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novaursa · 2 months ago

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Valyrian Bride (Continuation)

Requests are closed!

- Summary: When your older brother, Jacaerys, promised you to Cregan to be his bride, the Lord Stark did not expect what he got - a trueborn dragon.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: Final Chapter

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

Cregan Stark walked with the dragon princess by his side, feeling the eyes of his men and household upon them. There was a sense of pride that welled up inside him as they entered Winterfell’s stone halls. Not pride in himself, but in the fact that this fierce, regal woman—this vision of Old Valyria—was now his betrothed. It was no small thing to command the presence of such a creature, both her and the dragon she rode. The weight of that responsibility settled on his shoulders, but rather than burden him, it gave him a sense of purpose.

As they crossed the threshold into the Great Hall, the murmurs of those gathered inside came to a halt. Servants, bannermen, and even the most hardened of his household retainers stared openly. They weren’t accustomed to such grandeur, and even in a land where strength was admired, there was something otherworldly about the princess. Her silver-gold hair, the grace of her movements, and the quiet power that seemed to radiate from her drew their eyes like moths to flame.

The warmth of the hearthfire flickered against the cold stone walls, but in the presence of the dragon princess, it felt as though the heat came from her. She walked beside Cregan with an ease that belied her strength, her violet eyes scanning the hall as if she were already its lady, its queen.

Cregan couldn’t help but glance at her from the corner of his eye, watching as she moved like liquid fire, confident and unyielding. He could see the tension in the shoulders of his bannermen, the uncertainty in the eyes of the women who served the household. They were all taken aback, and Cregan couldn’t blame them. He had lived his whole life without seeing anyone like her, and he knew, without doubt, that no one here had ever stood before the true blood of Old Valyria until now.

She was a flame in the middle of a winter storm, a vivid contrast to the world of stone and snow that surrounded her.

“I trust the halls of Winterfell meet your expectations, my lady?” Cregan asked, his voice low but carrying in the stillness of the hall. He wanted to draw her into conversation, not only to ease his own nerves but to learn more of this woman who would soon be his wife.

She turned her gaze to him, a small smile curling on her lips, though it was hard to read the full depth of her thoughts. “It is as grand as the tales say, Lord Stark. A stronghold of honor and tradition.”

Her voice was steady, yet it held an edge to it, as if there was always something more behind her words. It was as though she was measuring everything, assessing him, the people around her, and the place she would soon call home.

“I trust it will serve as more than just a stronghold for you, my lady,” Cregan replied, his eyes meeting hers directly, a subtle challenge of his own. “Winterfell is now your home, and you are its future lady.”

The princess didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, Winterfell will be my home, but I have a home in the sky as well. I belong to both land and air, Lord Stark. Do not forget that.” There was a softness to her words, but it was clear. She may belong to the North by marriage, but her heart would always be tied to the skies, to her dragon.

Cregan inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I doubt anyone will forget, least of all after the sight of Vaetrix in our skies," he said, and then added, more softly, "She is a magnificent creature."

The princess's expression shifted slightly, pride mingled with affection as she spoke of her dragon. “Vaetrix is the daughter of Meleys, the Red Queen herself. Her lineage is one of fire and might. She carries the blood of dragons who have seen empires rise and fall, just as I do.”

Cregan’s brows raised slightly at the mention of Meleys. He had heard of the Red Queen, the swift and powerful dragon that had once belonged to Princess Rhaenys. Her reputation was legendary. To think that Vaetrix was her offspring made the connection between the princess and her dragon even more profound. "The Red Queen," Cregan murmured, nodding thoughtfully. "Your bond with her must be strong, then. I imagine not just any rider could command such a lineage."

Her eyes gleamed in response, as if the conversation about Vaetrix sparked something deeper within her. "A dragon and their rider are bound by more than blood, Lord Stark. We share a soul, a heart. Vaetrix and I have flown together since I was a girl. She is my closest companion, my fiercest ally."

There was a tenderness in her tone now, something almost protective. It made Cregan understand, even more clearly, the depth of the bond between her and the dragon. In a way, it reminded him of the wolves of his house—loyal, fierce, and bound by an unspoken connection. But this bond was greater, stronger, and far more dangerous. He respected it, even admired it.

“Then she will be an ally to the North as well,” Cregan said, his voice filled with conviction. "As you will be."

The princess turned her eyes back to him, her gaze sharp and knowing. "The North has been promised my fire, my lord. And I keep my promises."

Her words were more than just a vow—they were a reminder of the power she wielded, the power she had been born with. Cregan nodded in response, feeling a strange comfort in that certainty. He knew, without question, that she was someone who would fight with all her strength, for her family, her dragon, and soon, for the North.

They continued walking, Cregan leading her deeper into Winterfell’s great halls, where more of his household waited in silent anticipation. Every eye was upon them as they passed, but the princess seemed unbothered by the attention, as if she had long since grown used to the weight of expectation. Cregan noticed the way people parted in her presence, not out of fear, but out of reverence. She was the embodiment of fire, and all knew they were in the presence of something greater than themselves.

As they reached the heart of Winterfell, Cregan paused, turning to face her fully. “There will be a feast tonight in your honor. A celebration of our alliance.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “It will be modest compared to what you may be accustomed to, but we take pride in what the North can offer.”

The princess’s gaze softened slightly, a hint of warmth in her eyes. “The North has already offered me more than I expected. I look forward to seeing its hospitality, Lord Stark.”

There was no mockery in her voice, no hint of the condescension he might have expected from someone raised in the splendor of court life. Instead, there was a genuine respect, a willingness to embrace the new life she was entering. Cregan nodded, feeling that strange mix of pride and anticipation once more.

As the evening drew near, Cregan knew the feast would be only the beginning. He had secured an alliance, but in the dragon princess, he had gained something far more—a partner of equal strength, whose fire would one day burn alongside his own.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was alive with the low hum of voices as the feast unfolded, the hearths were burning high to accommodate a dragon princess in it. Platters of roasted meats and winter greens filled the long tables, while horns of ale and wine passed freely from hand to hand. The air was thick with the scent of food and the crackle of the great fires, but despite the bustle of the hall, all eyes kept drifting toward the high table, where Lord Cregan Stark and his betrothed sat in full view of his bannermen, retainers, and household.

Cregan himself sat straighter than usual, though his posture seemed almost relaxed, as if he were entirely at ease in this moment. His eyes often flicked to the princess seated beside him, watching her as she navigated the curious gazes of the Northmen with the same grace she had displayed all day. There was something undeniably striking about her here, amidst the rustic grandeur of Winterfell’s Great Hall—her silver-gold hair gleaming in the firelight, her violet eyes calm yet ever watchful.

When the time came for toasts, the hall fell into a deep silence as Cregan stood, his horn of ale in hand. The attention of every man, woman, and servant shifted to him, their lord. His voice, strong and sure, carried through the hall.

“Tonight,” he began, “we honor more than just a union between two houses. We honor the blood of dragons and the fire that has joined with the winter.” He paused, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on the princess beside him. “The daughter of Princess Rhaenyra, the only daughter of House Targaryen, has come to the North. She is now our guest, and soon, she will be my wife.”

A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd, but it was tempered by the awe that still hung in the air. Many had never seen a woman like her, let alone one of royal Valyrian descent. To them, she was more legend than flesh and blood.

Cregan raised his horn higher, his eyes never leaving hers. “To the Lady of Fire,” he said, his voice full of pride. “To the daughter of Rhaenyra!”

The hall erupted in cheers, the echo of voices bouncing off the ancient stone walls. Horns were raised, clashing together in raucous celebration as the Northmen embraced their lord’s words. And yet, even amidst the noise, Cregan saw the way his men stole glances at the princess, admiration clear in their eyes.

The princess raised her own horn in response, a subtle smile playing on her lips as she inclined her head toward Cregan. "To the North," she said, her voice soft but carrying through the hall with a clarity that commanded attention. "And to the strength of its people."

The words were simple, but they carried weight. The hall seemed to settle after that, the conversations resuming with renewed vigor as the feast carried on. Yet Cregan’s focus remained fixed on her.

As the noise of the hall filled the space around them, Cregan leaned slightly toward her, his voice low so that their conversation would remain private. “You’ve impressed them already,” he remarked, his eyes glinting with a rare hint of amusement. “It takes much to win the respect of Northmen, but I see it in their eyes.”

The princess turned to him, her violet gaze meeting his with a certain calm, but there was a flicker of curiosity there too. “I hadn’t expected to win their respect so soon,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “But I do not think it is me they respect so much as the idea of the alliance—of what we represent.”

Cregan considered her words, his brow furrowing slightly as he mulled them over. “Perhaps,” he allowed, “but it’s more than just an alliance. They see you, a dragon’s daughter, and they understand the power that you carry. You’re no simple marriage prize.”

Her lips curved upward, just a fraction. “Is that how you see me, Cregan Stark? A symbol of power?”

He chuckled softly, the sound low in his throat. “I see you as many things, princess. Power is just one of them.”

Her smile grew more visible now, and there was something lighter in her expression, as if she were pleased by his words, even if she did not show it openly. “And what else do you see, my lord?”

Cregan leaned in just a fraction more, his voice dropping. “I see a woman with a mind as sharp as the blade she wears. I see a rider whose bond with her dragon makes her stronger than any queen. And,” his eyes softened, the faintest glimmer of admiration in them, “I see someone who will stand beside me, not behind me.”

She studied him for a moment, as if weighing the truth of his words, and then nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Good,” she said, her tone firm but carrying an edge of warmth. “Because I have no intention of standing behind anyone.”

Cregan allowed himself a smile then, something rare and unguarded. It felt easy, natural in her presence, something he hadn’t anticipated. She wasn’t just a symbol of fire and dragons—she was alive, filled with strength and grace in equal measure, and with each passing moment, Cregan found himself looking forward to what the future might bring with her at his side.

For the rest of the evening, Cregan’s mood remained light, his smiles more frequent than anyone could remember seeing before. The hall, filled with food, laughter, and music, felt brighter somehow, as if the fire she had brought with her from the skies had seeped into Winterfell itself. There was a warmth there that was new, a change carried on dragon’s wings.

Years later, when scholars and storytellers recalled that night, they would write about how Lord Cregan Stark, known for his stoic nature, had smiled more during that feast than any had seen before, save for two other occasions—on his wedding day, and when the first child of the Dragon Princess was born in the cold halls of Winterfell. But for now, the legend was only beginning.

As the feast wore on, Cregan turned to her again, unable to resist asking, “Do you think Vaetrix feels at ease here in the cold North? It’s far from the warmth of Dragonstone.”

She tilted her head, her silver-gold hair catching the firelight once more. “Vaetrix is not concerned with warmth or cold,” she replied. “She is her mother’s daughter, bred for strength and flight, and the North’s cold will not trouble her. Besides,” her smile grew, more playful this time, “she knows I will not be far from her.”

Cregan nodded. “She is a creature of legend, like her rider,” he said softly.

The princess turned her eyes to him, the faintest flush of warmth in her cheeks. For a moment, the fire of her Valyrian blood met the unyielding strength of the North in Cregan’s gaze, and in that shared moment, both knew their bond would be one of legend.

The fire had come to Winterfell, and it would burn for generations to come.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #cregan stark #hotd cregan

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the20thangel · 4 months ago

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The Vow

Summary: Request: I was wondering if you could write something with Benji and Targaryen reader. She's like the apple of her parent's eye and nervous about marrying Benji and if he would be good to her. And loyal, like she's very scared that he would go and have bastards or mistress. She doesn't want an unhappy marriage. She's very insecure, and Benji reassures her that he will worship the ground she walks on and she will be the only one he ever beds.

word count: 1.9K

Masterlist

As you stood before the mirror, your fingers fidgeted with the rings, a nervous habit inherited from your mother. You gazed at your reflection, a vision of beauty. Your luscious white hair was elegantly pulled into a loose bun, with a few strands delicately framing your round face. Your eyes, a mesmerizing shade of lilac, were accentuated with light makeup that made them stand out. You were adorned in a stunning, vibrant red gown with golden accents. Despite the maids' admiring sighs, you couldn't muster any excitement.

On the day of your wedding, your nerves were in a frenzy. Despite your parents' attempts to reassure you, you couldn’t shake off the worry. You knew little about the man you were about to marry. Lord Benjicot Blackwood, the young lord who fought bravely alongside his aunt Black Aly and Lord Cregan Stark during the war. You knew your mother owed her throne to them, and in gratitude, she had betrothed you to him. But all you heard were stories of Bloody Ben, a monster on the battlefield, and armies trembling at the lad's name. The weight of this uncertainty was a heavy burden on your heart.

You were shocked when you heard the stories and the news of your betrothal. You couldn’t understand how your parents could ever give your hand to someone described like that. Then your father, King-Consort Daemon, explained to everyone in the public how he was known as the Rouge Prince, but they didn’t know his true self. He asked you if you believed in all the stories spread about him, which you vehemently denied. Your father was brash and rude when he talked to his enemies, but he was a protective dragon to his family, making sure his family was happy and safe. Your father smiled and said, then do not believe everything about Benjioct. Speaking in favor of the raven lord. You nodded, saying how you would try.

Now, you weren’t worried about him being cruel. No, you were worried about him being unfaithful. Dragons, like your family, don’t do well when people try to steal things belonging to them. You were the same, and you worried that Benjicot would only see your marriage as a duty. Finding happiness, pleasure, and companionship in the arms of another. This fear of an unhappy marriage, of not being able to handle such a betrayal, was something that kept you awake at night, a constant source of anxiety.

As your maids and handmaidens finished, your mother, Queen Rhaenyra, walked in. Gracing you with her beautiful smile, she walked behind you, embracing you as she kissed your cheek chastly. Holding you close to her made you smile and close your eyes in contentment. Your bond with your mother was stronger than any of your siblings. She could know your millions of thoughts from one glance at your face, so she held you tight to her, giving you the comfort you desperately wanted.

“He’s a good lad, my sweet girl. Honorable, fierce, and just. He would rather feed himself to your dragon than betray you.” she whispered, trying to erase your fears.

As you nodded, you didn’t know if you were a way to assure her or yourself into believing the statement. You wanted to believe in your parents' statements, but you were still worried. You hardly knew this man, and in a few minutes, you would be his wife. You would not only be a Princess but the new lady of House Blackwood. The pressure was building inside of you. As you finished readying yourself, a servant came in, letting the Queen and Princess know that the wolf's hour had arrived and it was time to start the wedding.

Taking a deep breath, you wrap your arm around your mother’s arms as the two walk into Godswood, where the ceremony will be taking place. Today was a more intimate ceremony, since House Blackwood followed the ways of the First Men and Old gods. Your family decided to honor the Blackwoods by having a ceremony in the old ways, marrying infront of a hearttree.

As you walked down the corridors to reach Godswood, your family slowly started coming together, each holding a torch to light the way. Once entering Godswood stood your future husband, bringing you a first surprise. Instead of wearing red and black, his house colors. Benjicot Blackwood stood infront of the hearttree wearing pure black with gold accents, completing your dress beautifully. As the Blackwood members turned to the Targaryen family, they couldn’t help but gasp at the sight, power, and beauty of the Valryians.

Your family took the other side of the aisle while you and your father, Daemon, waited for the signal from Cregan Stark, who would officiate the ceremony. Once you saw the slight nod from the wolf lord, your father took your arm, giving your hand a light squeeze as you both began your trek down the aisle, meeting your betrothed in the middle.

“ Who comes before the Old Gods this night?”

Daemon straightened himself, presenting the daunting regal Targaryen he is; Princess (Name) of the House Targaryen comes here to be wed. A woman grown trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods.”

Cregan nodded as he turned to Benjicot, who grinned at his beautiful bride. “ Who comes to claim her?”

Benjicot inhaled as he stared at his future wife and good father, “Benjicot Blackwood, of House Blackwood, lord to Raventree Hall.

“Who gives her?” asked Cregan, looking at both a Daemon and Rhaenyra.

“Daemon Targaryen, Her father and King- Consort of the seven kingdoms of House Targaryen of Old Valyria, ” proudly stated Daemon.

You smiled slightly, turning to look at your future husband. He was quite handsome and lean, but you can see the outline of muscles around his body. Benjicot noticed your staring and gave you a smirking grin, causing your face to heat up.

Your staring is broken by Cregan asking you, “Name, do you take this man?”

You gulped, feeling the nerves coming back. Glancing behind him, you saw how intently House Blackwood stared at you, causing the nerves to worsen. Benjicot, noticing this, frowned slightly. He knew his family could be intense and wished that he could glare to ease them back. You took a shaky breath, smiling wryly at Cregan first before turning to Benjioct, reaching out with your hand as you stated.

“I take this man.”

Benjicot reached to take your hand, giving it a slight kiss, gracing you with a warm smile as Cregan asked the the Targaryen princess and Raven lord to kneel. Then asking for the group to stay silent for a few minutes for prayer. As you and Benjicot kneeled in front of the hearttree, you stared at the crying face, asking the Old gods to please bless her marriage, that Benjicot remained loyal to her and her only. After a few minutes, the couple stood as Aly Blackwood stepped forward, providing the marriage cloak. Benjicot removed your maiden cloak passing it off, before he took the marriage cloak, cloaking you with the proud Blackwood sigil of the weirwood tree and ravens. As Benjicot stood infront of his beautiful wife, he took your face into his hands, caressing your reach as he leaned in. Kissing you with sweetness and softly sealing their union in the eyes of the Old gods.

As the rest of both Blackwood and Targaryen families went back inside, Benjicot held your hand firm, singling you to stay. Tensing, you turned to your husband, trying your best to give him your best smile.

Benjicot smiled, kissing your cheek, trying to ease your tension, “I was hoping that we could speak before heading inside, my princess.”

You nodded, biting your bottom lip, wondering what he might want to speak about.

Benjicot stared at you, trying to memorize your beauty under the moon light, his breath being constantly taken away.

“I know our wedding came as a surprise to you and so quickly…we might not know each other, but I’m hoping this coming moon, we take the time to understand each other and what we expect from this marriage.”

You froze, was this it? Was he going to tell you now that he was going to have a mistress in the marriage?

Benjicot seeing your demeanor, quickly comforted you.

“No, sweet girl, I meant that I want this marriage to bring you happiness just like I feel.”

These words confused you; tilting your head, you asked, “What do you mean, my lord?”

Grinning, he brought a hand to your cheek, “Ever since I saw you during the war, I have been taken by you. You are beautiful and cunning. Your sharp wit and fearless dragon-riding skills made me admire you from afar. When your mother made the betrothal between us, I felt immense joy at the chance you be married to you. Alas, though, seeing your tension and nervousness around these past few days, I fear the rumors about me have made you weary of me.”

You quickly shook your head. Taking his other hand and holding it close to your chest, you defended yourself.

“No, my lord, I- the rumors are just that, rumors; my mother and father assured me that you are an honorable, dutiful, wonderful young man. I believe my parents would never agree to our marriage if you were not kind and respectful. I…”

You paused, unsure how to go on the way to ask..command..plead for him to always stay loyal in your marriage, no bastards, no mistresses. Benjicot, seeing you hesitate again, placed his forehead on yours and took you into his arms. This caused you to gasp, having such an intimate gesture.

“Go ahead and ask my princess; I shall not get offended,” Ben requested, staring at your beautiful eyes.

As you, too, stared at his stormy eyes, you saw the softness in them, “I- I only have one request, my lord, which I feel will make this marriage a truly happy one. I ask that you always stay loyal to me and our marriage. That you forsake the thought of mistresses.”

Ben smiled at you, leaning down to place a kiss quickly before whispering for your ears only.

“That is an easy promise. No other woman can ever compare to you, my beautiful dragon-riding wife. I would rather feed myself to all of your family’s dragons than ever think of betraying you. I will stay with you entirely until my last days, living with you, respecting you, comforting you, and fighting for you. I swear this on the old gods and new and the fourteen flames…So much I promise this, it was meant as a surprise but I want you to believe in my vow fully. I ask your parents that tomorrow we have a Valyrian ceremony, blood-bonding us together. Like your dragons usually bond one rider at a time and mate with one mate forever, I want to bind myself to you. That I may become yours forever.”

