know you had sex before your mating ceremony. Would likely use that as an excuse to do who knows what.

“Father,” Eris said, dipping his head in a faux show of respect.

Beron glanced at his son before looking at you, expectantly. You dropped Eris’s hand and curtsied like you’d been taught. “High Lord.” It was enough to have him look away from you and back to his eldest son.

“In the time you’ve been absent,” Beron started, holding his hands behind his back. “I’ve learned of a few…events that have transpired in this court. Namely the death of three of my best guards and the disfigurement of one of my sons.”

Eris scoffed, straightening his cuffs. “Reid will heal.”

You tensed, noting the anger in Beron’s eyes.

“That may be so,” Beron replied. “But my guards will not.”

“They deserved death for what they did,” Eris growled. “They attacked my mate.”

“And by whose word is that?” Beron asked, his tone chilling. “Were there any witnesses of this alleged attack? Or did you simply take the word of a female over three trained, professional guards—guards who have protected you your entire life, son?”

“I saw it with my own eyes,” Eris snarled, stepping forward.

Beron merely tilted his head, staring down at his son. “Any other witnesses?”

“You don’t believe your own son?” Eris questioned, causing Beron’s eyes to narrow.

“Not when his actions seem far too…uncharacteristic,” Beron said. “You are not known to attack others, Eris. I expect far more restraint from my Heir. Now, answer my question. Are there any other witnesses?”

Eris stood up straighter, unwilling to back down. You swallowed harshly, your eyes darting between Beron and your mate. “Her two handmaidens were witness as well.”

Beron chuckled, mirthlessly. His dead eyes lacked any amusement. “Two lesser fae? As if they are known for speaking any truths. Please son, you humor me greatly.”

“So you refuse to take me at my word,” Eris scowled. “Yet also refuse to hear from the two witnesses who saw the attack, as well. What is it you want?”

Flames licked the shoulders of the High Lord, a show of his growing ire. “Watch your tone when talking to me, son. What I want is justice for the guards who have lost their life over something so…trivial.”

“Trivial?” Eris scoffed. “You think it’s trivial that they—”

Beron held up a hand, silencing his son. “I wasn’t finished. Do not interrupt me again or there will be far greater consequences.”

Eris moved in front of you, blocking his father’s view. You were nearly shaking with dread, nausea swimming in your stomach. Where was Beron going with this?

“As I was saying,” Beron continued. “I seek justice for the guards who are now dead. Punishment for your mate’s lack of decorum that resulted in their actions which led to their deaths. For that, she shall receive ten lashes.”

The room fell silent except for a small gasp that came from your lips. Ten lashes? Ten lashes all because his guards had attacked you? That was….that was insane! Your lip quivered. Eris glanced back at you for a second, his face pale before his expression hardened into rage. He turned back to his father, glaring.

“I am her mate,” Eris declared. “And according to Autumn law, allowed to take her punishment as mine.”

The fact that he wasn’t trying to argue with his father told you that it would probably be no use.

“Is that what you want?” Beron looked pleased, as if he knew this would be the outcome to his sentencing. You felt ready to puke. How could a father be so eager to hurt his own son? Just how twisted was this male?

“Yes.” Eris’s voice didn’t waver or soften.

“Eris,” you whispered in horror, stepping forward. You couldn’t let him do this—couldn’t let him get whipped on your behalf. Neither of you should be facing this punishment. It was both cruel and unjust. But if someone had to take it, it had to be you.

Eris turned to look at you with a stern expression.

“Don’t speak,” he ordered, his voice so harsh you nearly flinched but you knew his anger was not directed at you. You knew he was just doing what he could to protect you. “Go to my chambers and stay there until either I or your handmaidens come to collect you.”

“She is not going anywhere,” Beron spoke up. “You are allowed to take her punishment but she is ordered to stay and watch. She must understand what it means to be a part of this court. Must understand what her actions have caused.”

“Father,” Eris’s voice was slightly pleading for once but Beron held up his hand again.

“Another word and it will be fifteen lashes instead.”

Eris’s shoulder fell and he quickly schooled himself, nodding. You took a sharp breath, your eyes welling with tears. You wanted to reach for him but two guards grabbed you by the upper arms and held you in place. You watched as Eris began to unbutton his shirt, tossing it to the ground before falling to his knees at the bottom of the dais.

No.

This couldn’t be happening.

You were going to be sick.

You choked in fear as Beron summoned a whip made of fire in his hands, coming to stand behind his son. You tried to break free from the guards’ hold but it was impossible. Tears slipped down your face.

“Don’t!” you cried out. “Please, don’t hurt him! I’ll take them. I’ll—”

“I said another word and it would be fifteen lashes instead of ten,” Beron growled, his cold eyes darting to you before they looked back down at his son. “Your mate just caused you another five lashes, Eris.”

No. No. No.

Your eyes darted around the room, looking for someone who might put an end to this. Who might stop this. But it was Finn who caught your eyes and gave you a small shake of the head, his lips pressed in a fine line. You were heaving, horrified. You had made things so much worse already. So much worse.

No one was coming to stop this. No one was coming to save Eris. No one ever had.

You stood frozen as the first crack of the whip echoed through the big room, striking Eris’s back and ripping through his flesh. Your heart was pounding in your chest as the whip rose again, the flames dancing in a menacing way. Another strike had more tears blurring your vision. By the third strike, you had fallen to your knees, retching.

You couldn’t even see Eris’s face, but you knew it was contorted in agony. You tried to send comfort down the mating bond, comfort and love and anything else, but it was met with a wall of flame that blocked you out. That only had more tears falling down your face. Even in his agonizing pain, Eris was still protecting you.

Memories of last night flooded your mind. The joy, the elation, the love. The time spent together wrapped up in each other like nothing else mattered. The secrets the two of you had shared beneath the covers. How had you gone from that to this?

Your heart shattered with each strike. Your soul was aching as you sat there, watching in horror as Eris’s blood began to pool on the tiled floor. You had caused this. This was all your fault. All Eris had done since the beginning was try to protect you. And this is how you had returned the favor. The worst part of it all was knowing he wouldn’t even blame you at all for this. Not even for the five extra lashes you had caused.

By the seventh strike, your own pool of vomit lay around you.

Eris didn’t even cry, barely moved at all. It was haunting and it made you realize that this was not the first time this had happened to him by a long shot. How many times had his father punished him like this in his lifetime? How many scars lingered underneath his skin—only hidden by the unnatural healing of the fae? By the fifteenth strike, you knew the answer to be far too many.

The guards finally let you go once Beron had finished and left the throne room, taking his wife with him. You scrambled to your feet, darting towards Eris but Liam caught you by the arm with a grimace. “You won’t be able to carry him. Let us take him to his chambers.”

You were forced to watch again as both Liam and Finn heaved Eris’s near unconscious form up between the two of them. You trailed behind them, tears soaking the collar of your dress. The walk to his chambers seemed to take an eternity. Eris groaned as they fumbled him through the door.

“Get him to the bath,” Reid murmured, causing you to jump in shock. You hadn’t realized that even he had followed.

You darted ahead of them, starting to fill the basin as they dragged your injured mate into the bathing chambers and slid him into the tub. Eris grunted in pain as the water splashed against his wounds, staining it red. You muffled your own cries with a hand.

“Father won’t allow him to be seen by a healer,” Finn whispered to you. “Can you take care of him from here?”

You nodded your head, speechless.

“He has some cooling salve and bandages under the sink,” Finn said, nodding his head towards the sink. “Come find me if you need help.”

The three brothers took their leave after that, leaving you alone with your mate. You pulled out all the supplies Finn had mentioned, falling to your knees next to the tub where Eris sat, his knees drawn to his chest and his head resting against them.

“Eris,” you finally whispered, stroking his hair. “Eris, I am so, so sorry.”

“S’not your fault,” he mumbled, tiredly.

You wanted to scream. Wanted to cry and scream and rage. But it was more important to take care of him right now. So you slowly set to work, apologizing each time he flinched as you cleaned his wounds. Your heart ached as you helped him out of the bath once you were finished.

“Come on,” you murmured. “Let’s get you on the bed.”

You helped him strip off his wet pants and underwear before laying him down on the bed on his stomach. You pulled the sheets up to his waist, leaving his back untouched. You kneeled on the bed next to him, taking out the salve to start spreading it over the wounds.

Eris let out a sigh as you started applying it and your heart cracked in your chest as he slowly drifted to sleep, his body finally giving out. You cried as you smeared the salve over the burns before bandaging them gently. Once you were done, your head dropped to his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried to his sleeping form. “I’m so sorry.”

You don’t know how long you sat there, crying over him. But at some point, you finally sat up and wiped your face dry. Beron might’ve forbade any healer from helping Eris, but you had learned a thing or two from Elain about some plants that might help. Plants that the two of you used to mash into a paste and give to Feyre for all the blisters and calluses she would return home with when you were living in that small cottage. Plants that you knew you had seen during your ride in the forest with Eris.

With that in mind, you gathered yourself before setting out to collect some, leaving Eris asleep on the bed for now.

Luckily, you were able to sneak from the Forest House without anyone seeing you. You hid amongst the trees, plucking the plants and bundling them in your skirt. When you were confident that you had gathered enough, you started making your way back to the Forest House but you didn’t make it very far before you were interrupted.

Shadows seemed to grow between the trees until a very familiar face stepped from them. You gasped in shock as Azriel materialized right before you, his hazel eyes staring directly at you.

“Y/n,” he greeted, cooly, looking over your form like he was looking for any injuries before meeting your gaze again.

“Az…Azriel? What are you doing here?”

“We’ve figured out a way to get you out of this mess,” he said, taking a step towards you. “Come, Feyre will explain to you once we’re home.”

You mirrored his step backwards, eyes going wide. You didn’t want to go home…in fact, you knew in your heart that Velaris was no longer home to you. Home was…Home was Eris. You shook your head at him, trying to form the words to tell him you weren’t coming.

“N-no,” you finally stuttered out. “I-I can’t go back. I don’t want—”

“Like I said—it will all be explained once we get back,” Azriel cut you off, moving quicker than you and grabbing your arm causing you to drop your skirt. All the plants you had gathered for Eris fell to the ground. “Let’s go.”

And then you were engulfed in shadows, the Autumn Court disappearing from view. And all that was left in your place was a pile of healing plants for your injured mate—for Eris who would go on to wake up alone.

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

Tag list: @dwkfan @pinksmellslikelove @vellichor01 @whatdoyxumean @minnieoo @hnyclover @daughterofthemoons-stuff @ferrarisbitch @thaynarajejheje @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @the-sweet-psycho @sleepylunarwolf @homeslices @annblvd @historygeekqueen @crystalferret202 @meritxellao @st0rmyt @bruhhvv @venussdovess

@naturakaashi @waves-against-a-cliff @justvibbinghere @queerqueenlynn @isa1b2h3 @oucereeng @hnyclover @locotreofthegods @namelesssav @edance2000 @lalaluch @saltedcoffeescotch @jangmi-latte @frobrotbaggins @naturakaashi @isa1b2h3 @awkwardnerd @crazylokonugget @marvelouslovely-barnes @tinystarfishgalaxy @ilovespideyyy @mybestfriendmademe @holb32 @littlemisslovestoread

@regina-hawthorne @acourtofbatboydreams @artof-aristocracy @eyebagsanonymous @starrystarkey93 @darling006 @feyres-fireheart @fangirlloza010 @tarataraaaa @asweetblueberry2 @anuttellaa @daughterofthemoons-stuff @why4anne @bloodicka @wildlyobserving @allyjoe755 @neebeee @imxnotxhere @unleashthelion @mimsie95 @imperihoe-writes @joalslibrary @hnnybee0 @azrielsmate3

@azzydaddy @caraaaaugh @iamjimintrash @ren-ni @mysticalfuncollectorus @ubigaia @taylorgriffin @shelbieza03 @prettylittlewrites

@ysmtttty @hiddlestonspassionsackx @anxious-study @browneyedgirly93 @fandomarchiveilyd @aninnai @enfppuff @amberlynn98 @scooobies @lilah-asteria @96jnie @glitterypirateduck @i-m-in-loki-s-army

@hallucynatiing @st4r-girl-official @evergreenlark @somethingthatmightwork-blog @starswholistenanddreamsanswered

@sunny1616 @nayaniasworld @selfishlittlebeing @ratgirl2020 @jovanaaaaaa7 @puttyly

*If you asked to be on the taglist and you don't see your username, tumblr wouldn't let me tag you for some reason :( Also my taglists are being super weird and idk how to fix it bc im dumb as hell soooo apologies if its not notifying you

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar x you #eris fanfic #eris x y/n #eris x you #eris x reader #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris vandaddy #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra fic

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iluvmorales · 1 year ago

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That’s not me. 2

summary Your dating miles, but your confused when he creeps into your room crying about his spidermen friends and his dad.

a/n NVM YALL THE Pt2 CAME QUICKER THAN EXPECTED (I’ve been working on it since I released the first part:3)

that’s not me.

You felt goosebumps rise along your skin as you read the text. The feeling of fear creeping up your back as miles gave you an unreadable stare.

Was he here to hurt you?

Was he going to attack?

What did miles mean, that wasn’t him?

What the fuck was even going on?

Did you really just kiss a stranger?

You felt sick, the fear was taking over, but your miles had taught you to always play it cool during dangerous situations and he’d be there in a minute. you cleared your throat, turning back to the spider boy.

“Miles you said, spiderman? Like from the old comics?” You chirped, all the fear that miles had creeping up melting away. “Yea! Look” thwip thwip, was the sound the webs made as he shot them from a small device on his wrist.

You kept asking questions, miles warming up to you even more as he sat on your bed and explained his whole spider-man story and how his dad was in danger.

but for a second, you forgot this wasn’t your miles, this wasn’t the miles that you met years before his dads death.

You both jumped at the sound of a heavy clash on the fire escape again. Miles threw his arm over you protectively, pushing you back and away from the window.

A claw slid the window open, neon pink and purple glowing slightly outlining the figure. You knew who it was, but for the sake of the other miles you acted scared. “There’s a prowler here?” He asked, his face twisting up in confusion as he turned to you.

Not even a second later, he was out on the floor. “Miles!” You yelled angrily as you stared at him in the prowler suit. “Que mami?” He asked, the headpiece folding back. “You didn’t have to hit him that hard” you kneeled besides the spiderboy, rubbing your thumb over the bruise now forming in his cheekbone.

“Don’t tell me you’re all close with this..offbrand of me.” Miles grumbled, roughly grabbing your wrist and pulling it away from the other miles causing you to fall back on your ass with a yelp.

You looked up at him, rubbing your stinging wrist; “what the fuck is wrong with you?” You glared at him, ignoring the pain from the marks on your wrist.

Miles said nothing, a look of disgust across his face as a side of his top lip raised; “I saw- te vi besarlo mamí” he looked down, and towards the other miles, thinking of how the other miles had felt your plush lips, that were only for him to feel against his own.

You had a look of disbelief on your face, he was that mad because you’d..accidentally kissed another version of him? (Which was understandable, but not to hurt you.)

“Miles I thought he was you!” You yelled, pointing between the two that looked exactly alike. Miles just ignored you, placing a little device on the spiderboy that tied his wrists together. “He reminded me of how you were before your father passed!” You yelled, giving in.

There was no movement, no sounds or anything. But miles felt his breath hitch at your comment before he looked at you. “You were so childlike, and sweet and just so young! I thought that you somehow had got that little spark back.”

You continued, tears forming in your eyes as you remembered how it was to watch miles loose himself in the prowler and turn to a life of crime.

Miles just deactivated his claw before walking over to you, falling to his knees and straddling you. “Lo siento mucho mami” He mumbled, grabbing your wrist and kissing it before hugging you.

“I’m sorry” you replied, leaning into his embrace. He just held you, mumbling apologies for snapping on you like that, and how it wasn’t your fault.

“I have to get him to uncle Aaron.” He whispered, kissing your temple. You just nodded, letting go of him.

As he stood up you grabbed his hand looking up at him with pleading, teary eyes. “He’s already gone through so much like you, please don’t hurt him amor..” you let go and miles just gave you a nod before clicking the button that reactivated his helmet, and sliding on the claw.

You couldn’t bear to see or even know that in another universe, miles goes through the same pain again, and again..in every universe.

Miles picked up miles and stepped out on the fire escape; “Hasta mañana mi Vida” he closed the window and jumped out of your view.

You sat in the same spot, confused and scared. You’d definitely ask a shit ton of questions tomorrow.

tag list

@urmotherswhor3

#miles morales #spider verse #across the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #prowler!miles x reader #prowler!miles #miles morales prowler #x reader #earth 42 #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles

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monst · 3 months ago

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Watching the sunset

Tim Drake x Gn. Reader

Extra Info: Established relationship, Watching the sunset with your favorite bird, Fluff

WC- 1.1k

You know those moments. When everything stops and a single deep breath leaves your body utterly relaxed? Well, this was one of those moments. You feel the tension slough from your body with each exhale, your body tingling with the sudden calmness. You let your gaze drift, lazy eyes taking in the view of ‘the most crime-ridden city in the country’. For such a damning title, Gotham was truly stunning.

You couldn’t decide which buildings flattered the skyline more, the sleek new Wayne-founded high rises or the old but sturdy gothic structures that refused to stop reaching for what little light penetrated Gotham. You couldn’t ignore the large colorful billboards! They were a treat for your eyes amidst all the grey. Or maybe it was the lights. And while the odd flash of red and blue vied for your attention what you liked most were the everyday lights.

As the seconds pass more light infiltrates the city, office buildings look like Christmas, while the lights of the smaller buildings remind you of fireflies. The lights let you know that although the sun was setting Gotham was just beginning to yawn awake. Most of her residents were active during this time, and you could barely make them out from your perch. Their voices merge with the sounds of the city transport. The sound paired with the twinkling lights fills you with tranquility.

