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cheftsunoda · 10 days ago

Note

Hi!!! I adore your poly works so much so i was wondering if you could do a russell x reader x albon smau fic. But HEAR ME OUT george and reader have been dating for years (ever since he was in williams) and obvs are super close with alex to the point the three of them often playfully flirt and stuff, so everyone suspects something’s going on. And alex is obviously in love with both of them but reader and george think he’s just joking around until one day they realize alex loves them and they kinda love him too. So anyway they end up happily dating and everyone in the paddock is relieved lol.

about time — gr63 + aa23

smau + blurbs

george russell x !nurse norris reader x alex albon

yn and george have rarely existed as just a duo—because wherever they go, alex is never far behind. their so called third wheel, their partner in crime, their constant. what alex has kept hidden for years, though, are the deep feelings he harbors for both of them. he has convinced himself it’s better that way—safer to stay quiet, to play the role of the best friend, the flirty buffer. what he doesn’t know is that yn and george feel the same. and what none of them realize… is that everyone else already knows.

fc : jazmynmakenna on ig and used some pics of carms and lily

(a/n) : tyyyy for the love! such a cute idea <3

—

yn_norris

liked by georgerussell63, alexalbon, lando & 5,002,007 others.

yn_norris : photo dump from an overworked, underpaid and tired nurse. (ft the necessary alex pic bc if i post a dump without him everyone assumes we had a friendship break up)

tagged : alexalbon and georgerussell63

—

view 175,090 other comments.

alexalbon : i’m flattered to be included but i’d like to campaign for more than one photo next time. i’m the fan favorite.

liked by yn_norris and georgerussell63

↳ yn_norris : i can make a whole account dedicated to you with how many pictures are in my alex folder

liked by alexalbon

↳ alexalbon : honestly that account might be more popular than your own

liked by yn_norris

↳ yn_norris : sassy king apocalypse has taken over the paddock. first, george, then lando and now you. sigh.

liked by georgerussell63, alexalbon and lando

↳ georgerussell63 : i prefer the term witty

liked by yn_norris, alexalbon and lando

username00 : yn can both of your boyfriends fight?? i want you

liked by yn_norris

↳ yn_norris : george may be all posh and brit but he is ready to swing at anytime

liked by georgerussell63 and alexalbon

↳ yn_norris : and alex, my sweet little cinnamon bun, will quite literally not even kill a spider bc “it has a family too”

liked by georgerussell63 and alexalbon

↳ alexalbon : @/username00 i may not fight but i will send someone to your location that can.

liked by georgerussell63 and yn_norris

↳ username1 : the way she didn’t deny Alex was her boyfriend??? and instead called him a little cinnamon bun

lando : stop posting your aesthetic cute pictures from work. show the real you. like the gremlin I saw at the nurses station at 3 am when I brought you coffee. cheeto fingers, eye bags and all.

liked by yn_norris

↳ georgerussell63 : ive seen that 3am gremlin. id still risk it all. even with the cheeto dust

liked by yn_norris

↳ lando : you need help

↳ alexalbon : the cutest gremlin ive ever seen

liked by yn_norris

↳ lando : and you need even more help.

username0 : ynnnnnn. fave 2019 rookie??? (yes I am asking you to pick between your brother and both of your men)

liked by yn_norris

↳ yn_norris : legally i am required to say lando.

liked by georgerussell63, alexalbon and lando

↳ lando : damn right. i’ve got baby photos and blackmail material. tread carefully.

↳ yn_norris : but emotionally? alex. physically? george.

liked by alexalbon

↳ georgerussell63 : I won a category but I still feel like I lost

liked by yn_norris

↳ yn_norris : you won where it counts, baby. don’t be greedy.

liked by georgerussell63

↳ lando : BARF. just say you love me the most and move on.

liked by yn_norris

franciscagomes : omg. cough. im sick. i need this smokin hot nurse to come take care of me rn😷🤭

liked by yn_norris

↳ yn_norris : omw! got something that’ll fix you right up bae 😈

liked by franciscagomes

↳ pierregasly : HEY. you alr have two boyfriends. take your advice and don’t be greedy, norris.

↳ yn_norris : mind your business baldpine #1

liked by lando

—

your pov

The fluorescent lights above me flickered one too many times as I signed out for the night. My back ached, my scrubs were wrinkled, and I was 97% sure there was dry formula in my hair. Twelve hours, four codes, and one toddler with a death grip on my ponytail later—I was done.

The sliding doors whooshed open and cold night air wrapped around me like a sigh. I blinked up at the parking lot, expecting the usual quiet walk to my car and maybe crying to a podcast on the way home.

But instead, parked in front of the hospital like they owned the place, were my boys.

George was leaning against the passenger side of Alex’s car, arms crossed and hair tousled like he’d been running his hands through it for the last ten minutes. Alex was in the driver’s seat, scrolling through something on his phone with the windows down and music playing softly—my playlist.

“Hi!” George called when he spotted me, that big, exhausted grin of his lighting up his face. “We come bearing gifts.”

I didn’t even have the energy to be dramatic about it. I just dropped my bag to the ground and walked straight into George’s arms.

“I hate everyone except you two,” I mumbled into his chest.

“We know,” he laughed, kissing the top of my head. “That’s why we came prepared.”

Alex popped the trunk and hopped out. “Ta-da,” he said, gesturing like a magician.

Inside were— my favorite snacks including the weird gummy worms only one petrol station sells, an iced coffee from that place across town, a cozy hoodie I’d stolen from George and they’d returned freshly washed, and a heated blanket plugged into the car. There was even a tiny bottle of micellar water and cotton pads.

“I don’t deserve you,” I whispered.

George grabbed my bag. Alex opened the car door for me. And without even asking, they handed me the coffee, tucked me into the blanket, and turned on the seat heater.

“You saved lives today,” Alex said, buckling me in. “We’re just here to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

George climbed into the backseat beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “Rest now, nurse. You’re off duty.”

I didn’t say anything—I just reached for both their hands. And for the first time that day, I breathed. The coffee cup was half-empty in my hand, my head resting on George’s shoulder, his thumb gently tracing circles over the back of my hand. Alex was humming along to the music—quiet, low, and warm—and I only caught snippets of their conversation as the car rolled through the near-empty streets.

At some point, my eyes fluttered shut. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but exhaustion settled into my bones like sand and the rhythm of their voices was just too soothing. The next thing I registered was the car slowing to a stop and the faint click of a seatbelt unbuckling. I think I mumbled something. Or tried to.

“Shh,” Alex whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. “You’re okay, love. Go back to sleep.”

Then I felt it—his arms slipping beneath me, lifting me like I weighed nothing. The scent of his hoodie, the soft rumble of his voice close to my ear. George’s footsteps behind us. A door opening. Warmth. Home. I stirred slightly as he carried me up the stairs, but Alex just held me tighter.

“You guys didn’t have to come,” I slurred, barely audible.

George was ahead of us, flipping on the bedroom light, already pulling the covers back. “Shut up and let us love you,” he said with a sleepy smile.

Alex laid me down gently, brushing a kiss over my forehead before sitting on the edge of the bed to untie my shoes. George helped me out of my hoodie and pulled the blankets up around me with such tenderness I nearly cried.

“Come here,” I mumbled, blindly reaching for them.

They didn’t need asking twice. George slid in on my left, Alex on my right, both of them instantly folding around me like I was the center of the universe. My head rested on George’s chest, one hand tangled in Alex’s shirt. I felt safe. Held. Home.

“I’ve got early rounds tomorrow,” I murmured.

“We’ll set an alarm,” George whispered, already half-asleep.

“I’ll make you breakfast,” Alex added, rubbing my back in slow, lazy strokes.

I smiled, finally letting the last of the tension leave my body. Surrounded by the two people I loved most in the world, I fell asleep again—warm, safe, and exactly where I belonged.

—

lando’s pov

It wasn’t that unusual not to hear from YN right after a shift—sometimes she passed out for hours, sometimes she called me mid-breakfast while still wearing her scrubs and eating cereal out of a measuring cup. But tonight… something felt off. I waited. And waited. No texts. No memes. No updates. Nothing.So naturally, I panicked like any good brother would. I used the spare key she pretends she doesn’t know I have.

Her apartment was dark and quiet, which would normally be comforting, except every light in the hallway was off and I could hear soft music playing from her bedroom. I dropped the takeout I brought for her on the kitchen counter, tiptoed toward the door, and slowly pushed it open—And froze.

There, tangled in her sheets, were both George and Alex. George was sitting up against the headboard, shirtless, with YN tucked into his side. Alex was lying on her other side, awake and half-asleep, scrolling on his phone like this was completely normal.

Which, apparently, it was. They both looked up at me. Paused. I stared. Blinked. Held up a hand.

“Before I start yelling… is she alive?”

George gave me a sleepy smile. “Sleeping like a log.”

Alex waved, entirely too casual. “She fell asleep in the car. Long shift. We brought her back. I carried her in.”

I stared harder. “Why are you here?”

“I live ten minutes away and she fell asleep on me,” Alex said, shrugging. “And drooled on me. So it felt serious.”

“I’m going to kill you both,” I muttered.

Then YN stirred a little in her sleep, nuzzling closer to George, one of her hands fisting the fabric of Alex’s shirt like she was anchoring herself to him. And the worst part? They both melted. Alex immediately adjusted the blanket over her shoulder. George smoothed her hair back like it was instinct.

“Okay, never mind. I’m not gonna kill you,” I said, voice flat. “I’m gonna throw up.”

Alex gave me a look. “You brought food?”

I turned on my heel. “I’m leaving. This is cursed.”

George called after me, barely containing his laughter. “We’ll tell her you came for a visit, yeah?”

“Shut up!” I yelled from the hallway. “And I want the Tupperware back!”

—

your pov

The first thing I felt was warmth. Not just from the blankets cocooned around me, or the sun peeking through the curtains, but from the steady rise and fall of George’s chest beneath my cheek. His arm was draped around my waist like a seatbelt, keeping me tucked against him, his breath slow and even against my hair. For a second, I let myself stay there—limbs tangled, heart full, sleep still clinging to the edges of my mind. Then the scent hit me. Coffee. Toast. Something vaguely maple-y. Something… Alex. I smiled before my eyes even opened fully.

George stirred behind me, shifting just enough to press a kiss to my shoulder. “Mmm. Morning, baby.”

“Morning,” I mumbled, voice still scratchy. “Alex is cooking.”

There was a pause. Then George snorted, pulling me closer again. “God help us.”

I giggled into his chest, burying my face against his skin. “He’s gotten better.”

“He literally burned oatmeal.”

“I like my oatmeal crispy,” I murmured, and he groaned.

“You’re just biased because he worships you.”

From the kitchen, we could hear Alex singing softly under his breath. I recognized the song—it was the one I always played when I was making breakfast for them. My heart tugged a little at the sound. Everything about this moment felt so us.

George yawned. “We can go help him in a minute.”

“I’m comfy.”

“I’m not moving.”

“I might love you.”

He kissed my hair. “Might?”

Another clatter from the kitchen. A muffled “I’m fine!” from Alex.

I smiled again. “Okay, do you want him to burn the place down?”

George groaned, finally stretching. “Fine. But only because I think he’s trying to make the fancy eggs you like and I don’t trust him with a whisk.”

He rolled out of bed with all the grace of a sleepy golden retriever and offered me his hand. I took it, still wrapped in blankets, and shuffled behind him like a burrito.

We walked into the kitchen to find Alex—shirt rumpled, hair a mess—very proudly plating something that resembled food.

“I made breakfast!” he announced, holding up a pan with far too much confidence.

“You made smoke,” George replied, rubbing at his eyes.

“I made love in breakfast form,” Alex argued.

I leaned into the doorframe and smiled so wide my cheeks hurt. “You guys are idiots.”

Alex turned and grinned at me. “But we’re your idiots.”

God help me—I really was in love with both of them.

—

I was halfway through my very questionably cooked eggs, still wearing George’s t-shirt and wrapped in the blanket I’d dragged from the bed, when I realized both of them were staring at me. Too intently.

“What?” I asked through a mouthful. “Do I have egg on my face?”

“No,” George said slowly, smiling like he was up to something.

Alex was practically vibrating with excitement. “You know how you thought you had a shift today?”

I froze. “Yeah…”

George reached behind him and grabbed my phone, placing it on the table like it was a trap. “Check your schedule.”

I raised an eyebrow, swiped it open, and blinked.

[Schedule updated – you are no longer working today.]

“What. Did. You. Do.”

Alex gasped. “Excuse you. We did something wonderful.”

George took my plate before I could throw it. “We may or may not have called in a favor with the scheduling supervisor. Something about ‘nurse burnout statistics.’”

I stared at them.

“You manipulated hospital management?”

George shrugged. “You work so hard, love. You never take a real break. You needed one.”

“And we figured,” Alex added, holding up a duffel bag triumphantly, “why waste a perfectly good day off when we can turn it into an adventure?”

I blinked, still processing.

“We have a full itinerary,” George said proudly. “Spa appointment at noon, your favorite bakery at 1:30, then we’re going to the zoo, then driving out of the city for a little bit.”

Alex wiggled his brows. “Picnic included. And a disposable camera. And George packed the card game you always cheat at.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Tried not to cry into the blanket.

“You canceled my shift and planned a perfect day because…?”

“Because we love you, dummy,” Alex said, stepping forward to kiss my forehead.

“Because you take care of everyone else all the time,” George added, arms wrapping around my waist from behind. “Now it’s our turn.”

I just stood there, overwhelmed, two sets of arms wrapped around me, my face squished between kisses and soft fabric.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Let me go shower and find something cute to wear.”

Alex lit up. “Matching outfits???”

“Let’s not push it,” I muttered, hiding a smile as I slipped out of their arms.

Still—the warmth stayed. A day off. My boys. A field of sunflowers. I couldn’t have dreamed up anything better.

—

I’ve never been so clean and so judged at the same time. George was wearing a robe like it was custom-tailored to his soul—relaxed, smug, prince energy radiating off him like mist from the eucalyptus steam room. Alex, on the other hand, had immediately broken every spa rule known to man. He wore the complimentary slippers with socks, brought in his own music, and accidentally drank my infused water because “it tastes better than the one they gave him.”

“You’re impossible,” I said as he handed me back my empty lemon-cucumber glass.

“You love me,” he shot back, laying across the lounge chair next to mine like a sleepy golden retriever.

George leaned over from his own chair and brushed a kiss to my temple. “To be fair, yours had more cucumbers than his did.”

“Traitor.”

George smiled. “You’re glowing. I’d do anything to see you this relaxed.”

I sank deeper into the plush chair, wrapped in my robe, skin still warm from the facial I just got, and sighed. “Okay, maybe I’m not mad about this surprise.”

“Maybe?” Alex gasped dramatically. “Ma’am, you moaned during your massage.”

“I did not—”

“You definitely did,” George nodded. “I was on the next table. Thought I’d have to ask them to stop before it became inappropriate.”

“I hate both of you.”

“Lies,” they said in unison, and I couldn’t help it—I burst out laughing.

Alex shifted closer and gently placed a hand over mine, a rare moment of calm settling in. “You really needed this, YN.”

George’s thumb ran along my wrist. “You give so much. You forget to keep anything for yourself.”

I blinked.

“I’m okay, you know?” I whispered. “Just tired.”

“And we’re here,” George said softly. “Always.”

“We’re gonna spoil the hell out of you today,” Alex added, grinning. “And then maybe make George pay for dinner later. Princesses shouldn’t have to open her wallet.”

I laughed again and squeezed both their hands.

There was something so safe in the way they looked at me—in the way they’d planned all this just to see me breathe. For once, I wasn’t rushing. I wasn’t on edge or bracing for a night shift or another exhausting day. I was just… here. Loved. At peace.

“Okay,” I said, straightening up with mock determination. “What’s next? Body wrap? More lemon water? Can someone fan me like a Roman empress?”

Alex was already reaching for the complimentary spa fan. “Your wish, my queen.”

George rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. And so was I.

—

The spa glow hadn’t even worn off yet by the time we pulled up to my favorite little corner bakery—the one with the pastel pink awning, the windows always fogged from fresh bread, and the dangerously addictive almond croissants.

Alex practically fell out of the car when he spotted the sign. “This is the one, right? The croissants that made you cry that one time?”

“Stop bringing that up,” I groaned.

George looked at me in the rearview mirror with the same smug grin he always wore when he was about to say something unserious. “I’ve never seen a pastry make someone so emotional.”

“That’s because you’ve never had one warmed up with the honey drizzle,” I mumbled, grabbing my bag and sliding out of the car. “Life-changing.”

Alex gasped. “You didn’t tell me there was a drizzle.”

Inside, it smelled like sugar and cinnamon and heaven itself. The display case was full of the usual suspects—flaky croissants, jam-filled danishes, tiny cakes decorated like art. There was an elderly French woman working behind the counter, and the moment she saw me, her face lit up.

“Ah! La petite infirmière!” she said cheerfully.

“I come here on my breaks sometimes,” I explained as she greeted me with a warm smile. “And maybe… after night shifts. And sometimes before them.”

“She knows your order by heart,” Alex whispered, eyes wide. “You’re a legend.”

George leaned in. “She also called you her favorite. I’m a little offended.”

Ten minutes later, we walked out with a box stacked full of pastries, coffee orders in hand, and Alex already halfway through his second croissant.

“Okay, but this is ridiculous,” he said through a mouthful. “There’s almond paste. There’s honey. There’s flake. I would die for this.”

“You said that about my pancakes last week,” George muttered.

“Yeah, well, this is sexier.”

I laughed, leaning into George’s side as we walked. “He’s not wrong.”

George huffed dramatically, stealing a sip of my coffee. “Unbelievable. I take you to a spa, plan a whole day, and you betray me for a baked good.”

“You’ll live.”

Alex nudged George from the other side. “Don’t worry, Georgie. You’re my favorite man. The croissant’s my favorite object. Very different categories.”

“You two are so stupid,” I said, grinning like an idiot as we reached the car again. “But like. The cute kind of stupid.”

They both smiled at me then—this warm, knowing, love-drunk kind of look that made me want to pause time.

“I really don’t deserve either of you,” I said softly, not even meaning to say it out loud.

George pulled me into a hug, holding me against him. “You deserve the world.”

“And a third croissant,” Alex added, already holding it out for me like an offering.

God help me—I think I loved them more than I loved that pastry. And that was saying something.

—

I don’t know whose idea it was to go to the zoo—probably Alex’s, considering the way he literally sprinted toward the penguin enclosure like it was a life or death mission.

“THEY’RE WEARING TUXEDOS,” he yelled, pointing through the glass. “LOOK AT THEM. DAPPER LITTLE MEN.”

George and I stood behind him, coffees in hand, trying not to laugh.

“He’s been like this since the flamingos,” George whispered to me. “He thinks they’re judging him.”

“They are judging him,” I said, sipping my drink. “They saw his sock-and-sandal combo and had thoughts.”

George leaned over and kissed the side of my head. “You look happy.”

“I am happy,” I admitted quietly. “You two are insane, but you’re my kind of insane.”

Alex finally turned around, eyes wide behind his sunglasses. “Guys. I need a penguin. For my apartment.”

“No,” George and I said at the same time.

“But what if we built a little arctic section in the bathtub—”

“Absolutely not,” I cut in. “You almost flooded the kitchen trying to recreate Finding Nemo last month. Remember?”

Alex pouted but took my hand as we walked to the next exhibit. He held it casually, like he always had—but something in me shifted when George reached out and linked his fingers with mine on the other side. Like… I was surrounded. Anchored. Loved. The three of us squeezed together in front of the red panda habitat, leaning on the railing, giggling at the way one of them tried to climb the fence and immediately fell asleep mid-effort.

“It’s giving YN post-night shift,” Alex said solemnly.

“It’s giving you after two mimosas,” George replied.

They bickered. I leaned my head on George’s shoulder. Alex looped his arm around my back. We stood like that for a long moment—quiet, warm, weirdly soft in the middle of a zoo full of screaming children and overpriced hot dogs.

“Okay, serious question,” I said. “If we were zoo animals, what would we be?”

George hummed. “You’d be a koala. Cute, sleepy, deceptively mean when provoked.”

I nodded. “That’s fair.”

Alex grinned. “George is a flamingo.”

George turned to him, affronted. “Excuse me?”

“Tall. Pink. A little awkward but elegant when he tries.”

George opened his mouth. Closed it. “Okay. Not… the worst comparison.”

I tilted my head at Alex. “And you?”

“Golden retriever that got into the lemur enclosure.”

We laughed so hard we nearly doubled over. The sun was starting to dip by the time we reached the exit, arms linked, bellies full of zoo snacks and heads full of ridiculous animal facts. Alex was still insisting we could totally adopt a capybara. George glanced over at me while Alex argued with a souvenir stand employee about whether or not the penguin plushies were “accurate to scale.”

“You’re glowing again,” he murmured.

“Must be the zoo energy,” I whispered back. “Or maybe just the fact that I’m with the two best boys in the world.”

George smiled so softly it made my heart ache. Alex returned, holding three matching penguin keychains.

“For the polycule,” he said with a wink.

I didn’t correct him.

—

The drive out of the city was full of bad singing, shared snacks, and the kind of laughter that made your cheeks hurt. By the time we pulled into the clearing—golden fields stretching into forever, sunflowers towering in gentle rows—I couldn’t even remember what stress felt like. It was quiet. Warm. The kind of place that smelled like wildflowers and safety.

“This is so unfair,” I whispered as I stepped out of the car, sunlight immediately spilling across my skin. “You two are trying to make me cry.”

George gave me a small smile, arms crossed, leaning against the car door like a smug Pinterest boyfriend. “We’re succeeding.”

Alex popped the trunk with a flourish. “We brought everything. Blanket, food, Polaroid, a Bluetooth speaker, and George’s deeply questionable taste in picnic wine.”

“It’s French,” George muttered, already spreading the blanket out in the soft grass.

“It’s gross,” Alex replied.

“Both of you shut up and feed me,” I said, flopping onto the blanket and pulling off my shoes with a groan. “I’m the exhausted nurse princess today. I get fed grapes and kissed every ten minutes.”

Alex plopped down beside me and held out a strawberry. “Your wish, my love.”

George sat on my other side and kissed my cheek. “Only ten minutes?”

I didn’t even bother hiding my grin as I leaned against George, resting my legs across Alex’s lap. They unpacked everything while I just… existed. Sun warming my face. Birds chirping somewhere in the trees. Their soft voices filling the silence.

They made me a little plate. Fed me things I didn’t ask for. Wiped the honey off my chin. Snapped Polaroids when I wasn’t looking.

“You know this feels fake, right?” I mumbled eventually, eyes half-lidded behind my sunglasses. “Like I’m dreaming.”

George rested his chin on my shoulder. “It’s very real.”

Alex tossed a grape into his own mouth and missed. “And very underappreciated. I did all the logistics.”

“You picked the playlist,” George said.

“Exactly.”

I laughed, rolling onto my side so I could look at both of them. “Thank you. For all of this.”

Alex shrugged like it was no big deal. ”It’s nice to remind you that you’re allowed to be taken care of too.”

At some point, I curled up with my head in George’s lap, Alex tracing soft patterns along my ankle. We watched the clouds drift lazily by. Took turns naming them. George said one looked like a giraffe; Alex said it looked like Esteban in a hat.

“I could stay here forever,” I whispered.

Neither of them said anything. They didn’t have to. Alex gently brushed a strand of hair from my face, and George leaned down to kiss my temple. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

—

The apartment was quiet. Not silent exactly—just quiet in that strange way it always was after Alex left. Like the energy had shifted. Like something warm had been packed up and carried out with him. George was curled up on the couch, hoodie sleeves pushed over his knuckles, eyes following the end credits of a movie neither of us had really paid attention to. I sat cross-legged on the other end, wearing one of his sweatshirts and sipping lukewarm tea, my brain loud despite the calm.

“I miss him,” I said quietly, without meaning to.

George looked over at me. Not surprised. Just… waiting.

“I mean,” I started again, voice barely above a whisper, “he left twenty minutes ago. That’s ridiculous.”

George didn’t tease me. He just gave me that soft little smile that always made me feel seen. “It’s not ridiculous.”

I set my tea down and tucked my legs under myself, heart in my throat. “Do you ever feel like… we’ve just kind of been pretending we don’t know?”

George blinked slowly, brows furrowed. “Know what?”

