#and ensure his title had an heir

[nightblackowlbat]

Demon Twins but Danny was sacrificed to the Ghost King

So I've seen AUs where Ra's tries to sacrifice Damien to GK!Danny, and I've seen AUs where dead or injured Danyal got thrown in the pit and was transported somewhere he could be found by the Fentons instead of revived/healed.

Let's combine the two.

Ra's tried to summon the Ghost King. Since Pariah Dark was unavailable, the council of Ancients who sealed him away took turns answering his summons. (None of them bested him in single combat, but they all bested him together. Therefor the kingly responsibilities fall on all of them.)

This time it was Clockwork who showed up. Ra's proposed his bargain in exchange for one of his heirs as "sacrifice to the ghost king." Clockwork saw a potential future where Danyal became Danny became Phantom became the Ghost King. In order to make this potential future more likely, he specifies that Danyal must be sacrificed to "the Title of Ghost King"

Ra's didn't care to question the semantics, otherwise he might have found out that Clockwork was ensuring that his spare was sacrificed to Bear the Title and become the Ghost King, rather than be enslaved or killed by him.

The result was that Ra's got some minor boon from an eldritch entity he assumed was the Ghost King, and Danyal Al Ghul was taken in exchange. If you want to add extra angst, maybe Damien and Danyal had to fight for the right to not be sacrificed. And/or Clockwork, who could see that Danny would make a better king than Damien, CHOSE which twin he wanted as sacrifice.

Like imagine little Danny and Dami in a duel, the loser of which will become a sacrifice. And Damien, who cannot bear to watch his twin be doomed to that fate, throws the match so that he could be taken in his stead. And then the ritual happens and the entity refuses him. Damien has to watch as his twin brother gets dragged to hell despite his best efforts to save him.

[saltymarshmall0w]

Dp x Dc Demon twins AU

He couldn’t help the dreadful apprehension building in his gut as he approached the disaster titled “Fenton Works”. The magazine that started this all was in his lap, twisted and worn.

“Genius Child of Genius Woman Discovers Gorilla Male Actually A Female!” the cover read. 

The shock of seeing his twin brother’s face on the cover of a magazine with two adopted parents had taken Damian straight to his father, interrupting his work to shove the magazine in front of him. 

It took only four days after the debut of the magazine featuring the discovery for the Waynes to converge on Amity Park. 

It had to be a grab for their attention, of course. A magazine featuring the dead demon twin they missed the opportunity to ever meet.

Damian didn’t know what to expect from his long-dead twin. He mostly expected it to be a trick concocted by the league, having already met brainwashed clones of himself and his brother.

He hadn’t seen Danyal since he was eight years old and still naive to the league.

Damian was always the more skilled swordsman, the faster and stronger twin. The perfect soldier and heir. 

But Danyal was the “spare”, always a few seconds slower, strength giving out just a few seconds before Damian’s did. He questioned too many things and that eventually led to his death during a mission for the league. 

Of course, none of that mattered to Damian. As much as he liked being the older, better brother he much preferred having his twin by his side. Nights trading legends of the stars, whispered assurances and shared secrets. 

Just before he could ring the doorbell, the door swung open and his look-alike tumbled out of the house. 

“Yeah, I’ll be back by nine, mom!” Danyal yelled into the house, seemingly unaware of his guests as he tripped over his untied shoelace. He nearly bowled right into Damian, stopping just in time before hitting him. 

“Whoa! Sorry!” Danyal straightened, pushing his messy hair out of his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something else but snapped it closed at the appearance of his twin. 

Confusion, suspicion, and a whole myriad of expressions crossed his face, broadcasting his thoughts, before finally settling on— wonder.

“Dude, this is going to sound crazy, but you look, like, exactly like me.” 

That was how Damian found out his brother was an amnesiac.

And an idiot. 

They discovered Danyal’s identity as the town hero embarrassingly quickly, though his supposed parents didn’t notice when Phantom called them “Mo-Maddie!” 

As a civilian he was cowed by an unintelligent Jock, unknowingly stalked by a crazed conspiracy theorist, and dated one of the many “ghost hunters” that targeted Phantom. 

When Damian pointed all this out, Danny proudly let them know it was a “cover” to ensure no one would figure out his secret identity— the confident Phantom that got by on the bare bones of league instincts that remained and sheer dumb luck wasn’t the same as scaredy-cat Fenton.

His room was about as messy as Drake's, filled with the personality of a teenager untouched by the league. His friends and sister were filled with delusions of their best friend being a superhero with powers, rather than half-dead.

In a way, Damian was jealous Danyal could have such a normal life. He wasn’t weighed down by the death and pain he caused in the past. 

In other ways, Damian was grateful he wasn’t naive enough to think his own parents hunting him was “fine” or their attempts to comit war crimes on an interdimensional species “wasn’t a big deal”.

Perhaps his relapse in judgment could be forgiven. It had been six years since Damian saw his brother, in the chaos of bringing Danyal back to the manor and sending Jasmine off to an elite boarding school at her request, it wasn’t amiss that Damian had forgotten a few key details about his brother. 

Damian was always the more skilled swordsman, the faster and stronger twin. The perfect soldier and heir. 

But Danyal? 

He was an actor. He could lie, and charm and deceive better than any person Damian knew. Danyal played Mother, Grandfather and at times the entire league just to get his way. 

But he never lied to Damian before. 

At least, that was what Damian assumed, until an overcast Gotham day, where Danyal cornered Damian alone in the manor, eyes glowing an icey blue neither Phantom nor Fenton’s eyes ought to do. He wore a modern League of Assassins uniform, a familiar wakizashi blade formed from ice in his hand. 

“Grandfather wants you to quit this rebellion and come home.”

—

Other details to this idea I want but couldn’t work in

-Danny has a secret secret identity that’s a rogue that gets shit done

-Danny is lowkey annoyed Sam and Tucker were there for the whole portal incident, otherwise, he could have kept Phantom a secret. 

-Danny lived with the Fentons to steal their research and report back to Ra’s. 

-Also as a punishment for, like, questioning the league or something. 

-Danny resents Damian for being called the “spare” while Damian was the heir

-Ghost king stuff might be happening, but Danny has kept it on the DL so he could easily usurp Ra’s when he’s old enough

[seresinhangmanjake]

Could I request Feyd and reader’s wedding from “his”? Or maybe how her life changes once she’s his wife and not his mistress? I lovelovelove all the prequels, but I’m so interested to see their future together!

Forever His

Feyd-Rautha x concubine!reader

Notes/Warnings: barely smut. discussions of babies. thank you for the request and for reading <3

Words: 1350

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

You’re his now. Completely. Entirely. 

Before, anyone could have attempted to touch you, talk to you, insult you—though unwise—and no one but Feyd would have blinked an eye. Neither would they have assumed that such disrespectful behavior toward you would result in their death. A concubine is meant to be touched, spoken to however one pleases, insulted if it’s what a man needs to relieve the stress and frustration from his body. With the exception of Leto Atredies, Feyd’s the only Lord you’ve heard of who has ever given a fuck about the concubine they keep while simultaneously demanding respect for them. And on his part to ensure that, Feyd put secret rules in place when it came to you that men did not often follow. 

Being so heartless by nature, no one would expect a Harkonnen to care about anyone other than themselves—it’s risky to hint that the cold-blooded are capable of running a little warmer than rumor suggests—and for Feyd to lay out his care for you to the masses would have undoubtedly led to your death, whether by the hands of enemies or the Baron himself. But that didn’t stop Feyd from enforcing his rules and the repercussions for breaking them.

Those rules led to the deaths of many, most dramatically of his brother and a Caladanian diplomat, and it’s a wonder Feyd was able to talk himself out of the responsibility for their lives when the Baron called for an explanation. But he did. Feyd kept you alive, untouched by others, unbothered by others, respected by others because you were always his. His, at first labeled so in one way, and now, labeled so in another—as a wife. 

His wife. A Lady once more—not of your home planet, but of Giedi Prime—and though your renewed status may not change the way a Harkonnen man needs to present himself to the universe, Feyd can now be who he wants to be without the Baron lifting an eyebrow. He doesn’t have to pretend not to care for you as deeply as he does, and neither do you have to fear the choices he was making for your sake. 

From the moment Feyd kissed you in front of those who declared the validity of Geidi Prime marriages, your worries were instructed to fall in line with the duties of a wife. But with Feyd—for Feyd—it’s easy. Be his woman; stand by his side; and bear him an heir. And those things, you can do. 

—

His fingers are digging into your hips, helping guide your movements as you grind and shift your hips. He never let you on top before, and he never answered you when you asked why, but you knew it was his method of protection. A psychological need that extended to the physicalities of sex. He had to be the looming one, the consuming one, the one who shielded the other from dangers that were not present in the confines of your room. But that changed as your title changed. You’re allowed to be freer now—uninhibited—and Feyd has been willing to teach you how.

His back teeth clench, jaw sharpening with his final grunt of pleasure. With his hand on your neck, he pulls you down, lips claiming yours as he spills inside of you for the third time in the night. 

Your chest rises and falls in sync with his as you come down from the high, and then he rolls you onto your back, remaining inside of you to keep his seed from leaving your body. “Do you think it worked this time?” you ask as you regain even breaths. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he says as he tries to do the same. “We aren’t going to stop until you’re pregnant with my heir. We aren’t going to stop even once you are.”

Your chuckle is cut short by another press of his lips. Then, there is a press on your jaw. Then another on your neck. Then that kiss turns into little bites that are sure to leave marks. It feels too good to stop him, though you probably should. One of the things that works against you as a wife that did not as a concubine is the marks he makes on your body that cannot be covered by clothing. Nibbles, scratches, bruises—all acceptable on the skin of a concubine. Not as much on the skin of a bride. But it’s a propriety that Feyd could not care less for. 

“Feyd…” The vibration from his hum tickles your throat. “I’ll get stares.” Glares, more like. 

He pulls back with a quirked brow. “Ladies from other Houses eye the marks I give you and suddenly you’re bothered? What for?” He hums again, low, deep. His voice matches. “They’re jealous their Lords don’t fuck them like I fuck you.”

You snicker. “Maybe.”

Not maybe, definitely. However, you know it extends past the attention those women do not receive from their men. The fact that you were a concubine at all raises their hackles. While the Emporer and Lords have their meetings, the Ladies sit aside, offering words when requested but otherwise remaining silent, and in that silence, they have much time to think and scrutinize and judge. 

They don’t care that you were a Lady of your own planet before Feyd; they care what Feyd made you and then remade you when he decided he loved you. And now, you remind them too much of their own circumstances: a wife competing with a concubine. Except you were the concubine and then the wife while they are the wives shadowed by concubine counterparts. You’re an image of what they will never have and what their husbands wish they could have with the women they’d prefer. 

“They’re never going to like you,” Feyd interrupts your thoughts when he sees you’re lost.

“I don’t need them to like me,” you tell him. You prefer the company of the other concubines anyway—those brought alongside the wives for their Lords. Despite the complexities of your past, you connect with them better. “But either way, you need to be more considerate.”

“No,” he counters, “I need to fuck and touch and kiss my new wife however I want, and she needs to condemn anyone who gives her trouble for it.” You mock a gasp of offense. “You expect me to hold myself back with you? You want me to restrain myself when I’m trying to put a baby inside of you?”

“You make it sound silly.”

“It is,” he says. “I don’t whine about the marks you make on me.”

“Because Lords marvel at badges of honor,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. 

Feyd’s chuckle is your favorite sound. You rarely heard it before your wedding—he was always too stressed over you, concerned about your well-being—but you became addicted the moment it hit your ears. 

You wince at the discomfort of him finally pulling out, and your body instinctively follows as if to keep him where he was. When he falls onto his back, he tucks you into his side. 

“What do you think it’ll be?” he suddenly asks you.

You’re momentarily thrown off until you realize where his mind has shifted. Snuggling against him, you say, “I don’t care. As long as it’s healthy.”

“It will be,” he says.

“And as long as we can keep it safe,” you add.

Feyd swallows. You know there’s a part of him that is aware the life you have is not the life you were meant to have; that this life is a product of your lack of safeguarding; that you were taken as a prize; that he took you. And no matter the joy you’ve expressed or your previous unwillingness to consider leaving him—not that he ever entertained returning you—trying to have a child has made it impossible for him to forget how you met. He struggles. Something in you appreciates that about him. It means you helped to change him for the better. It means when he becomes a father, he will approach it differently than his own parents once did. 

“We can,” he promises you. “And we will.”

[redroomreflections]

Just Once More

Natasha Romanoff xFem!Reader

Missed Connections Universe - you can read here.

Summary: Princess Natasha of Russia, is to be wed to Prince Amir of Senoria, the only problem is his younger sister catches her eye.

This installment: Natasha is lonely while Prince Amir is away.

Warnings: Cunnilingus, fingering, nipple play, virginity loss

Note: Another contribution to society. It was in my drafts and I left it here to rot like all my other drafts. Then I picked it up because I was inspired by kinktober.

w/c: 6.3k

The heavy silk sheets felt more like a cage than a comfort. Natasha turned onto her side for what felt like the hundredth time that night, her restless body unable to find peace. Her eyes remained wide open, staring at the ceiling, while her mind raced with thoughts she couldn’t quiet.

The palace was silent. Too silent.

She could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall, each second pulling her further from any chance of sleep. The bed, grand and soft, offered no relief from the gnawing ache in her chest. The emptiness beside her, Amir’s absence, was supposed to be a reprieve. But all it did was remind her of how far apart they had grown—how hollow everything between them had become. She supposed they had a good marriage so far. They barely bickered, hung out often, and had a lot of fun together. He simply didn't feel like a husband. She didn't love him. Not in the romantic sense at least.

She exhaled sharply, frustration building as she twisted the sheets around her fingers. She thought she’d be better at this by now—this life of royalty, this performance. But the truth lingered just below the surface: no title, no crown could cover the fact that she couldn’t give him what he needed. What they expected.

An heir.

The word itself made her feel sick.

Natasha's jaw tightened as she turned over again, her back now facing the wide, empty room. The weight of it all pressed down on her, a constant, heavy reminder of her failure. It wasn't just Amir. It was the whispers in the halls, the subtle looks from the court, and the cold distance that had grown between her and the man she had promised to stand beside.

She couldn’t do it anymore. Not tonight. In the darkness, Natasha pushed the covers off her, the chill of the night air hitting her bare skin. She moved with quiet determination, slipping out of bed and reaching for the robe draped over a nearby chair. As she tied it around her waist, her heart pounded—not from fear, but from the desperate need for something real, something she hadn’t felt in far too long.

Her feet moved before she could think to stop them, carrying her toward the door. She didn’t need to think. She knew where she was going. Natasha glanced down the hall, ensuring it was empty before slipping out of her room. The palace was asleep, its inhabitants tucked away in their rooms, none the wiser to her midnight escape.

The sound of her bare feet against the cold marble floor echoed softly as she made her way to your bed chambers. It was quiet on the trek from her sleeping quarters.

Your room was closer to the guest wing than hers. A benefit of being a royal sibling, she thought, as opposed to the consort of one. The palace had never felt quite like home to her, and her husband never like a husband.

But you? You were something else entirely.

Natasha was used to the feeling of loneliness, but somehow it had intensified over the past six months, growing heavier as time went on. In the midst of it, you were the bright spot in her otherwise monotonous life.

Your friendship came as a surprise. Natasha had always been the odd one out, an outsider, someone to observe rather than befriend. She found that you were the total opposite of your brother. While he was all business and formal, you were warmth and at ease. Where Amir’s touch was distant, and calculated, yours was always genuine, whether a brush of fingers in passing or a comforting hand on her arm when she needed it most. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything—it couldn’t. But the line between what was and what wasn’t had blurred long ago, and tonight, it had all become too much to ignore.

Natasha slowed her steps as she neared your door, her heart pounding louder than the soft footfalls on the marble behind her. She pressed her hand to the cool wood, hesitating for a brief moment. What was she doing? She wasn’t supposed to be here, not like this, and certainly not while Amir was away. But the ache in her chest, the unbearable weight of everything she couldn’t say, pushed her forward.

You were the only one who made her feel like herself again, the only one who didn’t look at her and see a crown, or a title, or a failure. She'd kept her promise not to tell your secret. You had intentionally kept your distance because of it. Though she couldn't figure out why. Her hand came to the door in rapid succession. One. Two. Three.

There was no turning back now.

She listened intently, her head cocked slightly as she tried to make out any signs of movement from inside. A faint rustling sound caught her attention, and she took it as an invitation to push open the door.

"Y/n?" She asked softly.

"Who is it?" Your voice sounded, a bit confused. "Natasha? Is that you?"

"Yes. May I enter?"

"Of course."

You had been in bed when she'd knocked, your feet propped up against the pillows as you read a book. You sat up in bed, the delicate fabric of your nightgown shifting as you moved. It was a simple slip dress, made of soft, lightweight material that clung loosely to your form, falling just below your knees. The top was sleeveless, dipping low between your breasts, the neckline accented with a fine lace trim.

You placed your book down, sliding off the edge of the bed and walking towards the door.

"Is everything alright?" You asked. "It's a little late."

"I know," Natasha sighed. "I just..."

You opened the door wider, a soft smile gracing your lips as you stepped aside.

"Come in."

Natasha looked around. It's the first time she's been in your bedroom. Natasha hesitated for a moment, her eyes scanning the space before stepping inside. The room was cozy, far more inviting than her chambers. A soft glow emanated from the single lantern on your nightstand, casting warm shadows across the walls. The scent of lavender lingered in the air, likely from the small bundle of dried flowers near the window. It was a different than the cold, impersonal decor of her room, which always felt more like a gilded cage than a sanctuary.

She lingered by the door, her fingers brushing the smooth wood as she took it all in. Everything about the space felt more... you. The personal touches, the lived-in comfort, the warmth—it made her realize how lonely she felt in the stark emptiness of her quarters.

“This is... nice,” Natasha said, her voice quiet, almost as if she didn’t want to disturb the peace of the room.

You closed the door behind her, the soft click cutting through the silence. “It’s nothing special, really,” you shrugged. “Just a place to sleep.”

Natasha's eyes flickered to the bed, where you’d just been lounging, the impression of your body still visible in the rumpled sheets. For a moment, she was tempted to tell you why she was there—how the weight of her title, her inability to provide an heir, and the growing distance between her and Amir were suffocating her. But the words lodged themselves in her throat, heavy with the burden of expectation.

"Ah, missing my brother aren't you?" You guessed.

"Yes," she nodded, not bothering to hide the lie.

"That's why you're here?"

"Yes."

"Oh." You looked away for a moment, clearing your throat before meeting her gaze. There was a brief silence as the weight of your words hung in the air. Natasha could see the flicker of disappointment in your eyes, though you tried to mask it with a soft smile. It made her chest tighten, a pang of guilt twisting in her stomach. She hadn’t come here to talk about Amir, but how could she explain that without unraveling everything?

You gestured towards the bed, inviting her to sit. Natasha perched on the edge of the mattress, the soft comforter a stark contrast to the stiff, unwelcoming sheets in her room. She ran her fingers over the fabric, letting herself get lost in the simple act of touch.