It almost looked like the city was winking at you. An odd pattern that could be Morse. Tim would enjoy that thought. You smile at the thought of him. You wonder if you could spot your bird from your roost. If ever there was something someone that could add to your peace at the moment it would be

“Hey” Speak of the devil.

“Hi,” You smile. You look down to see that the gravel didn’t betray his arrival. “You’ve seriously gotta teach me that.”

“Only if you sign the waiver” He chirps.

“Waiver?” He hops onto the ledge with you, fussing over something in one of his pouches. You lean in when you hear his ‘Ah found it!’ You're not looking at a waiver but a crumpled brown paper bag and his very pleased grin.

“...Oh.. Wow.. It’s a bag.”

You're sure he rolls his eyes underneath his domino mask. “I come baring gifts and you treat me so coldly?”

“My bad,” You pause “Oh wow, a very brown paper bag. How exquisite.” He sighs pretending to be put out by your reply.

“I see. I guess that means you don’t want any of these freshly baked, still hot and fluffy churros right?”

“I didn’t say that!” You lurch forward, hand striking forward to grab the bag from him.

“Careful” He yelps, the whites of his lenses wide, his arms stretched out to keep you from falling off the ledge. His eyes skirt from you to the easiest way off the building.

“I’m okay” You reassure. You can see when his shoulders relax, the rest of his body trying to shirk off the adrenaline. You want to avoid a lecture on safety so you quickly move past it. “Now hand them over before they get cold.”

He lets you know that you're ‘bossy’ as he hands it over and once the package is secure you let him have it.

“I know you are but what am I.” His face spasms going through so many expressions in the following seconds before settling on a deadpan.

“Why’d I introduce you to Bart.” He groans.

“Because it was a canon event” You open the bag, practically drooling when the sweet steam hits your face. “Want one?”

“Just one?” He teases.

“You could have zero.” You reply, setting the bag between the two of you as you begin to pull apart the first sugary stick.

“Not happening.” He watches you hum at the taste and remembers. “I have sauce.” he procures said sauce from a random zipper. “Chocolate” He adds, tugging his gloves off to snack alongside you. He chomps into his first churro and notices that you're gazing at the skyline and follows suit. It’s silent between you two, nothing but a passing of the chocolate cup as you continue to watch the darkening city.

After a while the concrete beneath you does its best to distract you by stealing your warmth but it’s swiftly foiled when Red Robin ushers you up and sets his cape down. The material is scratchy and cool against your bare legs. “I don’t think this is any better.” You laugh.

“Isn’t it the thought that counts?” He snarks, You roll your eyes a grin stretching your lips as you dip your finger in the chocolate sauce to spread it across his lips. He hums, licking his lips unbothered. Looks like you're not getting a rise out of him that way. Shame.

“Do I really have to sign a waiver to learn how to sneaky sneak?” You ask around a bite.

“No. But you have to promise to use your new powers with great responsibility.” You snort into your churro.

“Okay, Uncle Ben.” Tim exhales in amusement, leaning his head down onto your shoulder. Silence falls over you again but you're not ready for it to take over. “When do you have to leave?”

“Not for a while.” He replies, lacing his fingers with yours. You can’t stop the heat from rushing to your face when he brings up your entwined hands to press a kiss to the back of your hand. “I have to be at the Hill by 10. Jay said he had something to show me, I’m guessing it’ll only take all night.”

“If you're lucky.” You joke.

He groans, his fingers go to flick off sugar crystals from your shorts, while you go back to looking at the sky letting out a pleased sigh.

“Gotham is low-key beautiful” You’re about to take another bite before realization strikes you, and you turn over to Tim to say. “You better not say the thing.”

His grin is ecstatic “Can’t help it.” His fingers reach out, thumb brushing against your lower lip to remove some crumbs before continuing with the script “Not as beautiful as you.”

“Stop being so cute!” “Or what?” “I’ll kiss you.” In response to that, he just leans in, you hear the bag crumpling before he bumps his shoulder to yours.

“Go ahead then.” He whispers. “Kiss me.”

You lean in as well, you wish you could see his eyes. Your sticky fingers rest on his cheek, his cinnamon breath ghosting over yours as you both lean in to close the small distance. He tastes sweet. When you pull back he doesn’t move, letting his forehead rest against yours.

“What are you doing?” You smile.

“Watching the sunset” He grins back at you. “Why?”

“Hey, that’s funny. I’m watching the sunset too.”

#I think they're cute >.<#tim drake x reader #uh random bullshit go!#red robin x reader

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0wldn0 · 14 days ago

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Whenever I see people reblog my art and tag it things like "good art" I hit this exact pose irl 😭

#vi chirps #not art

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archangeldyke-all · 4 months ago

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Sevika and reader being grumbly whiskey aunts together!!!

They just want to sit on their porch together. <3

this is EVERYTHING to me

men and minors dni

you spend your evenings on your screened-in front porch, passing a smoke back and forth, one of you occasionally getting up to grab fresh drinks and snacks from the house.

you're both total grumps, but the kids (vander and silco's ofc) know that if they're ever in trouble, the first house to call is their aunts'.

lmaoooo now i'm imagining jinx calling you for a ride home from a party she shouldn't be at-- and you and sevika showing up to pick her up-- grinding and making out in front of all her friends just so she learns her lesson adkfj;laskjd

over the years, you've hosted the kids in your house for all kinds of reasons. claggor spent a month living with you guys when the three little kids were bogged down with a flu they kept passing around. in a rebellion against his dads' video games ban on him after they caught him smoking weed at fourteen, mylo and his xbox moved in with the two of you. jinx and vi come over for 'girl nights' all the time when they're growing up, and when violet gets laid off from her first job, she crashes with the two of you until she can get back on her feet.

they're the only kids you tolerate though. neighborhood kids are terrified of you and sevika-- both of you are total grumps, and little slayer and sugar are the exact same.

(but you make up for your bad reputation in the neighborhood on halloween-- you're always the house that gives out full sized candy bars.)

your elderly neighbors though? they love you and sevika.

they appreciate that you're just as grumpy as them. they always wave to you from their porches, where they sit every evening along with you guys. they like that you don't give a shit about the home owners association, and that sevika sometimes even does shit just to piss them off. (she painted your fence hot pink after being told by the HOA that the natural wood needed to be painted white. she earned the hearts of all your grumpy old neighbors with that move.)

as a result, you're always being given plates of cookies and pans of casseroles by the old ladies in the neighborhood, the old men are always coming over to share a smoke with sevika and exchange books, gardening tips, and garage tools. (you and sevika repay their hospitality by shoveling their sidewalks and raking their leaves for them in the shitty weather.)

you're constantly being told by old folks that you're 'the nicest lesbians we've ever met.'

sevika always laughs at this, then asks how many lesbians they have met. the answer is always just the two of you.

(one time, though, a little old lady informs you that her granddaughter is a lesbian 'just like you two,' and that she was so happy when she came out to her because 'you'll be just like my lovely neighbors!' this one makes you cry... and even sevika tears up a bit.)

in the summer, you've got a big fan you can flick on to keep you cool on your porch.

in the winter, you've got a little space heater you can pull closer to your matching rocking chairs.

after a few years, sevika even builds you an outside bed, so that after an evening of drinking whiskey and sharing a joint you can cuddle in each other's arms outside and listen to the crickets and frogs chirping before heading in for the evening.

your porch is your favorite little spot in the whole wide world. sevika's planted a jungle of plants surrounding it, and it's like your little oasis from the real world. you've got christmas lights strung around the ceiling that stay up all year long, lighting the porch when the sun finally sets. you've got dog and cat beds scattered everywhere so your animals can join you. there's ash trays, pipes, books, and bottles littered everywhere, and there's always at least a dozen potted plants scattered around inside your little sanctuary.

it's heaven.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @realgreeniebeanie @k3n-dyll

@sevsdollette @ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

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cephalopodvictorious · 1 month ago

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A moment of Jewish joy - I stepped out of my office and a Jewish nursery school near me was leading a group of toddlers in little matching high vis vests on one of those hand holding rope things and the lead teacher was walking backwards singing in Hebrew and the little kids were chirping along, doing little wiggle dances while they held on and it was just so fucking sweet

#they made it to the park and one of them immediately tried to eat a leaf 😭#jewish joy

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touyas-multi-purpose-saline · 1 month ago

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DAY VI. — WORSHIP

cw: Fluff, Body Worship, Worship, Romantic Dirty Talk, Fondling, Dark Shadow Being a Sly and Teasing Little Brother (tm), Aged-Up / Pro-Hero Time Skip, Fem! Reader. 18+ Only!

author's note: Dark Shadow is so funny to me and I don't think he's given too many chances to have his full potential. Anyhow! Tokoyami is so romantic, we love him.

word count: Approximately 1.4k words.

A soft gasp fills Fumikage’s head.

Red eyes immediately dart up, sharp and piercing. Your head rolls a little against the pillow before another little breathy sound spills from your lips. Fingertips twitch a little before their pads begin a soothing trek south, further and further, and Fumikage watches intently as your back starts to arch, desperate to lean into his touch. The length of his fingers bend forward, and the balls of his hand follow until he’s pressing his palm flat against your belly. He slides it side to side only slightly, lingering before it falls to one side and slowly settles against your hip.

“Is this too much?”

You’re shaking your head before Fumikage can even finish his question. He blinks, tilting his head to the side. Your hand stretches forward, cupping his face. Now it’s his turn to lean into your touch, and your thumb began rubbing crescent moons into his lores.

“Hell no. Don’t stop—I want it.”

There’s a strange shudder that flares out from Fumikage’s heart before it ripples down his body, but all he does is dip his head a little and oblige you. He tries not to tense, but his nerves make him hold his breath whenever he begins caressing your belly again. Even though you’ve done this for what feels like a billion times, you always somehow manage to blow Fumikage away, dusting into a rifting fade that swallows him and blinds him with your pretty light.

“If I could, I would never stop. Your beauty always enchants me.”

Fumikage continues to fall into your touch, finding the gentle swish of your thumb so comforting and tender, and he tries to copy your magic but he finds that he can’t quite compare. You softly chuckle, and a fire crackles and ignites, blossoming all across Fumikage’s cheeks as a molten warmth. His eyes are wide now, which makes another little bubble slip out, and suddenly there’s a strange pull at the center of his chest before another voice speaks.

“You’ve gotta be careful making sounds like that, Fumikage gets a little nervous when you do~”

Dark Shadow’s scratchy chords making Fumikage wince a little. His eyes narrow before they cut to the side, a low rumble already prepped in the back of his throat to dismiss Dark Shadow, but you just giggle and coo.

“I know, I know. I just think it’s so cute whenever he talks like sugar to me.”

Fumikage nearly falls into himself again, stricken with an angst that isn’t quite whole. He bashfully looks away whenever Dark Shadow chirps, swooping forward with a gust of wind before he rests rounded elbows against your pillow and nuzzles into the side of your head.

“I mean you’re so pretty, no wonder!! Come on, say it, Fumikage!!”

“Dark Shadow—I…”

The words fizzle out like a dying flame, quenched in a heavy and acidic rain whenever he meets your lovely gaze. Those galaxies blazing on your face make Fumikage’s head spin, so he instead clears his throat and hums. He closes his eyes, slowly lowering his head and turning slightly until his cheek rests against the underside of your belly, heavy air filling his lungs before he sighs deeply.

“My Dark Queen, it’s the truth. Every time I look at you, I fall deeper in love. Your eyes captivate me in ways I never thought possible.”

The hand against your hip finds rigor anew, and it begins to trace nonsensical patterns up your side and down your thigh, gentle and careful, and Fumikage squeezes his eyes tighter to listen to every little shift in your breathing. He loses himself in it, finding it nearly impossible to think with each hitch of your breath. With the way you gasp whenever he brushes against one of your sweet, sensitive spots, or the way you suck in a whimper whenever he moves away from those spots. You respond to his touches so positively, so wholeheartedly, and Fumikage feels his heart swell with pride, and a dedicated smile crosses his beak.

“Everything about you is admirable. I strive to be like you, to hold up to your flame.”

“He just thinks you’re really, like, super amazing. He has so many things he wants to say to you at all times~”

Fumikage pauses at Dark Shadow’s whispers, especially whenever you giggle and respond in a hush,

“Shush, he’s so romantic, let me listen to him!!”

Your words encourage him. His head is back into the sky, but his brain is in space. Fumikage feels so full and airy whenever he’s able to stare down at your nude body, at the way the moonlight reflects off of your body, the shading, the pores, the glimmer of flesh, it all twinkles live a crystal and his own breath falters. Swallowing is hard, but he chews down childish words that he just wants to gush into your mouth, through delicate and passionate kisses that intertwine your voices. Fumikage shifts a little before he’s fully rested between your legs, relaxed against his knees and partially against his haunches.

“I want to devote myself to you, truly, and all I can ever hope for is that I satisfy you.”

Both of his hands are on your body now, trailing down until they find the center of your thighs. They rest on top before his hands tremble and he dips them in between. You part for him so easily, and Fumikage’s body freezes whenever he sees the smoldering emotion in your eyes and the ginger look melting against your features. Dark Shadow tilts his head far enough to stare at him, too, those glowing suns thawing him and spurring him to continue. You’re intoxicating, but Fumikage fights through his shivering fingers and inches towards your sex. One of his index fingers cautiously arches and presses against the meat of your lips, and you croon his name out with those smoky and suffocating blues.

“Every sound you make fills me with more and more desire. I want you to sing for me, I want to hear everything you have to offer me.”

Another moan follows after his name, your body wriggling and shifting to draw Fumikage closer. He lets you, and his knuckles strum down your sex, teasingly wavering his fingers until those blues change their tempo into precious kitten mewls.

“You’re breathtaking. I need to make love to you. Can you comprehend what you put me through, you temptress?”

Something akin to a giggle intermingles with another moan, and your hands are darting forward and linking against Fumikage’s wrists. Dark Shadow quickly buries his face into the crook of your neck, and your head easily crests against his. You’re all giggly, flushed out of excitement and boiling Fumikage alive—inside and out, from his core all the way to the smiles of his nails. Every part of him grows more and more alive, an insatiable monster that wants to hear the prayers of his name on your tongue and the feeling of your blood and flesh on his hands.

“Ohhh, Fumikage. You’re driving me insane. I need you, too, my perfect darling.”

A jolt tickles against the base of Fumikage’s spine, so he straightens and stares down at you, eyes wider than the sky, red depths that have no end, and he gulps. He gets a little shifty, but his body moves on autopilot while he’s lost in the oceans of your visage. Thumbs swerve forth, tips melded together before they both begin to feather your slit. The words burst out before he could capture them.

“How could I ever live without you in my life?”

Fumikage gasps softly, so quietly that it was soundless, but it was deafening in his head. The thought to stitch his beak together for the rest of eternity crosses his mind, but your expression just softens into honey and velvet, and you squeeze his wrists.

“I’m always dreaming about you, Fumikage. I don’t know how I ever survived before you either.”

His heart is beating a billion miles per second, electricity shooting through his stomach and down his groin. A groan reverberates in him, loud and echoing, and Fumikage jerks and imploringly fall into your hands, clay and blood. And then he’s rubbing your sex again, harder, and he groans again.

“Anything, I’ll do anything. Let me offer myself bare, let me fulfill your dreams.”

Your moan is his oxygen, and you whimper his name before your hands leave his wrists and a husky sound flutters in your throat,

“Yes, yes, Gods, yes, please.”

And Fumikage crumbles completely into you.

#my scoville lit.#mha x reader #bnha x reader #tokoyami x reader #fumikage tokoyami #tokoyami fumikage #fumikage x reader #fumikage tokoyami x reader #tokoyami fumikage x reader #tokoyami x you #tokoyami x y/n #fumikage x you #fumikage x y/n #mha tokoyami #bnha tokoyami

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purplelupins · 6 months ago

Text

Lamb

|Midnight Mass |

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

Father Paul Hill/John Pruitt x fem!reader

Word count: 11k

Summery: An entire life of being a good girl was a difficult cross to carry...especially in a tiny town with 127 residents on a good day. You kept the town fed and spirits as high as you could, but when a new face steps off the afternoon Breeze, things around you start to change; you don't even know you're in the eye of the storm.

Warnings: nsfw, reader is religious, religious symbolism, ideology, explanations and general conversations of religion, age gap (like this man is 80 technically and he watched reader grow up, and can remember reader as a little girl so if that’s creepy to you then go no further), stalking, manipulation, murder (hello have you seen the show?), drinking of blood, hunting of a person, grief, description of animal death, reader is described as blushing, character death, non consensual help showering, guilt and god maybe more but I think that’s it…this is not really a fix it fic

Notes: There’s a little Easter egg in this chapter for any Hamish fans…let’s see if anyone clocks it.

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Crickets were the first to make a sound.

For days, that speck of an island was silent. Birds either flew away or hid in their nests. They didn’t chirp, or caw.

Bees slowly began to appear again too after a week.

Flowers began to open.

Months passed and finally things looked almost as they used to.

Buildings repaired, town cleaned up.

Only now the island looked abandoned during the day.

You had never liked summer. Too hot and humid. You still didn’t like it.

John was used to hearing the Crockett Island community wander the island every night.

He was used to the occasional sound of your screams, too.

It wasn’t often, but sometimes your fortified house lacked, and you were forced to run into the night and hide until sunrise.

John pursed his lips bitterly the first time he had stopped them from finding you on the abandoned spit on the west side.

They claimed they just wanted to help.

Wanted you to be at peace and be a part of the community again.

Those words stung like poison; hearing his own justification used back at him.