I met his eyes. My hands were shaking.

“That we love him.”

The air shifted. George didn’t move for a long moment. He just stared at me like he was re-learning the shape of me, the sound of my voice, the weight of the truth between us.

Then, so quietly I almost missed it, he said, “Yeah.”

I let out a shaky breath. “Yeah?”

He nodded, eyes still fixed on me. “Yeah. I think… I’ve been in love with him for longer than I knew what to call it. And I’ve been scared that saying it out loud would break this… us.”

“It won’t,” I said immediately, because it couldn’t. “It won’t, George.”

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “He’s you, in a different shape. He’s home. Just like you are.”

I felt my eyes well up and didn’t bother hiding it. “I thought I was crazy for feeling it. For wanting… more. Wanting the two of you, together.”

George got up and crossed the room, sinking to the floor in front of me. He rested his head in my lap, eyes closed, and reached for my hand.

“You’re not crazy,” he murmured. “You’re just brave.”

I kissed the top of his head, held him there like maybe that would keep everything from slipping.

“I don’t know what happens next,” I whispered.

George looked up at me, and for the first time all day, he looked a little less tired.

“We tell him,” he said. “We tell him everything.”

I nodded, a tear slipping down my cheek.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Let’s tell him.”

—

alex’s pov

I shouldn’t have left. I told them I was tired, which wasn’t a lie—but it wasn’t the reason either. I left because if I stayed a second longer, I was going to say something I couldn’t take back. Something real. Something like, I’m in love with both of you and I don’t know how to stop. The apartment feels cold. Quiet. Too still without YN’s soft laughter echoing down the hallway or George’s voice calling me an idiot when I steal the last pastry. I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling like it holds answers, arms crossed over my chest like they’re supposed to keep me from unraveling. I can still see them. YN, eyes sleepy and smile soft, curled into George’s side while her fingers found mine under the blanket like it was the most natural thing in the world. George, reaching over her to fix my collar like he always does, like it means nothing.

But it does. God, it does. Every touch, every shared look, every morning coffee and middle-of-the-night text—it all means something. To me, at least. I roll over, bury my face in the pillow, and groan. I feel like I’m going to explode under the weight of everything I’ve never said. I’m in love with her. I’m in love with him. There. I said it—finally let it out like it might make the ache easier. It doesn’t.

I’ve been in love with them for longer than I want to admit. At first, it was just YN—her laugh, her mind, the way she always noticed when I was having a bad day without me saying a word. Then it was George, slowly and all at once—his dry humor, his ridiculous patience, the way he always let me in even when he didn’t say much. They’re together. They have each other. And I’ve always been… the extra. The best friend. The third wheel with the jokes and the camera and the conveniently empty passenger seat. And I thought that would be enough. That maybe just being near them would be okay. But it’s not.

Because every time YN falls asleep on my shoulder and George hands me something and his fingers linger on mine for a few seconds more than necessary, it feels like they see me. Like I belong with them. And that’s the part I can’t stop thinking about. What if I do? What if they felt it too? I let out a shaky breath and cover my face with my hands.

No. That’s dangerous thinking. That’s hope. And hope is a terrible thing when you’re the one standing outside the door, watching the light through the window, pretending you don’t wish it was your home too. I turn off the lamp and lie there in the dark, pretending sleep will come. Pretending I can keep pretending.

—

your pov

I couldn’t sleep. George was out cold beside me, one arm slung across my waist like it belonged there—and it did. But my thoughts were too loud, too insistent. It was still warm from the sun we’d soaked in earlier. My skin still smelled like strawberries and sunscreen and Alex’s cologne from when he hugged me goodbye. I’d watched him walk down the hallway with that quiet smile he wore when he was hiding how tired he was. How sad he was. I could feel the space he left behind like a ghost.

I shifted gently, brushing George’s hair back and whispering, “Babe… wake up.”

He blinked slowly, confused, warm. “You okay?”

I nodded. “We have to go.”

He sat up a little, still sleepy. “Go where?”

I looked at him, really looked at him, and he understood before I had to say it.

“To him,” I whispered. “We have to go to him.”

George smiled, soft and sad and full of something like relief. “Yeah. We do.”

We didn’t text or call. We just showed up. Alex opened the door in an oversized hoodie and pajama pants, hair sticking up on one side, eyes puffy like he hadn’t slept much either. He looked at the two of us standing there and immediately tried to smile, to laugh it off.

“What?” he said, voice hoarse. “You miss me already?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I walked in, and George followed, closing the door behind us like he was afraid we’d lose the courage if we waited another second.

Alex turned to face us, confused now. “What’s going on?”

And then I said it.

“I love you.”

His face shifted, just slightly. Eyes darting between us, trying to read whether it was a joke, a trap, a bit. His hands curled into the sleeves of his hoodie.

“YN—”

“I love you, Alex. Not just as my best friend. Not just because you’re funny or good or always there. I’m in love with you. I have been. For so long it’s not even something I can explain anymore. It’s just part of me.”

I took a shaky breath, and George stepped forward beside me, his hand grazing mine.

“And I love you too,” George said, steady as ever. “I was afraid to say it out loud. Afraid it would change things. But it already has, hasn’t it?”

Alex didn’t say anything. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. His eyes were glassy.

I reached for him, fingers brushing his sleeve. “We didn’t know how to tell you. We didn’t even know what we were feeling, for a long time. But you’ve always been the third piece of us, Alex. Not a third wheel. A third piece. And I think we’ve both known that for a while.”

Still nothing. So I kept talking, voice shaking now. “Every time you leave, the apartment feels wrong. Every time you smile at me or tease George, it feels like home. I miss you when you’re in the same room but not touching me. I love you and I’m scared and I don’t want to do any of this without you.”

He let out a sharp breath like he’d been holding it since we walked in.

“You’re serious,” he said finally, voice cracking. “You’re both… serious?”

George smiled, that little crooked grin he only ever gave when he was feeling vulnerable. “I’d ask if you want to join our weird little couple, but I think we already claimed you. We just forgot to tell you.”

That broke him. Alex laughed and cried at the same time, and I swear my heart cracked open watching it. I stepped into him, wrapping my arms around his waist, and he collapsed into me like he’d been waiting his whole life to be held like that. George hugged us both from behind, his arms strong and steady, and for a second none of us said anything. We just breathed. We just were.

“I thought I was imagining it,” Alex whispered against my hair. “All the time. I thought I was the joke.”

I pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. “You were never the joke. You were always the answer.”

George kissed the back of his shoulder, murmuring, “Took us long enough, huh?”

Alex looked between us, eyes still wet, but smiling now—really smiling.

“You guys are so dumb,” he said, laughing through his tears. “I love you both. So much it’s stupid.”

“I know,” I said, smiling back. “But now you don’t have to pretend anymore.”

We stayed wrapped up in each other in the middle of his living room, swaying like the world had stopped spinning, like everything finally made sense. And for the first time in a long, long time, I wasn’t tired anymore. I was home.

—

yn_norris

liked by lando, georgerussell63, alex_albon and 7,901,555 others.

yn_norris : day w my boyssss

tagged : alex_albon and georgerussell63

—

view 555,090 other comments.

lando : oh this is why you couldn’t answer your phone?

liked by yn_norris

↳ yn_norris : no its just bc i don’t like u

username00 : the way yn and alex look at each other good lord. just fucking kiss already.

liked by yn_norris, georgerussell63 and alex_albon

↳ lando : no pls do not do that.

liked by yn_norris

charles_leclerc : did yn hit the curb today??

liked by georgerussell63, alex_albon and lando

↳ georgerussell63 : surprisingly no

↳ yn_norris : lechair if i were you id watch your mouth. remember that time you couldn’t fit the car in the spot so we had to switch and i had to park your car??? yeah i do.

liked by charles_leclerc, georgerussell63, alex_albon and lando

↳ charles_leclerc : stop the cap

↳ yn_norris : charles you are more known in monaco for not being able to park than your actual driving career.

liked by lando, arthur_leclerc, georgerussell63 and alex_albon

georgerussell63 : can’t wait for all these pictures of me to be posted on pinterest under ‘boyfriend material’

liked by yn_norris and alex_albon

↳ yn_norris : what can i say? i love to feed the girlies.

alex_albon : i argued with the souvenir shop attendant for 45 minutes over the stuffies not being true to size

liked by yn_norris and georgerussell63

↳ yn_norris : babe i don’t rlly think anyone needs a 400 pound stuffed gorilla in their home.

↳ alex_albon : we do!!!!!

liked by yn_norris and georgerussell63

↳ username00 : BABE????

↳ lando : yeah^^^ what she said.

—

f1gossipgirls

liked by charles_leclerc, lando and 2,090,004 others.

f1gossipgirls : 3 recent moments that prove Alex Albon and YN Norris are absolutely in love—and that he’s very much involved in the long term relationship between her and George Russell. Listen, we’ve all joked about the YN–George–Alex dynamic being more than just close friends… but at this point, the receipts are stacking. Here are just a few moments that have the internet collectively screaming. 1. At the last race weekend, YN and Alex were spotted walking together through the paddock—nothing new. But what was new? The way she looked at him like he hung the damn stars. She was also seen multiple times with her hand wrapped around his or holding onto his arm like it was second nature. 2. In a recent behind-the-scenes Williams video, there’s a blink and you’ll miss it shot of Alex looking at YN with literal heart eyes. We’re talking soft, lovestruck, completely gone. Like sir, blink twice if you’re in love with your best friends. 3. Ahead of the next Grand Prix, the two were seen at the airport where Alex was pulling YN along on her suitcase—yes, like a scene out of a romcom—while she rested her head on his hand. He looked like he won the lottery. And honestly? So did she. Whatever’s going on here… we support it fully. Let us know your thoughts. Are they all in love? Is Alex part of the softest throuple in F1 history? Is this the plot of a fanfic come to life? Because either way, we are so here for it. 🫶

—

view 275,090 other comments.

username00 : girl we been knew. its just the three of them that don’t know.

username0 : charles and lando in the likes i can’t.

username1 : alex pulling yn on her suitcase while george is probably two feet away filming it and giggling??? i need a minute

username5 : remember when people thought alex was third wheeling? turns out we were just watching a love story unfold

username7 : the way alex looks at yn like she’s made of sunlight and the way george looks at both of them like they hung the moon… i’m SOBBING

username10 : i’m not even asking them to confirm it. just keep posting the domestic bliss. i’m FED

username11 : imagine being yn and waking up between george russell and alex albon. i’d simply never recover.

—

Alex was tracing lazy shapes into the back of my hand. George had one arm slung around my shoulders, fingers absentmindedly twisting the ends of my hair. We’d been sitting like this for ages—content, quiet, safe. And yet, I could feel the unspoken thoughts hanging in the air like dust in the sunlight.

“I’ve been thinking…” I started softly, breaking the silence. Both boys turned toward me immediately, eyes kind. “I know we’ve been keeping this—us—private. And it’s been really nice, just having it to ourselves. But… part of me wants people to know.”

Alex blinked slowly, then smiled, just barely. “You mean, like… going public?”

George leaned in closer, nuzzling into my shoulder. “You’re ready for that?” he murmured.

I nodded. “I think so. I mean, it’s not like we owe anyone an explanation, but… I also don’t want to hide something that makes me this happy. You guys—” I laughed a little, nerves bubbling up. “You’re both the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And it feels like we’re pretending when we’re out there.”

George pressed a kiss to my temple. “I feel the same,” he said, voice gentle. “I’ve been thinking about it too. But I didn’t want to pressure either of you. Especially you, Alex.”

Alex looked between us, eyes a little wide, a little watery. “I—yeah. I think I’ve always been scared, honestly. Of how people would see me. Us. But then I watch you two with me—how kind you are, how normal this feels—and I stop being afraid for a while.”

I leaned over and took his hand, threading my fingers through his. “You don’t have to be scared,” I whispered. “You never have to be scared with us.”

George nodded. “We’re in this together. Fully. If people talk, they talk. But we know the truth. We love each other. That’s all that matters.”

Alex’s shoulders dropped like he’d been holding his breath for days.

“Okay,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Then let’s do it. Let’s show them what love looks like.”

I laughed, heart full to the brim. “God, they’re going to lose their minds.”

“Oh, they are,” George smirked. “But we’ve already won.”

Alex leaned forward and kissed my cheek, then George’s. “So… who’s writing the caption?”

—

alex_albon

liked by yn_norris, georgerussell63, lando & 9,005,004 others.

alex_albon : group project but i actually want to do the work. love you both ❤️

tagged : yn_norris and georgerussell63

—

view 534,003 other comments.

yn_norris : you’re the only group member i trust with the google doc. love you more than life.

liked by alex_albon and georgerussell63

↳ georgerussell63 : what about me??

↳ yn_norris : you’re more of an excel spreadsheet guy

liked by georgerussell63 and alex_albon

↳ username00 : omg i love them so much. they are such fucking nerds. SEDATE ME.

liked by yn_norris

charles_leclerc : FUCKING FINALLY. im definitely not crying

liked by yn_norris, alex_albon and georgerussell63

↳ alexandrasaintmleux : he is def crying. congrats guys❤️

liked by yn_norris, alex_albon and georgerussell63

↳ charles_leclerc : not crying. just got a spec of dust in my eye.

liked by yn_norris, alex_albon and georgerussell63

lando : i knew this was coming yet it still just makes my stomach churn

liked by yn_norris, alex_albon and georgerussell63

↳ alex_albon : hiiiii brother in law

liked by yn_norris and georgerussell63

↳ lando : nope. uh uh. absolutely not. having george was already bad enough.

liked by yn_norris, georgerussell63 and alex_albon

↳ georgerussell63 : oh you know you love me hush.

carlossainz55 : as a hardcore galex shipper and yn lover— this brings tears to my eyes. YAY

liked by yn_norris, georgerussell63 and alex_albon

↳ carlossainz55 : but break her heart and i break you both in half

liked by yn_norris

↳ username1 : carlos does not play about the norris’. iktr mama

liked by yn_norris and lando

—

It was a perfect morning. Alex was still, arm lazily draped across my waist. George was scrolling through his phone with that little sleepy smile he always got when reading sweet comments, and I was somewhere in the middle of the world—blissfully cocooned in sheets, coffee on the bedside table, surrounded by the two loves of my life. And then the knocking started. Knocking that quickly escalated into pounding. And yelling.

“OPEN THE DAMN DOOR. I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE.”

I blinked. “Is that…?”

Alex groaned and yanked the blanket over his face. “God, please let it be fire alarm drills and not Lando Norris with a knife.”

George sighed. “It is definitely Lando.”

George got up reluctantly, muttering something about regretting knowing Lando. He barely had time to unlock the door before it slammed open and my brother stormed in. Behind him? Charles, Carlos, Pierre, and Esteban—each looking like this was a full-on intervention.

Lando immediately shouted, “YOU.”

He pointed at Alex like he was about to be tried in court.

“You hard-launched. You emotionally traumatized Twitter and ME. And you didn’t even warn anyone?!”

Alex, peeking out from under the covers, managed a sheepish, “Surprise?”

Charles flopped into the armchair like he’d just run a race. “I knew it. I’ve been saying it for MONTHS. The hand-holding. The months of soft launching and I was laughed at.”

Carlos was pacing. I swear to God, pacing.

“Do you know how many Notes app entries I have? I had a theory chart. A timeline. Receipts. I was INVESTED.”

“Wait,” I sat up. “You had a timeline?”

Carlos showed me. It was color-coded. I honestly didn’t know whether to be flattered or alarmed. Pierre, casually raiding our minibar, popped open a tiny bottle of champagne like this was some kind of victory. “About time, poly trio. Santé.”

Lando whirled on me.

“And YOU! My SISTER. You didn’t think to tell me that you were out here in love with two drivers? Under my nose?!”

I shrugged, attempting innocence. “You’re dramatic. You’d have live-tweeted it.”

“I WOULDN’T HAVE—” he paused. “Okay, fair.”

Charles, still draped across the chair, nodded. “He does have a very specific meltdown tone.”

George returned to the bed and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, watching the chaos with mild amusement. “You guys act like we planned this.”

Esteban handed George a croissant. “Didn’t you though? With, like… all the longing stares and Alex sleeping over constantly?”

Alex sat up, rubbing his face. “For the record, I didn’t sleep over constantly.”

Lando shook his head, “Bro. You were wearing George’s shirt at breakfast in Barcelona.”

And then Carlos chimed in, “And YN’s fuzzy socks. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Pierre returned with snacks. “So… are we getting a couple name now? Throuple? Triad? Love triangle but healthy edition?”

George sighed, “Please. No.”

Charles chimed in, “I vote ‘Algeoyn.’”

Alex mutters, “You just made us sound like a dinosaur.”

Then there was a blessed moment of peace… until Lando sat down heavily, frowning at me.

“I’m not mad. I’m not. I just…” He paused dramatically and looked into my eyes.

“If either of them hurts you, I will crash a scooter into both of them and it will not be an accident.”

“You crashed last week because you were texting.”

“UNRELATED.”

Everyone was laughing at that point—Carlos already halfway through a bag of chips, George was showing Esteban pictures from the Zoo trip, Charles and Lando had snatched Carlos’ phone to examine the timeline he made. Alex leaned into me, whispering, “This is kind of perfect, isn’t it?”

I looked around the room—at my brother trying to act tough, at my boys watching me like I was the only thing in the world, and at our chaotic paddock family crashing our soft Sunday.

I smiled. “Yeah. Kind of is.”

—

667 notes · View notes

noirscript · 16 days ago

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Notify Me When You’re Mine

pairing: kpop idol x reader description: K-pop idol Seo Jihwan crosses the line between admiration and obsession when a devoted fan catches his eye—and dares to look away. warning/s: Yandere behavior, stalking, obsession, emotional manipulation, kidnapping, confinement, unhealthy relationship dynamics. note: just a quick something. hope you enjoy this! i've been busy with irl stuff so apologies! tags will be added tomorrow as well as other links. by the way, you can still reserve your copy of sovereign's reign ebook + its freebies until 30th of June! the freebies will no longer be available when regular purchase starts rolling. (w/c includes something from king callixto's pov).

Masterlist | Commission | Tip Jar

You were just one of millions. Or so you told yourself.

Each time Seo Jihwan went live, your name would pop up in the chat box like it always did—early, dedicated, and filled with praise or playful teasing that seemed to go unnoticed among the flood of hearts and comments. Yet somehow, that never discouraged you. You were just a blip in his world, after all. A mere fan among millions.

Still, it didn’t stop you from showing up.

Every livestream, you’d prepare your space. Light off. Phone fully charged. Notifications muted except for one: his. You didn’t even have to wait for the bell anymore. The moment his familiar face popped onto your screen, dark eyes crinkling with a soft smile, your world felt quieter—lighter.

You’d send him stickers, those virtual gifts that cost embarrassingly real money, and his eyes would always flicker when he saw your username float up the screen. But you thought nothing of it. Fans lived for scraps. It wasn’t unusual to want to feel seen, even if you weren’t. Not really.

Then, one day, you did something stupid.

You shared a post—a single image—of another idol. Not even Jihwan’s rival or anything. Just a new guy from a rising rookie group. You thought the picture was funny. The idol was pulling some weird face mid-performance. You reblogged it and added a laughing emoji. That was it.

What you didn’t know was that Jihwan saw it.

You didn’t know that he wasn’t like the others.

━━━ ✦ ━━━

The livestream that followed felt… off.

His smile was forced, stretched too tight across his flawless face. The comments scrolled, and he barely read them. His fans—your community—were worried. He waved it off, saying he was tired, had been overworked, that his company finally granted him a break. A few days off. A chance to recharge.

"Maybe I’ll travel a bit," he murmured, eyes no longer focused on the camera. "Need to clear my head."

You typed something sweet. Something supportive. You even sent him a gift. It didn’t float on screen like usual.

You thought the app bugged out.

But it didn’t.

He had seen your username. Ignored it.

For the first time since following him, you logged off early, feeling cold in your chest and oddly hollow.

━━━ ✦ ━━━

A week passed.

No livestreams. No updates. Just a single headline from his agency, translated into your feed: “Seo Jihwan to Take Personal Time: Travel Abroad for Mental Recovery”.

The comments were flooded with love and concern. You sent your own too, wishing him rest. He didn’t reply, but that wasn’t new.

You returned to your routines. Your normal, quiet life. A place where your feet were always on the ground, unlike him. Unlike Jihwan, who floated above the world, too perfect to be real. You went to work. Came home. Grocery-shopped on Wednesdays. You still scrolled through fan accounts, watched old clips of his stage performances. Laughed quietly at old edits.

Then you started feeling it. That sense of something watching you. But never directly. You’d see a man standing just beyond the corner of your eye when walking home. A dark car idling longer than usual across the street. A buzz in your phone with no notification. Silly things. Maybe your mind was tired. Maybe you were reading too much into nothing.

Until he showed up.

━━━ ✦ ━━━

It was raining.

The sound of water drummed softly against the windows of the café you always visited after work. It was small, quiet, tucked beside a bookstore. Your safe space. The barista knew your name, your usual order.

You were sipping from your mug, scrolling absentmindedly through your phone, when the door opened. A figure stepped in, hood drawn, head tilted slightly downward.

You wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t stopped beside your table.

"You're always here around this time."

You looked up.

At first, your brain didn’t register what you were seeing. It couldn’t. Your eyes scanned the familiar jawline, the deep-set eyes, the soft lips that had smiled at millions.

Seo Jihwan.

The man on your screen. The idol.

In real life.

Soaking wet from the rain, yet still breathtaking.

"Sorry, I know this is weird," he said, voice low but gentle. "Can I sit?"

You blinked. You must have said yes, because the next moment he was sliding into the chair across from you, pulling back his hood.

He looked exactly the same as his photos—no, better. There was no angle to hide behind here, no filter. He was raw and real and right in front of you. You couldn’t even breathe.

“I needed a break,” he said, sipping the drink he ordered as if this were any other conversation. “Came to clear my head. But really, I just wanted to meet you.”

Your heart thudded once—then faster.

“You… you know me?” you whispered.

His lips curled slightly. “Of course. I waited for your messages every time I went live. You always sent those silly stickers. The bread one. And that weird cat.”

You wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or both.

“But I noticed something,” he continued, voice calm but eyes sharper now. “You reblogged another idol’s picture.”

You froze.

“I know it’s stupid. Petty. I should be used to fans looking at other idols. It’s normal,” he murmured. “But you… you’re not just another fan, are you?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no sound came.

He leaned forward.

“You belong to me.”

Your breath hitched.

“I thought maybe you didn’t know that yet. That I’d need to show you.”

━━━ ✦ ━━━

He moved fast.

Faster than you thought possible.

You weren’t even sure how it happened, but within hours, he had swept you into his world. Into a rented flat that looked more like a luxury safehouse. He gave you clean clothes. Made you tea. Held your hand like he’d known you forever.

He smiled when you asked how he found you.

“Do you really think it was hard?” he replied, almost amused. “You use the same username everywhere. You never log off. You have a routine. A pattern. You don’t even lock your accounts.”

It should’ve scared you. Maybe it did. But he was Jihwan. The man you spent countless nights watching, wishing, longing for.

And now he was here. Holding you like you mattered.

When he kissed your forehead, your brain short-circuited.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he whispered. “Me, here. With you. You’ve been calling out for me. I just answered.”

━━━ ✦ ━━━

Days passed. Maybe weeks.

Time blurred inside the glass walls of the apartment. You didn’t leave. He didn’t let you. Not out of cruelty, no—he said it was for your safety. That fans could be obsessive. That people might not understand. That the media would twist it all.

You believed him. You had to.

And he was so gentle.

He cooked for you. Taught you Korean words softly, patiently. Let you sleep in his arms. There were moments he looked at you like you were fragile glass. His fingers would tremble when he touched your face.

But there were also moments when he would grow distant. Cold.

Like when you accidentally glanced at a variety show playing on the TV and chuckled at another idol’s joke.

The screen went dark instantly.

His jaw clenched.

You didn’t watch TV after that.

━━━ ✦ ━━━

One night, he came home with a new phone.

“Here,” he said, setting it in your lap. “Your old one’s gone.”

You blinked. “Gone?”

“I threw it out,” he said. “Too many distractions. Too many temptations.”

Your hands tightened around the blanket on your lap.

He cupped your face, gentle but firm.

“I love you,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours. “I chose you. You should feel special. Millions of people scream my name, but it’s your name I waited for every night. You kept me going.”