As he finished his vows, he studied your shocked face. Hearing his vow to you made your heart beat faster, and you finally allowed happiness to bloom in your chest. Giggling, you leaned up to kiss him, wrapping your arms around your husband. Benjicot smiled into your kiss, continuing to kiss you a few minutes more before you stepped back a bit, staring at his eyes as you reached to trace the scar on his lip. You made your vow to him.

“I vow to love you and only you, Benjicot Blackwood, until the end of my days. I want to be blood-bonded with you.”

#benjicot blackwood #fanfic #house of the dragon #hotd #benjicot x reader #hotd fanfic #team black

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feyhunter78 · 7 months ago

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Think I'm Gonna Call it Off

Description: You have been Prince Aemond's secret for years now, but a certain visiting Stark opens your eyes to what could be.

Inspired by the line “think I’m gonna call it off, even if you call it love, I just wanna love someone who calls me baby.” From Good Luck, Babe by Chappell Roan

Part 2

This is ridiculous, you are a Lady of a fine house, virtuous, beautiful, intelligent, kind and your embroidery skills have been praised by Queen Alicent herself and yet here you sit waiting for Prince Aemond to return. To return and not spare you a single glance. Not until you are tucked away from the prying eyes of the court, until he is confident no one can hear your conversations.

You wonder if it is foolishness that keeps you sitting there, leaning against one of the many windows in the library, searching the skies for Vhagar’s great form set against the clouds.

You have rejected a number of suitors, worried your father and mother, made yourself seem all but undesirable in the eyes of the court, all because the prince swore that he would tell his mother. That he would announce to the whole of the realm that he loved you, and that you would be wed as soon as possible. He does not want a Valyrian wedding he said, he has no taste for it, he wants to honor you, honor his mother, and the Seven whom he worshiped.

“Lady y/n?” Lord Cregan Stark’s voice rolls through you like thunder, the deep baritone, the rouge northern brocade that made him pronounce your name just slightly different from everyone else, just enough that shamefully it makes you feel special.

You turn your head away from the towering window and give him a small smile. “Lord Stark, I did not expect to see you here.”

He returns your smile and leans against the wall; arms crossed over his chest.

Seven help you, he did have such strong looking arms, the sight of them never ceases to distract you. Even his thick tunic, and his dark-colored cloak could not hide them. Truly, everything about Lord Stark seemed strong. Queen Alicent said it is common of a Northmen, that they must be strong to survive the winters, while Lady Frey said it was the wolf’s blood in his veins. That all Starks had unnatural strength, speed, and stamina granted to them by the Old Gods. Neither woman’s explanation accounted for the man’s looks though.

Lord Stark is quite handsome, a strong jaw and sharp cheekbones with a close-cut beard, more stubble than a full beard though, and gray eyes like a winter storm. His dark hair is around Prince Aegon’s length, though often tied back and much better cared for. His lips are full and healed, having been cracked and dry from the drastic change in temperature on his trip down south. A small scar runs through the corner of them, on the right side, giving him a more roguish appearance. He said he had gotten it as a child, playing around with his father’s sword. And he was tall, so, so tall, towering over you in a way no man has before.

Then he laughs, the sound warming you to the bones, making a blush rise to your cheeks. “Do not tell me you think me a barbarian, as the others do. I thought you knew me better than that, little fox.”

The name he has graced you with never fails to make your heart stutter and disrupt any coherent thought you might have had. It is a reference to your house sigil, you know that. But the way he says it, how his accent wraps around each syllable, makes it seem far more…intimate than simply a friendly moniker given to you by a man who does not know your customs.

Aemond calls you his, or some sweet term of endearment in High Valyrian in private, sticking to Lady y/h/n in public. You wish he would use your name, you have told him time and time again, even the Queen and Princess Helaena use it. You have been at the Red Keep for nearly a decade now, been in the Princess’ inner circle of friends for almost as long, it would not seem strange to others.

“Lord Stark—”

“Cregan, or Lord Cregan if you must add the lord, as I have told you before.” He corrects you, but not unkindly, his lips curling up into a fondly exasperated smile.

“Lord Cregan, I did not mean to imply I believe that libraries were not your preferred place to spend your time, only that I thought you would be joining the other men on their hunt.”

He glances out the window towards the Kingswood. “And I would think you would be taking tea or sewing with the other ladies.”

You have been caught.

“Ah yes, well, as you know, Prince Aemond is to return today and Princess Helaena asked me to keep watch. She loves her brother very much but has to entertain the other ladies so could not watch for him herself.”

You pray Helaena will forgive you for involving her in a lie.

Cregan hums low in his throat and his eyes flicker to you, picking you apart. “Did she now?”

You nod, not trusting your own voice.

“The prince is lucky to have such a vision of beauty to return home to.” He says, running his eyes down your form, drinking in every detail with something akin to reverence? Though you know you must be seeing things. Cregan Stark would not look at you in such a way, there is no reason to.

“Princess Helaena is quite beautiful.” You agree, trying to keep an air of propriety around you even as your mind screams at you to flee for fear you will say something utterly stupid.

Cregan reaches out, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for a moment caressing your cheek. “Aye, but she is not who I speak of.”

You? He means you?

You duck your head, cheeks warming once more. “You flatter me.”

He shifts forward, invading your space, the scent of forest air and woodsmoke filling your nostrils. “Is it flattery if it is true?” He is so close, still a respectable distance but close enough that you can reach out and touch him, can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

“I believe that is a question for the maesters.” You tease lightly, your heart pounding in your chest.

“You are a smart girl, little fox, I am sure you can figure it out.” He teases back, a glimmer in his eyes that excites you.

No one teases you; no one jests or challenges you like Cregan does. You assume it is because they all know Prince Aemond has claim on you, or because you are a lady, but you are educated, and strong-willed, you enjoy a good challenge. You enjoy Cregan speaking to you like an equal.

“Truth is relative, as they say.” You offer, cocking your head innocently, barely able to keep a smile off your face.

“Aye, some say. Though your beauty is truth, relative or not. Surely you must know that.” He counters.

“Vanity is not a virtue.” You say, meeting his gaze. The storm gray of them has softened to a dove gray, mirth dancing within them.

“Neither is lying and yet…”

“Are you accusing me of lying, Lord Cregan?” You gasp in mock outrage.

“About knowing that your beauty is what every man dreams of returning home to? Yes.” He says, his tone light and blithe, but his words, and the way his eyes darken for a moment? It takes your breath away.

“Your beauty, little fox, is one that haunts men’s dreams, that keeps them fighting when they are the last standing. That they keep in their mind as they clash swords, traverse through snow and sea.” He continues, holding your gaze, voice no longer light, but heavy with intent and promise. “It is a beauty one wishes to see the moment they return home before all else, or any others. A beauty that should be admired in all lights and shadows. The setting of the sun and its rising, the summer days and winter nights, one to be cherished.”

You break away from his gaze, a twinge of sadness in your chest. Aemond has never spoken to you in such a way, he has waxed poetic about your beauty, flattered you, lavished you with sweet words, but it has never felt the same as Cregan’s did now. Guilt replaces the sadness, and you toy with the edge of your sleeves. You should not be engaging with Cregan in this way, it was not right, even if it made you feel…something. “You are too kind, My Lord.”

Cregan reaches for you, breaching what was proper, and taking your hand in his. They are so much larger than yours, so warm, so gentle. “Have I spoken out of turn?”

“No, no, I am just—I am a maiden of the South, Lord Stark, I am not used to such forwardness from a man I am not courting with.”

“Honesty, it is honesty, though I apologize for my forwardness.” Cregan says, subconsciously stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Either way, I am not used to it.” You say heart calming with each stroke of his calloused thumb.

Cregan’s brows furrow. “I have heard tales of—the other noblemen, they speak highly of you. Of your beauty, your kindness, your wit, are they all struck dumb by your very being, is that why no one has praised you as you deserve?”

You feel you should say something about Aemond, but what could you truly say? There is no formal betrothal in place, he has not publicly staked his claim beyond a possessiveness that those who spent enough time in court could see. But nothing is ever outwardly stated.

You go to speak, but Cregan stops you. “My apologies, I should not have asked such a thing, how are you to know what lies within the minds of man?”

“You are correct, I do not know their minds.” You say instead and bury down any explanation involving Aemond and his invisible claim.

A dragon roar fills the air, the window vibrates with the force of the sound, and your eyes shoot back to the window. Prince Aemond is home.

“Or they fear the mind of one man and thus hold their tongues.” Cregan says, releasing your hand.

“The prince? I—he—we…it is not—” You cannot get the words out fast enough.

“I will take my leave.” He says, remaining for a moment searching your face until it seemed he had found what he is looking for, and left.

You watch him go, admiring the strength in his stride, when he turns back, a strange look in his eyes. “At the feast tonight, might I have a dance?” He asks.

“With me?” Your heart is pounding against your chest.

He nods.

Footsteps rush by the open library door, and you can hear Princess Helaena calling out to Prince Aemond.

You stand, smoothing out your skirts with shaky hands, why did he make you so nervous? Or is not nerves, but excitement? “Of course, Lord Cregan, I would be honored.”

“I will hold you to that.” Cregan smile, then he disappears down the hall, and you are left alone to hurry after the princess.

Aemond does not call for you until hours after he has returned. When you knock on the door to his chambers, dressed already for the feast, he bids you to enter in a soft voice, exhaustion tinging each word.

You hurry to his side, clasping one hand between your own. “My Prince, I cannot tell you how happy I am that you have returned safely.”

He uses his free hand to cup your cheek, that half smile, half smirk he wears so well on his well sculpted face. “I was only gone for a mere moon, and I was never in any danger, did you doubt your Prince, ñuha nūmio?”

“No, of course not, but…you would not tell me where you were going, no one would.” You say, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“That is simply because it was not information you needed.” He says, brushing the pad of his thumb across your lips.

“But if I am to be your wife, would it not be prudent if I were to know where my husband is?”

Aemond’s eye, a brilliant amethyst, hardens, then he looks away and sighs. “Lady y/h/n I have told you patience is a virtue, and your virtue is what I adore most.”

You bite your lip, internally chastising yourself. You know better than to rush him. “My apologies.”

Aemond frees your bottom lip from between your teeth and brushes his lips across your forehead. “Do not take my words so harshly, your eagerness is quite endearing, and I to wish for us to be wed, but it is not yet time.”

You lean into his touch, “I understand.”

“How have you been amusing yourself while I was away, ñuha nūmio? Did anything exciting happen?” Aemond asks, his thumb resting beside the corner of your lip.

“Not much, it seems you had taken all the excitement with you. Though as you know Lord Stark’s arrival has caused quite a stir and now two moons later still is. Many ladies are jockeying for the position of Lady of the North.” You tell him, giggling at the memory of some of your friends’ actions.

“But not you?” Aemond asked, his tone making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“No, I am yours, why would I wish to be Lady of the North?” You reassured him, brushing back a lock of silver hair from his face.

For a moment, you are struck with the memory of the feel of Cregan’s fingertips, rough and calloused but gentle against your skin. The warmth of his skin, the softness of his gaze, the earnestness of his words. What was he looking for when he stared into your eyes, when he took in every detail of your face?

“If you are too distracted, you may leave, My Lady.” Aemond says, the irritation in his voice drawing you from your thoughts.

“No, no, I am not, I am just so happy you have returned.”

Aemond hums in acknowledgement, dressed in his feast finery as well. “I have missed you.”

Your heart flutters. “I have missed you as well.”

He releases your chin to trail his fingers down the column of your neck. His cool touch causes goosebumps to follow in his wake, and he dips his head low to press his lips to your cheek, then begins to follow his fingers with his lips. “I have missed you, your voice, your smiles, your touch.”

You shiver in response, grabbing onto his doublet.

“Do not touch, you will wrinkle the fabric.” He warns, even as his hands grip your waist.

You remove your hands, clasping them behind your back.

“I will not be able to dance with you tonight, mother has brought another girl for me to try and charm.” He says, into your skin, his silver hair brushing against your exposed décolletage.

Your heart sinks. “Not even one dance?”

Aemond sighs and presses a final kiss to the hollow of your throat. “You know I detest it as much as you do, but it is my duty.”

You nod, blinking back the tears that threaten to appear on your waterline.

He smooths down your hair and turns you towards the door. “I will try to find time for one dance, but I cannot make any promises.”

His words lift your spirits, and you smile at him. “Thank you, Aemond.”

“Prince Aemond, we have guests tonight.” He reminds you, then he shuts the door, and you hurry back to your chambers.

The Great Hall is decorated beautifully, and you sit at your table with the other ladies of Helaena’s circle. A wine glass in hand as you watch Aemond dance with Cerelle Peake, her brown hair pinned up with a net of gold and sapphires, her umber gown flowing beautifully as she twirled.

“Come now, y/n, you will never be asked to dance with such a scowl.” Johanna Swyft says, poking your cheek goodnaturedly.

“No, she will never be asked to dance because the prince glares at anyone who tries.” Mina Redwyne says, clinking her glass against yours in silent sympathy.

Johanna shoots her a look. “Do keep your voice down, Mina.”

You take a long drink from your glass, emptying it, then setting it down, scanning the crowd for another servant. “Perhaps I do not wish to dance.”

“I am crushed to hear that Lady y/n.” Cregan’s presence makes every lady at your table sit up straight, and you turn to face him.

“Lord Stark.” You say, bowing your head in his direction.

He holds out a hand, and you remember how it nice felt, the phantom warmth still lingering. “I do believe you agreed to a dance, earlier today?”

“Lucky.” Mina hisses, as Johanna juts her elbow into your side to prod you up and out of your seat.

You stand, and take his hand, trying to ignore the twinge of pain in your side. “I did.”

Cregan leads you to the dance floor, and you can hear your friends giggling behind you, much to your utter embarrassment.

“Your friends seem quite encouraging.” Cregan says, barely holding back a laugh.

“When they learned I have no sisters, they decided that they would act as such, apparently that means acting in a most embarrassing way.” You say, falling into the rhythm of the dance.

“I knew you had brothers, but I did not know you were the only daughter, that must make you very precious in your father’s eyes.” Cregan ventures, his large, warm hand pressed to yours as you circle each other.

“I would like to think so.” You smile, your heart aches for a moment with homesickness. “He could not attend this feast, he is too ill to travel, my eldest brother is here on his behalf, accompanied by my second-eldest brother who is here to drink and presumably enjoy the Silk Streets.”

“I never had a taste for brothels.”

“Nor I.”

Cregan smiles and twirls you. “I thought not, for I have heard you are far too virtuous.”

You shrug. “It is more, I do not wish to spend the coin.”

Shock flashes across his face then he laughs, repeating your words quietly with a chuckle, and as you are spun back into his arms you cannot help but laugh as well.

“You are clever, little fox, I will miss you when I return home.” He says, his eyes searching you once more.

Your heart stops, and you trip over your feet. “You are leaving?”

His grip on you tightens as he helps you right yourself. “Aye, I have been here for two moons, that is far too long, my people need me.”

You do not want him to leave, you will miss him dearly, his laugh, his expressions, his stories. You will miss the walks you had taken together, the discussions that ran late into the night, just outside your chambers, the men standing guard pretending they were not listening. The way he presented you with the pelts of animals he had hunted, regaling you with the tale of how he felled it. Who would challenge you now, who would make you laugh, would listen to your words, and respond as if you were an equal, as if your sex did not diminish your intelligence?

“When will you leave?” You ask, unable to keep your voice steady, so you spin away from him to give yourself a moment to smother your emotions.

Cregan pulls you back into his arms, trapping you with his steady gaze. “In a few days time.”

“Oh…” You manage to choke out, swallowing hard, your eyes on your feet.

“I have been meaning to tell you, there just never seemed to be a good time.” Cregan says sheepishly.

You nod, still staring at the floor. “Well, I will miss you.”

“I will miss you too, y/n,” he says softly, then he slips a finger under your chin and lifts it gently. “In all lights, in all seasons.”

Tears blur your vision, and you hastily blink them away, not even noticing he has said only your given name, no title attached. Cregan’s warm thumb catches any stray tears that fall, and you lean into his touch, desperate for more of that something he had made you feel before. That something you realize he was always making you feel, and that he is making you feel right now, though it is tinged with grief. “Cregan, I—”

“Lady y/h/n, I believe I promised you a dance.” Aemond’s voice is steel, ice, the frigid fear that ran through the veins of Vhagar’s victims, and you hurriedly wipe away any remaining tears plastering on a false smile, before you turn, Cregan’s other hand still on your waist.

You drop into a curtsy. “My Prince, that you did.”

Cregan’s hand lingers, and your heart lurches in your chest when the warmth of it is finally removed.

Another song has begun to play, one you love dancing with Aemond to. It allows for close movements and lingering touches that you always long for with him.

“I thought you did not wish to be the Lady of the North.” He says, his eyes picking you apart as Cregan’s did but there is a cold methodical feel to it that makes you feel utterly and horribly exposed.

“He was merely being kind, no one else had asked me to dance.” You protest, falling into the rhythm as you had before.

“No one else should, you are mine.” Aemond say, spinning you out, and then back in.

His hands burn through your gown, your skin, meeting bone, and before you would have loved it, relished the feeling, but now you feel they are too hot, your skin prickles uncomfortably.

“I like to dance; I do not get to dance when you are occupied, and you are often occupied.” You say quietly, your head bowed ever so slightly.

“I had them play your favorite song, as a reward for your patience.” He says, ignoring your words. “Do you like it?”

“I do, thank you.” You smile and raise your head, hoping to catch his eye and find it brimming with affection. That would soothe your wounded heart, would banish the grief you feel at Cregan leaving.

Instead, his eye is elsewhere, you follow its gaze to see it land on the Peake girl. You do not blame her, do not hate her, though your blood turns to fire in your veins, and you brace yourself for what you are going to say next.

“When are we going to be wed, I have been patient for many years, and you never tell me when my patience will be able to end.” You say, holding your chin high. You are not a Peake, but you still have pride.

His eye flicker back to you, his grip tightening. “Are you truly asking this now?”

“Yes. Yes, I am, because I am tired of waiting, tired of watching as you charm others, tired of being shunted to the side because even though you will not claim me, no one else is allowed to.” You can no longer keep your emotions contained. “I want to be happy Aemond, I want to be happy with you, but I am not happy.”

“Not everything is about your happiness, Lady y/h/n.” Aemond snaps.

You reel back as if you have been struck. “I did not say it was. You have been the one saying you wished to marry me, promising me you would tell the whole of the realm how deeply you care for me. I have done nothing else but dote on you and be patient.”

Guilt flashes across his face, and he reaches for you, but you push his hands away. “It is not so simple.”

“Do you see my face in your dreams, does it keep you fighting, keep you marching on, am I the first person you wish to see when you return home, do you wish to see me in all lights, in all seasons?” You throw Cregan’s words in Aemond’s face and wait for a response.

Aemond laughs, taking your hands, and bringing you back into the dance. “You have picked up a new book of poetry, I see.”

You cannot find it in yourself to be angry, the shock settling in, muffling everything until it is as if you are floating underwater. The rest of the night passes that way, you go through the motions, avoiding Cregan, your friends, shooting you concerned looks.

Then the feast ends, guards escort those too drunk to find their chambers, all others dispersing to their places for the night, or into Fleabottom for more revelry.

You try to sleep, but it will not come, Cregan and Aemond’s words echoing in your sleepless mind, until finally you throw off your blankets and wrap a robe around your nightshift.

You creep through the halls, no true direction in mind, letting your feet take you where they wished, when a flicker of umber catches your eye. Pressing yourself behind a pillar, you wait a moment then peek out.