He’d seen you run past him on one of his walks, not even knowing he was there as he stood amongst the skinny trees. Eyes like little pinpoints in the darkness.

A predators eyes.

A wolf’s eyes.

When he had only wanted to be a Shepard.

Though of course that had been the issue. He would have had to have wanted to be a fellow sheep for him to see just how wrong his actions were.

Now there he was, just one of the wolves watching their token sheep run for her life.

You were so resilient. Determined to stay alive. Hope incarnate. But you were not delicate or wispy like most imagined hope to be; a foolish thing. Your hope was bruised and battered and exhausted from having to get back up again after surviving another night.

You still prayed.

He heard you at night when he would walk past your house and listen close to one of your boarded windows. It was mostly to check that you were alright.

It was a little because he found your heartbeat soothing.

But hearing you pray was what helped him continue. That you hadn’t lost your faith. He didn’t care who you prayed to…just that you had faith.

And that faith had you.

You tasted copper as you ran.

It had been months since they had last managed to get inside your house, and you had begun to get comfortable with the couple knocks at night and the pleading to come out. But over the last week, the knocks had turned to pounding, and tonight the pounding turned to splintered wood and you bolting across Crockett as fast as your exhausted body would carry you.

The best shot at safely was the thick woods on either end of the island. You used to keep a boat in the Uppards for emergencies, but they had found it and taken it one night.

Now you had become stellar at losing them, but tonight something felt different. You had noticed clear medical baggies of blood in trash cans just a few weeks following…following that night. You assumed they used Sarah’s medical connections to have shipments of blood brought to the island at night.

You wondered who Bev had to bully to have that done. Not like it was hard.

But you wondered now if perhaps the latest shipment wasn’t received, and now the islanders were…antsy.

Not that the reasoning mattered to you greatly as you passed by one of the abandoned buildings. What mattered was that they were closer to you than usual, and you hadn’t slept properly in weeks. That, and your terror that they winged bast might still be prowling around looking for a new body to drain.

You pushed yourself to go faster but you couldn’t put distance between you and them. That feeling of fear began to creep back into your tissue. It was only natural; it didn’t matter how at peace you were with death. A lamb being hunted was a lamb being hunted.

And wolves never stopped being terrifying.

John sat, book in hand inside the rectory.

Collarless.

He heard your heartbeat from a half mile away, and it was fast. Too fast.

He stood, and walked to his door and opened it to step out onto his porch. You didn’t usually come this way, but as fate would have it - or your great misfortune- you did. John could hear feet following you- a few sets by the sound of it.

John walked out into the middle of the cemetery.

He waited.

Sure enough, a few minutes later you came up the hill; your adrenaline being the only thing that kept you going.

John called your name.

It was the first time since Easter that you had heard his voice. It made you take such a quick breath that you stumbled a little. It felt like you had been sprayed with ice water.

He looked down the road where the small militia was chasing you, then back to the rectory- door wide open. You stood there for a moment, and you wanted to keep running. But those footsteps were close and you figured it would be easier to fight off one instead of several.

You could feel your rage start to rear its head over the fear, but you knew it would only get you killed.

You ran towards him, and he began leading you inside. The warm glow of the rectory enveloped you, and John shut and locked the door as soon as you stepped onto the floorboards. He closed the curtains and turned off most lights aside from a reading lamp, and began taking you to the far end of the house. As you approached you stopped short and shook your head.

“What are you doing?” You whispered, eying him wearily.

He knelt down and lifted a part of the carpet in his room and lifted a small door.

You stared at him hard.

And he stared back. “It was built for me decades ago for storms.” He said simply, and calmly.

You were apprehensive. Even more now than just being in his presence.

Uneasy.

Terrified.

Cold.

“Please…they won’t find you.” He whispered a little harsher- you couldn’t hear them but those footsteps were getting closer now. Just cresting the hill.

You might have resented the monster before you more than anything, but you did need help. And you didn’t have a plethora of options. You walked over to him and sat down on the edge of the opening- feet hitting the steep stairs. “I don’t trust you.” You said, staring down into the dark room. You could see a lamp there.

“I know.” He nodded.

You blinked, and didn’t look at him as you began to lower yourself. John grasped your arm to help you, but you wrenched it from his grip, “Don’t touch me.” You snapped.

He immediately dropped his hands, and had to almost sit on them to keep himself from reaching out to you to help.

As you hit the ground, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a small fishers knife to show him.

“If you don’t let me out, or try anything I’m killing myself and braving Hell, Father.” You shot at him.

Again, Father Pruitt only nodded in understanding, “The lamp is fully changed. There’s a blanket on the shelf.” He said, then looked suddenly back towards the front of the house.

You flicked the light on, and when you stared back up at the preist, he quietly shut the door.

You watched it for a moment, then slowly took in the space. A very small room that looked more like a bomb shelter. There was a small bed and a shelf with some canned food. And indeed there was a thick blanket there. You sighed, and went to settle in only to jump a little when you heard voices. You stayed still and tried to listen as close as you could…but then it went quiet, and you only heard one pair of soft footsteps.

John opened the door to see a handful of fairly new parishioners standing there on his stoop.

“Evening Father…she ran past here a few minutes ago did you hear anything?” One of them asked.

She.

You didn’t even have a name to them anymore.

John sucked on his teeth, “I’m afraid not. She’s quick.”

Another one nodded, “G’night Father.” They mumbled and began walking away- eyes scanning the trees and brush.

He watched them for a moment, then walked back inside and locked the door again. He might have gone out that night for a walk or to visit someone in the community. While he didn’t fully count himself as a priest anymore, he was still the guide to many of his flock. They were even more lost now than ever.

After that first night, many turned to the church for help. His heart ached that still his parish turned towards God for help; that he hadn’t driven them away from their faith entirely.

Many resented him.

He didn’t hold any blame towards them.

But still, when he held Mass, many came. Many still confessed to him. Many still asked for his aid.

But John Pruitt was less of a person now, and more of a symbol.

A tool.

He kept to himself- accepting his passive segregation.

Unwanted, but needed.

With no need for food, John felt a sudden panic when he hadn’t given you anything fresh. He strode back to the little door and gently opened it; the lamp was still on, but even in the low light he could clearly see you sitting against one of the walls breathing deep, heart rate slow.

You hadn’t used the blanket, he noticed. John knew you were strong willed, but he didn’t know how stubborn you were. Perhaps a trait you hadn’t discovered until he ripped your life apart.

John carefully lowered himself down into the little cellar, and crouched down in front of you. He gingerly eased his arms under your knees, and pulled you to his chest, then hoisted you up and carried you back to the main level.

John didn’t care if the others heard your heartbeat. He didn’t care if they came to his door. He knew they wouldn’t dare try to get you while he was there. He had been turned for longer than them, and was much stronger, and much faster. For the ones who were present when Sturge had shot Sarah, they knew he wasn’t incapable of beating a man bloody.

He laid you down on his bed, and slipped your boots off carefully; he caught the knife that fell from your left one, and rolled it over in his hand.

He had pushed you to violence. Self-defence, but violence all the same. He tarnished that ray of sunlight he had seen that first day he returned.

John smiled bitterly. He supposed it was only fitting that you were sunlight and he would die if he touched it.

You were so limp as you slept- your exhaustion taking over and forcing your body to rest. John brought the blanket over you, and left you there to sleep.

The bed laid unused most days.

It wasn’t as if he truly slept anymore.

The first thing you were aware of was the great sense of comfort that enveloped you.

The second was how that feeling horrified you.

You knew you had slept in an uncomfortable position, so why was there a pillow under your head and a blanket over you.

The third was how well rested you were.

You instinctively reached for the knife you kept in your boot, but then that came to your forth realisation: you weren’t wearing your boots.

You bolted up, and took in your surroundings. You were back in the rectory. You felt fear start to creep back into your flesh as you realised just how deeply you had slept. Your hand instinctively reached for your neck and shoulders so ensure you didn’t have any marks. You checked your arms and then you saw the flicker of metal out of the corner of your eye- your knife sat comfortably beside you on the bedside table. You snatched it up, and slipped your feet down onto the floor as quietly as you could-

“I made you some coffee if you’d like it.”

John called to you; he had heard your heart rate spike as you awoke. In an effort to not spook you too much, he waited to speak from his place in the living room until you were fully up.

You crept to the door, and tentatively pushed it open, knife clutched tight as you surveyed the room.

The curtains were all drawn, and two lamps were on. If it weren’t for the man who lived there it might have been a very inviting home. But you saw the man in question sat at his desk, writing.

John paused, and looked up from his paper to you.

“How are you?” He asked, genuinely wanting to know. It was a loaded question- he knew- but he truly wished to know any ounce of your mental state that you would provide him with.

You looked around once more- ensuring you were alone.

“Don’t worry, they all think you’re in the Uppards.” He said, turning a little towards you.

You stood there. And stared at him. You didn’t even know what to say to him.

“A shipment was late.” You finally said.

His brows perked up, “Yes.” He nodded, “Yes there…there was an issue. Has been pushed back but it’ll be here by tonight, not to worry.”

You nodded.

John sucked in a breath and exhaled, “I’m sorry-“

“You’re not ashamed of what you did, Father?” You cut him off, voice breaking more than you would have liked. Finally meeting his eyes properly for the first time in months.

Father Pruitt placed his pen down and leaned onto his knees, staring up at you, “I believe I…I do feel shame yes. For my actions, but even the good intentions that I attempted were misconstrued, I never meant-“

“But it happened,” You shot back - eyes starting to sting, “You were selfish. You just…assumed everyone would want what you wanted.”

He nodded solemnly and stood slowly, and suddenly you were a little more afraid. You didn’t know what he was fully capable of anymore, and you did not want to find out. As if he could sense your apprehension, John backed away and leaned against the kitchen counter.

“You’re welcome to stay if you have questions-“ he started, trying to give you an open space.

“Questions? I don’t have any questions, Father,” you did. But you wouldn’t admit that yet, “I am alone, and I will live alone and I will die alone. I don’t need to know much more if it won’t change that.” Your voice shook.

He nodded and looked down- brows pinching together as he began to feel the weight of your burden, “I’m so-“

“Please don’t.” You said, tears forming in your eyes.

John raised his gaze to look at you, and he pursed his lips that you once thought were so pretty. A moment passed as both of your gazes were trained on one another.

John watched your beautiful eyes well up the longer you looked at him, and he clenched his fists to stay put lest he try to comfort you. He had only just gotten you to open up the tiniest bit to trust him for a few hours that night, he didn’t want to take one step forward and three back. So he didn’t try to defend himself. He didn’t try to make you stay or understand.

He hoped there would be a time when he could, but he knew that it wasn’t time yet.

You took a shaky breath, and turned to the door, and left.

Once upon a time you might have looked back and maybe would have waved goodbye. Might have said that you'd see him tomorrow.

Might have wanted to stay longer.

Might have flushed in his company.

But you didn't look behind you. Not anymore.

If you had, you likely would have caught sight of the preacher in the window where one of the curtains was pulled back a sliver; you might have seen how he let the sunlight fall over his face; how he let the sun burn him as he watched you.

John listened to your heartbeat fade as you walked further away and out of his sight. His chest ached just as his skin did. And that ache churned and curdled down into his stomach and out into his fingertips. He felt that thing that he had once been so thankful for not feeling- guilt. It felt like so long ago that he had sat across from Riley and told him about how God had moved through him and how remorse had never come after Joe...Now he felt sick when he dwelled on his delusion. So selfish he had been. So utterly desperate.

Sometimes he could still hear that record you had played for him...how you had reminded him of his youth. Your vibrance had overthrown him, and drawn him in. That memory alone made him feel younger than the blood he drank.

The warm summer air immediately made you feel sticky. Humidity filled your lungs as you took a few settling breaths. Then as you reached the bottom of the hill, you finally allowed the tears in your eyes to fall. You sobbed quietly as you walked past the general store. It was an unwritten rule that they kept out of there- that was your space during the day. Most of the time they abided by the understanding.

Sometimes someone got hungry and waited to see if they could sneak a bite of you.

You had to laugh a little though- it was always a dead giveaway if it wasn’t safe to enter the store. All you had to look at were the windows.

Covered: not safe.

Uncovered: safe.

They kept the store stocked enough for you. Sometimes you felt ill at the thought of them just doing it to keep you alive. You bet they thought it was a mercy. You wondered if they fought over it; end the food supply to make you starve and beg them to turn you vs. keep you alive because you didnt deserve their fate.

You went to the shop everyday knowing that one day you wouldn’t have food stocked. Shelves and fridges empty.

Waiting for the day that they finally broke and had enough of keeping you alive.

You passed by more houses...Scarboroughs and the Flynns, and you didnt dare look up at the buildings. You never did anymore. It hurt too much.

The families you knew well used to leave you things…food they made out of boredom…flowers…Annie used to write you the odd letter. Then after a while they stopped.

Back in the later spring sometimes someone would be stupid and run out of their house to try and grab you...The smell of burnt flesh was still engrained in your nose.

No one tried anymore.

You wondered who was still there. You wondered if Ali was still there... you wondered how he was. You wondered how Leeza was and if her family was okay. You wondered if Bev was pulling the strings.

You missed that routine you used to treasure. You missed seeing your friends and neighbours. You missed talking.

It was like some sick joke that the first person you had spoken to in close to 6 months was the very man who had done this to you.

When you finally reached your house, you felt your heart sink even lower as you took inventory of the damage. The broken doorframe and smashed windows were going to be an issue.

You sighed and walked to the small shed at the back of your house to retrieve tools you had accumulated and set about fixing your home. Hours passed as you tried and tired again and again to make sure everything was fixed and strong. But the longer you worked, the lower the sun settled, and the less time you had to ensure you would be safe. But as twilight began to set in, you sighed; you were done. The inside of your house was almost pitch black with all the windows boarded up over the broken glass. You stretched and locked your doors, then began up the stairs to wash yourself after the previous night. But then as you walked past the spare room, you stopped breathing.

You had missed a smashed window.

The wind blew against your face as if it was taunting you of your mistake.

Your gut tightened as you began weighing your options.

You didn’t have many.

And the most feasible one made your eyes glaze over as you contemplated every life choice you had ever made.

With one look out that window, you knew you didn’t have time to think of anything else. So against your better judgement, you grabbed a large bag from your room and began shoving anything you might need, showered and bolted out your door within ten minutes with your hair still wet.

You weaved through the island's foliage and kept off the main road lest anyone be watching from their windows. The last thing you wanted was for anyone to know where you were going. As you crept through the trees past the marsh, you crouched down and stared up at the rectory in the distance. There was a warm light coming from the building like a beacon; your gut clenched at the memory of Easter... how you had thought the exact same thing for St. Patricks.

The sun was just a sliver of light now on the horizon, and you knew you had to decide quickly if you were going through with this or finding a tree to hide in tonight. You closed your eyes, and took a deep breath.

I’m here to help

Those words of his…they still rang in your ears from that first day. He was sick. Selfish. Egotistical and manipulative and…

You sniffled.

You had really thought he was a kind man. You had let him in and he had made a home of your soul. Healed you and guided you and aided you, but all for himself.

You pursed your lips. You hated that you needed his help. But you did.

With another deep breath, you began stalking up the grass, and hurried a little more when you heard voices down the road. You hadn’t even noticed it was properly night time and worry spiked in you as you stepped up to the door and went to kno-

“Come in.”

You jumped at the sound of his low, soft voice calling out to you from inside. You slowly opened the door, and took a tentative step inside.

John Pruitt was stirring a cup of tea by the kitchen counter, and looked up at you- a weak smile on his face.

“Twice in one day, to what do I owe the pleasure, young lady?”

You clenched your jaw at his honeyed words. So gentle and honest-sounding.

“They destroyed my house. I didn’t have time to repair it completely. Didn’t feel like being dinner.” You murmured, then looked at the cup he seemed to have forgotten he was holding.

John followed your gaze, and nodded, “I heard you come up through the trees 10 minutes ago…I hope you don’t mind, but I made it for you just in case.” He extended the cup out to you, and you eyed it wearily.

You didn’t see him make it. Anything could be in it.

John knew that look. The same one you had given him when he ushered you inside the previous night. He retracted the offering and placed it on the counter.

“I apologize for their brutality …many of them don’t know better. I will speak with them tonight at Mass. They won’t harm you again.” He assured you like he used to when you thought his last name was Hill. “It’ll be fixed by tomorrow.”

Your gaze snapped up to his, “Mass?” You asked.

He nodded in realisation that you likely weren’t around when service happened, “I- it’s…well…it wasn’t my idea…it’s- everyone is so lost and they need something to hold onto…I cannot undo what I did. And I know they will never give me forgiveness, but many of them are still very close to God and some have become closer in their…confusion…and I’m just…I try to keep them on the right path. The path I should have been on..stayed on. Your path.” He pushed his hands towards you as he spoke so sincerely.

You pursed your lips as you listened. You wanted so badly to believe him…but the last time you did it had been the worst decision of your life.

The silence stretched between you. You didn’t want to ask for his help, but it was too late to not ask-

“You are welcome to stay here again.” He added, trying to get you to engage. Like he needed you to speak to him.

You nodded, “My warning still applies.” You reminded him of how he’d better play nice or you’ll be dead before he can do anything.

John sighed and nodded. His brows pinched and his eyes drooped, “Of course- I- Mass is in a couple hours…but I can stay-“

“I’d rather you weren’t here, Father.” You said quietly, looking down as guilt started to creep into your gut. He was so wonderful at making himself seem small. Non-threatening. You forced yourself to remember how easily he had restrained you in the church; how his hands had held you without making a mark yet you couldn’t pull away…

“I understand.” He muttered, then something seemed to catch his attention outside as he almost jerked up from the counter and looked towards the front window. You twitched at his reaction, and already knew there was someone nearby before he said it.