You wanted to believe him.

So you nodded.

━━━ ✦ ━━━

Eventually, the sky turned grey more often. The city blurred beyond the windows. You forgot the date. He kept you fed, clothed, warm. But he also kept you quiet. Isolated.

Your friends stopped messaging.

Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe you just never saw it.

“People are selfish,” he said once, brushing your hair back as you sat in his lap. “They’d pull you away from me. Make you doubt what we have.”

You didn’t answer.

He tilted your face up, made you look at him.

“You love me, don’t you?”

“…Yes.”

“Then remember your place,” he whispered. “You’re mine. You always were.”

━━━ ✦ ━━━

Sometimes, you’d lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling. Wondering how it happened. How you ended up here. How a reblogged photo turned into a new life.

But when he curled around you, arms tightening like chains, breath warm against your skin—you felt something calm your chest.

Because wasn’t this what you wanted?

To be loved. Chosen.

Maybe you just hadn’t realized what it would cost.

Or how far he’d go.

But he came for you. Out of everyone, he came for you.

It was a dream come true.

Wasn’t it?

Maybe if you remind yourself hard enough, you’ll remember to be grateful.

Maybe if you never look at another idol again, he’ll smile like he used to.

Maybe if you behave, he won’t have to show you your place again.

After all… he’s watching.

He always was.

#yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere #yandere male #yandere imagines #male yandere #yandere fic #yandere x y/n #yandere male x reader #yandere k-idol #yandere kpop idol #yandere idol #yandere idol x reader

490 notes · View notes

a-hound-will-die-for-you · 2 months ago

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Pride and Jealousy

Masterlist

Summary: Sandor has serious self-esteem issues, which make him insanely jealous and possessive of anyone who gets close to you. After a huge argument, things between you two go cold as ice; but Sandor’s not ready to let you go. He will fight for you. Even if it means doing the one thing he swore he’d never do. [Reader's POV!] Word count: 5600 Notes: highborn lady f!reader x Sandor Clegane; preestablished relationship; huge argument; jealousy; possessiveness; a bit of rough treatment; Ser Loras is kind to you; you're angry and hurt - but Sandor will fix it. English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes I might make. Constructive feedback is welcomed, I am here to share and learn <3 Dedicated to @mrsrincewind for their incredible art about Sandor <3.

You barely had time to brace your hands against the mattress. Your chin sank into the silk pillow as a rough hand seized your hair, shoving you mercilessly down against the bed.

“Sandor, he didn’t touch me!” you cried, voice muffled by the fine sheets. Above you, the towering form of the King's shield loomed large over your helpless body.

“He laid hands on your waist,” he growled, and his knees sank deep into the mattress on either side of your bare thighs.

“He was taking my measurements!” You twisted and kicked backward as his free hand pushed your skirts higher. All to no avail, for his arm snaked around your middle and hauled you up so that your knees were left dangling in the air.

The motion only stoked your fury. You tried to drive your heels into him, as if you could hope to harm one of the deadliest men in the Seven Kingdoms, but the dark figure pinned you more firmly to the four-post bed and let out a mocking, cruel laugh.

“Let’s settle this like we always do, woman. By bloody fucking.”

That was your bond with Sandor Clegane.

Raw, primal, and savage. A connection forged not in silk or songs, but in need and flesh.

In a court full of schemers, Sandor had become your loyal fighting dog. A strong and steadfast ally who, far beyond conventions and traditional forms of courtship, sought pleasure in the shadows of your chamber whenever his duties afforded him a respite. No honeyed words, no pleasantries to soften the edge, what existed between you neither of you had yet named, it simply burned.

But for all that he was fierce and deadly, he was just as damned insecure when it came to you. The man hated himself more than anything else in the world, and that festering self-loathing convinced him that he was unworthy of your attentions. You had lain together more times than you could count, yet every time he walked away from your door, the shadow of the thought that it might have been the last time he held you in his arms, tormented him.

Ironically, that self-contempt never drove him to step back and set you free.

Gods, no.

You were the best thing that had ever happened to him in all his wretched life, and the fear of losing you terrified him more than burning in the fires of the Seven Hells. For all of that, he had become fiercely possessive and aggressively hostile toward any man who dared to come near you.

Of course, you were well aware of it. You had confronted him about it on several occasions, but instead of the situation improving, it had only worsened. And there were many men now with broken ribs and noses, all for nothing more than offering their hand to help you down from a carriage.

That very afternoon, the court’s new tailor had come to your chambers to take your measurements for a new gown. Hours later, word reached you that the poor man had been found beaten in an alleyway. Three molars was he seen to spit out.

It was intolerable.

When Sandor came to your room later that evening, you raised your voice before he even stepped past the threshold. You would not endure another outburst of savage jealousy, no matter if he was the king’s dog.

The argument was fierce. One more among the countless ones you'd already had over the same matter. Gruff and scornful, he did not yield to your shouting, flinging back every reproach with twice the venom. Both of you said things you regretted the moment they left your mouths, and then, in an attempt to end the quarrel and set things right, Sandor resorted to what always worked for you both. He lifted your body mid-sentence, cutting you off in the roughest way and tossing you unceremoniously onto the bed.

You both enjoyed the fantasy of the helpless maiden being forced by a warrior. Every time, Sandor would ravage you with the fury of a charging beast, claiming every inch of you while the intense pleasure drowned your reproaches in gasps and moans.

But tonight, you weren’t having it.

As you kept fighting and begging him to release you, the hand gripping your head released you to shift behind your back. The metallic clinking you knew all too well told you he was unbuckling his belt. You kicked harder, striking his thigh. The attack only earned you another coarse laugh and a harsher grip on your hips.

“That’s it, woman,” came his vicious voice from above, “give me an excuse to get rough.”

Furious and with a fire rising uncontrollably in your chest, you braced your hands on the mattress, screaming and shoving hard to twist beneath him. So much rage must have poured from your throat that the man, startled, eased his weight for you to turn onto your back. You pushed up onto your elbows, and your hand shot upward in a wide arc aimed at his scarred cheek. The man caught your wrist with the swiftness of a wolfhound, stopping you just an inch from his face.

Something shattered between you.

You both were breathing hard from the surge of adrenaline. Your lips parted and trembled. In his eyes burned a storm of fury and endless sorrow in equal measure. He released your wrist roughly and tilted his burned chin upward.

“Go on. Slap me if that’s what you want,” he whispered hoarsely, offering you that terrible, ruined face.

You stared at him with a glacial glare, but the words you spoke next were colder still.

“Get out. If you cannot master yourself… if you cannot set aside your pride over this, then do not come back to me,” you said, heart thundering against your ribs as though the Smith himself were trying to shatter your ribcage from within.

Sandor’s dark eyes dimmed in an instant. He gave you the emptiest, deadest look as he straightened up. The space that opened between your body and his burned like a wound. He didn’t speak another word, only fastened his belt in silence, bowed his head, and turned toward the door with heavy, miserable steps.

The sound of the iron bolt slamming shut made you flinch, though that wasn’t why your hands were shaking.

-*-

An entire sennight passed without either of you speaking again. He didn’t come looking for you. And you spent your days surrounded by your ladies-in-waiting, distracting yourself as best you could with the tasks of daily life - reading, chatting, or embroidering.

You would lie if you said you didn’t miss him terribly. Every morning, you woke to find your bed empty and cold, and the aching pain in your guts only grew with each passing day.

Often, when you found yourself in the Great Hall and King Joffrey honored you all with his presence, your eyes would drift toward the space behind the throne. For just a few seconds, they would linger on the threatening shadow that always stood there - alert and vigilant. Yet you would barely catch a glimpse of his worn chestplate before your gaze quickly withdrew, fearing you would meet his eyes.

Before you even realized, the week had turned to two. The court was immersed in preparations for King Joffrey’s name day. Banquets, royal hunts, tournaments... Everyone spoke eagerly about it, for an event of such caliber was always cause for joy and merriment.

The ladies whispered among themselves at the imminent arrival of the handsome knights who would ride in the jousts. Most attention was on the Tyrell and Tarly houses, though some lesser houses like the Swyfts, Leffords, and Westerlings also drew interest. Such a display of beauty, wealth, and power left hardly anyone indifferent.

You, however, paid no mind to the ladies' gossip. Nor did you care in the slightest about the upcoming events. Dismissing your ladies-in-waiting, you spent most of your time in solitude, wandering quietly through the blooming gardens around the Red Keep.

Your mind wandered time and time again to Sandor Clegane. You missed his gravelly voice, the scent of metal, earth, and sweat after a day in the training yard. You missed his presence, feared by all, but comforting to you. You couldn’t understand how a man who had told you he was willing to lay down his life for you couldn’t set aside his pride if you asked him. Perhaps there were different kinds of courage? Perhaps you weren’t important enough to him?

Your thoughts caught in your throat as you fiddled with the peas on your silver plate. You didn’t even know why you had come to lunch in the Great Hall that day. Your stomach struggled to accept the food, and the frantic hustle and bustle of the servants, carrying banners of the houses for the next day’s tournament, was irritating. With a long sigh, you placed your ivory-handled fork on the table and made to rise.

A beautiful white rose greeted you as you stood, held by delicate hands that extended it gracefully before your eyes.

"For you, milady, if I may be so bold,” the bearer of the rose spoke. “I saw you admiring the flowers earlier in the gardens, and though none could compare to your beauty, perhaps this one might help soften the sadness in your eyes."

Your gaze focused on the young man. He was lovely as a maid, with a crown of chestnut curls and eyes like molten gold. The knight of flowers, you thought. Of course, the guests had already arrived for the festivities, and you had hardly noticed. He would likely be competing in the joust tomorrow.

“Thank you, Ser,” you said, taking the flower and smiling politely at him. He offered you a radiant smile of his own, full of perfect white teeth.

“Ser Loras Tyrell, at your service, my lady,” he said in a pleasant voice, then gently brought your hand to his lips.

Your smile seemed to please him, as he offered you his arm with an elegant movement that made his cloak flutter.

“It’s a splendid day. Will you walk with me? I promise to be an entertaining companion and keep you safe from... any possible bee stings we may chance upon in the garden."

His boldness, combined with his light sense of humor, made you laugh. It was a discreet laugh, but sincere and spontaneous. You realized then that you hadn’t laughed in a long time. After a brief moment of thought, you concluded that you could use some flattery from this man who seemed more than willing to make you smile and delight your ears.

“Of course,” you answered, taking his arm.

Loras Tyrell kept his promise to be a pleasant and courteous escort. He was everything Sandor Clegane despised. A man who set himself upon a pedestal, the very picture of all the virtues enshrined in the noble code of chivalry. In little more than an hour, he had boasted of his valor and piety more times than you cared to count.

You had long since ceased to be a girl who believed in such fool’s tales of gallant knights. Sandor had seen to that. And far were you from being the swooning, starry-eyed damsel the famed Knight of the Flowers had taken you for.

But truth be told, you were enjoying yourself, and his knowledge of the different types of flowers that adorned the garden was quite impressive. You were both watching with interest the way the fruits of the trees had ripened, when the childish voice of King Joffrey came from behind you.

“Ah, Ser Loras, I see you are enjoying… the flowers of the court.”

“Your Grace,” you immediately turned and curtsied, lowering your eyes to the floor. The boy was vile and cruel, but for some reason, he seemed to take a liking to you. Who knew for how long.

He prompted you to lift your face. Behind him, his guard dog loomed like an imposing, dangerous black shadow. You didn’t look at him directly, but you felt his eyes first settle on Loras’s arm around yours, then on the white rose you held in your hand. The king’s fingers, laden with gold rings, gently brushed your chin.

“And what better flower than my lady. Beautifully bloomed, but still not watered.”

“Indeed, Your Majesty,” Ser Loras replied, his caramel-colored eyes gazing at you.

Fortunately, you were an expert in the art of subtlety. But by the gods, it was hard to maintain your composure and not scoff at his words. Out of habit, your eyes searched for a hint of complicity in Sandor’s gaze. He would usually return your glance with a nearly imperceptible twitch or a roll of his eyes.

But today, your gaze did nothing to change the unreadable face he wore. His eyes were fixed on a point behind you, and his mask of indifference felt like a thousand wasp stings to your already shattered heart.

The conversation between the two men continued, talking about the weather and the joust the following day. After an exchange of compliments, the king made his desire to continue his walk known. Ser Loras made a small bow and secured his arm around yours. You lowered your head as the little Lannister held your hand to kiss it.

The small royal procession resumed its march, and so did the metallic clinking of Sandor’s armor with every step. He stood more than a head taller than your escort as he passed by your side. His white cloak brushed your hip in passing, but his gaze remained fixed ahead, his brow set in a deep frown. On another occasion, he might have slipped a gauntleted hand over your skirt without anyone noticing. Impossible to do so now, with his fist tense and closed around the hilt of his sword.

Your walk with Ser Loras lasted little longer. Your guts were twisted into the world's tightest, ugliest knot, but you could not tell him so. The setting sun on the horizon provided the perfect excuse to retire to your chambers. Even so, he insisted on accompanying you.

Once in your room, your mind spun around the way Sandor had ignored you in the gardens. You collapsed onto the bed, still dressed and with your shoes on, and covered your face with your hands.

Was it over? Was this how your encounters would end?

You were angry with him for being unable to contain his possessive impulses. What were these terrible jealousies born of? Hadn't you shown him, time and time again, by dishonoring your name and risking your reputation, that you had no affections for anyone else?

Affections, you thought. When had he ever shown you affection? Desire, yes. Lust and passion, too. But affection? Your body shuddered at the thought. It was true that The Hound was not a man of sweet words. But still, you longed for him to verbally express his feelings for you.

If he had any.

Nothing would please you more than to hear from his lips what every lady dreamed of hearing from her chosen knight. A bitter and sad laugh escaped your chest. You were ashamed of longing for those words, but most of all, you knew he would never utter them in his life.

Your eyes wandered across your room until they landed on the upper frame of the door. You remembered your first kiss. The way you had stood on your toes in the hallway, tugging at his gorget to pull him down to you. He had pressed his lips to yours with inexperienced fervor as you stumbled blindly into your chambers, so enthralled that he forgot to duck upon entering and struck his forehead against the frame.

That night, you had been equals.

For you, it was the first time you had a man between your thighs, his body starving for warmth as it entered yours, pressing into your maidenhead with a wildness you had never known before.

And for him? It was the first time he kissed, and was kissed in return. The first time he held a woman in his arms, chests bumping against one another as you looked him in the eyes - unafraid, and with no coin to be counted afterward.

Uncontrollable sobs shook your chest. You pulled your knees up to your chest, hugging them tightly in search of some comfort.

It never came. You slept poorly, on a pillow soaked with bitter, hot tears.

-*-

The next morning, the sound of hurried footsteps interrupted the little sleep you had managed to grasp. Heavy curtains were drawn apart, and the sudden, bothersome light that poured through the window fell cruelly upon your reddened eyelids.

“My lady, we must make haste. In less than two hours you are expected in the stands,” urged the sharp yet pleasant voice of your handmaid.

You let out a groan most unbefitting of a lady as the woman helped you sit up in bed. Without saying a word about why you had passed the night fully clothed, she unlaced your shoes and prompted another maid to bring a porcelain basin filled with cold water. At the far end of your chamber, two girls pulled your new dress from the wardrobe and brushed it with haste.

“My lady, your face looks weary. Are you unwell?” the same woman asked, frowning as she patted your cheeks with a damp cloth.

You shook your head, though you should have said yes, had you remembered your duties for the day.

“Thank the gods,” she added as she refreshed your neck and shoulders. “It would be a shame if you could not attend the tourney.”

Your eyes widened at once.

The tourney.

“Oh no.” You stared at her with round, tearful eyes. “No... I don’t want to go…”

"You must go, my lady," she said, helping you to your feet. "The king expects you in the noble stands. The entire royal family is counting on your presence… and the lords."

A short gasp escaped your lips as she stripped you down, leaving you as bare as on your name day. Behind you, the other girls whispered to one another about how handsome the knights might be. You cared for none of it. All you wanted was to return to your bed and weep.

While you put on fresh smallclothes, your handmaid held up two dresses, one in each hand. You shook your head, refusing to cooperate, but before you realized it, she had tossed them both on the bed and was pulling a tight corset over your head. You grasped one of the bedposts and let her lace the strings, too exhausted to protest.

“My lady, many knights will look at you today…” she tried to lift your spirits as she cinched the garment around your waist.

You exhaled, dry and mocking. You had not the slightest interest in any knight watching you. The maid mistook your contempt for mere doubt, and as she chose the more elegant of the two dresses you had dismissed, she went on, hopeful.

“Perhaps one of them might even fight for you.”

You barely heard her. Your arms and legs had gone weak as the beautiful velvet gown slipped over your skin.

Once fully clothed, you let your weight fall onto the chair before your vanity. Someone had left a silver tray with grapes and a honey-scented tea on it. As your handmaid undid the messy braid from the day before, you picked a grape and bit into it. Its juice burst across your tongue, far too sweet for the sadness that lingered within you. When the maid finished a hairstyle that highlighted your beauty and grace, she leaned slightly toward you and smiled at you through the mirror.

"The whole court is talking about how Ser Loras Tyrell was enchanted by you while you walked the gardens yesterday."

You sighed. The memory of your garden stroll brought with it a far more bitter one. Sandor Clegane, standing behind the king and ignoring you. The woman must have mistaken again your frailty for love’s weakness, for she carried on.

“He is a handsome man. All the ladies of the court envy you.”

“They’ve nothing to envy,” you said in a somber tone. The last thing you needed was all the women of the court against you.

Your handmaid smiled again, then held up a lovely pearl necklace between her fingers as she looked at you through the mirror. You shook your head, and she frowned when she saw you reach for a simple silk ribbon instead, tying it around your neck as an ornament. It was not the choice she would have made for such a dress, but given your mood, she let it be.

“You look radiant," she said in a last attempt to draw a smile from you. "They say Ser Loras always rides with a white rose tied to his lance. I’m certain he’ll ask for your favor and offer it to you.”

Her effort failed, for you froze.

Gods help you if the man were foolish enough to do such a thing.

-*-

No matter how quickly your maids worked, you were among the last ladies to arrive at the festivities. The master of ceremonies had already begun announcing the tournament. The knights who would face each other had been called, and their titles declared.

The noble stands teemed with color and silk, each house proud in its finery. Ladies whispered behind lace fans while their lords murmured wagers on the tilt below. It was crowded with spectators from all corners of the realm, and the seat you usually occupied had already been taken by another lady. As soon as she saw you, she rose and offered you your chair, but you motioned for her to stay, taking a seat lower down with a poorer view.

More discreet, you thought. Much better.

Once settled, your gaze drifted to the royal stand, where the king and queen offered you a slight nod of acknowledgment. You did the same, with an elegant but brief curtsy.

It did not escape your notice that Sandor Clegane was not behind the lions. Instead, two members of the Kingsguard stood on either side of the king. You found it odd that, on such an important and crowded day, the royal family had dispensed with their dog’s services. The king had many enemies, and many of them were fool enough to try to harm him even in broad daylight.

Then your gaze swept over the muddy jousting field. The earth had been compressed, but the rain had left the ground soft and unstable, unfavorable for heavier horses. Squires and stableboys ran from side to side adjusting saddles, sharpening lances, or preparing ornate armors.

You leaned back in your seat with disinterest. The rasping, scornful voice of the Hound could almost be heard in your head, mocking the false fanfare of the knights and the fevered glances the perfumed ladies cast upon them. The man had infected you with his distaste for such a circus, though the little girl inside you still sometimes dreamed of romance.

Only sometimes, and always in embarrassment, for he was right. They were cunts, the lot of them, with coin and nothing better to do.

With little enthusiasm, you watched as several knights took the field. The stands roared with fervor when Ser Jaime Lannister unhorsed Lord Bryce Caron in a single tilt. You merely sighed under your breath and offered a brief, courteous clap. Then came Ser Balon Swann, Lord Renly, and Lord Beric Dondarrion, all of them as effective and victorious as they were boring to you.

The entrance of an elegant, grey mare, led by a young squire, confirmed that the next participant would be the Knight of the Flowers. The ladies in the stands gasped, and a great ovation arose from the spectators as Loras Tyrell, in his silver armor adorned with sapphires and black vines, appeared before the crowd. A white rose was indeed tied to his lance. You immediately lowered your eyes.

By the Seven, may he not see me and approach.

Your eyes were still fixed on the ground when you heard a familiar neigh and the sound of heavy horse hooves sinking into the mud.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

Stranger.

The applause of the stands dwindled, and you immediately raised your head to look at Sandor Clegane, guiding his enormous, ill-tempered stallion across the tiltyard.

“Do not worry, my lady,” said a nearby lord. “Ser Loras is skilled with a lance and will defend himself.”

You barely heard him, so focused you were on the black steed and its rider. He wore the same battered, blackened armor as always. Unlike his opponent, he did not look at the crowd. His gaze was fixed on his nervous mount, which whinnied and resisted.

You looked at the horse with a tightness in your chest. You knew him well. When you crossed paths with Sandor in the stables, the sullen animal would nudge you gently with its muzzle. Sandor often jested about this, reprimanding him for stealing all your attention. The black destrier was as strong and stubborn as they came, and the jousts made him nervous. That was why Sandor rarely participated in them. And that was why he was patting the beast affectionately as they were met with boos and jeers from the stands.

Your blood boiled in your veins. Normally, no one would dare boo Sandor Clegane. But in tournaments, there were always favorites, and the anonymity of the stands gave rise to such things. In any case, as much as it enraged you, Sandor was used to not having the favor of the crowd. And he couldn’t give less of a damn.

Once he managed to calm Stranger down, he placed his dreadful, dog’s helmet on, put a foot in the stirrup, and mounted upon the warhorse in search of a lance. Meanwhile, Ser Loras Tyrell was helped into the saddle by his squire, more concerned with the mud staining his gleaming armor. Then, the Knight of Flowers spurred his mare into a slow trot, and wherever he rode, was met with applause.

From the other side, the Hound had already chosen any available lance to compete and was rotating his right shoulder to warm up. He then leaned forward in his saddle, whispered something to the horse and tightened the reins to urge it into a gallop across the tiltyard.

“Whoa!” he bellowed, and the horse’s hooves sank into the mud as its rider brought it to a halt before the noble stands. The ladies gasped and squealed. The lords hissed. You watched the scene with wide eyes, unable to understand.

Sandor Clegane seemed confused. He looked this way and that at the crowd, angrily raising the visor of his helmet to get a better view. The horse, sensing its rider’s confusion, snorted nervously. Sandor yanked the reins to one side and urged the animal forward a few paces along the stands, his eyes still fixed on the crowd. Some women looked away as he passed directly before them, but he kept searching.

Searching.

Then you understood. He was looking for the place where you always sat. The spot that, due to your tardiness, was now occupied by another lady.

In an almost involuntary act of compassion, you leaned forward and rested your arms on the wooden railing, making yourself stand out in the crowd. And just then, Sandor Clegane’s dark eyes fixed on you.

“Hyah!” he bellowed, and Stranger seemed to recognize you as well, for it trotted cheerfully up to stand right in front of you.

The women around you held their breath as Sandor’s gloved hand reached for his helmet and yanked it upward, freeing himself from it before you. You felt your blood pulse strongly through your veins. The entire crowd fell silent as the man gazed at you wordlessly, with a seriousness that surpassed his usual sullen expression. His black eyes were locked onto yours like two dark prayers. Still, you could see the devotion behind the darkness. A devotion he had never failed to hold since the first time moment your paths crossed.

“Hey, dog!” you heard the impatient voice of the king shout from the royal stand, “your place is on the other side!”

At this, some in the crowd laughed. Yet Sandor did not avert his gaze from you, nor did you from him. Stranger took a step forward without any command from its rider, and in that moment, the man raised his voice, speaking before the entire kingdom the words he never thought he would say in all his miserable life.

“I ask for the lady’s favor!”

The crowd fell silent once more. The request was more a roar than a spoken plea, likely an attempt to impose his will over his own embarrassment. Your bewilderment kept your body from reacting, not even a breath of air entered your lungs.

Sandor’s deep eyes stared at you with intensity, waiting for your answer. His face was serious, but the unscarred side of his face betrayed a sadness. The soft chuckles returned to the stands, and you realized that your inaction was making a fool of him.

You snapped back to yourself. With a force that nearly made you jump from your seat, you stood up and said in the loudest, clearest voice you could muster.