“Lord Stark, might I be allowed to enter?” Cerelle Peake’s voice is soft, as was required for the late hours.

“Lady Peake, might I ask why you wish to enter my chambers?” Cregan asks, his words thick with sleep. His hair is loose, his night shirt exposing his broad chest.

“I thought perhaps you might enjoy some company.” She says, as she takes a step towards him, moving to run a finger down his chest.

Cregan catches her hand and gently returns it to her side. “I do not wish for your company, Lady Peake. Please return to your chambers quietly, and I will not speak with your father about this.”

Cerelle scoffs and turns on her heel, storming down the hallway. You wait until Cregan’s door closed then follow her.

Halfway there, you know where she was going, you have walked these halls many times. Not wanting to further your own pain, you turn back to your own chambers, but your feet disobey you, and you find yourself in front of Cregan’s door.

You knock before you could stop yourself and the door swings open, a tired and angry Cregan standing before you. “Lady Peake, I do not need any comp—” His words die on his lips as he realizes it was you and not Cerelle. “Y/N?”

“All those things you said, about my beauty, about me, did you mean them? Truly?” Tears prick at the backs of your eyes, your chest tight, your bottom lip trembling.

Cregan rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Do not tell me you woke me only to hear more flattery.”

A sob escapes your lips. “I thought you said it was truth, not flattery.”

Cregan snaps awake, pulling you into his arms. “Little fox, I am sorry, I was half asleep, yes, yes, it is truth.”

You cling to him, gripping his night shirt, your face buried in his chest as you sob, every fear, every pain spilling out into his warm embrace. “Tell me you meant it, that you see me in your dreams, that you want me, in all lights, all seasons, that I am not destined to wait forever for someone to love me.”

“I love you, y/n, I love you, you do not need to wait, I will tell you as many times as you desire. I meant it, all of it, you haunt my dreams, you plague my waking thoughts, I want you at any time, in any manner, or light, or moment I can have you.” He says, his voice is steady, and you can feel the vibrations of it deep in his chest, alongside his beating heart.

“I want to go with you to Winterfell, I want to be your Lady of the North, or even just your mistress if my house is not a good enough match, Cregan I do not care. I love you and all I care about is that we are not parted, that we are never parted, I do not think I will be able to breathe if we are parted.” You confess, looking up at him afraid to see what you saw in Aemond’s eye.

Cregan cups your face and kisses you, the taste of honeyed ale on his tongue, his hands warm as he keeps you close, using his foot to kick the door closed so he can press you against it.

Now in the safety of his chambers he breaks the kiss, your breaths intermingling. “You will not be a mistress, you will be my wife, none will come before you.”

“Will you tell your people, will they know?” You ask, your lips brushing against his with each word.

“I will wake the whole Red Keep to announce it now if you wish.” He says, his forehead resting against yours.

You reconnect your lips with his, his stubble brushing against your skin, but you pay it no mind, letting Cregan devour you, his hands moving into your hair, as you loop your arms around his neck, keeping him close.

He groans against you, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, delving in when you part them and exploring every inch of you. “My little fox, my y/n, my wife, my beautiful, clever wife.” He presses the words into your skin, heated lips trailing down to your pulse point.

“Husband.” You sigh, tilting your neck further exposing yourself to him, his teeth sinking into the skin claiming you as his own.

“Say it again for me, my wife, tell me who I am.” He breaths, sucking, and nipping at your neck, returning to darken the marks between creating new ones.

“You, Cregan, my husband.” You say, eyes snapping open when he releases you and stalks over to the window.

He threw it open and stuck his head out, shouting. “Y/N Y/H/N, is to be my wife.”

You rush forward and pull him from the window with a scandalized giggle. “Cregan it is the middle of the night.”

“Then at the very least a few guards heard.” He says, pulling you close and kissing you again, in full view of the window, the moon, anyone else who might look up, and it is exactly as you want it.

I lied in the comments imma do a part two I’ve given into the peer pressure stay tuned my loves!!!

HOTD taglist: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhh, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon, @boofy1998, @kravitzwhore, @caribbeangel, @krispold, @issshh, @afro-hispwriter, @ryswritingrecord, @prettykinkysoul, @elissanatok, @sahvlren, @its-sam-allgood, @happinessinthbeing, @8e-h-e8, @feyres-fireheart, @just-emmaaaa, @crazylokonugget, @hedahobbit98, @devils-blackrose, @mercedesdecorazon, @snh96, @imjustboredso, @izzicle, @hiatuswhore, @aslanvez, @devils-blackrose, @yentroucnagol, @queenofshinigamis, @partyposion00, @cryptidsrcool, @jennifer0305

#meg's writing #hotd #aemond targaryen x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x y/n #aemond x reader #this one is so long omg #it hurt me to write Aemond like this I love him so much #cregan stark

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goldfades · 7 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐓𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 ─ PB⁵

౨ৎ ─ summary | request -> "Could you write a Paige bueckers x Fem Reader pls! where they’re enemies but everyone is always teasing them (everything’s regular, like she plays for UConn and the reader can be a cheerleader or something idk). It can lead to smut or just a super cute story. Ofc you don’t have to follow the plot!"

─ word count | 1.8k

─ warnings | teasing obviously, kinda mean paige but not really, cheer coach being mean, mention of coach's weight (i had to im sorry), hurt/comfort (my new fav trope omg)

─ taglist | @xocherishxo @iienstein @yazmunson @eupheteral and here's a link to my taglist if anyone would like to join!!

─ ev's notes | my requests are closed rn but if yall wanna send in some concepts, please do i'm willing to indulge (trust me this more of a gift to me than anyone)

"OH THERE SHE GOES AGAIN, THE DRAMA QUEEN!" PAIGE MOCKS as you feel your cheeks get red in embarrassment.

KK and Azzi exchange glance before looking back at the two of you. You let out an irritated scoff as Paige drank her water, her eyebrows raising as she awaited your response. You knew she was trying to get a reaction out of you, to see you stumble over your words and get embarrassed.

"Oh shut up," you landed on the simplest response as you rolled your eyes. Paige laughed as she shook her head in amusement as KK stifled a laugh.

Paige's mocking tone grated on your nerves, sparking irritation that simmered just beneath the surface. You shot her a pointed glare, your jaw clenched in frustration as you fought to keep your composure.

Paige smirked, clearly relishing the opportunity to ruffle your feathers. "Oh, did I hit a nerve, sweetheart?" she taunted, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she took a sip of her water, her gaze never leaving yours.

"I'm not a drama queen," you scoffed. "And I wasn't even talking to you! I was talking to Azzi!"

"Well you should've spoken quieter." Paige quickly retorted as your nose flared in utter irritation. "Oh nice jersey by the way," she added as she glanced down at the jersey you were wearing.

You rolled your eyes and huffed in frustration. You were a cheerleader and your team had decided to add some extra support for the girl's basketball team, so they made all the girls wear someone's jersey.

Now this wouldn't be a problem if they would've chosen any other girl on the team, but no. Somehow you ended up with Paige's and now you're sure, you'll never live it down.

"I'll speak however I want, thank you very much," you shot back, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "And as for the jersey, it's not like I had much of a choice in the matter."

Paige's smirk widened at your response, clearly reveling in your annoyance. "And here I thought cheerleaders were supposed to be graceful."

You scoffed, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at Paige's jab. "Graceful or not, at least I'm not the one tripping over my own ego," you fired back, your tone sharp with irritation.

Paige let out a melodramatic gasp, placing a hand over her heart in mock offense. "Ouch, that stings," she replied, her smirk never faltering. "At least I can back up my ego."

You arched an eyebrow, unimpressed by Paige's attempt to deflect your jab. "Oh, please," you retorted, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Last time I checked, being able to shoot hoops doesn't make you a saint."

"Oh, but twirling around in the air with little pom-pom's does?" Paige's laughter echoed as you rolled your eyes. "I'd like to see you try and shoot a 3-pointer."

You couldn't help but chuckle at Paige's retort, her laughter infectious despite the underlying tension between you. "Fair enough," you relented, a playful glint in your eyes. "But I'd like to see you try and nail a perfect pyramid."

Paige raised an eyebrow, a challenge dancing in her gaze. "You wanna bet?" she replied, her smirk widening into a grin.

Azzi finally cut in and the both of you snapped out of it, remembering that it wasn't just the two of you at the table. "No, Paige, you're not going to be doing any tricks until the season is over."

You and Paige exchanged a knowing glance, the teasing atmosphere still lingering in the air between you. "Damn it," Paige teased, shooting Azzi a playful pout.

Azzi simply rolled her eyes, unfazed by Paige's antics. "Someone has to keep you in line," she quipped, a hint of amusement in her voice.

KK chuckled from beside Paige. "I actually wanna see Paige try and do that little trick in the air, uh... what is it called?"

Paige shot KK a playful glare, her competitive spirit reignited by his challenge. "You mean a basket toss?"

Your eyebrows furrowed as your lips curved into a smile at Paige's response. "How did you know that?"

"You always talk about how can't nail a basket toss, what can I say? I catch on." Paige shrugged as if it was nothing as you exchanged a playful smirk. "Can't be that hard."

KK started laughing as she shook her head in amusement. "Dude, it is hard."

"It can't be that hard. Maybe for Y/N..." Paige teased as you shot her a glare. "But not for me."

"Okay, let's bet. How much?" You glared at the blonde as she laughed. "50$."

"Only 50$? Please, let's see... 100$." Paige raised an eyebrow, her competitive spirit igniting at the mention of a bet.

You exchanged a glance with KK and Azzi, a mixture of excitement and annoyance bubbling within you. "Deal, let's shake on it."

"Okay, I'll give you 100$ if I can't land it and if I can, you'll give me it." Paige explained as she accepted your handshake with a smile.

"Yeah, that's how betting works, P." You teased as Paige's grip tightened slightly, a playful glint in her eyes as she shot you a glare.

"Shut up."

"You first."

"I asked you first,"

"Technically, not really-"

KK scoffed in amusement, interrupting your banter with a shake of her head. "You two are like an old married couple," she remarked, unable to hide her amusement. "Just kiss already."

"Oh shut up!" You guys both said union, Paige's blush obvious on her cheeks as she groaned.

──

The basketball game unfolded on the court, while you stood on the sidelines, cheering on your team with all your might. The gymnasium echoed with the applause of the crowd, the energy palpable as you did your usual routine.

But tonight, everything just felt like a haze. Every cheer felt forced, every move seemed to lack the usual grace and precision that defined your performances. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or finals that had finally been getting to you, but you were exhausted.

On top of all that, your coach was watching you like a hawk, his expression disapproving. With every misstep, you could feel his disappointment weighing heavily on your shoulders, adding to the burden of exhaustion that already consumed you.

Each word felt like a blow to your confidence, leaving you feeling hurt. You tried to maintain your focus, to push past the exhaustion and perform at your best, but it felt like an uphill battle.

Your coach's voice rang out above the din of the crowd, his words sharp. "Y/N, what was that? You call that a toe touch? I've seen better from a beginner! Jesus Christ."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you fought to hold them back, to maintain a facade of composure in the face of your coach's harsh criticism. But inside, you were crumbling, your confidence shaken to its core.

Paige's head turned at that, she was sitting on the bench as she watched the exchange between you and the coach. Sensing your hurt, her expression softened, a flicker of concern crossing her features.

And as the final buzzer sounded and the game drew to a close, you excused yourself from the team and practically ran to the bathroom. You sniffled quietly as you let the tears out freely, feeling the weight of the entire night crashing on your shoulders.

After a few minutes, you cleaned up your running make-up and made your way back to the court to get your stuff. As you made your way towards the exit, you heard a familiar voice call out to you from behind. Turning around, you were surprised to see Paige running tp toward you, her expression softened with concern.

"Hey," she said softly, taking a step closer to you. "Are you okay?"

You nodded, forcing a small smile despite the lingering traces of tears on your cheeks. "Yeah, I'm fine," you replied, your voice wavering slightly.

She gestured for you to keep walking and you did, she walked up next to you. "You don't look fine," she remarked, her tone gentle yet firm. "Tell me what happened."

"Nothing," you replied rather defensively as Paige shot you a glare. You knew she was just trying to help so you sighed, trying to relax yourself. "It's not that big of a deal."

Paige narrowed her eyes slightly, clearly not buying your attempt to brush off the situation. "If it's bothering you enough to run off like that, then it's definitely a big deal."

You sighed, realizing that you couldn't hide your feelings from Paige, nor did you really want to. With a slump of your shoulders, you relented. "Fine, it's just... Coach was being really harsh on me tonight,"

Paige's expression softened, her concern evident as she listened to your explanation. "Yeah, I figured. I'm sorry." She paused, feeling slightly awkward as she shifted her weight from one foot to another. "If it makes you feel a better, I don't think he twirl in the air like you. Or just in general, 'cus you know, he's like 200 pounds."

Your lips curved into a smile before you even knew it, rolling your eyes as a laugh escaped your mouth. Her awkwardness melted away as she joined in your laughter as she watched your expression closely.

"No but seriously." Her smile softened as she gazed back at you. "Don't let him determine your worth. I already know you're gonna go pro." Paige paused as she took in her words, shaking her head as you let out another laugh. "Can you go pro in cheer?"

"I don't think so," you replied with a grin, shaking your head. "But hey, who knows? Maybe I'll be the first."

Paige chuckled, her smile widening as she playfully nudged your shoulder. "Well, if anyone can do it, it's you."

You felt her gaze locked on you as your lips began to hurt from grinning. You felt your cheeks warm up as her blue eyes held yours, a warmth spreading through you at the intensity of her gaze. It was as if time had slowed down, the bustling gymnasium fading into the background as you found yourself captivated by the depth of Paige's eyes.

Unable to tear your gaze away from hers, you felt a flutter of something unfamiliar stir within you—a warmth that spread from the depths of your being and settled comfortably in the space between you and Paige.

With a soft smile, Paige broke the spell, her laughter ringing out once more as she playfully nudged your shoulder. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"Where are we going?" You laughed as Paige's hand naturally fell on the small of your back to lead you to the exit.

"To celebrate with the girls." Paige smiled. You didn't need any more convincing, you were down for whatever. "You still hate my cocky ass, or whatever?"

You let out a breathless laugh as you shook your head, she always had to ruin the moment. She opened the door for you as she led you to her car, her hand lingering on the small of your back.

"Of course. You still think I'm a drama queen?"

Paige nodded as she smirked. "Always."

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #wcbb fic #wcbb x reader #wcbb #uconn headcannons #uconn #uconn wbb #ncaa women’s basketball #women's college basketball #ncaaw #uconn women’s basketball #uconn huskies

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droopycoquette · 1 year ago

Text

WAG Life || Lucy Bronze x Reader

Summary: Lucy’s obsessed with the idea of you being her WAG

Warnings: established relationship, smut, strap-on, lucy having a domestic kink

Word Count: 2.6k

|*|

The plane rocked back and forth due to turbulence as Lucy scrolled through her Instagram feed and her heart stopped when she saw her girlfriend. Instantly liking it, she thumbed through the photos of the recent post. It was mainly pictures of you at the women’s World Cup but she felt herself pause when she saw one; a photo of you cooking. She could feel herself heating up but it all came to a point when she read your caption:

Living my best WAG life.

She had always liked the idea of you being her little wife in the stands cheering her on and not having to work for anything. Only taking care of her, never wanting for anything, and relying solely on her. It was enough to make Lucy combust. You had no idea what you were doing to her, playing right into her fantasy without even realizing it.

"Fuck," she mumbled to herself.

As she scrolled through your posts, she noticed that you had posted a lot more homemaking content. Pictures of you cooking, cleaning, or rearranging things. If she didn't know better, she would think you were doing these things on purpose.

"Lucy, we're touching down soon," Millie called.

"Okay," Lucy mutters, not taking her eyes off her phone, off of you.

Lucy's need to see you doubled. She couldn't wait to get to your shared apartment and just be with you. You were all she could think about when the plane touched down. You were all she could think about when she was driving to the apartment. And you were all she could think about as she walked up the stairs.

Her insides tingled as she approached the door, unlocking it quietly and entering the space. She could hear footsteps on the hardwood floors before she could see the person they belonged to.

"Lucy!"

"Darling!"

You flew into her arms without a second thought, forcing her to drop her luggage to be able to catch you. Lucy automatically brought her hands under your butt to support you, groaning when she realized you weren't wearing pants

"You're home," you sighed into her neck.

"Damn right, I am."

"I missed you," you mumbled into her skin.

"I missed you," Lucy grinned, making her way over to the kitchen counter. "You know what else I missed?"

She could feel you shake your head.

"Your kisses."

You brought your face out of her neck finally and looked at her.

"I missed kissing you," you confessed, bringing your lips closer to hers.

Lucy couldn't take it anymore, softly placing her lips onto yours. The kiss was sweet and gentle as if you both were afraid to break the other. Lucy softly set you on the counter, the cold marble against your bare skin causing you to shiver.

As the footballer breaks the kiss, she looks around the apartment.

The last time Lucy had been in the apartment, you both had just bought it. It was empty save for a TV, a sofa, and a queen bed in the shared room. Now, it looked completely different. It looked like a home.

"You've been working," Lucy gawks.

"Do you like it," you ask shyly. "I wanted you to come home to something nice. You've worked so har-

She cut you off as she connected your lips once more, not being able to be away from you for long. Lucy could feel her insides melting at your words. This is everything she ever wanted.

"Everything is perfect," Lucy whispered in between kisses, rubbing your bare thighs. "It's beautiful."

Lucy watched as you beamed at the praise, a smile gracing your features.

"I was about to get started on dinner," you began. "Is there anything specific you want?"

Lucy almost moans at your question, "No, anything you make will be good."

You nod, giving her one more peck before getting to work and shooing her off to put her luggage away.

When Lucy returns, she can't keep her eyes off of you. The raven-haired woman was forced to watch as you hummed and twirled around the kitchen, cooking for her. You were cooking for her. It was enough to drive her mad.

"Luce, do you want to help me," you ask with a smile.

"No. I enjoy watching you," Lucy says simply.

"Okay."

As she watched you it dawned on her, you were wearing her old kit, the number 2 and the name "Bronze" showing proudly on the back. You really did have no idea what you were doing. Completely out of touch with how much you were turning your girlfriend on. Lucy could feel herself growing wetter and wetter by the minute.

"I think I'm going to go take a shower, love."

"Okay, I think everything should be in the shower caddy on the side. And the towels are in the cupboard under the sink," you explain, turning around and wiping your hands on a towel.

Everything you were doing was doing something to Lucy and it kind of annoyed her. She needed you so bad.

"O-okay," she stuttered walking off to the bathroom.

As she undressed, Lucy couldn't help but continue to think about you. Your words, your actions, your touch, all of it made her want you more and more. She turned the water on and stepped under the warm spray, closing her eyes and letting out a deep sigh. It felt amazing to be home and with you again.

She can't help but replay the scene in her head. You were cooking for her, taking care of her. She couldn't believe how lucky she was to have you in her life. The steam filled up the bathroom as she lathered her body with soap. After a little bit, she hops out and quickly dresses in a sports bra and sweatpants.

She rounds the corner with her hands in her pockets and is greeted with a set table and you doing the dishes. She leans against the wall and watches you for a bit, nipping at her bottom lip and adjusting her glasses as she thinks. You hadn't noticed her yet, your attention focused on cleaning. So focused that you didn't notice her coming up behind you until you felt her hand around your waist and the other around your throat.

"Hello," you smile, the hand around your neck forcing you into an arch to face her.

"Hello," she smirked back, pecking your lips. "I was hoping you would join me in the shower."

"I'm sorry," you frown. "How about we take one tomorrow morning."

If you can walk, Lucy thought to herself.

"I love you being like this," Lucy sighs, releasing your neck and allowing you to turn and face her.

"Like what," you asked confused, loving the feeling of her arms around your waist.

"Like my little housewife," she sighs. "I love that you don't have to work and that you can just be home, taking care of me."

