Rhaecerys

[glimmerfics]

You and Bakugo haven't seen each other in 10 years. But when you see his face, it' s like no time has passed. Will you fall for him again in this Choose Your Own Adventure?

Katsuki Bakugo x Fem!Reader Choose Your Own Adventure

🔗 READ/PLAY HERE 🎮interactive fanfic "Longing For You" by j3viism 📖 Episode 1 of ?

[pamurpamur]

Hii, I'm on a Sandor drought rn so I'm once again requesting👉👈

This one is a bit more of a short idea but what about a Sandor who's easily aroused by small actions? Like Reader scratching his beard or touching the scarred side of his face at one point

maybe he's not aroused simply by the physicality of it but more about the intimacy

I just picture him as heavily touch starved!! You could make it smut with fluff, pleaseee

Misery! But oh so Sweet!

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Pairing: Sandor x fem!Reader

Tags: SMUT, pretty explicit overall, fantasizing, masturbation, dirty thoughts, very sweet, nameless reader, no use of y/n, reader is silly :P, comedy, courting, crass language, fluff, half drabble, not beta read, may contain mistakes (i was impatient to get it out oops), i dont feel like tagging it as puppy play bc they are honestly too unserious about it

Summary:  Sandor has too dirty a mind for an unmarried man. Unfortunately he doesn't care as much as he should, and, again, can it really be his fault when his lady cannot keep her hands to herself?

Warnings: I MADE HIM A PERVERT, I am sorry.... it is my masculine mind acting up once again. ALSO i made it into a comedy porn piece, sadly i love funny smut and i cannot be kept away from it.

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Sandor Clegane is not a lustful man. He is a man, he is hot blooded, he is of a certain size of course, in and outside the breeches, perhaps he needs a wank more than the average boy, but he is not stupid with lust like so many slobbering men. He doesn’t stir at the sight of the ladies’ breasts pushed up to their collars by their stays and shifts, he doesn’t follow with his eyes the sight of servants’ plump arses, he doesn't sniff around the nice legs of the noble women when they lift their gowns so that they do not trail in the mud. He cares not for these things, he scoffs at the sweaty lords who chase ruin the same way they chase women, foaming at the mouth to sink into heat and falling into degeneracy head first. 

Sandor doesn’t chase and simper. Unless blood is calling. That is the only gushing he cares about, the breaking of bones, the cloying smell of fear. That is what he likes. He stands impassible and silent in the corners of the room, aroused by nothing, as all evil things, impossible to move. 

Sandor’s cock is not volatile. 

Yet, something must have changed. In the wine, or in the water, in the textile of his bed, in the air of his chambers, in the cloying heat of the south. He is not sure what, but something made him mad, made him warm, made him blaze aflame with a possessive sort of lust.

Maybe it is simply the anger of the engagement to Lady Cafferen. Or maybe she is some sort of witch. He often tells her as much  and she starts whining and complaining about him being mean, so that he has to shut his mouth and let her drag him around her gardens on a promenade. 

He hates promenades, they seem to make her stupid love magic work even better than usual. She often pauses to smell flowers, and in between her movements turns her head so, with her eyes looking at him so, and her mouth pressing to his bicep so that his dick hardens in instants. 

She is unbearably mushy, his Lady Cafferen. Some romantic sap, with more books about poetry and love than anyone should ever own. Maybe that is why her hands are so soft, her palms so smooth. 

Sandor is mean, old and grumpy, not fit for any of that romantic idiocy, but he has enough sense not to treat her badly, and in thanks she gives him the softest of touches with her ivory smooth hands, soft like velvet, cold like marble. It is unbearable. 

She opens and closes her fan nervously now, they are in the gardens, the ones overlooking the godswoods, and she cannot keep still, as is usual of her. He notices as much in their time together, she always fidgets,and as an extension of that touches him more than he is used to be touched. Always pulling on his tunic, or rubbing his skin, or nudging his fingers. Always making his cock hard in his pants.