“You have it, Sandor Clegane. May honor and victory ride with your lance.”

The last words came out somewhat hoarsely. No knight had ever asked for your favor, and you’d never rehearsed the scene. You didn’t know if your words had been the right ones, but what mattered was showing your support to him. And the way the harsh lines of his face softened made you think you had done it right.

Your lips trembled with emotion before curling into a beautiful smile. His eyes lit up at that, and the unburned corner of his mouth twitched upward into the grimace he often made when he saw something that pleased him.

You thought that with that exchange, the man would turn Stranger and the tournament would begin. But he didn’t move. He stayed rooted in the sand, staring at you. Around you, whispers began to rise again in the stands. You looked at the people, confused, and Sandor’s voice made you focus your eyes back on him.

“The token, my lady…” he said softly, his brow quirked with slight amusement.

Oh! How could you be so foolish! You had to give him something! Stricken with the nervousness of feeling all eyes on you, your mind seemed too clouded to think clearly.

You weren’t wearing jewelry, nor a veil. You weren’t wearing gloves, nor had you made a flower crown... Your hands fumbled clumsily over the sleeves of your dress, searching for a handkerchief, but finding nothing. Then they climbed up to your neck and, trembling, untied the simple silk ribbon you had chosen that morning.

Sandor removed his leather glove and raised his hand to meet yours as you held onto the railing. Were it not dulled by blows, his spaulder might have nearly gleamed with the movement. He closed his hand around yours, and his thick thumb briefly caressed your knuckles. Your heart seemed to leap out of your mouth. The roughness of his hand felt incredibly sweet against your skin after so many days without his touch. The gesture was inappropriately intimate for such a moment, and even the horse seemed to notice, for from the royal stand they watched the animal wag its tail and bring its rider even closer to you.

“Dog!” the king called out with a mocking tone, “Your beast seems to be in love with the lady!”

Sandor grunted, making himself heard over the laughter that echoed through the stands.

“Aye!” He growled, then you heard his voice again, a rough whisper meant for your ears alone. “He loves her. Deeply… and more than his own damn pride.”

The warmth that spilled far beyond your chest made your heart swell, and you laughed, breathless and lowering your head to hide the flush that bloomed across your cheeks. In his eyes burned a desperate question he could not bring himself to ask, but the glimmer in your eyes when you looked up again, put an end to his torment.

Reconciliation.

You were granting him leave to come to you that night.

Sandor drew his hand away from yours and carefully tucked the ribbon into a slit of his vambrace. Then, he dipped his head to you, and after you nodded, kicked his horse into a gallop to take his place upon the tiltyard.

-*-

Ser Loras proved to be a swift and skilled opponent on horseback, but Sandor Clegane won the tournament that day.

How could he not, with you by his side?

But that night, amidst tears and caresses and embraces in your chamber, he won something far more important than applause or a purse of coins. For as he made a commitment of restraint, he earned your forgiveness and your trust. He earned the delight of your smile, and the warmth of your laughter. And kissing you almost as a knight of old would, he earned the beats of your heart, sealing his bond to you with a promise of loyalty and eternal love.

...............

Thanks for reading! <3

What do you think? A comment would give me life, and encourage me to write more :)

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nosfferrratu · 3 months ago

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endless. a sukuna drabble.

✭ ✭ ✭ ✭ ✭¿¡

potential warnings: mind-break/fuck, vague bullshit smut prompt w the smallest amount of plot, male reader, dom reader, ig can be read like a strap if ur really creative. if you really really squint, not edited cs idk, kinda confusing around some parts but i think pretty interesting, (allusion to) marathon sex, religious themes, and irreverence for christianity (making a mockery of it) only a little, also extremely ambiguous and up to reader’s imagination.

also, idk if its clear but you and sukuna, in this, have been going at it for like 12 hours before the events below.

if anybody likes this lmk cs why not.

this is literally just a sukuna dedication post and completely self insert.

✭

“h—hhah!”

the first sound you’d pulled from him.

he bit his forearm, pressing his sweat-laced skin further into his mouth with his free hand to surpress the whimpers growing within his throat.

he bowed his head into the edge of your desk, extending one arm to grip the sheets of loose bible pages ahead of him; the other still choking back his pleasure.

you blinked lazily, angling your hips to jab at the side of his insides, purposefully coming short with your strokes to avoid ramming into his prostate.

he, almost as desperate as he is murderous, pushed himself into your strokes; arching his back into the cold wood that rubbed a soothing coolness into the skin of his upperbody.

“fff—uhg!! nngh... oh, my god.”

the first sentence he’d pulled from you.

you were fully inside him. inside the king of curses. inside ryomen sukuna, and he was enjoying it.

you panted, overstimulation crawling up and across your back as shivers. his muscles both constrict and pull your dick from tip to base, igniting sparks of endless excitement crackling through your bloodstream.

you were so deep.

you knew that.

he knew that.

everyone knew that.

but, he was endless.

endlessly dragging you closer, endlessly caressing you through the erotic convergence of yourselves. you were endlessly connected to him at your base. he was endlessly warm. he was endlessly constricting. endlessly pulling. endlessly endless.

“oh, my god.”

the second sentence from you.

only three words.

the three words that separated you enough from him to keep your composuer.

“oh, god. oh, god. i c— i can’t…” you gulped, leaning forward to stabilize yourself on the sides of your desk, feeling the beads of your rosary roll forward on your neck.

you watched as the cross— a symbol of your devotion and unwavering faith to the divine— swung, teetering between the two of you. a preist and the king of deception and mischief. it teetered between the balance of power, swinging between the holy and the unholy. “god, help me.” your eyes were filled with images of hellfire and brimstone. you knew you weren’t going to win.

not today

or anyday, actually.

you heard a stiff chuckle beneath the cross.

“god?” his voice was low, but it echoed around your head, bouncing between and through the fold of your brain and subconscious mind. it was hoarse but so smooth it’d put the finest whiskey to shame. it was so, so fucking sexy. “you think god is here?”

his voice swam between tones— first sounding incredious but quickly sifting into a honey sweet, sickly arrogance. “god forsake you the moment you purified my chambers.”

laughter followed. deep, malevolent, and prideful; boisterously bouncing between the space you shared with the devil, and, no longer your lord.

you wanted to expel him. call upon god to cast him elsewhere while you purified yourself.

but, as he laughed, the bulb of your dick sunk furthermore into his… flesh.

he felt so good. so, so, so good.

how would you be saved from something you’d kill for?

you rolled your hips, head empty and light—numb with pleasure. “i’m gonna—”

“no you’re not.”

your eyes, though fuzzy and unfocused, drifted over sukuna’s form—watching as he gripped the edges of your desk and pushed his hips closed to your chest, arching his back— pushing his spine uncomfortably close to the ancient, wooden desk upholding the two of you.

endless.

he was endless.

your eyes rolled into your skull, entirely.

“oh god…”

“are you addressing me?” you couldn’t be sure, but you knew sukuna was smirking. you could hear it in his tone, in his movements, in his walls, in every inch of you that he forced further into himself, and in the orgasm he’d been building within you.

“c—christ compels you…”

he cackled, and once again you felt the vibrations stretch through and over your base. “you don’t though, do ya?” he shifted his hips, dragging your head, and entire dick through his … satin, velvet lined organs, tapping, and being pushed pleasurably into each side.

“mmng! s’kuna, please…” you were on the verge of insanity. your mind was so full of energy it couldnt focus. not on anything but the buzzing, exploding, shooting, starlight of pleasure running around your head in halos. “please let me—“

his hips cut you off.

“ffgk—ff—fuck!”

he began moving once again, slowly. it was a leisurely pace, each time he came up, your dick disconnected from him with a slight “pop” before being enclosed and hugged fully once more. over and, over, and over. it was creating a maelstorm of titillation in your mind.

everything was fuzzy. you couldn’t finish. you couldn’t oppose sukuna’s actions. you were bound. forced to be a sex toy until your curse was lifted, and you would finally be granted relief. you would be sanctioned, free to come inside of him, as deep as he could take it.

an endless orgasm.

but he had to come first.

“are you even trying anymore?” he tsked, humor lining his every motion, and expression. “i’m disappointed father.”

his thighs—plump, supple, and full of color—snapped to your base, quicker and harder than before.

then again, faster.

and again.

again.

faster.

and faster.

and faster, and faster, and faster—

your mind went blank.

you couldn’t see.

you could only feel a pressure.

two actually.

in your stomach, a deep pressure than made your head spin when you tried to focus on it.

the second was below. spanning the entire length of your dick.

it was constant.

warm.

deep.

stretching out in both directions.

going on forever.

endlessly.

you swallowed shallowly, blinking softly as light flooded the entire surface of your vision. long tendrils of shadows stretched and weaved through the light, moving in a constant up and down motion, extremely quickly, and smooth.

you blink rapidly, unable to feel your hands.

then it hit you.

all at once.

the overwhelming urge to scream— a burning in your muscles and static that paralyzed you to…

your desk.

under sukuna.

still bouncing on your dick.

he hadn’t even noticed you’d passed out. or he did and didn’t care. you were on your back, half limp on your desk and trapped between sukuna— on the tips of his toe, slamming himself down your center, and dragging your mind, life, pleasure, soul and devotion upwards, over and over again, never stopping.

never ending.

endlessly.

forever.

just like you asked.

#spilled thoughts #male reader #top male reader #dom male reader #sub character #sub sukuna #a string of thoughts #jjk x reader #jjk x male reader #jujutsu kaisen #gay #mlm

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povlnfour · 2 years ago

Text

ੈ✩‧₊˚ BEACHED! (OP81)

pairing: oscar piastri x f!reader

summary: after oscar saves you from an embarrassing accident on the beach, you accidentally go viral

warnings: cheesy humour, chaos

ੈ✩‧₊˚ oscarpiastri just tweeted

ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just posted a photo

liked by danielricciardo, logansargeant and 98,002 others

yoursername shout out to australia, especially to the random dude in orange who saved my life from prematurely ending (note: waves in australia are brutal stay away if you can't swim)

view all comments

yourbsf NO FR SHOUT OUT TO KING I WAS TOO BUSY LAUGJING AND TAKING PHOTOS

yoursername I NEARLY DIED Y/B/F

yourbsf i was too busy giggling! your dream boy and first time he's seeing you is nearly drowning

friend1 Y/N DO YOU KNOW WHO THAT IS (6)

yoursername an australian?

user IS THAT OSCAR???

user oscar in papaya even on the beach… i fear he has no other clothes

user WHAT IS GOING ON

user NOT ME SEEING OSCAR TODAY AFTER HE SAVED A RANDOM GIRL FROM DROWNING?!?!

yoursername who tf is oscar

oscarpiastri hi! random dude in orange here

yourusername UM.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ twitter reacts

ੈ✩‧₊˚ dms with oscar

ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just posted stories

[captions:

1. treated the tour guide to lunch :)

2. note: don’t let an f1 driver drive the golf cart if you value your life. moments before i nearly died (again)]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just posted a photo

liked by oscarpiastri and 76,408 others

yourusername live evidence of the moment my tour guide turned on me

view all comments

user UHHHH

user oh so now they’re hanging out… i smell love at first sight

user NOT HIM DIVE BOMBING YOU????

oscarpiastri HEY i saved you again as well🙄

yourusername AFTER I SWALLOWED LIKE A GALLON OF WATER

friend1 @/yourbsf where were you during this murder attempt

yourbsf honey they don’t even know i’m here

ੈ✩‧₊˚ oscarpiastri just posted a photo

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 224,517 others

oscarpiastri best way to get used to the aussie waves is to just go for it☀️

view all comments

user okay when will an f1 driver save ME from drowning and fall in love (and then try to drown me on two other occasions)

user hahaha i think they’re just friends

user GIRL ^ look at what he just posted dedicated to her and tell me he’s not already obsessed

yourusername please stop trying to end my life i have a child at home

user UM

oscarpiastri a dog. she has a dog.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just posted a photo

liked by oscarpiastri and 103,228 others

yourusername australia i am in love with your food, your weather, and certainly your people. i can’t wait to come back one day🤍

view all comments

user ‘and certainly your people’ 🥹🥹🥹

user i knew she was only on holiday but why am i legitimately sad she’s leaving?

user why am i crying for people i don’t know

user is the shirtless man in the bg of the third oscar😳

oscarpiastri don’t be a stranger🧡

ੈ✩‧₊˚ texts with oscar (1&2) and your best friend

ੈ✩‧₊˚ your username just posted a photo

liked by 65,087 people

yourusername puppy therapy

view all comments

user no oscar in the likes again :(

user he’s so fluffy

user my heart aches so bad i want her back with oscar

user no fr i’m hoping that they can meet up when he’s travelling again :(

yourbsf coming over for a cuddle (with you and charlie pup)

ੈ✩‧₊˚ oscarpiastri just tweeted

replies…

user why do i feel like this is about y/n…

user i hope they still talk :(

user with the way they’ve been posting i don’t think they do :(

user sending you love oscar. you’ll smash next season🧡

user something definitely happened

user im guessing just summer romance that fizzled out now they’re both busy :(

ੈ✩‧₊˚ mclaren just posted

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 200,091 others

mclaren pre-season testing underway✅

view all comments

user did anyone see the interview he did on f1’s page?

user no what happened?

user they asked him about his winter break, and his smile faded so fast :/ then he just said he did a bit of exploring and moved the conversation on so fast

user god they. really fell for each other huh

user mclaren you have an opportunity to do the best thing. invite y/n to one of your races and reunite them please

ੈ✩‧₊˚ an email from mclaren

ੈ✩‧₊˚ texts with your best friend

ੈ✩‧₊˚ mclaren just posted a photo

liked by 247,996 people

mclaren a special home race for oscar with even more special guests🇦🇺 #OP81

view all comments

user IS THAT… IS THAT CHARLIE PUP. IS THAT Y/N.

user DID MCLAREN TAKE OUR ADVICE

user IS IT FINALLY HAPPENING ARE MY LOVES REUNITING?

user IM HERE RN AND SHES DEFINITELY IN THE PADDOCK

user FOR REAL? HAS OSCAR SEEN HER?

user NOT YET BECAUSE HE’S BEEN IN PRACTICE SESSIONS BUT THEY FINISH SOON

ੈ✩‧₊˚ user just posted a thread

ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just posted a photo

liked by oscarpiastri and 123,008 others

yourusername who said fairytales aren’t real

view all comments

user OH MY GOD ITS OFFICIAL

user i would like to thank mclaren

user why am i crying. i don’t know these people

oscarpiastri and in all 100 versions of the story, i’d always choose you

ੈ✩‧₊˚ oscarpiastri just posted a photo

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 247,721 others

oscarpiastri i guess i was the real race winner after all

view all comments

user THE CAPTION IM SOBBING

user can’t believe y/n went from nearly drowning to dating the internet’s boyfriend

yourusername can’t wait to have my life threatened by you for years to come

oscarpiastri okay nearly backing over you was an ACCIDENT

mclaren you’re welcome😉

landonorris when is it my turn

mclaren challenge accepted…

landonorris NO NO NO I TAKE IT BACK

————

a/n: HIHIHI i hope this lived up to expectations omg. the snippet for this went crazy but i don’t know if this is good EEK

huge thank you to EVERYONE for all the love in my inbox and comments recently, i’ve had so much fun writing these smaus so it’s been great to see everyone’s thoughts🤍

this will most likely be my last one shot posted before christmas with not funny (didn’t laugh) being my first post afterwards, so i want to say a huge merry christmas to all who celebrate!!

and finally. thank you for 800 followers!!! merci du fond du coeur. ça représente beaucoup pour moi🤍🤍🤍

- giselle / zellie / gigi / elle / gi i havE SO MANY NAMES

taglist (found here): @iluvvmeeee @champagnelovers101 @alessioayla @idkiwantchocolatee @skatingiswalkingincursive @six-call @he6rtshaker @hobiismyhopeu @tallrock35 @sunflower-golden-vol6 @woozarts @minkyungseokie @vellicora @tsukishitm-a @lucyysthings @treehouse-mouse @iloveyou3000morgan @gwginnyweasley @hetfieldd @sweetbabygirlsworld @wittywhispers

#f1 x reader #f1 #oscar piastri smau #oscar piastri scenario #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader

5K notes · View notes

ghostlyferrettarot · 5 months ago

Text

🪄✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ The 7th House in Astrology and What reveals about your future partner? 🪄✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

❗️All the observations in this post are based on personal experience and research, it's completely fine if it doesn't resonate with everyone❗️

✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings) Open!

🫧Join my Patreon for exclusive content!🫧

🩰If you like my work you can support me through Ko-fi. Thank you!🩰

🫧Masterlist🫧

🪄⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ Aries in the 7th House: your future partner will probably be someone bold, energetic, and dynamic. They have a passionate personality and a strong desire for action, so a relationship with this person will never be boring. They will likely have an imposing physical presence, with a confident and sometimes slightly dominant attitude. They are attracted to challenges and are not afraid to show their independence. In terms of physics, they may have an athletic or muscular build, with a determined look.

🪄⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ Taurus in the 7th House: your future partner will be firm, sensual, and loyal. You seek stability and security, and this person will offer you just that. They have a calm nature and enjoy the sensory pleasures of life. Often, their physical attractiveness is highlighted by their elegance and natural beauty, with a warm presence that invites comfort. They could be people who take good care of themselves, with a robust build or a relaxed but confident attitude. Sensuality will be their winning card.

🪄⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ Gemini in the 7th House: will attract you to someone who is curious, fun, and very sociable. This person will be an excellent communicator, always has something interesting to tell, and loves to learn. Physically, they could have a youthful appearance, with a light and lively energy. They may not be the most muscular, but their bright eyes and quick gestures will reflect their active mind. You are looking for a partner who stimulates you mentally, and this person will probably have an expressive face that changes with every conversation.

🪄⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ Cancer in the 7th House: your future partner will be empathetic, protective, and very emotional. They are deeply connected to their family life and home, and you will probably feel a strong emotional attraction from the first moment. Physically, they may have a soft and welcoming appearance, with rounded features and a deep, protective gaze. Their loving attitude will make you feel loved, and their need to create a common home will be a fundamental part of their appeal.

🪄⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ Leo in the 7th House: indicates that your future partner will be charismatic, generous, and very expressive. This person will likely be the center of attention wherever they go, with a magnetic presence and sense of confidence that draws everyone in. Physically, they tend to have an upright posture and an imposing way of walking, reflecting their confidence. They might have prominent facial features and a dazzling smile that makes you feel special and admired. This person will want to be your king or queen, and will offer you love with great enthusiasm.

🪄⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ Virgo in the 7th House: your future partner will be practical, detail-oriented, and very dedicated. You will look for someone who focuses on the small details and values organization in life. This person will be rational and critical, but their love will be reflected in their careful actions. Physically, they may have a neat and well-groomed appearance, with a simple yet elegant style. Their analytical gaze and straight posture will reflect their precise and meticulous nature. The calmness of their being will give you the security you need.

🪄⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ Libra in the 7th House: suggests that your future partner will be charming, balanced, and very sociable. You are looking for a harmonious relationship, and this person will be the representation of beauty and diplomacy. Physically, they could have a symmetrical and attractive face, with an elegant and sophisticated attitude. Their aesthetic sensitivity will be reflected in their clothing and personal style. This type of person will also be very cooperative, always seeking balance and peace in the relationship.

🪄⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ Scorpio in the 7th House: indicates that your future partner will be intense, passionate, and deeply emotional. This person has a magnetic presence, often attracting with their mystery and emotional depth. Physically, they could have a penetrating gaze, with an intensity in their eyes that will reflect their passionate nature. Their confident and somewhat enigmatic attitude will captivate you, and the chemistry between you will be impossible to ignore. You are looking for a relationship that will transform you, and with Scorpio, you will find just that.

🪄⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ Sagittarius in the 7th House: your future partner will be optimistic, adventurous, and free-spirited. This person will be open-minded and will take you to new places, both literally and figuratively. Physically, they might have a tall presence or an athletic appearance, reflecting their love of physical activity and adventure. Their expansive energy will attract you, and they will likely be someone who looks young and full of life, with an outgoing attitude that inspires others.

🪄⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊Capricorn in the 7th House: your future partner will be responsible, ambitious, and very practical. You will be looking for a serious and committed relationship, and this person will probably be someone who takes commitment and stability very seriously. Physically, they could have a solid and firm presence, with an upright posture that reflects their reliable nature. Their features may be rather structured or strong, showing a mature and determined appearance. This person has the power to make you feel secure in the long run.

🪄⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ Aquarius in the 7th House: suggests that your future partner will be unique, independent, and with progressive ideas. This person will be looking for a relationship based on friendship and innovation, and will probably have an eccentric personality that you will love. Physically, they could have an unconventional appearance or an avant-garde style that makes them stand out. Their open gaze and relaxed attitude towards life will attract you. Together you will share a love that respects the freedom and individuality of both.

🪄⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ Pisces in the 7th House: indicates that your future partner will be romantic, dreamy, and very sensitive. This person will be empathetic and understand you on a deep level. Physically, they may have a soft, dreamy look, with an ethereal presence that reflects their spiritual nature. Their gentleness will attract you, and you might feel as if you are with someone from another world. This person will inspire you to see the beauty in everything, especially in your life together.

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insufferablelust · 11 months ago

Note

Aemond claiming you as his 🔥 SMUT

RAVISH [BYKA ZALDRĪZES] Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Targaryen Reader

This work contains mature acts, Minors DNI. 18+ Only.

Bind by her betrothal to the rider of Vhagar, the daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen meets Aemond Targaryen to find herself getting more than she ever expected.

Words counted: 6.9k (My sincerest apologies)

Content include: 18+ MDNI! Targcest (canon incest practice of the Targaryen house), Smut, Sex, Oral sex (F receiving), Heavy breeding kink, Chocking, Claiming of maidenhood, Manhandling, Slight degradation, Reader has the attributes of the Targaryens (silver hair, purple eyes etc), Mention of blood (nothing graphic).

Hello! this is my first time posting my work for any HOTD characters, thank you to the anon who requested, and special thank you & dedication to Gabrielle my friend who helped me Beta this work❤️ My request is always open for HOTD characters. English is not my native language so bear with me. Enjoy and let me know what you think! thank you my loves.

Masterlist

Rules to Request

You can feel the tightness of your evening attire wrapped around the slopes of your curves, with the long thick fabric that overlaps the bodice of your dress downwards. You stayed as still as you could when your ladies dressed you with much attentive eyes. Hands everywhere from the collar to the soles of your feet.

One of your ladies braid your silky silver hair loose but neatly, perfecting your looks for such occasions. One being the arrival of your uncle, the rider of the biggest dragon in all the realms, Aemond. You can feel the loud thumping of your heart against your ribcage, albeit constricted by the tight layers of your attire, it does not deter your nervousness.

Not only is his arrival would have significance on the chess play of the throne of the dragons, but it would bear you consequences that you, in fact, are unable to escape this fate. The fate you have little to say against. The near last wish of the king to betroth you to unite the two sides of the Targaryen blood. Marriage of dragon and dragon, hoping to conceal the gaping wound left by Viserys decisions.

Neither your mother nor your father can truly save you now as you have made your decision to choose your destiny to try and serve the realm the only way you know how. The rising tension and possible bloodshed of cousins and nieces are no longer needed, you had hoped, if you agree to this arrangement. You have no other choice than to take his hand in marriage, even if it means that you have to sacrifice your own freedom and the ambiguous name of the true heir.

You have yet to set your feelings for the rider of Vhagar, he is not only an enigma to you but, more so, a mystery that you are both eager yet scared to fully unveil. There is a part of you know that there is a darkness that surrounds his being like no other, as your brothers have always told you. However, if you are to take his hand in marriage, you would have to force yourself to see the light in him, as you wished for the Seven to guide you in your unprecedented path.

“Princess, pardon me but Her Grace, Queen Alicent has requested your presence at the gate, for Prince Aemond’s arrival.”

At once your shoulder straightened as you breathe out a heavy sigh, pulled out of your heavy thoughts by one of the servants. You smiled, and replied with a gentle “Of course, Lyana. I am to be done and head there right away.”

Closing your eyes briefly, you gathered your thoughts, and silently prayed to not only the Seven but to all old Gods of Valyria to gain you strength and will to overcome this behemoth of a challenge that is to be bestowed upon you in a matter of minutes. Opening your eyes again, you begin to shuffle your way out of the mighty wooden door, and off to your journey just outside of the Red Keep, on the gates overlooking Rhaenys Hill.