"I love doing it," you reply, wrapping your arms loosely around her neck.

After a beat of silence, you ask, "What are you thinking about?"

"You," Lucy whispers.

Her eyes stayed on yours as your breath hitched. You raised yourself up on your toes to shyly peck her lips, your hands loosely playing with strands of her hair Her hands trail from your waist to her shoulder blades.

"Jump."

You obey and wrap your legs around her waist, your lips automatically finding hers in a rough heated kiss. She devoured you, her tongue intermingling with yours as she did. She carried you to your shared bedroom, setting you down against the wall.

"What are you doing to me," Lucy asked, her accent thick.

You stared at her with doe eyes, confusion clouding them.

"Fuck, you've ruined me. I can't describe it. But, you've ruined me for anyone else."

You groan as she kisses your neck, her body pressed against yours firmly. Your moans only fueled her as she descended down to your core. Glancing up at you, she smirks as your brain begins to fizzle out, she can see it.

"What's got you so worked up, love," Lucy asks, her nose rubbing against your clothed slit. "Tell me."

"Fuck," you whimpered, your back pressing against the wall.

"I won't do anything until you tell me."

You gasp as her thumbs press against your hip bones, her hands holding the small of your back.

"Fuck," you whimpered. "I love being your housewife. It makes me feel really good."

Lucy moans into your thighs at your confession, her own thighs pressing together. Still kneeling, she raises herself up to kiss your stomach. Placing little pecks on your skin causing you to buck forward.

"Yeah? What else?"

"And, I love," you gasp as Lucy's tongue drags against your clothed core. "I love how you take care of me and how I don't have to think when you're around."

Lucy watched as you began to grind yourself onto her tongue, your hips shaking as your clit caught on the ridge of her wet muscle. She couldn't move as she watched in pure shock and awe. How were you so perfect? It was as if you were reading her mind.

Lucy's fingers hooked on your underwear as her eyes found yours. A smirk found its way onto her lips as your eyes quickly looked somewhere else, unable to handle the intensity. Cute.

Lucy slowly pulled your underwear down your legs, flinging them somewhere over her shoulder. You began to take your shirt off.

"No, love. Keep it on. Please keep it on," Lucy begged.

Your hands dropped the hem of the kit immediately.

"Love seeing you in this, baby," Lucy breathed, lifting one of your legs onto her shoulder. "Can't wait to fucking make you a Bronze."

You shuddered against her as her nose rubbed against your clit, sending jolts of electricity up your spine. Your hands moved to her hair, gripping it, keeping your girlfriend in place as her tongue lapped at your clit. You couldn't stop the sounds coming from your mouth, your head falling back against the wall.

You whimpered as your hips bucked up into her face. Lucy cooed at your embarrassment, smirking as you brought your hands up to your face.

You were the cutest little thing ever, your mouth open as you threw your head back against the wall. Lucy's fingers finally entered you, stroking your walls in a way that had your juices running down her arm.

"Look at that," Lucy groaned, lips still coated in you. "Did you need me that bad?"

"Please," you whimpered, hips bucking into her face.

"Please what," Lucy panted. "Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you baby. But you have to tell me."

"Hm? I can't hear you, love. You're gonna have to speak up."

"Fuck me, please," you gasped, as Lucy tapped on your clit.

Her muscles bulged as she stood, now towering over you.

"That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

She lifted you up, wrapping your legs around her waist before connecting your lips. She was sure you felt it, the bulge in her sweats. Just to be sure, she began to grind her hips into you, loving the way you moaned into the kiss.

You knew Lucy loved wearing her strap around the apartment so you don't know why it shocked you. You had missed this feeling. Her tongue entered your mouth, wrapping around yours and deepening the kiss. You didn't know whose breath was who's.

You whimpered as she sat you down on the edge of the bed.

"Get on all fours for me," she commanded her accent coming out even more. "Don't fucking make me wait."

You're breath hitches at her roughness, immediately complying. Slowly moving to your knees in the the center of the bed. Your chest rose and fell rapidly from the anticipation as you felt the bed dip from Lucy's weight.

Lucy couldn't stop the warmth that spread through her chest at the sight of your eager submission to her. The way you slightly wiggled your hips in need, you didn't even realize you were doing it.

The older woman stroked the black silicone toy, groaning as if she could feel it. Tapping it on your entrance, she watched as a string of your juices connected the toy and your core.

"You don't even know how fucking hot you are, love."

You both groaned as Lucy pushed into you slowly, your back arching.

She began to pump into you, her hips grinding into you at a pace that was slow, yet deep. She loved watching your head hang and your hips push back against her in ecstasy at her slow but hard thrusts.

The defender leaned down to kiss your nape, her skin burning yours. She could hear your sharp and breathy whimpers and it drove her to pound into you.

She had missed this dearly. Your sounds and need for her. She missed her ability to touch you whenever she wanted, claiming you as hers.

"I don't know how I went this long without you," she groaned into your ear, her fingers reaching down to your clit.

You bucked up against her at the sensation, your stomach beginning to tighten. Lucy watched you with fervor, gazing as you took what she gave you. You were perfect, just for her.

Her fingers continued to rub against you and her hips rocked slowly.

"Please cum," she begged. "I want it so bad."

Your back arched as her fingers got rougher.

"Fuck," you groaned, throwing your head back.

Lucy's thrusts began to quicken, becoming harsher. She needed your pleasure and wanted to see you come undone. Lucy had always put your pleasure above anything else and right now was no different.

"Give it to me, my love."

Her begging continued to spur you on, your gut reaching its boiling point. You came harshly, Lucy's hips milking your bliss and lengthening your orgasm.

Her movements didn't stop. Instead, she flipped you over, your body slamming into the bed.

"I'll never get over watching you cum," she moaned, her clit catching on the strap.

Her hands gripped your hips, pulling you down to meet her thrusts. Her fingertips dug into the fat of your hips, loving the flesh between them.

You watched her arms flex as she held you down, her biceps on display. Sweat rolled down her quivering abdomen as she continued to pleasure you.

"Please," you groaned out, your body still spasming.

"Please what, sweetheart," Lucy smiled, her hips continuing to slam into you, leaving a burning sensation on the back of your thighs. "Tell me what you want. Do you want me here?"

She allowed her fingers to return to your clit, tapping gently against the small nub. You gasped out at the overstimulation.

"You always were so needy," she grinned. "And I've always loved it."

"Lucy, please," you babbled, your body writhing beneath her. "A break, please."

She pouted mockingly and continued to thrust in and out of you.

"You want to be my little WAG in the stand, right? My little trophy wife?"

You nod, your cheeks heating, "Yes."

"Well, then you have to keep me happy. And what would make me really happy, baby, is for you to keep taking this cock."

#lucy bronze #lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze imagine #barca femeni x reader #lucy bronze smut #woso #woso imagines #woso x reader

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cieloclercs · 1 year ago

Note

congrats on your 1K you deserve it‼️‼️

when you have the time could you write for lewis hamilton + nepo!reader ( male or female ) who is an actress / actor?

king of my heart — lewis hamilton

pairing. lewis hamilton x nepo baby!actress!reader

genre. social media au

face claim. gigi hadid

warnings. mentions of age gap, swearing, some online hate, lewis and reader are literally the hottest couple ever, daniel lowkey trolling lando, sex jokes ??, mixed up met gala years sorryyyy, some inaccuracies with race outcomes shshsh

author’s note. hello anon! thank you for being my first request for my 1k event 🥰 i wasn’t sure if you wanted an imagine style thing or not so i’ve gone for a social media au. hope that’s ok ! if not just let me know and i can redo this for you <3

liked by kaiagerber and 4,739,725 others

yourusername when he takes you on a romantic getaway to a private beach island after being away for a month 🥹🥹 lewishamilton i love u bby 💕

view all comments…

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*lewishamilton liked this comment

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*lewishamilton liked this comment

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*zendaya, yourusername and 5,736 others liked this comment

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liked by yourusername and 59,136 others

themetgalaofficial This year’s hottest couple, award-winning actress Y/N Y/L/N and seven-time Formula 1 World Champion, Sir Lewis Hamilton, grace the Met Gala red carpet 🤍

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*yourusername liked this comment

username SHE DID NOT 😭😭 WHAT AN ICON

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username 😂😂 what’s there to be jealous of?

username maybe the fact that y/n is a thousand times richer and more successful than you will ever be OF HER OWN MERIT…oh and the fact she’s fucking lewis hamilton every night, which you so clearly want to do from the BLATANT jealousy your comments reek of 😘

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*yourusername liked this comment

username somehow i just know she walks him like a DOG

yourusername thank you for having us ☺️🤍

themetgalaofficial It’s our pleasure 🤩

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*themetgalaofficial liked this comment

liked by yourusername and 7,241,936 others

tagged: yourusername

lewishamilton The happiest 4 years with my Queen 🤍 Here’s to forever x

view all comments…

yourusername the last picture was uncalled for 🥲

yourusername but i love you with everything that i have to give, my champion ❤️

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danielricciardo landonorris it’s ok, mate, we know you’re doomed to be single for life. here if you ever want to talk x

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landonorris ouch.

username SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP WHEN IS IT MY TURN

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lewishamilton ❤️

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liked by lewishamilton and 10,256,947 others

tagged: lewishamilton

yourusername king of my heart 👑

…

lewishamilton 🤍🤍

comments on this post have been limited.

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theonottsbxtch · 1 month ago

Text

THE PRINCESS AND THE DRIVER PT.3 | MV1

an: i had so much fun with this chapter, i'm debating how to go about part four but i have ideas! can't wait to do this part four IM HAVING SO MUCH FUN WITH ALL THESE REQUESTS RAHHH

wc: 7k

part one | part two |

The morning sun filtered through the delicate curtains of her bedroom, casting gentle, dappled light across her room. Dust motes danced in the golden rays, but they failed to lift the heaviness that clung to her heart. She sat up in bed, her mind still tangled in the memories of the previous night. The taste of Max’s kiss lingered like a bittersweet dream she couldn’t shake, and the thrill of racing felt like a distant echo.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she took a moment to collect herself. Her reflection in the ornate mirror showed a girl caught between two worlds—a princess burdened by expectation and a young woman yearning for freedom. She sighed deeply, brushing a hand through her tousled hair. Today was another day, but the weight of her thoughts made it feel like a chore.

Just as she was about to stand, the door creaked open, and her mother stepped into the room. The queen’s expression was soft yet tinged with concern. She approached with the grace and poise that came so naturally to her, but her eyes betrayed her worry.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” The Queen said, settling on the edge of her bed. “How are you feeling today?”

She forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m fine, Mama. Just tired, I guess.” The words felt hollow, even to her.

The Queen’s brow furrowed slightly as she studied her daughter’s face. She reached out, her fingers brushing against her cheek, a familiar gesture that always made her feel safe. “You’re not fooling anyone, darling. You’ve been distant lately. Is something bothering you?”

“I promise, I’m okay,” she insisted, trying to infuse her voice with conviction. “I’ve just been overwhelmed with everything.” She avoided her mother’s gaze, afraid that if she looked too deeply into those knowing eyes, the truth would spill out.

The Queen’s expression softened, but the concern lingered. “You can talk to me about anything, darling. I’m here for you, always.”

She nodded, grateful for her mother’s unwavering support. “I know, Mama. It’s just… it’s complicated.”

As her mother stood to leave, her heart raced with a sudden question that had been nagging at her since her escapade to the karting track. “Mama, wait!” she called, her voice shaky.

The Queen paused, turning back to face her daughter, curiosity replacing her earlier concern. “Yes, dear?”

“What would happen if I fell in love with a commoner?” she asked, her heart pounding. The question slipped out before she could filter it, but the weight of it hung heavy in the air. “Just out of curiosity.”

The queen’s expression shifted to one of contemplation, and she took a moment before responding. “Well, it’s happened more often than you might think,” she said gently, her voice thoughtful. “Love doesn’t recognise titles or class. If you ever wanted to explore a relationship with someone outside our world, I wouldn’t stop you. Your happiness is what matters most to me.”

She felt a rush of hope at her mother’s words, the small flicker of possibility igniting in her chest. “Really?” she asked, surprise colouring her tone. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not,” she replied, a soft smile gracing her lips. “You deserve to experience love in whatever form it takes. Just be careful, and know that you can always come to me for guidance.”

As her mother left the room, her heart raced, fueled by a blend of excitement and apprehension. Could it be possible? Could she truly pursue something with someone like Max, someone outside her royal obligations?

With newfound determination, she crossed the room and opened her laptop, the cool metal feeling familiar under her fingertips. Her mind buzzed with thoughts of Max—his laughter, the way he had looked at her as they raced, the electric connection they shared. Taking a deep breath, she typed his name into the search bar, her heart pounding as anticipation filled her.

“Max… local karting track,” she murmured, pressing enter and watching as the screen populated with results.

The search results flooded her screen, and she leaned in closer, her heart racing with each click. As she scrolled through the articles, her eyes widened with disbelief. Photos of Max behind the wheel flashed before her, images capturing the intensity of his focus and the thrill of competition. He was not just an ordinary boy; he was a celebrated Formula One prodigy, known for his incredible talent and charismatic personality. The realisation struck her like a lightning bolt, sending a rush of emotions coursing through her veins.

“How did I not know?” she whispered to herself, disbelief mingling with excitement. The exhilaration of their time together was now tinged with a complex reality she hadn’t anticipated. This was no fleeting romance; Max was famous, and she was a princess—a reality that felt impossibly daunting.

She continued to read, her heart pounding as she absorbed the details of his career—his remarkable wins, interviews that painted him as a relatable yet extraordinary figure, and the countless fans who admired him. Each piece of information felt like a layer added to the weight resting on her shoulders. The thrill of what they had shared was suddenly overshadowed by the realisation of their differences.

Leaning back in her chair, she ran a hand through her hair, the excitement and anxiety coiling tightly within her. The prospect of a relationship with someone so far removed from her world felt both thrilling and terrifying. Could she really navigate the complexities of love while upholding her royal duties?

As the weight of her thoughts settled over her like a thick fog, she felt a storm of emotions rising within her. A mix of hope and fear filled her heart. The thought of Max, so vibrant and alive in her memories, was intoxicating, but the reality of their worlds colliding loomed large, casting long shadows over her dreams of love and freedom.

After several moments lost in contemplation, she closed the laptop, the finality of her discovery sinking in. As she stared at the wall, she knew that the choices ahead would not be easy, and the conflict within her heart was only just beginning. But for the first time, she felt a spark of determination. If love was indeed possible, she would find a way to pursue it—no matter how complicated or unconventional it might be.

With newfound determination, she retrieved a sheet of crisp, ivory stationery from her desk. The elegant paper felt cool against her fingers as she settled into her chair, her heart racing with the thrill of what she was about to do. She took a deep breath, letting the silence of her room surround her, and began to write.

Dear Max,

I hope this letter finds you well.

It’s hard to find the right words, but I must try. Our time together at the karting track meant more to me than I can express. It was a breath of fresh air, a moment of freedom that I didn’t know I needed. I’ve been thinking about you since that night, and I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something special between us.

I would like to invite you to the palace, to talk and spend some time together. I understand that my position complicates things, but I would be grateful for the chance to see you again. Please consider this as an opportunity for us to connect outside the world that often feels so confining.

I eagerly await your response.

Sincerely,A princess who occasionally enjoys karting x

She paused, her pen hovering over the paper as she reread her words. The letter felt both exhilarating and terrifying, the vulnerability of it almost overwhelming. With each stroke of the pen, she was exposing a part of herself that had long been hidden, reaching out into the unknown.

After a moment of hesitation, she signed her name with a flourish, her heart pounding in her chest. This was a step into the uncharted territory of her emotions, and she couldn’t help but feel both empowered and afraid. She folded the letter carefully, her fingers brushing over the elegant paper, and placed it into a matching envelope, sealing it with a royal insignia.

She stood, the letter feeling heavier in her hands than she had anticipated. She made her way to the door, her mind racing with what might come next. As she stepped into the hallway, her heart raced with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

“Where do I take this?” she wondered aloud, glancing around as if the palace would offer her answers. She knew there was a royal messenger who handled correspondence, but she needed to be discreet. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to read her letter before it reached Max.

With a surge of resolve, she walked toward the palace’s administrative wing. The familiar corridors felt both comforting and daunting as she navigated the maze of polished marble and ornate paintings. She approached the door to the office of the royal messenger and knocked lightly.

“Enter,” came a voice from inside.

She pushed the door open, stepping into the warm, well-lit room. The messenger, a middle-aged man with kind eyes, looked up from his desk, his brow raised in surprise. “Your Highness! What a pleasure to see you. How can I assist you today?”

“Good morning,” She greeted him, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her stomach. “I have a letter I would like to send, but it’s quite personal, and I need it to reach its destination without anyone else reading it first.”

The messenger nodded, his expression turning serious. “Of course, Your Highness. You can trust me. Who is it for?”

“It’s for Max,” she replied, a blush creeping up her cheeks as she spoke his name. “I met him at the local karting track.”

“The driver?” he asked, his eyes widening with recognition. “I’ve heard of him. Quite the rising star, I must say. I’ll make sure your letter reaches him directly.”

“Thank you,” She said, feeling a wave of relief wash over her. She handed him the envelope, her heart racing with anticipation. “It’s important that he receives it soon. I was hoping someone could take it to the track in the next hour?”

“Leave it to me,” he assured her, taking the letter with care. “I’ll dispatch it immediately.”

As she turned to leave, a mix of exhilaration and nervousness swirled inside her. With the letter now on its way, she could only hope that Max would respond favourably. The prospect of seeing him again filled her with a sense of hope, a promise of the unknown waiting just beyond the palace walls.

Returning to her room, she sank onto her bed, a nervous excitement buzzing in her veins. What would Max think? Would he feel the same pull she did? The uncertainty loomed large, but deep down, she knew that she was ready to take a leap of faith.

That night, long after the palace had quieted down, a knock on her door startled her. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Her heart leapt into her throat as she crossed the room and opened the door.

Lukas stood there again, holding an envelope. “A reply,” he said, handing it to her.

Her fingers trembled as she took it from him. “Thank you, Lukas,” she whispered, closing the door behind her before returning to her desk.

She sat down, her pulse quickening as she stared at the envelope in her hands. It was simple, unmarked by royal seals or insignias, just her name written in a messy, bold script.

She opened it carefully, her breath catching as she unfolded the letter inside.

Dearest Princess,

I’ll admit, I didn’t expect to hear from you again, especially not like this. But I’m glad you reached out.

I’ve been thinking about everything since last night, trying to wrap my head around all of it—who you are, who I am in relation to your world, and what this means for us. I won’t lie, it’s complicated, and I don’t have all the answers. But I don’t want to leave things the way they are. I don’t want to walk away without understanding what this is between us.

I’d love to come to the palace and talk. We need to figure this out together. And if that means learning more about your world, then I’m willing to do that. Let’s take this one step at a time.

Yours,Max

She let out a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding, her eyes scanning over his words again and again. He wanted to come. He wasn’t walking away—not yet.

A mixture of relief and nervous excitement coursed through her. It felt like the beginning of something—something real, something honest. But with that also came the fear. The fear of what it would mean for Max to step into her world fully. The fear of what others might say. And, most of all, the fear of what might happen if it all fell apart.

The next few days passed in a blur as the preparations for Max’s visit began. She made sure everything would be perfect—ensuring his accommodations would be private and discreet, arranging a quiet meeting room in one of the less formal wings of the palace where they could talk without interruption. The staff were informed that a guest was arriving, but only Lukas and a few others knew the full story.

Finally, the evening arrived.

She paced her room, feeling a nervous energy she couldn’t quite shake. She had chosen a simple yet elegant outfit—something that felt royal but not overly formal. A soft white dress with delicate lace detailing, understated yet regal. She wanted Max to feel welcome, not overwhelmed.

As the time drew closer, Lukas appeared at her door once more.