“Come on, let’s get you settled.” He said almost to himself as he began back towards the small door in the floor.

You followed behind him, and gripped your bag’s strap a little tighter as he crouched and opened the hatch. He shifted away a little to make room for you to get by, but you saw how tightly he clenched his fists. Whether it was to keep himself from reaching out to help you or to grab you, you didn’t know.

As you descended, you noticed that it was far cleaner down there, and had an extra lamp.

“Knock twice if you need anything.” He said softly. Earnest.

“I won’t.” You stopped looking up at him as that guilt started to return.

“I’m sure you won’t. But everyone needs something sometimes.” He finished, and offered you a tight little smile.

You stared up at him, and neither of you moved.

“Goodnight, little one.” He murmured.

The endearment made your stomach flip upside down and your throat constricted; you ached from how much you missed...well...everything. You missed being called "Hun" by the fishermen and being hugged by Annie and walking Leeza to church and sitting among the pews and enjoying your morning walks and you missed your life.

Before you could say anything, he closed the door, and you heard him lay the carpet over top. There were no footsteps though- not for a few minutes. You listened close, and felt your eyes unfocus when you heard him muttering a prayer over you.

You almost shouted up to him to stop it.

That you didnt need his protection.

But your mouth went dry when you realized that you did.

Why else were you letting him hide you?

Several minutes later, you heard his long strides move throughout the rectory, then the door shut, and you were left in silence.

Mass.

Sadness flooded you in mourning of your beloved routine, but jealously quickly took its place when you realized you were the only one being deprived of your time of worship. The jealousy startled you. Anger was understandable, but jealousy was new.

You closed your eyes, and focused on why you were there. Safety.

The feeling slowly left you, and as you calmed, you turned on the lamp. It was cold, and with no extra warmth, you shuffled onto the cot and grabbed the thick blanket that sat folded there. As you settled in, cocooning yourself in it, and laid your head on the pillow, you felt your eyes start to droop. You found yourself breathing in the smell of the blanket, not even noticing that it was the smell of the man keeping you hidden that you were inhaling. It comforted you…like smelling your mother or father. Somehow familiar.

It was early when you awoke the following morning, not that you could have told that by your surroundings. Your sleep could have been five minutes for all you knew. You laid there for a few moments, listening. The last thing you wanted was for it still be night and for Pruitt to have a visitor. You paled at the thought of Bev being there. But when a few minutes turned into several, then you were certain there indeed was no additional company.

It was silent.

You gingerly raised yourself up out of the bed, and made your way up the ladder- bag in tow over your shoulder. You didn't even make it up to the top to knock before you heard shuffling and footsteps above you. The door was pulled open, and you stood stock-still for a moment as fear clutched your heart for a moment. The light from the lamp below you caught his eyes and made them glow in the darkness of the bedroom. Indeed it was dim in the space around him which only seemed to accentuate his dark features and made him appear as more of a creature than a cursed man. You swallowed.

“Good morning, young lady.” He greeted you with a hand outstretched.

You clenched your jaw, but took his offered hand tentatively, and he pulled you up with far more strength than he should have had. You got your footing, and noted the light illuminating the drawn curtains- it was bright enough for you to leave.

You didn’t say anything, and chose instead to dig your nails into the palm of your hand.

“They put in new windows and fixed your door…I’m so sorry that happened…I spoke with them and they will do better.” He murmured gently, as if he didn’t want to scare you away.

You nodded; mouth clammed shut. There once had been a time where you would have bared your heart to him, and poured your soul into his hands, but now you found yourself unable to find much more than a few words to utter to him.

“Did you manage alright? I know- I know it’s a bit cold down there…” His voice was a low rumble as you adjusted your bag.

“Just fine.” You whispered, looking away from him. You couldn’t stand that he cared.

“I can-“

“I’m fine, Father.” You snapped. He looked like you had slapped him; to his credit he also looked like he understood it. “Thank you.” You added when the pain in your chest twisted unbearably.

He nodded, seeing your unease.

"Goodbye." You whispered as you gathered yourself and headed to the door.

He so deeply wanted to tell you to stay and let him explain everything, but he supposed if he needed to force you to say, then his apology would be hollow and selfish.

Days passed quietly again. A few knocks on your door was the most disturbance you got. Things had calmed considerably.

He must have been right…that shipment did come.

Something itched in the back of your mind as you sat in your fortified house one night. It had been over a week since you had last been hiding in the rectory, but something he had said stewed inside you.

He still held Mass.

You wondered if that had been something agreed upon by everyone…they must have felt so lost…

It had been close to midnight when Father Pruitt had left for Mass that night…and it was just past midnight now.

You wondered if…if you could just climb up one of the trees and listen. If he still preached with the same vigour as he used to you were certain you could hear a little. It was silly and dangerous- you knew that- but it had been so long with just yourself and your thoughts…you craved just a little bit of something else.

You slowly walked downstairs to your front door and listened. It was silent outside.

You very slowly undid your several locks, and gingerly pried it open when you still heard nothing.

Indeed, there was not a single person in your field of sight- not that there were many who ever came down your way that far down the island. You opened the door a little more, and stepped out into the night air. It was refreshing when you weren’t running for your life.

You shut the door just as carefully as you had opened it, and quickly knelt down to check that you had your knife in your boot before starting to walk as softly as you could towards the bushland. The tall grass that had been bleached by the summer sun rose up around you the further you walked and helped to hide you while you trekked across the island and through the marsh and into the skinny trees that slowly grew thicker until you were on the same hill that you used to walk up everyday.

You could see the back of the church, and the bright light that shone through the windows. You had been right- you could hear them sing. It would have been so easy for you to just go back home, but you moved without thinking, and began towards one of the older trees behind St. Patrick’s and jumped up to the lowest branch, and began to climb.

As you grasped each branch, climbing higher and higher, you began to sing along; your throat was tight as tears threatened to fall, and you let them.

John felt a little tick in the back of his head that made him twitch slightly as he began down the aisle. Something off. Something he wasn’t used to during church. The people around him sang their hymn, and as he listened closely, he recognised a sound that he hadn’t heard in so long.

Your singing. Broken by your cries.

John’s sinuses stung as tears rose that wouldn’t fall, and he nearly stopped service right then to go and find you, but he was stuck.

You sat above the church, and leaned your head against the trunk of the tree as you listened to the preacher. You could have sworn he was louder than he used to be… though he wasn’t so much about revival, as he was about reconciliation and guidance. His words no longer made you uneasy. You didn’t want to admit it, but it did indeed sound as if he just wanted to help. Finding the light in the dark.

Mass finished, and you watched the islanders leave slowly…and saw the tall figure you knew wellstand at the front to bid everyone a blessed night. It was so strange to see it all from your viewpoint then- truly a stranger looking in. You perked up when you started to recognise some faces and felt your throat grow tight all over again. Your eyes burned from the tears that wouldn’t stop.

The church grew empty, and John waited until he couldn’t hear footsteps before finally turning back inside to shed his chasuble. His thoughts preoccupied him as he moved quickly and placed the fabric onto the table in the vestibule and walked out the back door. He hoped he wasn’t too late…that you hadn’t left yet. Then as he stepped into the chilled night air, he knew you were still in your perch.

That sweet smell of your skin…the gentle thump of your heartbeat.

John slowly followed the sound, and stared up at the trees until he spotted you. He stood down at the bottom amongst the roots, and cast one last look behind him then back up at you and extended his hand for you.

You stared down at him, and while he was the last person you wanted to help you down from that tree…he was also somehow the exact person you wanted, too. His sermon had made your hardened shell break a little, and you gradually climbed down to him. You sat on that last branch, and tentatively took his outstretched hand; he closed his fingers around yours and you jumped.

Your feet hit the ground with a soft thud, and you quickly looked around out of habit.

John still held your hand in his, and he gazed down at you so softly that you thought he might weep. Instead, he slowly brought his free hand up to your cheek and wiped away the remains of your tears.

“God loves you…” he whispered earnestly.

You felt your nose sting, and your lips pulled into a small, bitter smile as a tear fell and caught the corner of your mouth, “Just not enough to save me.”

The man before you pursed his lips at that, and looked down at your hand in his. He didn’t show it, but you felt a single drop of water on your thumb.

So he could cry.

And he did.

His eyes were red from holding them back once he did finally look back up at you.

Neither of you said another word before you took your hand from his grasp and left him. You took off into the brush and kept low, and didn’t look back even as you felt that prickle on the back of your neck like you used to after Mass.

September brought with it a crisp wind.

Colder weather meant you prayed harder that no shipments were delayed or you would have to hide out in the cold if they got inside your home. The autumn that you once loved was now a marker for your extreme isolation. You knew snow would eventually come, and winter storms that would knock out the power.

There was one night when you were delirious with loneliness that you actually walked into the main town. You walked along the beach. You knew most islanders would be at Mass, so you strode to the marina and sat on the shoreline. You stayed there for hours, and found yourself not caring when you heard voices of people passing by on the road. It wasn’t until you heard a couple familiar old voices that you looked up at the doc. Leeza and Warren were standing at the edge of the platform looking out over the water.

It was Leeza who stopped talking first. She stalled, and looked down sharply and you stared up at her. She looked as if she saw a ghost, and you didn’t blame her.

You were practically like a unicorn on Crockett.

You watched her elbow Warren when he asked her what was wrong, and he looked down at you with the same expression. You waved slowly, and offered them a small smile.

They looked behind them, then back at you and waved back.

They didn’t come down to see you. And they didn’t tell anyone where you were.

You stayed and watched the slow approach of the Belle that they now used for shipments. It tore through the waves of the Atlantic, and you watched as it docked. You wondered how easy it would be for you to sneak aboard, but you knew that was next to impossible. You didn’t know who sailed it, you didn’t know who intercepted the shipment…for all you knew you would be offering yourself up on a platter for Bev to serve to the community.

The sky began to brighten, and you still remained where you were as the boat sailed away.

You almost started waving your arms and screaming for them to come back.

Almost.

The sun was still down when you stood up and brushed off your pants. You sighed and turned to start back to your house for a needed cup of coffee, but when you looked up to the main road, you went still.

His dark eyes bore into you. Father Pruitt stood on the edge of the road staring down at you. You wondered how long he had been standing there. You hadn’t heard him.

He had that same pained expression on his face that he seemed to have every time he saw you. Like you were even more of a reminder of his sins than the turned islanders.

You stared back, and shivered when a wind picked up. You could feel the sun start to rise behind you, and you wondered if he was going to stay there looking at you until he burned.

It seemed like he wasn’t quite ready to face his wrongdoings as he slowly turned and began to walk away. You stood there alone as the day came and embraced you.

And once again, the island was silent.

Another day alive.

Another day alone.

November was cold. So cold.

During the day you could sometimes see sheets of ice floating on the top of the shore. Frost on the trees. Complete silence.

You had been trying for weeks now to map out the arrival and departure of the Belle and who sailed it, how long it stayed, if there were any moments when it was left unattended. Anything.

You could feel yourself start to lose yourself. You looked at old recipes you used to love making, and considered trying them out…but your shoulders would sag when you remembered you had no one to feed and a shortage of ingredients. You listened to every vinyl in your house and had started several books. Your internet connection was horrible as it always was but you tried to learn something new when you could. You were jamming your brain full of information so you could ignore the hole in your heart that grew everyday.

You knew you couldn’t stay like this forever, but if you were honest you didn’t know what else to do.

You were afraid.

John pulled his long coat a little closer around his collar as he began his trek back up to the rectory. He waved at a family as they passed him, and he found that he now received small smiles from people instead of grimaces. That change alone had him humming a little as he ascended the hill, but before he even started, he stopped short.

Those sensitive ears of his prickled as he picked up the sound of a rapid heartbeat.

He listened carefully to see if it was just an animal in the trees, but it was much too strong. He began to follow it, but after only a few strides, a sense of dread filled him.

It had to be you.

And you hadn’t come this way in months.

With your heart beating that fast, you were either terrified or exhausted. Or both. Neither was a wonderful option. John hurried his steps and walked up the pathway to the rectory when he slowed again just shy of the steps.

John had to steady himself.

The stench of blood confronted him like a wall, and he felt that repressed hunger inside him rise, but the last bit of goodness in him beat it down like a heathen. It was then that his sharp ears picked up the sound of several pairs of feet walking on gravel…perhaps 50 meters away. They were coming that way, fast.

John stepped up to the door, and noticed then that the door was ajar. He never locked it- it wasn’t like he needed to. But it wasn’t the open door that made him even more compelled to move quickly, it was the drop of blood there on his doorstep.

You were actively bleeding.

John pushed the door open, and scanned the dark home. It was so still inside. If it weren’t for his heightened senses, he could have missed what was wrong. The Monsignor, however, did know very well that there was something or someone in his room. The man slowly made his way back to the dark room, and his eyes lowered to the floor at the edge of his carpet.

Little bloody fingerprints were imprinted on the floor and smudged onto the fabric.

John knelt down and gingerly gripped the edge of the hidden door, and pulled. If it weren’t for his stellar sight in the dark, John wouldn’t have seen a single thing in that cellar. But as he stared down, he remained calm and refrained from making any sudden movements.

You were there against the furthest wall, curled in on yourself, eyes just barely visible in the sliver of dim light from up above; blood soaked your visible clothes and you trembled terribly.

“Don’t you dare come any closer!” You cried in a strained voice.

You were in pain.

“What happened?” He asked gently, crouching a little more to get a closer look at your shaking form.

“You lied that’s what happened!” Your voice was strong despite the tremble from fear and pain.

“How did I lie?” He asked. The Father tried to keep his voice as level as he could without begging you to tell him who did this. However, he took a very slow, very cautious step down onto the stair and that was not the right move.

“I said-…I said don’t come closer!” Your edge was lost as fear began to take over.

He held his hands up and knelt there on the first step, “You’re clearly hurt, I just want to help-“

“That’s what you said before! And the time before that! But if you had meant what you said about telling everyone to leave me alone then I wouldn’t be here!” You were almost crying- throat growing tight and heart beating faster as anxiety set in.

Father Pruitt felt his fingers itch with want to carry you up to his home and care for you, but he couldn’t risk scaring you before expressing his submission. Disbelief settled in as he looked over your tattered and bloodied clothes.

“They did this…” he said aloud to himself as he came to terms with the carnage, “I told them very clearly that you weren’t to be bothered I promise you-“ he started.

“Even i-if you’re not lying they didn’t listen…” You curled in tighter on yourself. Your weakening voice strung at Johns heart.

John swallowed and made to take another step down to you as he tried to quell his rage.

“Hey- shh…okay. I’m- listen to me sweetheart I’m-“ John paused then. He could hear those same footsteps he had heard before now just outside the rectory and he had a sneaking suspicion that he had what they were seeking, “I’ll be right back.” He whispered and lowered the door again.

John slowly straightened himself up and stood to his full height; he began walking to his door, but as he grew further from you, his calm walk turned into a determained stride that was in no way welcoming and anything but docile.

He wrenched the door open and without missing a beat he stepped out in front of the small group of islanders who were now half stumbling back from him.

Johns nostrils flared and his eyes lacked any semblance of the gentle man he was. His eyes glinted in the light from their lanterns, and his shoulders hunched slightly like he was ready to attack. In that moment, John was thankful that you couldn’t see him in such a state- he was certain he would never lay eyes on you again if you did.

“Did I not say that that young woman was off limits?” He bellowed, teeth bared as he snapped, taking another step forward off the porch.

There was a small gathering there, but not a single person had been prepared for the Father to burst in such a way. The attack on you had seemed like such an insignificant thing for them- like they were trying to catch a stray cat.

“Hey now! I-we- well you know how- I- it was-“ the man at the front floundered.

“I gave you all specific boundaries to abide by. I might as well have said nothing because now I have the last creature on this island that deserves Gods grace, and she is halfway to meeting her maker.” John paused and looked down at the stomach of the man then back up at his face. There was a large bullet hole there just above his bellybutton that had a ring of blood surrounding it, “Did she do this?” He asked, still seething, cold and direct. His tone quieted as he spoke now.

The man nodded, “Y-yeah she blew me right off-“

“Good.” John nodded and shifted back up to his full height, “You know what this is good because now you all know the consequences of disobeying your limitations. Daylight is one of your limits, and this girl is now too. Get that through your heads or god help me I’ll hand her the gun next time myself.” He didn’t wait for a rebuttal before he was slamming the door and locking it.

John barely broke stride as he turned and marched right back to the door in the floor and opened it back up to peer down at you. You were still there, and still cowering in the corner.

“I’m so sorry…They’re gone…I- please let me help you…I can keep you safe here but you’ll bleed to death if you don’t let me help you.” He pleaded with you.

John watched you for a few very long moments. When you didn’t respond, he felt a jolt of dread spear his chest and he was suddenly flooded with the memories of his sister on her deathbed; how he hadn’t been able to do anything about it. It only intensified when memories of Sarah’s limp body flashed in his mind.

He had lost his sister.

He had lost his love.

He had lost his daughter.

Now his eyes blazed as he decided he was going to help you whether you let him or not.

You were not going to die.

Johns eyes prickled as he pushed those memories away and leapt down the remaining steps to you and gathered you into his arms. You weren’t completely limp, but you weren’t doing well. You must have gone into shock from the attack, coupled with the freezing cold night and your lack of proper clothing.

As he pulled you up with him and gently laid you on his bed, he finally saw why you had come to him.

On your shoulder was a very deep bite. Whoever had done that to you had not wanted to let go- looked as if the perpetrator had almost taken a chunk of flesh right out of you. John felt that anger in him start to seep into his veins as he thought of someone maiming you so brutally- he nearly considered finding that man who had done this to you and-

No.

