siravalondulac

[siravalondulac]

irresistible and so bright | j. snow x fem!reader

part 7 of the modern!holiday au | part 6 of the summer vacation

summary: cerelle meets up with a member of her family contents: modern au, summer vacation warnings: none words: 285

tag list: @sunraysoverthevalley @idohknow @sammybirdseed

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“Cerelle!”

“Shae!”

She falls into her aunt's arms, laughing as she is pressed so tightly it almost crushes her.

“I've missed you,” Shae says as they separate again. “It's so dull living just with Tyrion.”

“Oh, I see how this goes,” the man in question suddenly interrupts. “You girls are having all the fun - at my expense as usual - leaving me to sulk in a corner.”

“I'm sorry.” Cerelle smiles as she kneels and envelops him in a hug. “How could I ever do that to my favourite uncle?”

“Save yourself the flattery.” But even he cannot suppress his grin.

Even before she told Tyrion of her vacation to Oldtown, she had already decided to ask to meet him. Of course she sees him at every family gathering - as miserable and forceful as they are - but it's nice having a cup of tea with him and his girlfriend.

They talk. Of her studies and his research at Oldtown University, of her father and his father, of Shae's modelling career and his renovated apartment, of this year's Christmas gala.

When he tries to talk of Lucion, she evades his question. When he asks about the inheritance problem, she just groans.

Jon isn't with her, despite how desperately she would have wanted to introduce her uncle and aunt to him. But with how many eyes are already gawking at her right now, just sitting in an - allegedly - private roof-top bar, bringing her boyfriend would have had every camera in the city on her within the hour.

“You would like him,” she tells Tyrion, because of course he has figured out she's not alone on this vacation. “He's… different.”

“I can tell.”

She blushes at his knowing smile.

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author's note: i'm sorry cerelle's chapters are so short :'( eventually we will get a whoooole lot of her thoughts, i promise, just maybe not during the summer vacation

[siravalondulac]

Sleeping Beauty (1959)

[siravalondulac]

how did jaime feel when cerelle went missing? 🥺

i think he probably took it the hardest out of everyone in king's landing, mainly because he was not allowed to talk about it. he was a kingsguard, officially nothing more than her uncle. he wasn't allowed to care about her disappearance more than, idk, ser barristan. he could not show emotions, could not show feelings, could not discuss it with anyone. (cersei was not an option; she had shut herself off from everyone, and even the mere hint at cerelle made her break down).

when cerelle first went missing, no one had thought much of it. she had disappeared many times before, they would simply wait until the end of the day for her to return. jaime was sent to find her - this was not a surprise, it had turned out that he was the only person capable of finding cerelle. he knew all her favourite spots, always knew where she was hiding. but this time he... didn't. every single hiding spot of hers, every single nook or cranny she sometimes took a nap in, every location in king's landing that she favoured was empty. no cerelle. he went through all her spots a dozen times in just three days, becoming increasingly desperate every time they were empty. he thought he had missed something, maybe she had a new spot, maybe she was playing a game with him. if there is anyone in the entirety of the seven kingdoms that could find cerelle, it was him.

but he didn't. cerelle stayed missing.

out of all his children, he was closest with cerelle. he saw so much of himself in her - her spirit, her rebellious nature, her disinterest in lessons. she even convinced him once to show her a bit of swordfighting, which only convinced him more of how close they were.

(he did sometimes consider tywin's demands - to accept his position as heir to casterly rock, if for no other reason than to demand cerelle as his heir and finally being able to care about her openly.)

jaime really internalised everything that happened around that time. he doesn't believe in the gods, but there was a part of him that felt that maybe they were punishing him. for fathering cerelle in the first place, or for caring about her as a father might. he wasn't her father, he reminded himself of during that time, and he also wasn't the father of any of cersei's other kids. it's what caused the rift between him and joffrey/myrcella/tommen. robert was their father. he was their kingsguard.

[siravalondulac]

uuuh... yesterday's ceralon encounter in white sword tower told from jaime's perspective

thank you @goldsnows for the idea and motivation 🙂‍↕️

[siravalondulac]

THEE cerelle themes

[siravalondulac]

balon being suspicious of helena… 📝

okay so i will say that, despite balon being very attentive towards everything concerning cerelle, that doesn't always 100% translate to other people as well lmao. and also, even if he was right (WHICH I'M NOT SAYING HE IS) there is a chance there is more than one assassin.

butbutbut, a small tidbit just for you is that the assassin(s) will not receive a pov chapter until almost the very end. so every character that has already had a pov (in act 3 specifically) is safe, as is everyone that has an upcoming one.