You’re accompanied by the two of your ladies as well as your trusted guard as you make your way down the castle. You can see in the distance the few people including the Queen, that has already stood patiently waiting for Prince Aemond’s arrival. You blushed as the foot of your dress sweep gracefully onto the stones below, your heart raced with anticipation of meeting your soon-to-be husband.

“Your Grace.”

You curtsied as you approached Queen Alicent, a sign of greeting and respect you have for the mother of the alleged battling heir to the throne. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you smiled as she gently touches your arm. Her smile is soft, casted as genuine, however, you can clearly see the tightness in them.

Alicent has always spared you more content than to others directly of your mother’s blood, your obedience to the crown, realm, and dedication to the Seven, helped her to overcome the dreaded raging crossfire between the two apparent heirs. Your demur soft upbringing, contented her enough to welcome you in a hug, albeit fabricated with quarrel.

“Princess, it is a delight for all of us to be blessed by your presence, in honor of the Prince, of course.” She replied, your lips set into a thin smile, as you bowed your head to Princess Helaena. Unlike to her brothers or your step aunt’s entourages, you have a knit bond with Helaena, having to endure the chaos of the brooding conflict in the throne, you both shared the same wish to cultivate what was once a peaceful reign and put an end to the family’s misery. You watched attentively as she rubbed her swollen belly, knowing full well the usurper successor of your mother’s rightful throne cradled in the form of the babe inside her body. Your eyes fleetingly meet hers as you continued to smile.

“As it was a delight for me to procure your request of my presence, Your Grace. I am of honored to be here for the Prince’s arrival.”

Alicent patted your arm one more time before you both overlook the land of King’s Landing, with the view of the Narrow Sea dances in your eyes. You were always amazed by the beauty of the realm, the blue greyish skies are your scenery, especially when you have the opportunity to ride on your dragon’s back. Oh how you wished you could just fly away to Dragonstone right about now and see your family again. Alas that too is wishful thinking.

You were suddenly halted of your longing when the sound of the bellowing of mighty Vhagar came to light, your eyes drifted to the source of such powerful force, as the silhouette of one of the greatest beast come into view. You admired her majestic wings from afar, eyes squinted at her fierceness, biting through the wind and seamlessly breaking through the clouds. As the dragon got closer to the Hill of Rhaenys, just outside the Dragonpit, you could also make out the rider of said beast.

Prince Aemond Targaryen.

Even from miles away from the ground, one would not miss the way he fiercely ride the biggest dragon alive known in all seven realms, a dragon he conquered to be his own, the dragon that came to him not when he was born yet when he was in his biggest pit of despair. Vhagar’s bond with her rider is as strong as ever, just like when she roamed the skies with Queen Visenya Targaryen once during Aegon the Conquerer’s reign.

You could make out the shadow of his being as he landed on Rhaenys Hill ever so smoothly, dismounting from the beast before patting her and giving her to the dragon keepers. You hissed in pain as you finally realized that you have been clenching your hand too tightly in front of you.

“Seven heavens dear, are you alright?”

You can hear the soft gasps, and murmurs around you, noticing how you clutched your fingertips together. You have not noticed the entire time that you had been so nervous, it numbed the pain of your even dull fingernails on the palm of your dainty hands.

“Gods.” You exclaimed feeling your palm stings, Queen Alicent noticed the whole thing, her eyebrows furrowed in worry, so did Princess Helaena. “Princess, may I accompany back to the keep? so we can clean your hands” Said Haelena softly, in which you find yourself grateful for.

A nod and curtsy came from you as you lower your head in shame, “I apologize Your Grace, My Princess, for I have unable to assuage my pain. May I please be excused to clean up?” Your voice is in the teetering edge of whimper, eyes too humiliated to stare into Alicent or Helaena’s eyes. If you could summon your dragon here and then, you would and fly away with her so you don’t ever have to come back to Kings Landing but the luck of the Seven was never truly behind you since the start.

“Very well, Princess. Please see to it that the maester is make aware of her condition, and let her heal properly.” Alicent replied sternly, her voice laced with bitter shame covered with fantom worries, and she encouraged Helaena to accompany you, stressing that it would not be much fuss that neither of you would be there to greet the one eyed Prince.

You curtsied once more, before turning away from the looks of all the ladies and lords that have awaited for the Prince’s arrival. You tried to drawn out the murmurs in the background as your hem of your dress shuffled across the cobblestone, making your way back inside the keep.

Haelena was patient as she accompanied you to the Maester’s healing chamber, making small comments so that they are well aware of your little incident. The blush on your cheeks has yet to subside nor does the pounding in your chest. The bodice strangling you from the outside, as your own fear strangled you from within.

“Niece, however are you feeling? has the pain subsided?”

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the soft ringing of Helaena’s voice, your mind eased a little hearing her, she is a soothing presence in the midst of your confusion. You may live in King’s Landing, however your soul have always been with your family, home is wherever they were, and that was Dragonstone. How you so badly wanted to be there.

“No need to be worrisome, muñus. By the will of the gods, I shall be fine. It was just my foolish mistake. I should have been more careful.” Aunt.

The last words that left your mouth were that of a whimper, small plea you made to yourself. A plea that you knew would save yourself and possibly the realm had you not make the same reckless mistake over and over again. Helaena whom has been pestering over the healers, sit down besides you. She might be your aunt by bloodline, but she is also closer to your age, knows the burden you carry with the looming threat of the crack in the lair of the dragons.

“Dare I ask what is occupying your mind, dear?”

There is a tinge of pleasant playfulness in her voice that didn’t fail to make you tilt your head and chuckled. Sighing, “None of the matter, My Princess, it is merely a big day for us all.” You looked straight into her eyes as you replied, knowing full well she would understand what does big day entailed.

“Jorrāeliarzys, a fierce dragon such as yourself need not be worry of any apprehension.”

She clicked her tongue at you like a mother scolding their child, you feel comforted by the warmth she displayed to you knowing full well all of this heap was due to her own brother’s arrival upon the keep. Aegon himself has not been able to sleep peacefully since he catches the news of his brother’s wind in Kings Landing.

“Thank you, Helaena. I shall pray that the Prince arrives at the gates safely—“

Your moment was cut short however when you both heard the huge door opening, revealing the two guards that stood in front. Your breath hitched slightly, when you took upon notice the presence whom have entered the healing chambers.

“Brother, welcome.” You quickly took back your hand as soon as the maester was done wrapping it up in a soft silk cloth, concealing your earlier omission from him. Your eyes had not dared to look into his, instead focusing them on the ground beneath your feet as the brother and sister embraced each other in front of you.

Had you not looked away, you would have seen that Aemond’s eyes have certainly never wavered from your presence, his attention was on you as soon as he arrived to the gates. Blood boiling with fury as he had heard what had happened to you. It was supposed to be a happy day, at the very least for him, as it is the day he was going to set eyes again on you. His future wife. The queen to his soon to be realm, the one whom he will fight for.

His eyes has yet to set ashore from your slightly trembling body, it only darted towards your enclasped hands in front of you. “Do you wish to retire to your chambers? you have had a long day on Vhagar’s back.” You can hear Haelena’s voice ring, you wanted so much to greet him as you are accustomed to, however you found your lips to be very hesitant. No sound came out.

“I shall retire later, sister. I wish to see the princess first as I have been made aware of her conditions.”

The smooth sound of his thick voice caresses you softly, yet it leaves a rough grip on its awakening, just like dragon scales. You tilted your head slightly, finally looking at him as you have been sought after.

“My Prince.” Your voice finally escaped your lips, breathing a shaky breath as your eyes locked with his. “Welcome back, the keep has not been the same without your presence.” You smiled gently, lips pressed into a thin line— there is so much resistance coming from you and he knows it.

Aemond then stepped forward, standing in front of you. You felt his dominating figure as he towered over yours, making you swallow the bile in your throat. Your breath, however, hitched in your throat as he tenderly brings your hands upwards, bending over a little to place a lingering kiss atop of the cloth covered skin. “How severely does it hurt, My Princess?”

Shivers come washing down on you when you felt his lips ever so gently grazes your skin, even through the cloth you can feel his warm breath, his attentive touch and words releases a bit of pressure off your shoulders. But you must not let your guard down as you are still standing in front of a man that has caused way too many mishaps for your house. The threatening presence to the house destruction, yet, all of that just gravitated yourself closer to him.

“It barely hurts… All is well, My Prince—“ You replied eyes darting between his patchless eye, and to Helaena behind him whom watching this whole encounter with a smile, “I apologize to have caused you much trouble upon your arrival day, for I swear to the Seven, I did not mean it.”

You can hear Aemond clicks his tongue in front of you, clearly unamused to you apologizing for something that causes you terrible pain. After all you are to be his wife, he would always protect you even if it meant from your own self. “By all the realms, you have no need to apologize-“ He tilted his head in what you can only take as a menacing smug gesture with a grin.

“I’ll take your hand in marriage in less than a moon time, and soon your hand would cradle my babe, I am merely seeking to even give you a new hand, if My Princess ever so wishes for one. Hm, ñuhys jorrāeliarzy?” My beloved.

That pulled a hefty gasp out of you, your hands that were still in his grasp turned so cold. Although it is not a new matter that the King and Queen has betrothed you both, it still feels like you’re reverted to how you are a shy maiden, not nearly as experienced as he was in anything. You have your mother’s wit as well as fierceness, your father’s attitude yet you always find yourself in another dichotomy altogether where you’re more demure than those of your siblings characters, Jacaerys is a wise leader, so as your other brothers, you— you are something else. Never wish for any power yet contented to defending your own.

“I suppose so, My Prince. However you needn’t to worry. I shall be fine by the time moonlight arrives.” You replied with trying hard to keep up with his intense eye contact. It was difficult for you to not drown in his lilac eyes, his silver hair, perfectly sculpted jaw, and even more domineering stance. You have wished sometimes that the Gods would just damn you in the Grand Sept for your lewd thoughts.

“Very well, little dragon. I shall see you during supper tonight, for I can not wait to have a feast.” The last words may not he spoken loudly as his lips were truly beside your ears, however, you can hear it as it was meant to be heard by you only. Your cheeks could not contain the warmth that rises to its surface, only spreading further down your neck— flustered and hot everywhere when the back of his nimble fingers grazes your cheeks twice.

“Whatever do you mean by—“

“We shall meet again, Princess.” With a tentative smirk and a chuckle, he put down your hand and left as he was never there, with his own clasped behind his back striding out of the healing chambers. Your mouth still agape as to what he meant, your heart raced as your body burned with desire. You can only wish to be spared tonight, as you wanted to keep your virtue until you wed.

—

The gold ring glimmered under the light of fire within your chambers, you keep twirling your hand to get a glimpse of the engraved Valyrian words across the ring itself. Byka zaldrīzes. The writings wrote, there is a small ruby gem on the top, adorned with small scales to imitate that of your dragon’s— Silverwing. Aemond had given this to you few moons ago, when the Queen and small council have decided to betroth you both. It is “A token for our betrothal, to remind you that I have promised in the name of the Seven and all Gods to solely devote myself to you.” He had said. Little dragon.

Your heart fluttered at the thought, even when everyone deemed him the cold even sometimes heartless prince, he had shown you slivers of his tender nature. You of course knew of what transpired during his childhood, you knew of his torment, and his tormentors— you were there to witness by your ears, always trying to comfort him afterwards out of goodwill. The memory of it all remained fresh in your memories. After the death of your younger brother, Lucerys, both side of the throne were cold as ice, sharp as Blackfyre— alas you too would fly to Dragonstone if not for the binding vows of the betrothal your mother had arranged when you were a mere child.

You see, you were supposed to marry Aegon, the usurper soon to be king, however that came short when she decided to wed Aegon with Helaena instead, and reconcile the betrothal the deal, with binding you to Aemond, instead. At the time you knew the reason why she were to wed Aegon because Alicent disapprove of your twin brother Jacaerys for his lack of Valyrian blood, or so Alicent claimed.

You, however, was spared of the thoughts considering you were born with silver hair, striking that of your twin brother— mayhaps the reason why you were so fragile as a child, the Maester thought once that you could not have made it far to adulthood let alone reach your 15th name day. Your hand might be taken by a man you do not wish to wed out of loyalty to your mother but perhaps, unable to escape, this is the best possible outcome you could possibly get.

Letting out a sigh, you smoothen the red and gold dress you’re wearing, the sheer fabric on the sleeve of your arms are giving you room to breathe despite the tightness of your attire. Few strands of your silver locks tied in a braid behind your head, whilst the rest flowed down your shoulders freely. The most beautiful maiden in the realm, the ladies often said. You admired yourself in the mirror, before hearing the door knock.

“Forgive me, Princess, but Her Grace, the Princes, and Princess have all waited for you in the dining hall.”

“Thank you, Lyana. I shall depart right away.”

Taking a deep breath, you shuffled your way out your chambers and into the dining hall. Two guards were stationed in front of the giant door, you nodded your head before they opened it. Taking a sight to your views, you can see the familiar faces of the Queen, your uncles and aunt. It seem that there is only five of you present, with one babe cradled inside Helaena.

“Your Grace, My Princes, and Princess.” You curtsied and bow your head before making your way inside. You locked eyes with that of Aemond’s, his lips curled into a grin as he set eyes on your beauty, before settling on the ring adorning your finger. You can also feel the heated gaze of Aegon interlocking between you and Aemond, Gods, you hope there will be no quarrel tonight between the two.

“Niece, it is a pleasure to be graced by your company again.” Came the voice of Prince Aegon with a smirk, already looking halfway intoxicated by the wine perched on his silver glass. “As it is mine, Your Highness.” you sat down on the chair, smiling at your hosts. “For I can see that my brother is assured to be… joyous.” Aegon chirped, you didn’t miss the glares Aemond threw his way.

“Has the remedy by the Maester treat your hand well, Princess?” Helaena asked you before giving his brother a chance to refute, you were thankful for her quick response. Darting to your palm, recognizing the piece of cloth it is still wrapped in. Trying not to grimace of your earlier humiliation, you just nodded your head, “Yes Princess, I cannot seldom express more of my gratitude for your kindness. It is treating very well.”

“That is a very good news indeed, now we shall feast on the supper.” Queen Alicent smiled at you, looking as uncomfortable with the brooding tension of her own sons— gesturing to the table in front of you. “How was the trip, Prince Aemond?” You tenderly tried to slice yourself a piece of roasted duck, only to hiss with the ever looming pain, sighing, you heard a click of the tongue belonging to none other than your betrothed.

“Allow me, niece.” Aemond voice cut through the silence as he offered to slice your meal for you. Warmth feels your cheeks once more as you pass your knife to him so he can cut it.

“Thank you, uncle.”

“It was pleasant enough, Vhagar was restless as she had to fly during a hailstorm, however, the journey felt too long knowing what awaits me in King’s Landing.”

The implication of his words made you look around, seeing his brother, the very man that threatens your mother’s throne snickered and with a huge grin adorning his face.

“My my, you have grown, brother, I did not know you could be so… feeble.” He swings his now empty cup so the servants can pour more wine inside. You inhaled sharply at his comment, knowing what awaits.

Shocks were thrown around the room as suddenly, the knife in the hand of your betrothed—belonging to you, are raised upon the soon to be Usurper’s King direction.

“I can and will have your tongue for that.” The air around you is thick with tension, “Aemond!” his mother gasped, a rivalry of heir successors that you have rarely seen in Dragonstone between your siblings, yet appear to be so common now in the grand pillars of the Keep.

“Enough—“

“You could do well try, if you can get past my guards, weakling.”

“Still hiding behind your guards? you are no man, merely a boy sent to be a fake king.” Aemond jabs, standing at his full height now— knife right against his brother’s neck. The clanking sound of the knight’s armor can be heard.

“and I still fuck my whores better than you do, brother.”

Next thing you heard was the loud banging of your knife on Aemond’s hands carved deep inside the table, he had stood up in a rage of fury, if looks could kill, Aegon Targaryen would be 12 feet under by now.

“I said enough!” You have in rare occasions see Queen Alicent be this mad even when her sons drove her crazy, let alone hear her voice this loud. The staring feast between Aegon and Aemond lasted even after the Queen told them to cut it off, looking at Helaena whom seem to be uncomfortable by the situation, you clear your throat and placed a soft hand gently on the back of Aemond’s shoulder.

“My Prince, perhaps I can show you, around the Keep? it has been long after all since you last set foot here.” You tried to keep yourself composed.

You carefully thread your words so neither brothers or queen for that matter, would raise the growing tension ever more. You bravely looked towards Aemond’s piercing stare at his drunken brother. A pregnant pause followed suit, before Aemond let out a scoff and turned around.

The screeching sound of his chair was loud in the silence that cut through the hall, he began walking away as you threw a curtsy before the Queen, and scurried after him outside the hall.

“Prince Aemond, please wait.” You tug the midway of your silk dress so you can follow his pace but he walked with as much rage as he did before. Slender and tall figure scurrying away. Hearing no reply coming from him, you let out a sound akin to a desperate whine.

“Dear will you please— Ah!”

You suddenly feel your back pressed against one of the walls inside the small hall not far from where the bed chambers were located. The walls felt cold to your back, your breathing was loud, so was his. Only then you registered that one of his hands were on your neck, wrapped around your delicate throat with enough pressure to block out some of the air when you inhale. The necklace given by your mother digging through your neck.

“You are quite the woman now, aren’t you, niece?” a teasing chuckle came soon after, “I am intrigued on how you have kept your innocence for all the time I have been gone, hm?” Your eyebrows furrowed.

“W-what does that entail, Aemond?” your lips trembled when you speak of his name, you can feel his knees pressed to open the gap between your thighs— causing you to gasp and widen your soft lilac eyes.

“Still remains a maiden, Princess?” Aemond tilt his head, smiling throughout.

“I— of- of course, what are you so boldly implying?” You were taken aback by his implications, the stinging tears on your eyes are threatening to fall down along with the hoarseness of your voice.

“lykirī, issa jorrāeliarzys—“ scoffing in amusement, “I merely wanted to know how hard I can fuck you tonight.” You tried to wiggle away from his hold against your neck only for him to, once more, clicked his tongue at you as if you’re a disobedient child, and put his other hand on your waist to steady you against the wall— leaving no space to go. Calm, my love.

“ah ah, do not make a fuss now, sweet one. wouldn’t want to alert the whole castle on the doings of their virtuous Princess, now would we?”

You can feel his nimble fingers caresses the exposed skin of your hunched dress, the silk making way for his touches to graze yours ever so tantalizingly. “I have dreamed of this, —of you like this.” He muttered, “each time you soothed me after your cunt of brothers disrespected me.” you were still much shocked and flustered at his ministrations. Lips moving down to capture your neck, slowly moving down to the column of your now exposed throat.

“Aemond— not here…”

“Hush, dove. Now that you will soon be my wife, I shall have you whenever, wherever, and however I desire to.” His words are muttered against your skin, drawing soft breathy whines from you.

“Aemond, we should n-not… Please…” You tried to reason with him, even when your hips grinds against his pants covered knees— still nudged in the slope of your inner thighs. You felt your clothed bundle of pleasure rubbed ever so slightly against him when he further raised his knee against you. Making you whine in delight and frustration. “Gods! mmh, aem!”

“Seems to me that you wanted this as much as I do, little one.” He teased as he continues his quest, deep kisses left in his wake, “I shall claim you how I see fit, wouldn’t you say so, princess?”

You tried to answer him but only mewls and whimpers escaped out your lips as you continued to grind against his knees, meeting his now fasten pace, and the kisses on the sensitive spot on your neck just below your jaw is making you high. Gods, it feels like you’re set ablaze by thousands of dragon fire.

“Asked you a question, niece.”

“Yes! Gods yes! take me however you desire.” Your resolve has been breached once and for all, for you can not escape how intoxicating his touches are. You have been to wound up with all the realm duties, indulgence is not one for the Princess, however your desire is far too strong to resist your soon-to-be husband.

“You may not be a whore from the common streets, but you are my own, byka zaldrīzes.” Little dragon. “You will know how wrong my brother was after I fucked you.”

“and I still fuck my whores better than you do, brother.” The words exchanged by Aegon now rings on your ear.

Wanton moans escaped your lips as he continued his assault on your neck, he bent down a little to access the hem of your embroidery to push it down— you whined at the loss of his knee on your soaked cunt, “Why’d you st— oh gods!” you threw your head back against the wall at the feeling of his warm lips engulfing your now hardened buds.

“Patience.”

He muttered sharply before suckling on your teats, nipples darkened with blood rushing to them— all plump and Aemond salivated to the thought of them filling up when you, one day, will bear his child—children. “Cannot wait to fill you up, watch you swell with my babe.” He groaned, switching from one buds to the other— left you panting.

“Ah mm! can’t wait— oh! to carry your heir, my Prince…”

Whilst his mouth is preoccupied by your left nipple, his fingers are tweaking your other one, pulling and twisting— making you writhe in pleasure, you are sure that your small garment is soaked by now.

“You will never be able to escape me in our marit—“

You both were pulled from your pool of lust and pleasure when you heard the clanking noises of a knight’s armor rounding the corners of the Red Keep. Your eyes wide as you tried your best to push Aemond away only for him to raised an eyebrow and covered your mouth with his hand.

“Shh, do not make a sound, little one.”

You were about to protest when you felt his other hand trailing up your haunched hem, his feet parting your lets.

“nnh—“ you tried to speak against his hand, but he just let out a scoff and pushed you impossibly deeper to the wall.

“Rȳbās.” Obey.

Pleasure overtook you as Aemond’s fingers pushed aside your garment, fingers came in contact with the flushed slick soaked flesh of your needy cunt. “you are enjoying this.” He shake his head with so much amusement to his gleaming eyes and smirking lips—voice just above a whisper to make sure no one heard him, but if you have to guess, he wouldn’t care if someone catches you anyways.

“Here I though my little Princess is a pious woman, and here she is, with a dripping cunt begging me to fuck her.”

You heard the clanking sound moving away, noises slowly disappearing into the cold night. “I’d rather say you have been wanting me to do this, is that what you mean by showing me around?” He chuckled deeply, feeling your already flustered face, heated more.

You gasped a breath of relief when his hand unclasped your mouth, “N-no. I truly wanted to—“

“No need to lie, zaldrītsos. Your cunt tells me enough.” with that he gave your pearl of pleasure a slap, you jolted with a loud whine “Aemond, fuck!” Little dragon.

Your pleasure was short lived, however, when he wrapped his arm below your knees before pulling you up his shoulder. Hauled you up before strolling down the hall to where the royal apartment quarters sits.

“Put me down, Aemond!”

“Quiet.”

He playfully patted your arse as he make his way to what you presume to be his chamber. You did not get a good look if there were guards stationed outside, as you thought they would be— he is the prince after all, it’s not like he could care less.

Aemond slam the door shut, before he puts you down and you catch your breath.

“Aemond, what was th—mmmh!”

Your complaints were cut short when he pressed his lips against yours in a passionate manner, lips engulfing your own, as his tongue breached past to enter your hot cavern. His free hand move up to grasp your hair in a tight knot as he slowly move you back towards his bed, the back of your thighs hitting the edge.

His tongue continued to explore yours as his hands roam over your body, from your sensitive jugular to your taut breasts, belly and the conjuncture of your thighs. You let out a gasp of relief and shock as he pushed you to the bed.

Aemond wasted to time to flip you over and manhandled you so that you’re face down on the bed, your back in a perfect arch, silver locks flows beautifully— your arse is up in the air, whilst your feet dangled from the edge. Having ripped your evening attire off, you’re left bare. Cunt exposed. Needy, soaked, and desperate for his attention.

“Kostilus…” your begs are mere muffled mewls by now as he stood to admire your beauty. Gods. He has waited for this for a long time. Your betrothal might just be the cure to his raging agony. Please.

You heard a thud—“Oh Gods!” throwing your head back, as his cold fingers gathered your slick and run them along your folds, gently at first. You turn your head slightly to see him only to had your moans halted.

It’s Aemond, but he no longer wears his eye-patch. His sapphire gem shone bright under the moonlight that seeped through the night sky of King’s Landing. His soft lilac eyes gleamed too. You’re enthralled by his beauty, every marks and turns.