You walked over to the nightstand, the floor cold against your bare feet. You turned back to Natasha, a playful glint in your eye. “Would you like to play a game?” You opened your nightstand drawer and pulled out a well-worn deck of playing cards, the corners slightly frayed from use.

“I thought you might be missing my brother,” you teased, fanning the cards out in your hand. “But maybe you just need someone to play with.”

Natasha’s lips curved into a faint smile, the weight of her worries momentarily lifted by the simple gesture. “What do you have in mind?”

You grinned, shuffling the cards with a practiced hand. “How about a classic game of Rummy? Or we could play a round of Blackjack—unless you’re feeling lucky.”

“Blackjack sounds good,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

As you both settled onto the edge of the bed, the tension in the air faded, replaced by a comfortable camaraderie. You dealt the cards, the quiet shuffle and snap of the deck punctuating the stillness of the night.

You slid the deck over, and she took it. She dealt out the rest of the cards, taking a moment to glance at her hand.

"So, how's life as Princess Consort of Senoria soon to be future Queen," You asked.

Natasha frowned slightly, her fingers tapping idly on the cards in her hand. "It's been good."

"Just good?" You arched an eyebrow.

Natasha shrugged, the question weighing on her mind. It was the first time she'd been asked that question, and it wasn't one she had an answer to. "I think things are going well."

"You mean my brother hasn't been showing you a good time?"

Natasha shook her head. "No. No, no. We've just been busy. There's a lot of things going on and we've had our projects."

You smirked. "Well, if you ever want a better tour, I'd be more than happy to oblige."

"When you're not avoiding me?" Natasha blurted.

You stopped, surprised at the sudden candor. You hadn't expected her to be so direct, especially not about that. You paused, a guilty expression washing over your features.

"I wasn't..." You shook your head. "I have my own life to live."

"And yet, here you are," she pointed out.

"In my bedroom yes," You nodded. "It's usually where I am at this hour."

Natasha pursed her lips. She didn't believe you, and from the way you averted your gaze, neither did you. You hadn't seen each other outside of public events since the wedding. You liked it that way. Less room for confusion.

"Something's bothering you," You guessed as you played your hand.

"How would you know?" She shot back, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"Well, I haven't seen you in months, so..."

Natasha's gaze fell, her hand hovering over the cards. She didn't know if she could trust you. You tilted your head, studying her expression closely. “You know, if you wanted to talk about it…” You began, trailing off as Natasha shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, but the tightness around her eyes betrayed her.

“Are you?” You pressed gently, your curiosity piqued. “It’s been six months, and I can’t help but notice how you light up around others, but you seem… different around Amir.”

Natasha sighed, her gaze dropping to the cards in her hand. “It’s just… there’s a lot of pressure,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Everyone expects me to provide an heir, and it feels like every day that passes just adds to that weight.”

You nodded, absorbing her words. “That’s a heavy burden to carry,” you said softly. “Have you talked to Amir about how you feel?”

“He’s… focused on his duties,” She answered a hint of sadness in her tone. “I don’t want to add to his stress. He has so much to manage already.”

“But you matter too, Natasha,” You urged, your brow furrowing. “You’re more than just a title. You deserve to be happy, to feel supported.”

A flicker of vulnerability crossed her face. “I don’t know if he sees me that way,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “Sometimes I wonder if he even notices I’m struggling.”

You squeezed her hand gently, determined to show her that she was not alone. “He should,” you said firmly. “You’re not just a consort; you’re a partner. He needs to know how you’re feeling.”

Natasha met your gaze, a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty in her eyes. “You make it sound so easy,” she replied, a small smile breaking through her sadness. “But it’s not.”

“Maybe not easy,” You agreed. "I know my brother." There was a pause.

"Can I ask you a question?" Natasha asked. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear nervously.

"Shoot." You said as you reached over for a sip of water.

"How much do you know about sex?"

You choked on the sip of water, trying to cover up the cough. "Not a lot."

"You seem very informed," Natasha countered.

"I've read a few books." You set down your goblet. "Listened to stories as you have done. I think you'd know more than me. Seeing as you've done it and all."

"Not willingly." She muttered and your eyes widened. "I don't mean he's hurt me. I just...it's not exciting. I used to hear the handmaidens talk back in the palace at home. They would describe it with such passion and emotion."

"And you're not getting that?" You cringed. Hearing of your brother and Natasha in bed was the last thing you needed.

"I don't even think we're having sex," she admitted. "He's good to me. He's gentle. I feel things but..."

You let out a groan. "God, you are my sister now and I never needed to hear this."

"I'm sorry," She frowned. "I have no one to speak of this with."

"Why not your mother? Surely she can help."

"My mother?" She blanched. "No. Absolutely not. She's more old-fashioned. She thinks I should fulfill my duties and that's it. What if things we are doing currently is what prevents us from having an heir? What if I'm not doing something right?"

You shifted a bit. "I don't know if I'm the person to ask about this."

"Please," she begged. "You're the only one I can trust."

"Alright, alright." You sighed. "Look, you just need to focus on the act and not what happens after."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, enjoy yourself. Do what feels good, not what Amir wants."

"He's my husband," Natasha blinked.

"Exactly."

"So, I should do what makes me happy?"

"Exactly," You repeated. "Do something for yourself. I think he would enjoy it." You would need to wash your brain after this conversation.

Natasha bit her bottom lip, considering the idea. Maybe you were right. Maybe she did need to take control of the situation, rather than let Amir lead. Maybe if she tried something different, she would feel more connected to him.

She took a deep breath. "Is that what you do?"

"What?"

"Do you do what feels good for yourself?"

You stared at her for a moment. "That's not appropriate."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not married," You countered. "It's different."

"How?"

"It's just not the same," You shook your head.

"But..." Natasha paused. "Are you not satisfied either?"

You blinked. "Natasha, it's not about satisfaction."

"So, you are?"

"This is not the conversation I was expecting to have with you," You mumbled, your cheeks heating up. Natasha deflated. It seems she would be getting nowhere. Not that it was any of her business.

"I'm sorry," She muttered.

"It's alright."

"No, it's not."

"Hey," You took her hand. "If you're not happy then do something about it."

"What if I'm not supposed to be happy?"

"Then make the most of what you have." You offered her a kind smile. "There's more to life than just a marriage, Nat."

She returned the smile, grateful for your friendship. Maybe things weren't so hopeless after all. Maybe she could find a way to make things work with Amir. And maybe, just maybe, she could be happy.

"I don't want to go back to my room," Natasha said. "It's lonely."

"Do you want to stay here?"

"Really?" Her eyes lit up, a look of excitement flashing across her features.

"Of course," You nodded. "I mean, I'd feel bad kicking you out."

"Thank you," She smiled. "I'll be gone in the morning. You won't even know I was here."

"Oh, I'll know," You chuckled.

"Well, then maybe we'll have breakfast together," She suggested. "Would that be alright?"

"I would love that," You grinned. "But I need to get some sleep. I have a busy day tomorrow." You returned the deck of cards to your nightstand. You reach over to turn off the lantern.

Natasha's expression fell, a slight pout forming on her lips. She stood, turning away from you, to take off her robe and drape it over a nearby chair. As Natasha moved away to remove her robe, you felt an unexpected flutter of nerves in your stomach. It was one thing to share a space with her while playing cards, the tension between you eased by laughter and light conversation. But now, as the soft fabric slipped from her shoulders and hung over the chair, the atmosphere shifted.

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything other than the way her silhouette contrasted against the dim light. The way she carried herself was both confident and delicate, a combination that left you feeling unsteady.

Your heart raced as you considered the implications of her staying the night. It was thrilling, yet terrifying. The very idea sent a rush of warmth through you, mixed with the fear of crossing an unspoken boundary. What if she misread your kindness? What if this moment changed everything between you?

“I—uh, I’ll just,” you stammered, trying to regain your composure. You busied yourself straightening the covers on the bed, your hands fidgeting nervously as you avoided looking directly at her. “I’ll get you some blankets.” You said, inadvertently referring to the way her nipples hardened at the slightest bit of cool air.

“Hey,” Natasha said softly, her voice cutting through your internal disorder. She folded her arms over her chest. You finally met her gaze, and the warmth in her eyes made your heart skip. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’m fine.”

Her reassurance did little to calm your nerves. You could feel the weight of the silence stretching between you, thick with unsaid words and unacknowledged feelings. “It’s just… I want you to be comfortable,” you managed, trying to maintain a casual tone while your heart raced.

“Trust me, I am,” she said, took a step closer on her side of the bed, she smiled.

You took a breath. She was right. It was just a friendly gesture. There was nothing more to it. You were just being polite. You forced a smile and climbed into the bed, slipping beneath the sheets. Natasha hesitated a moment, then joined you.

She rested her head on the pillow, lying on her back. You matched her position. She could barely make out your features in the dim light.

"So, you are to marry Hosi of Wakanda?" She asked.

"I guess so," You sighed.

"I'm sure he will treat you well."

"Do you know him?"

"Only by reputation."

"Which is?"

"He's a good man."

"That might be the problem," You muttered. "He's a man."

Natasha's brow furrowed slightly, catching the hint of your reluctance. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, trying to brush off the weight of your thoughts, but the truth lingered in the air between you. “It’s just… I’m not really into men, you know? Hosi might be a good man, but he’s still a man.”

A flicker of understanding crossed Natasha’s face, and she leaned back against the bed, her expression softening. “I see.”

“It’s complicated,” you continued, your voice dropping to a whisper as if saying it out loud might somehow make it more real. “I’ve known for a long time that I’m attracted to women, but it doesn’t matter. In this world, it’s expected that I marry a man. That I produce heirs. That I fulfill my duty.”

“Doesn’t sound like a life you want for yourself,” Natasha observed gently.

You looked away, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on the walls. “It’s not. But what choice do I have? I can’t just defy my family. I can’t risk their wrath. And besides,” you sighed, forcing a laugh that didn’t quite reach your eyes, “who would want me? A woman who loves women? That’s not exactly what the kingdom needs.”

Natasha regarded you with a seriousness that made your heart race. “You deserve to be happy, regardless of what anyone else thinks. You shouldn’t have to sacrifice your desires for the sake of duty.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and profound, as you wrestled with the truth in them. You wanted to believe it, to embrace the idea that your happiness mattered. But the constraints of your reality weighed heavily on you, and fear clawed at your throat.

"If you could marry anyone and be anywhere what would your wife be like?"

"She'd be someone who understands me."

"Who's that?"

"I don't know." You answered honestly. "She'd be kind. She'd be fierce."

"And?"

"Smart, strong." You sighed. "It doesn't matter."

"It does matter," She assured you. "It matters to you."

"I don't have the luxury of choosing." You sighed. "I just wish I'd taken the chance to lie with Akira before this marriage."

"Akira?"

"The woman from the ball in your kingdom. The handmaiden," You reminded her.

"Did you have feelings for her?"

"No," You admitted. It wasn’t entirely the truth. She didn’t need to hear it. "I didn't. It was just physical."

"Ah," Natasha nodded. "How do you imagine it would be with a woman?"

"You ask a lot of questions, Princess," You teased.

"Well, you're my friend. I want to know what makes you happy," She answered earnestly.

"I suppose it would be tender," You pondered. "Caring, passionate."

"And how would you imagine the act itself?"

You paused. The question had thrown you. You had never spoken of sex, or pleasure, in such detail with anyone before. And now, here you were, lying in bed with your brother's wife, discussing intimacy.

"I'm not sure," You replied carefully, uncertain how to respond.

"You've never pleasured yourself?"

"Of course, I have," You laughed, hoping to dispel the sudden tension. "That's the question you've been trying to get me to answer all night."

"How do you touch yourself?"

"Are you sure you want to know the answer?" You quirked an eyebrow. "You're a married woman now, remember?"

Natasha blushed. "It's not a sin to be curious."

You rolled onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow, facing her. "Well, when I'm alone and there's no one to interrupt, I start by undressing. I let my hands wander over my body, feeling the warmth of my skin."

"And then?"

"I imagine what it would feel like if it was someone else touching me." You continued, your voice dropping to a low whisper. "I close my eyes and pretend that it's a lover's hands on my skin, caressing me, bringing me pleasure."

Natasha's eyes flickered with something you couldn't quite place.

"Do you think of a specific person?" She asked.

"Sometimes."

"Who is it, usually?"

"It's not always the same person," You answered, evading her question.

"So, it's not the same person each time?"

"No," You replied, your breath catching as Natasha's hand brushed against yours.

"So, it changes."

"Yes." You closed your eyes. Her hands rest on your, encircling your wrist. Your skin is hypersensitive to her touch as she strokes your inner wrist. "You are my brother's wife."

"And that bothers you."

"It shouldn't."

"But it does."

"Can we not do this?"

"Do what?"

"This," You gestured between the two of you. "Don't do something you are going to regret. "

"Do you think I'm not going to regret this?"

"Regret what, exactly?"

"You and me, lying in this bed together, talking about these things."

"I'm unsure," You furrowed your brow.

"What do you want, Y/N?"

"I shouldn't have brought you here."

"But you did. Why?"

"You said you were lonely," You answered. "I didn't want you to feel that way."

"I appreciate the sentiment," She replied.

"I didn't want you to sleep alone, and I didn't want to wake my servant."

"That's not an answer."

"What do you want from me?" You questioned. "What are we doing?"

"We're just talking."

"About sex."

"About pleasure."

"You're my sister-in-law."

"That doesn't mean we can't talk about it."

"We can't go down this path," You sighed. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because," You struggled to find the words. Before you could silence the thoughts racing through your mind, Natasha leaned forward and kissed you. It wasn't passionate or life-changing. It was a simple pressing of lips. It ignited a fire deep within your belly. You could taste the remnants of wine on her lips.

She pulled away, a hint of nervousness in her eyes. "Is that not okay?"

"You're my brother's wife," You repeated, almost as if reminding yourself.

"It doesn't have to mean anything," Natasha whispered, her lips mere inches from yours.

"This is dangerous," You warned, your resolve crumbling.

"Only if we let it be," She murmured, closing the distance between you once again. This time, the kiss was deeper, more intense. Her lips were soft and warm, sending shivers of pleasure through you.

As the kiss deepened, the air between you crackled with tension and desire. You could feel the heat rising in your body, the need for more consuming you. You let out a moan as Natasha's tongue danced with yours. Her hands were on your skin, exploring, caressing, bringing you closer to her.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, your heart racing. You knew that if you kept going, there would be no turning back. But the look in Natasha's eyes was enough to convince you that you didn't want to turn back.

"Natasha, are you sure about this?" You whispered your voice husky with need.

"I want this," She answered, her eyes dark with lust. "Do you?"

"Yes," You breathed, losing yourself in the moment.

You surrendered to her, giving in to the passion that had been simmering beneath the surface. You gripped the fabric of her dress as you kissed her. Your tongues danced, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Natasha's hands were everywhere, touching, caressing, teasing.

The heat between you was intoxicating. You could feel her body pressed against yours, the heat of her skin searing into yours. You wanted more. You needed more.

You pulled her dress off and tossed it aside. You couldn't get enough of her. Her skin was soft and warm, and the feeling of her body against yours was exhilarating.

Natasha's hands explored your body, tracing the contours of your curves. Her touch was electric, sending jolts of pleasure through you. You moaned as her fingers trailed over your breasts, teasing the sensitive flesh. She swirled her thumb over your nipple, toying with it through the fabric.

"Has anyone ever touched you like this before?" She asked. Her question was met with a quiet whimper. She leaned forward and caught the hardening bud between her lips. You gasped as she suckled it, sending bolts of pleasure through you.

"Never," You breathed, the word coming out as a moan. Of course, you'd come close to this but you never allowed anyone to touch you so intimately. There had been quick fumbling and the ghost of fingers along your body but nothing like this. Natasha's mouth was talented, so wet and warm. It took everything you had not to come from the stimulation.

"You're sensitive," She hummed, moving her attention to the other side. "It feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes," You moaned as you rested a hand on the back of her head. "Don't stop."

"I won't," She promised.

You let yourself sink into the sensation, the feeling of her lips on your skin, her tongue swirling around your nipple, her hands caressing your body. You knew it was wrong to be here with her like this. You'd hate yourself in the morning. But right now, all you could focus on was the pleasure, the exquisite feeling of her touch.

Natasha kissed a path down your body, her tongue tracing a trail along your skin.

"Take this off," You muttered to her as you pushed at her shift. You needed some form of control in this situation. If you let her take charge, there would be no stopping this.

Natasha obliged and tossed the garment aside. She resumed her exploration of your body, her lips trailing lower and lower. She tugged at yours too, pushing it over your head.

She returned to her position at your chest. She nipped at the sensitive skin of your stomach. You shuddered and arched into her, craving more contact. Her hands skimmed up the length of your thighs, pushing them apart. She settled herself between your legs, her breath hot against your skin.

You watched her with bated breath as she moved her mouth to the apex of your thighs.

"Fuck," You swore as her tongue traced a path along your inner thigh.

"Does that feel good?" She asked, a smirk tugging at her lips.

"Yes," You breathed. "Don't stop."

Natasha chuckled softly, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through you. She resumed her exploration, her lips moving closer and closer to your core. She'd never done this before. Neither had you. You'd had lovers but they'd never gotten this far. It had always been hurried, awkward encounters that had left you wanting. But Natasha... Natasha knew exactly what she was doing.

She kissed your mound. Your legs trembled, and you fought to keep them open. You wanted to give her access to everything. Her tongue traced a line along the seam of your pussy, teasing and tasting. You whimpered, unable to hold back. Natasha seemed to like the taste of you as she licked again.

"I thought you didn't know about this," You muttered as a curse formed on the tip of your tongue. "Where did you learn?"

"I've read a few books too," She answered, her voice thick with desire.

"And books taught you how to do this?"

"I like to learn new things," She smirked before flicking her tongue against your clit.

Your body tensed, and you gasped, the sensation so intense.

"Natasha, fuck."

She hummed in response, the vibrations driving you wild.

You reached out and buried your fingers in her hair, needing something to ground you.

"Who knew the princess knew such colorful words," She teased as she pressed her lips to the sensitive bud.

"Shut up and keep going," You growled, pulling her back to you.

Natasha chuckled but complied, her tongue exploring the length of your sex. She teased and tasted, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the pleasure building inside you, the tension coiling in your core.

She lapped at your clit, drawing the sensitive bud into her mouth. You moaned, the sound reverberating off the walls. She looked up, her green eyes meeting yours, and you felt the coil in your belly tighten.

"I want to make you feel good," She whispered, her voice husky with desire. "I want to watch you fall apart."

"Keep doing what you're doing," You breathed.

Natasha smiled and dipped her tongue into your folds, fucking you with her tongue.

You cried out, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

"Natasha, I'm going to-"

She didn't let you finish. She slid a finger inside you, curling it, stroking that perfect spot. The slight pain of being penetrated for the first time caught you off guard. You tightened your legs around her head, and Natasha groaned against you. The sensation drove you over the edge, and you came hard, crying out as the pleasure washed over you.