He grunts and leans over the halfwall to peer at the people praying below in the greenery. There are some people below, kneeling or sitting still as statues and praying to their deaf gods for deliverance. Mostly women, with gowns fanning the soil like the tails of colorful birds. Sandor scoffs in amusement. Nothing's stupider than religion. 

That is when two hands grab onto his elbow and pull. She is just like some helpless puppy, it feels like, always needing him to react to this and that, nudging him here and there, demanding attention a man his size should probably refuse to give so freely. Gods damn whoever forgets to look at her for five minutes, or answer her queries, or compliment her shoes and her hair and her stupid golden earrings. If only she knew how his dick reacts to her maybe she would stop nagging him.

“I do not want to go rowing like the others” she bellyaches. She means the other couples, the other lovesick, limp dicked lordlings of the Keep always take their ladies rowing near the edge of the sea. Stupid shit for bored nobles.

“I’ll lose my stomach,” She says.

“Wasn’t planning on taking ye” He scoffs and she makes a thrilling little sound, then one of her hands slips higher and higher on his forearm until her fingers are pressed to his palm. She rests them there, he wishes he had worn his gloves for once, and rubs his palm in slow circles.

Some may call him a brute, a pervert, a gross degenerate with a face to match, but he cannot help but think of her doing the same to the red head of his cock, making it turn purple. 

Despicable as he is he has been jerking off to memories of her touches for more than a week and a half.

 Every night after his service he shuts himself in his rooms with his chamber-pot between his knees and fists his dick until it goes limp. He has been shooting load after load at the thought of putting his mouth on her, his lips on her, on her breasts, on her stomach, on her buttocks, in the hole between her legs, sucking whatever fluid off of her, eating off of her, drinking off of her.

 She must all look great under the silks she wears, she must be cute down there too, her maidenhair, probably the same colour as her  actual hair. He cannot help but think of it.

 The handmaidens that empty his pot have started looking at him weird even. If only they knew what rolls about in his head, they would grow pale.  

His mind rolls with ideas even now, out in the open, he will teach her, make her take it in her mouth, he would be sweet, granted, but he would have her suck it, look down at her, pat her hair, feel the softness–

“Are you listening?” She peeps from his side. He turns to her, his one good eyebrow raised in question. He hopes she cannot see his crotch with the way he is leaning, or else she would surely screech and rush off. He is of a scary size after all. Especially to a little lady.

“I said– If we are to go back to Fawnton I’ll surely feel sick during the travels” She explains and then goes on tittering and peeping. He barely listens, in favor of looking at her palm over his, her hand relaxed and soft into his. It is not everyday he gets such a pliant little fawn in his fangs. 

He was surprised at first, when she barely flinched at his face, at his reputation and his size. He thought she was simple, but now he understands she is just a hard character to work with, maybe a bit too fiery and too fervent for a future wife. Maybe it will make him suffer during their marriage, as for now, it only makes his dick ache. 

“I am hungry” She adds then, as if he ought to  just pull a steak out of his pockets and serve it to her.  

“Do I look like a kitchen wench, My Lady?” He grumbles, shifting so his cock can be less visible. Her hand is still interlaced with his. He cannot help it, he doesn’t get touched often, maybe something in his rotten brain went so bad that he  cannot distinguish some sweet little thing holding his hand from plowing her into a feather bed. 

He should feel bad, but he is not the type to feel bad. Tough luck, Lady Cafferen. 

“Then I want to have an early supper,” She says. 

I want, I want, I want, that’s what all the noble girls are about. If she only knew what he wanted. Gods help him.

He sighs and concedes, standing up, adjusting his codpiece when she is turned away, he follows her like the good dog he is towards the nearest servant. The hunger he feels, cannot be satiated with early fucking supper. 

But whatever promises more of her hands on him he has to take his fill of.

—-----------

“You look like you haven’t bothered to fix yourself up” She complains. 

“Because I did not” He bites out. He just came back from escorting the king and prince Joff on a hunting session. It is arguably the worst part of his job, especially when Joffrey gets annoyed at the mosquitoes, the sweat and the heat and starts taking it out on the servants. He had to talk him out of beating a wine bearer bloody just yesterday. 