“He’s arrived, Your Highness,” he said with a slight bow. “Shall I escort him to the sitting room?”

Her heart raced. “Yes, please,” she said, smoothing her dress one last time. “I’ll meet him there.”

As Lukas left, she took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside her. This meeting felt monumental, like it would determine the course of everything between them. But despite the nerves, she knew it had to happen. She couldn’t keep running from her feelings—or from the truth of who she was.

She made her way through the palace, her footsteps echoing lightly in the grand hallways. The sitting room Lukas had chosen was a small, intimate space, with soft lighting and plush chairs that made it feel more like a cosy corner of a home than a grand palace. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the room.

When she stepped inside, Max was already there, standing by the window. He turned when he heard her enter, his face lighting up with a smile that sent a wave of warmth through her.

“Liefje (darling),” he said, his voice soft but filled with relief. “You look… amazing.”

She smiled, feeling a bit of the tension ease. “Thank you. I’m glad you came.”

He crossed the room toward her, and for a moment, they stood there, just looking at each other. There was a charged silence between them, thick with everything unsaid.

“I couldn’t say no,” Max said, his eyes searching hers. “I’ve been thinking about you since last night.”

“Me too,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

They moved to sit by the fire, the warmth of the flames a contrast to the nerves she felt bubbling up inside her. For a while, the conversation was light—how the drive had been, what he thought of the palace—but there was always an undercurrent, a sense that the real conversation was waiting to happen.

She leaned back in her chair, a small smile tugging at her lips as she studied Max. There was something comforting about sitting across from him now, in the warm glow of the fire, where they could speak openly without the masks they wore in their respective worlds. She tilted her head slightly, her voice soft but playful.

“So… you’re a Formula One driver,” she said, watching his reaction closely.

Max let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “And you’re a princess,” he shot back, his tone just as light. “Guess we both had a few secrets up our sleeves, huh?”

She couldn’t help but smile wider at that. “I suppose we did.”

They sat in the quiet for a moment, the fire crackling between them. She felt a strange mix of relief and vulnerability wash over her—relief that she could finally be herself in front of him, but also the vulnerability of not knowing how he would truly react now that the truth was out. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts.

“You know,” she started, her fingers tracing the delicate lace of her dress, “it felt… good, not knowing who you were. I mean, back when we first met. I didn’t have to worry about how I was supposed to act, or what you might expect from me.”

Max nodded slowly, leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees. “I get that. It’s the same for me. It was… refreshing. You didn’t look at me like ‘Max Verstappen,’ you know? For once, I wasn’t being defined by what I do or how fast I can drive. I could just be… me.”

Her gaze softened as she watched him speak. There was something raw and real in his voice, a vulnerability she hadn’t fully seen before. They were both so used to being seen through a certain lens—the princess, the driver—that neither of them had expected to find someone who saw beyond that.

“I think that’s why I kept coming back to the track,” she admitted quietly. “Because when I was there, I didn’t have to be a princess. I could just be… someone else. Someone freer.”

Max looked at her, his eyes warm with understanding. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I felt the same way. That first night at the track, when we talked, it was just about two people enjoying the moment. No titles, no expectations.”

She smiled, a soft, wistful kind of smile. “It’s strange, isn’t it? The way we met… It felt so normal. Like, for once, I wasn’t carrying this weight of being royalty.”

Max leaned back, his eyes locked on hers. “I think that’s what made it real,” he said. “We weren’t pretending to be anything other than two people in the same place at the same time.”

For a moment, they both fell silent, the conversation settling between them. She felt her heart beating steadily, a sense of calm washing over her despite the intensity of their conversation.

“It’s funny,” Max said after a beat, his lips curving into a small, thoughtful smile. “I’ve spent most of my life trying to get people to notice me. You know, with the racing and everything. But with you… it was different. It didn’t matter that you didn’t know who I was. It felt like, for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t defined by that.”

Her heart softened at his words. She could feel the sincerity in them, the quiet admission of how much it had meant to him, too. She nodded slowly, her eyes meeting his with a shared understanding. “I know what you mean. I’ve been so used to people treating me differently because of my title. But with you… I didn’t have to worry about that. And I liked that.”

Max smiled at her, his expression warm and open. “So, we didn’t know each other’s titles,” he said, his voice low but light. “Maybe that’s why it worked.”

“Maybe,” she echoed, her voice equally soft.

They shared a quiet moment, the firelight casting flickering shadows on the walls. There was a deep sense of ease between them now, an understanding that went beyond the words they’d spoken. The world outside—the palace, the race tracks, the media—none of it mattered in this space they’d created together.

“So, tell me,” Max said, leaning back with a playful grin, “what’s it really like being a princess? All gowns and tiaras?”

She laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Not exactly,” she said, shaking her head. “Though there are plenty of gowns, I’ll admit.”

“And tiaras?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Only on special occasions,” she shot back, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “Honestly, it’s mostly a lot of meetings, appearances, and making sure everything is running smoothly.”

Max chuckled. “Sounds a lot like racing. Just, you know, with more… kingdoms.”

They both laughed at that, and for a moment, the heaviness between them lifted. It was like a breath of fresh air, this easy conversation where they could just be two people again, without the weight of the world pressing down on them.

“So, how do I ask a princess on a date?” he asked, the teasing tone in his voice making her heart flutter.

She smiled, but her expression softened slightly as she looked away, her fingers tracing the arm of her chair. “Well… we don’t really go on dates. At least, not in the way you’re probably thinking.” She glanced up at him, almost apologetic.

A flicker of disappointment crossed Max’s face, his brow furrowing just a little. “Oh,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. “I figured it might be more… complicated.”

“It is,” she admitted, biting her lip. “Dates aren’t exactly something I can just do. There’s protocol, public appearances, always someone watching…”

Max sighed, nodding as if he was trying to absorb this new reality. “Yeah, I guess I should’ve known,” he said, his voice quieter now, the teasing gone. “I didn’t really think about how different things are for you.”

For a moment, the weight of their worlds seemed to hang in the air, threatening to pull them back into that chasm of reality that had always loomed between them. But then, a spark of defiance lit up in her chest, the same spark that had driven her to the track in the first place. She looked at him, her heart racing with the sudden realisation that, if this was going to work, they couldn’t be bound by the rules her world normally imposed.

“But…” she began slowly, her eyes locking with his. “None of this is really conventional anyway, is it?”

Max looked up, a flicker of hope returning to his eyes. “What do you mean?”

She felt a surge of excitement rise in her chest. “I mean, who says we have to follow the usual rules? I snuck out of the palace to race go-karts with you. We met as two strangers, not as a princess and a Formula One driver. So why should we start following the rules now?”

Max’s smile grew, lighting up his face as if her words had reignited something inside him. “Are you saying…?”

She grinned, the mischief back in her eyes. “Let’s ring for dinner. Call this our first date.”

Max blinked, caught off guard by her suggestion, then laughed, his whole demeanour brightening. “Dinner in a palace? You’re really raising the bar for a first date.”

Her smile widened, feeling the playful energy return between them. “Well, I don’t do anything halfway, do I?”

Max chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Apparently not. But hey, if my first official date with a princess is dinner in a palace, I’ll take it.”

With a gleam in her eye, she stood and moved to the small bell on the wall near the fireplace. She hesitated for a brief second, wondering if she was really doing this, but then a quiet resolve settled over her. She rang the bell, a soft chime echoing through the room.

Within moments, a palace attendant arrived, bowing deeply as they entered. “Your Highness?”

“Could we have dinner brought to the small dining hall, please?” She asked, glancing back at Max with a playful smile. “Something simple.”

The attendant nodded, understanding the subtle request for privacy. “Of course, Your Highness. I’ll see to it right away.”

As the attendant left, she turned back to Max, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling inside her. She wasn’t sure what was going to happen next—whether this night would be the beginning of something real or just a brief escape from the complexities of their lives—but for the moment, it felt right.

Max stood, stepping closer to her, a warmth in his eyes that made her heart skip a beat. “I didn’t think I’d be having dinner with a princess tonight,” he said, his voice soft but full of amusement.

She smiled up at him. “And I didn’t think I’d be having dinner with a Formula One driver.” Come with me,” she said softly, her voice full of excitement.

Max raised an eyebrow but didn’t hesitate. He stood, trailing behind her as they left the cosy sitting room and stepped into the quiet, echoing halls of the palace. The air was different out here—cooler, grander, as if the palace itself were holding its breath.

They walked in silence for a few moments, their footsteps the only sound, until she led him to a set of grand, double doors. They were ornate, with intricate carvings along the wood, and as she reached out to push them open, Max could already sense they were about to step into something extraordinary.

The doors creaked open, and Max’s breath caught in his throat.

The dining room before them was massive, its high, vaulted ceilings adorned with gleaming chandeliers that sparkled like stars. Long, elegant curtains draped from floor to ceiling, framing enormous windows that looked out onto the palace gardens, where moonlight bathed the flowers in a silver glow. The room itself seemed to glisten, with golden detailing on the walls and an enormous mahogany table stretching down the centre, polished to perfection.

In the soft candlelight, everything seemed to shimmer, and Max couldn’t help but feel completely out of place in such grandeur. He took a step inside, his eyes wide with wonder.

“Whoa,” he breathed, unable to keep the awe from his voice. “This is… incredible.”

She smiled at his reaction, feeling a strange mix of pride and amusement. She had grown up surrounded by this kind of opulence, but seeing it through Max’s eyes made it feel new and magical again.

“It’s not every day I get to eat here,” she admitted, stepping further into the room. “Usually it’s reserved for state dinners, or formal events. But tonight…” She turned to look at him, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “Tonight, it’s just for us.”

Max blinked, shaking his head as if he still couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “Just for us?” he repeated, glancing around the vast room as if he needed confirmation. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This place is like a scene out of a movie.”

She laughed softly, walking over to the long table and taking a seat at one of the chairs that had already been set with plates and cutlery. “It can feel like that sometimes,” she admitted, gesturing for him to join her.

Max hesitated for a moment, still trying to wrap his mind around where he was. He’d been to plenty of fancy places in his career—exclusive parties, high-end restaurants, luxurious hotels—but none of it compared to this. The sheer scale of the room, the way everything seemed to shimmer in the candlelight, the weight of centuries of history pressing in on him… it was overwhelming.

But when he looked over at her, sitting there with a warm smile on her face, it all seemed to fade away. She wasn’t the princess in this moment. She was just a girl who enjoyed karting, inviting him to share a meal with her. And that was enough to ground him.

He took a deep breath and walked over to the table, sitting across from her. “Okay,” he said, his voice lighter now. “I’m officially impressed.”

She chuckled, pouring them both a glass of wine. “I thought you might be.”

Max took the glass she handed him and looked around the room again, still a little in disbelief.

The attendant returned briefly to set down their meal—elegant but simple dishes, as she had requested—before leaving them in privacy once again. The quiet in the room was soft, comforting, as if the vastness of the space only made their intimate dinner feel even more special.

They ate slowly, their conversation flowing as naturally as it had in the cosier sitting room. But now, the grandeur of their surroundings added a new layer to the evening—an unspoken acknowledgment that this was no ordinary dinner, and they were no ordinary people. Yet, in the midst of all that opulence, there was something wonderfully real about the moment.

At one point, Max set his fork down and just stared at her, a smile tugging at his lips. “You know,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “I still can’t believe we ended up here. I mean, a few days ago, I was just some guy at a karting track. And now I’m having dinner in a palace with you.”

She looked at him, her heart warming at the wonder in his voice. “It’s surreal, isn’t it?” she agreed softly. “It feels like… I’ve been living two lives. There’s the princess part of me that follows all the rules, attends all the meetings, and stays within the lines. And then there’s the part of me that just wanted to sneak out, race, and be free for a little while.”

Max nodded, his expression softening. “I get that,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “I’ve spent so much time in the spotlight that I almost forgot what it’s like to just… exist, without people knowing who I am. When I met you, I wasn’t the driver, and you weren’t the princess. We were just… us.”

She smiled at him, a warm, appreciative smile that made her chest tighten. “I needed that,” she admitted quietly. “I needed to just be me for a while. And you gave me that.”

Max’s eyes softened, and he reached across the table, his hand resting lightly over hers. “Well, for what it’s worth,” he said gently, “I like both sides of you. The princess… and the one who sneaks out to race go-karts.”

She felt her heart swell at his words, a sense of warmth and connection settling deep within her. She squeezed his hand softly, feeling the sincerity in his touch, in his gaze.

Leaning back slightly, a playful glint returning to her eyes. “Well,” she said lightly, “since this is our first official date, I think we’ve set the bar pretty high.”

Max chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, I don’t know how I’m going to top this. Next time, we’ll have to settle for a quiet dinner at a small café or something.”

“Next time?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Max grinned, leaning forward with a mischievous look. “I’m definitely hoping there’s a next time.”

She laughed, her heart light. “We’ll see,” she teased. But as she looked at him, she couldn’t help but feel a quiet hope blooming in her chest.

After dinner, the air between them was lighter, and she found herself not wanting the night to end just yet. The palace had a stillness about it that felt peaceful, and for once, the weight of her title didn’t seem so heavy. She stood from the table and glanced at Max, a small glint in her eyes.

“Fancy a walk?” she asked, nodding toward the large doors that led to the palace grounds.

Max grinned, standing and adjusting his jacket. “A walk sounds perfect.”

They stepped out into the cool night air, the garden illuminated by soft lights along the paths. The scent of jasmine and roses filled the air, and the trees swayed gently in the breeze. It felt as though they had the entire world to themselves, cocooned in the serenity of the palace gardens.

They walked side by side, their conversation easy and full of laughter. She pointed out little details about the gardens—her favourite hidden nooks, the ancient trees, and even a small stone bench where she liked to sit when she needed a moment of quiet. Max listened intently, his eyes occasionally drifting from the scenery to her, a fond smile never far from his lips.

As they reached a quiet clearing, the palace loomed behind them, and the soft glow of the distant main gate flickered ahead. The night seemed to wrap around them, the world growing smaller, more intimate.

“It's beautiful here,” Max said softly, glancing around, but his gaze eventually settled on her. “You’re beautiful.”

She felt a warmth rise in her chest, her heart fluttering at his words. She looked up at him, a soft smile playing on her lips. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered.

They stopped walking, standing close now, the soft sound of the wind in the trees surrounding them. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the space between them narrowing with each passing second. Max’s eyes flicked to her lips, and he stepped forward, his breath catching as he moved closer.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her pulse quickening as his hand gently brushed against hers. His eyes searched hers, asking a question without saying a word. Her breath hitched, and just as their lips were about to meet, a low, deliberate sound broke the silence—a throat clearing, deep and authoritative.

Max froze, eyes widening as he quickly stepped back. He turned toward the sound, his face flushing with sudden embarrassment.

Standing near the main gate, half-shadowed by the dim light, was Lukas.

“Your Highness,” Lukas said, his voice calm but pointed as he stepped forward, his face unreadable. “I believe it’s time to return to the palace.”

Max stared at Lukas, his heart racing. “Uh… right.” He scratched the back of his head, clearly caught off guard. “I didn’t realise we had an audience.”

She pressed her lips together, trying to stifle a laugh at Max’s obvious discomfort. She turned to him, her voice soft but full of amusement. “I forgot to mention…” She glanced at Lukas, who stood waiting patiently. “Lukas was here the whole time.”

Max blinked, the colour rushing to his face. “Wait—what?”

She smiled, her eyes twinkling. “He’s my personal guard. He’s always nearby. Even when you don’t notice.”

Max looked from her to Lukas, processing this new information, his embarrassment deepening. “So, you’re telling me that… the whole time we were walking around…?”

“Yep,” she said, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

Max shook his head, chuckling despite himself. “Well, that’s good to know,” he said, his voice filled with a mixture of awkwardness and humour. “Nothing like a royal guard to remind you of your place.”

Lukas stepped forward, his expression stoic, but there was a hint of understanding in his eyes. “It’s my job to make sure Her Highness is safe, Mr. Verstappen. I hope you understand.”

Max nodded quickly, trying to play it cool. “Of course. No problem at all. Just… wasn’t expecting a third wheel.”

“You know,” she said, her voice light, “you didn’t have to hover quite so close the whole time. I think I can manage a walk around the garden without needing a royal escort.”

Lukas raised an eyebrow, his expression unchanged but the slightest glint of amusement flashing in his eyes. “My duty is to your safety, Your Highness,” he said smoothly. “And besides, someone has to make sure certain race car drivers don’t get too carried away.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “You could at least give me a moment,” she teased. “It wouldn’t hurt to, I don’t know, turn around for a bit?”

Lukas met her gaze, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth now. He considered her for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Fifteen seconds,” he said, deadpan. “No more, no less.”

Her eyes widened slightly, both surprised and amused that he had actually agreed. She glanced at Max, who had stopped a few steps behind, watching the exchange with curiosity.

“You heard him,” she said, turning toward Max with a grin. “We’ve got fifteen seconds.”

Max blinked in surprise, a slow smile spreading across his face as he realised what was happening. “Wait, what—”

“Starting now,” Lukas interrupted, turning his back to them, his hands clasped behind him. “Fourteen… thirteen…”

Without wasting another second, she stepped toward Max, grabbing his jacket and pulling him down toward her. Their lips met in a sudden rush of heat, the kiss filled with the passion that had been building between them all night. There was no hesitation, no shyness—just the raw intensity of finally being somewhat alone, even if only for a brief moment.

Max wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer, his heart pounding in his chest. The world seemed to fall away, the grandeur of the palace, the weight of their titles—all of it disappeared as they kissed under the quiet night sky.

She melted into him, her hands sliding up to his neck as the kiss deepened. It was everything they hadn’t said, all the emotions they hadn’t dared to speak, pouring into that one stolen moment.

Lukas' steady voice started counting down, reminding them that their time was limited. “Eight… seven…”

But they didn’t pull away. Instead, Max kissed her more fervently, as if he could hold on to these last few seconds forever.

“Four… three…”

She smiled into the kiss, her heart racing, and she could feel Max’s smile against her lips too. The thrill of sneaking in this moment only made it sweeter.

“One,” Lukas’ voice said, just as she and Max finally broke apart, both of them breathless and laughing.

Max chuckled softly, his forehead resting against hers as he caught his breath. “That was the fastest fifteen seconds of my life.”

She laughed, her cheeks flushed, and she glanced over at Lukas, who was still facing away, clearly giving them the privacy he had promised. “You’re not wrong,” she whispered, still catching her breath. “But worth every second.”

Lukas, with impeccable timing, turned back around, his face impassive as if nothing had happened, though she swore she saw the faintest trace of a smile.

“Time’s up,” Lukas said, his voice steady. “I trust you made good use of it.”

She grinned, biting her lip. “I think we did.”

Max laughed again, running a hand through his hair, his embarrassment from earlier completely gone. The kiss had left him lightheaded, and the laughter between them made the moment feel less like a stolen secret and more like something beautifully real.

“Thanks for the, uh… window of opportunity,” Max said, glancing at Lukas, his eyes filled with gratitude and amusement.

Lukas gave a small nod, his eyes meeting hers. “Anything for Her Highness,” he said, his tone a perfect blend of formality and knowing humour.

Max looked at her, his expression softening. “I’ll be thinking about those fifteen seconds for a while,” he said, his voice low, but filled with sincerity.

She smiled, her heart full. “So will I.”

They shared one last look, a silent promise in the air between them, before Lukas gently stepped forward, signalling it was time for them to head back. As they turned toward the palace, Max shot her a playful wink, still clearly riding the high of their stolen kiss.

Her heart soared, a mix of happiness and hope swirling inside her as they walked away from the gate. The world around her felt lighter, brighter, and despite the complexities of their lives, in that moment, everything felt right.

And as they walked in the silence of the palace grounds, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing over her shoulder, her eyes locking with Max’s for just a second longer, both of them smiling at the memory of their passionate, stolen kiss.