Natasha rode out the waves of your orgasm, her tongue lapping at your juices.

You fell back against the pillows, panting, the aftershocks rippling through your body.

"That was... incredible," You gasped, the words barely audible.

Natasha chuckled and crawled up beside you, her fingers still slick with your arousal.

"I hope that was okay," Natasha said shyly.

"That was... better than okay," You sighed, the pleasure still lingering. You quite enjoyed the ache between your thighs.

"So, that was your first time?"

"It was," You confirmed. "And you? You've never done this before?"

"No," She shook her head. "You were the first woman I've been with."

"So, how did you know what to do?"

"I told you," She replied, a smirk on her face. "I like to read."

"Books don't teach you how to do that," You insisted, shaking your head.

"I'm naturally gifted then," She shrugged.

"You're insufferable," You rolled your eyes, despite the smile tugging at your lips.

"I'm not the one who's insufferable," She grinned, leaning in for a kiss. You could taste yourself on her lips. It was erotic and intoxicating. You wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

"I want to pleasure you too," You whispered against her lips. "Of the two of us, you're the one who hasn't had an orgasm before."

"Is that what it's called? What just happened to you at the end?" Natasha asked.

"That was an orgasm," You nodded.

"That's a strange name for it," She chuckled.

"Well, that's what it's called," You shrugged. "What would you call it?"

"I'm not sure," She said thoughtfully. "Something nicer than an orgasm."

"An 'orgasm' is a perfectly fine word," You laughed.

"It's not," She shook her head.

"What books have you been reading?" You asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh, the usual," She shrugged, feigning innocence. "Poetry. The Bible."

"You've been reading erotic poetry," You laughed.

"Perhaps," She winked.

"Then it's only fair that I should return the favor," You replied, leaning in for another kiss.

"I'd like that," She murmured.

You rolled her onto her back, taking the opportunity to explore her body.

Her skin was soft and warm, and she squirmed beneath your touch.

You trailed your fingers over her breasts, teasing her nipples. She gasped, arching into your touch.

"Do you like that?" You whispered.

"Yes," She breathed, her voice thick with desire.

You bent your head, capturing a nipple between your lips. You sucked gently, swirling your tongue around the hardened bud. Natasha moaned, her fingers clutching the sheets beneath her.

"Fuck," She swore, her voice cracking.

"Good girl," You smirked, the praise escaping your lips before you could stop it. Your fingers trailed a path down her body. She was soft to the touch, her body trembling under yours.

"Y/N, please," She begged, the desire in her voice evident.

"I've got you," You soothed, your hand moving between her thighs. You felt around the soft curls of her pussy,

"Fuck," Natasha gasped as your fingers brushed against her folds. You dipped a finger inside, finding her soaked with desire.

"I'm going to make you feel so good," You whispered, your voice full of promise.

"Please," She breathed.

You slid a finger inside her, and she moaned, the sound sending a shiver of pleasure through you.

"That's a good girl," You cooed, her pussy clenching around your finger.

"It feels good," She whimpered, her hips bucking.

"I know, sweet girl," You soothed.

You added a second finger, curling them, stroking that perfect spot. Natasha cried out, the sound echoing off the walls. You could tell she was close, her body trembling beneath yours. You kissed her quickly, swallowing her moans, hoping that one of the guards wouldn't come to investigate.

"I want you to come for me," You whispered, the words coming out as a command.

Natasha cried out, her orgasm hitting her hard. You rode out the waves, continuing to stroke her, drawing out her pleasure.

"Good girl," You praised, pulling her into a deep kiss.

"That was amazing," She gasped, the words barely audible. "Are you sure this was your first time doing that?"

"It was my first time doing it to someone else," You reminded her. "Though I'm sure you wouldn't like to hear about me and Akira."

"No," Natasha shook her head.

"Well, now we're even," You smiled.

"Thank you," She murmured, snuggling closer to you.

"I didn't do it for thanks," You replied, stroking her hair.

"Can we do it again?" She asked.

"Natasha," You began. You didn't want to disappoint her. She was still your brother's wife.

"Please, just once more," She begged, her eyes pleading.

"Just once more," You relented, unable to deny her.

"Good," She smiled, capturing your lips in a kiss.

"And after that?" You asked, breaking the kiss.

"We'll see where the night takes us," She replied, her eyes full of mischief.

You surrendered to her, losing yourself in the pleasure and the sin.

[the20thangel]

The Dragon and The Raven a Benjicot (davos) Blackwood x Targaryen Oc Fanfiction

Davos (Not Bloody Ben, but the fandom likes him) Blackwood has a hold of me! So I decided to FanCast the actor Kerian Burton as Benjicot in the fanfiction of Benjicot Blackwood/ OC Targaryen. I hope you all enjoy. (Can also be found on A03 under the same title.)

Disclaimer: I am rusty on my writing, so please, I ask for kindness when reading; remember, this is written in good fun, and because I am keeping hope, Kerian is brought back as an actual Benjicot!

Keep up with the story: masterlist

“House Blackwood and House Bracken have engaged each other, which is being called the first battle of the war, the Battle of Burning Mill.”

Stated Maester Gerardys as everyone in the throne room sat in tense silence, looking at their Queen. Queen Rhaenyra looked back at her council, knowing how at state this battle had come. The realm is officially at war, on one side, the Blacks and the other Greens. House Blackwood had declared for her, while Bracken for her usurper of a brother. On the other side of the war table stood Prince Jacaerys with his younger sister, Princess Aemma, while Jacaerys was born with brown hair and eyes. Aemma was graced with Velayron's white hair, although not as coily but with looser curls like her mother’s, with violet eyes and a slight tan to her skin. Her face was uncanny to her namesake, so much that her kingly grandsire wept when he first held her. She was the proof that her mother and father, Laenor Velayron, could produce heirs to the realm and dissuade any rumors from the greens… that was until her beloved brother Luke was born.

 Aemma knew what this meant; if House Blackwood and Bracken had engaged, each declaring to be fighting for either faction, there was no turning back; war was here. Aemma snapped out of her thoughts to her mother, asking about the casualties. 

“Both sides have suffered significant losses, my Queen. Samwell and Davos Blackwood, as well as Amos Bracken, have all fallen,” Gerardys explained, his voice carrying the weight of the news as he rummaged through his notes. 

“Benjicot Blackwood, Davos’s Twin Brother, is now Lord of Raventree Hall, and he has reaffirmed his father’s and brother's claim of declaring as you Queen Rhaenyra, the true ruler of the seven kingdoms.” 

“House Blackwood has excellent numbers for soldiers; this will benefit our cause, your Grace. Once Prince Daemon takes Harrenhall and has House Blackwood stationed there, the rest of the Riverlands will soon follow to showcase our true power to the greens.” 

Aemma’s grandmother, Princess Rhaenys, stated as she entered the throne room. Rhaenys paused at Aemma to grace her with a smile and a quick hug before sitting beside her mother. Aemma noticed the lack of greeting towards her brother, remembering that she was their grandmother’s favorite among her mother's children. Most likely, it was due to looking the closest to Ser Laenor. 

Nevertheless, Jace did not seem to notice, “We should thank them, Mother, to show them how much we appreciate their support,” exclaimed Jace before continuing. “I will go to Raventree hall personally, and -” 

“No! No, Jace, I need you here as my heir,” rebuffed Rhaenyra. Aemma’s heart pulled, knowing ever since Luke, their mother has been grieving and fearing that more of her children will be taken from her. That is why she had made the difficult decision to send Joffery, Aegon, and Viserys to the Vale. Ensure the youngest are safe from the horrors this war is to bring. 

“We will send a raven thanking Lord Benjicot for his pledge. Now, is there anything else that we need to discuss today?” 

The lords all scanned each other before shaking their heads no. With that, each stood and left the hall individually, leaving only Jacaerys, Aemma, Rhaenys, and Rhaeynra in the room. 

“Rhaeynra, what Jace said is true; we should show appreciation to House Blackwood, especially after they lost so much for our case,” argued Rhaenys while Rhaeynra looked down and played with her rings, showing off her nervousness. 

“We will, as I stated, a raven will be sent to them and-” 

Aemma moved forward to her mother, “ Muna, as much as that is a good idea, I feel a simple raven will not be enough. If Jace cannot go, then let me.” 

Rhaeynra stood up from her seat and took Aemma's face into her hands while shaking her head. 

“ Absolutely not; I will not be sending you, my pearl, where Aemond or worse, Aegon can capture you… my heart will not be able to take it.” Whispered Rhaeynra, tears welling up in her eyes. 

Aemma closed her eyes and exhaled. She understood her mother’s worry, but she had the blood of the dragon and is the rider of Sliverwing, Good Queen Alyssane’s previous mount.  She was raised by the Rouge Prince and the Queen who Never Was. She knew how to fight; how could her mother expect to find more allies if she hindered her decisions due to her fears? 

“Muna, I am the princess of blood. We need to bring in our allies. It's true that Jace is your heir and needs to be by your side. So let me be the protector of our family and invoke the creed of Belon the Brave. If our allies, especially House Blackwood, see that someone is personally sent to thank them for their support, they will never have thought of betrayal in their minds.” Soothed Aemma as she took her mother's hands into her own—Violet staring at Violet. 

Aemma could see her mother wavering, for Rhaeynra knew her daughter’s words speak truth. Her daughter had a natural charm inherited from her father, but behind those sweet words and charming smiles hid the cunning nature her daughter had learned from Daemon. Aemma was indeed both Leanor and Daemon’s daughter. 

Rhaeynra sighed before nodding, “Very well, Aemma, you will go to Raventree Hall with my message, food, and medical supplies to help replenish House Blackwood… Please be safe.” 

Princess Aemma bowed to her mother and left to ready herself and Silverwing for the Journey. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Upon reaching RavenTree Hall, Aemma wanted to weep; as she walked around, so many bodies littered the hall to be prepared for burial. Aemma stopped at a lanky young man with brown hair, his face covered with blood, wearing proudly the red and black colors similar to her own house. Looking at him made Aemma want to cry; he reminded her so much of Lucerys, her sweet brother taken from them by her kin-slaying uncle. 

“ Davos Blackwood, my princess.” 

Broke Aemma’s staring, as she flushed with embarrassment at being caught staring, which could be seen as rude, especially her being a guest. Aemma turned to its owner's husky yet shy voice and breathed sharply as she stared at the young man before her. Who looked almost exactly like the young man she was just staring at. 

The young man was looking down at the body for a second before raising his sight to Aemma and bowing to her before speaking again.

“That is Davos Blackwood… he... he was my twin brother.” Aemma realized now that Benjicot Blackwood was speaking quietly with great sadness as she could again relate, her wound of losing a dear brother being opened again. 

Aemma could only give a small smile in hopes of soothing the ache as she greeted the newly appointed lord of Raventree Hall. 

“Lord Benjicot, my mother and I thank you for receiving me into your home, especially in this trying time; I wish to express sorrow for the loss of your father and twin brother.” 

She could see more and more people stopping to stare at her and Benjicot, wanting to hear their conversation. Benjicot himself returned a shy smile to the princess. 

“Thank you, my princess-”

“Aemma.” Stated the princess before continuing, “ You may call me Aemma, but I fear I will grow tired of hearing ‘my princess’ so much.” 

Benjicot stared at Princess Aemma for a second before changing his smile to more of a smirk. 

“Very, Aemma. Thank you for your condolences. I ask you to call me Benji or Ben. It seems only fair.” 

Aemma returned her smile, feeling more confident than before, and returned to staring across the hall. Benji followed her sight, seeing his twin in the masses and understanding that the princess truly understood his pain. For she also had lost a father and brother. With a newfound ease, he asked the princess to join him for a tour of his hall, not wanting to be stared at by his people and not wanting to stay too close to his brother, for it hurt too much to look at him still. Asking for an arm to be hooked around his, he began his tour around the hall. As they walked out of the hall, Benjicot was greeted with a Dragon’s Shrill and a laugh that sounded as sweet as wind chimes. Turning, he saw Princess Aemma unhook her arm from him and gracefully sprint to her dragon, Sliverwing. Weary of the dragon, he soon followed the princess and came close enough to hear her speaking High Valyrian. 

“Lykiri, issa dōna hāedar,” Aemma whispered as she petted her dragon, knowing Benji was staring at her. 

What she didn’t see was the awestricken face Benjicot had. He had always heard Valyrians were considered higher to men and closer to gods. He never really believed it until now. The Princess, still in her riding leathers and loosely braided pale white hair, seemed like a beautiful warrior angel. She was known as the Pearl of the Realm for a reason. When Aemma turned to him, Benjicot could not help but feel his cheeks blush as those violet bejeweled eyes stared at him. 

“Have you ever come into close contact with a dragon before?” Asked Aemma, although she already knew the answer. 

Benjicot shook his head no, “ Never, my princes- um, Aemma.” He quickly caught himself as Aemma graced him with another laugh. 

“Would you like to? Come meet my Silverwing.” Aemma took hold of his hand and pulled him closer to her until her body flushed to his as she raised their intertwined hands to Sliverwing’s snout. 

The She-dragon huffed at the unfamiliar scent near her princess before calming to the soothing voice. 

“Shh, Sliverwing, Lykiri, sweet one, we mustn’t scare away our host.” Whispered the princess; she guided Benjico’s hand to rub her snout. At the same time, she was using her other hand to soothe the dragon to be calm. 

In awe of touching a dragon, Benji asked, “What does that mean… lykiri? 

Aemma giggled at his accent while saying the High Valyrian word and turned to him, unbeknownst how close her face was to his: " It means to be calm or calm down. I must say how impressed I am with your bravery in being so close to a dragon, my lord.”  

Benjicot, in turn, winked at the princess before teasingly replied, “Only because I have the Realm’s Pearl guiding me, and I thought we agreed to skip our titles, my princess.” 

Aemma blushed at the teasing and realized how close they were to each other; just a slight lean, and they could kiss. Benjicot had a certain attractive charm; he had a boyish charm to his face, but a devilish smirk and his lanky build helped him appear taller. Aemma's musing was quickly cut short with a slight cough, and Aemma’s face flushed bright red as she and Benji quickly separated each other to see a Queensguard sternly looking at the pair. 

Aemma, embarrassed, quickly schooled herself before returning to business, much to the brief disappointment of Benjicot. Alas, he knew better. She was the crown princess; he was just a lord, not even lord paramount. Nevertheless, he was grateful for the food and medical supplies she and her dragon brought to his land and people. If his house continued to support Queen, which they would, they would need the support to replenish themselves after the battle with those lousy Brackens. Then, much to Aemma’s disappointment, Benjicot was called away to finish establishing himself as the new lord. Stating they would see each other at the feast later this evening. The Princess sighed but allowed her dragon to fly off while she was guided to her chambers to prepare for the feast. 

As she was walking, Her guard cleared his throat. “ Forgive me, my princess, as it may seem too forward of me, but your mother asked for you to come here to give a note of gratitude and supplies and return with loyal allies, not allies and a marriage proposal.” 

Aemma gasped in shock, “ Ser Lorent, that was hardly any grounds for a marriage proposal; my mother and I haven’t even had that discussion yet.” 

Then, a bit childishly, she slammed the door on her knight's face as she entered the quaint chamber. Sitting down on a chair in front of a mirror, Aemma began to unravel her braid and change her hairstyle to a more Valyrain-looking war braid. Her mind returned to Ser Lorent’s comment as she unraveled her hair. She indeed some took liberties from the Blackwood lord without thinking much of any consequences. Especially since she was of age to be married, which discussion has not come up because Lucerys' death took precedence. However, she knew she would have to marry sooner rather than later, mainly because of the war. She did not want to be used as a bargaining chip for allies, and she knew her mother would never force her. But the princess was not naive to think she had the liberty to marry for love. She previously thought of giving her hand to Cregan Stark as gratitude for being the first to support her mother. However, the cold was a little too much for her, and she couldn’t connect with the wolf of Winterfell, unlike Benjicot Blackwood, who had made her laugh more than twice about meeting him. Being married to him didn’t seem too bad, and she could still wear her Targaryen house colors. 

Quickly shaking her head from thoughts, she heard a knock on the door. Ser Lorent was right; she wasn’t here to make marriage proposals. As she opened the door, she was greeted by the lord of blackwood, who gave her a dazzling smirk and asked to escort her to the feast hall. That smirk caused her to flush; remembering her previous thoughts, Aemma tried to school her features before returning her smirk just like her kepa Daemon taught, but she knew she had failed when Benjicot chuckled. Instead of taking insult, she reveled, knowing that she had brought a laugh out of him. As they entered the hall, she could see many staring at her with awe, with a few looks of lust from the young men. She expected this, being given the name the Realm’s Pearl; she knew she was beautiful, but instead of letting it turn her vain, she always tried to make others see that not only did she have Valyrian beauty, but she was also a dragon rider warrior like those of Old Valyria. 

As the feast went on, Princess Aemma did her best to use her quick-witted charm to appease the people in the feast hall, although, like her kepa Daemon, after a while, she grew tired and wanted to breathe fresh air. After confirming with her knight, she quickly stepped out to catch the cool breeze when she heard whispers. Curiosity taking the best of her, she quietly walked closer, ensuring she would not be seen. There, she heard Benjicot's voice arguing with an older man and woman. 

“I understand my position, but it is hardly weak; I am the lord of House Blackwood, and if need be, my Aunt Alysanne is my heir. I do not need to marry so soon, especially if we are to join the queen to war!” Snared the new lord at the older gentleman. 

The older man sighed in annoyance, “ Yes, since we still follow the Old gods, there is nothing wrong with having Alysanne as your heir, but your position is not secured, my lord. Should you and your lady aunt perish, we risk losing our house to those craven Brackens. Being married will ensure your future wife carries your heir to secure the future of our house.” 

This only grew Benjicot more agitated, and replied angrily, “ I will not be a bargaining chip just to secure my house’s future, and I will not marry just to have my future wife feel like a broodmare.”  

Alysanne sighed, looking at both hotheaded men, and tried to intervene, “You and the princess seem to grow close. Why don’t you discuss with her any potential ladies she may have as her or her mother’s ladies-in-waiting? Therefore, you open up the discussion of marriage without feeling too drastic or rushed. While I remain as your heir?” 

Both men did not entirely agree with that plan, but it was better than anything they could try to agree with. Reluctantly agreeing, the three blackwoods moved back to enter the feast hall without noticing the princess. 

Aemma slowly returned to her seat; the newly appointed lord also had the same problem she would soon have, understanding their duty but not wanting to be a bargaining chip. The princess returned to her seat and took turns speaking with a few people before Princess Aemma decided it was time to read her mother’s letter as the feast continued. With two sharp taps of Ser Lorent’s sword on the table, the hall quieted as the princess addressed the people. She felt faint; she had never had to speak in front of so many people before, especially those who just lost family. With a quick scan of the room, she saw Alysanne Blackwood give a short, simple smile; then, her violet eyes locked on a certain dark-eyed lord, gracing her with his charming smirk, and gave a nod of encouragement. 