[siravalondulac]

BALON IS SO IN LOVE WITH CERELLE IM ILL KNOWING THEY CAN NEVER BE TOGETHER LIKE OHHHH MY GOD MY BABIES !!!

he is the only one she feels even remotely safe around, the only one that knows when she's about to have a panic attack, the only one that only wants to protect her without any further goals... she's kind to him and everyone around him without fault, is his pride and joy about his work as a kingsguard, is able to relax him and calm him without even trying... everything about each other came naturally, without trying, without forcing, as if the gods themselves have brought them together...

[siravalondulac]

042. balon swann ii

house of lies, city of blood

asoiaf ff | fem!oc centric

summary: a sworn shield observes changes; in his charge and the world around them word count: 4027 warnings: none

masterlist

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He wished Cerelle would stop singing.

Not because she sounded awful, or because her choices of song were terrible. He did not want to admit to himself, even, and he would make sure she would never find out about his true feelings either, but…

Her voice was haunting.

Each word and tune carried across the open space, the wind playing with her voice and the strings of the harp the way it would with leaves and waves, amplifying it until naught remained but her. The songs told of lost places, stars descending onto the earth, grandiose destinies, and, above all, forbidden love, doomed to fail no matter how hard they tried.

Balon wished he could shut out those thoughts, but just like the remnants of her voice they continued to follow him.

Cerelle never performed in front of others - never even mentioned her talent - and he had gotten close to asking her to do it, desperate to share the ideas she woke in him with others. But then he remembered who he was, and stayed silent.

There was one person she sang to - Helena Terrick, her new lady in waiting. More than once had he heard Cerelle’s deep, melodic voice sound through the wooden door of her room, followed by excited chatter from her friend. Something pulled in his chest at their giggles.

As he stood beside Cerelle in court, seeing her smile and curtsy, he realised she had changed.

He did not know why. Had not seen or heard anything that could indicate her change in demeanour. One might think that, after having a man die a horrible death in front of them, a person would be more downtrodden. Yet not Cerelle.

She seemed elated, with a determination he had never seen in her before. Her days did not merely consist of hiding away in one of the Keep's countless nooks or crannies, of avoiding any interaction with the lords and knights seeking her favour, of being dragged around by her mother and grandfather and any of the nameless ladies of the court without any opinion of her own. But now Cerelle voluntarily intermingled with the courtiers - always watching, always questioning, always on the look-out for something.

(Still. When her grandfather called, she answered. And the later in the day it got, the less secure this new facade seemed.)

He was angry at himself for not knowing what had happened. He was her sworn shield, if anyone should know what happened with Cerelle, it was him.

Perhaps her cousin, Lucion, carried some fault with this. He trailed her like a shadow, one hand forever laying on his hidden dagger, the other twitching as if just waiting to punch someone. He never smiled, never uttered a word, never even seemed to blink. He spoke to Cerelle only in hushed whispers, and glared at anyone stepping too close to her. Including Balon.

He was alright with that, he realized. Someone had to keep an eye on him, restrain him. Because he might not be capable of it in some time.

Humfrey Hightower was another man that had joined Cerelle's side recently. But if Balon had nothing to fear from Lucion, he had even less to fear from Humfrey.

A tourney knight whose biggest concerns in life were his horse and his hair, he had joined Cerelle in her quest to find the assassin because he was bored, not to gain something out of it. His gaze followed any pretty servant and squire that passed him, though the hunger in his eyes intensified whenever they set on Lucion.

Lady Sansa stayed close to Cerelle without ever saying much, yet clearly finding comfort in her presence. Of the other ladies of the Princess’ Court, only Lelia and Constance seemed to have remained in Cerelle's good graces, for Myrielle Lannister was most often nowhere to be found around them. And Helena…

He could not be certain of her true intentions. She clung onto Cerelle as if she were to drown without her, yet easily traversed with servants and hooded shadows. The love she felt for the princess was worn on her sleeve, yet whether it carried truth he could not say.

Cerelle was happy being around her, and for the time being, that was all he needed.