He himself is sweaty, his hair sticks to his scars, the collar of his armour chafes annoyingly to the cloth he tied to his neck, it absorbed so much sweat he is sure it must be soaked. And now his fiancè decided to come meet him at the door like he is some prince coming home from war. The romantic idiot she is. 

He is irritated. He surely doesn’t need to get hard on top of the general discomfort of existing right now. But of course she is wearing a tight dress, one of those from the Stormlands, with the starched bodices and the puff sleeves. Fuck him, he should have let the stag impale him when he had the chance. 

He walks forwards, craning his neck to fight the stiffness of it, she follows him on quick steps. 

“Was the trip good? Did the king score a good game?” she asks behind him, he uncorks a wine skin with his teeth and drinks two long mouthfuls. He stops to let her catch up and grunts. 

“No, it was pure shite, miserable fucking trip” He mutters, she immediately links her arm in his and one of her hands goes to smooth his comb over, dutifully tucking it behind his ear. 

He gives her an unimpressed look and she seems to not care. God those hands, those hands will be the end of him. The feeling of them carding through his hair, the touch of her manicured nails, the softness of the pads of her fingers scratching where his hair is sparse. He groans like some dying animal. 

“Careful with what you do, little dove” he grunts in her direction, his eyes mad and angry. She smiles, as if taken by some trepidation. She blushes and goes to tuck her own hair behind one ear, he groans at the loss of contact. One of his hands scoops her about her middle and brings her into himself. 

“Didn’t they teach you not to pet bad dogs?” He scoffs, she shakes her head.

“You are my fiancè” is her rebuttal, he almost pushes her away. He gives a look around the hallways and, once he makes sure the coast is clear, he buries his face into her neck, sniffing a hot breath that stinks of wine into her cleavage, just under his lips. 

“Gods.” He groans. She has the nerve to laugh, all heady and excited as if it was some fun game they were playing and not him about to double over because of blue balls.

“You tickle me” She mutters, that thing she does where she acts as if he was some cute blonde boy, he barely cares, glad she is not squirming away and rubs his limp lips down her neck until he can suck where her throat dips before her collarbones.  He licks her there, her wicked hands go to the back of his neck, honest to the gods guiding his face. Sandor is unsure if he is very lucky or in deep shit with the wedding coming up. 

Her hands have grown warm now, like tiny pokers, like heated sheep bladders pressed to the back of his neck. It is only fitting, since he does feel feverish and genuinely ill in some strange way. Her tits almost push into his neck when she stutters. He curses whoever invented stays and low cut bodices. 

Steps echo in the distance and Sandor straightens up, leaving Lady Cafferen red in the face and giddy when he turns to survey the space around them. She slips her fingers into his beard and he almost bucks his hips. 

Deciding he is not to wet himself like a green boy in the middle of a hallway he detangles her from his torso and settles her at a good foot of a distance from him. She attempts to hook her arms to him again and he has to keep her away with his whole arm. 

“Do you really wish me to spoil your virtue in the middle of a corridor, daft lass” He barks and she gushes, the surprise almost softens his dick,

“We are to be married anyways” she says. He shakes his head. 

“Are you simple? What if the maester is sent to check your virtue huh? Idiot.” 

“He would not be sent! I am not a princess, but do not worry I kept myself pure” 

Sandor is not sure if he should be elated or simply irritated. He grunts in annoyance and gives her another tiny shove when she pushes too much of her weight on his arm in the attempt to get close. If she touches him more, he will not be able to stop himself. 

“Go back to your room girl” He groans “and I will take a bath”. She smiles, acting all timid now and nods. 

“May I have a kiss?” she adds “I waited so long to greet you at the door”.

Sandor would want to tell her off but his cock seems to have taken the place of his brain. He pulls her back to himself and kisses her. roughly, wetly, with way too much spit and way too little grace. He gives a rub of his hips to her stomach and she almost yelps into his mouth. 