She laughed softly, reaching out to touch Max’s arm. “You get used to it,” she said gently, her eyes meeting his with a knowing look. “He’s just looking out for me.”

Max exhaled, his embarrassment slowly fading as he smiled at her. “Guess I’ll have to be on my best behaviour, then.”

Lukas stood back, watching their interaction, and for a moment, it seemed like he was content to let them finish their goodbyes.

She stepped closer to Max, her hand still resting lightly on his arm. “Thank you for tonight,” she said, her voice quiet and sincere.

Max’s expression softened, his gaze lingering on her. “Thank you for dinner,” he said, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “And for the… unexpected company.”

She laughed, the sound light and warm, and for a brief moment, they were alone in their little world again, even with Lukas nearby.

“I’ll see you soon?” Max asked, his voice filled with hope.

She nodded, her heart skipping a beat. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Soon.”

With one last look, Max smiled and turned to leave, walking back toward the main gate. She watched him go, her heart full but heavy at the same time. She wanted nothing more than to stay in this bubble with him, but reality, as always, had a way of intruding.

As Max disappeared into the night, she let out a long breath, feeling the weight of the world settle back onto her shoulders. She turned to Lukas, who had remained silent, his eyes watching her closely.

“You like him,” Lukas said, his tone soft but observant.

She sighed, nodding as she wrapped her arms around herself. “I do,” she admitted, her voice laced with uncertainty. “But I don’t know how this is going to work, Lukas. It’s… complicated.”

Lukas stepped closer, his expression gentle. “Complicated doesn’t mean impossible, Your Highness.”

She looked at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

He gave a slight bow, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “It’s part of the job.”

part four...

taglist: @iimplicitt @bookishnerd1132 @bratstappen @mastermindbaby @abbyandersonstargirl

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hotvintagepoll · 9 months ago

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Propaganda

Lauren Bacall (To Have and Have Not, The Big Sleep, Key Largo)—"Just put your lips together...and blow" excuse me ma'am i'm briefly going to turn into a kettle. She's the quintessential Femme Fatale who may betray me in the end but I'd let her it'd be worth it

Laraine Day (Foreign Correspondent, Mr. Lucky)—no propaganda submitted

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Laraine Day:

Lauren Bacall:

"The VOICE, the SLINK, the EYES. Woof."

"Lauren Bacall was a major lesbian awakening for me. Every picture of her makes it look like she’s about to destroy you physically and emotionally (why is that so hot, I may need help). She had incredible long running chemistry with her husband, Humphrey Bogart, but was an absolute star in her own right. I’ll never be over my crush on her."

"She's got that confident, no-nonsense air about her. She's a boss babe who knows what she wants and gets it DONE. Staunch liberal Democrat her whole life. Campaigned for RFK. From Wikipedia: "In a 2005 interview with Larry King, Bacall described herself as "anti-Republican... A liberal. The L-word". She added that "being a liberal is the best thing on Earth you can be. You are welcoming to everyone when you're a liberal. You do not have a small mind."" Beautiful hair. Beautiful eyes. Beautiful lips. She's just beauty. LISTEN TO HER VOICE. TELL ME THAT'S NOT THE STUFF THAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF."

"A gorgeous lady inside and out. One half of an absolute power couple with Humphrey Bogart, tended to him and other actors suffering from malaria whilst filming the African Queen, generally radiated grace and poise throughout her life. Also her last role was in Family Guy so she needs justice for that"

"HER VOICE. Like yeah, she was absolutely stunning but oh my god, I'm obsessed with her voice"

"She was stunning. Tall and beautiful with a distinctive voice and able to carry her own in a male dominated field. She won the heart of millions, including one of Hollywood's most iconic leading men, Humphrey Bogart. Their story was the stuff of legends, and the chemistry between them was apparent in the multiple films they started in together. She personified the film noir dame and yet she also adapted as Hollywood changed. Her career spanned decades, and she was honored multiple times."

youtube

"She is soooo neat. And hot. And everything. That one scene in To Have and Have Not where she says "you know how to whistle don't you? You just put your lips together and blow" altered my brain chemistry during media archaeology class and here we are."

youtube

#laraine day #lauren bacall #hotvintagepoll #ladies 1 #fuck that old woman #Youtube

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thewiltingrose · 4 months ago

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Puerilis Attraction :When your attraction feels boyish in nature! You can use this no matter what gender you are :3

#❤️ I want to be graceful in everything I do! Just like the Queen of hearts ❤️#attraction type #mogai term #mogai coining #mogai #mogai flag

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jesncin · 26 days ago

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Hi! I’ve been reading Hellblazer lately, and I was wondering if you had any thoughts regarding John’s relationships in the comic? Either romantic, platonic, or familial (I know you’ve already talked a lot about Goldie especially, but I’d love to hear your thoughts about Cheryl and Gemma, too!)

My ghost sensitive friends can see ghosts in photos so this works actually. Tony Masters was not invited to the family photo because Johnstantine really doesn't want a photo of or with him haha.

I'm only about a hundred issues into Hellblazer but I love Cheryl and Gemma! I like that John cares for his sister and niece to such a point that if he learns his niece is in trouble he'd drop everything to save her even when he's about to get funky-style with someone. I find his relationship with these two just so endearing. They're a nice break from his other abusive family members. Other opinions on John's romantic partners under the cut!

Emma: excellent. I hope she keeps haunting John forever.

Zed: I think she's fun and a great love interest. Mysterious, cunning and tragic in a way that reinforces Hellblazer themes really well. I don't really like her return with that sort of culty following afterwards, just in terms of vibes. Idk I don't trust that brand of white woman haha.

Marj: Also a great love interest! I like how she contrasts Zed as the more down to earth hippie one. While I think she's sweet, I do agree with John's later assessment that they're not a fit realistically. Somehow I still don't trust this white woman. Just a vibe.

Kit: Icon. Queen. She should get to dump John and break his heart as many times as she wants.

Sarah: You deserved better, narratively. The minute this character showed up I took a long break from reading Hellblazer cuz I knew she was going to be Disposable Black Love Interest and yep, she was. John spent his whole time with her fixated on his ex-gf Helen, instead. The only saving grace is at least Sarah dumped John before meeting a worse fate by sticking around.

Chas (lmao): never did anything wrong and should be allowed to beat up John whenever he wants.

(Honorable mention since I'm also reading Spurrier's Hellblazer run too) Liza Ikumelo: I love her as a tragic mom to Noah Ikumelo and I like that she and John had a fling resulting in the tragedy that is John being an absent dad to Noah's younger years. Did she have to be a cop though. Spurrier is so much more critical of american cops in comparison for some reason >_>

Those are my thoughts so far!

#askjesncin #john constantine #hellblazer #vertigo comics #goldie constantine #golden boy #jl remix #cheryl masters #gemma masters #i wish more hellblazer characters outside of john and chas get drawn but alas #they deserve the love though! i love em lots even the funky hellblazer characters

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novaursa · 3 months ago

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The Flames We Carry

- Summary: Ser Criston Cole expected for Rhaenys and Meleys to appear over Rook's Rest. To Gwayne's horror, Rhaenyra sent her sister instead: you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is Rhaeyra's younger sister and is bonded to Silverwing. These events happen after Skyfall. If you want to read all the parts in chronological order visit my blog, the list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (there is no adult content, but there are visual descriptions of violence, blood and gore)

- Word count: 3 712

- A/N: this was scheduled to be posted tomorrow, but I've decided post extra today. Enjoy.

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

Ser Gwayne Hightower had always been a man torn between loyalty and desire, but never more so than in the days leading up to the siege at Rook's Rest. The tension between him and Ser Criston Cole had grown sharper since that fateful day when he let you—the Princess, Y/N—slip through his grasp before their march on Duskendale. He could still feel the warmth of your skin against his, the taste of your lips lingering like a ghostly memory, a sweet torment. You had been his time and time again, even if only in stolen moments, and each encounter had deepened the scars on his heart.

Gwayne knew he should be focusing on the battle ahead, yet his thoughts strayed back to you, his mind replaying that night over and over. The look in your eyes when you realized he would let you go, when you understood the depth of his feelings despite all the bitterness that lingered between your Houses. He had set you free, knowing full well it was an act of treason in all but name, and yet he would do it again if it meant sparing you the horrors to come.

But now, at Rook's Rest, everything was escalating rapidly. Ser Criston's scorpion ballistas and archers were poised in ambush, waiting for the dragon they expected: Rhaenys on Meleys. The war council had been clear, and Gwayne had heard it all through gritted teeth—Aemond and Aegon would flank her on Vhagar and Sunfyre, trapping her in dragonfire and steel. It was a ruthless plan, one that made his stomach churn. He had sworn to protect his family, his king, and yet all he could think about was you.

The skies darkened, a shadow sweeping over the encampment. The men tensed, eyes raised to the heavens as the flap of wings grew louder. Gwayne’s heart pounded in his chest as he looked up, expecting the crimson scales of Meleys. But what he saw instead made his blood run cold.

Silverwing.

The graceful, silvery-grey dragon, once ridden by Queen Alysanne, now bonded to you. Gwayne’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. This was not supposed to happen. It was not supposed to be you in the skies above, facing down two monstrous dragons with only the loyal Silverwing at your side. Panic clawed at his throat, his mind racing. He could see it in Criston's eyes too—the slight widening, the realization that their ambush had just become a slaughter. Not for Rhaenys, but for you.

“No…” The word slipped from Gwayne’s lips before he could stop it. Without a second thought, he rushed toward the nearest scorpion, where soldiers prepared to take aim at Silverwing. His vision tunneled, anger and fear boiling together in his veins. He couldn’t let this happen—not to you.

"Stand down!" Gwayne shouted at the soldiers, shoving one aside with enough force to send the man sprawling. The crew looked at him in confusion, but Gwayne didn’t care. He grabbed hold of the crank, making it impossible for them to load the bolt.

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing?!” Criston’s voice was a venomous hiss as he stalked toward Gwayne, eyes blazing with fury. “You’re sabotaging the plan! Move, or I’ll have you—”

Gwayne spun around, his hand already on the hilt of his sword. “I won’t let you do this, Criston. Not to her.”

Criston’s lip curled in disgust. “Her? You would betray your king, your House, for a traitorous whore who—"

The sound of steel rang out as Gwayne drew his sword, slashing at the scorpion mechanism, rendering it useless. The soldiers scattered, unwilling to get caught in the confrontation between two knights who had both earned their deadly reputations. Criston’s eyes narrowed, and in the blink of an eye, his sword was in his hand, the tip leveled at Gwayne’s chest.

“You’ll die for this treachery, Hightower,” Criston spat, the words laced with venom.

“I would die a thousand times before I let you kill her,” Gwayne growled back, his voice low and dangerous. “I won’t let you harm her.”

Above them, the roar of dragons filled the air as Silverwing engaged with Sunfyre and Vhagar. Dragonfire crackled like thunder, the heat from the flames casting an eerie glow over the battlefield. You were up there, fighting for your life, for your cause. Gwayne’s heart ached with every fiery burst, knowing that each moment could be your last.

Criston lunged, and Gwayne barely parried the strike in time. The two knights clashed, steel against steel, each strike filled with desperation and fury. Gwayne fought with everything he had, driven by the need to protect you, even if it meant cutting down one of his own.

“Do you think she cares for you, Gwayne?!” Criston taunted between strikes. “She’s a dragonrider, a princess—she’ll never be yours! You’re a fool!”

“I know what I am,” Gwayne snarled, knocking Criston’s sword aside and slamming his shoulder into the other man’s chest, sending him stumbling back. “But I also know what I feel. And I’ll not stand by and let you murder her.”

Criston recovered quickly, rage twisting his features as he advanced again. “She chose Daemon over you! The Rogue Prince—do you think she’ll remember your name when she’s ash?”

Gwayne roared in fury, his blade a blur as he pressed the attack. The sounds of battle, of dragons shrieking and flames roaring, were deafening, but all Gwayne could hear was the pounding of his own heart, the desperate need to get to you, to save you. But with every second that passed, his hope dwindled, and fear gnawed at the edges of his resolve.

Then, the ground trembled, a shockwave of heat and force rippling across the battlefield as a massive burst of dragonfire erupted nearby. Gwayne staggered, the distraction costing him as Criston’s sword sliced across his side. Pain flared, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to fall. He couldn’t afford to fall—not when you needed him.

But as the flames subsided, a silhouette emerged through the smoke—Silverwing, descending, with you astride her. Your eyes, burning with determination and fury, locked onto the scene below: Criston standing over a wounded Gwayne, ready to deliver the killing blow.

“Y/N!” Gwayne shouted, his voice raw with desperation.

You didn’t hesitate. With a command, Silverwing unleashed a torrent of dragonfire, forcing Criston to leap back, narrowly avoiding being consumed by the flames. In the brief reprieve, Gwayne stumbled to his feet, clutching his side.

Your gaze met his, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The memory of that last kiss, of your shared moments, hung between you like an unspoken vow. Gwayne knew he had only seconds before the battle resumed, but in those few heartbeats, he saw the truth in your eyes—the love that had never truly died, the bond that still connected you, even through war and betrayal.

But there was no time for words. With a final, lingering look, you turned Silverwing toward the sky, preparing for the next wave of the fight. And as you ascended into the chaos once more, Gwayne knew he would fight until his last breath to protect you, even if the whole world stood against him.The battle raged on, but in that moment, Gwayne Hightower’s heart belonged to only one—you.

The battlefield below Rook’s Rest was a symphony of chaos and death, the sky a canvas painted with fire and blood. Gwayne could only watch in helpless agony as you and Silverwing clashed in the heavens with Sunfyre and Aegon, two dragons locked in a deadly dance of tooth and claw. Overhead, the monstrous shadow of Vhagar circled like a vulture, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Every screech of agony, every roar of defiance, was a knife twisting deeper into Gwayne’s chest.

On the ground, Criston Cole barked orders, his eyes fixed on the battle above. The soldiers scrambled, trying to reload the scorpions, but the dragonfire raining down made their task near impossible. Bolts flew haphazardly, striking neither dragon nor rider, only adding to the carnage below as men screamed, burning alive in dragonflame. Gwayne’s heart pounded in his ears, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the clash in the sky.

Silverwing and Sunfyre circled each other in a blur of flashing claws and snapping jaws, the air thick with the scent of burning flesh and blood. Gwayne could see the desperation in the way you leaned into every attack, urging Silverwing forward with a fury that matched his own. Aegon, though armored in golden scales and atop his mighty Sunfyre, was losing ground; he was not the rider you were, and Sunfyre, for all his pride, was no match for Silverwing’s speed and power.

“Hold fast, Sunfyre!” Aegon’s voice cut through the air, laced with both command and fear. But the king’s bravado was slipping. The once-proud Sunfyre shrieked in pain as Silverwing’s talons raked across his side, tearing through scales and flesh. Blood sprayed like rain, glistening in the sunlight before falling onto Criston’s soldiers below, causing them to scatter in panic.

Gwayne could feel his grip tightening on his sword as he watched, torn between the desire to cheer for your victory and the dread that this battle would consume you. Criston, standing nearby, had forgotten Gwayne entirely, his eyes alight with a mixture of awe and hatred. “If Sunfyre falls, so falls our king,” Criston muttered to himself, though Gwayne could hear the edge of panic in his voice.

But you would not give Sunfyre a moment of reprieve. Silverwing descended with fury, slamming into the golden beast with the force of a hurricane. The clash was brutal, teeth and claws tearing through scales, blood and fire mingling as the two dragons grappled. Sunfyre roared, a cry filled with both pain and rage, as Silverwing’s jaws clamped down on his wing.

“No!” Aegon’s scream echoed across the battlefield, his eyes wide with disbelief as Silverwing’s powerful muscles twisted and tore, shredding Sunfyre’s wing almost completely from its body. The golden dragon thrashed wildly, his flight faltering as the wing dangled uselessly by a thread of sinew and bone.

Gwayne’s breath caught in his throat, torn between elation and horror. You were winning, but at what cost? He knew what was coming next. Vhagar, that ancient beast of war, had been waiting for this moment. With a bellow that shook the very ground, the monstrous she-dragon descended like a nightmare from the skies, her jaws wide and hungry.

“Look out!” Gwayne shouted, knowing full well you couldn’t hear him from so far below. His heart thundered in his chest as Vhagar slammed into both Silverwing and Sunfyre with the force of a landslide. The three dragons collided in a tangle of limbs, scales, and teeth, a storm of rage and destruction. The impact was so fierce that Gwayne felt the ground shudder beneath him.

“No! No, no, no…” Gwayne whispered, his voice cracking as he watched the entangled dragons plummet toward the earth. You and Aegon were mere shadows against the backdrop of fire and smoke, barely visible as the dragons twisted and fell in a deadly spiral. Criston’s soldiers, caught between the descending juggernauts and their own fear, broke ranks, fleeing in every direction as the ground rushed up to meet the falling beasts.

Gwayne felt a cold dread settle in his bones as he watched you, desperately holding onto Silverwing’s saddle as the world blurred around you. You clung on with a ferocity that spoke to your will to survive, but against Vhagar’s ancient fury and Sunfyre’s desperate thrashing, even the mighty Silverwing was struggling.

Criston’s eyes were wild as he watched the battle unfold, his voice a harsh whisper of disbelief. “Vhagar will end it… she must end it…”

But Gwayne wasn’t watching Vhagar anymore. He was watching you. You were still fighting, still urging Silverwing to fight back, but the odds were overwhelming. Sunfyre’s golden scales were slick with blood, his roars more pitiful now as he struggled to right himself in the air. Silverwing’s wings beat furiously, trying to break free from Vhagar’s crushing grip, but the elder dragon’s jaws clamped down on Silverwing’s neck, dragging all three dragons toward the ground with terrifying speed.

The earth shook as the three dragons smashed into the battlefield, the impact sending up a cloud of dirt and debris. The sound was deafening—a sickening crunch of bone and screech of metal as the dragons collided with the earth. Gwayne’s heart dropped into his stomach, his eyes searching desperately through the smoke and dust for any sign of you.

“No…” he whispered, stumbling forward as if he could somehow reach you, somehow pull you from the wreckage of dragons and death. But even from here, he could see the carnage—Silverwing’s body twisted and battered, Sunfyre writhing in agony, and Vhagar looming above them all, a monstrous shadow of death.

For a heartbeat, the battlefield fell silent, every eye fixed on the wreckage of the fallen dragons. Gwayne’s breath was ragged, his eyes straining to catch a glimpse of you amidst the chaos. The dust began to settle, revealing broken bodies, shattered armor, and the mangled forms of the dragons.

And then he saw you—barely visible, still moving. You crawled from beneath Silverwing’s wing, blood streaking your face, your expression fierce even in the face of such overwhelming odds. Gwayne’s heart leaped into his throat. You were alive. Against all the odds, you had survived the fall.

But the battle was far from over. Vhagar’s malevolent eyes fixed on you, a deep rumble echoing from her throat as she prepared to finish what she had started. Aegon, still clinging to the last shreds of his pride, shouted commands to Sunfyre, but the once-majestic dragon was crippled, struggling even to rise.

Gwayne turned to Criston, his voice hoarse with desperation. “Do something! Call them off—she’ll be slaughtered!”

But Criston’s eyes were cold, devoid of mercy. “It’s too late, Hightower. She made her choice.”

Before Gwayne could respond, a deafening roar split the air as Vhagar reared back, ready to unleash a final torrent of fire upon you and Silverwing. Gwayne’s breath caught, knowing he was powerless to stop what was coming. All he could do was watch in helpless horror as the monstrous she-dragon prepared to strike.

But in those last moments, your eyes locked onto his. Even from across the battlefield, Gwayne saw the fire in your gaze—the unyielding determination, the refusal to surrender, even in the face of certain death. It was a look that would be seared into his memory forever.

And as Vhagar’s jaws parted, ready to unleash death upon the field, Gwayne did the only thing he could—he prayed. For you, for Silverwing, and for the love that had been forged in the fires of war.