“My, my… you’re drenched. Desperate, aren’t we?” He scoffed at your agape mouth, feeling his 2 of his fingers entering your cunt with vigor, you closed your eyes tightly as you clench on him in instinct. “Ah ah, none of that, open them now, dove.”

Your eyes fluttered open as he commanded, “Look at me, Princess—“ you did with your eyes droopy and sinful lips parted in shallow breaths, “In less than a moon time, you shall find yourself in this situation, each night in our marital bed, ñuhys ābrazȳrys.” it delighted you, and heated the fire in your core to hear his devotion. My wife.

“Y-yes husband.”

Aemond groaned as he sped up his fingers, squelching noises now aloud bouncing off the walls, “Say it again for me.”

“ahh.. mmh! fuck— I am yours, husband, I promise by the Seven!” His fingers grazed your most sensitive spot, as his palm graze your pearl.

“After I claim you, I’d have anyone’s heads that dared to look at you as I do.” The silken sheets beneath your fingers now creased as you keep on clenching them, “Not that they will ever try, not after you begin to swell.” you arched your back with your toes curled, building release arose inside your belly, “with my seed, my babe, my heir.”

“fuck yes! yes yes! as many as you wish.. please, Aemond!”

“Come for me, little one. I’ll fill you up afterwards.” His free hand tangled itself on your silver locks to yank it back, your body shaking with your high so close, eyes teary with your lips wet, raw, and bitten. Truly a sight reserved only for the Gods.

One more brush of his palm against your pearl simultaneously with his fingers abusing your core, all of it was too much as you let out a silent scream, you came on his fingers.

“Good lord! Aemond…”

“Fuck, princess…” His fingers does not let up, however, and continues its assault inside your now gushing cunt. “You are Gods sent.” He whispered before pulling his fingers out slowly, watching you thrash on the bed, licking his fingers afterward.

“Beats the sweetest Westerosi wines.”

You have no more strength to reply as your legs felt like jelly, however the heat in your cheeks and race of your heart never cease, your eyes blink slowly when you heard the soft clad of his tunic, then followed by his cloth pants fell down the floor.

“Ae—mmh!” Toes curling at the feeling of the flushed hard tip of his cock gliding over your now oversensitive folds, “Ready, little dragon?” he teases the entrance of your weeping cunt as you whined,

“Just put it in— Oh!”

“You—fuck! you are greedy for a maiden.” He slowly thrust his tip inside you making you wince at the intrusion. “Aemond… it hurts…” you closed your eyes briefly for Aemond’s length is not to be messed with… long, width as thick, and curved on the tip. You wish you have more time in the future to admire him fully. “Shh shh, the pain will subside soon, little one, stay with me.”

To ease the pain, his fingers once again found haven on your clit, softly pressing as you jolt in overstimulation, “Mmnh.. please…” your body is writhing in both pain and pleasure, “Hells, you’re so tight.” He grunted, pushing inch by inch as your cunt accommodates his size, before pushing it in one thrust.

Your back arched deeply as your mouth agape, loud mewls and moans escapes them on a rapid rate, as you sure the guards will be able to hear by now. His free hand let go of your hand and move to place them on the slope of your hips before moving to pull almost every inch of his length, then slams it back down to the hilt.

“You f-fill me up so much, my prince.” Moans are now freely came out of your lips, as he continued his unrelenting pace, thrusts that are deep as well as it is hard, giving you no chance to catch your breath. You felt like you are flying with your dragon, its that high pleasure that are like no other. “and I shall do— fuck, again and again to ensure my seeds take.”

Though composed, you can hear his breathing shallower than usual, his thrusts are erratic yet remains a choking pace on you. Your fingers grasp the sheets so tightly, you’d have no excuse if the maids found it shred the next day. “My prince—“

“Close?” he can feel your cunt tightening, and holding a vice grip to his cock, the clench made him lose his mind. Gods, he’d stay inside of you all day if you let him, “I’d rather spend my life inside you than to deal with my cunt of a brother.”

“and… and i’d let you.” your voice are jagged, as your body thrown forward and backward following his pace, cock filling your walls— you can feel every vein and ridge, making their indents known to claim you. “What an obedient little wife you’d be.” he muttered with vigor, his hips never relenting to stop, always reaching your spot.

“Only for you, my—oh! my prince!” your peak is nearing, you can feel it so does he, fastening the fingers on your clit, “Come for me, little one. Do it.” He encouraged you, he leaned down and kissed your shoulder tenderly, “Avy jorrālean, zaldrītsos.” I love you, little dragon.

“Av— aaah oh gods!” you threw your head back, back arching and, “Aemond!” you peak, coming from him harder than the last, body slumping to the sheets as your high took over. “Please… please, fill me up. put your h—heir inside of me.” You begged with the last ounce of your strength.

Your cunt clenching on his length so tight that he is so close to reaching his own release, “Gonna put a babe in you, gonna— fuck! watch you swell over and over again.” He groaned loudly, feeling himself getting lost on you, in you.

“Avy jorrālean.” You half whine and whispered, “fuck!” Aemond releases inside you, coming with his seed pumping you full, whispering your name over and over again, against the skin of your neck. I love you.

You both panted, he held your now full belly in his palm before sliding out of you gently— his actions so soft and light, a striking contrast to his earlier ministration. “Oh.. Princess..” He cooed tenderly at you when he flipped you over and look to where you’ve separated, eyes focusing on your mixed fluids. “stop looking its—“

“Ah ah, shush, little dragon. let me take care of you.” He kissed your lips once more before placing a soft pillow beneath your head.

There and then you knew that you might not marry the kindest man, nor the man you dream of in all seven realms, however, you knew in your lonely despair, being wed to Aemond would satisfy your affections. Soon thereafter, you marry and in less than a moon time your belly began to swell, and you can only wish to raise the babe with your husband in a safe unbroken house.

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jollyparaphernalia · 1 month ago

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Welcome back to the Kingswap AU Yapping. Todays topic is Party Dynamics

(What's this?) Today we focus in on Clovis (Our swapped King now in Siffrins position). As you can see, his first introduction to the party was a bit of a...mixed affair? Guy's got some anxieties (Don't worry, they caught him later) WARNING: This chatter post i'm just gonna blanket as just being spoilers all around for 'In Stars And Time', and any content warnings that apply to the game also apply here.

First things first before getting into it...WOAH THANK YOU GUYS FOR THE RESPONSE! I wasn't expecting people to resonate so much with the idea, I was maybe expecting a small handful of notes, but seeing people interested and keysmashing in the comments/tags and theorizing makes me very happy! I also appreciate all the asks that have been sent in (Don't worry. I've seen you guys who are curious about how much of a freak Isabeau is re: the Stagemaster. I see you. I love you. I will get to those soon.) But the topic today is focused on Clovis.

Hey Jolly, what's the point of focusing on all this background stuff if this AU ends up in the loops anyways?

It's MY BRAINROT, and I SAY that the Orb Quest and background stuff is ESSENTIAL to the LORE A big part hanging over In Stars and Time is the Team. The Friends. The FAMILY. It is a huge crux of the motivations of Siffrin, and for this AU I wanna sell you on the Swapped King having a place in the party, and how the others bounce off of him and interact with him. It's fun translating someone like The King into a form that is a very different role but keeping some of the themes he comes with.

So, what's the Vibe?

Clovis is an awkward wet dog. He fills a similar niche that Siffrin does, being a semi-forgetful islander who is a complete disaster once you peel back the curtains, and is different in how he intersects with the party.

A small example would be puns. He doesn't make puns - but he ends up being funny anyways

"You're telling me a shrimp fried this rice?" He forgets words a lot similar to Siffrin, and is mortified every time - but he says things so seriously that everyone has a great time anyways.

One on One, you can rank the differences between character interactions on...Do they Like Dogs or Cats More? Siffrin is Cat, Clovis is Dog.

Lets Look At The Most Different Dynamic Compared to Siffrin: Mirabelle.

Mirabelle prefers dogs. She struggles to understand Siffrin, and Siffrin struggles to understand her, and that is the crux of a lot of problems that happen in ISAT, with Mirabelle not wanting to seem nosey with Siffrins secrets.

So, she thrives alongside Clovis. A sad, wet dog she found behind a dumpster. Who is very, very intense and gives off unnerving energy.

Mirabelle leash your fucking cryptid. He's scaring the neighbours.

Clovis is slightly more open than Siffrin (Can't hide behind a hat, after all) and he willingly searched out the Party to join them on their quest to save Vaugarde (Though he's a bit cagey on answering why outside of thats what a knight would do, but thats okay). He's willingly pledged his service, and Mirabelle appreciates having someone who is unambiguously on her side without having to be asked. It also helps that he also seems a little scared all the time, but thats okay. They can be brave together. (She just wishes that he wouldn't put himself in harms way all the time)

Mira also considers Clovis to be a bit of a good luck charm, in fact - she's learned she can take him out to do errands, and for some strange reason...She doesn't get bothered nearly as much by strangers approaching her to talk with the 'Chosen of the Change God'. Going shopping is almost pleasant when he's with her!

Clovis isn't really sure why it happens either. (It's because you scare the shit out of people with your neutral expression, dude.)

Hey, wouldn't that kinda dedication be a little weird for Mirabelle?

Maybe. I'd like to think they're on a weird similar wavelength, with Clovis being so deep in his knightly sensibilities and being so polite to her. Some....secret third thing (It's friendship. Ace for Ace solidarity). Clovis would probably catch onto the papers well before Dormont, but, well. He'd probably not wanna snoop about it, cause that's rude!

(He's some flavour of Ace? You decide. shipping ain't off the table, but that's not the focus for this AU. The focus is pain and the agonies). Much like how in the artbook insertdisc5 muses that Siffrin would travel with Odile the longest, I think Clovis would join Mirabelle for her pilgrimage.

So, what about someone who is more a Cat person?

Like, say, Odile! Great topic change. Clovis steals Siffrin's spot as 'Odile's chosen for Secret Quests' because he's good at keeping secrets, though...Odile has to pay a bit more attention to Clovis when left in a book store or library on his lonesome. Guy just hones in on Headache books like candy.

As seen above with the first meeting, Clovis also keeps a lot of Siff's Sus energy. But considering how easily Clovis tends to cave under Odile's pressure, the idea that he could be an assassin from the Stagemaster is laughable at best. (And also easily disproved, considering how active The Stagemaster is in Orbquest for this AU)

You know how in ISAT proper, Odile's Susquest is incredibly hard to get naturally, and often needing a guide to achieve for the typical player? Yeah that's reversed. Clovis can't act for SHIT and Odile can read him like a book. Clovis going through the House of Dormont and has one innocent conversation with the team and you just hear*Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping!* Cats can keep secrets, but you KNOW when a dog has done something they shouldn't have. (Odile probably finds that both funny and charming?)

Now, just cause Clovis can't keep a personal secret, and is potentially easy to read...doesn't mean he isn't cunning. After all...The King in ISAT proper is able to deduce that there's something fucky going on with Siffrin, and is perfectly capable of deception.

Clovis voted 'second least likely to beat someone in chess (first being Isabeau on purpose)' but the truth of the matter is he's probably cracked at that. Probably would also love Strategy Games (And is fucking awful at poker).

He'd also prolly join Odile and Isabeau in smoking a bong and going drinking. They're both prolly delighted at this (Out straight edge little knight smoking and drinking? The scandal!)

So...What's Up With Isabeau And Clovis. Is Isabeau...interested in Clovis like he is Siffrin?

WELL. THERE'S CERTAINLY SOMETHING COMPLICATED HERE.

We can't talk about Isabeau and an AU'd KING and not get a LITTLE bit into The Gender. Even in the baseline material, you can probably write essays on the compare/contrast between The King and Isabeau regarding their masculinity and how it manifests (and in fact, i'm almost sure people have!). Seriously, The King literally chose his title. An explicitly masculine title, with him specifically highlighting the ability to make decisions and force his will onto others.

There's shades of it here, but the villainous side of it is understandably no longer present. Clovis...well, Clovis has a complex relationship to his gender? Unlike Siffrin (who is explicitly said to have never done Body Craft) The King is stated to HAVE done Bodycraft at some point (even if it was to BE BIG), so...Clovis maybe has thought about it (maybe even done it?).

I like to say he's explicitly attached to being A Guy. I'm talking full on 'yippee!' if people call him Sir Clovis. Could just be he's happy to be identified As a Knight...could be something more.

I'll leave the interpretation to you.

But wait! You said it was complex, this seems straightforward?

Well. The second half of it is that Clovis...explicitly wants to be seen as a protector. He doesn't WANT to scare people, he doesn't WANT to be seen as intimidating or weird or strange and intense. He doesn't want the Party to see him as dangerous or scary. ('But you're the good kind of scary!' is prolly what Mirabelle would say, the horror loving fanatic she is.)

Not that Clovis would ever -voice- it, but he so very desperately wants what Isabeau has. And vice versa, Isabeau I think would deeply admire Clovis for being practically fearless when it comes to taking on the burdens of the adventure. Clovis takes things in stride (even if in social contexts he's VERY NERVOUS) and yet...Clovis might be anxious...but Clovis isn't a coward. Clovis knows what he wants to be. If shit hits the fan, Clovis is marching forward, focused and unafraid to use what cunning he can muster to get through the obstacle.

So, yeah, Isabeau and Clovis are definitely two bros bonding over being dudes, 100%. Maybe not super outwardly, but it's there. The whole thing smacks of Gender. They both want what the other got.

Does that translate to a crush from Isabeau that Clovis is oblivious to? I haven't decided yet (I lean towards yes? because thinking about Loop having an aneurysm watching Isabeau be an idiot trying to confess to Clovis makes me happy)

They're friends, at a minimum.

Hey Wait a Second! How is Clovis with Touch?

He's so-so about it! He has the bonus of having his armor insulate him, so, the party will casually touch his armored bits like his gloves and chestplate, but...he reacts about as well as Siffrin is to sudden touch. He'd like it! But. Uh...Well. Not like he can remember a time when someone hugged him, you know? (He'd like a hug, but that would be weird to ask for. Something something knightly distance something something.)

But Wait! There's One More Party Member! What about Bonnie?

(Yes for the timecraft from the Stagemaster, btw, i'll get into it another time)

Eye incident? What Eye Incident? Bonnies right over there, see?

Bonnies all well and go- what? You want them to turn around? Okay...Hey! Bonnie!

Turn around for us!

See? Bonnies fine. Everything is fine. It's. Fine. Maybe we'll get into the tale there another time. (That's not a typo. Bonnie calls him Cloves :) )

get out of here you cheeky twink

Anyways, what's the Conclusion here?

Clovis wants to support the party. Clovis, just a little bit selfishly, wants to be useful to them just a little bit longer, if only to make sure Bonnie gets back to their sister (and so she can yell at him profusely and maybe beat him to death with a hammer)

If Siffrin's mantra is 'i'm fine', Clovis' is 'I can handle it.'

See? He's strong. That's what knights are for, right? Bearing the burden? He can handle it. He can handle it.

SO WHY CAN'T HE HANDLE IT?!

Once again I hope you enjoyed this little journey here, and i'd like to thank everyone again for being so curious about my brainrot (and a big thanks again to the isat discords AU channel for feeding my worms)

Anyways thank you byyyyeeeeeeeee, have Clovis enjoying a parfait

#isat #isat kingswap au #isat spoilers #isat artbook spoilers #jpdoesart #i've done my best to proofread stuff but this post might have the text tweaked but shhhhh #the vast majority of this post is dedicated to Isabeau and Mirabelle oops #because I have been rotating the gender in my head a lot in regards to isabeau and Clovis so I hope it's just as interesting to y'all #of me trying to bash my tuoys together like i'm calvin hammering nails into the coffee table #look it is absolutely crucial to nail the party vibes #because sure its fun to watch a guy get into situations #you need to have the joy to balance out the horrible existential terror and dread #anyways enjoooyyyyyyyy #long post

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illnessfaker · 1 year ago

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tw: black+trans death

from the_yvesdropper on instagram:

our beautiful black trans brother, 35 year old Righteous Torrence "Chevy" Hill, was murdered in Atlanta, GA this weekend.

he went by his nickname 'Chevy' he was originally from Macon, GA. he owned Evollusion, which is a black/ queer owned LGBTQ+ salon in Atlanta that provided and dedicated full service to specializing in hair, nails, barbering and makeup. growing up as young black queer boys/kids, the barbershop experience can sometimes be a tricky space to occupy, this was something that Chevy understood and wanted to cultivate a space of safety where you can also get the affirming look and style you want, and he did exactly that.

Chevy was a beloved son, brother, partner, and father.

one of his last posts that had a photo of himself said :

"if you truly know me, you know i am a humble, modest, private man, that i love my community, i have the love of God in me and will give the shirt off my back to any soul in need, also i never post pictures of myself, legaey give myself credit, that stops today, i am my legacy!"

(a close friend of Chevy asked if i could share more then one photo of Chevy, since he never posted photos of himself and in recent years he got the confidence to want to share more photos and now he won't get the chance to)

Chevy, hey king, hey brother, hey angel, thank you for everything, i lové you, we lové you, i'm so sorry. there are a lot of photographers in heaven who will be able to photograph you as the glorious black trans angel that you are.

there will be a homegoing service/memorial for our brother

there aren't many details about what happened but apparently he was shot by a family member last wednesday, the 28th (at least this article was the one linked in relation to his murder.)

judging by both the IG post and the comments section he was well-loved by many people and those people have many good memories with him and nothing but good things to say. this is a comment that was left by tirajmeansgolden which was hidden by IG for some reason:

I started testosterone in February 2020. I hit this man up at the end of 2019 after numerous Google searches for an LGBT-friendly barber near me (and by near me... he was a good 35-40 minutes from the rural area I was in outside of Atlanta: but when I found out he was a trans man and that his business was the first and only LGBT hair bar, I knew it would be worth the trip). I was a dysphoric mess in his DMs one Sunday. I hated how my hair was growing out. I never had a "masculine" hairstyle before but decided one day I would buzz it all off myself, then allowed it to grow out a bit... I sent him a video and despite him being closed on Sunday, he told me to come through. I got my hair braided and he gave me my first really masculine fade. Explained the different terms. Lined me up. Was asking me about my decision to transition and provided some helpful advice + guidance. I told him how I was a therapist and he was hype and said he talked with a group of trans men and he would love for me to stop by and also give some mental health tips. So whoever said he was humble - wow, what an understatement. Such a community man! Made me feel SO comfortable because barbershops were a source of major trauma and triggers for me. They were such an integral part of my early transition (I just celebrated 4 years later week). And he was such an integral part of the Atlanta Queer community with hosting events like Queer Con. How I found so many other great resources + queer businesses/artists. May you rest in peace, Chevy. You'll be missed. You've made such a different in the lives of countless people. You definitely were living your Purpose + left a legacy behind ...

#op #rest in power #black trans lives matter #death -#black death -#trans death -#didn't add a tw to the top of this post at first. sorry everyone.

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thenameswinterfics · 9 months ago

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SCIAMACHY

Fandom: House of the Dragon Pairing: Cregan Stark x DragonDreamer!Reader Settings: Season 2 and post season 2 Summary: As the second child of King Viserys Targaryen and Queen Aemma Arryn, your father arranged your marriage to the young Lord of Winterfell, Cregan Stark, in the guise of an arranged marriage that would strengthen the bond between your Houses. But you are haunted by visions of a bloody war shaking the Seven Kingdoms, and the seeds of your doubt are sown when your sister's claim to the throne is challenged. Word Count: 4,4 K Warnings: Angst, mention of death, mention of grief, mention of character(s) death(s), mention of child loss, mention of sibling loss, major spoilers from the book "Fire and Blood" (if you're only following the show please do not read this fic). A/N: I'm back! (sadly for you) This is my very first fic I've written for the HOTD fandom and the very first fic of Cregan. I'm nervous, maybe even more than when I posted my first Sihtric fic, probably because the fandom is vast. It came out different of what I've planned in my head and I lowkey hate the last part, but I hope you still could enjoy it! A special thanks to @foxyanon and @zaldritzosrose for helping me with clearing my outline and for the title, and for her and @legitalicat for the quick beta reading.

Dedicated to my beautiful Cregan wife @sylasthegrim

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.

Header & dividers by @zaldritzosrose

READ IT ON AO3

Sciamachy: (n), a battle against imaginary enemies; fighting your shadows.

An unfamiliar chill ran down your spine as you walked through the dark corridors of the Red Keep, the place you were born but never called home. The soft crunching of the snow under your boots was the only sound you could hear as you juggled in the darkness, the faintest light in the form of rays filtering through the cracks in the walls and allowing you to see a little.

The sight was vivid, far too vivid, and all you could do was rub your eyes vigorously, hoping that when your vision cleared you would find yourself surrounded by the crackling fire and warmth of your room in Winterfell, the place you were sent against your will but would be forced to call home once you became its new lady.

But no matter how hard you tried to clear your vision: you would still recognise the long, oppressive corridors you had walked as a child, emptied of the countless soldiers of the Kingsguard that guarded it. Each step became an echo of the memories you thought you had buried with time, but which rose to the surface like a breath of fire from the dragon's jaws.

You could still hear the voice of King Viserys, the father who despised you from the moment you took your first breath, guilty of stealing your twin brother's life and living in his name. A father that neglected you for not being born as a man.

You could still hear the voice of your sister Rhaenyra, sweet as honey and warm as a mother's embrace you had never known. You were the little sister she always wanted, the glimpse of freedom amidst her duties to the Crown and the relief from the pain of losing a childhood friend. And it mattered not that you were the quietest of her family, avoiding banquets and receptions in the throne room and sneaking out whenever you could, collecting the brightest bugs and muttering meaningless words, flinching when someone touched your hand: you were still her perfect little sister in her eyes.

And her love was all you wanted right now.

Your bittersweet thoughts were interrupted by a loud roar from outside, the sound so loud it made your head spin and your stomach churn. You quickened your pace, hoping to find a larger crack in the wall to see what was happening outside. And there you found a vision that made you freeze.

You saw two dragons, an older one and a younger one, chasing each other across a stormy sky, their dragon scales glowing under the lightning and thunder as their bodies pursued each other in a majestic yet macabre dance. It seemed an innocent game between them, but the claws and talons of the older dragon prevailed over the younger, and you watched helplessly as he fell to the ground like a comet from the sky, swallowed by the sea.

You walked on, your eyes never leaving the scene outside, wanting to help the little dragon disappear into the water. But the more you crossed the corridor, the heavier the air you breathed became, and roars of pain, of burning lands and clashing swords filled your ears like a cursed chant.

You covered your ears and closed your eyes, stopping your journey towards the throne room. When you opened your eyes again, you saw a room far different from the one you were accustomed to: the vibrant and noisy ambience turned into a ghostly one, the faint rays of moonlight illuminating the Iron Throne. A bloody crown, Jaehaerys' crown, lay abandoned on the throne, rivulets of blood running down to your feet, two dragons lying restlessly behind it. Two children stood before it, their backs to each other, holding each other's hands; you could feel their tortured gaze as they watched the bloody chair, and your heart broke at the sight.

As you approached, trying to touch the crown, soft footsteps made you turn and you heard a wolf howling in the distance.

And then you woke up.

Duty is sacrifice. It eclipses all things, even blood. All men of honour must pay its price.

These were the words that came out from Cregan Stark's mouth as he escorted Jacaerys to the Wall. They were a testament to how the men of the North were bound by his rigid code of values and honour, and how none of them had ever forgotten or wavered from an oath.

And when the Stark were called upon to renew their allegiance to House Targaryen, nothing would make them waver.

His father Rickon had already done so when he was summoned to King's Landing and bent the knee to Rhaenyra Targaryen, and a few years later it was Cregan's turn to renew the oath by accepting King Viserys' offer of marriage to the new lord of Winterfell. The young wolf had recently been freed from the regency of his zealous uncle Bennard, and an arranged marriage to a Targaryen princess would strengthen the bond between the two houses since the times of Aegon the Conqueror and Tohrren Stark.

But when he saw the melancholy in your lilac eyes, Cregan realised that politics was nothing more than a sweet lie masking a more sinister purpose: you were no longer welcome at the court of King Viserys, no matter how much your sister begged to keep you under her protection, or how much Alicent Hightower dared to show a glimmer of mercy. You would have been a young dragon raised by a pack of wolves, and as his future wife it would have been his responsibility to look after you.

And now he was called to be sworn to House Targaryen again, on the brink of a civil war that could involve the North in Southern affairs.