He trails his lips to the mid of her neck and one of his hands sneaks to her arse. If she wants to play with the hound she will get what is coming for her. She smiles, all heady into their kisses and barely complains when he pats her bottom to get a feel for it. 

Then, those damn hands go to comb between his dirty hair and he moans into her mouth before he dives in again. His hips stutter against her and his hand pinches her ass so that she jumps up a bit. It is enough to give him the clarity to rip her away again. 

“Soon–” He pants “Not today, and stop– act more proper.” He grumbles. She barely seems to care, if she doesn’t answer to her father and all the rules of propriety why would she answer to him after all. He gets further confirmation when she stares openly when he adjusts his cock in his breeches. 

He gestures for her to walk off. 

“Will you visit me again?” she asks, gone is that lust, and what remains is some sort of tenderness typical of his little lady, one so unexpected to someone his size, someone ugly like him, that he almost pities her. He goes to rub her flank. 

“Yes… now scram” he spits out and ignores her smile before she gathers her skirts and rushes off. 

Fuck a bath, he needs to pump his cock. 

It doesn't take long for him to rush to his apartments and put his fist to himself. In a few bucks of his hips, fucking into his hand and thinking of Lady Cafferen gushing about the size of him, he spends into his chamber pot. 

After coming he rubs the underside of his cockhead to torture himself enough to forget the feeling of her hands on him, when his rod is tender enough that he knows he won’t get hard again for a bit he calls for a servant ot fill his bathtub. . 

Sandor misses the days he was mean and scary and his dick had no thoughts to attend to.

—---------------

It is no wonder he pulls her hands to his face when he sinks into her.

 After the wedding they didn’t consummate immediately, he had hoped so, but she had fallen asleep as soon as she hit the sheets, and he simply laid with her and did the same, even if his cock was crying sweet mercy. 

He is ravenous now, each thrust of his hips gets a glad little hiccup out of her. She mewls when he pulls her arms from his shoulders, plucking them finger by finger, and guides them to his face. She pets him dutifully, making him her own nice dog.

His hips stutter and he bites hard on his tongue when her hands caress his cheeks, even the scarred one, without fear or disgust or sick fascination. She treats both sides equally, despite his obvious lack of sensibility on his right. 

“Ah-AH ngggh- Sandor!” She lets out, his hips tremble under the force of his own muscle, his asscheeks clench and she, sweet little thing, so new at this,  grabs onto his hair to keep a hold of herself. He is fucked. When he hands tug minimally to keep herself in check he moans. 

Sweet hands, like those of the Mother, he bets, but real, not made of light or clouds, real flesh, warm, tiny. He licks her neck and she giggles, as if he is tickling her skin. 

His body continues pushing into her, settling in a trot-like pace. 

Her hands rub his scalp and he almost weeps, it is good, so good, he almost forgets to get a hold of himself. How long since he felt hands so soft? They were not part of his life for so long, and now, somehow, they skim all over his skin, his hair, his back, without coercion, coin or any stupid sense of wifely duty between them. Between them there is only hot air, smiles, and her lips opening and closing in surprise every time his cock does something nice. 

“You are so hairy!” She stutters, as if out of breath, he reminds himself not to crush her chest too much with his bulk and repositions. She smiles. She really is all over the place, no wonder they married her off to him. 

“I am a man.” He points out. She moans when he aims his cock towards her stomach, her legs jump at his sides and fold up towards her chest, knees closing together. Sweet. 

He continues plunging into her, her hands start slipping from his shoulders to his chest, over his heart, he blocks them there with one huge palm. His skin shivers like that of a stallion, and his heartbeat matches his monstrosity. She looks at his chest with a gaze full of sweet things he cannot put a name to. 

She goes to kiss his chest, near his heart, with lips so soft. His cock whirrs. He thinks back at all the times he had wished for this very skin, soft and fresh and plump under his hands. He places her mouth to his nipple and he frowns down at her. 

“Girl” He warns her and she gives a breath right over his heart, then lays back down. Her hands go to rub at it still. He almost laughs. 

“Not all that works on you works on me” he groans. She blushes and moans when his cock changes pace. 