She seemed happier walking around the city as well. Not that traversing with the common people had brought her no joy before, but something had changed in the tone of her voice, the sparkle in her eyes, the attentiveness with which she clung onto every word spoken in her general vicinity.

The children followed her every step, grabbing onto her hands and skirts, letting her lead them through their own streets. They gifted her rocks and feathers and, above all, flower crowns, woven crudely from dirty grass and wheat, petals that looked half-dead and thorns not properly cut. Cerelle wore them all in pride, and he almost told her how beautiful she looked in them. Almost.

She listened to the woes of the smallfolk, shared a sad smile here and encouraging words there, and left far too many coins with them. What benefit any of it could bring remained a mystery to him.

Queen Cersei had been outraged to find out her daughter traversed the city with only one guard. She awaited them when they returned one afternoon, fury barely restrained, and tried to forbid the princess from ever leaving the Keep again.

Cerelle smiled and comforted her mother, telling her of how safe she had been all this time, how no one had attacked her this far and was unlikely to do so in the future. Then she stepped towards him and laid a hand on his arm.

He could barely breathe. Too much laid between her skin and his, yet he still felt the presence of her hands on his doublet, swore her long fingers buried themselves ever so slightly into the many layers separating them. He forced himself to stare at the angry queen, a punishment far preferable than confirming his greatest fears. And his greatest desires.

“Ser Balon is all the protection I could ever need.” Cerelle's voice pierced through his armour, his skin, his heart. “He will keep me safe from any and all wishing me harm.”

Even himself.

The only thing able to distract his mind at this point seemed to be sparring - any near-death situation, to be true, even if imitated. It was difficult focusing on Cerelle's eyes, sparkling like ice, when a blade came down on his head, or on the smile only he saw during their times by her tree, when a lance rapidly approached his chest.

(Difficult. But not impossible.)

A part of him wished to never again pick up a bow, especially not while in the Red Keep, for the feeling of the wood resting comfortably in the palm of his hand always reminded him of the night he had spent teaching Cerelle. Of how her sobs had torn apart his chest, and how he had wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees before her to cradle her against himself.

Did he intentionally miss the blow of Ser Arys’ dulled blade to his head or had he simply been this distracted? He talked himself out of this mistake, as usual.

Despite it still being early morning, a sizable crowd had already found its way to the sparring yard, eager as always to watch the members of the Kingsguard show their prowess, as few of them would ever get the opportunity to otherwise.

Balon attempted to ignore them as well as possible, yet could not help his annoyance at their leering gazes. He was a trained knight, a tried and tested warrior, who could cut through a dozen men without blinking, not some prized stallion up for purchase.

He had barely ever experienced this sort of interest in himself before joining the Kingsguard. Not that he had been unable to turn a lady's head with a smile before, or garnered a blush with a well-placed compliment, yet their attention towards him had spiked rapidly after he had donned the white cloak. Almost as if the knowledge they could not have him allowed them to be more open with their affections.

Balon wondered, sometimes, what his life would have been like had he not sworn himself to the king. But as such thoughts were typically followed by the feeling of Cerelle's fingers burying themselves into his doublet, he hastily abandoned them.

Every time he was outside of the city, training on the tourney grounds with a few other Stormlander lords, he reminded himself he needed to speak to her. There was talk of an upcoming tourney, and he wanted to ask for permission to participate. And then every time he saw her again, the courage left him.

Why ask her? He was merely her sworn shield, she held no power over him. She could not deny him this.

His king could deny him. Cerelle could not. 

And yet still, he would obey.

The lords stared at him as well, though more in hatred and jealousy than adoration. He was able to shake those off more easily, for he knew they only cared because of the amount of time he spent with Cerelle. But as the weeks went on, Balon lost the ability to care. After all, it was not his fault she refused any of their advances.

More often than not, their displeasure with him came from his mere existence as her guard, for it was him preventing the more handsy suitors from attempting anything unseemly with Cerelle. Despite her growing courage, she still attempted to keep up her veneer of politeness and friendliness, even when she clearly grew uncomfortable.

Balon’s preferred method for scaring these men off was simply reminding them he existed - accidentally coughing, suddenly moving in a way that made his armour clank louder than usual, or greeting a passing guard. And if none of these worked, he made up a meeting Cerelle had with her mother or grandfather, and to which they had to leave right this very moment.

Such as he did with Aurane Waters and Osney Kettleblack, or even Petyr Baelish.