“The realm will soon tear itself apart if men do not remember the oath sworn to King Viserys and to his rightful heir,” Jacaerys announced solemnly, walking through the narrow corridors of the Walls, Cregan at his side. The Lord of Winterfell was holding Ice over one shoulder, the sword as heavy as the title inherited from his father.

“Starks do not forget their oaths, my prince,” Cregan retorted, occasionally bowing his head to some members of the Night’s Watch, “But you must know that my gaze is forever torn between North and South,” he added, a hint of heavy responsibility in his voice. The threats in winter were much greater than in summer, with the Night's Watch and the men of Winterfell stepping up their activities on the Wall, ready to turn back any outside threats. Furthermore, it was rare to see the intervention of the North in matters concerning the South, but Cregan could not ignore that oaths were broken. And traitors had to pay for it.

“War is coming to the whole realm, my lord,” it was the Prince of Dragonstone’s turn to retort back, “Whilst your men plan to raise guards against wildlings, the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne. My mother’s claim has been compromised, and little I believe your lady wife could turn her gaze away,”

The words that escaped Jace's mouth left Cregan in a state of astonishment, his brows furrowing and hardening his already stern face. He had never expected the prince to use his wife so cleverly, even though she was a trusted member of his house whom he had sadly never met in peaceful circumstances.

“The Queen has not forgotten the love she has for her sister, and King’s Landing will welcome her again once my mother succeeds in keeping the realm united,”

“My lady wife has her sister's fate very much at heart,” Cregan continued, his gaze softening a bit at the thought of you, “and you arrival put her in a state of worry, my prince,”

The two young men then stood on the Wall, looking out over the untamed land, now covered in white snow. A biting wind whipped around them as Cregan explained how such powerful creatures as the dragons refused to cross the spaces beyond the Wall, highlighting the dangers of the unknown that folded these lands, while he and Jacaerys negotiated the number of men willing to aid Queen Rhaenyra's cause. Cregan himself knew the importance of keeping an oath to a man's moral integrity, and while his duties were tied to the Wall and the threat of the wildlings, he could not ignore the dispute over the king's word.

“My lord,” one of Cregan’s men arrived, forcing the two young men to interrupt their conversation, “Urgent news from Dragonstone,”

The Wolf of Winterfell took the parchment in his hands, and from the brief glance he shared with one of his men, he knew the contents were far from frivolous. He let the paper slip from his hands to read the message, and a sense of astonishment struck him like the chill of the North: his lips curled into a grimace, his eyebrows furled slightly as his grey eyes scanned the words printed on the paper. He could have thought it was an unfortunate joke, but the seal of House Targaryen only confirmed what he had read:

"Prince Lucerys Velaryon has met his death at Storm's End, slain by Prince Aemond Targaryen.”

Cregan lifted his gaze to rest on Jacaerys' brown eyes and watched as the young prince's face contorted in confusion, then grief as he glanced at the parchment in Cregan's hands, and hot tears watered his eyes, streaming down his sharp face until two small rivers crossed their path on his chin. The young lord watched helplessly as the Prince of Dragonstone staggered backwards, clutching his chest in a tight fist as if trying to hold it together; it was a sight familiar to Cregan, for he had also lost his younger brother and remembered the same sense of helplessness creeping through his veins.

But as Jacaerys collapsed in grief, a new weight hit Cregan's chest, a sense of dread blossoming in the centre of his stomach as he steeled himself for what was to come.

He would have to inform you and to bring the news of Lucery’s death. And it wouldn’t be easy.

The bright orange sun hid behind the imposing mountains of the North, its last rays illuminating the tops of the peaks and tinting the snow a soft pink. As the light faded, a few amber rays filtered through the windows of your chambers, illuminating them with a soft glow - the gentle warmth of the sun blending with the heat of the great fire in the centre of the room, accompanied by the soft crackle of the wood.

You sat quietly at the foot of your bed, embroidery hoop in hand, watching your son Rickon play with his wooden toys beside you. A few handmaids moved about your chambers, preparing the large table for the dinner you and Cregan would share that evening. Your lilac eyes rested on the small figure of your son, who returned them with a broad smile. But as you raised a hand and gently rubbed his swollen cheeks, you were seized by a sense of unease.

It had been a long time since you and Cregan had been married, and from the first night you spent in Winterfell your mind had been haunted by dark omens hovering over your family name. Glimpses of what had happened in the past and what would happen in the future passed before your eyes like dancing shadows, sometimes appearing even when you were fully awake. You could still hear cries for help filling your ears, dragons fighting in the sky with claws and breath of fire, and sinister whispers plotting an overthrow of power, the image of your father's bloody crown on the throne still vivid in your mind.

The people of Winterfell had always regarded you with suspicion, for you were far from the Targaryen princess they had always imagined. But Cregan had never dared to question your tastes, however strange they might sound, and whenever the duties of lordship allowed him a moment's respite, he would gladly accompany you to the far reaches of the North and catch whatever bugs you wanted. In winter, when the temperatures were too harsh and the bugs were nowhere to be found, he would wrap his great arms around your form and listen to your strange rhymes as he gazed into the fire.

Your prophetic dreams ceased after you gave birth to Rickon, but they returned when a raven came from Dragonstone with grim news: the death of your father the King, the usurpation of your sister's claim by the Hightowers, and the loss of Rhaenyra's only daughter. Fear settled in your heart as you remembered the figure of the young dragon swallowed by the waves of the ocean, and you wondered if even innocent children would fall victim to this dangerous game of power.

The doors of your chambers swung open and Cregan appeared. The handmaids greeted him with a nod of respect, and you gave him a small smile as you watched Rickon rise and reach his father, who scooped him up with his free hand and kissed his little forehead.

But it was when he looked at you that you realised something was wrong. His eyes, softened by the sight of you, held a pain that seemed to be fighting him. It was as if he were carrying a burden too heavy for him to bear, heavier even than his duties as Lord of Winterfell, and the sight surprised you: you had never seen Cregan so troubled by anything.

"Leave us alone," your husband's voice echoed in the room, once again wearing his mask of severity, "I need to have a few words with my wife in private,”

The handmaids bowed their heads and quickly left the room, one of them holding Rickon in her arms. There was an unspoken tension in the air as Cregan cautiously approached you and sat in front of you. He had always been an attentive and protective husband, showing a side that differed from the stern image he gave his men.

“You seem quite troubled, husband,” you spoke softly, your voice faltering slightly. Cregan replied with a heavy sigh, covering your hands with his larger ones and rubbing them with his calloused thumbs.

“Dreadful news came from Dragonstone, my love,” Cregan said in a hoarse voice, choosing his words carefully, as if talking to a wounded puppy, “Your sister, the Queen, lost a child again,”

You felt the ground beneath your feet, surroundings had become as muffled as your husband's voice as he recited the contents of the parchment:

"Prince Lucerys Velaryon has met his death at Storm's End, slain by Prince Aemond Targaryen.”

Feeling like you were about to pass out, you rolled over onto your side and gripped the wooden footboard in a tight vice. You immediately covered your mouth and looked down at your feet as your mind slowly processed the news, but the shock was so strong that no tears came. Your mind raced back to the dream you'd had weeks before Jacaerys' arrival, seeing pieces of a puzzle you couldn't quite understand until now: Lucerys was the dragon that fell from the sky, and Aemond was the other one who sank his jaws into his flesh.

You felt Cregan's worried gaze on you as one of his hands moved to your arm, rubbing it gently in a soothing way. “It pains me to see you so devastated, my sweet wife,” he spoke quietly, breaking the wall of silence between you, “but you must know that House Stark will stand against-“

“I need a moment, please,” your trembling voice interrupted him as you found the strength to stand at your feet, your thick robes swooning with every step you took in the room. You paced back and forth, one hand rubbing the bridge of your nose while the other supported your lower back, grief and confusion mixing in your head as you felt like you were about to succumb to madness: for a moment you wondered if Rickon would fall victim to the Dance as well, but no bad omen was attached to him and that brought you a moment of peace.

Your restless walk ended as you approached the large window of your chambers and saw Vermax flying restlessly outside. It pained you to see such a magnificent creature as a dragon so distraught over the loss of his kin, and it pained you even more when a flash of his fate crossed your eyes as you saw the dragon dancing among hundreds of arrows.

“It is said that dragons can feel their masters’ emotions,” a rough voice came from behind, and you saw Cregan looking outside like you, “They feel their pain, their turmoil, and they share the same grief.”

“He is preparing for his last flight,” you murmured quietly, turning your head slightly and locking your lilac gaze into his grey one. You felt Cregan’s hand resting on your waist, allowing him to pull you closer and join your foreheads together.

"Winter is coming, my love, and I need my men here to defend the Wall," he spoke softly, closing his eyes for a moment as he felt the warmth of your skin against his, "but House Stark will pledge its support to Queen Rhaenyra by sending her thousands of Greybeards to fight in her name. Your sister's claim will be upheld and your nephew will succeed her,"

"Jacaerys will never be King of the Seven Kingdoms," you confessed defeatedly, looking down at your feet, "the only kingdom he will see is of sea and salt. He will never see his mother sitting on the Iron Throne. I have seen it,"

Your words brought a heavy silence to the room and you both withdrew into your thoughts. You saw how quickly Cregan and Jacaerys had bonded, how they spent their days hunting and drinking together while they negotiated the terms of war. Luke's death would not be an accident, and you hoped your words would reach your husband, that he would understand the destructive force dragons could be once they went into battle.

Instead, Cregan's only words were his arms wrapped around you, sealing your body in a protective embrace. He whispered words of comfort, kissed your temple and promised victory over the usurpers.

But deep in his heart, he knew it would not be easy.

Grief and anger were the emotions Cregan felt as he rolled the parchment in his hands, his eyes darting over the words written in pitch-black ink. He cursed himself for not believing the signs of your dreams, for thinking that fear had created them for you. But even this time you were right.

The Battle of the Gullet had been costly for the Blacks, and the death of Jacaerys Velaryon was a low blow the queen would not forgive her usurpers. It was Cregan again who had the task of bringing you the unfortunate news, and his eyes would forever be haunted by the sight of your grief: he saw you holding Rickon as the news of blood and cheese reached Winterfell's ears, and those same dull eyes came back to you as you leaned against the wall at your nephew's death.

Not even the news that King's Landing had fallen into the hands of Rhaenyra and Daemon could ease the paranoia you lived with, but it only served to fuel your dark prophecies. Few letters were exchanged between Cregan and Rhaenyra, with the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms constantly asking for her beloved sister and inviting her to return to court and serve if she wished. But Cregan always refused her invitation.

For the truth was that you were safe in the great lands of the North, surrounded by nothing but the love of Cregan and Rickon, far from that viper's nest that was the Red Keep. It took time for you to adjust to the harsh cold of Winterfell and the coldness of its people, but your calm and gentle nature opened a breach in the heart of his hardened lord, and with it, the people began to love you.

The night was cold, and the heat of the fire was not enough to protect them from the blizzard raging outside. Cregan could not sleep, tossing and turning, hoping that the Old Gods would grant him some much needed rest. It was only after tossing and turning on his side for the umpteenth time that he saw you awake too, your platinum curls falling gently to your shoulders and your lilac eyes gazing absently at the small bed where Rickon rested.

The young wolf wrapped his naked arms around your waist and pulled you close, his chest pressed against your back, the layer of your nightgown the only thing separating your bodies. "Sleep seems to have left you too," he said in a harsh voice, his lips brushing against your neck. You closed your eyes and let out a shuddering breath.

"I have no reason to be asleep, dear husband," you replied absently, the softness of your voice melting his heart. Cregan knew that your mind was far from him, and he feared that your prophetic dreams had imprisoned it again. He let out a long sigh before speaking again.

"A raven came from King's Landing in the morrow," he spoke quietly, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Rickon, "your sister will be pleased to welcome you to the capital and give you all the honours of a Targaryen princess,”

He felt a small chuckle escape your mouth and lowered his head, resting his newly bearded chin on your collarbone, "If it is your wish to reach her, I will order some of my men to arrange a safe journey south for you." Cregan went on, his voice faltering at the thought of leaving you alone while Rhaenyra dealt with her opponents. But you were his wife and the light of his eyes, and if you wished to regain your lost time with your sister, he would accept it without objection.

But the slight shake of your head surprised him, "It wouldn't change anything. Rhaenyra would be dead the moment I reached King's Landing, and the gods know what horrors await there.”

Cregan's brow furrowed, and for the first time he seriously considered the words of your prophetic dreams: if the Dragon Queen was indeed about to die, what would happen if he left his wife alone in the grasp of the Greens? A shiver ran down his spine, anger boiling in his chest at the thought of you being taken prisoner by Aegon the Usurper.

"That will probably not happen," the Lord of Winterfell scoffed, tightening his grip as if he secretly feared you would disappear in his arms, "You have nothing to fear, my dear woman. Your sister is Queen now. Once the usurpers and the breakers of the oath have paid for what they have done, there will be a reign of peace and prosperity.

"It will not be her," you murmured, rolling to the other side to face Cregan. You leaned your hand against his cheek as you looked at him with your melancholy eyes, "Rhaenyra is the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but a crown of ashes will adorn her head and a cloak of fire will wrap her body.”

Cregan leaned into your touch, but he could not quite relax at the grim revelation you gave him: he wanted to find comfort in your presence, but your words were as hard as boulders, carrying a heavy weight he wanted to lift from your shoulders.

"I can hardly see it," he murmured, his voice tinged with doubt, "Rhaenyra is a strong woman, gathering as many noble men as she can for her cause. The kingdom will be stable under her leadership."

You shook your head slowly again, your eyes filled with sorrow, "But the Dragonfire is stronger than she is, and what she has built will crumble with her," you paused for a moment before continuing, "A throne of iron swords will give way to a wooden one, and only when the cripple breathes his last will a child step in, wearing Rhaenyra's crown like a burden.”

Cregan closed his eyes and tightened his grip, a mixture of emotions flickering across his face as he slowly digested what you had told him. He had learned over time that your dreams were not mere hallucinations of a daydreaming mind, but a prophecy destined to come true, no matter how hard you tried to alter the course of events. The deaths of Jacaerys and Lucerys were living proof.

“I swear on my honour that I will keep raising my banners for the rightful queen, no matter how gruesome our fates will be,” Cregan retorted, lowering his head more until your foreheads met again, “What will be of us?”

"You are bound by your honour and will fight for Rhaenyra until your last breath, my love," you murmured, absently tracing circles on his cheek with your thumbs, "The wolf will cry in the dragon's nest, and his wolf will be heard in the darkest hour. And only when order is restored will the wolf return to his pack."

Cregan stood in silence, his chest rising slowly as he held his breath, the realisation dawned on him: the intense activity on the Wall and the organisation of the harvest had always prevented him and his men from making a proper march on King's Landing, hoping that the Greybeards he had sent would be enough to fight for Rhaenyra's cause. But your words have confirmed that his men will march on King's Landing, and he hopes to find a less devastated city than the one his wife has described.

“Cregan,” your gentle call awakened him from his thoughts, his head resting on your hands, “promise me you will come back to me and Rickon. Swear it,”

The young wolf stood silent for a moment, his eyes drinking in your beauty: it would be painful to leave you behind, but if your prophecy came true, he would be forced to honour his oath and fight for his queen. And so he took your head in his hands, closing the distance and sealing the promise with a long, bittersweet kiss, tasting of farewell but full of hope.

“I swear it.”

If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading my fic! Hope you enjoyed it! Please, leave a comment if you want to be added in the taglist or be removed.

Cregan Stark Taglist: @sylasthegrim @legitalicat @zaldritzosrose

#who would have thought that I would write a HOTD fic...#cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan fic #cregan stark fic #cregan fanfic #cregan stark fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fic #hotd fanfic #hotd fic

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kenzdolls · 24 days ago

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STAR-CROSSED BOUNDS . 15.8k

⌗ pairing: romeo! izuku x fem implied juliet! reader

⌗ tags: izuku x reader, izuku midoriya x fem! reader, mha x reader, bnha x reader

⌗ side note: well, I had this long thing locked in my google docs for a while [yes I write on google docs sue me bro]…so I guess I’ll js post it on here since I LEFT YALL FOR A WEEK IM SO SORRY STILL!!

the feud between the heroes and villains had raged for generations, long before izuku midoriya drew his first breath or you opened your eyes to a world already stained with blood and bitter hatred.

it began with all might and all for one—two titans whose clash shaped the very foundation of modern society. all might, the symbol of peace, had dedicated his life to protecting the innocent and upholding justice. all for one, the king of shadows, sought power above all else, viewing humanity as pieces on his chess board. their battle wasn't just physical; it was ideological, a war between hope and despair that would echo through decades.

when all might finally defeated all for one, the villain's followers didn't simply disappear. they retreated into the shadows, nursing their wounds and their grudges, building an underground empire that would rival the hero society above. the hero commission, in response, became more militant, more unforgiving. any association with all for one's legacy was met with swift and merciless justice.

this was the world izuku midoriya inherited when he became the ninth wielder of one for all. raised in the gleaming towers of hero society, he was groomed from childhood to be all might's successor—not just in power, but in purpose. the weight of expectation pressed down on his shoulders like a mantle made of lead. every training session, every lesson in heroics, every public appearance was a reminder that he carried the hopes of millions. the hero commission made sure he understood: he was not just a hero, but the hero, the one who would finally end all for one's legacy once and for all.

but you—you were raised in the depths of that very legacy.

as the first heir of all for one, your childhood was spent in hidden compounds and secret bases, learning that heroes were not saviors but oppressors. your father's followers whispered stories of the "false peace" all might had created, built on the bones of those who dared to think differently. they taught you that power was the only truth in this world, that the strong ruled and the weak suffered. every scar on your trainers' bodies, every tale of hero brutality, every friend who disappeared into hero custody was proof that the golden age of heroes was nothing but a beautiful lie.

you learned to fight before you learned to read properly. you learned to manipulate quirks, to exploit weaknesses, to strike from shadows. but more than that, you learned to hate—to hate the heroes who had made your people into hunted animals, to hate the society that celebrated your family's suffering, to hate the boy with green hair and freckles whose very existence was a threat to everything your father had built.

the rivalry between your families wasn't just personal—it was institutional. every hero agency had standing orders regarding all for one's bloodline. every villain cell had contingency plans for dealing with one for all's next wielder. the two sides watched each other across an invisible battlefield, waiting for the moment when the cold war would turn hot again.

which made it all the more dangerous when kaminari denki suggested they sneak into the villains' ball.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

"come on, midoriya!" denki had whispered conspiratorially, his electric personality crackling with mischief. "it's just reconnaissance! we need to know what they're planning, right? and what better way than to see them when they think they're safe?"

kirishima had been more cautious, his red hair catching the light as he shook his head. "i don't know, man. if we get caught—"

"we won't get caught," denki interrupted, grinning. "i've got it all figured out. fake identities, quirk suppressors to hide our signatures, the whole nine yards. besides, when will we get another chance like this?"

izuku knew he should have said no. every instinct trained into him by years of hero education screamed danger. but there was something else, something he couldn't quite name—a curiosity about the other side that went beyond mere tactical advantage. what were they like when they weren't trying to kill him? what did they believe in so strongly that they were willing to die for it?

so he found himself standing at the edge of a ballroom that existed in the space between worlds, wearing a mask that hid his telltale freckles and clothes that made him look like any other young villain. the gathering was held in an abandoned mansion on the outskirts of the city, grand enough to host society's elite but far enough from prying eyes to keep secrets safe.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

the ballroom was magnificent in its decay—crystal chandeliers that had somehow survived the years cast prismatic light across marble floors, while tapestries bearing all for one's symbol hung from the walls like battle standards. villains of every stripe mingled in their finery, from street-level thugs in their best stolen suits to high-ranking members of the paranormal liberation front in custom-tailored formal wear.

but it was tomura shigaraki who noticed him first.

the pale-haired young man stood near the bar, his red eyes scanning the crowd with the paranoid intensity of someone who saw enemies in every shadow. as all for one's most trusted lieutenant and your unofficial guardian, shigaraki had appointed himself the protector of the family's honor—and its secrets. his gaze lingered on izuku for just a moment too long, pale fingers twitching with barely contained aggression.

"something's off about that one," shigaraki muttered to dabi, who was nursing a drink nearby. "he doesn't belong here."

dabi followed his gaze lazily. "everyone's wearing masks, crusty. how can you tell?"

"the way he moves. too… controlled. too heroic." shigaraki's voice was like gravel, each word dripping with suspicion. "i should dust him just to be safe."

"at the young mistress's ball? all for one would have your head." dabi took another sip of his drink. "besides, could just be some new recruit trying to impress. let it go."

but shigaraki couldn't let it go. his eyes tracked izuku's movement across the room like a predator watching prey, every instinct screaming that something was wrong. when izuku began approaching the staircase where you stood, shigaraki's entire body went tense.

"he's going for her," he hissed, starting forward.

dabi caught his arm. "tomura. don't."

and then he saw you.

you stood at the top of the grand staircase like something out of a fairy tale, but one written in shadows and starlight. your gown was the color of midnight, flowing around you like liquid darkness, and when you moved, it seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. a mask covered the upper half of your face, but it couldn't hide the curve of your lips or the way you carried yourself—like someone who had never doubted their place in the world, even if that place was built on dangerous ground.

izuku felt his breath catch in his throat. he had seen pictures of you in intelligence briefings, grainy surveillance photos that did nothing to capture the reality of your presence. you weren't just beautiful—you were magnetic, drawing every eye in the room like a dark star.

you descended the stairs with practiced grace, accepting the bows and curtseys of your father's followers with the air of someone born to command. but izuku noticed something else in your posture, something the intelligence photos had missed—a loneliness that echoed his own, the isolation of someone who existed more as a symbol than a person.

he should have stayed in the shadows. should have observed and reported back. should have remembered that you were the enemy, the heir to everything he was supposed to destroy.

instead, he found himself walking across the ballroom floor.

the crowd seemed to part before him, though whether by coincidence or some unconscious recognition of danger, he couldn't say. his heart hammered against his ribs as he approached, every step bringing him closer to a line he couldn't uncross.

you noticed him coming, your head tilting slightly as you studied him with curious eyes. when he stopped before you and offered a bow that was deeper than necessary, you extended your gloved hand with the ghost of a smile.

"i don't believe we've been introduced," you said, your voice carrying the kind of cultured accent that spoke of private tutors and finishing schools—even villain royalty, it seemed, valued proper education.

"perhaps that's for the best," izuku replied, his own voice rougher than usual, disguised to hide the stammering earnestness that usually marked his speech. "some introductions are dangerous things."

you laughed, a sound like silver bells with an edge of darkness. "danger is what makes life interesting, don't you think?"

the music began then, a waltz that seemed to emerge from the very walls of the mansion. without asking permission, izuku offered his hand, and after a moment's hesitation, you took it.

from across the room, shigaraki watched with growing alarm as the mysterious stranger swept you into his arms. the way you smiled at him, the way you seemed to forget the entire world existed—it made shigaraki's skin crawl with protective fury.

"this is wrong," he muttered, his quirk unconsciously activating as he gripped his champagne glass. it crumbled to dust between his fingers. "she's never looked at anyone like that."

dancing with you was like holding lightning—electric and unpredictable and absolutely captivating. you moved with the fluid grace of someone trained in combat, but there was an artistry to it that spoke of genuine love for the dance itself. every turn brought you closer together, every step seemed choreographed by fate itself.

"you're not from around here," you observed as he spun you away and then back into his arms. "your technique is too… refined. too heroic."

izuku's blood turned to ice, but he kept dancing, kept smiling behind his mask. "what makes you say that?"

"the way you lead," you said, pressing closer as the music swelled. "like you're trying to protect me even as we dance. it's very sweet. very foolish."

"maybe i like being foolish."

"maybe i like being protected."

the words hung between you like a challenge and an invitation rolled into one. when the music reached its crescendo, you found yourselves in the center of the dance floor, spinning in perfect synchronization while the rest of the world faded away. and when it ended, when the last note died in the air and left only silence, you were standing close enough to share breath.

close enough to kiss.

it happened so naturally that neither of you seemed to decide it—one moment you were looking into each other's eyes, and the next your lips were touching through the gap beneath your masks. it was soft and sweet and absolutely forbidden, tasting of champagne and danger and something that might have been destiny.

when you broke apart, your eyes were wide with something that looked like shock.