Her hands go back to stroking his head, one thumb behind his ear draws tight little circles, and it may as well be his rod, for he comes immediately inside her. His dick shivers and then pumps forwards until he is spending it all into her. He groans, almost wheezing, unable to stop his hips form fucking the wetness back into her, as if they were a creature on their own. She takes it gladly. 

His hips stutter one last time, until the heat becomes overwhelming over the raw head of his cock. When he pulls out his seed follows. He cares not for the sheets or for the seed, not when her hands have kept on rubbing, her fingers still into his hair. Her little finger resting on his burn, where the skin is so ruined it is almost a game trying to understand if it is really there or not. 

When he dives back to kiss her she gives his hair a tiny tug that almost awakens his dick again. 

“You witch” He groans into her neck and kisses her there. Her nose wrinkles into a smile that edges on annoyance. 

“If you want me to pet you, I will.” She offers and he groans. 

“Piss off” He tells her, which prompts her to pet him atop his head as if he was some silly lap dog. He snaps his teeth at her and she falls into a fit of giggles and flops on her stomach to crawl away. 

It is easy to grab her around her stomach and pull her back into him, her tiny body pressed to the bulk of his front. She giggles again, so uncaring for her nudity she may just be some nymph from a fairytale. When he lets her flop again on the bed she reaches her hand back and rubs it over his beard. 

“There, there, good doggie” She says, barely containing her laughter. He gives a bite to her ass cheek and she squirms. 

“Bad! Bad! Down!” she complains, it is his turn to laugh and bury his face into her hair from behind, his hips go to rest on the perfect round of her ass.  He sniffs her hair and his lips find her neck between the tresses.

“Your dog is horny girl.” He mumbles, his cock once again awakens. She makes a noise of disgust that he forgives because she slips her fingers into his once he ensnares her chest into his elbow.

“Okay- I want to do it again” She concedes. His laugh sends her hair puffing up and flying about. 

“Of course you do, you really are some pixie.” He groans into her neck.

“Then you are a dog!”  She complains, unhappy to be compared to an ugly little creature from the forests instead of some princess of belle from one of her damn stories.

He leaves it at that, he cares not what she calls him as long as there is a promise of her hands on his skin for the rest of her life. 

He does not care at all. 

[rhaecerys-velaryo]

Modern University AU pt.3

Pairing: Robb Stark x Fem!OC (University AU)

​Word Count: 3.6k

​Summary

​The housing office at Winterfell University had one job. Instead, they double-booked Apartment 4B, leaving pre-med student Y/N trapped in a sixty-degree apartment with a star rugby player, his massive Malamute, and a family that has already decided she’s one of them.

​It starts with a "ma'am" and a boiled chicken breast. It ends with Y/N realizing that Robb Stark doesn't just want a roommate—he wants a permanent fixture in his life.

The transition from November to December brought a vicious, biting frost to the campus, but the real chill in Apartment 4B was entirely manufactured. Despite their hard-fought thermostat negotiations, sixty-two degrees still felt like a tundra to Y/N, especially when mid-terms drained every ounce of her metabolic energy.

If anyone were to walk into the apartment on a Thursday night, they would assume Y/N and Robb lacked a basic understanding of personal space. To Y/N, however, it was simple biology and physics: Robb Stark kept the apartment like a meat locker, and he ran at the core temperature of a human furnace. Therefore, it was only logical to use him as a space heater.

Totally platonic. Completely practical.

Or so she kept telling herself.

The migration had taken exactly forty-five minutes. Robb was seated cross-legged on the thick living room rug, his back resting heavily against the base of the couch. Spread out before him on the coffee table were three massive, terrifyingly thick pre-law textbooks, a color-coded array of highlighters, and a legal pad filled with his neat, blocky handwriting.

Y/N had started on the far opposite end of the couch, wrapped in her signature purple fleece, her biology textbook propped against her knees. But the draft from the window was relentless. Ten minutes in, she slid to the middle cushion. Twenty minutes in, she dropped her legs over the edge, her unicorn slippers brushing the rug near his hip.