(The man had returned to court quite surprisingly after claiming the Vale was now secure and loyal to the crown, yet his interest both in Lady Sansa and Cerelle made Balon doubt his intentions.)

Sometimes, though rarely, he was assigned to guard a different member of the royal family. The king, most often, though Queen Margaery or Princess Myrcella as well from time to time.

The younger princess was sweet, though with a sharp mind and highly attuned to political matters. The queen carried herself according to her title, always amassing a large following around her wherever she went, and took pride in her Tyrell heritage. Both were polite but distant to Balon.

Young King Tommen spoke with him, however, as if they were friends. He smiled and greeted him, asked his opinion on matters (mostly his cats), and seemingly attempted to look out for his guards more than they did for him.

It was charming, and yet another reminder of his age. He would grow out of it in time.

Balon seemed to bump into Cerelle far too often on his days not guarding her, as if the gods meant to punish him for failing to banish her from his thoughts.

She went on walks with the king, spent time with her mother, joined the queen while hawking, looked at him from the other side of the court. Sometimes it felt as if her eyes searched the throne room for something as soon as she entered, and only lowered themselves to the ground after spotting him.

A dream. A misguided fantasy.

Once, he even met her in the only place he still considered safe.

When descending the stairs one morning into the common room of White Sword Tower, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he had spotted her.

A phantom, he had thought at first, or a spirit sent by the gods, illuminated by the golden sun falling through the window behind her. Or worse, a sleep demon.

But no, that was her standing above the White Book, Ser Jaime next to her as they spoke in soft tones, likely so as to not wake anyone. They only spotted him when he attempted and failed to quietly move past them.

She smiled, then froze.

Balon hastily mumbled his apologies, awkwardly drawing his tunica close over his bare chest before passing through the Round Room - a feat that took far longer than usual - and disappeared towards wherever he had meant to go.

Had he looked up even once, he might have seen the look of terrified realisation on his Lord Commander's face. Instead, all he had to contend with were the echoes of the names Cerelle had read aloud from the book - Lucamore Strong, Terrence Toyne, Criston Cole.

Balon sometimes considered requesting being relieved of his duties as her sworn shield, but that meant he had failed, and he had not. Despite the incident in the Street of Silk.

It had already gotten quite late when they passed through the most wretched part of King's Landing. Terrifyingly, Cerelle did not seem to care, keeping her gaze straight and her steps secure, walking past all the disgusting revelry. He stuck closely by her, yet still without trying to touch her. A fool's errand.

A scream sounded from behind them. Not one of pleasure but of pain, and even he turned around to look at its source.

A woman was dragged from one of the brothels and thrown to the dirty ground, sobs and shouts filling the street as a man approached her with a drawn dagger.

Balon was ready to step in front of Cerelle and protect her, hide her behind his cloak and steal her back to the castle, but she did something unexpected.

Within a singular moment, she had drawn his sword. Her body had passed so closely by him he could do naught but watch as she stepped between the woman and her attacker, sword raised before her, grip on his blade as certain and steady as if she had never lived without it.

“Put that down.”

Her voice had lost any sense of the warmth and light she used when talking to her family, courtiers, or the smallfolk, instead being laced in biting cold.

“Step aside, bitch,” the man spat at her.

“Beware how you speak to the princess.”

The man stared first at him, then at Cerelle, and Balon knew he recognised the man from somewhere, yet could not put name to face.

“Princess Cerelle.” He straightened his back. “You should not be here.”

“Yet here I am.” She did not lower his sword. “What is your business with this woman?”

The man fletched his teeth. “That whore refused to fuck me. She needs to be punished.”

“No such thing will happen. Walk back inside and find someone who will endure your face.”

“I paid for her. She's mine.”

Cerelle looked back at the woman, her braids illuminated in the low light of the torches around them, the red of her dress as dark as blood. She kept his sword raised as her brows furrowed, then a smile formed on her lips.

“No. She's mine.” Her gaze turned towards the man again, and this time she did drop the sword to her side. “She is my personal handmaiden, and any attack on her is an attack on me.”

“You cannot do this.”

“I just did.” Her blue eyes darkened. “Now leave.”

Another man, armed with a knife at his belt, grabbed the other's arm. “Come now, let's forget about this. That whore likely doesn't even know whom she was dealing with.”

“Whores always know.”