"i—" you began, but the words died as reality crashed back down around you both. the ballroom full of villains, the mission he was supposed to be on, the fact that kissing you was probably tantamount to treason on both sides.

"i have to go," you whispered, gathering your skirts and fleeing toward the staircase like cinderella racing midnight.

but unlike cinderella, you left no slipper behind—only the memory of your lips and the scent of roses and gunpowder that seemed to cling to izuku's clothes.

"you!" shigaraki's voice cut through the murmur of the crowd like a blade. izuku turned to find the pale-haired villain pushing through the gathering, his red eyes blazing with fury. "i don't know who you think you are, but—"

izuku didn't wait to hear the rest. every instinct screamed danger as he saw the way shigaraki's fingers twitched, as if eager to touch and destroy. he melted back into the crowd, using the confusion of the dispersing dancers to make his escape. but he could feel those red eyes burning into his back, could hear shigaraki's frustrated snarl as he lost sight of his target.

he should have left then. should have collected kaminari and kirishima and returned to report his findings. should have filed the incident under "intelligence gathering" and tried to forget the way you had felt in his arms.

instead, he found himself scaling the walls of the mansion an hour later.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

your room was in the east wing, marked by a balcony that overlooked the mansion's overgrown gardens. izuku had no business knowing which room was yours, but somehow he did—the same instinct that had drawn him across the ballroom floor now pulled him up the ivy-covered stone like a moth to flame.

you were there, leaning against the balcony railing with your mask discarded and your hair loose around your shoulders. the moonlight turned you silver, ethereal, like something from a dream. you had changed from your ball gown into something simpler—a nightdress that moved like water in the evening breeze.

"you shouldn't be here," you said without turning around, and izuku's heart nearly stopped. but then you continued, "it's dangerous for someone like you to be seen in a place like this."

"i don't care," izuku said, pulling himself over the balcony railing with more grace than he usually possessed. "i had to see you again."

you turned then, and in the moonlight, he could see your face clearly for the first time. you were even more beautiful without the mask, but it was a beauty edged with sadness, marked by the same isolation he knew all too well.

"you're him, aren't you?" you said quietly. "the ninth wielder. all might's successor."

izuku went very still. "what makes you say that?"

"the same thing that makes you think i'm all for one's heir." you smiled, but it was a sad expression. "we know each other, don't we? even without names, even without truth. we know exactly what we are to each other."

"enemies," izuku said, but the word felt wrong on his tongue.

"star-crossed," you corrected. "there's a difference."

he stepped closer, drawn by the same magnetic pull that had captured him in the ballroom. "it doesn't have to be that way."

"doesn't it?" you laughed, but there was no humor in it. "you're the symbol of peace's successor. i'm the shadow king's daughter. our fathers' war is our inheritance. there's no escaping that."

"i don't want to escape it," izuku said, reaching out to touch your face with trembling fingers. "i want to end it."

"how?" the word was barely a whisper.

"i don't know," he admitted. "but i know i love you."

the words hung in the air between you like a confession and a declaration of war rolled into one. you stared at him with wide eyes, as if he had just said something revolutionary.

"you can't," you whispered. "you don't even know me."

"i know enough," izuku said, stepping closer until he could count your eyelashes in the moonlight. "i know you dance like you're fighting gravity. i know you taste like champagne and starlight. i know you're lonely in the same way i am, like we're both playing parts in a story someone else wrote."

"izuku—"

hearing his name on your lips was like being struck by lightning. he kissed you then, pouring all of his confusion and longing and desperate hope into the contact. you kissed him back with equal fervor, your hands fisting in his shirt as if you could pull him into your very soul.

when you broke apart, you were both breathing hard.

"this is madness," you said against his lips.

"good," izuku replied. "i'm tired of being sane."

you laughed, and for a moment, it sounded like genuine joy. "what are we doing?"

"i don't know," he admitted. "but i don't want to stop."

you kissed him again, softer this time, full of all the things you couldn't say. and for a few stolen moments on that moonlit balcony, the war between your families seemed like something happening to other people in another world.

but fairy tales don't last forever, and yours was interrupted by a voice calling from inside your room.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

"young mistress!" himiko toga's distinctive voice carried through the open doors, sweet and dangerous. "your father wants to see you!"

you pulled away from izuku with visible reluctance, your hands lingering on his chest. "you have to go."

"when can i see you again?"

"you can't," you said, but your eyes said otherwise. "this was—this was just one night. it can't be more than that."

"it already is more than that," izuku said urgently. "you know it is."

"young mistress!" toga called again, closer now.

"go," you whispered, pushing him toward the balcony. "please. before she sees you."

izuku wanted to argue, wanted to stay and fight for whatever this was between you. but the desperation in your voice stopped him. he swung himself over the balcony railing, pausing only to look back.

"this isn't over," he said.

"it has to be," you replied, but your voice broke on the words.

and then he was gone, disappearing into the night like a dream, leaving you standing alone on your balcony with the taste of forbidden love still on your lips.

"coming, himiko," you called, taking one last look at the gardens where shadows might hide green-haired heroes before stepping back into your room, back into your role, back into a war that suddenly felt more impossible than ever.

but somewhere in the darkness, izuku midoriya was already planning his return. because some things—some people—were worth fighting the world for.

⌗ taglist: [open]

⌗ mutuals: @haikyuubby @va-3 @tulippanes @luvseraphh @gh0st-g1rll @https-bakugo @cupkiki

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eldrith · 2 months ago

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˗ˏˋ if i believe you ˎˊ˗ jon snow

jon snow x reader words: 2.4k synopsis: "There is a queen in the Red Keep who speaks of liberation with fire upon her tongue and necks beneath her heel. and Jon Snow unravels by the hour." notes: finally posting some jon yaaay <3 lit had no idea what to title this so whatever... but im rly trying to learn to write his character so all feedback is appreciated!! n e ways i think this could be read as reader being a targ, but there is no physical description nor much background at all. so do what you love! dedicating this to @dipperscavern & @systraes words can't describe... but u know warnings: major show spoilers, p light smut, angst, references to danyxjon, canon-divergent; i lit don't know my own timeline here but i hope you guys are willing to overlook that LOL. post battle of winterfell. jon is still in the north & dany just took kl. idk. i dont know im sorry im so sorry please i just wanted to post this masterlist requests for jon snow are open.

WHEN NIGHT FALLS, THE KEEP OF WINTERFELL GROWS QUIET.

These days it is a welcome change; not particularly due to any lack of solitude when sought – but because you, a creature brought forth to the world from a nest of bustling civilization, find yourself rather placated with the silence of Winterfell’s blizzarded walls. You quite enjoy the snow in the North, and all things serene and quiet that it has brought in the days following the fall of Death’s march; but tonight, your heart aches.

Because it is dawn you dread this evening.

The flames before you dance; and you, rooted to the settee, hold your hand over the flames and consider not for the first time what it would be like to never feel the burn of heat licking flesh.

Outside, snow comes in droves of howling wind and tiny icicles pelting the glass and stone; Some part of your heart mends itself at the sound – for you know your solitude will be relieved quite soon.

Because it always snows when he comes.

This evening, it is not the gentle kind; No flurries dance from the heavens to kiss your sleeve, no wayward lace drifting down from far-off peaks like some god’s idle sigh.

No; this snow is heavy. Relentless.

It worms through the stones of the old path, creeps into the marrow of the earth, blankets the frozen bloodstained ground in a thick quiet, numbs the breath before it can even leave your mouth.

He doesn’t knock.

Jon hardly ever does.

And you feel him before you see him; always, with a gust of flurries and a hitch in your breath, his footfalls come with that same strange stillness that has seemed to shadow him ever since his heart began beating again. A stoicism, some odd stutter in the world – as if he’s come from the past.

As if he’s still part of it.

You have always kept your chambers warm – a habit that often drips in tease from Jon’s lips in the light of morning, though he hardly ever makes any effort to quell your quest for warmth in his embrace when the sun has yet to rise.

Snow melts in rivulets down the dark furs clinging to his shoulders, beads into cold stars on his lashes as your eyes find his own. Behind him lingers his Ghost – perhaps the only being in Winterfell more quiet and haunted than he.

He crosses the chamber with a slow pace and you do not so much as rise, far past used to the lack of formalities required between you and Jon.

You know why he is here just as well as he does.

The raven came this morning to the hands of the Direwolves; speaking of victory and scorched earth of a sister – of nobody – roaming ash-whirling roads and blood-slick alleys.

Someone new sits upon the throne of swords as night falls over the smoldering remains of King's Landing.

Jon’s gaze casts down to where you sit upon the settee, back to him, warming your weary bones before the hearth. He admires your frame; though he speaks not of it, still you know – you have never required the pretense of courtesy. He does not hide his admiration of you anymore.

Jon steps just behind you, not daring to disrupt the hazy solitude of you and your blazing hearth.

Now, he has become something of a shadow of your own; with a sturdy chest, burdened shoulders, and a gaze that cuts through any hesitation you’ve ever foolishly entertained. Your head turns once again to take in the dark kiss of fur across his shoulders, the slope of his jaw, the tied gathering of dark hair along his temples.

Jon’s eyes are warm with a tenderness you know as no other has ever known; affection in that spiraling pit of solemnity. Though he does not yet remove his cloak.

It is not long before his voice comes, heavy as the snowfall beyond your door. “I saw your torchlight.”

The doors in this wing of the keep have thin gaps above the warmed stone; your gaze leaves the curve of his shadowed jaw to trace the lines of light stretching their curled talons beneath the oak slab where they fade against the bitter bite of freeze.

“I could not sleep,” you sigh, if only to answer the question he does not ask.

His sigh is gentle, consolatory; and his hand twitches upon his side, as though his fingers yearn to caress the stray tresses that come loose near your neck.

You know he cannot sleep either – and you do not have to say why.

Because the why is here; it is woven into the threads holding the freshly spun Stark banner out in the courtyard, it is leaking through the weakened gasps recovering in the infirmary, it trickles from the very thick flake that falls from high in the gods’ skies and beats the remnants of frozen blood far beneath the earth. It’s in the emptiness in the town and the whistling calls of the hills, in the beat of echoed horses towards the Kingsroad hardly more than a fortnight ago.

The war in the North is over, but peace has not come.

The ravens came this morning. It is ture: There is a queen in the Red Keep who speaks of liberation with fire upon her tongue and necks beneath her heel; there is ash and blood in the streets, howling screams carrying through the wind.

The realm is spun in a thick web, and Jon Snow unravels by the hour.

He stands there, your shadow grown behind the settee; Perhaps he watches the flames, or perhaps he watches you.

The glint of firelight in your hair, upon your cheek. The stillness of your breath, how it rises and curls over the neckline of your dress, how your fingers tug at a thread of upholstery beneath you. The curve of your hips along the fabric of your dress, the slight curve of your neck.

It is a look of love, by any other name. And perhaps, if you were a different person, and he, a different man – you might ask something from him. A promise, perhaps.

But you ask for nothing from him; because you know what Jon Snow is.

He is the man who leaves – who kisses you in the shadows and becomes a pillar of salt in the first shy wink of morning light; and you cannot, for all the spite and selfish hunger in you, bring yourself to blame a frost bitten tree for refusing the hope of spring.

You love him in spite of it. Or, perhaps, because of it.

And so you hardly stir when his palm finds the junction of your neck and shoulder, a creeping and almost apologetic thing.

A calloused palm, one so weary and hardened and yet relentlessly kind; Your jaw tilts in quiet invitation as he stands behind you, letting his thumb soothe over the raised gooseflesh of your skin.

When he says your name, a flood of warmth pools in your stomach; you ease into his touch, sighing when his palm slides away to rest upon the back of your settee – though his warmth remains. It always does.

His voice comes once more, still low, resigned.

“You’ll hate me.”

You don’t speak for fear of the tightening in your throat; for the visions of cloudy skies and floating ash, of sliding breaths and sharp daggers. Of fire, and blood. The thought is bitter and it breaks something far buried within your chest.

A harsh thing, reality has always been.

There is a long road ahead for Jon, and it is not large enough for two. You’ve known this for some time.

His voice is exhausted and it comes in a breath, as though he swallows back the burden of which you both refuse to name outright; and perhaps it is some effort to defend the necessary, to excuse the pain to come.

“She burned them.”

And you know the name which dances upon his tongue, though he does not speak it.

The firelight licks over the chambers – some false illusion of warmth in a room which now drips with solemnity. Your throat is tight with the grip of a fading hand and a thick swallow claws its way down your neck.

“She was a girl once,” you say faintly, biting your lip. “A girl sold. Traded, abused, hunted.” Your heart, a fist beating at your battered rib cage; Your lip does not tremble, though you think it might. “Of course she burned them.”

His breath comes slow and long. “She burned children.”

The words come before you recognize them from your own mind –

“And Stannis did not?”

He flinches.

You feel it rather than witness it, through a still air and a stretched silence in which your heart thuds dully and sings the songs of souls long since burned to the gods you do not know.

“I don’t want to argue.” It’s that tone once more; exhausted, tired – trying. The chambers are warm, and yet somehow his presence is warmer.

“You never do,” you whisper. You never do, and I love you for it.

He comes round to face you, backlit then by the greedy warmth of the hearth; how the flames curl around his frame, melting the last stubborn flakes from his shoulders. His hair curls; tresses tied from his drawn brows, pouted lips defrosted and pink in the firelight.

“I had to see you,” his words come once more, eyes deep and searching your own. “Before–”

You’ve risen to meet him before the fire, and your immediate presence stuns his words.

“You mustn’t do this, Jon.” Your eyes sting with unwanted grief; a hollow thing, to know what fate worse than the worst awaits your love. “You mustn’t say goodbye if you’re not going to die.”

His breath trembles, a ripple of wind in a steady sea of pine; the stubborn shake of a handsome visage as he denies the path of ease for the sake of what is right. You love him for it. You hate him for it.

“I might.”

And this, it seems, is your final straw. “No,” your hands shake with an unknown ache. “You won’t,” your breath hits his lips as you exhale, “that’s always the curse with you.”

Your words are cruel, and their verity cuts as deep into your heart as they do his own. His face, somber and patient, is warm in the firelight. And that’s just it; memories bloom from behind your eyes, bruises unhealed. Visions of frozen lips and lifeless eyes – of a hollowness that, somewhere deep inside, never quite filled again.

You had loved him before those scars.

Before death stitched its silent seams across his soul; before hearths blew out in the far North and shadows crawled across the sun.

And still you love him after, though he came back to you strange and faraway; sometimes angry in a way you will never quite understand, try as you might.

Sometimes you believe there is a part of him that never truly left the snow – some part of him that does not any longer belong to this realm.

You love him for it the same.

Jon’s hands caress the curve of your arms when you plant yours on his chest; a steady heartbeat below your palms, through even the scarred skin and breaths of hunger that grows yet never feeds.

He wants you.

Gods, he does, and he burns for it. You see it in the hitch of his breath, in the way his gaze traces the curved bend of your lips when you let out a small breath. You see it other times, too, in the tracing of your collarbones across halls, in the aching bewilderment of a man who cannot help his hunger. And though his jaw sets and his eyes flick away, though honor sings louder in him than impulse – you know, you know.

There is no shame in it, not anymore; Jon does not know how to lie with his body.

But Jon will not take first. He will not take what he wants until it is surrendered to him with bitten lips and soft sighs and breathy pleads; it is a dance unspoken but entwined in your shared nature more than breathing itself.

And you know; If you asked, he would unmake himself entirely – king, bastard, man – simply to feel your palm in his and your warmth by his side.

A surrender not out of duty, but devotion; a willing unraveling, thread by thread, until all that remains is the man who wants you. Without titles, without name.

With nothing.

Though you do not dare betray him with such a request. Because wanting is the first sin, and what comes after is unspeakable.

Jon was made to lose what he longs for. To hold a knife against his chest and remain unflinching even as the blade pierces through; To blink only when the wound begins to bleed.

And still, you would bleed with him.

Again and again, in that selfish, aching way, you would – if it meant one breath more of his hands in yours, of that tired, torn, unbearably tender gaze; one final glimpse of such warmth before he turns from you once more.

You study his visage; a grim one, swimming in that dark molten hunger that lives unspoken and unsated in his stare. A kind man – a man who once held you so tenderly and spoke with words far too kind for the world which gave him nothing but pain.

A man who keeps burying the ones he loves.

His hands curl at your waist, a reserved thing that still yet coaxes your skin to sing, to crawl in that hungry way toward his warmth even as it slips away.

“You love her,” you say.

The line of his throat is thick in the firelight, and his swallow is heavy. You do not waver in your resolve, and he does not betray you with any feigned sympathy.

“I tried to.”

It does not sting like, perhaps, it should. Your nod is stiff and placated only by memories of ruddy youthful stares, brooding glances secretive and rapt across both torchlit halls and flurried yards.

Outside, the wind howls and pelts snow in thick layers over the rapidly disappearing print of his footfalls. Ghost lies still and solemn, quiet against the pelt upon the stone floor near your door.

And it is a foolish thing to ask, when he is here and holding you; but you say it anyway.

“And me?”

Jon’s glance is one that brings the rush of the deepest warmth to your cheeks. A look as though you are the one preparing to leave and never return; a glance of knowledge, of ghosts over lips and hands over trembling skin.

His heart beats, and its rhythm is your name.

Jon does not blink, nor does he look away. His palm, large and inexplicably warm despite the howling squall outside, cups your jaw – and then he says your name; a whispered secret to his gods who have long since ceased to listen.

“I’ve never had to try.”

His words from minutes ago rebound in your mind; and you, with soft palms and a heavy heart, pull him close. You’re going to hate me.

“I won’t hate you,” you whisper into his palm, lips brushing over the tremors he hides. “Not even then.”

He closes his eyes with a flickering inhale, sharp and thick with unshed emotion. And then, when he returns his stare so devoted to your parted lips – his hand drags lower, trailing from your jaw and down to your throat.

A stray thumb presses gently against your heartbeat, as if assuring some deep worry hidden below furrowed brows and a tremorring heart; breath catches in your throat, that dull hunger rising from your stomach and curling warmly through your very veins. Jon’s stare devours; and your eyes hook a yearning ache over the curve of pink lips, flickered by dark shadows and weak restraint.

You’re eager; an unwitting lean towards him with caught breath, you let his palm trail warmth over your skin and pause at your collarbone – as if he’s unsure he has the permission to touch you at all.

You don’t wait for him to ask, because he never will. You simply give.

“Please, Jon,” you whisper, hardly more than breath and want. “Touch me. Let me feel you.”

And there in the faint flicker of the hearth, the corner of his mouth twitches; the echo of some disbelieving, admiring expression he’s long since forgotten how to wear unless he is with you.

Soon his gaze drops, hazed and sultry, to where his thumb rests just above the hollow of your chest; searching, as if your heartbeat might answer some riddle he’s carried since boyhood.

You wonder if perhaps it does, because he moves.

It comes not with the fevered gasp of relief that falls from your lips but with the gravity of a man laying down his sword; Jon’s hand trails lower still, hands grazing the rise of your breast and flexing against the touch. From his lips falls a desperate sound; something swallowed soon by his mouth upon your own, heavy and hungry and far too much for what the night could be.

Dexterous fingers spread, cupping just below the swell of your breast as your own slip under the fur-lined cloak still hung round his thick shoulders. Rough linen lies underneath – cold with the remnants of the snow yet warm with the body he tried for so long to keep away from you.

Your fingers slip beneath the fur draped over his shoulders, and he shudders – shudders – like it’s the first time he’s been touched since his gods forgot him.

“Jon,” you whisper against his lips; needy, wrecked – and that alone breaks the dam already so brittle and wanting; his arms come to pull you tight against the firm heat of his chest. “You’re trembling,” you murmur.

His lips find your throat; open-mouthed, reverent and hungry, teeth grazing and tongue soothing. The tug of his tresses between your fingers kicks his shaky moan against the hollow of your throat and a warmth spreads heady through your trembling body.

“Aye. It’s you,” he breathes with honesty, lips brushing your pulse. “I always do.”

The words send a tremor down your spine, a flush pooling between your thighs as his mouth descends, grazing the dip of your collarbone. Teeth catch slightly on your skin, not rough enough to mark, but just enough to make you gasp; just enough to make your hips tilt toward him, hungry and unsatisfied.

The wind howls, wails. The snow swallows the horizon in a dark smother. Your knees back into the mattress; the weather beyond the castle is wild and sharp in its longing, and with you Jon is no different.

You reach for him and he follows you down, a storm dragged from the mountains and rolling over the hills of sheets. The furs kiss your dress beneath you as Jon takes you into his arms, heavy with heat and muscle and hunger; pressing you into the feathered mattress.

Hands tug at the laces of your bodice; breath harsh against your throat and words murmured into the damp skin of your throat. Your thighs, then, parting with the shared tremors of fevered desire; a sudden steadiness of hands whose muscles remember the shape of you.

His mouth hovers just above yours, breath shared, noses brushing.

Jon takes you with a low and slow groan pressed into your hair; and you with trembling thighs and nails embedded into thick-corded shoulders, head thrown against downy pillows.

The window flickers with the swallowing blanket of the flurry; the hearth’s light spills over the hardened planes of Jon’s body, softened under your fingertips and coaxing raised bumps of desire.

And when he moves inside you – slow, aching, right – you wonder if perhaps the world might end this very night.

And if it does, you think as lips press to the corner of your mouth, as a moan strangles his breath, as your body takes him in, if it does, let it end here. Beneath him. Around him.

Here, with the snow pelting outside, with the fire licking shadows of your entwined bodies upon the wall, licking warmth over his back, up the curve of his jaw, into the wrecked chasm of hunger pooling in his eyes when he looks down at you and thinks, I was never meant to have this.

You pour your love into each kiss he steals; Hands finds your thighs, pushing higher, gripping your heady skin like something already lost. Every inch of him is warm, heavy, solid – and you, reveling in the weight of a man who has only ever known how to carry things that break him.

When all that’s left is heaving, sweat-kissed chests and intermingled breaths – when your fingers soothe over his cheeks, trace the furrow of his brow, press to his temples; when his calloused palms rove over your hip, tugging you by the neck into his chest, tangled in furs and heat and silence – then, then you allow yourself the heartbreak.

“I love you,” you whisper into the night air, into the slinking shadows with webbed wings and smoking breath – into the unfurling frost around the casements, into the chest of the man you have known and lost more times than you can recount.

He says nothing for some time; a shaky inhale as your hands trace over the jagged scars which litter his torso, as his own fingertips idly swirl over your own marks.

And Jon tells you he loves you with his eyes closed, with his lips pressed to your own. You drink in his words and you do not wish for anything else.

He says it again, and again, until his voice cracks and his lips dry the tears you swore would not fall.

You do not sleep much that night.

Lied beside him, you trace the curve of his spine, follow the silky webs of scars above his ribs, across his abdomen and up to the hollow of his throat, where a dagger once claimed him.

Your hands will remember him.

Slowly, you memorize how his breath deepens in the soft surrender of sleep. You memorize the twitch of unconscious fingers slung across your own bare hip. You memorize the beat of his heart against your palm.

You memorize the shape of him as though you’ll be asked to describe it to the gods.

And when dawn comes and you stir from the rest that’d claimed you, he is already dressed.

Ghost waits at your door.

Jon does not say goodbye, and you do not torture him with words that you both are thinking.

He says nothing; just presses a kiss to your forehead, cupping your neck, thumb caressing that cherished beat of your pulse – and leaves with a curls of snow brushing into the entryway of your chambers.

And you stay.

You stay in the room where his warmth once brought you over the edge of sanity; you remain beneath furs once shared, listening to the swirling silence he left behind. You drown in sheets and pretend they are arms.

You stay – undaunted by snowflurries and howling winds, by hard men and hard women and hard weather. A blue moon waxes and wanes for the first time in seven years.

The war ends; the queen falls.

The North remembers.

The seat beside the Queen in the North is worn and a welcome warmth beneath you. The hearths remain bright each nightfall.

But you remember him.

And the snow still falls, even now.

tagging some mutuals since this is a new character :') @dipperscavern @dr9carys @inkandarsenic @systraes @swordgrace @kenna-the-cosmic @snow-blower @cregan-starks

#jon snow x reader #jon snow smut #jon x reader #how the fuck do you use tags omg #why am i nervous #game of thrones x reader #got x reader #jon snow fanfic #im sick #jon snow save me #jon snow x you #jon snow imagine

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