Robb hadn't looked up, but she had seen the corner of his mouth twitch.

Finally, at the forty-five-minute mark, she abandoned all pretense of dignity. She discarded the slippers, pulled her legs under her, and slumped forward until she was draped directly behind him. She crossed her arms loosely over his broad chest, her chin coming to rest comfortably near the crook of his neck.

He hadn't so much as flinched. He merely adjusted his posture, shifting his broad shoulders back to better support her weight, and handed her a fresh pen when hers rolled off the cushion.

In Y/N's right ear, a wireless bud played a dense, monotonous audiobook on the complexities of the human endocrine system. She found that listening to the material while following along in her notes helped the information stick faster. However, her ADHD brain had a notorious habit of seeking out alternative stimuli whenever the Krebs cycle was mentioned.

Currently, that alternative stimulus was Robb's criminal law reading. Pre-med was grueling enough, but she couldn't help but find his coursework fascinatingly dramatic.

"So," Robb muttered, staring down at a case file, seemingly unfazed by the girl currently breathing against his collarbone. "The defendant claims it wasn't aggravated assault because the victim technically walked into the swing of the baseball bat."

"From a biomechanical standpoint, that’s a terrible defense," Y/N murmured lazily, her voice a soft vibration against his back. She paused her audiobook with a tap to her earbud.

Robb tilted his head back slightly, leaning into her cheek. "Oh? The pre-med student has legal thoughts?"

"I have anatomical thoughts," she corrected, shifting slightly to get more comfortable, unconsciously pressing closer to his warmth. She felt Robb's breath hitch for a fraction of a second before he steadied it. "If you look at the angle of a blunt-force trauma to the parietal lobe, the trajectory of the bat would have to be downward. Unless the victim was crab-walking sideways into a batting cage, the physics don't support an accidental collision. It implies intent."

Robb turned his head just enough to look at her from the corner of his eye. A slow, impressed smirk spread across his lips. "Remind me to hire you as an expert witness if I ever actually make it to trial."

"My consulting fees are very high," she mumbled sleepily, burying her cold nose into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. "I accept payment in Thai takeout and you turning the heat up to at least sixty-four degrees."

"I'll buy you all the Pad Thai in the world, but the thermostat stays," Robb chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that reverberated through her chest.

He reached up with his left hand, absentmindedly wrapping his large, warm fingers around her wrist where her arm crossed his chest. His thumb traced a slow, soothing circle against her pulse point. It was a casual gesture—something he did without thinking—but the sheer heat of his hand was a stark contrast to her perpetually cold skin.

"You're freezing," he noted, his voice dropping a fraction. "Your heart is beating fast, too. Tachycardia?"

"I drank three iced lattes today," she admitted unashamedly, though the truth was that her heart was hammering primarily because his thumb was stroking the delicate skin of her inner wrist. "And I'm cold because you insist on living in a refrigerator, Stark."

"You're literally wearing me like a backpack," he pointed out, though he didn't make a single move to dislodge her. In fact, he leaned back a little firmer against the couch, pinning her gently between the cushions and his broad back. "Are you even studying? I thought you had a massive endocrine exam."

"I am studying," Y/N lied smoothly. "I'm multi-tasking. The thyroid gland regulates metabolism, which produces heat. I am merely supplementing my lack of metabolic heat with your excess output while simultaneously learning about gross negligence."

Robb let out a quiet sigh that sounded suspiciously fond. "You're a menace."

"But I'm a warm menace now," she replied, closing her eyes and letting the steady rhythm of his breathing lull her.

She tapped her earbud, resuming the drone of her biology lecture, but her focus remained entirely on the warmth of the boy beneath her, the grounding weight of his hand over her wrist, and the comforting, quiet scratching of his pen against his legal pad. If Robb spent the next hour reading the rest of his case studies aloud just so she could interject with unhinged medical commentary, neither of them mentioned it.

The peace, however, was fleeting.