It felt like time itself had slowed, the moments stretching into agonizing eternity. His breath hitched as the flames began to build in Vhagar’s throat, the light of impending destruction flickering in her maw. It would be over in seconds—everything would be lost.

But then, with a burst of speed that took even Gwayne by surprise, Silverwing jolted forward, her wings beating with desperate strength. As Vhagar’s jaws parted to unleash her fiery death, Silverwing struck. The smaller, silvery dragon lunged at Vhagar’s exposed throat, her teeth sinking into the tender scales. Her bite was unrelenting, fueled by both fury and the need to protect you. Vhagar’s flame sputtered out in a roar of agony, the ancient beast thrashing wildly as she tried to shake off the determined Silverwing.

Gwayne’s eyes widened in awe and terror. Silverwing’s tail snapped like a whip, striking Vhagar’s head with a force that reverberated across the battlefield. The blow landed squarely on Vhagar’s eye, the sound of bone and scale cracking sickeningly loud. The she-dragon’s roar of pain was a monstrous, guttural cry that seemed to shake the heavens. Even Aemond, usually so composed in battle, shouted in fury and alarm, yanking hard on the reins to regain control of his wounded dragon.

Gwayne knew he had only moments to act. Blood was streaming down your face, and even from a distance, he could see the exhaustion and pain etched into your features. You laid on the ground, barely holding on to life as Silverwing thrashed against Vhagar’s deadly strength. It was a miracle you had survived this long, but that miracle was on the brink of shattering. Gwayne’s decision was made in an instant, despite the searing pain in his side and the chaos around him.

Nearby, a riderless horse whinnied in terror, its eyes rolling as it tried to flee the madness. Gwayne gritted his teeth, limping toward the panicked creature. “Easy, girl,” he rasped, wincing with every step. The horse reared, wild with fear, but Gwayne moved with surprising swiftness, grasping the reins and swinging himself into the saddle with a grunt of pain. Blood stained his tunic from his earlier wound, but he forced himself to push through it. There was no time to dwell on it—not when you were up there, fighting for your life.

“Where are you going, you fool?!” Criston’s voice rang out behind him, filled with fury. “You’ll die, Hightower! Come back!”

But Gwayne was deaf to Criston’s commands. He spurred the horse forward, urging it toward the burning wreckage of dragons, toward you. The horse resisted at first, terrified by the scent of blood and fire, but Gwayne was relentless, guiding it with strong hands and determined resolve. The animal finally obeyed, its hooves pounding against the earth as it charged through the smoke and debris.

Criston cursed behind him, and Gwayne heard the clatter of armor as the Lord Commander sprinted after him, but Gwayne didn’t care. All that mattered was reaching you.

Above, the struggle between Silverwing and Vhagar intensified. Aemond’s curses mingled with the roars of his dragon as he tried to force Vhagar to tear herself free, but Silverwing was like a vice, her jaws locked onto Vhagar’s throat. The she-dragon’s great wings buffeted the air, but even Vhagar, with all her size and strength, was struggling against the tenacity of her smaller opponent. Silverwing’s wings were shredded, her silvery scales bloodied, but she refused to let go. She was holding on not just for herself, but for you.

“Y/N!” Gwayne’s shout cut through the chaos as he neared the spot where you lay half-alive below Silverwing’s wing. He could see that you were barely conscious, your grip weak on your sword as you fought to stay awake. Desperation fueled his every move as he urged the horse closer, reaching out to you. “Hold on! I’m coming!”

Through the haze of pain, you blinked up at him, your eyes unfocused. “Gwayne?” Your voice was faint, tinged with disbelief. “You… you shouldn’t be here…”

“I’m not leaving you!” Gwayne snapped, his voice rough with emotion. With a final burst of strength, he dismounted down beside you, reaching for your arm. The moment his hand grasped yours, you seemed to come back to life, your eyes clearing just enough to recognize him fully.

“Gwayne… you need to run,” you gasped, wincing as another jolt of pain coursed through you. “She’s going to kill us all…”

“Not today,” he vowed, pulling up with him and onto his horse. You were light in his arms, weakened from battle and injury, but there was still a flicker of the fierce spirit he had always admired in you. “I’ll get you out of here, I swear it.”

Criston’s voice was closer now, filled with anger. “Hightower, you’ll be executed for this!” he roared, but Gwayne didn’t even spare him a glance. He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks, and the animal surged forward, carrying you both away from the hellish scene behind you.

As the horse galloped across the field, Gwayne glanced back over his shoulder just in time to see the moment when Silverwing’s strength finally gave out. Vhagar’s claws found purchase, tearing deep into Silverwing’s side, and with a heart-wrenching cry, the silver dragon was forced to release her grip. Vhagar reared up, triumphant and bloodied, but the cost of the battle was clear—her eye was ruined, her scales cracked and bleeding. Silverwing collapsed onto the battlefield, her wings crumpling beneath her, but even then, she snarled defiantly, refusing to bow.

But there was no more fight left in her. Gwayne’s heart broke as he watched the light fade from Silverwing’s eyes, her body slumping in exhaustion. Aemond’s laughter echoed through the sky, dark and cruel, as he urged Vhagar to take the final blow. But before Vhagar could finish her fallen opponent, Gwayne’s eyes caught the movement of Criston as he halted his pursuit.

“Cole!” Aegon’s voice was a ragged gasp, filled with pain and panic. The king lay on the battlefield, unmoving, his once-golden armor scorched and twisted from the flames. His face was barely recognizable, the flesh blistered and raw, his body wracked with agony. Criston’s eyes widened in horror as he realized what had happened—their king was grievously injured, possibly dying. All thoughts of pursuing Gwayne and you evaporated as Criston sprinted toward Aegon, screaming orders for a healer.

Gwayne tightened his hold on you as the horse raced away from the carnage, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. You clung to him weakly, your breath shallow, your strength fading fast. “Stay with me, Y/N,” he urged, his voice trembling with barely contained desperation. “Just hold on a little longer. We’ll find safety. I won’t let you die.”

Your eyes fluttered, and for a brief moment, you leaned your head against his chest, your voice a faint whisper. “You saved me… again…”

Gwayne’s throat tightened, his emotions threatening to spill over. “And I’ll keep saving you, no matter what it costs,” he promised, pressing a fierce kiss to your temple as the wind whipped through your hair. “I’m not losing you. Not today, not ever.”

Behind them, the battle raged on, but for Gwayne, the only thing that mattered was the woman in his arms and the fragile hope that somehow, despite everything, they would both live to see another day.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #ser criston cole #silverwing #sunfyre #vhagar #gwayne x y/n #gwayne x you #gwayne x reader #ser gwayne #gwayne hightower #hotd gwayne #hotd x reader #hotd

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importantstudentbusinessspy-blog · 3 months ago

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Dragon Blood

Chapter 3: Your newfound fear of dragons causes you to run away from Dragonstone, but you're naive to think a certain prince with an odd fondness of you would let you go so easily.

Vermithor's claiming left you with endless nightmares. The monster's fury and the screams of the unfortunate dragonseeds haunted your nights and filled your days with dread. The castle, once a place of routine and stability, now felt a platter above hungry predators.

Desperation led you to the head of staff, where you made up a story about distant family in the Reach. "They've asked me to come live with them," you lied, your voice trembling but determined. "Please, I need to leave Dragonstone."

The head of staff was a stern woman with a soft spot for you. She eyed you suspiciously but eventually nodded. "Very well then. I'll arrange for your transfer to a local inn. You may leave as soon as you are ready."

The next day, you gathered all of your belongings and set out on the path leading away from Dragonstone. Each step was heavy with the weight of leaving behind the life you knew and stepping into the unknown.

Suddenly, the sky darkened as a massive shadow passed overhead. You looked up, heart-pounding, to see a dragon descending right onto you. Vermax landed with a powerful thud, sending dust and pebbles flying. You froze, your newfound phobia of dragons paralysing you.

Prince Jace dismounted, his armor gleaming in the sun, a picture of authority and grace.

He approached you with a measured stride, his expression unreadable. "It is high treason for a servant to lie about their supposed family in the Reach."

Fear seized you, and you took a step back. "My prince—"

He cut you off, his eyes blazing with anger. "Do you have any idea how foolish you are? A pretty girl, travelling alone, unarmed and unprotected? Do you have any inkling of what could happen to you on the road? The dangers you could face? What if some slaver found you? What then?"

His words struck you like a blow, and you felt your knees weaken. "I just..."

“You think you can just walk away?” Jacaerys said, his tone low and challenging. “After everything you’ve seen, everything you know? You think that freedom is yours to take?”

“I want none of it! I just want to be safe,” you replied, your voice trembling.

“You’re a Targaryen, y/n. There’s no running from that.”

The weight of his words pressed down on you. “I’m not! Im not... like you, not like the queen,” you whispered. “I’m just a servant. I have no wish to claim a dragon, not anymore—”

You felt your lower lip trembled, your fears cutting off your speech.

Jacaerys softened slightly, though his tone remained stern and dismissive. "You're lucky. It's not every commoner who gets offered an escort from a prince."

You looked up at him in surprise. The closeness of his presence made your breath catch in your throat. His eyes were intense, studying you with a mix of frustration and something else, something darker.

You hesitated, fear and doubt swirling within you. Jacaerys stepped even closer, his presence overwhelming. “Do as I say,” he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. “You will learn how to command a dragon. Claim your birthright at least once.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you could see no way out. He was your prince, your sovereign, and you had to obey him. You nodded reluctantly.

He took you by the hand, leading you to Vermax. The dragon's eyes followed your every move, and you could feel its rumble shaking the ground beneath you.

Jacaerys stepped closer, his presence both intimidating and oddly reassuring. "Say 'Lykiri to command Vermax to obey."

"Lykiri," you repeated nervously, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Louder," Jacaerys insisted. "Dragons respond to strength."

You took a deep breath and tried again, louder, “Lykiri!"

Vermax's eyes flicked to you, and with a low rumble, the dragon shifted, acknowledging your command. Your eyes widened. The realization that the dragon had listened to you sent a rush of adrenaline through your veins.

Jacaerys stepped up on the dragons offered wing with practiced grace, then pulled you by the hand, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Vermax won't harm you," he assured, seating himself behind you on the saddle, his voice closer now, almost tender. "Feel the dragon's strength."

As you settle on the dragon's back, Jace's presence was solid behind you and reassuring. He guided your hands to grip the saddle, his own hands briefly covering yours.

“Say ‘soves’ to command him to fly.” He spoke in your ear. “Confidently. Command him.”

“Soves!” You spoke loudly.

“And hold on tight.” He instructed, placing his hands on the saddle In front of You.

Syrax took off, the ground falling away beneath you. The sensation of flight, the rush of wind, and the power of the dragon beneath you were overwhelming. Despite your fear, there was an exhilaration, a feeling of freedom you had never known. The world below became a blur, the wind whipping through your hair, your heart pounding with a mix of terror and joy.

The force of the takeoff pressed you back against him. Wind whipped past you. The world below became a blur, and the vast sky opened up around you.

You gasped for breath, the wind making it difficult to breathe. Sensing your struggle, Jace tightened his grip around your waist, his hand moving to your chest, guiding you. “Breathe with me,” he said, his voice steady and close. “In… and out. Slowly.”

You tried to follow his lead, inhaling deeply as he did, his presence grounding you. Gradually, your breath steadied, and you began to adjust to the sensation of flight, the terror giving way to awe.

Jace leaned closer, his voice just above the wind’s roar. “You’re doing well,” he said, his tone softer now, almost… proud.

The adrenaline coursing through you was intoxicating, and as Vermax soared through the skies, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of exhilaration unlike anything you’d ever experienced.

Tears sprang to your eyes, not from fear, but from the overwhelming beauty of it all—the vast expanse of the sky, the powerful dragon beneath you, and the realization that you were flying. Truly flying.

As tears streamed down your cheeks, Jacaerys noticed and pulled you closer. “Are you crying?” he asked, his tone somewhere between teasing and concern.

“I… I’ve never felt anything like this,” you admitted, your voice catching with emotion. “It’s… it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen!”

You looked out over the landscape, your fear gradually giving way to amazement. The world seemed vast and beautiful from this height, and for a moment, all your worries and fears seemed small and distant.

When Vermax finally landed, your heart was still racing, but it was no longer from fear. Jace helped you dismount, his hands lingering on yours. His gloved hand wiped away your tears, your eyes shining with a newfound light.

"Thank you," you said, your voice barely a whisper.

He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Remember your place, y/n" he said, repeating the same words he once spoke to you. "Not everyone is a dragon. Don't let them think they can push you."

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. As he mounted Vermax once more, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this moment had changed something between you, something you couldn’t quite name.

Jacaerys gave you one last look, his expression bittersweet, before Vermax took to the skies again, leaving you standing there, breathless and overwhelmed by the experience.

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

In the small town where you’d settled, life had taken on a simple turn. The days were long, filled with the clatter of mugs and the hum of conversation as you served folk in the tavern. Despite the work being tiring, there was a certain peace in the predictability of it all. The days were repetitive, but you were away from the politics and dangers of Dragonstone, away from the volatile nature of the court.

Yet, despite this newfound contentment, your thoughts often strayed back to the prince. In quiet moments, when your duties were done and you were alone in your small room above the tavern, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. It started innocently enough, a simple memory on his sharp gaze, the way his eyes seemed to pierce through you. But then, your thoughts became something more—something that made your breath hitch and your heart race.

You remembered the way he had stood so close to you, his tall frame towering over you, the heat of his body radiating against your skin. The memory of his voice, low and commanding, echoed in your ears, stirring something deep within you. There was a part of you that couldn’t forget the intensity of his touch, the way his hands guided you, strong and possessive, as if you were something that belonged to him.

Your thoughts became bolder, imagining what it would feel like if he had pulled you closer, if his lips had brushed against your skin. The idea of his power over you sent a thrill through your body, a tantalizing mixture of fear and desire. You found yourself longing for that feeling again—the rush of adrenaline, the helplessness of being under his control, the undeniable pull between you.

But with that heat came a deep sense of shame. You were low born. Nothing more than a commoner, a servant, and he was a prince of the realm. How could you, a mere tavern girl now, dare to feel this way about someone so far above your station? The very idea of it felt wrong, inappropriate, yet you couldn’t stop the thoughts from creeping in, couldn’t stop your body from reacting to the memories of him. The shame gnawed at you, making you feel small and unworthy, but it also made the desire burn hotter, a forbidden fire you didn’t know how to extinguish.

In your free time, you’d found solace in the company of a local pastor, a kind man who offered to teach you to read. You took to the lessons eagerly, and in time, he began to trust you with his collection of books. Most were on the Targaryens and their dragons.

The stories of the dragons captivated you. You learned their names, their temperaments, and the legends about them. And with each passage, your connection to the past, to the blood in your veins, grew stronger, even if you tried to suppress it.

But even more, these stories fed your thoughts of Jace. The more you read about the Targaryens, the more you understood the weight of the name he carried, the expectations, and the burden of his lineage. You wondered if he ever felt trapped by it, as you felt by your own place in society. And as you delved deeper into these histories, your fantasies of him grew more vivid, more intense, until you could almost feel him with you, his presence a ghostly weight that pressed against you in the night.

You couldn’t stop wanting him, couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like if the world were different, if you were different. You kept these feelings to yourself, unsure of what they meant or what you would even do if you were to ever see him again. For now, the tavern was your world, and Jace was a distant memory—one that haunted your nights and invaded your dreams with yearning.

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

Jacaerys Velaryon had little time for distractions. His days were filled with duties—securing alliances for his mother, studying the intricate web of Targaryen bloodlines, and practicing his skills in combat. Every moment was a reminder of the precarious position his family held in the realm, the constant threat of war looming on the horizon. There was no room for error, no room for weakness.

And yet, despite his best efforts, his thoughts would often stray to you.

It was infuriating how easily you crept into his mind. A mere servant, a girl of no consequence, and yet he couldn’t stop thinking about you. It started innocently enough, a fleeting memory of your purple wide-eyed expression when he had pulled you from the throne room, saving you from Vermithor. But those memories became something more.

He remembered the way you had trembled under his touch, the way your breath hitched when he had drawn close. It should have pleased him, the power he held over you, but instead, it had sparked something else—a desire that he found both confusing and inappropriate. You were beneath him, a commoner with no claim to anything, yet the memory of your body pressed against his, your soft curves against his hardened armor, lingered in his mind, refusing to be banished.

As he pored over maps and documents, his thoughts would drift to the feel of your skin under his hands, the warmth of your body against his. He wondered what it would be like to explore that warmth further, to strip away the layers of clothing that separated you and discover your body for himself. The thought alone made his blood run hot, and he cursed himself for allowing such distractions.

His days were a blur of meetings and training, his nights spent in restless sleep, plagued by dreams in which you featured prominently. He dreamed of claiming you, of possessing you in a way that no one else could, of making you his despite the vast chasm that separated your stations in life.

It was maddening. You were nothing, a nobody, and yet the thought of you with another man, of someone else touching touching whats his, filled him with a rage. How dare you make him feel this way, weak and conflicted?

The internal struggle only intensified as he learned more about the Targaryen bloodlines. It was that realization that troubled him the most. You were of Targaryen blood, however diluted, and that meant something.

His rational mind insisted that you were still nothing more than a servant, your bloodline a mere footnote in the grand history of his house. But another part of him, a darker, more primal one, demanded he claim you, possess you, and ensure that no one else could.

Even as he trained with the sword, his muscles burning from the exertion, his mind would wander to the way you had looked at him, the mixture of fear and something else in your eyes. It was intoxicating, the way you had both feared and desired him, and it made him want to see that look again, to push you further and see just how far he could go before you broke.

And then there was the shame. The shame of wanting someone so far beneath him, the shame of knowing that he was betraying everything he had been taught by even entertaining these thoughts. You were a bastard, a servant, a commoner, and he was a prince of the realm. It was absurd, scandalous even, to think that there could be anything between you. Yet, despite the shame, despite the knowledge that he was crossing a line, he couldn’t stop himself.

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

Tag list:

@alwaysdaydreamingoffiction

@rav9n-16

@dracaryxzs

@jacaeryvardaddy

@ericasabe

@alessiaparigim

#hotd fanfic #hotd season 2 #hotd #house of the dragon #jace velaryon imagine #jace velaryon #jace velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon imagine #jecaerys velaryon fluff

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ashblooddragons · 4 months ago

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The Red Queen (Prologue\?)

(summarry: the second daughter of king Viserys caught the hearts of many, but none more than her dear uncle. and daemon will do everything in his power to make sure no one takes his sweet niece.)

this is my first fic and I have dylexia so do be kind and give constructive criticism! thank you!

106 ac

Viserys POV

I stood outside the room hearing my wife scream as she gave birth to our newest child. Aemma had gone into labor that night and now it is midday. I keep praying to the gods to keep my wife and babe safe. I'm not sure which ones anymore, the seven, the fourteen, or the old gods, I suppose any that will hear me and answer. Otto walked up to me and cringed at my wife’s screams. “Your grace, your brother has arrived just now. His dragon was seen landing at the pits.” Otto says tensely. He never has liked my brother, always thought him too rash and chaotic.

“Thank you, Otto. Do be sure to get him and my daughter when the babe is born.” I say as I flinch at the bloodcurdling scream my wife makes. Otto nods and walks off to continue his duties as I wait for my newest child. After thirty minutes I hear my wife’s screams stop and a babes cries. A midwife opens the door and turns to me. “Another girl, your grace.” she says as she curtys and holds the door open to me.

“She’s perfect Viserys. Oh so perfect.” Aemma says as she looks down at the bundle in her arms. “Would you like to meet her?” She asks once she notices I’m frozen at the door. At her words I rushed over to sit next to her and kiss her sweaty brow. I reach out and take our new daughter and look down at her. “Isn’t she perfect, Viserys?” Aemma says as she touches our daughter's nose and we laugh as she scrunches her face at the action.