Yet he still followed his friend and walked back into the brothel, throwing Cerelle one last furious look.

Balon hated himself. How easily something could have happened to the princess, how quickly this situation could have turned deadly. And he had just stood there.

Cerelle helped the woman to her feet. She was no great beauty; ashen skin, brown hair in wild curls, hooked nose, thick brows, torn grey dress. She still trembled all over, her hand clutching Cerelle's as to not fall over.

“Are you alright?” the princess asked.

The woman nodded. “Yes, I think so.” Then she tightened her lips into a thin line. “Did you… Did you mean what you said?”

“Concerning what?”

“That I could be your handmaiden.”

Balon wanted to stop her, to tell her how terrible of an idea this was, of the disgust everyone at court would feel, but he kept quiet, as was right and proper for a sworn shield.

The woman's name was Rania, and as of that night Princess Cerelle's new handmaiden. She did her work thoroughly and precisely, seemingly always scared to be thrown back to the streets. No danger emanated from her. A life debt like this could never be repaid.

Perhaps Cerelle kept her close for the same reasons she had done with Elia Sand, Sansa Stark and Helena Terrick - a refusal to follow the court's orders, to prove she was different, and just perhaps to keep the wrong people away from her.

That last idea did not work, for every eligible lord and knight present in King's Landing still attempted to court her. Certainly, some showed interest in her ladies in waiting as well - Lelia Lydden had been spotted with Benedict Serrett, the Lord of Silverhill, and Lady Sansa was still being pursued by the Tyrells - but no man showed the same kind of conviction as they did with the king's sister.

One irked him especially.

The day had begun and passed as normal, ending with Cerelle sitting against her tree by the cliffs, gently humming along to the chirping of the birds as they both watched the sun set over the Blackwater Rush.

He almost lost himself in her voice, in the dangerous complacency that overcame him in this place, when someone stepped on a branch behind him.

Hand on the hilt of his sword he whirled around, prepared to throw himself at whatever danger awaited, but instead of a cloaked assassin he found himself faced with dark hair and a wicked grin.

“Alyn.” The name came out as more of a hiss than a greeting.

“Balon. It is good to see you are not neglecting your duty.”

A low jab.

For some reason, the heir to House Estermont had never truly liked Balon, ever since they were children. He had gotten along with his elder brother Donnel just fine, but whether it was Balon being a mere second son or him knocking Alyn to the dirt during sparring sessions once too often, something had never worked out between them.

Balon had used to simply ignore him, quite content with disappearing from a room whenever the other had entered, but now Alyn was attempting to court Cerelle. And as such, he was forced to endure the man's presence.

“Ser Alyn.” Cerelle's soft voice almost made him stumble. “What leads you here?”

The grin turned into a smile - all poison, all danger.

“I fear I have gotten lost attempting to explore the maze.” He stepped toward her, reaching out his hand to lay a kiss on hers. “But it seems I have stumbled into safe arms.”

Cerelle blushed, and something violent churned within Balon.

“What is this place?” Alyn asked, letting his gaze wander over the tree and the open sea, quite deliberately passing over the soldier in white.

“A hide-out,” she answered carefully, her fingers tugging at the lace of her turquoise gown. “No one else ever makes their way out here. It's quiet.”

“You do not enjoy courtly life?” He raised a brow. “How curious, you seem made for it.”

“I- I do enjoy it-”

Alyn chuckled. “I tire of these people as well sometimes. How comforting to know I am not the only one.”

She smiled, her blush deepening.

Cerelle fell right into his trap, and Balon was helpless to stop it.

He could push him off the cliff. Alyn stood close enough, he could do it with one hand. No one would ever know.

No. Cerelle had already been so terrified knowing he had killed before, he could never do so before her eyes.

He could never live with betraying her this way.

Alyn convinced her to show him the path back through the maze - all honeyed words, each carefully chosen specifically for her - and offered her his arm, then laying his bare hand on hers. She accepted willingly.

As they passed Balon, neither looked at him.

(Was it Cerelle Alyn was after, Storm's End, or the Iron Throne? Or was he simply attempting to get back at Balon for the business with Lady Kellington?)

He found himself far outside the city one morning, almost by the edge of the kingswood, following Cerelle and her silver mare. Her maroon cloak seemed far too thin for the cold wind wafting around them, yet her hands, hidden partly underneath the sleeves of her red gown, did not appear to shake or tremble, merely holding the reins.