Exhaling, she opened her mother’s letter and began to read, “My good people of Raventree Hall, I thank you for welcoming my daughter, Crown Princess Aemma, into your home. As my heart grieves for the loss of Burning Mill, I want to express my gratitude for your honor and loyalty to me as your queen. My mind is at ease knowing I have such loyal subjects, and with your help, I know we can take back my birthright from the green false king. To show my gratitude, I have sent my daughter on her dragon to bring supplies and food to help replenish House Blackwood. With her dragon, she will lead and guard the able soldiers to Harrenhall, where Prince Daemon, the Knights of the Vale, and the men of the North will eagerly await you. You all have my utmost respect and gratitude, your Queen, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of her name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, protector of the realm.” 

As Aemma finished her mother’s letter, she started hearing applause and cheers for her mother, which swelled her heart to see people genuinely supporting her. Looking back at Benji, she could see him smiling and nodding in approval, which only made her think back to the conversation she overheard. After a moment, she raised her hand to still the cheers, and people quieted down, wanting to hear what the princess had to say next. 

“I thank those here today for coming out and supporting my queen. My heart is filled with the warm welcome I have received here at Raventree Hall. To know such fierce and loyal people are willing to fight for my mother, your queen, fills my heart with gratitude-” 

Someone in the back stood up and cheered, “To Queen Rhaenyra and Her Crown Princess, The Realm’s Pearl Aemma Velayron!”  

Prompting more to stand and cheer, the princess let the people cheer and then, after a while, again asked for quiet. 

“I thank you all for your cheers. To show my gratitude for everything, I propose, should your Lord Blackwood accept, my hand for marriage to create a strong and secure alliance between Houses Targaryen, Velaryon, and House Blackwood.” 

Gasps were heard all over the room, and a sharp clank from her knight's sword fell to the ground, but all of that did not matter because the princess only wanted to hear and see one reaction. That of Benjicot Blackwood, who stood up to meet his princess gaze as his smirk fell off his face and slowly replaced with a genuine heartwarming smile, his eyes lighting up like they haven’t all night. He slowly walked to Princess Aemma, taking her soft, sunkissed hands to his, staring at her doe-like violet eyes, and kissing her hands. 

“It would be my honor to be your husband, my dear princess,” he whispered as her smile grew, knowing she had made the right decision. 

[bumblesimagines]

Gold and Green

Request: Yes or No

Summary: To further secure the Lannisters to the Green's side, Otto Hightower arranges a marriage between his grandson, Aemond Targaryen, and the Lannister twins younger sister.

Pronouns: She/Her/Hers

CW/TW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, arranged marriage trope, mentions of Targcest/incest, mentions of Luke's death, kinda short i wasn't sure what to do with this guy, fluff?