“Yes, the most perfect thing I've ever seen.” I say smiling. I then remember all of the others we’ve lost and look up at the maester. “Healthy?” I asked fearfully. “Kicking like a goat, your grace.” he says and I can't help but laugh from relief. “Good, good.” I say smiling. Myself and Aemma sit there just looking at this beautiful creature we made, we’re so enthralled we don’t notice the midwives and maesters cleaning my wife, the room, the bedding or them leaving.

When our eldest enters I smile at her. Rhaenyra rushes over to me and Aemma and climbs into the bed sitting between us. “I got my sister? Is that her? Can I hold her? What’s her name?” Rhaenyra asks us so quickly we hardly understand her, We both can't help but laugh. “Yes this is your sister, yes you can hold her, and no we haven’t picked a name yet.” Aemma responds as she strokes her hair affectionately and I set our newest in Rhaenyra’s lap.

Once Rhaenyra looks down she scrunches up her face in disgust. “She’s so boring! How am I supposed to play with her when she’s boring?” Rhaenyra says furiously as she pushes the babe off her lap, gets off the bed and storms out. Aemma thankfully had quick reflexes as she picked up our youngest before she got hurt. Aemma and I sigh in disappointment at our eldest’s attitude. “She’ll come around.” I say but from the look I’m given we both know I don't believe my own words. Nonetheless Aemma nods and smiles at my effort.

We sit there for the next hour brainstorming names till Aemma says your name, and it’s perfect. That is when we hear a knock at the door “Come!” I say and see that it’s my brother wishing to meet his new niece. “Ah, Daemon come, come.'' I say as Aemma holds out our babe for Daemon to take. Once he does I can’t believe my eyes, it’s like he’s finally calm. I watch as my brother’s shoulders drop like all the weight has been lifted from them. And that’s when he asks your name to which we tell him, when he says your name it”s like a prayer, like he can finally breathe. This reaction is so contradictory to when he met Rhaenyra, he wanted nothing to do with her and avoided her like the plague. Although I suppose when Rhaenyra was born he was only a boy of eight, but still this reaction feels more than just him being older and wiser.

That night I went to check on my newest, but when I was about to enter the nursery I heard Daemon singing a song of old Valyrian as he held her close. “Drakari pykiros tikummo jemiros, yn lantyz bartossa saelot vāedis. Hen ñuhā elēnī, perzyssy vestretis se gēlȳn irūdaks ānogrose. Perzyro udrȳssi ezīmptos laehossi, hārossa letagon aōt vāedan. Hae mērot gierūli, se hāros bartossi prūmȳsa sōvīli gevī dāerī.” I listen and watch, I’ve never seen my brother this way, not ever. I keep telling myself it’s cause he’s older and wiser and wishes for children of his own, but somewhere deep inside, I know I’m wrong.

Special thanks to my lovely friend @sugutoad for making the header! I am personally in love done know about you guys!

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justagirlwholikesadam · 1 year ago

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His Queen: Nameday

A/n: This isn’t a part two to the story, His Queen but more like a little frame story. I do hope you enjoy it. If it’s liked then I’ll start thinking about actually doing part two. Enjoy! -L

Summary: After some time has passed since the birth of Leonidas, you were celebrating your nameday when you been craving Sandor’s touch.

Warning: Joffrey being Joffrey, NSFW, SFW, smut, Sandor is a sweetheart, self conscious after giving birth,we still giving Joffrey that milk of the poppy😌, pussy eating, having sex but there is a person in the room, Sandor Clegane x FEM!Reader

If you haven’t read His Queen, click on the title.

Word Count: 3.7K

»»————-　♡　————-««

The great hall was filled with people who were invited for the celebration. It was your nameday and Joffrey had thrown a huge feast for you after having a tournament. To be honest it was mostly for him, you weren’t fond of tourneys, seeing two men fighting for no reason other than measuring their cock and seeing who’s better at fighting didn’t entertain you as it did for Joffrey. Plus it meant Sandor had to fight. You didn’t like seeing Sandor fighting. You didn’t want to see him get hurt.

The feast was well and you gave your thanks to everyone who wished you a good nameday. You had been glancing over at Sandor who was at the entrance of the hall looking around making sure everything was safe. When he caught your eye, you bit your bottom lip. He wink at you, that was a sign. Sandor and you had made up different signs to talk to each other. Scratching the chin was a sign to meet up in the library. Two nods were a no. A wink was a yes. Biting the bottom lip was a sign to meet up tonight.

After the birth of Leonidas you haven’t had the chance to be intimate with Sandor. You missed his touch and his lips on you. You missed the attention and his gentleness. You were so busy looking at Sandor that you didn’t realize that Joffrey, who was next to you, was talking to you. You jumped in your seat when you felt a painful pinch on your leg. You let out a wince and look over at Joffrey with a frown. You met his piercing blue eyes glaring at you.

“Next time pay attention to me when I speak to you.” He scolded you like a child.

“Apologies, your grace.” You said lowering your eyes to the floor. This pleases him and he lets out a sigh before repeating.

“The maester has assured me that you are ready and healed. Tonight I’ll have you.” Your stomach dropped at his words. You have been declining Joffrey to bed him. Giving him excuses that you aren’t healed yet. Some days you tell him that you have your blood moon and he becomes disgusted. You have gotten as far as going to the maester and telling him the same thing. Your luck just ran out.

“Very well.” You told him. You massaged your leg that he pinched under the table. You had to find a way to slip some milk of the poppy in his drink before he goes to the chambers tonight.

Joffrey had gotten up from his seat to speak with some lord and you quickly looked over to your left to call one of your ladies in waiting. She came to you right away. Her eyes widen when you mention to her to retrieve milk of the poppy for you quickly and in secret. When she didn’t move right away, you gently held her hand.

“The king has requested for me to bed him tonight. You know the type of man he is. I will not refuse my king but it’s the pain that I can’t endure.”

“You should have it right away, your grace.” She said before bowing her head. Everyone knew how Joffrey was, what kind of man he is. He was a bully and downright cruel. You got used to it, the pinches, the insults and the abuse. You’re grateful that he didn’t do any such thing to your son.

Looking ahead you looked at Sandor once more. He made everything better. He was the reason why you continue on. He gave you the most wonderful gift of all, your son. When you couldn’t be with Sandor, you stayed with your son at all times. His eyes were a reminder of him. His kind heart was another thing like Sandor. Under that cold and hard exterior was a kind man. You felt like the luckiest woman in the seven kingdoms to experience Sandor’s kindness and love.

You looked away when your lady in waiting returned with a goblet of wine. She removed the cap of a glass vessel containing the milk of the poppy. “Everything. The whole thing.”

“Are you certain? This will put you right to sleep.”

“Exactly.” You told her watching her emptying the vessel into the wine behind you and away from everyone’s view. Handing you the wine, she hid the vessel between her breasts and bowed her head before leaving.

You turned back and saw Joffrey was walking towards you. You placed it next to his goblet.

“Celebration should end soon. Can’t wait to have you.” Joffrey said, sitting back down next to you.

“Neither can I.” You lied through your teeth. You felt one of his hands on top of your lap. Bile started to come up your throat when his hand was going under your gown. You grabbed his wrist and leaned over at him, getting close to his face.

“Drink wine. I like the taste of it from your tongue.” You whispered to him, making him grin. You handed him the goblet of wine that contains the milk of the poppy.

You watched as he drank it all in one gulp.

That night you were staring at yourself in the mirror, you can hear Joffrey light snores in the back. His uncle, Jamie, dragged him into bed a few minutes ago. You had left the party to prepare yourself for Sandor and tuck Leonidas into bed early. Jamie plopped Joffrey on the bed and bid you goodnight as he left. You leaned over at Joffrey making sure he was dead asleep after Jamie left, you made sure he was. You slapped him across the face, a hard slap. You smiled when he didn’t wake up. It worked, you wouldn’t be sleeping with Joffrey tonight.

You traced the patterns of your nightgown while looking at the mirror. You haven’t been intimate with Sandor for a while. You were nervous and self conscious. Your body had changed and you wondered if Sandor would still want you. You heard a slight rumble and looked over by the wall near the fireplace. The tapestry hung from the wall slightly moved and a hand appeared behind it. You smiled because you recognized that large hand.

The castle of King’s Landing had many hidden secret passageways and tunnels, many didn’t know about this but Sandor did. He knew the castle like the back of his hand. He had found a passage that led straight to your bed chambers. Sandor found you smiling moving the tapestry aside, he walked inside. He saw you walking towards him. Sandor wore a white tunic shirt and black trousers. He had his sword with him in case of anything.

“Happy nameday.” He tells you as he leans down to kiss you. You cupped his face with your hands as you deepened the kiss.

“Thank you.” You said against his lips. You pulled away and led Sandor to the loveseat by the fireplace. Sandor sat down and opened his legs as he placed his sword near the love seat.

“I’m heavy.” You whined making him shake his head in disbelief.

“Nonsense.” He replies as he makes you sit down on his lap. You wrapped an arm around his neck and he wrapped his arms around you. You embraced him and his warmth. You missed this, being close to him. You couldn’t do this with Joffrey.

“The cunt is asleep?” Sandor whispered looking over his shoulder.

“Aye.” You answered him as you kissed his cheek. “I gave him a good slap to make sure too.” Sandor chuckled at you.

Sandor’s warm hand rubbed your back as you hugged him. He moans softly as you kiss his neck, you tugs the laces from the necklace. Your fingers immediately went to touch his chest, feeling the soft and thick chest hair.

“I missed you.” You tell him.

“Me too.” He told you, giving your hip a gentle squeeze.

“I got you something.” You raise your eyebrows at Sandor.

“You did?” You asked him happily. He nodded at you as he grabbed something from his front pocket of his trousers.

The ring looked so tiny between his fingers. It was a simple silver band with an oak leaf filigree pattern around the band.

“It’s not much. You don’t have-.” You took the ring from his hands with a smile.

“I love it. Thank you.” You cut him off as you gave him a kiss on his scar cheek. Sandor doesn’t say anything but has his own smile as he watches you excitedly slide the ring down with your index finger, it fitted perfectly. He knew it would, he had tied a string around your finger while you were dozing off the last time he was with you.

You showed Sandor the ring and his smile grew big. You showered him with kisses on his face. “It’s beautiful.”

You kept admiring the ring, not noticing that Sandor was staring at you with such admiration.

“You’re beautiful. Breathtaking.” You looked over at him with a small smile blushing really hard. Sandor cups your cheek, he pulls you in for another kiss. He leans his forehead against yours to catch his breath.

“Take me to bed.” You tell him as you playfully pull on his grown beard.

You let out a squeal when Sandor gathered you in his arms and got up from the loveseat. With one arm around your lower back and the other in the crook of your knees. Sandor carefully carried you to the bed, his eyes darted to Joffrey then back at you. He knew Joffrey was asleep but he still was a bit nervous. He didn't want to know, he didn't even want to think what would happen if Joffrey caught him and you. He worried for your safety and Leonidas.

Sandor laid you down on your spot, he was glad that the bed was big. Enough room for three people. Sandor knelt between your legs as he took his shirt off, throwing it aside. You loved watching his muscles flex every time he did that. You grabbed a hold of one of his big arms pulling him towards you. You lean up to meet his lips. Sandor couldn’t stop touching you, your legs, your hips when he touched your stomach he felt you tensed up. He frowns but ignores it, he pulls away to kiss your neck down your chest. He goes to help you get rid of the gown when you tell him to stop.

“I want to leave it on.” Sandor pulls away and looks down at you.

“Did he hurt you again?” He asked worriedly, his hands began to clench. He had seen the bruises on your body before. You shook your head and decided to tell him the truth.

“My body his changed, Sandor. I’m not what I used to look like.” He notices you looking away from his gaze.

“I don’t care what your body looks like. You had a babe, my babe. Your body should be worshiped everyday.” You felt like crying at his words and he noticed it. He leans over you.

“You don’t have to take it off. I won’t force you.” He tells you. “I would like to see your body. I want to kiss every single part of it.”

You never shy away from Sandor before. You knew he wasn’t lying. Sandor wasn’t the type to lie, he would say it straight to your face, the good and the bad . “Help me.” You ask him. He helps you sit up and grab the bottom of the sleeping gown as you raise your arm up.

You look like an angel he thinks as you laid back down, he immediately leans over you, his mouth goes to your chest. Kissing it, savoring your skin. You moan as you feel his tongue dragging down on your sternum, his hand laches on your breast. While the other has his mouth on. Sandor’s cock grew hard, your body indeed changed and he loved it. You were more sensitive, you moaned as he sucked on your nipple. You were fuller, as his hands went down, he squeezed your hips. You threw your head back when Sandor continued to make his way down kissing your tummy.

“There’s that pretty cunt I missed so much.” He says when he’s between your legs. You look down at him and smile as he kisses your inner thighs. Biting your bottom lip when he looks at you.

“She missed me?” Sandor asked and you nodded.

He kisses your mound, enjoying the scent of your musk. He curses under his breath when he feels you're already wet. He drives his face into your cunt. His tongue licking your slit. You cry out when his nose hits your clit as he eats you out. Sandor is practically growing like an animal as he eats your pussy. He hooked his arms under your legs parting them wider so he could bury his face against your pussy.

You cry out his name when Sandor slowly licks your entrance. Sandor was breathing heavily, he had to catch his breath for a moment. His face is wet with your slick, it’s coated on his beard. He kisses your throbbing clit as he breathes. He brings one of his hands to part your plump and soaked lips so he has better access to your clit. Sandor dips his finger inside of you slowly, he doesn’t want to hurt. He wants to get you ready for his cock.

He smirks when you curse as he slowly adds another. His cock twitches when he feels your spongy sweet spot. He rubs your clit with his fat thumb as he watches you arch your back.

With your head thrown back and eyes closed you were feeling you were going to explode. It’s been a while since you had cum. Opening your eyes, you turned your head to the right, you saw Joffrey next to you. You had forgotten all about the blonde. He was still sound asleep, he had his face turned to you. You couldn't help but grow more aroused by this. Joffrey is sleeping next to you while Sandor is eating and fingering your cunt. You thought about what would have happened if he saw his wife, the queen getting eaten out by his rugged guard.

“You’re close. I feel it. Cum now.” Sandor tells you as he rubs harder on your clit. Him demanding you was what sent you off. You came hard on his hand while staring at Joffrey. Sandor smiles as he licks your cum off his fingers. He gives kitten lick to your cunt enjoying as you twitch under him.

Sandor stares at you as you catch your breath. He gets out of the bed and takes his boots out along with his trousers. “Fuck.” He moans to himself at the sight of your cunt as he gets on the bed between your legs.

“Let me return the favor.” You said with a smile but Sandor pushes your legs apart so he fits in between them.

“Another day. I need you now.” You continue to look up at Sandor as he traced your bottom lip with his index finger. Your brows knit together in confusion when he didn't say anything. He kept staring at you, he noticed your expression.

“This is the only time that I get to see your face up close. Your pretty face.” Sandor takes notes of your face. Your brows, your nose, your lips and your eyes. He admires you and he feels like his heart is jumping out of his chest by the way you look up at him. You grabbed a hold of his wrist and brought the palm of his hand to your lips, kissing it.

He says your name before leaning down to kiss you, your legs wrap around his waist. You let out a whine when he feels him slowly sliding himself in of you, stretching you wide open. He feels your nails digging his back when he starts thrusting in and out of you slowly, he kisses you to cover your moans. As much he wanted to hear you cry out for his cock, both of you had to keep quiet.

It’s hard for you to keep quiet, you couldn't not when his girthy cock is splitting you open. He fills you so much it's hard to contain the moan. His fat head's tapping against your womb and you feel your arousal sliding down to your ass every time he thrusted out of you. Sandor bites his bottom lip to the point he breaks the skin, he licks his bottom bloody lip. The taste of copper and your tight cunt around his cock was becoming too much. He’s on you, hiding his face between your neck and shoulder as he ruts deep into you. The bed is creaking every time he thrust inside you, you're left out of breath every time he slams inside of you.

Sandor groans when he feels your wall tighten around him, he grinds his hips into circles making you cry out in pleasure. The sound of his heavy balls hitting against your ass, the sound of his breathy moans against your neck.

“Want you to have my babe again.” Sandor tells you against his neck. You wrap your arms around his shoulder holding on for dear life.

“Heard what the maester said to Joffrey. You're mine. You're all mine. Only having my babes.” You let out a whine when Sandor pounded into you with a grunt.

“Mine, pretty queen is all mine.” Sandor curls the bedsheet under both of you, in his fist as he feels you cuming on his dick.

“Came all over my cock because I said you were mine.” You nodded, not able to speak as you kept holding onto Sandor. You knew Sandor was near, his thrusts were slowing down. You wanted him to cum just like you did. You wanted to make him feel good.

“Give me another babe.” Sandor whines to you. “I want another babe. Your babe.” You cry out to him.

“I only want to have your kids. No one else.” Something snaps into Sandor’s and his thrusts turn erratic. He’s panting heavily now as he fucks you harder. He's going to give you another kid. He’s going to put a child inside of you because he’s yours and you’re his. He looks at you as he continues. You have teary eyes and you're moaning his name out.

“Ah-h fuck-fuck.” Sandor cries out as he cums deep inside your womb filling you up. You let out a deep breath when he completely drops his weight on you. He was about to move when you wrapped your limbs tighter around him. You didn’t want him to leave yet, you wanted him inside of you forever.

It was a few minutes and he still remained inside of you. You had begun to rub your hands up and down his back, he’s practically purring when you lightly scratched his back. You can feel the scars on his face against your neck, you didn’t mind one bit. You call out his name softly and he looks at you.

He shuts his eyes when you start to kiss his face, kissing each inch of it. You even kissed his bushy beard. Both of you knew time was ticking, as much both of you wanted to stay together for the entire night. It is impossible. Joffrey might walk up or someone might come in. Sandor notices you’re drifting off. He pushes himself up and kisses you just like you had done with him. He’s so gentle with the kisses.

Sandor is stalling, he knew he was. He should have gotten dressed by now and on his way to his own chambers but he couldn’t. You had just milked his cock dry, you looked so beautiful under him. He doesn’t say goodbye to you, you feel asleep the moment he removes himself from you. He’s standing by your side naked as he brings the sheets and blankets up to your body. Covering you and tucking you into bed.

He gives you one last look before quickly getting dressed and walking towards the loveseat to get his sword. He looks over at the bed to see you and Joffrey sleeping.

You don't remember when you fell asleep in his arms but you woke up by the sound of Joffrey's voice. You quickly remember that you had forgotten about Joffrey’s clothes when you woke up and looked over at Joffrey. You let out a sigh of relief when you saw he was naked like you, Sandor must have done it before he left. Joffrey was sitting up rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hands. He was groaning and moaning about having a headache.

“I shall have the servants get a maester.” You told him softly. You were about to get up when Joffrey leaned over you. Pushing you back down on the bed, Joffrey shook his head.

“Did we?” You nodded at his question. He seemed happy about it and leaned down next to you, prop up with one arm on the bed.

“Mother has been pestering me about another child. Lay down and don't let my cum escape.” He looks over at you and pulls the sheet down exposing your breasts. He stares at the love bites with a smirk like he was proud of his work. If he only knew. You were going to cover yourself when Joffrey removed the sheets completely off making you gasp.

“Hold still.” He commands you. You obeyed him, you didn't feel like getting hit this early in the morning. You tensed up when you felt one of his hands go between your legs.

He feels the aftermath of your love making with Sandor. Sandor’s thick cum is dripping out of you. Joffrey nods and you bite the inside of your cheek as he rubs your outer lips with Sandor’s and your cum. Your eyes widen when he puts his fingers in his mouth, licking it clean.

“We taste good together.” He tells you before getting up from the bed to get his robe to start his day

“We do, your grace.” You said as you looked up at the ceiling tugging on the sheets to cover yourself.

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