It was the first time, he realised, that he saw her natural curls cascading down her back. Her hair was not completely open, of course - the upper half of it fixed backwards with a red band - but this was more than he could have ever dreamed of. The late autumn sun caught itself in the strands, golden, glowing, soft. He wanted to let his fingers glide through it, yet buried his nails into the palm of his hands instead.

Cerelle stopped several times to gaze at an animal or flower, and even somehow convinced some bird to land on her outstretched hand.

The closer they got to the treeline, the hastier his eyes started to dart around the shadows, and the tighter his fist closed around the pommel of his sword. The kingswood was filled with outlaws, and he knew that if something happened, one lone knight on a horse could do little to protect a princess. He knew he should have insisted on a second guard, hold Cerelle back from the stables until another-

“Race me, Ser Balon.”

Her voice, clear and warm as the sunlight, broke his thoughts. She smiled at him, seemingly awaiting a response. He could not give one, the proposition too daunting, too terrifying to dignify it with an answer.

“Race me,” she repeated. “Or are you afraid to be beaten by a girl?”

Yes, he was afraid. But not for that reason.

“It would not be proper.” He lowered his gaze, the blue of her eyes too daunting, too familiar. “I am your guard, not one of your… suitors.”

“No one will know.”

They would. They always would.

She bit her lower lip and lowered her gaze, fumbling around with the reigns in her hands. “I apologise, I should not have asked. Let us return to the castle.”

He did not know what had taken ahold of him when he saw her riding off, but as he watched her hair sparkle in the sun, he quickly spurred on his horse.

“First at the Kingsroad?” he asked when his horse walked next to hers, yet did not even await an answer before he set off.

She called out to him, yet her voice was trenched in glee, and soon he heard the familiar pounding of hooves behind him.

They rode past fields and farmers, orchards and huts, traders and stray cats, whirling up dust, their cloaks billowing behind them, red and white like blood dripping onto pure snow.

Despite his head-start, she gained on him quickly, and when he finally reached the cobbled Kingsroad, she was already awaiting him. Pink cheeks, wild hair, out of breath, yet laughing as loudly and clearly as a windchime. He knew he shouldn't, and that it would follow him forever, but he joined her. And that night, when he laid in his bed in White Sword Tower, their combined voices echoed in his mind.

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[siravalondulac]

Castle In The Sky (1986) dir. Hayao Miyazaki

[siravalondulac]

hair and hairstyles of my oc's~

cerelle baratheon

benjiamin vypren

helena terrick

lucion lannister

humfrey hightower

[siravalondulac]

i mean...

[siravalondulac]

when i'm talking about cerelle's "golden curls" this is what i mean btw

[siravalondulac]

i am bored so tell me what musical would fit best to your fanfiction and why

okay so for the main fic, i am currently very fixated on "artus excalibur" for it - lancelot/guinevere, arthur being desperate not to become king, the song "field of honour", arthur being so focused on revenge he pushes everyone he loves away, the song "only her alone"???? it all has thee most insane cerelle and stars above vibes

for sapphire steel i will give a hesitant "dance of the vampires" (the austrian version, not whatever they did on broadway), more so for the vibes than genuine plot

the modern!holiday is very "mamma mia" and "i've never been to new york" coded. cerelle with her three possible dads, the happy vibes, the german romcom-ness of it all etc

i actually have a musical songs only playlist for the main fic here in case you are interested :]

and book six of the main fic will be soooo rebecca coded it's insane

[siravalondulac]

Castle In The Sky  天空の城ラピュタ (1986) — dir. Hayao Miyazaki

[siravalondulac]

recently finished reading paladin's grace and i am NOT able to shake the thought of saint of steel paladin!balon and run-away princess cerelle whom he rescues and hides in the temple of the white rat. everyone is very accepting of her if for no other reason than she stops balon from moping around the whole day

[siravalondulac]

fuck it, balon/alyn/cerelle nsfw thoughts

balon and alyn hate each other. so much. but both are too in love with cerelle (balon) or too obsessed with her (alyn) to pass up the opportunity to be with her, even if it means having to share her with him

alyn is veryy vocal in bed and very heavily into degradation (both giving and recieving). he is always egging ceralon on, always pushing them into nastier and nastier sex

cerelle and balon are now both into brat taming bc of him :)

their first sexual interaction was alyn being strapped into a chair and forced to watch ceralon having sex for several hours. he was sobbing at the end and begging them to let him cum