No he was better than that. That man would meet his fate when it was the right time.

John sucked in a breath despite not needing to, and went to his small bathroom. He searched frantically for a small medial kit he remembered he had there, and almost tore it open to find what he needed. He took a moment to gather himself as well. Certainly he was well stocked with blood, and he wasn’t hungry, but there was always something about fresh blood that made that beast inside him claw at its bars.

But this was you.

And he would be strong for you.

When he returned to you, your face was buried in the blanket there, hugging it to yourself. John pursed his lips, and ripped open the disinfectant wipe and gauze. He wetted the material in the sink, and began dabbing at your wound.

“Holy Spirit, please come like a dove…Shield and protect now the one that I love. Cover her wounds with Your grace feathered wings…Shield them from sorrow, breathe hope songs within…”

John’s voice began to shake as your wound came clean; as he prayed for you, all he could think of were how many times he was unable to stop Gods plan of taking those he loved. How he was perhaps still foolishly trying to stand in His way.

“Tend with Your goodness the pain that she bears. Heal now her sickness with miracle care. Carry her high far above till she sees...”

He pulled your night dress down over your shoulder to clean the rest of the dried blood. He swallowed as his mouth began to ache. His teeth itched at the sight of such fresh blood- flesh already broken…so easy…

But he pushed it away.

“Your rainbow of promise, real hope lies ahead. I love her so dearly, so help me to be. All that you, would give out through me.”

John gazed down at your sleeping form and felt his chest tighten. His last little piece of hope. His ray of sunshine that burned him to touch but he couldn’t let go. Even with your skin clean, your clothes were still sodden with blood and sweat. He knew that if you stayed in them you could risk getting ill, and worsening your recovery. He sobered at the thought.

John looked up that the cross on his wall, and closed his eyes for a moment. “Oh God, in beautiful ways, you created and redeemed mankind. Give us steadfast minds to resist the allurements of sin so that we may attain the joys of eternal life. Hear us, Oh Lord. Amen.” He muttered quietly, and slowly as he focused on the words, he found that his thirst ebbed away slowly and the ache in his mouth dissipated.

After a moment, John carefully unfurled you from your position and pried your hands away from the blanket. Then as tactfully and quickly as he could, he gripped the edge of your dress and pulled it up. He kept his eyes glued to the fabric in his hand, then once it came away, he stared only at the wound you had; to keep your warm, he pulled one of the blankets you had bled on up over your body. John wiped and dabbed as gently as he could, chastising himself when he would accidentally watch one of the droplets of bloody water run astray and trail down your collarbone over your clavicle. Your skin was coming clean, but there was still the grime and sweat on you.

John hung his head- his forehead touching your arm.

“God help me…” he murmured. If you got a fever because he didn’t clean your wound and body fully then he would fret and stress even more than he already was. It would torture him just as it would torture you.

After contemplation, John made the decision to hold you under a gentle shower steam- just something to wash you a little better. If he had dwelled on the idea a little longer he might have talked himself out of it and spiralled for a while, so instead he chose to act quickly. He strode into the little washroom and turned the tap. Waiting until the stall was filled with steam that would warm you up.

John stared down at you for a long minute- wondering if there was some other way to do this. When he didn’t come up with anything, John trained his eyes on a point on the wall to keep from accidentally seeing your bare skin, and gathered you into his arms as gently as he could, and carried you into the shower. As soon as he stepped in, the water began to drench his clothes. The warmth permeated the small space and cocooned both of you as the water soothed your filthy body. John was mindful to not constantly hold you under the direct spray; he slowly let your legs down to hang limp and he dangled your arms around his shoulders as he swayed with you under the spray like a doll. With his height, your feet didn’t even touch the ground as he held you, and it seemed to make things easier as he could manipulate you enough to rinse off most areas of your skin without needing to jostle you too much and cause more bleeding or wake you up.

The longer he stood there with you, he began to realise that there was something so tranquil to stand there with you in his arms. Relaxing and hypnotic - the warmth of the steam invading his senses. The intimacy of having someone’s body against his. John found himself humming, and his thumb drew small circles on your back. It was selfish to say he enjoyed it. Sinful too. But he did. He could feel your soft breath on his neck, and your heart beat against his soaked chest.

He felt young again.

Human again.

John basked in the rejuvenation.

After several minutes, he carefully stepped out with you, and cradled you to his chest as he grabbed his towel from the back of the door. He sat with you on the lid of the toilet and did his best to wrap you in the towel while barely looking at you. He praised God for the halted bleeding, and while he was still dripping he walked back into his room with you.

John positioned you on the bed, and rubbed the towel against your damp skin until he was satisfied. He then pulled any hair away from your shoulder and placed a large bandage over your wound. He paid attention so as to not irritate any small cuts from the bite. It would scar, but you weren’t going to turn.

Then as he pulled away, John could feel his soaked clothes cling to him, and he stood quickly to not get the bed any wetter. He needed to change you, but if he was going to keep you dry he needed to deal with himself first. He grabbed whatever he had folded on the edge of his bed and went back to the washroom to change. As he removed his shirt, he paused when it clicked that now he had to dress you while you were completely bare. He swallowed thickly, and quickly settled into the mindset that you were his patient, and he was giving you care. Nothing else.

If he was honest he wished the earth would swallow him up.

What time was sunrise?

Maybe he could go for a walk and just disappear forever in the wind. The thought was fleeting but so tempting at that moment when he straightened and quickly changed. Even the dry clothes didn’t fully dissipate the sweat breaking out on the back of his neck.

The Monsignor returned to your side quickly albeit timidly now. He eyed you wearily as he gathered some clothes for you, and had to muster up some courage to continue. He stood there just feet from you, and watched you breathe for a moment.

You looked so calm.

Serene.

Beautiful.

But he couldn’t stand there forever. And he knew it would be so much worse if you woke up in the current state you were in versus dressed.

He bowed his head and crossed himself as he muttered a prayer, then inched over to you and gingerly sat beside you. Father Pruitt slipped an arm under your back and rolled your torso into his lap. He focused on the top of your head as he fiddled with the shirt he was now getting over it, and cursed to himself when he had to look for your hands to bring them through the shirt. His ears would have flushed pink if he had been human. He told himself it wasn’t his fault for catching sight of your nipple. It was his fault for noticing that it had become pert in the cold.

John finished with your top as fast as he could, then he guided you back further onto the bed and rested your head on his pillow before glancing down where the towel was draped over your legs. He gripped the sleep pants in his hand like a vice and he gulped down the saliva that pooled on his tongue. The good Father’s hand shook as he took the towel away and instantly looked down at your feet where he started to hook the pants onto you, slowly sliding them up. Up, up, up until he had to finish the last of it a little roughly as he looked away.

The intimacy of it all had his head dizzy. It had been such a strained relationship with you for months now that having you in a state like this made him feel like a perverted old man taking advantage of your state. Of course he knew he wasn’t and that he was just taking care of you, but the guilt remained.

John looked down to inspect his work, and sighed with great thanks that the stressful task was over.

You were washed and dressed and you weren’t bleeding out as badly.

The Monsignor carefully placed a small towel under your head for your damp hair, and brought the thick blanket up over your body; he retrieved an extra one for good measure and laid it over you too. He petted your head for a moment- smoothed his thumb over your forehead to draw an invisible cross there, and read a prayer for your health and forgiveness. He was well aware that he was undeserving, but they prayers came out of habit, and soothed his anxiety of what he had done.

John then pressed a kiss to your temple and left you there to sleep. Your gentle breaths filled the room, and the Father sighed. No doubt you would be spitting fire at him tomorrow, but for now he could admire how innocent and peaceful you looked.

He cast one last look at you as he shut the door, and his mouth twitched into a small smile.

Sunshine.

Hours passed. John watched the sun rise and began writing, then read, then he checked on you, then prayed. Then began the cycle over again. If your shortness of breath and rapid heartbeat was any indicator when he had found you, you must have ran very quickly across the island…that coupled with your blood loss must have exhausted your body. You needed rest.

He had stood guard outside the rectory until twilight began- hand clenching and unclenching. Digging his rosary into his palm. The scales were out of balance, and he hadn’t wanted to rectify that so badly until now. Wanted to find the man likely still healing from the bullet hole in his stomach and make him feel the same fear you felt.

John briefly wondered where you had gotten a shotgun from. A pistol wouldn’t do that damage. Though he supposed it wasn’t entirely foreign that you had one.

He heard you stir and move from inside, and abandoned his post to return to your side; wetting a new cloth to lay on your head.

Now, he was sat on the small couch, and waited. He filed away several passages from the Holy book in his hand- ones that he may enlighten you with should you need it. There he remained until he heard your heart rate pick up again, and the blankets start to rustle. John slowly placed the Bible in his lap, and stared at the pages as he waited. It took a while until you slipped from the bed and your bare feet hit the cold floor. He really should have put some slippers there for you.

He heard you scramble for a moment, most likely grabbing something to throw at him or something to defend yourself with. He understood both. The last thing you likely remembered was laying in his dark cellar as you bled. Now you were in his bed and changed.

Johns suspicions were proven correct when he felt a pair of scissors fly at his head and nick his ear.

He didn’t blame you for a second.

“Good morning.” John murmured calmly as his flesh stitched back together.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@littleredwritingcat @zaunite-leo @f4er1e-g1rl @purplemotif @vampyre-kin @hamishlinklaters @spacechupss @pansexualpamandabear @ebiemidnightlibrarian @erialuna @nilla-bear @vintageglassheart02 @ethanhoewke @dancingisdangerouss @cherrysugarx @daisychainsinknots @thesoundresoundsecho

#midnight mass #father paul hill #hamish linklater #midnight mass fanfiction #flanaverse #father paul x reader #father john pruitt #father John Pruitt x reader

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platinumshawnn · 3 months ago

Text

Bound by Blood and Fire | Benjicot Blackwood -- pt vi

Synopsis:

Two days to the wedding and the risk of more bloodshed looms at the boundaries between Brackens and Blackwoods as the council encounter a bump following Benjicot’s actions.

Serra begins to hear rumors around the castle of the impending battle and word from King’s Landing regarding an army of Aegon’s that is making its way along the western shore and targeting the houses on his behalf. Serra approaches her father again regarding the matter amidst finalizing wedding plans and finds comfort and friendship in another Blackwood.

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A/N: hi!!! popping in from the queue, i threw in a slightly suggestive scene at the end plus some bi-icon alysanne/blackwood siblings serving cvnt <333 I also have chapter seven coming this Friday at 9:01am EST which will be the wedding finally. i want to preface that the next chapter will contain smut, for anyone who is not comfortable with that, anyways!!

Content Warning(s): MDNI — 18+, adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexually suggestive content, mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation.

Word count: 10.1k

He could still see his face when he slept.

Benjicot spent a better part of his youth in the woods beyond Raventree on hunting trips and generally just wandering; mapping out every corner of their land on the days he had off from duties, such as training or shadowing his father’s council meetings as a boy. It was a place of comfort for him, where he had never experienced trouble finding sleep whenever he found himself camped there, and yet for the past two nights, he had been lucky to even find an hour of sleep without being startled awake. Suddenly, it felt like every chirp of a cricket or snap of a twig from a deer that calmly strolled through the trees in the distance had him on edge and jumping awake and frozen in fear; worried that it was the Brackens coming for him or his father to drag him back to their home. It did not bring him any relief to know that Emrys had been suspended from patrolling the lands in the meantime, since returning and word reaching Raventree of Rodrik’s death, leaving the grounds nearly unguarded beyond a couple of young boys whom Benjicot knew could barely hold a sword.

Emrys could only sneak to him once a night, creeping out after dark once he knew that Samwell was asleep — even then, doing so involved bribes to sneak out with the boys.

Even when he had managed to find sleep, it was plagued by nightmares of Rodrik’s face -- his eyes, wide and dead as he laid face down in the mud after landing with a thud that echoed in his mind. Benjicot had been covered in Bracken blood as he, Emrys, and Davos dragged him back over the boundaries into their land, whilst Benjicot had nearly been swept away by the river, choking on mouthfuls of water that threatened to take him away in its angry grasp, his vision blurred. They had nearly lost Rodrik in the midst, slipping on mud and grunting with exertion as they dragged his body from the waters and back to dry land. He could still hear Emrys’ complaint as he was dragged through the grass, “This bloody boy weighs a ton.”

Benjicot had insisted that they at least provide him the decency of rolling him onto his back, rather than face down, earning a confused glare from Davos, who was beyond exhausted at that point. It was then that he had seen the damage he had done. Sliced from collarbone to pelvis, a large gash from his throat and down his belly, his house colours torn down the front. Benjicot had fumbled to undo his cloak and cover him, leaving his face exposed for once someone came in search of him — he knew it would only be a matter of time.

Davos had grabbed his House pin from his body as they had begun to leave and pressed it into Ben’s hand as he brushed past him to retreat to Blackwood land, muttering something about a ‘trophy’, as if he should be proud but Benjicot was anything but proud of himself. He hadn’t returned the pin to its owner, though. The pin had remained in his tent, finding himself staring at it every so often, whenever he woke up from his nightmares or whenever it caught the light in the corner of his eye which felt like every couple of hours. It was a reminder of what he had done.

Benjicot had jolted awake again after falling asleep after supper, nodding off only because he was so exhausted, it physically pained him. Again, Rodrik’s face was there behind his eyelids, that horrified expression on his face as he fell, choking on his blood— this time, he was haunted by the image of his sister behind him, screaming and sobbing as she watched on, unable to do anything, her hands at her belly as she cried into the grass. He had tripped out of his makeshift bed on the ground, bolting out of his tent and hardly making it outside before he had fallen to his knees, hunched over on all fours as he threw up the fish and water he had barely managed to stomach earlier; coughing as he choked up the contents. His fingers dug into the grass, red-faced and panting as he dry heaved for a few moments, his body convulsing with effort as he leaned into an elbow; caring little if he got any on him.

He had hardly noticed Emrys approaching, standing a few feet behind him, “You look like shit.”

He weakly turned to glance behind him, eyes slowly coming to look up at his cousin who stood near the edge of his tent, a hand on the bag that hung at his waist; head tilted and watching him. He spit into the grass, the taste lingering on his tongue, and coughing one last time as he pushed himself up to his knees, “How did you get out here so early?”

“I asked to go out for errands with Henry,” He said, opening the bag and pulling an extra shirt from it to toss at him. “I had to promise to cover for him tonight to sneak off with some…servant girl.” He explained, waving dismissively.

Benjicot used his sleeve to wipe his mouth, slowly moving to pull down the straps of his breeches and pull off the soiled shirt. He let out a breathless scoff, “That sounds nice.” He replied, delirious from exhaustion as he tossed the shirt beside him. He took the clean shirt and pulled it over his head, stumbling to his feet and nearly toppling forward, prompting Emrys to rush forward and catch him by his elbow in an attempt to steady him.

“Have you eaten anything?” Emrys asked.

Benjicot gestured to where he had thrown up with his chin, a hand raking through his hair. His cousin glanced to where he pointed, grimacing in disgust and releasing him, “Tried to.” He grumbled.

“Come. I was able to bring you something.” He sighed, his face still pinched up in disgust as Benjicot turned to follow him. The two men entered the tent, Emrys’ hand out and ready to catch Benjicot in case he tripped again; the eldest of the two sitting in his blankets.

The blonde sat across from him, sliding the bag from his shoulders and placing it down in front of his cousin, allowing him to open it and though Ben’s stomach was still churning, he couldn’t deny the grumble as he opened it and began to dig through it. With dirty hands, he pulled out a bun and let out a sigh, euphoric as he bit into it and paused to relish in the much-needed change of things— after two days of leaf, grain, and the odd thin fish he had been lucky to catch with his hands, bread seemed like a commodity that Ben had never thought to be grateful for.

As he chewed, tearing bites from the bun, his hand continued to rummage through the bag; holding the bun momentarily between his teeth as he pulled out a cloth, unwrapping it. He fought the urge to groan aloud at the sight of a small roast duck, the smell wafting through the tent as he set the bun aside and tore off a piece with his hands, ravenous and feral as he ate, “Gods be good, slow down-- you look disgusting, you know that?” Emrys said, though his tone was laced with a light sense of humour as he moved to unsheath something from his waist.

Ben let out a grunt, hardly containing himself as he bit into the duck, his eyes lifting briefly. He watched as his cousin presented a leather flask from his side, opening it and extending it to his cousin, whose hands practically trembled as he took it from him. He lifted the flask to his mouth, greeted by the sweet, bitter taste of wine from home that melted any remaining tension from his shoulders as he gulped down two mouthfuls before placing it down on the ground beside him.

The two men sat in silence, besides the sound of Benjicot eating, birds chirping with the day -- if not for the circumstances, Ben would have found it all peaceful and calming.

After a few moments, Benjicot spoke through a full mouth, “Has there been any news?” He asked, taking another swig from the flask and finishing what little remained.

Emrys hesitated, staring at him, “Nothing new, Amos sent ravens to Grover Tully and your father.” He said, shifting to pull his knees up to his chest and resting his elbows over them. “They know about Rodrik. They know of your hand in it. Our plan wasn’t successful.” He quietly added.

Benjicot raised his eyebrows, sniffling a bitter laugh, “As I suspected.” He said, returning the lid to the flask and tossing it back to his cousin who caught it and swiftly attached it to his belt.

“It was a good idea.”

“And you thought you would outsmart Samwell Blackwood, with your boyish plans, aye?” He asked, pausing his eating to look at him. “You thought he wouldn’t see through your stupid little—“ Benjicot snapped.

“Oi, I get you're angry, but don’t take it out on me.” Emrys bit back.

He settled, falling silent briefly, “Sorry.”