By 2:00 AM, the steady rhythm of Robb's breathing had successfully lulled Y/N into a deep sleep, her face pressed flush against his shoulder blade. Robb had finished his reading an hour ago, but he had remained entirely motionless on the floor, his legs going slightly numb, simply because he couldn't bring himself to wake her.

It was the sudden, violent tremor that alerted him.

Y/N didn't just shiver; her entire body shuddered against his back. She let out a soft, pained whimper, her grip tightening convulsively across his chest.

"Y/N?" Robb whispered, twisting around as carefully as he could.

She slumped sideways onto the couch cushions, curling tightly into a ball beneath her fleece blanket. Her teeth were audibly chattering. Robb scrambled up from the floor, his knees cracking in protest, and hovered over her. In the dim light of the living room lamp, her skin looked concerningly pale, save for two bright, feverish patches of red high on her cheeks.

He reached out, pressing the back of his large hand against her forehead. He yanked it back a second later. She was burning up.

"Hey," he said, his voice laced with sudden, sharp panic. He gently shook her shoulder. "Y/N, wake up. You're burning."

"M'cold," she mumbled incoherently, trying to burrow deeper into the cushions. "Turn the heat up, Stark."

"It's not the thermostat this time," he muttered grimly.

The campus flu had been tearing through the biology labs for weeks. Mark, the zoology major, had been coughing up a lung during their last study session, and Y/N’s immune system had been entirely compromised by a diet of espresso and academic stress. The tachycardia wasn't just the caffeine; her body had been fighting a losing battle.

Robb’s "Eldest Brother" instincts—honed by years of looking after Arya and Bran when his parents were busy—immediately overrode his panic. He became a machine of terrifying efficiency.

He scooped her up off the couch, ignoring her sleepy protests, blanket and all. She felt entirely too light in his arms. He carried her down the hall, kicking her bedroom door open with his foot, and deposited her gently onto her mattress. Grey Wind, who had been sleeping at the foot of her bed, immediately stood up and nudged her hand with his wet nose, whining softly.

"Watch her," Robb ordered the dog, turning on his heel.

For the next ten minutes, the apartment was a flurry of organized chaos. Robb raided the bathroom cabinet, finding a dusty bottle of ibuprofen and a digital thermometer. He went to the kitchen, filling a glass with ice water and grabbing a cold, damp washcloth.

When he returned to her room, she had kicked the blankets off entirely, currently sweating through her t-shirt.

"I'm melting," she complained miserably, her eyes half-open and glassy.

"You have a fever of a hundred and two," Robb informed her, his voice tight. He sat on the edge of the bed, his weight making the mattress dip, pulling her toward him. "Sit up. You need to take these."

He pressed two pills into her palm and held the glass of ice water to her lips, his hand supporting the back of her neck so she wouldn't spill. His touch was incredibly gentle, completely at odds with his usual rough-and-tumble athlete persona.

Once she swallowed, she slumped back against the pillows with a heavy sigh.

"I have a practical exam on Monday," she croaked, staring miserably at the ceiling. "I can't be sick. I have to memorize the lymphatic system."

"You are not memorizing anything tonight," Robb said firmly. He took the cold, damp washcloth and carefully folded it over her forehead. The relief was instantaneous; Y/N let out a long, shaky breath, her eyes fluttering shut. "You're going to sleep. I'll email your professor tomorrow if you're not better."

"You don't have to do that," she murmured, her voice slurring slightly from the exhaustion and the fever. "Don't you have a rugby social tomorrow night?"

"The team can drink cheap beer without me," Robb replied dismissively. He pulled the blanket up, making sure it covered her chest but left her arms free to vent the heat. "I'm not leaving you here when you can barely stand up."

He didn't leave.

For the rest of the night, Robb dragged the heavy reading chair from the corner of her room and situated it right next to her bed. Whenever she shivered, he added a blanket. Whenever she kicked them off, he folded them back. He replaced the cool washcloth every hour, his massive hand gently brushing the damp, sweat-soaked hair away from her face.

By Friday afternoon, the fever had broken, leaving Y/N in a state of hollow, aching exhaustion. She felt like she had been hit by a truck, reversed over, and hit again.