(it's bc he was flirting with cerelle at a gala directly in front of balon)

every time they have sex it turns into a competition as to who can make cerelle cum more. no one actually keeps track

cerelle gets overstimulated a lot, but how can she be angry when her boys just look so sexy constantly arguing over her

when in public, balon and alyn just constantly have to have a hand somewhere on cerelle

alyn and balon theoretically have their own houses/apartments, but at some point have started staying exclusively at cerelle's place

(her cat guinevere hates them both)

cerelle's favourite position is alyn fucking her while balon fucks alyn. it's all controlled by balon and she can whisper mean stuff into alyn's ear

balon loves when him and alyn get to dp cerelle, either both in her cunt or one in her cunt+one in her ass. just have her pressed between them, feel her body directly against his, and yes also being close to alyn (bc despite saying he hates him, he has come to enjoy his presence)

when asked, alyn would say his favourite position is any that doesn't involve balon, or has him tied up somewhere while he makes cerelle cum over and over again. but in secret he cannot get the one time out of his head when he got spitroasted by balon and cerelle's strap

balon sometimes fucks alyn when cerelle isn't there just to torture him, but cerelle has made the rule that she'll only have sex when both are there, bc otherwise she'll never hear the end of it

the boys love when cerelle wears lingerie, either in bright red or dark blue

she did tie both of them up once and then masturbated in front of them

is alyn allowed to fuck balon? no. does he complain? yes. but he is very quickly silenced when balon gives him head like crazy

cuddle sessions in the beginning were the boys lying on either side of cerelle and bickering that she prefers the other over them. but as they get closer balon is forced into the middle bc he is the tallest and biggest and just so soft to cuddle with

in a canon au, i can see balon never joining the kingsguard which opens him up as a suitor to cerelle (stormlander for the lady of storm's end and all). and then he and alyn both compete for cerelle's affections. balon has cerelle's favour, alyn has tywin's.

they both have insane make-out sessions with cerelle, shower her with gifts, have the most insane beef at every tourney they attend... and yes also fuck each other to let out the frustration

i think it could actually go so far that cerelle just proclaims she'll never marry and instead takes them as (badly disguised) paramours

their first child is balon's bc alyn was an asshole about it

[siravalondulac]

irresistible and so bright | j. snow x fem!reader

part 7 of the modern!holiday au | part 5 of the summer vacation

summary: cerelle wants to surprise jon, yet still struggles with her past contents: modern au, summer vacation, lingerie, referenced mirror sex warnings: mention of self-harm scars words: 374

tag list: @sunraysoverthevalley @idohknow @sammybirdseed

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Cerelle stares at herself in the mirror.

She’s been doing that a lot recently. As if it’s the only way to confirm she is not dreaming. That this is real.

You are not alone anymore. Your boyfriend is waiting outside, and the moment he sees you his eyes will immediately meet yours and he will kiss you, and when you tell him you love him he will not move away in disgust.

Her fingers fiddle with the red bra strap until she spots the scars on her lower arms.

It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. Not anymore. Especially not around Jon. And yet she cannot help the anxiety and terror crawling up her spine every time she is reminded of their existence, and of the knowledge of all her many failures.

Beside her parents and grandfather, there is one other person that has seen them, and he had… not the best reaction. His words that day are the reason she hasn’t told Jon before that day in June, despite at least some part of her knowing he would never repeat that.

Whatever. He knows the scars are there, and he will not comment on them. She can simply walk out of the bathroom and just…

Her nails bury themselves into the palms of her hands so deeply, she fears she is about to draw blood.

When she finally steps in front of Jon, she is wearing a silken blouse over her pair of red bra and panties, and almost laughs out loud at the way his eyes seem to fall out of his head. He grabs at her skin and holds her tightly against him, as if he fears she will disappear if he doesn’t.

When he kisses her it’s deeply and indulgent, with equal parts love and desperation, taking her breath away. And when she rides him in front of the mirror afterwards, he stares at her as if she’s one of the gods themselves, as if she is the very best thing that ever happened to him, as if she is worth something.

Cerelle knows she will be alright. Even if this doesn’t last - it never does - she will be alright. And maybe someday, she won’t have to hide her scars anymore.

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