Took my time getting to this mf

~~~

Aemond hardly knew what to make of marriage life. 

He knew what one was expected to do as a couple: attend formal events, ensure both houses prevailed, and have many, many children to continue the bloodline. But, as he came to learn, he had little idea what to do outside of expectations.

No amount of histories or studying or even reading childish romantic tales told him how to be a husband, and he hardly had anyone to model what a proper and good lord-husband was supposed to look like. His father had hardly cared for his mother and his brother barely paid Helaena any attention outside of awkward, forced interactions. 

Aemond found it infuriating, simply put. He mastered everything he put his mind to. He'd claimed the biggest dragon in the world as a mere boy; lost an eye and replaced it with a sapphire; excelled in swordsmanship and combat; perfected the art of speaking, writing, and understanding High Valryian; studied the histories and listened to the septas dutifully to the point he could recall any tale down to the smallest of details. The perfect heir, if he had to be honest, but hardly anything that'd help him be a good husband. He refused to be like Aegon, refused to allow himself to steep down to his brother's level of indifference toward his sister-wife. 

His dear mother had been little help, merely telling him to 'be a kind and dutiful husband' when he questioned her, but he understood why she herself would have little experience knowing what a husband should look like. His grandsire simply told him to hurry and consummate the marriage once his wife's monthly blood had finished, to court her with gifts and such if he so wished. 

So, he gave his grandsire's advice a try and searched for a necklace befitting for a lioness of the west. 

"Wife," Aemond instinctively called into their shared bedchambers as he stepped inside, his single eye searching the room as the door slid shut behind him until he noticed her sitting on one of the couches. She looked beautiful, clad in the gold and red colors of House Lannister. He'd much prefer her in green but he hardly found it appropriate to push the subject when they barely spoke. Her handmaidens curtsied upon seeing him before resuming their tasks.

"Husband." (Y/N) responded in greeting, her tone somewhat monotone and attention largely focused on her embroidery. He understood why she and Helaena got along so easily, perhaps he should've inquired his sister instead. "How was your day, My Lord?"

"Busy, as always. War is on the horizon, I fear." He tried not to think about Lucerys, or the memory of watching bits and pieces of Arrax descend into the ocean. He'd meant to frighten him, humiliate him as he and his brother had done to him years prior, but he'd forgotten Vhagar wasn't a mere mindless creature nor a weapon he could control. She followed his orders because she wanted to, not because she had to. 

"Wasn't it always?" She asked, though it wasn't a question meant to be answered. A masked statement to avoid offending him. He knew what the courtiers whispered behind his back since his return from Storm's End. Kinslayer. A title spat and whispered with disdain because who would be cruel enough to kill their own blood?

(Y/N) exhaled through her nose and peered over her shoulder when a handmaiden poured steaming water into the tub. She stood up, handing her embroidery off to one dutiful handmaiden and smoothing out her dress with her hands. She stepped around the couch and strode toward her desk, her fingers raising to remove her earrings and set them aside. Her eyes flickered to his reflection in the mirror as he strode toward her, gently setting the silver box on the desk. 

"For you, My Lady." He murmured and took a step back, clasping his hands behind his back and watching her eye the box. (Y/N) opened it and hummed, trailing her finger over the necklace within. Gold, to resemble House Lannister, with a glimmering emerald in the center to resemble House Hightower. The union of their two houses, of their blood. "I hope it is to your liking." 

"It is quite beautiful, Husband. Thank you." She told him, unclipping the necklace around her neck and setting it down. His wife studied the gift, her eyes lingering on it for a moment longer before she turned toward her handmaidens and dismissed them with a wave of her hand. They finished their task swiftly and curtsied deeply before leaving the room. Aemond couldn't help but tilt his head. His wife still needed to prepare for the night. 

"Wife-"

"Help me undress, Husband." (Y/N) told him, striding toward the tub and casting a glance over her shoulder at him. Aemond followed silently and reached forward, carefully undoing the laces of her dress and helping her slide it off her body. His eye jumped away, out of respect and instinct but he forced himself to look back. She was his wife, after all. 

Offering her his hand, he held hers as she stepped into the tub and lowered down into the warm water, a hum of contentment escaping her. Aemond took a seat on the stool by the tug, his long fingers curling around a soapy rag and beginning to gingerly rub it along her shoulders.

Her lips curled upward, her eyes following his movements before they trailed up his arm and to his face. He paused when her hand raised from the edge of the tub, stiffening when she tugged the eyepatch away to reveal the sapphire in place of his missing eye. 

"You needn't wear this around me, Husband." She told him, placing the eyepatch in the palm of his free hand. "I am not a silly little girl like some of the ladies here. I do not frighten easily." 

His own lips curled at that, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. He expected such an attitude from a Lannister, although her older brother, Tyland, hardly gave the same impression as her. He shrunk back easily when challenged during meetings and had the attitude of a cub over a lion. "I shall like to introduce you to Vhagar then, Wife." Aemond ran the rag along the underside of her arm, slowly lifting it until he could brush his lips over her knuckles. 

"I'm certain we'll get along." (Y/N) responded, her hand turning over to cup Aemond's chin. He leaned into her touch and savored it, for he hadn't received such a gentle caress since the death of his nephew. His mother had shrunk back from him, whether from fear or disgust of what he'd done. No mother would find the news of her child getting their hands bloody appealing. He had to give her time to adjust. 

Aemond smiled against her skin. "Yes, I believe so as well." He agreed, feeling her palm slide against his jawline and cheek. Her thumb brushed over the scar thoughtfully, not a glimmer of disgust on her face.

She'd make a lovely queen, he noted. They'd make a lovely ruling couple, far better than his older siblings and even his parents. If only he'd allowed Aegon to escape when he had the chance. 

"I believe we ought to consummate the marriage soon, Husband." The light teasing tone in her voice made him grin. 

"Yes, we should. Perhaps... tonight."

[tsuutarr]

Yandere! Doctor x Reader

If you were to ask who the best doctor in the country was, you’d undoubtedly be told that it is Dr. Asher Peyton. A brilliant mind with brilliant physical prowess simply cannot be beat. However, unfortunately, Dr. Asher Peyton is… a commoner. He’d been lucky enough to be granted the humble title of Baron due to his abilities, but it’s quite difficult for nobles to rid themselves of their prejudice about his lowly birth status. 

It’s truly ridiculous, Dr. Peyton thinks – if he cut those pesky nobles open, it’ll be quite clear that they bleed red just like he does. Societal status means little in the face of illness and death.

Despite his disdain for nobility, he has no choice but to act like an obedient dog for them. It’s the only way he’ll be able to continue being a doctor, after all. He has no choice, really, but to put on his charming smile and speak with his silver tongue.

Dr. Peyton had resigned to his unfortunate fate of being the nobility’s lapdog for the rest of his life, unable to see any way to claw out from the trenches of his low social status. However, somehow, you had managed to reach out and pull him out of his wretched fate.

You are the heir of the Arrington Estate, a ducal house that has been a long-standing ally of the king. You’re the last person Dr. Peyton had expected to reach out, but he’s very grateful you did. You saw beyond his status as a commoner, instead granting him the privilege of being the Arrington’s personal doctor. In fact, you even gave him a room just so that he could conduct his experiments! That’s a privilege he never thought he’d get. And you did this all in spite of your Father’s disagreements.

Amazing, spectacular, fantastic – oh, you’re just absolutely perfect. You believe in him, in his abilities, in his future! How could he not fall so madly in love with you?

So, when the Head Butler of the Arrington Estate, Geoffrey Cullen, had offered Dr. Peyton a way to repay you by ensuring that you’ll be the head of the Arrington Estate, of course Dr. Peyton agreed! While Dr. Peyton would prefer to have you all to himself, he knows that that isn’t possible currently – not in this current society, anyway. But at least he can be by your side, supporting you and protecting you. 

Dr. Peyton’s never been afraid to get his hands dirty. He’s had to get his hands dirty over and over again – it’s the only way he’d been able to survive thus far. So when your Father begins to grow ill due to his poisoned tea, Dr. Peyton finds it quite easy to diagnose your Father with some disease while completely ignoring any signs of poisoning. It isn’t as if anyone will be able to doubt him as long as he keeps the illusion that he’s doing everything he can to cure your Father. How fortunate, isn't it?

As Dr. Peyton mixes another dose of poison for Geoffrey to use, he can’t help but hum a little tune to himself, a smile on his face. Yes, Dr. Peyton has never been afraid of getting his hands dirty. And for you?

Oh, he’d dye his hands in the blood of your enemies over and over again.

[mommageto]

Domestic Hashira (Himejima Gyomei x Reader)

Title: Domestic Hashira (Himejima Gyomei x Reader)

Word Count:  2120 words

Description: (Y/n) and Gyomei navigating the unfamiliar territory of an arranged marriage. 

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"He shall arrive shortly," Amane mumbled as she sat beside you. You took a deep breath and assured yourself that you had prepared yourself for this day. Being a distant relative of Kagaya Ubuyashiki, you were destined to marry and expected to produce an heir. Thus, you knew this marriage was not from a love match but rather an arranged marriage to ensure the heirs of your bloodline of any curses. Ever since you lost both of your parents at an early age, it did feel lonely, only having distant relatives around you. A part of you was nervous about meeting the man you to spend your life with. You were embellished with a beautiful wedding garment and patiently waiting for the man you are bound to marry. There were little to no expectations for your husband to be, but rather a kind man at the very least. 

The door opened, and Kagaya Ubuyashiki came in, followed by a huge man who towered at seven foot two, with spiky dark hair, and was covered with numerous crimson mala beads. A horizontal scar on his forehead and pale white eyes also allowed you to be surprised at the appearance of the man. "Shall we start with the ceremony?" Ubuyashiki asked. Both of them made their way near you. Ubuyashiki found his way to sit on the opposite side of Amane, as the stranger you ought to marry sat beside you. However, you noticed his manners as he acknowledged your presence by bowing to you as he was sitting beside you.

The man is enormous, very huge. This idea of him scared you a little, but you were not one to judge a stranger you were about to spend your life with. However, he was attractive and unfamiliar. After the ceremony, both of you exchanged a word with each other. Although Amane has filled you in with everything you need to know about your husbands. Himejima Gyomei–that is his name–is the stone hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps. Though you are an Ubuyashiki, you were least involved with the Demon Slayer Corps as you were a distant relative and did other duties for the family.

The information you got made you think that the man you married must be powerful as he is the strongest hashira. However, Amane never talked about how he is as a person; she focused on his qualifications, which only enabled you to hope that he is indeed a kind man.

Both of you were brought to your household to start your family. As you arrived at your shared home, you found it a bit awkward considering he is a stranger. Nevertheless, you were taught to be a wife and ought to pursue a conversation with him to properly tend to your husband.  The silence after you both spoke at the same time stretched, punctuated only by the chirping of crickets outside. You stole a glance at Gyomei, his face unreadable beneath the stoic mask. Clearing your throat, you decided to take the plunge.

"I–" both of you uttered and cut off each other. "I apologize. I didn't mean to interrupt. Please, go ahead," Himejima continues. A short silence occurred between the both of you. 

"Hiimejim–" he cuts you off before you can finish, "Gyomei. You can call me Gyomei." A light flickered in your eyes as you stared at him with awe.

"Gyomei," you repeated, testing the name on your lips. He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Shall we enter?" you ask him. He gave you a sly nod and led you to enter the house you shared with him first. As you entered, the servants greeted you both and toured you around your home. They also had prepared a separate bath for you and your husband before you met each other for dinner. 

In the bath, you pondered about the things you've observed to be quite beguiling about your husband. You admit to yourself that you feel attracted to Himejima. That man had intimidating features that portrayed a very masculine form of a man. Despite your first impression, you can tell that Himejima has a compassionate nature. He was kind and respectful to the servants who greeted you both earlier. There's still more you want to know about him, and getting to know him will surely scratch that itch. 

Dinner was served afterward in your bath. You and your husband finished your meal with a small conversation about how your meal was delicious. Though, the night is still long–or feels like it. Both of you entered the chambers of your shared bedroom. It felt awkward being alone with Himejima. Although both of you are married, both of you are also still strangers who barely met each other just this morning. You saw the bedding in the room, and it made you feel nervous about sleeping next to him, which caused you to breathe heavily, allowing the giant man to hear. "(Y/n) I could sleep in another room if it makes you feel better," you hear Himejima say.  

Himejima's offer hung in the air, heavy with unspoken words. On his face, you can see his genuine concern matched with the intimidating aura he always has. It was a gesture of respect, a recognition of your discomfort. "N-no… it's fine. You don't have to do that," you assured him.

The two of you settled on sleeping in the same room. Thus, peacefully set up your sleeping area not far away from each other but also not near each other. It was challenging to be asleep at that hour, as you were clouded with a number of emotions and new to this setup. The anxious feeling of sleeping with a man you just met today lingered in your thoughts. You didn't know what to do at this point but to sleep as it was getting late anyway. "Good night (y/n)."

"Good night, Gyomei." His words made you feel better as you still felt new to this situation. A simple good night makes you more comfortable with this arrangement. You got to sleep shortly after that. The dawn of time passed, and you heard noises and slightly opened your eyes, wherein you saw shadows. However, due to your thoughts depriving you of sleep the previous night, you gave in to yourself and slept through the dawn. 

As you rose from the bed, you noticed the room was tranquil. There was no sound of movement or the faintest whisper. You looked around your room and noticed that the bed beside you was nowhere to be seen. The absence of Himejima's towering figure was both comforting and unsettling. You went to the kitchen and were greeted by the servants who informed you that your husband was called on early for a mission. This made you feel disappointed because you wanted to get to know Himejima and spend time with him. 

The servants informed you that Himejima had to leave early for an urgent mission with a demon attack on a neighboring village. It's been three days without the presence of your husband near you. This made you feel lonely despite having people around your home. Not a day goes by that you do not have the same routine. After eating your breakfast alone, you decided to pay Amane a visit to ease that lonely feeling.

"(Y/n), how was your first night with Himejima-san?" she asks as she sits down beside you. You took a pause and tried to hold back from being honest with yourself. "It was alright, I was able to sleep comfortably after yesterday."

Amane was able to read the misery drawn in your face. She did not feel too good about this, so she questioned you more. "Are you sure it was alright? You seem to be tired and sorrowful."

"Oh, no, it's really fine." She wasn't convinced by your answer. "I hope Himejima-san was gentle, to say the least."

This shattered a glass of ideas. Amane was thinking of a different scenario for you to spend your first night with Himejima. "What? No! It's nothing like that. We didn't do it." You were defensive about it, and you could feel your face heat up despite it being just the two of you in the room.

The response you gave Amane surprised her. The idea of a newlywed couple spending the first night with each other in a venereal manner was pretty typical. Though you've never really thought about it yo,u and Himejima quickly dismissed that possibility rather quickly.

"(Y/n), have you and Himejima ever had an actual conversation about your marriage, to say the least?" Amane questions you. Now that question has been raised, you never really have thought about it. "We barely said a word to each other, and the other morning, he left for an urgent mission."

"Is that so? While I do not encourage you to force yourself on Himejima, you both should have a conversation about your marriage with him. Since you're gonna spend the rest of your life with him."

Amane's words struck your head from the moment she mentioned it to you until your journey home. One of the servants, Chiaki, approached to welcome you home. "Welcome back, my lady," she slightly bows, "Would you care to join Himejima-san for dinner?" 

Chiaki's words caught your attention. As you walked inside your house, you felt a sudden pain in your stomach and had an urge to vomit. Your vision was less clear–it was shaky. Another body pain hit you, you felt the pain reach your temples and your calves. However, you manage to get to the dining area.

The heavy wooden table creaked slightly under the weight of the untouched meal. You sat opposite Himejima with your face pale and drawn. You covered your mouth with haste as you felt the urge to vomit again. Himejima, with his other perfect senses, noticed that you didn't feel okay. 

"Is everything alright (y/n)?" he asks, trying to reach out to help you. Himejima could clearly tell that your body had collapsed on the ground. His robust frame moved with surprising speed as he reached you, his large hands gently cradling your head. Concern etched itself onto his face as he assessed your condition.

A throbbing pain pulsed in your temples, and a wave of nausea washed over you. Your vision blurred as consciousness slowly returned. With effort, your eyes opened, the world coming into focus gradually. You were in your bed, the soft glow of lanterns casting dancing shadows on the walls. Himejima was seated beside you, his face etched with worry. 

"Gyomei," you call out his name. "What happened?"

A relief from Himejima can be felt as he lifts his head with his softened face and relaxed face. "(Y/n), you're awake," he replied. "A demon followed you and attacked you secretly with its poison." Your head throbbed with a dull ache as you tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washed over you. You reached out a trembling hand to steady yourself on the bed.

"A demon?" you managed to croak out, your voice hoarse. 

"Yes, a demon. Thankfully, I was able to take home an antidote for the demon's poison." You listened to Himejima's words with an understanding, even though there was still a slight concern on his face. "I apologize that I got you into this trouble. Being married to me only caused you trouble." A wave of empathy washed over you as you watched Himejima's tears fall. Gyomei is known to be the strongest hashira with his immense strength. Still, at this moment, vulnerability replaced his usual composure.

"Gyomei," you reached out, your hand finding his, offering comfort. "It wasn't your fault. These things happen." Your voice was gentle, filled with sincerity. 

"It was also my responsibility for not being here to protect you," he explained, his voice husky with emotion. His grip on your hand tightened, conveying a depth of remorse you hadn't expected. "Well, we're here together now," you say to him with a soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you try to lighten the mood.

"Let's start over, (y/n)," he reached out to you and kissed your forehead. A warmth spread through you as his lips touched your skin. It was a simple gesture, yet it held a profound weight. You returned his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. It felt like an answered prayer from a yearning heart. That forehead kiss is a lingering faith of the couple for their relationship to bloom.

This story has a Part 2.

[muiitoloko]

I looooved the daddy severus fanfic aaaaghhhh ❤️ but now can we have what he needed to do to have the baby lol

Breeding kink severus PLEASE!!! Xx

Title: A Second Chance

Summary: Surviving the war was only the beginning for Severus Snape. With your love, he learns to embrace life, finding comfort in the thought of a future that includes a family of his own.

Pairing: Severus Snape × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Author's Notes: I'm so glad you loved the Daddy Severus fanfic! ❤️ And I couldn't resist your request, so I went ahead with the breeding kink idea—but decided to keep it light and wrote a completely new one-shot instead. Don't worry, it's more on the sweet side, nothing too kinky 😅. Hope you enjoy this one just as much! xx

Also read on Ao3

Severus Snape never imagined he would survive the war, let alone find himself married years after the defeat of Lord Voldemort. In truth, he hadn't even expected to live past the moment Nagini's fangs had torn into his throat. The pain had been excruciating, but it was fleeting—quickly overtaken by the cold, creeping numbness of death. He had welcomed it, that final escape from a life filled with darkness and deceit. Everything had gone black, and he thought that was the end.

But death had not come for Severus Snape that day. Instead, he had awoken to the sterile smell of potions and the clinical brightness of the Hogwarts infirmary, with Madam Pomfrey's stern face hovering above him, muttering incantations and administering salves to his ravaged neck. She had told him that the war was over, that Voldemort was defeated, and in those first few moments of lucidity, Snape had wanted nothing more than to slip back into unconsciousness. He had nothing left to live for, after all. But fate, as it often did, had other plans.

Snape had been in a coma for two long years—two years during which the wizarding world had moved on without him, during which he had been declared a hero by none other than Harry Potter, the boy he had once loathed. Potter, in his infinite idiocy, had come forward with memories—his memories—evidence that Snape had been working as a double agent, risking everything to protect the son of the woman he had loved more than life itself. It was Potter’s testimony that had spared Snape from Azkaban, and it was Potter who had ensured that he was awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, and hailed as a hero in the aftermath of the war.

Snape thought bitterly of that fool of a boy now, sitting in the grand sitting room of one of the Prince family’s old mansions. The house had been passed down to him as the last living heir of the Prince family, a lineage he had long since stopped caring about. His mother’s bloodline had never brought him anything but misery, and yet here he was, a reluctant beneficiary of the wealth and status he had once despised. He rubbed the large scar on his neck, the mark left by Nagini’s fangs a constant reminder of how close he had come to death. It barely allowed him to speak without pain, a daily torment that was only mitigated by the potions and treatments he had to endure.

And that was where you came in.

You had been sent by St. Mungo’s on behalf of the Ministry of Magic, assigned to take care of Snape’s throat, which often swelled and caused him intense pain at random times. The venom of Nagini had remained in his bloodstream, a sinister reminder of the Dark Lord’s most loyal servant. Snape hadn’t wanted you there. In those first few days, he had made every effort to drive you away, using every tactic at his disposal—scathing remarks, icy glares, and, when words failed him, the sheer force of his silent, menacing presence. But you hadn’t been intimidated. You had insisted on staying, refusing to leave despite his best efforts to scare you off. You were patient, determined, and unfailingly kind—qualities that Snape found both infuriating and, inexplicably, disarming.

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when things began to change between the two of you. Perhaps it was the day he had tried to intimidate you with a particularly venomous glare, only to find that you met his gaze with calm resolve, refusing to back down. He had pressed you against the wall in a fit of frustration, intending to finally break through that maddening composure, but instead, he had found himself kissing you—fiercely, desperately, as if you were the only thing tethering him to this world. That kiss had quickly turned into something more—something that left you both breathless and shaken, your bodies entwined in a feverish, almost primal need.

Months had passed since that first heated encounter, and somehow, through a series of events that still seemed surreal to him, Snape had found himself married to you. He looked down at the simple, yet elegant ring on his finger, a symbol of a life he had never imagined for himself. The ring was one he had chosen himself, purchased with the money he had saved over the years as a professor—years of putting up with those insufferable, brainless children. The irony of it all was not lost on him. Severus Snape, the cold, unyielding Potions Master, now had a wife, a home, and a life that was, in many ways, far more normal than he had ever thought possible.

He had thought he would hate it—the domesticity, the mundanity of it all. But as he sat in the quiet of the old manor, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, he realized that he didn’t hate it. Not at all. In fact, he found a strange sort of peace in it—a peace he hadn’t known in decades, if ever. It was a peace that came from knowing that, despite everything, he had somehow found a place in this world—a place with you.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching, and he looked up to see you entering the room, a soft smile on your face as you made your way over to him. You were dressed simply, yet elegantly, your presence filling the room with a warmth that he still wasn’t quite used to, but which he had come to cherish nonetheless.

“Severus,” you greeted him, your voice soft and soothing as you approached. “How are you feeling?”

He shrugged slightly, the familiar discomfort in his throat a dull throb that he had long since learned to ignore. “As well as can be expected,” he replied, his voice low and rough, a result of the lingering effects of the venom.

You nodded, your expression one of understanding and quiet concern as you reached out to gently touch his hand, your fingers brushing against the cool metal of his wedding ring. “I’m glad,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his with a warmth that made his chest tighten. “You know, you don’t have to bear this burden alone. I’m here, Severus. I’ll always be here.”

He looked at you for a long moment, the weight of your words sinking in, filling the empty spaces in his heart that he had long thought would remain void. He had spent so many years alone, so many years building walls around himself to keep others out, that it still felt strange—unnatural, even—to have someone who cared about him, who wanted to share in his burdens.