They fell into silence again, Benjicot’s stomach-churning once again at the thought of his father’s reaction when he received the raven. He resorted to picking at the duck, his eyes down, “He’s furious, right?”

Emrys snorted, but the sound did not possess any trace of humour, “He was ready to burn down everything in sight in search of you, he almost came out here and dragged you back himself.”

He looked up, “Why didn’t he?”

His cousin shifted uncomfortably, shrugging his shoulders.

“Kermit insisted he be the one to bring you back and pleaded on your behalf. He knows you will return eventually,” He explained. “Your father has given him until the end of the day to bring you back.” The younger man admitted.

“Did he now?” He rhetorically questioned.

Emrys let out a hum, quiet as he looked down at his shoes, “Elmo has suggested they break off the terms of your engagement, too.”

Benjicot stilled, looking at him for a moment before he set down the rest of the duck back into the cloth, wiping his hands off on his pants. His mouth opened, hardly able to hear over the sound of blood thundering in his ears as he spoke, “Why?” He asked, mouth dry. If his father wasn’t already furious over the unnecessary bloodshed, this would have tipped him over the edge, blinded by rage — Benjicot could picture his room a mess, tearing through it and shouting as he threw whatever his hands could find.

Emrys glanced out through the entrance into the tent, partially ajar as a breeze blew through the fields, “He doesn’t trust you.” He admitted, looking at him. “He feels you have broken your promise to keep Serra safe from harm, and rather, have placed her directly in its path. It has brought into question your loyalties.”

Benjicot averted his gaze, looking at the roof of his tent as his breathing quickened. He swallowed, trying to organise his thoughts, “I did not…” He stuttered, looking down again. He was reminded of the pin that hid in a pile of his belongings in the corner, suddenly regretting not leaving it in the fields with Rodrik where it should have been. His nausea had returned, fighting down the urge to retch as he let out a choked sound, “I did not mean for it to happen this way. I did not mean to kill him, you believe me, right?” He asked, his words coming quick with panic as he looked at him again.

Emrys' shoulders dropped, his expression softening, “I know.”

“Then you know I would never do anything to jeopardise our alliance with the Tullys and sabotage our agreement.” He stated.

Emrys hesitated, looking down at his hands, “Emrys, please…” Benjicot begged, his cousin still avoiding his eyes. “I…I lost my temper, I did not want any of this. I have made a lot of mistakes in my life, both in my name and in our houses, but I never meant for things to turn out like this. You have to believe me.” He pleaded, breathless.

“Did you do it?” He asked suddenly.

Benjicot looked at him, confused by his words. Of course, Emrys knew that he had been responsible for Rodrik’s death — he had been there to witness it and had helped move the body from their land, but the edge in his voice suggested more, “His sister— did you bed his sister?” He asked, tone harsher as though he was losing his patience.

He stammered, unsure how to answer, his thoughts going a thousand miles an hour. He had forgotten that he had been present for that too, bearing witness not just to his death, but the accusation as well, “Did you father a bastard with a Bracken?” He asked finally. It seemed to click into place why the accusation had even come up, or how Rodrik had come to know of their affair and his comment, sitting back on his knees in defeat. He felt his face drain of colour, his mouth snapping shut and swallowing, “Those mongrels have done nothing but steal from us and treat us like shit on their boots. They have killed our men for hundreds of years, and you would father a bastard with one?”

“I did not mean to.” He quietly answered, his voice cracking. “I cared for her at one time. It’s a mistake that I am forced to live with every day, one that I wish I could undo but I…I cannot deny that it is a possibility.”

“You cared for her?” He asked with a bitter laugh.

His face dropped, pausing before he replied, “Yes.”

Emrys, in his inexperience with love, could not quite make sense of the coupling but the look on Benjicot’s face caused him to hesitate. He looked at him, the frown on his face frozen there as he processed the confession, clenching his jaw and letting out a breath, “And what of Serra?”

Benjicot hesitated, “It is complicated…this was before her.”

“Do you care for her?” He asked, correcting himself, his voice stern. “Is she where your loyalties lie now?”

He hesitated again, pondering the question, “Yes.” He breathed out.

He could see his cousin’s expression soften, averting his eyes as he looked down briefly and sighed. Emrys moved, rolling forward and pushing to stand up in front of him, Benjicot’s eyes following his movements; hanging in a place of anxiety and worry that he had not said or done enough. Emrys bent to collect his bag, replacing it around his shoulders and beginning to exit the tent just as he quickly stumbled after him, clamouring to his knees and rushing out behind him, “Emrys, wait.”

The blonde paused, stopping abruptly in front of him and looking up towards the sky with a squint, “Do you forgive me?” He asked.

His cousin paused, shoulders dropping with another sigh, “Yes.” He said after a moment, “And I think the gods will too, in time. You’re a good man, Benjicot, I have never doubted that. I just wish…” He said, turning to him.

“I wish you would forgive yourself, too.” He said, reaching out to clasp his shoulder, “Come back. Let us face it together. We will figure it out.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Serra had always been taught as a girl to not concern herself with a man’s business— that men had their separate duties to that of a woman. Men prioritised the political matters of the house and women did the rest— bearing children, taking care of the house, supporting their husbands, and being loyal, dutiful wives and mothers, just as her mother had been. But it did not contain the curiosity that piqued in her every so often whenever she saw her father and brothers disappear to their meetings, followed by councilmen who were loyal to them only and hanging on to their every word like it was gospel. To be heard and valued, Serra had always wondered what that felt like to possess such power.

It didn’t stop her from listening from outside the hall whenever they gathered for the day, eavesdropping in the hallways, and listening carefully to the gossip of the staff of the house — in her ten-and-eight years, she found that listening to the staff served useful and provided her with intel on topics her father would otherwise dismiss her of whenever she tried to ask at dinner.

Today had been no different, as she sat on the bottom step, her hands in her lap and picking at her nails as she listened to the intense arguing happening from within the great hall, where she had watched her family disappear early that morning. Despite his gentle protests, Alistair stood opposite of her, perched in a corner as she listened.

“Amos’ letter claims that your son was at the borders that night,” Elmo’s voice echoed from within the room. “He claims that his men hold Benjicot responsible for Rodrik’s death— I had only assumed with your restraint, Benjicot might take after you in such ways, but I am starting to question whether you have any control over your son.”

“Benjicot is an impulsive boy,” Samwell replied, his irritation evident in his voice. “You have known this since he was young.”

“And yet I expected with your guidance, he would outgrow it. I was wrong, it appears.”

“I cannot be held responsible for every stupid thing he does,” Samwell argued.

“This is not a stupid thing, Samwell -- do you know how poorly this reflects on our house? I have never questioned your house’s loyalty, but I feel the need to begin.”

Her father sounded angry and disappointed -- from her place on the stairs, she could picture the furrow of his brow, angry as he leaned over the table, “Not only does your son insult our house by slaughtering Amos’ nephew, but to further add insult to the wound, he has also fathered a bastard according to Amos Bracken's letter!”

“My son would do no such thing.” Samwell barked, interrupting any further accusations. “My son may be impulsive and stupid, but to accuse him of fathering a child with a Bracken-- ”

“Amos says otherwise.”

The revelation caused Serra to snap her head upright, wide-eyed, and lean towards the door as she could faintly make out the sound of hushed mutters, angry and going back and forth. Her eyes darted to Alistair who purposely avoided her eyes, his gaze fixed on the wall and unwavering as she slowly stood, inching towards the door and crouching to press her ear to it, “I don’t ask for much, other than you declare your loyalty to House Tully-- have I not been generous these past months?”

There is a mutter, “You have.”

“And have I not only also asked that Benjicot care for and protect my only daughter?”

“Yes, my lord.”

It was an odd sound coming from Lord Blackwood, to be small and quiet to a voice of authority that was not his own; but it was not often that her father used that voice. She struggled to envision what it looked like to sit in and witness him, submissive to her father as he was stern and flipping the roles.

“You know, Lord Grover did not want this betrothal. He, even from his deathbed, fights and pleads that I do not go forward with it-- he cautioned me against it actually,” Her father ranted, exasperated. “But I pushed back. I defended you, I defended your son. I fought for him to see reason, that you have one of the largest armies within the Riverlands… that you are a fierce warrior and leader with experience and insight that could be beneficial to House Tully. All that despite your history of impulsivity and your temper-- which I see, Benjicot has taken after instead.” Elmo spat.

“My Lord…”

“I am starting to realise he may have been right! As senile as he might be,” Elmo spluttered a bitter laugh.

“We can still fix this.”

It was then, amidst the hushed mutters, that Serra could make out the soft voice of a woman -- her words were quiet, not quite reaching her ears as she shifted her stance.

“And how do you plan to do that? You cannot bring his nephew back from the dead, you cannot rid the child from his niece’s womb! I should have accepted the offer for Serra to wed Aeron Bracken, you know that?” Elmo shouted, a clatter of silverware echoing from the room. The room fell back into silence, as though the room had frozen in time, only broken by her father’s annoyed sigh as footsteps echoed, coming towards the door. Serra launched up to her feet and turned, ready to rush up the stairs and out of sight as she assumed her father had called an early end to the meeting and would come out any moment however she hardly made it three steps before the doors opened as she expected, her hand reaching out for the wall as she nearly tripped over the hem of her dress.

“Serra Tully.” The voice was surprisingly smooth and feminine, causing her to whip around towards the voice.

Her eyes found a thin woman who resembled the men of her house — striking in appearance, with dark hair and eyes that bore into her with such intensity, that it pinned her to her very spot. Her gaze absentmindedly scanned her frame, finding riding gear in place of the expected gowns of red and black; tall and slender, as she stood halfway in the doorway and watched her. Serra’s eyes darted back to her face, mouth once ajar now clenching shut. She could have recognised her anywhere, recalling the few memories she had of her in their youth, being that she was so close in age to them; she always seemed to be in the yard, engulfed in her training, but Serra had encountered her a handful of times — her voice, though lower and softer than it had been as children, still held its familiar edge that brought back memories of warning her nephew whenever he stepped out of line. She seemed to be the only force that could keep him grounded, regardless of how rowdy and wild he could become.

“Lady Alysanne.”

Her eyes cast to her left in the direction of the room of men that remained uncharacteristically quiet, before stepping further into the hallway and in the direction of the stairs -- Serra could faintly see the hint of a smile on her face, “You have grown much since I last saw you.”

“It has been many years.” Serra politely replied, her voice quiet as though she was worried her father would overhear her. She had already overstepped and been caught eavesdropping, she did not need to make things worse.

“Indeed it has,” Alysanne nodded, pausing. “Come, join us.”

Confusion arose in Serra at her invitation, her head tilting as she opened her mouth to protest, “Oh- I…I don’t know anything about the matters of council.”

Alysanne’s smile widened, “Now seems as good a time to learn then. You have thoughts and opinions, don’t you?” She asked.

“Of course, but none that possess any value at a table of men,” Serra replied.

“That is plenty enough. It is not a suggestion, Serra.” Alysanne quickly added, ceasing any further protests she could muster. She extended an expectant hand to her, the young girl’s gaze dropping to it. Serra was slow in descending the stairs, back towards the doors, and meeting the Blackwood at the bottom of the steps at which point she felt a hand come between her shoulders to guide her inside.

The room turned to watch as they entered, side by side, all eyes focused on her. The urge arose to turn and flee, uncomfortable under the eyes of the several men who sat around the table; her father stood at the head of it, with his face screwed up into a look of disapproval but she was forced forward by Alysanne— she wasn’t convinced that if she did try, she would allow her to get far, and would just drag her right back. Her hand led her towards a seat across from Samwell, two open chairs awaiting them, timidly finding herself to one. Alysanne soon sat beside her, a hand coming up to give her elbow a reassuring squeeze.

Her father finally sat down, his eyes never leaving her as a few moments passed; the tension in the room was palpable enough to slice through as she slowly lifted her gaze to scan the room. She soon met the familiar eyes of Oscar, who sat only a few seats down from her, his gaze possessing an evident uncertainty.

“Oh, this is just absurd!” A councilman, Robard Mooton, cried. “She is just a girl, what does she know that could serve this council? Let us not waste any more time and…”

“She knows more than she lets on.” Alysanne interrupted, her tone calm. “Doesn’t she?” She pointedly questioned.

Serra felt her eyes on her, hers lowering to the table.

“What do you know of recent events, Serra?” Her father asked, sighing and dropping a hand from his mouth onto the table. She turned to look at him, her hands balling in her lap as he nodded encouragingly.

She hesitated, “I know of Benjicot’s involvement in the death of Rodrik Bracken.” She replied, her voice small amidst the room. “Amos Bracken has made several accusations against House Blackwood and its heir.”

“She listened from outside the door, how does this help?” Robard continued, losing patience.

“Criston Cole has allegedly called for men to march west.” She admitted.

Her father inhaled, leaning back in his chair, “And you understand the position this puts us in.”

She slowly nodded, watching him carefully for any sign that she was wrong and overstepped, “You also know your grandfather means to break off your engagement to Lord Benjicot Blackwood for his hand in his death, too.” Aldric Vance spoke up, her eyes darting to find him -- an older man her father’s age, his eyes kind as he stared at her; awaiting a response. Serra nodded again.

“We would like your insight on the matters,” Her father said, leaning forward against the table and resting his elbows atop the wood, holding a hand out to her. Serra tensed, blinking a couple of times before she reluctantly offered him a hand that he took, his eyes searching her face.

“Why?” She asked, her voice small.

“Because it is your betrothal in question, my dove.” He softly replied. “I will not force your hand if it is not what you desire, I only mean to protect you from further ruin.”

Serra recognised the hypocrisy of the situation, considering that it had been him who had pressured her into this position, to begin with. She lowered her eyes again, staring at their hands, quiet as she pondered his offer to end things, “Should you say the word, we can return to Riverrun in the morrow.” He quietly stated.

She sucked in a breath, unsure how to answer. The silence stretched on as she weighed the option — she admittedly missed the comfort of her childhood rooms, Riverrun, and its familiar sounds and sights.

“She’s just a nosy girl,” Robard snapped. “I told you she was of no use to this table. Let us just end this engagement and be done with this grotesque misalliance-- we will extend an offer of peace to Amos Bracken, and if he is merciful enough, he will reconsider a marriage between his nephew and Serra.” He rambled.

“Give the girl a moment.” Alysanne snapped, her gaze fixated on the man who stood. “You are too invested in ending this engagement, I feel it necessary to remind you, that you are not the one who will be expected to bed him.” She spat, her eyes narrowing.

Serra looked between the two with wide eyes, “Though I am beginning to wonder if that is your preference for bedding young boys,” Alysanne continued, taunting the man who now seethed from his place down the table. “I suppose I am not one to judge, however, considering your earlier accusations, Lord Robard.”

“You wretched cunt!” He finally exploded, rushing to lunge across the table towards Alysanne, a mild level of pandemonium ensuing as men clattered to grab the Lord Mooton, pulling him back. Serra’s attention was drawn to a quiet snort across the table, finding Samwell with his head down and a small smile on his face, his gaze fixed down on his lap as he appeared to fidget with something there. His gaze lifted, looking around the table and watching as Lord Robard was yanked back towards his seat, briefly finding Serra and his younger sister who sat beside her.

“That is enough!” Elmo bellowed, his voice loud and thundering, “I demand a level of decorum be maintained while we try to figure out what is to happen! Lady Alysanne, Lord Robard, return to your seats!”

The room quieted, Serra’s eyes watching as the council slowly found themselves back to their spots around the table, a hum of mutters and grumbles filling the room, “Samwell, I would ask that you remind your bitch sister that she is a guest here at this council.” Lord Robard spat.

“Lord Robard, enough!” Elmo snapped, releasing Serra’s hand. “I will have no more insults at this table today.”

Alysanne dropped back into her seat, letting out a scoff as she leaned back in her chair. Serra watched the look exchanged between the two Blackwood siblings, Samwell’s expression a look of pride and amusement as he looked back down quickly, a lopsided grin on Alysanne’s face as she rolled her eyes.

Her father allowed for a moment of silence as the rest of the table settled back into their seats, whatever conversation that lingered soon ceasing, even Lord Robard finally quieting; despite the scowl on his face, his gaze still watching the raven-haired woman to her left. Elmo finally looked back to Serra, sighing, “Serra. Any thoughts?”

She hesitated, heart racing as she was yet again placed on the spot, “I…” She stuttered, swallowing. She scanned the table again, briefly meeting Samwell’s gaze as he continued his fidgeting -- she could now see what had previously held his attention underneath the table; his hands absentmindedly twirling a dagger as he watched her, its blade catching a glimmer of light as it moved between his right and left. She looked at her father, “House Tully has always been a house of their word…and I suppose Lord Benjicot has never given us any other reason to doubt his loyalties, otherwise. I do not see any reason to not see our agreement through.” She quietly explained, trying to feign some level of confidence as she sat up straight, squaring her shoulders.

Her father paused, mouth opening as if he wanted to say something. Instead, he nodded, “It is settled then,” He muttered. “House Blackwood and Benjicot will be expected to fix this mess. We will see to it our end of the prior agreement— that will be all for this afternoon.” He sighed, dismissively waving a hand.

Despite his dismissal, the table did not yet move. Instead, they stared at him for a moment longer, sharing looks before they slowly began to stand; Serra finding a hand wrapping again around her elbow and gently squeezing. Her eyes found Alysanne looking at her, who offered her a small smile that she reciprocated with a forced, tight smile that dropped quickly, eager to get out of there as she pushed up from her chair. She moved with her head down as she gathered her skirts in her hands with a tight grip and shoved by the men who were slow to leave, a hushed whisper over the room.