But you were here, in his life, in his home, and he had somehow, against all odds, found himself falling for you in a way he hadn’t believed was possible. You had been a light in the darkness, a beacon that had guided him back to the land of the living when all he had wanted was to fade into oblivion.

“I know,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion as he looked down at your hand in his, the warmth of your touch grounding him in a way that nothing else could. “And I’m… grateful.”

You smiled at that, a soft, genuine smile that lit up your entire face, and for a moment, Snape felt something stir within him—something that had been dormant for far too long. It was a warmth, a flicker of hope, of love, that he had thought he would never feel again.

Without another word, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, a kiss that was soft and sweet, filled with all the affection and tenderness that you had brought into his life. Snape closed his eyes, allowing himself to get lost in the sensation, to savor the moment, the connection between you.

When you finally pulled back, you looked at him with a quiet intensity, your eyes searching his as if you were trying to understand the depth of what he was feeling. And in that moment, Snape realized that you did understand—that you knew him better than anyone ever had, perhaps even better than he knew himself.

“I love you, Sev,” you whispered, your voice filled with a quiet conviction that left no room for doubt. “I always will.”

But Severus Snape had never been one for grand declarations, especially when it came to matters of the heart. The words I love you felt foreign on his tongue, weighed down by the years of pain and loss that had shaped him into the man he was today. Instead, he preferred to convey his feelings through subtle gestures, through actions that spoke louder than words ever could.

And tonight, he intended to show you just how much you meant to him.

Without a word, Snape leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss, one that was slow and deliberate, full of a restrained passion that he had kept buried for far too long. His lips moved against yours with a careful intensity, as if he was savoring every moment, every sensation. His hand slid up to cup the back of your head, his long, slender fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer to him.

You responded eagerly, your body leaning into his as the kiss grew more heated, more urgent. Snape’s other hand found its way to your waist, his grip firm but gentle as he guided you onto his lap, your dress rustling softly as you straddled him. The fabric of his dark robes brushed against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth that radiated from his body.

When he finally broke the kiss, his breathing was slightly uneven, his dark eyes filled with a hunger that you had rarely seen before. He looked at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat, his gaze piercing through you as if he was trying to convey all the things he couldn’t bring himself to say.

Without breaking eye contact, Snape’s hands moved to the hem of your dress, his fingers grazing the soft fabric as he slowly pushed it up, revealing the smooth skin of your thighs. He let out a low, almost inaudible groan as he felt the warmth of your body against his, the sight of you on his lap stirring something primal within him.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice a hoarse whisper as he traced the outline of your hips with his hands, his touch possessive yet reverent. It wasn’t quite I love you, but it carried the same weight, the same depth of emotion. It was his way of claiming you, of letting you know that you belonged to him in every sense of the word.

You shivered at his touch, your own hands moving to his shoulders, your fingers brushing against the cool, smooth fabric of his robes. His grip on you tightened slightly as he pulled you even closer, pressing your body against his as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against you, a clear indication of just how much he wanted you.

“Severus…” you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of anticipation and desire as you felt his lips ghosting over your throat, leaving a trail of soft, heated kisses in their wake.

Snape didn’t respond with words. Instead, he let his actions speak for him, his hands slipping beneath your dress, his fingers tracing the curve of your spine before moving lower, cupping your ass and giving it a possessive squeeze. His lips found their way back to yours, capturing them in another deep, fervent kiss as he shifted beneath you, positioning himself so that his cock was perfectly aligned with your entrance, the heat of your arousal palpable through the thin fabric of your underwear.

Snape’s gaze was intense, his dark eyes boring into yours as he uttered a single, hoarse word: “Bedroom.” The command was rough, almost strangled, a reminder of the ever-present pain that laced his throat. You could see the discomfort etched into the lines of his face, a sharp pang of concern shooting through you. Was he okay? Was the pain too much for him? But before you could voice your worries, Snape dismissed them with a hard, determined look. He wasn’t going to let anything interrupt this moment.

In a swift, fluid motion, he lifted you into his arms, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as you clung to him. His strength surprised you, the lean muscles beneath his robes belying the quiet power he possessed. You could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against you, straining through the fabric of his impeccably tailored trousers. The sensation sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine, igniting a fire in your belly.

He moved with purpose, carrying you down the dimly lit hallway of the old manor, his long robes billowing around him like shadows. The silence between you was thick, charged with the unspoken desires that had been building between you for months. Snape’s grip on you was firm, possessive, his hands settling on the curve of your ass as he held you close. The tension in the air was palpable, the only sounds were the soft rustle of fabric and the faint creak of the floorboards beneath his boots.

When he finally reached the bedroom, Snape pushed the door open with a gentle nudge of his foot, striding inside without hesitation. The room was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows on the walls. The bed—a grand, four-poster affair draped in rich, dark fabrics—stood at the center of the room, an inviting haven amidst the darkness.

Without breaking his stride, Snape crossed the room and laid you down on the bed, his movements careful but deliberate. The mattress dipped under your weight as you looked up at him, your breath catching in your throat as you took in the sight of him. He stood at the edge of the bed, his tall, lean figure imposing and commanding, his dark robes making him look every bit the cold, enigmatic man you had first met. But now, there was something more in his eyes—a burning need, a primal desire that he could no longer suppress.

Snape’s hands moved to the clasp of his robes, his fingers deftly undoing it before he shrugged off the heavy fabric, letting it pool on the floor at his feet. He remained silent, his gaze never leaving yours as he began to unbutton his shirt, each movement slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment. The pale, angular planes of his chest were revealed inch by inch, the faint scars and the dark trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his trousers only adding to his rugged appeal.

Your mouth went dry as you watched him, your pulse quickening with each piece of clothing he shed. By the time he reached the waistband of his trousers, you were practically trembling with anticipation, your body aching with the need to feel him against you.

Snape didn’t rush. Instead, he paused, his fingers lingering on the waistband of his trousers as he looked down at you, his gaze dark and hungry. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, roughened by both his desire and the ever-present pain in his throat.

“I’m going to fill you,” he rasped, the words sending a jolt of arousal straight to your core. His expression was one of pure, unbridled lust, his eyes locked on yours as he added, “I’m going to put a baby inside you.”

The raw, primal promise in his words left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest as heat pooled between your thighs. You could feel the wetness gathering there, your body responding to his words in a way that was utterly instinctive. Snape’s eyes flickered with satisfaction as he noticed your reaction, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to grasp your ankle, pulling you toward the edge of the bed with a firm, steady grip. You let out a soft gasp as your back arched, your dress riding up higher, exposing more of your skin to his hungry gaze. Snape’s hand slid up your calf, his touch sending sparks of electricity coursing through you as he pushed your dress up, revealing the lacy fabric of your underwear.

“Take it off,” he ordered, his voice hoarse but commanding, a dark edge to his tone that sent a shiver down your spine.

You obeyed without hesitation, your hands trembling slightly as you reached down to slip the dress over your head. The fabric pooled on the floor beside the bed, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. Snape’s gaze raked over your body, his eyes darkening with desire as he took in the sight of you.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, the word almost lost in the roughness of his voice. His hand moved to your hip, his fingers tracing the delicate lace of your underwear before slipping beneath the fabric. The feel of his hand against your bare skin sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your breath hitching as he caressed you with slow, deliberate strokes.

You moaned softly as his fingers found your wetness, your body arching into his touch. Snape’s gaze was fixed on yours, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your heart race. He moved his fingers with a practiced precision, teasing you with light, feathering touches that left you gasping for more.

“Do you want this?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation as you looked up at him. “Yes, Severus, please.”

Snape’s smirk widened at your desperate plea, his hand leaving your core to grip your thigh, spreading your legs wider. He moved between them, his trousers slipping down to reveal his throbbing erection, the sight of it making your mouth water with desire.

He positioned himself at your entrance, his tip brushing against your wet folds as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. The sensation was electric, his lips moving against yours with a fierce, possessive hunger that left you dizzy. You could feel the tension coiling within him, the barely restrained need that pulsed through every inch of his body.

With a low growl, Snape pushed inside you, the thick length of him stretching you to the brink as he buried himself to the hilt. The sensation was overwhelming, your body trembling with the sheer intensity of it as he filled you completely. You could feel every inch of him, the heat of his skin against yours, the raw power in the way he moved.

He set a slow, deliberate pace, his thrusts deep and measured, each one sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. Snape’s gaze never wavered, his eyes locked on yours as he claimed you with every thrust, his hands gripping your hips with a possessive strength that left you breathless.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough and strained as he drove into you with a primal, almost savage need. “Mine to fuck, mine to fill…mine to breed.”

The words sent a shiver of pleasure through you, your body tightening around him as you let out a low, breathy moan. Snape’s hands gripped your hips harder, pulling you against him with each thrust, his pace quickening as he lost himself in the intensity of the moment.

You could feel the heat building within you, the tension coiling tighter and tighter with every thrust. Snape’s name spilled from your lips in a breathless chant, your hands clutching at his shoulders as he drove you closer to the edge.

Snape's breath was ragged as he buried himself inside you, his trousers bunched up around his ankles, trapped by the boots he hadn't bothered to remove. It didn’t matter to him—nothing mattered now except the primal, driving need to fill you, to claim you in the most profound and intimate way. His dark, greasy hair clung to his forehead as he hovered above you, his pale, angular face set in a mask of intense concentration and desire.

His thrusts were deep, deliberate, each movement calculated to drive you closer to the edge, to ensure that every inch of him was felt within you. His normally stoic expression was marred only slightly by the flicker of pain that crossed his features when he dared to speak. The venomous scars on his neck, the constant reminder of his near brush with death, flared in protest with every word. But his voice—deep, roughened by the damage to his throat—slipped out when he could no longer contain the twisted fantasies that had consumed him.

“Mine,” he rasped, the single word filled with a possessiveness that made your breath hitch. His eyes, dark and intense, locked onto yours as his hand gripped your hip tightly, holding you in place as he thrust into you again, harder this time, his need taking over. “You’re mine.”

The room was filled with the sound of your bodies colliding, the soft crackling of the fire the only other noise breaking the silence. His boots scraped against the floor as he shifted, driving into you with a relentless pace that left no room for doubt about his intentions. The weight of his body pinned you beneath him, the full force of his need pressing down on you.

His mind was filled with images—visions of you swollen with his child, your body heavy with the life he’d put inside you. The thought only spurred him on, fueling the dark hunger that had taken root within him. He could see it so clearly in his mind’s eye—a little girl, with your beauty and his cunning, a powerful witch who would carry on the legacy he had never thought he would pass on.

“You’ll give me a daughter,” he whispered hoarsely, the words a struggle, each one tinged with the pain it caused him to speak. But he had to say it, had to let you know the depths of his desire. His fingers dug into your skin as he pounded into you, the force of his thrusts sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. “You’ll carry her, and she’ll be perfect…just like you.”

The idea of breeding you, of seeing you swollen with his child, made him almost desperate in his movements. His pace quickened, his hips snapping against yours with a brutal precision that left you gasping, your hands clutching at his shoulders, desperate to hold onto something as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

His breathing was labored, the strain of holding back the pain of speaking clear in the way his chest heaved, but he couldn’t stop now. His fingers moved to your clit, rubbing it in slow, teasing circles as he watched the effect it had on you, the way your body responded to him, the way you trembled beneath him. It was intoxicating, knowing that he had this power over you, that he could bring you to the brink of ecstasy with just a few well-placed touches.

“You’re going to be so beautiful,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper, thick with emotion. “Round and full…carrying my child. My daughter.” His eyes were locked on yours, his gaze intense and unwavering as he thrust into you with a newfound urgency. “I’ll protect you…both of you…no one will ever hurt you.”

His words were rough, almost growled out between clenched teeth as the fire within him built to a fever pitch. He was close, so close, and he could feel you tightening around him, the telltale signs of your impending climax pushing him even further.

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice low and commanding despite the strain. “I want to feel you…want to feel you fall apart around me.”

You were helpless to resist him, your body obeying his every command as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. Your climax hit you hard, your entire body tensing as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Snape watched you, his gaze dark and intense, his grip on your hips tightening as he drove into you with a final, powerful thrust.

He could feel you convulsing around him, the tight, wet heat of your climax pulling him over the edge with you. He let out a low, guttural groan as he buried himself deep inside you, his release flooding you with a heat that seemed to burn through him.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing, the crackling of the fire, and the faint rustle of the sheets as Snape remained still above you, his chest rising and falling with the effort of catching his breath. His dark hair fell forward, obscuring his face as he leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips rough and warm against your skin.

“You’re mine,” he whispered one final time, his voice barely more than a breath. “And you’ll give me everything.”

His words hung in the air, a promise, a vow, as he slowly pulled out of you, the sudden emptiness almost jarring after the intensity of what had just passed between you. He laid down beside you, pulling you close to his chest, his long fingers tangling in your hair as he held you tightly, as if afraid to let you go.

In the silence that followed, Snape closed his eyes, the exhaustion finally catching up with him. But even as sleep began to take him, the thought of you carrying his child—his daughter—brought a small, almost imperceptible smile to his lips.

For the first time in years, Severus Snape allowed himself to hope for the future.

After the intensity of your shared moment had begun to settle, you found yourself recovering faster than Severus, whose chest still heaved as he fought to catch his breath. His dark eyes were closed, his pale face flushed with the remnants of passion, and his hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat. For a brief moment, you simply watched him, your heart swelling with a deep, unspoken affection. It was in these quiet moments, after the storm of his desire had passed, that you felt closest to him—that you saw the man behind the formidable exterior, vulnerable and human.

You moved gently, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to the scarred skin of his neck, your lips lingering just above the spot where Nagini's fangs had once pierced him. His eyes fluttered open at the sensation, and he looked down at you with a mixture of exhaustion and something that might have been tenderness, though he would never admit it aloud. The corners of his mouth twitched, as if he might protest your ministrations, but you silenced him with a look, your eyes conveying a wordless command.

“Don’t move,” you whispered, your voice soft yet firm as you began to reach down, your hands deftly unfastening the boots that had remained stubbornly on his feet. Snape tried to protest, his brows knitting together in irritation at the thought of you taking care of him, but the protest died on his lips when you fixed him with a pointed stare.

“Be quiet, Severus,” you instructed gently, though there was no mistaking the steel behind your words. “Let me do this.”

For once, he complied, his lips pressing into a thin line as he allowed you to help him. It was an act of trust, a rare thing for him, and you didn’t take it lightly. You removed his boots with care, followed by the trousers that had bunched awkwardly around his ankles, your fingers brushing against his skin as you worked. Despite the lingering heat between you, your touch was tender, almost reverent, as you undressed him, revealing the lean, angular planes of his body that were usually hidden beneath his dark, forbidding robes.

When you were finished, you summoned your wand with a simple flick of your wrist, casting a quiet cleaning charm over the two of you. The warm, tingling sensation of the magic swept away the remnants of your passion, leaving you both feeling refreshed, though the intimate connection between you remained unbroken.

You returned to his side, snuggling against him with a contented sigh, your head resting on his chest as you traced lazy patterns on his skin with your fingertips. Snape’s arm wrapped around you almost instinctively, his long fingers threading through your hair as he held you close. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek, a soothing rhythm that calmed your own.

Lifting your head slightly, you rested your chin on his chest, your eyes meeting his with a mischievous glint. “At this rate, we’ll have a baby soon,” you remarked with a teasing smile, your tone light despite the weight of your words. “You’ve practically made love to me every day since I mentioned you’d be a great father.”

A faint flush colored Snape’s cheeks, though whether from embarrassment or something else, you couldn’t be sure. His gaze flickered with a mix of emotions—desire, uncertainty, and something deeper, something almost fragile. You knew that the idea of fatherhood had taken root in his mind, had sparked a longing that he hadn’t fully realized until you had voiced it aloud.

“It… seems to have stuck in my head,” he admitted gruffly, his voice low and rough as he avoided your gaze, his fingers still gently tangled in your hair. “The idea of… breeding you, of putting babies inside you… it… it turns me on to no end.”

There was a vulnerability in his admission, a raw honesty that was rare for him, and it made your heart ache with affection for the man who had always kept his true self hidden beneath layers of cold detachment. You reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing lightly over the scar on his neck as you leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“I love you, Severus,” you whispered against his mouth, your voice filled with a quiet conviction that left no room for doubt. “And I’d be honored to carry your child… our child.”

Snape’s breath hitched at your words, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to find the truth in them. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost reverent. “You… would?”

You nodded, your smile widening as you rested your forehead against his, your heart swelling with love for the man who had once believed himself incapable of it. “Of course. There’s no one else I’d want to share this with… no one else I’d trust with this.”

A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of Snape’s lips, and he let out a shaky breath as he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you with a possessive tenderness that spoke volumes. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to hope—not just for the future, but for a future with you, a future where he could be the man, the husband, and the father he had never believed he could be.

As you lay together in the quiet of the old manor, the fire in the hearth casting a warm glow over your entwined bodies, you felt a sense of peace settle over you—a peace that came from knowing that, despite everything, you had found each other. And as Snape’s hand drifted to rest on your abdomen, his fingers splayed over your skin in a gesture that was both protective and tender, you knew that the love you shared would be enough to carry you through whatever came next.

[readychilledwine]

A Night to Celebrate

Rhysand Week Day Two - Carynthian

Summary - After shoving his biggest accomplishment in the face of all who didn't believe in him, Rhysand is just happy to celebrate with you

Warnings- alcohol use, parallel between real world issues people who are multiracial face, implied bi-Rhys

A/n- Happy @officialrhysandweek day 2! I touched on something slightly that I, as a parent of a multiracial child, have noticed already. I imagine being carnythian meant more than just a title to Rhysand when he earned it. I imagine it was a fairly big, "F you," to the full blooded Illyrian males who doubted him due to his half Illyrian status.

Also, I had to redraft this twice. Tumblr evidently didn't want me to post it. Perhaps this is a sign 🫠🤣

✨️Rhysand Week Masterlist✨️Rhys Masterlist✨️Master Masterlist✨️

Rita's was loud as Rhysand continued blowing his father's money. Shots here, shots there, another round here. He had even snuck Azriel and Cassian in so the males could experience Velaris for the first time.

You were keeping watch, ensuring your closest friend wasn't going to get caught by his father as he boasted his accomplishments to any female, and as he got more intoxicated male, who would listen. You rolled your eyes as the three illyrians took another shot before heading out to dance.

They deserved the happiness they had, the sense of pride and celebration rolling off of them in waves. They had accomplished a goal so few had, and you knew for Rhysand that this meant more than he would ever be able to fully tell his two brothers by choice.

Rhysand had always told you during lessons that he felt like he was stuck. Not Illyrian enough for most Illyrians. Not high fae enough for the prissy upper class. Just stuck. Carynthian was a status so rarely earned during the dreaded Blood Rite and such a high honor, for him as a half Illyrian male to have earned it, fairly and Azriel and Cassian? It was something no one could rip from him, a title no one could ever take away.

It was his crowning moment. His biggest accomplishment. You knew he'd be riding this high for hours to come just based on the way he kept coming over to you, hand resting on your hips as he grabbed his drink. "I wish you would dance with me," he shouted over the music.

"Can't watch for our fathers if I do!" But you wished you could. This was a big moment for him. For all three of them. It had been enough for you to sneak out the high window of your father's home to play look out, enough for you to have one drink with him and break rules of what was considered proper from High Born High Fae female.

He seemed upset by your response, "Are you not having fun? Y/n.." He yelled for Azriel and Cassian, grabbing the three of you and winnowing somewhere much chiller than you were used to.

“Where did you take me,” You pulled back enough to glare, but not enough to lose his body heat in the icy wind.

“Mother's cabin,” his words were slurred, tone nonchalant as Azriel tripped and hiccuped, opening the doorway. “We can party here. No worries about our dear old fathers.”

Unceremoniously, you found yourself tossed on the couch while the three of them continued drinking and yelling, dance moves that made you wonder if you needed to cut them off coming out. You now had your own wine, nursing it as you laughed with them.

They went down one by one, and true to legend, the biggest fell the hardest. Cassian had to be carried upstairs by his barely there brothers, laid in his bed as he continued slurring words of celebration in his sleep. Azriel went down an hour later, shadows having the decency to move him to his bed so he could rest comfortably.

It left you and Rhysand, the heir holding a hand you to and forcing you to come sit under the stars with him. “I did it,” he whispered.

“You did,” you responded. “Without using your magic. Without your wings. Without your father.”

“Fuck that guy,” a ghost of a smile came to his lips. “I can do anything.”

You immediately confirmed, “You can. Regardless of what anyone tells you. You are capable of all things you set your mind to. We all are. High fae, low fae, Illyrian, rich or poor. We are more than our status."

He laid back on the porch, eyes shut with full smile, “Careful, Darling, those words might go to my head." He took a deep breath, "None of these-” he paused as if looking for the right word. “These meat for brains assholes can take it from me. Or Azriel. Or Cassian.”

You pulled your knees to your chest and nodded. “They won't even be able to strip you of it when you become High Lord. High Lord and Carynthian. Two of the most powerful titles in the Night Court.”

“I can think of more powerful titles,” his hand ran ran up and down your spine. “And I'm feeling bold enough tonight to try to earn it too.”

You had gone still until him pulled you down to him by your hair, looking up at his slightly hazy eyes. “And what title is that?”

“Yours,” he said plainly. “I want to be yours.”

200 years later, he still was yours, sighing dramatically as he looked over papers. You knocked softly, carrying the son you two had welcomed just a few months ago, “Babe, you have less than an hour to get ready to go out with Azriel and Cassian.”

He glanced up at you, “What?”

“Don't tell me you forgot,” you bounced your child on your hip, reaching to take the report from him. “It's the anniversary of-”

“Oh! I have to go! Dad brain!” He ran out of the door smiling, leaving you and the baby stunned at the rate the new father left at.

He ran back in moments later, kissing you hard before finally picking up his son. “Daddy is going out tonight, okay buddy?” He carried him down the stairs, you following, watching as small hands touched Rhysand's face. “Let me tell you a story really quick, though. One about daddy, and Uncle Az, and Uncle Cass and this biiiiiiiiiig mountain where I earned my 3rd favorite title.”

Father. Mate. Carynthian. High Lord.

You knew the titles well. Knew the order of importance he gave them.

“Once upon a time, daddy was taken from his bed in the middle of the night..”

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

[littledovesnow]

the sound of snow

request: coriolanus with a girlfriend (wife in this case) who has hearing damange from the war

word count: 2.2k

content warnings: coriolanus being kinda awful in his speech but it's canon sooo, lucky flickerman trying to make a joke (spoiler: it doesn't land well), i think that's it?

a/n: ok i am not d/Deaf/HoH but i do have friends and former classmates who are, and i've done research before writing this. please correct me if i am wrong about anything. i left some things vague (such as hearing loss level), but overall i think it's decent?

also italics are when there's sign language being used :)

also also i had like three title ideas for this but i feel like they're all so bad but i liked this one the best

-----

Coriolanus had first met you back when you were both still wet behind the ears, unsure of how to navigate life after the Dark Days. His family had taken a direct hit when District 13 was no longer, his family’s fortune plundering into the depth unknown. Your family, however, had to face a different setback: a few rather close bomb blasts had stolen a majority of your hearing.

Coming from an affluent family, you were able to afford a private tutor growing up, teaching you and your family sign language, though as you grew old enough you were fit for a hearing aid in the left ear—the only one with enough hearing left to make it worthwhile.

All the while, you and Coriolanus never turned your backs on each other, choosing to let each other in on your trials and tribulations, knowing secrets were safe between the two of you. He had thus learned sign language from being in your home so often, Tigris and the Grandma’am having picked up on some of the more common phrases.

When you were both of age to begin at the Academy, your father fought tooth and nail with the Dean to ensure you were well-equipped with an interpreter when necessary, though you often went without one as you grew tiresome of the stares from your classmates.

During the 10th Annual Hunger Games, you say alongside Coriolanus as you two watched the tributes battle for victory, both celebrating when Lucy Gray was crowned the victor, both unaware of what fate waited your boyfriend the following day.

His stint in District 12 was something you two rarely spoke on, choosing to forget those few disastrous months while you were separated, you back in the Capitol studying at University while Coriolanus learned the hard way what it meant to be a Peacekeeper, to learn what it feels like to betray a friend, to learn what true power felt like.

Dr. Gaul had spoken to you prior to calling Coriolanus back to the Capitol, wanting your input if he would be a considerable candidate for her Gamemaker Apprenticeship, to which you informed her it was one of the biggest honors he would have wished for. Thus, Coriolanus was recalled back to the Capitol, back to you, where he stood alongside Dr. Gaul to prepare for years of Hunger Games, eventually landing as a true Gamemaker as Dr. Gaul began to take steps back in preparation for her retirement.

One day, however, Coriolanus had told her he was interested in becoming Panem’s next president, with Felix Ravinstill gone and no other heirs of the title, an election would take place. It was no surprise to the Head Gamemaker when the blonde brought the idea up, having seen him yearn and hunger for the coveted presidential position since he was fresh out of the Academy.

It came as no shock when he was announced at the Panem’s next president, you alongside of him as the First Lady. The country never knew what would become of the young couple, stars and revenge in their eyes.

-----

Coriolanus knew where he could find you once he returned from the Citadel, having met with Dr. Gaul for the upcoming 25th Hunger Games. He wanted them to be more of a spectacle than usual, to commemorate the quarter century since the end of the war.

He ignored the Avox who had opened the door to the private wing of the mansion, ignored the Avox who had his usual glass of whiskey waiting on a silver platter.

Opening the door to the greenhouse, Coriolanus’ eyes lit up as he saw you carefully pruning the rose bush planted in memorial of the Grandma’am. “Love?”

You looked up, and Coriolanus smiled when he realized your hearing aid was still in. You usually chose not to wear it while at home, preferring the comfortable silence from time to time.

“How was your day?” He asked, helping you untie the gardening smock you wore to protect the clothing underneath.

“It was fine, uneventful.” You replied, looking at the garden around the two of you. “How was Volumnia?”

Coriolanus was still gobsmacked that Dr. Gaul allowed his wife to call her by her first name, only a select few Capitol citizens were granted that honor, though he was one of them.

“She misses you, asked that you stop by sometime for lunch.” Coriolanus mused, plucking a rose out of the bunch in the vase. “Maybe you can help her come up with some new strategies for The Games, she loved your idea of stocking some food in the middle.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, not expecting the silly idea of arming the tributes with food to be such a hit in the Captiol. Betting had been at an all-time high for the tributes who had been able to get their hands on the stale, tasteless protein bars.

“I’ll see if she’s available on Thursday.” You knew the mad scientist would make room any day to meet with you. She had a soft spot for you, no one was quite sure why.

“You can ask her this evening, since we have that awful gala to start preparing for The Games.”

You looked at your husband, clearly forgetting about the gala. “I forgot that was tonight. I wouldn’t have pruned the roses if I had known.”

Coriolanus, who was cold-hearted and strict in public, simply waved off the nonissue. “You wore gloves, a smock, you look as beautiful as ever.”

You pressed your lips to his, disappearing to the bathroom for a shower prior to getting ready.

-----

 Attending Capitol galas and evening events as First Lady of Panem was something you weren’t sure you would ever get used to. Cameras flashing, various news outlets trying to get a snippet of you and Coriolanus talking, microphones in your faces.

Not that they would get anything, as Coriolanus was only going to give hints at his next political plans, life events, anything really, to Lucky Flickerman, who he had become rather close with following his mentorship in the Academy.

“D’you want anything to drink?” Coriolanus asked, lips brushing on the shell of your left ear.

Nodding, you two moved over to the bar for a couple glasses of posca before starting the endless circle of meeting politicians, thanking Capitol elites for their support, and the nagging question of when you two would start a family.

You had eventually been able to break free from the conversation you and Coriolanus were stuck in when Lucky Flickerman himself took the spot in behind the podium, preparing to start the night’s speeches.

Taking your seats, you felt Coriolanus place his arm on the back of your chair, hand brushing up and down the back your right bicep, goosebumps breaking out in the area.

As Lucky began his speech, you moved closer to your husband, whispering in his ear, “I can’t understand what he’s saying.”

Coriolanus looked back at you, noticing the missing hearing aid, eyebrow raised.

“I forgot to put it back in after my shower.”

Without missing a beat, Coriolanus shifted in his seat and began to interpret the speeches for you, ignoring the not-so-subtle looks you two were getting, mainly from newer guests who weren’t used to seeing the president use sign language.

At the conclusion of Lucky’s speech, a Capitol employee scuttled over to the First Couple.

“President Snow, we can have an Avox translate if you’d like.”

Frowning, Coriolanus shook his head. “That’s alright, I can interpret for my wife.”

The employee didn’t seem to expect that response, simply blinking at the couple.

“Is that a problem?” Coriolanus asked, ignoring your hand on his knee.

“N-no, not at all. I just- you’re expected to make a speech tonight, too.” The employee tried to backpedal, not wanting to ruin his career tonight.

You chose this moment to speak up, not wanting Coriolanus to overreact. “It’s fine, Coryo’s quite apt at making sure I know what’s going on. Why don’t you be a dear and get me a glass of wine?”

The employee was quick to leave the conversation, and Coriolanus looked at you. “You’re too kind to them.”

Shrugging, you took the full glass without so much as a glance in the employee’s direction. “Someone has to be.”

Coriolanus let out an airy laugh as he stood up, dusting off some nonexistent crumbs from his burgundy suit. He squeezed your arm before departing from your side, taking his place where Lucky Flickerman had left open, the weatherman-turned-host made sure to give his hand a shake as they exchanged pleasantries.

 Giving everyone a moment to settle down, Coriolanus cleared his throat before beginning, shocking nearly everyone in the room as he used both his voice and hands to conduct the speech.

“The Twenty-Fifth Hunger Games are right around the corner, so I thought I would give you all a twist I’m putting into the Reaping ceremony this year, and potentially the following Reapings. Dr. Gaul and I have had numerous discussions about how tributes are elected, and from prior games being rigged, we have initiated a couple updates to the ceremony and process.”

You were curious of the updates Coriolanus was talking about, unaware he was still dipping his toes into Gamemaking.

“Rather than each District’s mayor or elected spokesperson calling the names, we will have someone from the Capitol pull names. It will eliminate the possibility for rigging the tributes. In addition, who really wants to watch groups of children kill each other? With Reaping eligibility starting at age twelve, the Gamemakers and I have decided to increase the number of entries one gets as they age. When they reach the age of eighteen, each possible tribute will be entered into the Reaping six times.”

You weren’t able to hear everyone’s whispers, but you could see them looking at each other, taking in the news.

Coriolanus concluded his speech by introducing Dr. Gaul’s assistant, as the Head Gamemaker had something come up rendering her unable to attend the gala.

When he returned to your side, you looked him up and down. “Some updates, huh? Whose idea were they?”

Coriolanus had a smirk on his face, simply bringing his glass of posca to his lips.

-----

After all of the speeches were finished, some music began to play, letting the now tipsy and drunk Capitol elite take the dancefloor with eager steps.

Lucky Flickerman meandered over to where you and Coriolanus were still seated, discussing what Tigris deserved for her upcoming birthday.

“Not going to share a dance tonight?” He asked, looking between the two of you.

“Oh, Lucky, you should now, we don’t really dance. Only for the most special of occasions.” Coriolanus smiled, twisting the wedding band around his finger.

You wore a matching smile, though your reply wasn’t quite what Lucky expected. “And besides, Lucky, I’m not the best dancer if I can’t hear the music. You should have seen the first time we tried to dance together in the Academy.”  

The mustached man opened his mouth like he was going to reply, but nothing came out except for a chuckle.

Coriolanus hid his smile behind the glass of water he had switched to, not able to tolerate the posca and wine like he had before.

It was one of his favorite moments after you two had officially started dating. The Academy had their annual prom, though it tended to be more of a fashion show than dance, as many students arrived in extravagant outfits that were ill-suited for dancing.

You had been in a sparking silver dress, heels a gift from your mother, red-tinted lips dropping when Coriolanus asked you to dance with him.

It had been enough missteps to last a lifetime, but the two of you took it in stride, promising each other to get a proper dance instructor before your first dance at the wedding years later.

“I do hate to break up the fond memory, honey, but we should be heading out.”

Coriolanus downed the rest of his water before standing, lending you his arm as you two bid goodnight to your friends and Coriolanus’ closest colleagues, before disappearing from the gala.

-----

You walked out of the bathroom from taking your makeup off to see Coriolanus sitting on the bed, sheets pulled back for your arrival.

“Who are you thinking will be the Capitol’s representative for the Reaping?” You asked, mind still going back to the Reaping updates.

Coriolanus closed the book he was reading, eyes looking you up and down as you climbed into the bed. “I don’t know yet. Why, do you have anyone in mind?”

You shrugged, pulling the sheets up to your chest, yawn escaping your lips. “No one in particular, but I’m sure I could come up with some names.”

Coriolanus laughed, setting his book on the nightstand next to him. “We can talk about it when you’re not going to fall asleep in mere minutes. Goodnight, love.”

“Mm, ‘night, Coryo.” You whispered, letting Coriolanus’ soft breathing and the distant sounds of sirens lull you to sleep.

-----

a/n: hey was this good should i do more in this universe let me know

[lilimaginebean]

jjk men in bridgerton universe (fem!reader)

characters: geto, gojo, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna

🎋 masterlist

Dearest gentle reader, the enchanting season of balls and soirees has once graced us with its presence, and with it comes the ever-present hunt for the most elegible and desirable bachelors. This year, the competition is fiercer than ever, as six distinguished gentlemen have captured the hearts of many a lady and become the talk of the town. Their charm and refinement have set the social scene ablaze, leaving many a heart affluter. Join me as we delve into the charms and virtues of these gallant suitors.Yours sincerely, Lady Whistledown

suguru geto was raised alongside the prince gojo satoru. he inherited his title (duke) from his father, a humble doctor who earned his nobility by saving the king's life. suguru arrived in London at the request of satoru, who sought his loyal friend's support in the quest for a suitable bride

he wasn't in search of a wife; his primary purpose for being there was to assist his best friend prince!satoru

he met you in the first ball of the season, where he witnessed one of your suitors behaving disrespectfully; so he rescued you from him

after that memorable everning, where you spent hours engrossed in conversation, duke!suguru began to reconsider his stance on marriage

he courted you with thoughtful yet extravagant gifts—limited edition books with author's notes, flowers not commonly found in London, and equisite dresses crafted from the finest materials

long, leisurely promenades during mornings and enjoyable dances at the balls during nights

on evenings without balls, you would share your dreams, secrets, and intimate thoughts under the soft glow of the moonlight

he gathered the courage to propose, and upon receiving your "yes", he sought for family's blessing for your hand in marriage

private but enchanting wedding, attended by your family, his mother, and prince!satoru

as a token of his love, duke!suguru gave you the ring that had been worn by his grandma and mama during their marriages.

he purchased a charming house next to the castle, so both of you could live there happily

you had three kids, two boys and one girl

“It has always been you and i cannot do nothing but offer you all what i possess, including myself”

satoru gojo who considered suguru to be both his brother and trusted advisor, often seeks his counseld and important matters. he is widely recognized for his charismatic and charming Casanova-like personality, having lots of affairs. As the heir of the United Kingdom he embarked on a journey to London with the singular goal of finding a suitable wife.

his aim was to marry the diamond of the season, yet sadly, she showed no interest in him at all

fate itervened when he encountered you in the royal gardens, where you were gazing at the stars and engaged in an animated conversation with your suitor. finding your enthusiasm amusing, he felt drawn to your charm

he asked suguru to gather information about you. it turned out you belonged to one of London's wealthiest families

recognizing your humility and profund influence your family had in the kingdom and in other kingdoms, satoru made the bold decision to seek your father's permission for your hand in marriage

despite the fact you did not know him at all, you found yourself abroad a trip bound for your new home

extravagant and luxurious wedding, featuring an abudance of guests that lasted an entire week. unfortunately, the celebration became awkward, as you had yet to truly interact with prince!satoru

satoru chose to end his love affairs the moment he married you

at first, interactions were solely focused on the purpose of ensuring a royal heir for the Gojo family through pregnancy

as time went on, he felt guilty for leaving you alone in the castle all day. he began inviting you to join him in his tasks, discovering your passion for astronomy and realizing you were more than just a pretty face from a wealthy family

within just a month, you had transformed into a pair of lovebirds who could scarcely bear to be apart

satoru is delighted in bringing you thoughtful gifts from his travels, each one intricately connected to your passion for astronomy

you had five kids, three boys and two girls

“maybe the stars were the reason why we met, but i am going to be the reason for you to stay”

kento nanami whose family is highly respected throughout London. He is a viscount who enjoyed a long standing connection with the royal family, being even close friend to prince!satoru and duke!suguru. As a result, he is often seen at all significant events. At the age of twenty-eight, prompted by his father's wishes, viscount!nanami decided it was time to find a wife.

had a notebook with the names of ladies he thought he might have a chance with

he was taken aback when he discovered that one of his childhood friends—yourself—had emerged as a debutante. he almost had a heart attack when he knew you were the diamond of the season

with the intention of reconnecting rather than courting, nanami approached you for a brief conversation

you confided in him about exhausting pressure of having numerous suitors vying for your attention.

in a moment of genuine kindness nanami offered to court you, suggesting that it would provide you with an opportunity to realx from the encounters of the other suitors

what began as three leisurely promenades a week quickly transformed into a daily ritual

every suitor you had gradually withdrew, as your connection with viscount!nanami deepened

the undeniable chemistry and bond between you were simply too intense to ignore even for both of you. with the season drawing to a close, he formally asked for your hand in marriage

the wedding was a momentous occasion, capturing the attention of London. even prince!satoru attended this grand event with his wife, who was carrying the heir of the kingdom

you had four kids, three boys and one girl

“darling, you have nothing to envy to diamonds. you worth more than all diamonds in the world”

choso is a baron hailed from a modest family but well-respect family withing their country. as the eldest son of nine, he carried the responsibility of taking care of his family. In pursuit of expanding the family business baron!choso traveled to London to sought new partners.

one of his potential business associate informed him about the prestigious opening ball, and with little else on his agenda, he decided to attended

his sweet, gently and polite demeanor quickly capitvated everyone he met. in the span of a single night, choso trasformed into one of the most sought-after suitors in the room

one morning, while strolling through the park and trying to evade the eager mamas and their daughters, he inadvertently collided with you, causing you to tumble to the pavement

concerned for your well-being, he chose to remain by your side for the rest of the day. his frequent visits during your recovery turned into cherised moments, and love began to blossom

he admitted his main goal was to increase the company's earnings enough that his family would no longer worry about financial issues

you shared your desire to travel the globe, having had fragile health and being rarely allowed outside by your parents

eventually, he mustered the courage to ask for your hand in marriage, promising to fulfill your dream of traveling the world together

wedding was a modest affair, attended only by close family members

in the first three years of your marriage, you and baron!choso traveled around the globe; allowing him to expand his business internationally while you explored the amazing world you had always longed to see

by the fifth year, choso purchased a charming house in the wealthiest street in London; where you both settled down to start a family

you had seven kids, four boys and three girls

“you will make me the most fortunate man if you let me make your dreams come true”

toji fushigiro is the most esteemed warrior in the United Kingdom's army. He escaped his abusive family by enlisting, quickly gaining notoriety for his reckless and individualistic battle style. He ascended to colonel in just a year. After sustaining injuries in combat, toji arrived in London.

he crossed paths with you in the red light district. emerging for a cabaret, he spotted you as you passed by, searching for him. knowing his past as a hitman, you approached to him with a mission, help you find your sister. he accepted the mission

your sister and you were bastards, leading your father to deny both of you, and your mother sold you. fortunately, you were taken in by a kind farmer

now an adult you had decided to spend your savings to travel to London in hopes of reuniting with your sister

toji and you moved together into a humble apartment, to make the search easier

as your shared late-night drinks, a unique friendship began to blossoms, with both of you opening up about your pasts

eventually, you and him discovered that your sister had managed to escape with a painter two years prior. on the same night of this relevation, he received a call to defend the kingdom

for the first time, toji felt genuine empathy for your plight, as you were left with no money and without your sister. in a moment of compassion, he proposed marriage, knowing that this would elevate your status and provide you with a modest home on the outskirts of town

his benevolent gesture made you fall in love with him

after two years of war, he returned home with two children, a boy and a girl. you embraced them as your own

your kindness and nuturing spirit towards both the children and him made him realize what a remarkable partner you were.

you fell in love first but he fell harder

you had three kids, two girls and one boy

“i won’t be able to thank your sister enough, if it wasn’t for her, i wouldn’t have the chance to met you and call you mine”

sukuna rules the Ottoman Empire with a reputation of his cold-hearted yet rational approach to governance. Despite his stern demeanor, he commands respect from other kingdoms and empires. Determined to secure a worthy wife to bear him respected heirs, he travels to London on a quest for a suitable partner.

you first encountered him as he was stepping out of the first ball, visibly defeated by his failure to find anyone worth of his stature. just then, you were defending a debutante from an inappropiate suitor

sukuna intervened before the man could lay a hand on you

grateful for his chivalry, you thanked him but insisted you could have handled the situation on your own

he found your attitude cocky and thought you would need a punishment to know who you were talking to

after investigating you, he discovered that you found the process of courting and being a debutante frustrating and pointless. your deep annoyance with the system often made you feel ill whenever a gentlemen attempted to court you

he decided to punish you by courting you. you recognized his playfull intentions and decided to match his wit by accepting his expensive gifts while demanding even greater offerings in return

dynamic of enemies to lovers

sukuna soon realized you were everything he sought in a partner, a powefull lady excelling in various disciplines. music? you mastered five instruments effortlesly. art? your hiperrealism paintings left onlookers in awe. manners? everyone envy your poise, grafecul expressions and sharp wit

you began to see him in a new light. he was a wealthy man who wasn't uncomfortable with your honest opinions or strong personality

he demanded you to marry him, you demanded him to ask it in a nicer way

greatest wedding of the century, a lavish celebration where he proudly displayed his new bride to every kingdom and empire

you had one kid, a boy

“do you know what’s better than a king and his empire? a king with his powerful queen”

[hisui-dreamer]

such lengths

Pairing: Floyd Leech x f!reader

Synopsis: if your fiancé is the one to kill you in an arranged marriage you can't refuse, then why not seduce said fiancé so he won't kill you?

Tags: fluff, cliché isekai plots, reincarnation, female reader, historical setting, arranged marriages

Word count: 1.7k+

Notes: how did i write more for floyd than malleus💀

anywaysss early birthday prize for everyone's second favourite eel!!

✧Jade's Villainess✧ ✧Malleus' Villainess✧

Masterlist

The tale of this noblewoman is nothing short of a pitiful one.

Though born into a lineage of high prestige, her family's former glory had withered away, drained dry by the toils of generations past. Yet, the count and countess, bound by love and tenderness, still showered their daughter with affection, sparing no effort to ensure her well-being.

The noblewoman yearned for this fleeting happiness to linger, but destiny rarely extends its benevolent hand for long. On her eleventh birthday, her mother, weary from the ceaseless burdens of the household, succumbed to a devastating illness and became bedridden. In a desperate gambit to procure funds for the cure to his wife's illness, the count embarked on treacherous voyages to distant shores, seeking business opportunities in the coastal realms.

But alas, the wheel of misfortune turned relentlessly. On her fourteenth birthday, while returning home with promises of a prosperous business deal, the count met his untimely end in a harrowing carriage accident.

As the sole heir to the county, she was burdened with the weight of the title, a mantle too heavy for an adolescent to bear. She undertook the grim task of orchestrating her father's funeral. During the somber ceremony, a peculiar party of visitors arrived, their countenance unsettling, teeth like razors and stature unnaturally tall. She soon learned these were the Leech family, the very traders her father had forged deals with.

They dangled an irresistible proposition before her, one she could not refuse; in exchange for becoming the betrothed of the eldest Leech son, her mother's well-being would be safeguarded, and the finest remedies would be at her disposal.

Thus, the noblewoman, too foolish and naive, chose to secure her mother's future. Their union was sealed when she reached the age of eighteen. Yet, not even a year passed before a sinister illness overcame her, her constitution ravaged by a poison slowly administered by her own husband.

The Leech family, though incredibly wealthy and influential, had always hungered for the societal standing that had long eluded them. The noblewoman, unknowingly, was their golden ladder to ascend into aristocracy, for deceiving the aristocratic circles into believing she was sickly, much like her mother, proved a simple task.

And so, the noblewoman passed away pitifully, her title passed into the hands of her husband, and her mother soon followed her beloved daughter.

of all the characters you could've have reincarnated as, you had the worst luck of all when you woke up as Floyd's late wife

heck, Floyd wasn't even the main character of the novel, it was some businessman that grew up to be greedy and cruel, but had to learn how to love again after meeting the heroine

his late wife was just briefly mentioned for a paragraph about how the leech family, basically the mafia from "fathoms below", started gaining more influence and helped the businessman with his schemes

though Floyd and his twin brother jade did gain a large fanbase, they were a pretty striking duo and when did red flags ever stop fans from simping

you yourself were a huge fan of the twins, but even you didn't instantly recognize you became Floyd's late wife