As she reemerged into the hallway, she was met by Alistair who waited for her; his head bowing as she approached. He was close on her heels as she hurried towards the stairs, wanting to put as much space between herself and the great hall as she could, and not look back -- she didn’t feel confident in her choice, but there would be no turning back now. She would be married in two days to Benjicot Blackwood.

She wasn’t sure if she was nauseous with regret, but her hands felt clammy as they wiped against her bodice, her eyes focused straight ahead as she walked. She had barely made it two steps before she tripped over one of the stairs, catching herself with her hands against another step, her ribs colliding with the marble stairs as she tumbled forward and felt the air knocked from her lungs as she clung to the step; cold against her palms that screamed in agony as the dirt and stone embed itself into her hands, her face hot and red as she choked for air, “My Lady.” Alistair gasped, rushing forward.

She felt his hands on her shoulders, hearing a rush of footsteps as Oscar appeared at her side, “Serra?”

She shook her head, waving their hands away as Alistair withdrew his hands quickly; Oscar resting one against her spine, “I’m fine-- I am okay.” She breathed out, still trying to catch her breath as she awkwardly hurried back onto her feet. Her brother’s hands remained close, despite her words, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Should I call for the maester?” Alistair asked.

Oscar held her elbow as she wiped her hands off on her dress, scraped and red, but otherwise unharmed; her hair falling into her face as she smoothed out her clothing. She quickly shook her head, “Are you all right?” Oscar asked.

“I am fine, I just…” She breathed. “It’s just been a long day, I am tired. It was a mistake.” She insisted.

“Do you want us to get Maester Edric?” He asked.

“No, I am fine. I just need rest.” Serra insisted. “Do not bother him, it was just a slip.”

Oscar’s eyebrow rose, “Are you sure?”

“I just want to go back to my room,” She pleaded. Her brother hesitantly nodded, waving Alistair back down as he laced her arm through his, beginning to lead her up the stairs; relief washing over her as she used her free hand to lift and brush back her hair when a shout echoed from the yard.

“Fight back, you fucking coward!” Kermit screamed.

Her wide-eyed gaze looked at her younger brother, his arm withdrawing from hers as he turned to look towards the front doors that sat open; the sound of shouting continued from the yard, “Alistair, take Serra to her rooms.”

“What is that?” She asked.

“Go to your room,” Her brother instructed.

“No, wait— let me come,” She begged, watching as he turned and bolted from the stairs. The men who had gathered in the foyer all appeared to hear the commotion too, turning to crane their heads towards the noise as they piled towards the yard, her father and Samwell shoving through them to rush outside along with Oscar. Her head was spinning, but she hurried down the stairs and past the men, using her elbows to shove through the mass; her cheeks burning as she felt Alistair reach for her to pull her away.

“My lady!”

She ran into her father’s back as he held out an arm to catch her, preventing her from going too far as she reached the front steps; her eyes over his shoulder, his hand grabbing her wrist and pinning her against his side. She had to lean around him, half stepping to the side and craning her head to watch as Kermit stood over Benjicot; several other men surrounding them on their horses and watching as Kermit struck the young Lord, whilst Benjicot knelt before him and visibly defeated as he took the hit. His head snapped to the side with such force it caused her to cringe, hair falling into his face and covering his eyes as he spit into the grass -- his nose was already pouring blood, staining the front of his shirt as her eldest brother circled him.

“I said fight me, dammit!”

Kermit’s foot rose, slamming into his shoulders from behind and knocking him forward into the grass. She let out a gasp, watching as Benjicot painfully writhed against the ground, struggling to push up onto his knees -- her brother panted, face screwed up in a rage, “Stop him!” Serra quietly cried out, desperately looking up at her father. He avoided her eyes, mouth ajar. Kermit stomped on Benjicot’s wrist, circling him again to stand before him.

“Get the fuck up!” Kermit screamed, bent over as he yelled.

“He’s going to kill him.” Serra pleaded, gripping her father’s shoulder as she tried to shove past him, being pulled back by his arm again.

“Wait.” Elmo insisted, his eyes still focused on the two boys.

Benjicot’s head hung low as he brought a hand over his chest, gasping for air as he avoided lifting his eyes as he let out a weak, “No.”

She could see Kermit’s eyes widen, staring at him, dumbfounded, “You dishonour my sister, my house-- and now you won’t even fight me?” He asked.

“I will not fight ... my friend,” He panted, looking up at him. “I am innocent, I have done nothing to dishonour your house.”

Her brother froze, shoulders tensing. His hand suddenly shot towards his hip, hand wrapping around the hilt of his sword and tearing it from its sheath to bring its sharp tip to his throat, forcing his chin upwards, “Liar!”

“Kermit, that is enough!” Elmo finally ordered, releasing Serra and stepping down the stairs.

Her brother stopped, his lunge cut short as he stared at Benjicot, holding each other’s gaze. Slowly, his eyes drifted towards the crowd that watched, his hand clenching so tight around the sword, his knuckles turned white as his hand shook, “Sheath your sword.” Their father instructed.

Kermit hesitated, but did not yet lower his weapon, "Put it away." Elmo repeated, firmer this time. His mouth twitched, looking back and forth between his father and the Blackwood in front of him. The blade dropped quickly, Benjicot flinching as the tip nicked him as it dropped, his shoulders slumping whilst Kermit returned the sword to his sheath. There was a hushed series of whispers from the council, "Where have you been, boy?"

Benjicot collected himself before responding, his eyes moving with Kermit as he stormed away from him and towards his father, “The woods, my lord.” He admitted.

“For the past two days?” Elmo asked.

Serra waited, her eyes on Kermit as he went to stand in front of her before she rushed forward, her feet dragging her toward Benjicot. She could feel the eyes on her back as she found herself at his side, kneeling beside him and immediately beginning to assess the small cut at his throat; the rich shade of blood oozing from the edges. Her head ducked, taking his chin into her hand, “Yes.” Benjicot breathlessly answered.

“What has brought you back?” Her father asked.

She glanced over her shoulder, meeting Kermit’s discontent stare as his hand remained at the sword on his hip. She looked back at Benjicot, finding his eyes as she quickly reached for the scarf that she had given him two days prior, tucked in his belt and hurrying to bring it to his throat against the wound.

“I have come to declare my innocence and clear my name.” He replied, his eyes tearing away from her.

Elmo paused, “Speak, boy.”

Benjicot pushed her hand away from his neck, visibly wincing as he shifted his weight to his left knee, "My lords, before you, I swear on the Old Gods and the New that I am innocent of these vile accusations that bind my name to Myrna Bracken. By the gods above and the earth below, I have not dishonoured my betrothed, Lady Serra, nor sullied my family’s honour with such treachery."

He paused, his breath laboured but his resolve unbroken. "Rodrik Bracken met his end by my hand, but it was no premeditated act of malice. It was in defence of the honour of House Blackwood and House Tully when he hurled false accusations and sought to drag Serra and I’s union. I struck him down in the heat of the moment, driven not by hatred, but by the duty to protect what is sacred—our families, our honour."

Benjicot's voice grew firmer as he continued, "But if there is doubt in your hearts, if my words are not enough, then let me prove my innocence by the blade. I stand here ready to offer my life, to face trial by combat, and to fight for the truth that lies within my soul. Should I fall, let it be known that I did so with loyalty to Serra and to House Tully, willing to sacrifice all to uphold the bonds that unite us."

His gaze swept over the assembly, his tone resolute. "I stand before you, not as a man seeking mercy, but as one committed to the truth. I will go to battle, and if need be, I will lay down my life to prove that my honour, my loyalty, and my dedication for Serra remain untainted and true."

Serra’s gaze had been fixed on him the entire time he spoke, hanging onto his every word; her heart pounding beneath her ribs and holding her breath. Once he was done speaking, her eyes shifted to look towards her father who watched him with narrowed eyes, his jaw clenching and scanning the boy in front of him from head to toe; weighing his words.

“That will not be necessary for now,” Elmo finally replied after what felt like hours. It did not fall on deaf ears as Kermit scoffed and shoved his way back inside, finding Lord Robard scowling too at her father as he watched him from the corner of his eye, “Heed my warning, though, should you misstep again; I will have your head.”

Benjicot nodded, a meek gesture as he slumped forward, visibly relieved as he fell into Serra’s side. Her hand came up to his chest, buried among the fabric of his clothing and becoming sticky with blood that dampened his shirts, holding him up as he let out a breath. She did not want to rush him to his feet as he wiped his nose which continued to bleed.

Her father found her eyes, but he quickly averted them and turned away from her to head back inside. With the last of the men trickling in behind him, Serra sought Alistair, finding him by the doorway and already coming towards her, “Alistair, please help me-- help me bring him inside.” She pleaded as her arm slid under his and wrapped around his ribs.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“You do not have to mother me, Serra.” He sighed, wincing as she turned him by the cheek to dab a cloth against his cheekbone; swollen with a bruise that was already beginning to form.

Her eyes remained on his face, focused and frowning as she uttered a soft ‘sh’. His nose had ceased bleeding finally after pinching it by the bridge, tender under her touch when they had returned to her room; ushering Alistair to the door. She knew it was risky to bring him to her room, but she felt there were no other options right now -- the councilmen still lingered, and her family hovered, eager to tear her away from him. She needed space to work away from prying eyes, refusing any further help she deemed unnecessary.

She stood between his knees, with Benjicot planted on the edge of her bed and a cloth between his hands as his cloak had been tossed behind him. His eyes screwed shut, letting out a frustrated sigh as she wiped the blood from his face, a bowl of water nearby on a stool that she had pulled to her feet from in front of the fireplace that was lit. He had fared better than she worried besides a small cut to his face from where Kermit’s ring had made contact, bruised; a bloody nose, and the nick under his chin that she had since cleaned up to inspect. It, too, had already begun to clot and slow. However, she couldn’t help but wonder what lay underneath his clothing -- an idea that while not intended as sexual, still felt shameful and dirty to even cross her mind. She could only imagine the boot prints that littered his skin from where her brother kicked him similar to the one against his sword hand, not brave enough to even consider asking to check; but she knew he was tender and bruised beneath his clothing, having listened to him wince and cry out when she and Alistair dragged him up the stairs and down the halls to her room.

“Stay still,” She quietly ordered, bringing the edge of the cloth to the angry red imprint just shy of his eye.

Benjicot let out a hiss, flinching as his hand shot up to catch her by the wrist, “It’s fine.” He insisted.

She huffed, dropping her hand to her side. Her hand blindly extended to dip into the bowl, ringing and squeezing out any excess water, “It’s not fine.” She replied, her eyes scanning his face. “You could have at least fought back. If you had just stayed and not gone to the borders, none of this would have happened. I told you no good would come of this.”

“I couldn’t,” He said, looking up at her. “You know I couldn’t.”

“And you think you were better off letting my brother nearly beat you to death? Going to the borders and making a mess of things? Are things not worse than they were?” She asked, scoffing.

“He wouldn’t have killed me,” Benjicot replied, withdrawing when she attempted to bring the cloth back to his face -- she sighed and dropped her hand, shooting him a warning look. “He only did what I deserved. I had to go, you know that.” He said.

He barely had time to react as her hand came up behind him, grabbing him by the nape and forcing his head forward, the cloth coming up to his nose to dab at some dried blood at the edge of his nostril, “You think you deserve death?” She asked, her voice hardly above a mutter.

“Maybe,” He admitted.

“I doubt that.”

“You don’t know what I did.”

She hesitated, her eyes briefly meeting his, “I know enough.” She said, resuming her actions. They were both quiet for a moment, her touch delicate as she gently scrubbed him clean, “What did he even do to provoke such violence?” She finally asked.

The thought of violence always felt unnecessary to her -- it never seemed warranted, unless there was some threat that was life or death. It had been a thought that lingered in the back of her head since the news had reached Raventree, but she never quite dared to ask. But something about their isolated presence, away from the noise of councilmen and the watchful eye of her father, left her with just enough to finally ask now that they were alone.

“You know enough,” He replied, throwing her words back in her face. She pressed against his nose, deliberate and annoyed, earning a hiss. “Don’t be like that.” He warned, attempting to withdraw from her again.

“I am just trying to understand you, Benjicot.” She shot back, ceasing her actions. “Did it have anything to do with his sister?”

He looked up at her, hesitating, “He said something about how you were to be married to Aeron and some other stupid shit.” He said, dismissing the topic. Serra was not oblivious to how he avoided the question.

“What of it?” She asked.

“What?”

“Aeron and I.” She calmly asked, gesturing him forward again. He was reluctant, relenting with a sigh and letting her turn his face from one side to the next, moving his hair out of the way to scan for any other marks, “What of it?”

“I don’t know.” He answered. “Is it true?”

“Yes.”

He looked at her, his right eye twitching as he appeared visibly confused by her honesty, “It was long before the prospect of you and me when I was ten-and-five.” She explained, voice softening. “My father only meant to get me away from Riverrun after my mother had passed, he wanted to protect me from his grief. I spent weeks begging him not to, and to let me stay.”

“And he changed his mind?”

She smiled, a small half-smile that did not quite reach her eyes as she looked down at him, “No. Kermit convinced him to reconsider. I was not ready to leave Riverrun and he knew that better than anyone.”

Her hand dropped from his face, the hand at his nape finding rest on his shoulder, “Did you ever wish things turned out differently and that you had married him?” He asked.

Her smile faltered, “Yes, at one point.” She admitted, causing his eyebrows to shoot up. Her shoulders shook with a laugh as her smile returned, “You have not exactly been the…easiest man to warm up to.”

His mouth opened, tempted to challenge her but he knew she was right -- there was no denying that he had been difficult and terrible since she had arrived. How she overlooked it baffled him. He let out a short laugh, a choked sound as he rolled his eyes, “And now? Do you think you would have been happier with him?” He asked after a moment.

“Mm,” She hummed. “I’m not sure. If it had been by my choice, I would have been happy living in a small, modest home in the woods, away from the chaos of politics and men.” She said, her voice lilting with humour.

She brought her hand back up, touching the cloth to his eye one last time. He grabbed her wrist again, stopping her, “I’m serious.” He said, searching her eyes.

She blinked, gaze averting towards the writing table that had been shoved against the wall. She seemed to think about it, narrowing her eyes for half a second before her eyes returned to him, “I would not change anything.” Serra softly answered. “I think I have come to accept it and be happy with things as they are-- good and bad, I am content.”

Benjicot felt a sense of relief at her words, nodding slowly.

She set down the cloth back into its bowl of water, the liquid now pink with blood, as she eyed his face; observing the bruises and wounds of her brother. She had yet to step back from her place between his legs, but there seemed to be an invisible string that held her there, tethered to him and lifting a hand to touch just below the wound beneath his eye with a light thumb that still elicited a wince of pain as his eyebrows furrowed whilst his eyes shut briefly. He sucked in a breath through his nose, his face turning away from her, "Sorry." She softly said, withdrawing her hand quickly.

“No, it’s okay,” he said, voice quiet amidst the room. His eyes slowly opened, squinting as he looked up at her, finding her gaze still on his face, “thank you.”

“For?” She replied.

“For being so kind to me. I know I don’t deserve it.” He admitted, a hand coming up to rest on her hip. Her gaze lowered towards the small bit of space between them.

“I think you’ve been handed enough cruelty in your life, Benjicot.” She softly said, her left hand rising boldly to touch his forehead, brushing back the overgrown hair that hung there in his face as she found his eyes again. Her hand dropped, fingers tracing along the shape of his face and outlining his cheekbone; Benjicot’s gaze remained on her. A flush of colour spread across his cheeks, mouth parting as though he wanted to speak, but rendered silent as his eyes closed, inhaling deeply and embracing the warmth of her touch. There were very few things in the realm that could silence him, but something about the gentleness of her hand accomplished it as he leaned into it, face turning towards her palm and letting out a sigh. Her hand fully cupped his cheek, her other hand lifting to mirror it and holding his face between them as her thumbs skimmed over the skin beneath them.

Up close, she finally had an opportunity to observe him for all that he was — though it had only been two days since she had seen him, she felt he was changed; both in the way he carried himself and his appearance. The boyish, clean-shaven appearance having been abandoned in the woods, and returning a man-grown, the facial hair that peppered his chin and spread across his upper lip alluded to maturity. Her right thumb brushed his cheek, prickled by stubble as the pad of the digit glided across the skin. Up close, she admired the imperfections that made Benjicot the man he was. From the scar that stretched from his upper lip to nose, his crooked nose — and the eyes, striking and green in the light as they opened to look up at her, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath.

He stood suddenly, towering over her and nearly driving her back into the stool that held the bowl of bloodied water, his hands lifting to hold her waist — his hold was loose, and bordering cautious as though he was trying to be as delicate with her as possible. His gaze never left her face as he moved, her left hand moving to absentmindedly rest against his bicep as she stared up at him, her eyebrows furrowing and using her other hand to plant against his shoulder. She watched in silence as his gaze scanned her face, slow and taking in every feature with such intensity, that it felt almost too intimate a moment for an unwed couple to share — the whole situation could appear questionable should anyone have barged in at that moment, the pair of them clinging to one another, alone and heavy breathing. One hand rose to cup her face, drawing her closer to him until his breath fanned hot across her lips, her ribs pressed against his as she sucked in a deep breath.

His mouth pressed to hers with such force it caused her to stumble back a step, only steadied by his hands as his kiss practically sucked the air from her lungs, the hand at his shoulder finding the nape of his neck. Serra was half dragged onto the balls of her feet, falling into him as her fingers dug themselves into the root of his hair, desperate to ground herself somehow as she clutched onto him as if her life depended on it — the actions earned a carnal moan that reverberated from deep within his chest, his hands creeping up to the small of her back. She felt the way he pulled her into him, like he was trying to embed her in his skin, desperate for closeness whilst she melted in his hands as his mouth found her throat. The foreign sensation set her skin ablaze, her mouth falling agape as his lips trailed down her throat and claimed her like he had any right, his hands tugging at her skirts and manhandling her. She let out a soft sigh as the cool air that permeated her room tickled the back of her thighs, her dress being tugged upwards when Benjicot stepped forward with his knee pressing between her legs, his fingers rough against the soft skin of her thighs, calloused and desperate.