it was only when you were grieving with your mother about the passing of your caring father and the leech family showed up at the funeral

the striking teal hair, mismatched eyes, and carefree grin stood out almost immediately

Mr. Leech, an formidable figure, cast a shadow of authority as he shattered the oppressive silence that had draped itself over the elegant garden. His voice, deep and resonant, possessed a commanding quality as he addressed you. "My condolences for your loss, my dear. Your father and I were business partners... He spoke very highly of you."

With a sense of poised grace, you offered a nod at his words. "Thank you, Mr. Leech. It is an honor to have made the acquaintance of your family, even under these less-than-fortunate circumstances."

Jade, his sharp and composed eyes keenly focused on you, joined the conversation. "I'm very sorry for your loss. I'm Jade," he offered his hand in greeting.

You shook his hand, your voice filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Jade."

In stark contrast, Floyd, exuding an aura of indifference. Mr. Leech took it upon himself to introduce him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "And this is Floyd, my eldest son."

You extended a polite greeting to Floyd, your tone warm and inviting as you curtseyed. "Hello, Floyd. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Floyd, maintaining his stoic demeanor, made a "hmph" sound before turning away, his demeanor aloof.

Sensing the tension and his apparent disinterest, you scrambled for a way to interest him. "Oh uhm, you must be tired from your journey. Would you care for some refreshments? We have some pastries prepared, if you'd like."

He turns back to you, a glint of interest flickering in his curious eyes. "Hmmm... Alright, why don'tcha show me what you've got prepared, Shrimpy?" He responds, the edges of his lips curling upward.

thankfully, the funeral came to a close peacefully, and Floyd seemingly got along with you

from then you awaited the offer letter from Mr Leech to arrive

you remembered that Floyd, though easily bored, could be really dedicated to something if he wanted to

so what better way to survive, than to make Floyd like you?? only then will your mom get the medicine she needs, and you'll survive without struggling in poverty

worse case scenario, he gets bored of you when you're older and you'll just divorce

and if he's the one asking for the divorce, he can't really make you pay compensation for the past medical fees

so, you decided to accept the proposal nonetheless

but not without precautions!! you started studying intensely on all sorts of poisons and antidotes, just in case Floyd randomly gets bored and tries to unalive you

though if he wanted to end your life with brute force, you knew you wouldn't stand a chance against him

as fiancés, there's not much improvement in your relationship

sometimes he's bored and finds hanging out with you a chore, other times he's following you around like a curious puppy, and there are also moments where he pranks you to see your reactions

you've tried becoming closer to him by getting him cool shoes and playing instruments, but he's far too aloof for you to know if he likes you or not

but thankfully, your mother's complection has improved a lot, and it does look like she's recovering

and once you're both officially adults and married, you start attending public events with floyd to establish your connections

or more accurately, for the leech family to establish connections with aristocracy

this time, it was a tea party held by some business competitors of the leech family

The elegant garden was a tranquil haven for the tea party, the soft murmur of leaves rustling in the gentle breeze providing a soothing background to the clink of fine china and hushed conversations. You, Floyd, and the other aristocratic adolescents settled around a beautifully adorned table, the porcelain teacups and dainty pastries tempting you all.

Floyd lifted the delicate teacup to his lips as he rolled his eyes, having grown weary of the incessant chatter and polite pleasantries that surrounded him. Just as he was about to take a sip, you noticed a faint, unusual scent wafting from his cup, a scent that sent a chilling realization down your spine.

With lightning-quick reflexes, you reached out and pressed your hand against Floyd's, preventing him from taking that fateful sip. "Wait, Floyd, don't," you whispered urgently.

Startled, Floyd's gaze darted to your eyes, confusion etched across his face. "What's wrong, Shrimpy?" he asked, taken aback by your trembling hands.

You carefully take out the silver hairpin gifted to you by Mr Leech from your hair, murmuring, "Please explain this to father-in-law later..." Carefully, you submerged the hairpin into Floyd's cup, and both of you watched in horror as the pearly hairpin rapidly transformed into a sinister shade of black.

His eyes widened as he looked down at the poisoned tea, realizing the danger he had been unknowingly on the brink of. Anger simmered beneath the surface, his emotions stirred by the audacity of someone attempting harm. Swiftly, he plucked the hairpin from the cup, using his handkerchief to conceal the incriminating evidence before the guests could catch on.

"I'm bored," His voice carried throughout the venue, capturing the attention of the other guests. "Let's get out of here." He said as he pulled you up from your seat with a firm yet gentle gesture, placing an arm around your shoulder as he guided you away from the tea party.

Once you were far from prying eyes, he pulled you close, wrapping you in a protective embrace. His large hand moved soothingly over your back, attempting to calm your trembling form.

"Thanks, Shrimpy. I owe ya one" he whispered into your hair. After a brief moment, he pulled back slightly, his intense gaze fixed on your eyes. "But how'd ya know my tea was messed with?"

Anxiety seized your body at the question, the weight of your response holding immense consequences. If you answered wrongly, Floyd might suspect your intentions. In a panic, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"I wanted to protect you!"

Floyd blinked. "Protect... me?"

"Yes!" You affirmed. "I thought maybe there would be attempts on your life since your family's incredibly influential, and I wanted to be able to protect you..." You murmured the last bit, praying that you were making sense.

With an expression of genuine astonishment, Floyd stared at you, unblinking. It was clear that your explanation had taken him by surprise, the notion of your dedication leaving him momentarily speechless.

"You... you went through such lengths... to protect me?" Floyd finally managed to utter, a hint of incredulity in his voice. A glimmer of warmth crept into his eyes as he studied your face, taking in the sincerity in your actions.

Before you could conjure up an answer, his grip on your shoulder tightened, drawing you closer to him. "You're really something else, Shrimpy," he murmured, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Hahaha! I wouldn't mind having you around!"

needless to say, floyd started following you around even more now

it seems this event really helped you gain his trust and affection

soon after the party, he gifted you a new hairpin, with "pearls he found himself" he says

he starts getting jealous when you spend more time studying poisons with jade but if you say you're doing it because you want to protect him he melts again

looks like you're not losing your life anytime soon, but i also don't think that eel is letting go of you ever

Masterlist

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[blouisparadise]

There were some amazing bottom Louis fics posted or completed during the month of January. We really hope you enjoy this list and show these fics love. Happy reading!

1) Lucky Number Nine | Not Rated | 2,706 words

“Elle, I only ever wanted to be two things when I got older, Hot as shit and a criminal.” “Why a criminal?” She asks. “Well, I-” Louis is cut off by a ping on his phone. He looks down at it and reads it. “Shit, Shit, Shit! Elle, hand me my bag please and spritz me. The car is here!” She does just that, giving him four spritz of their shared floral VS perfume. Louis leaves and walks downstairs to find a very nice and very expensive car. He smiles wide and gets in eagerly. The driver greets him and hands him a small bottle of Fireball. What?

2) I Miss You, I'm Sorry | Explicit | 2,871 words

Note: The main pairing is Louis/Zayn Malik.  

Louis spends some time with zayn in his hotel room after his LA show. they smoke. they fuck.

3) What A Life We'd Have (I've Got So Much To Give) | Explicit | 3,610 words

They made a silly bet—really, it was ridiculous. Harry had bet Louis he couldn’t learn how to drive Delilah, his 18-wheeler because of the gear shift, so Louis bet him he couldn't learn how to give a good massage. The loser has to do the dishes and laundry for two weeks and well—here they are.

4) The Uni Party | Mature | 10,601 words

“What’s the point of going to a party sober?” he’d said earlier, tugging Harry by the hand into the kitchen of their flat. Harry had rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue, watching as Louis lined up the tequila shots like he was about to take part in an Olympic event.

5) Time It Right, Ensure the Passage of Youth Bids Farewell | Mature | 12,202 words

Harry and Louis join a frat, and they are like, totally not into each other like that!

6) His Comet | Not Rated | 14,390 words

Everyone, and everything has an origin story; something that defined the way they are now, how they act, and the things they do. There's also an ending to every story, but what about the inbetween? The things in the middle that we don't know about?

7) Pathos | Mature | 26,566 words

In 1760s London, amidst the grandeur of gilded estates and the shadowy intrigues of high society, Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson are heirs to two of the city's most esteemed families. To the outside world, Harry and Louis present a complicated relationship-a bond that borders on disdain, peppered with moments of what could pass as brotherly camaraderie. Yet, behind closed doors, their connection defies the strict conventions of their world. Beneath the facade of disdain lies an undeniable bond, forbidden and fraught with danger.

8) Leave The Light On (I’m Coming Home) | Explicit | 42,793 words

In Louis’ twenty-two years of life, she had never questioned her sexuality. Up until now she had only ever been with boys and never had second thoughts about it. Although, nothing had ever given her a reason to. That is, until she met Harry.

9) Fragments of Forgotten Lives | Explicit | 160,960 words

Louis has been missing for over a year, but the first thing he remembers is waking up just a few weeks ago. Everything before that is a blur - no memory of where he’s been or who he was. Now, trying to rebuild his life in Manchester, he finds solace in therapy and a deepening connection with a fellow survivor. When Harry, a stranger to Louis but someone from his forgotten past, recognises him on the street, everything shifts. Despite the amnesia, something about Harry feels familiar, like a lifeline. As fragments of his lost memories begin to resurface in vivid, unsettling nightmares, Louis clings to the comfort Harry brings. Together, they embark on a journey to uncover the truth of his missing year, unlocking hidden secrets, unspoken bonds, and a past that refuses to stay buried.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[fleurriee]

— unwind ; neteyam sully

pairing ; neteyam sully x fem!reader

synopsis ; when the pressure becomes too much, all neteyam needs is some comfort from his mate.

word count ; 2.3k

themes ; fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship (mates)

warnings ; none bc neteyam is bby

author’s note ; this is just a cute little idea i thought of & couldn’t help myself from writing. makes a change from all the long ass things ive been writing that hurt my brain sometimes.

main masterlist  request a fic!

After finally mating before the eyes of Ewya, yourself and Neteyam came together as one. It wasn’t too long ago now since the ritual occurred, and you found yourself continuing to bask in the blissful phase of your relationship - something you hoped never disappeared between the two of you. 

Neteyam couldn’t have been a better mate towards you; when the two of you moved in together, you were sure your eyes were only filled with the love you held for him. The way he carried all of your stuff, insisting that he would do it all for you, setting everything up within your tent, making it your home, had you feeling pure domesticity.

His family, too, had been nothing but welcoming. Obviously, they had been doing so before you mated with Neteyam, but after the event, everything heightened ten-fold. Perhaps his parents understood the sudden feelings you were going through now - those of nerves, of excitement, of pressure. Now that you and Neteyam were mated, it wouldn’t be long before other Na’vi would start questioning the next chapter in your lives’ - children. 

You loved Neteyam and you loved your relationship with him, but you still felt as though you could wait a little longer before deciding to grow your family. After all, the two of you were still young, and you had time before getting into anything serious. Thankfully, after speaking of your worries to your mate, he had agreed wholeheartedly, ensuring you that he didn’t mind if you wanted to wait. You had been a little worried about talking about it to him, in the beginning, not wanting to break his heart - two newly mated Na’vi were normally not too far off from their firstborn - and if he had an idea such as that in his mind, you’d feel more guilty than anything by letting him down.

But, like you said, you couldn’t have asked for a better mate.

However, there have been several occasions where Neteyam was slightly... unfavourable. Spending days on end training alongside both his father and younger brother eventually took a toll of him, constantly sticking up for the latter’s reckless actions, and taking on all of the pressure and responsibilities the former asked of him. Such days only left him feeling groggy and grumbling, mumbled words thrown over to you before slumping over to the mat, too mentally drained to do anything else.

You don’t mind these days, though - everyone had them, especially when you were the heir to the Olo’eyktan title. As his mate, your role was to always be there for him, through thick and thin, no matter the circumstance. Whether Neteyam needed some time alone, some peace and quiet, or whether he just simply needed you, held within your arms until the sun came up and he felt better about the next day ahead. He couldn’t let all his emotions go when he was out within the clan, keeping himself composed and acting as though unbothered of the chaos swirling all around him - but, he could when he was with you, letting everything go until he felt brand new again. You’d do anything for your mate.

That’s why as you’re cutting up the meats sent over from the latest hunting trip, situated comfortably on the floor as you concentrated on getting Neteyam’s portion the way he liked it, and Neteyam stormed in, you’re mentally preparing yourself for whatever he needs. 

The greeting you had once you spotted him in your peripheral vision dies in your throat when you notice his scrunched up features: furrowed eyes, pursed lips, fangs pointing sharply against his mouth. You can only begin to imagine what got under his skin this time.

Your ears perk up subconsciously, desperately trying to make out what he’s saying, but his moans are hushed under his breath. His head is angled towards the ground, fists clenched tightly as his body subconsciously moves him closer towards your awaiting figure. Once situated behind you, you feel him immediately slump down, getting closer until your back is pressed directly against his middle, sitting together as though you were one being. His arms wrap around your waist tightly, holding on like he never wanted to let you go, before shoving his head in the crook of your neck, nose taking a deep inhale of your scent, no doubt to calm him down.

Pausing to properly discern the situation that has quite literally been thrown on your lap, mind thinking over the best way to approach him when his actions clearly call for affection, you gently place the knife you were previously using down on the board, food long forgotten within your mind. 

You bring your hand up to caress the top of his head, fingers slightly carding through some of his braids, turning your head and pressing a lingering kiss against him. You want to make sure he understands how much you appreciate him, even when you’re yet to find out what’s caused his agitation. Neteyam sometimes finds himself overthinking a lot of things, ranging from whether he’d be a good Olo’eyktan when the time comes to take over; whether he was a good son or a good brother; whether he was a good mate. You hated it when he got this way, desperate to reassure every raging thought troubling his mind and force it away. 

Neteyam was perfect, and you just wished he saw himself that way.

A purr sounds against the skin of your neck, rumbling from the chest sat comfortably behind you as he only snuggles in closer, desperate for more contact. The action has you chuckling softly, your mind telling you that it was a good sign if he was purring, that he didn’t want to just succumb to sleep and pretend like the world wasn’t waiting for him.

“What is wrong, my munxta (mate)?” you asked him affectionately, words light so as not to disturb the peace surrounding the two of you. You make sure to continue caressing the top of his head, movements slow to calm his racing heart and bring him back down to earth, slowly lulling him away.

He doesn’t bother lifting his head away from your neck when he speaks, only taking in another waft of your scent for comfort. “I just-” he starts, before sighing deeply, as though trying to summon the correct words that can truly convey his feelings. You feel his body shift impossibly closer to your own, arms wrapped around you only holding on tighter. “It feels like too much sometimes... like I can’t do anything properly...”

His words are so quiet, so vulnerable, they have your heart aching in sympathy. Neteyam should never put himself down, because he has no reason to - but, he doesn’t see himself that way, too caught up in all the negative results of his actions and decisions. This is just how it is when you’re the eldest child within a big family, you guess. “That’s not true, and you know it isn’t,” you insist, slightly shifting your body in his direction, wanting him to recognise the pure sincerity within each of your words, never once detaching your hand from his head as it rubs soothing circles. “I know it can feel like too much sometimes, but you are doing an amazing job - anyone can see that.” As you continue speaking to him, insisting, you start to feel the tenseness of your mate begin to subside. “The clan are so entirely lucky to have you with them, let alone as their next Olo’eyktan.” This time, you decide to make it a little more personal, knowing that’ll only reassure him more. “And, you are always providing for us, for our home, for our future... I really couldn’t ask for a better mate, ma’teyam.”

With one last inhale, rubbing his face against your skin to bask in everything completely you, he gradually lifts his head up, eyes trained directly at your figure. The edges of his lips are starting to curve up, too, a sense of relief floating through you. “Really?” he asks quietly, seeking out every ounce of comfort and encouragement you’re offering.

Tilting your head affectionately, smiling down at him lovingly, you lean forwards, pressing a gentle kiss against his lips that still held a small pout to them. When you pull away, you watch in amusement as he subconsciously leans further for more, eyes closed in a haze. You lean your forehead against his own, basking in the warmth he’s emitting to you, waiting for him to look at you, dazed, before speaking. “Really.”

For a moment, neither of you do anything - neither of you move, neither of you speak. Instead, you fall into one another’s embraces, staring so intently into one another’s gazes you’re sure you can see into the depths of his soul. You don’t want to do anything else but be in this moment with your mate - your perfect mate. From then on, you told yourself you’d always ensure that he knew how helpful he was to every living Na’vi in your clan.

After the silence had enveloped you whole, just the two of your breathing peacefully, you move further away from him, but make sure to stay close. “Now,” you sigh, gesturing your head over to the mat in the corner of your tent, “why don’t you go and rest while I finish up our dinner? You’ve had a long day out hunting - it’s the least I can do.”

But, despite loving the way you want to provide for him, he can’t let that happen. He shakes his head, adamant, sitting up straighter and finally coming back to life, showing off the real Neteyam again. “No, no. I want to help.”

“Neteyam,” you urge, doing your best to perceive yourself as stern as possible. You can tell instantly by the amused look on his face that it isn’t working the way you had hoped. “It is fine, go and rest-”

“No,” he continues shaking his head, almost playful now, although you can still see the seriousness in his features. “I am not taking no for an answer.”

You’re practically whining now, wishing for once in his life that he’d let you do something for him. Practically since you had met him, since he started to court you, Neteyam had done everything for you, and whilst you loved it, whilst you adored every action he took with the thought of you in his mind, you wanted the roles to be reversed sometimes, even just once. But, he was unwavering, stating that he loved to take care of you in every way possible, that as your mate, it was his job. Somehow, he didn’t understand that it worked the same way, too. “Neteyam-”

You didn’t know what you were going to say, how you were going to convince him to just give in, but you don’t even have a slight chance of trying anything when he cuts you off with a kiss. His lips meet yours, tender and soft, but there’s undying passion left within the action. It has your heart stuttering in its beats, mind foggy until you’ve completely forgotten what you were arguing for in the first place. You can feel your cheeks start to get flustered, no doubt the colour of your skin starting to darken. You both love and hate that he can have you acting like this - stuttering and speechless - just from a simple kiss.

When your eyes flutter open, you find Neteyam already watching you. “If you keep disagreeing with me, I’ll keep doing that.” His words are soft-spoken, barely a whisper, and they flutter onto you, sending bumps along your skin, drowning in his sensations. There’s a smug smile present on his lips, cocky - he knows he’ll win this one.

Your words are just a whisper when you speak, too drunk on wholly him. “Don’t tempt me.”

There’s still a hint of amusement lingering within your voice that Neteyam catches onto quickly, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips as he shakes his head at your actions. The sound of his voice, of his happiness, only has you basking in it, too, joining in with his laughing and relishing in these moments the two of you shared.

As you give in, allowing Neteyam to help you prepare your dinner, sitting side by side and stealing not-so-subtle glances to one another, you can’t help but feel quite proud of yourself. Neteyam had come home, slightly grumpy and annoyed, and now here he is, all wide smiles until your cheeks hurt and helping his mate with dinner. It’s happened like this before, but it was nice to feel like a good mate from time to time, helping and comforting him when he only needed you the most.

That night, as the two of you finally lie on your mat, ready for sleep to take over your senses, you can tell Neteyam isn’t all that comfortable - he’s turning from one side to the other, fidgeting in place like he doesn’t really know what to do. When you question him on it, confused as to why he’s acting such a way when you previously believed he was feeling a lot better now, his only response was his puppy eyes. That’s when you knew - and instantly, you moved into action, wiggling yourself higher on the mat so you were looking down at him, opening your arms wide in a welcoming invitation. Eagerly, he let himself fall into your embrace, his arms circling around your waist, whilst yours went around his shoulders, his head sat comfortably upon her chest and tucked under your chin.

It wasn’t often Neteyam wanted to be in this position when you fell asleep, but when he did, you loved it.

With one last look down at him, not caring if it was so painfully obvious, eyes raking over his entire figure and drinking him in entirely, the butterflies began to swarm in your stomach like they always do. He was so beautiful, so enchanting, and so caring - you’d do anything for your mate whenever he called for you, because Neteyam Sully simply deserved the world.

taglist ;

@bakugouswaif @andraga12 @draiochtwrites @teyums​ @neteyamslovrr @tinkerbelle05 @netesanrr​

[quitealotofsodapop]

When Tieshan told Macaque of the scarf, she knew what she was doing. She may not know much of Ancient Stone Monkey culture, but she had 500 years, a mountain full of lost stories and secrets regarding the clan, and quite the incentive to learn as much as she could. After all, it could literally be the difference between life and death for Wukong and his second try at parenthood. She wasn't going to risk sowmthing as simple as a lack of knowledge from stopping her...

So somewhere on that island she came across a depiction of Stone Monkey mourning rituals, including how some monkeys would choose to bury themselves beside their mates during the Stone Egg ritual, or lacking a proper resting place, with their mate's former items so that the dao of their mate would be absorbed by their Egg. A way for their mate to live on through their child, so to speak. This means she knows what it means for Wukong to have buried himself with Macaque's scarf and continue to wear it as a waist wrap even now. And she knows Macaque and Marshall Ma knows it, too.

Pigsy asks her how she knew mentioning the scarf would get Macaque out of his funk.

Pigsy: How the hell did you know that would work!?

Tieshan: Because despite not being raised by them, Macaque is still a Stone Monkey of the Lotus-Eared variant. In their culture, to bury oneself with something covered in their mate's dao is to wish for the cub to absorb the dao and have a piece ofntheir mate pass on to the cub, if not in blood, then in spirit. We can see in Xiaotian's coloration how Wukong and Macaque's dao had mixed together to create a child that looks like both parents.

Marshall Ma: Wukong would have known about this as well, the Elder whom led us before Wukong had taken the throne of the Stone Matriarch had raised him with as much knowledge about the Stone Monkeys as he could before he passed.

Xiwangmu, interested: Stone Matriarch? I have not heard of such a being.

Marshall Ma: 'Tis the title of Wukong's predecessor, the one whom Azure claims to be Lady Sonzi's reincarnation. We know her as the Stone Matriarch of Flower Fruit Mountain. She had led our predecessor tribe before the Floods. It is said she had left an egg bearing her Heir upon the Mountain, the very same one Wukong had hatched from. It is why we made him the Monkey King once he had discovered the ancestral palace behind the Water-Curtain Cave.

Prev.

Tieshan did spend about 500 years watching the island as it's vigil, and protector. She and the Stalwarts had many times come together for meals and chats. The topic of mourning rituals came up when she expressed a comparison to Wukong's state to that of a funeral burial. The Stalwarts were quick to show her the murals inside of Water Curtain Cave, relaying the stories Elder passed on to them from his time. How the Stone Monkeys not could form a vestal child from their own Dao, but from the Dao of lost spouses - given that they buried themselves at their side or with their belongings so that the couple had a chance to produce a shared child.

Tieshan recalls how her sworn-brother's favourite scarf was last seen in Wukong's arms...

The reveal that Macaque is Xiaotian's other parent (spiritually and genetically) is enough for him to shake out of his funk - not only did Wukong still love him after all that happened, but he made an effort to ensure that his second child would be born with Macaque's life energy!

I like to think that before they leave Flower Fruit Mountain; Xiwangmu and the Jade Emperor make a point of finding one of Shíhuā's shrines/statues and sitting down to just... talk. Both to each other and to their daughter (or whomever she became). They ask her if she was happy in that life. Mention how her son can be such a handful at times but they care for him still.

Guanyin witnesses this from a distance. Tears roll down their face as it hits how the two royals truly see them their kin. They weren't lying when they called Guanyin their daughter, and Wukong their grandson.