A knock echoed through the room, causing the two of them to jump, Serra breaking away from him first. She shoved his hands off her thighs, pushing her skirt back down and smoothing over the fabric as Alistair spoke up, “My lady?” He called from outside the door.

There was a pause as she stared at Benjicot, wide-eyed and red-faced, with heavy breathing and flushed cheeks as she stumbled back and away from him. Benjicot was visibly dishevelled as he withdrew, leaning into her bed and mouth agape, sucking in air as he caught his breath, “Yes, Alistair?” Serra asked, breathless as she smoothed out her clothing and reached for the cloth that had been abandoned in the bowl.

The door slowly opened, revealing the guard who had spent the past several days at her heel, his eyes immediately finding her and hesitating — he glanced at Benjicot who avoided his eyes by looking down at the floor, “I…have given you as much time as I can spare.” Ser Alistair said, looking back at her. “It is getting late. Lord Blackwood should be getting back to his chambers before anyone begins to question his absence.” He quietly explained, his gaze still fixed on the young Lord, who finally dared to look up; his mouth twitching, darting to glance up at Serra who let out a breath.

She nodded, “Of course.”

Benjicot stood, turning to collect his cloak that sat on her bed and taking it with him, “We were all done here, anyways,” He said, brushing past her and not giving her another glance as he made his way towards the door. “Thank you, Alistair.” He quietly said as he passed him and exited the room. The guard nodded, his eyes following him out the door as Serra dropped the rag back into the bowl of water and wiped her hands off on her dress.

Alistair blinked a couple of times, unmoving but silent as she gathered the bowl and took a deep breath, sighing aloud as she approached him, “Could you discard this for me? I must be getting ready for bed.” She said, struggling to find his eyes.

He took the bowl from her, his face creasing with a purse of his mouth and furrowing his brows, “My lady, if I may…speak plainly.” He quietly spoke.

She paused, eyeing his face, “Yes, of course.”

He avoided her eyes for a moment, clearing his throat, “I would advise you to be careful with…the time you spend alone with Lord Blackwood.” He slowly said. Serra felt the colour drain from her face as she frowned, “It could appear improper, is what I mean to say— should anyone question it.”

He knew. Serra felt stupid enough to think he wouldn’t know or figure it out somehow.

“Are you going to mention tonight to anyone?” She asked, her voice small with worry.

Alistair eyed her, his eyes finding hers. His features softened, “No. But it cannot happen again, I cannot guarantee I can protect you a second time should your father or brothers ask.”

Serra finally let out a sigh of relief, withdrawing and wiping her hands against her skirt again, though she radiated anxiety as she nodded, “Thank you.”

Alistair’s head bowed, “Of course, my lady.”

She watched as he turned and left, leaving her alone finally in her room and overcome with worry. Despite his words, she still felt a sense of unease as the door closed and turned to retreat towards her bed. She turned slowly, leaning back to sit down and flop into the bed, her arms at her side — though the action was disturbed by something pressing into her leg. She reached down, her hand blindly searching the blankets for a moment before her fingers met the cool metal; bringing it up into view and turning it in the light. Her eyes scanned the pin used to fasten a man’s cloak, recognizing the Bracken sigil as she turned it in between her fingers. She sat up from the bed, her feet planted against the ground as she pulled herself from the comfort of her blankets; her feet guiding her towards the fireplace.

Her eyes turned towards the door momentarily as she stopped in front of the fire, warming her skin; listening for any sign of life beyond her room. When she was confident in the silence that she found, she looked back, her eyes on the flames as her hand propelled forward to toss the pin in; allowing the fire to engulf it.

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#benjicot blackwood #davos blackwood #house of the dragon #house blackwood #kieran burton #hotd #benjicot blackwood masterlist #benjicot blackwood x reader #davos blackwood x reader #benjicot blackwood fic #benjicot blackwood imagine #davos blackwood imagine

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mika-no-sekai-blog · 3 months ago

Text

Part V

Word count: 3000+

Warnings: none

Autumn themed divider by tsunami-of-tears

Part IV | Part VI

You woke up carefully tucked under warm covers in the bed even though you were certain you fell asleep on your usual spot. Soft light of the early morning filtered through the open curtains, changing every glass surface into kaleidoscope of colours. Maids drew curtains every evening, but you liked to watch the night sky and count stars, so after maids left for night, you always opened them again. Seeing those blinking lights, you didn't feel so lonely.

When your eyes got used to brightness, a clear blue sky without a single cloud greeted you, accompanied by colourful leaves dancing in a gentle breeze. For a while you just lay there and watched the show. It was comforting. Your thoughts were wandering until they stopped at a certain one.

Sighing heavily you rolled to the other side. You didn't want to get up. Maybe if you said that you didn't feel well, they would let you be. Just imagining that you would have to go to the garden today as well, made you feel sick. You were sure that you were supposed to take a walk and not to train for marathon. The other day you had to run for hours after the maids, so as not to get lost in this great labyrinth of corridors and winding paths. You didn't even have a chance to look around or stop to catch a breath. In the evening you were so tired that you fell asleep as soon as maids were gone.

With a groan you sat up, your entire body protested in pain. Whether you wanted or not, you had to get up. It was your husband's order. You couldn't ignore it, if you wanted him to notice you more in the future.

As soon as you limped to the vanity and with hiss took a seat, someone knocked. The doors opened and two maids walked in.

"Good morning, my Lady. How did you sleep?"

Astonished you looked up. Those were clearly not the maids who had been taking care of you until now. They were always very reserved and talked with you only when it was necessary.

"We are new here, madame. I'm Ellen."

"And I'm Irene. We are so happy to be able to serve you."

They bowed with wide smiles. You gaped at them, eyes wide. You weren't sure how to respond to such friendly greeting.

"I-.. It's nice to meet you," you blushed.

Their smiles only grow wider and they immediately got to work.

"You are so pale, madame. Are you sure you feel well? Should we send for healer?" Ellen asked as she carefully combed your tangled hair.

"That won't be necessary. I think I'm fine," you answered shyly.

Irene emerged from the closet with comfortably looking shoes that matched with the dress that they helped you to get in. "Hopefully the walk on fresh air will make you feel better, madame," she smiled kindly. "The weather is really nice today, it certainly will be a warm day."

It was hardly thirty minutes since they appeared, yet you already felt so good in their company that you dared to do a small talk with them. You were sure that the thing you were about to suggest, wasn't common and at home you would be severally punished for even thinking about it, but you felt uneasy every time these two lovely girls called you madame. There was also a chance that they would laughed you out. Nonetheless, you wanted to give it a try. You gathered courage, took a deep breath and let the words out before you could change your mind.

"You can call me Y/N," you whispered almost inaudibly.

Their eyes widened so much that they threatened to fall to the floor and roll away. "Are you sure we can, madame? Won't you mind it?"

You shook your head and they squealed happily in unison. They started chirping merrily about anything that came to their minds, trying to engage you in conversation even more than before. You, on the other hand, peeked at them curiously whenever you had an opportunity.

They both looked young, around your age, but they could be already century or two old. Ellen had dark brown hair that in waves fell to her shoulders and heart shaped face with soft green eyes. Irene was a bit taller than her friend, with light reddish brown hair combed into a ponytail, big brown eyes and a few freckles on her nose. They both were real beauties and seemed to be kind-hearted and cheerful.

Unlike the previous maids, they weren't in hurry once you left the chambers and made sure you get to know your surroundings and learn way back to your bedroom. Slowly walking down the hallways, they pointed out in different directions, naming and showing you the rooms and ballrooms that you passed by. It helped a great deal and you didn't feel so lost in this enormous castle anymore, even though you doubted you would remember it all on the first try.

As the huge glass double doors to the garden came to view, soldiers guarding there, friendly winked at girls, moved from their stances and opened them wide for you. The brisk air filled your lungs and cooled down your hot faces. Inside of the castle was nicely warm, but as you were walking around it became too hot and you almost started sweating. However now, you were grateful for the extra layer in form of cardigan that maids found for you.

"What a beautiful day," Ellen chirped with arms spread wide. "It's so nice to be outside and not have to worry that someone gets mad at me for that."

"And the smell," Irene sighed taking a deep breath. They seemed to be happy that they could get out of the castle. "I have aunt in Spring. Air there is sweet and full of scents of all kinds of flowers that bloom there, but nothing beats the smell of Autumn."

Imitating Irene you stopped and inhaled deeply. You didn't have time to notice it before, but the air was really fresh here, the earthy scent with pinch of sweetness calling you out. Maybe it wasn't a punishment after all.

"Hmm," Ellen pouted. "You are so lucky that you can travel to other courts. I'd love to see the world, too."

Stepping onto a narrow path between the flower beds, loose strands of your hair danced in the gentle breeze that brought a familiar scent of apples. With a hope you looked around finding nothing just flowers, trees and bushes, and your two maids discussing which Court they would like to visit and why. Shaking head at your naivity you looked up at the windows of the castle with a sad smile.

'Which one could be his,' you wondered. It'd been weeks since you saw him for the last time. If he didn't carry you to the bed every night, you would think that he even wasn't here.

You turned back to your companions who patiently waited for you with knowing smiles. You didn't even notice that they stopped talking. Caught in the act, you blushed fiercely, but they didn't tease you, only gave you a sympathetic look.

Irene and Ellen weren't in hurry like the other maids. They matched their steps with yours, letting you look around as long as you wanted, often stopping you to show you something they found.

"Y/N, look here," Ellen called you and pushed away the twigs of the bush. There was a bunch of delicate flowers blooming on long leafless stems in shades of pink and white. They were so lovely, sparkling as if dusted with glitter powder. Irene came closer, too.

"I didn't know that we have some nerines here, too. They are blooming mainly in southern garden."

"I discovered them by chance last week. I was looking for my favourite hair clip that I dropped somewhere around here. I haven't found it though," Ellen pouted sadly.

"Nerines?" you asked, studying the flowers and committing them to your memory.

"Yes. Do you have them in your Court, too?" Ellen was curious.

"I'm not sure," you flushed. "I wasn't allowed to go out."

"Oh," they both said in unison and looked at each other with raised brows. You tried to ignore their reaction. It was already quite embarrassing to admit your lack of knowledge about.. well, everything. They nodded as if they had just agreed on something even though they didn't say a single word. With kind smiles they turned back to you.

"They are also known as cliff lilies," Irene said and caressed one petal with a finger. "Every flower has some meaning. These, for example, symbolise connection, joy, freedom and security."

"And the affection," Ellen added with laugh. "The flowers are beautiful, but otherwise useless. It's pity."

"Useless? Why?"

"You know. Some plants or their parts can be used in medicine or cooking. However, this one is good only for decoration."

"I see," you bit your lower lip.

Useless.

Good only as a decoration.

You were called useless your entire life. And the worst was that it was true. You knew nothing about the world, you were lucky to at least be able to read. You were taught how to behave, how to serve to male, not how to live or actually do something useful. Your father raised you to be a decoration of a husband, a porcelain doll with nice face to be showed off and then destroyed behind the closed door. In a way you were alike. Only difference was that you could never be as beautiful and magical as this flower.

You smiled to yourself and stood up, leaving the beautiful nerines behind. Maybe your reasons weren't right, but it became your favourite flower. A tiny florets with layers of delicate, ruffled petals and radiant colours immediately caught your eye.

"What are these called?" you pointed at them.

"Those are marigolds," Irene answered in an enthusiastic voice. "My favourite."

"They are your favourite only because they remind you of a male you like. Even his hair colour is similar to these," Ellen teased her laughing and Irene stuck her tongue out at her, but she laughed, too. You watched them amused.

"Well, what if even so? I like them mainly because they represent power, strength and light inside of a person," Irene countered.

Ellen giggled. "Are you describing him or the flower? And don't forget about feeling of despaired love," she sang. "He is too important to notice you."

"Hush," Irene blushed. "I know he will never think of me in a romantic way, but girl can dream."

That day you learned a lot of new things and had so much fun. Your maids who you already liked dearly, taught you names, meanings and uses of flowers that bloomed in the garden and in the end you spent entire morning outside. When you returned for lunch, you were tired, but in a good way and not because you had to run.

The following morning you woke up with a bright smile and it grew even bigger when you found a pink nerine on a pillow next to you.

Joy and security.

That's what you had been experiencing since coming here. And you felt that all only thanks to your husband, Eris. You couldn't be more grateful. You'd never thought that marriage could give you this much of a freedom and allow you to experience new and especially nice things. You used to think that it would be just another horrible prison for you, one you would have to suffer in for the rest of your life. Just like your mother.

Your heart flipped as you remembered that this fairy-like flower symbolised also affection. You wondered whether Eris had left it here for you because of what it symbolised or just because he heard that you liked the flower. Whatever was the reason behind this surprising present, now you wanted to get to know him and spend time with him even more.

You carefully picked up the flower and nuzzled it to you chest right over the heart, tears stinging your eyes. This gesture however insignificant for others, meant a world to you. Now you missed only one thing - the person who gave it to you - and you would be completely happy.

Maids beamed when they found you playing with the flower later that morning and immediately knew exactly where it came from. Ellen gently picked on you with kind smile while Irene disappeared for a moment and returned with a small crystal vase for your treasure. You placed it on a coffee table between ottomans where you could keep an eye on it.

The delicate petals sparkled in the golden rays of sun as if they were enchanted by magic. It was such an spectacle that the three of you just sat there in complete silence watching it for a good hour.

After another interesting and very instructive walk, you were excited when servants appeared with the lunch on silver trays. You were so hungry that you ate more than ever before.

After the meal was over, Ellen had to leave to take care of something, so you were left alone with Irene. She was trying to teach you how to embroider some simple pattern when a knock sounded on the doors. Irene peeked out and blushing, backed back to the room. On the threshold stood Killian with wide grin and a package tucked under his arm.

Small flames danced in his amber eyes as he watched Irene to shyly smile at him, holding the doors opened.

"Hey, dove," he cooed as he walked past her and winked at her flirtatiously.

Irene flushed even more fiercely. It looked like she was about to pass out any moment now.

"Hey, sweet sister. How do you do these days? I hope you didn't miss me too much," he greeted you merrily and bent down to hug you and peck your cheek. You almost fell off your feet in surprise.

"I'm fine," you stuttered. "Thank you for asking. And you?"

"Your husband keeps me busy, you know, but it could be worse," he laughed and gestured to you to sit down. Then he took a seat next to you, his knee touching yours. You slightly jumped up, shocked. Unaccustomed to such closeness, you sat a little further, making a gap between you. He smiled at you apologetically, but didn't say anything.

"So," he dragged out the word, "what are your little strolls like? Do you enjoy it?"

"I have to admit I like it very much. The garden is full of interesting flowers," your gaze flew to Irene who couldn't take her eyes off of Killian with dreamy expression plastered to her face. You couldn't suppress it and had to chuckle. Now it was clear who she was in love with.

Killian's eyes twinkled with mischief.

"Good to know you are enjoying it. I'm sure all the flowers are green with envy when they see such beauties like you two," he winked at Irene and she giggled like a little girl.

You couldn't help the laughter that bubbled to the surface and tried to stifle it with a hand. Your brother-in-law raised brows at you, but then he joined you. Hearing that rich, contagious sound, you started to laugh even more. His expression softened.

"I'm very pleased to see that your new company has a good influence on you and you are finally opening up," he leaned closer to whisper to you, his hand brushed over yours. "Your smile is the best reward for all my hard work."

"I guess that now, when you have seen at least a bit of your new home, you are fascinated with its beauty," he joked, but he couldn't be more accurate.

There was something about Killian and his easygoing, good nature that made you feel at ease and so you dared to tease him back a bit.

"You are right. I'm absolutely captivated."

He gaped at you, mouth slightly opened. It took him a few seconds to collect himself and then his trademark smile was back. "Well.. Was that a joke just now? Dove, did you hear it too? She joked with me! Mother's tits, I can't believe my ears! Eris won't believe me either when I tell him you joked with me." His eyes filled with pride.

You blushed but smiled nonetheless.

"Now that you are finally peeking out of that damn shell, I'd even more love to stay longer and chat with you, but unfortunately, I can't. Eris will kill me for real if I'm again late for meeting. I was supposed to only drop by to deliver you this and return. It's from him," he winked, handed you a parcel that he brought and he was already at doors.

Before he left, Killian quickly whispered something to Irene. She giggled and nodded. At threshold he turned for a second to wave you with a beaming smile and he was gone.

Even though the parcel was small it was quite heavy. Your fingers trembled as you untied the bow and carefully opened the paper. You'd never received a present.

Inside was a new looking book bound in leather. You took it out and read the title. Almanac of Plants of Autumn Court. You flipped through it frantically, noticing all the beautiful, detailed drawings on every page.

You gasped in surprise, your eyes lined with silver. With trembling hands you took the book and pressed it to your chest, allowing the tears to roll down your cheeks. How did he know that you would like to learn more about the flowers in the garden? How could he know you so well? Your heart squeezed painfully, its sound louder than any other one and even than your own thoughts. If you knew where to look for him, you would immediately run there to thank him.

At that moment you decided that you would stay up no matter what and wait for him to come to check on you that night. You wanted to see him more than anything else.

#ghost of love #gol #eris fanfic #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris vandaddy #pro eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #high lord of autumn #autumn court #high lord eris #eris fluff #eris angst #acotar #eris acosf #acosf

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