She slowly opened her eyes. The room was dim, the blinds tightly drawn. The air smelled distinctly of menthol and the subtle, earthy scent of cedarwood—Robb's soap.

She turned her head heavily on the pillow. Robb was asleep in the chair next to her bed. He was slumped sideways, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his head resting awkwardly against his hand. He was still wearing the sweatpants and t-shirt from the night before, a textbook open and forgotten on his lap. Grey Wind was asleep on the floor between them, forming a physical bridge between her bed and his chair.

A sudden, overwhelming wave of affection crashed over her, so intense it made her chest ache worse than the flu.

She shifted, the rustle of the sheets instantly breaking his light sleep. Robb’s head snapped up, his blue eyes blinking rapidly as he reoriented himself. The moment he saw her looking at him, he was out of the chair and leaning over the bed.

"Hey," he said, his voice gravelly with sleep. He immediately reached out, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead. His shoulders dropped in a massive sigh of relief. "You're cool. The fever broke."

"You look terrible, Stark," she rasped, offering him a weak, tired smile. "Did you sleep in that chair all night?"

"You kept trying to fight the washcloth," he defended, dragging a hand down his face. "Someone had to enforce the medical protocol."

"You skipped your social."

"I told you, I didn't care about it."

Robb turned away for a moment, pouring her a fresh glass of water from the pitcher he had set on her nightstand. He helped her sit up against the headboard, arranging the pillows behind her back with entirely too much care.

As she drank the water, her fever-addled brain, stripped of all its usual defensive filters, decided to betray her.

"You're going to make a really good husband someday, Robb," she stated matter-of-factly, handing him the empty glass.

Robb froze. The glass stopped halfway to the nightstand. A dark, furious blush crept up his neck, staining the tips of his ears red. He didn't look at her, suddenly hyper-focused on placing the glass down perfectly on a coaster.

"It's just basic decency, Y/N," he deflected, his voice a full octave lower than usual. "Anyone would do it."

"No, they wouldn't," she insisted softly, her heavy eyes tracing the line of his jaw. "Most guys would throw a bottle of NyQuil at me from the doorway and run away. You stayed. You're... you're really good to me."

Robb finally turned his head to look at her. The air in the quiet bedroom suddenly felt incredibly thick, heavy with everything they hadn't been saying for the last three months. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, close enough that his knee brushed against her hip beneath the blankets.

He looked at her flushed cheeks, her messy hair, and the absolute, terrifying sincerity in her dark eyes.

"I like taking care of you," Robb confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. He reached out, his thumb lightly grazing her cheekbone, wiping away a stray tear of exhaustion. He didn't pull his hand away. He let his fingers tangle briefly in the hair at the nape of her neck. "It's not a chore, Y/N."

Y/N leaned into his touch, her eyes slipping shut. "Even when I yell at you about the thermostat?"

"Especially then," he chuckled softly, the vibration traveling from his hand to her skin. "I'll go heat up some soup. Chicken and stars. Canned. Full of sodium. You'll love it."

"My hero," she mumbled, already drifting back to sleep.

Robb stayed on the edge of the bed for another five minutes, just watching her breathe. The slow burn was no longer just a flicker of annoyance and domestic banter. It had ignited into something deep, protective, and entirely consuming. He gently pulled the blankets up to her chin, patted Grey Wind on the head, and walked into the kitchen, entirely determined to make the best bowl of canned soup the world had ever seen.

Robb Stark was a man of action, but standing in front of the stove in Apartment 4B, he felt entirely out of his depth.

​He stared down at the saucepan of Campbell’s Chicken and Stars as if it were a hostile witness on the stand. He had successfully grilled chicken and boiled rice for years, but the stakes had never felt this high. He stirred the golden broth carefully, paranoid that he was going to burn it or let it boil over.

​When it was steaming properly, he poured it into a bowl, grabbed a sleeve of saltine crackers, and carried it back to Y/N's room like he was transporting a live explosive.

​She was exactly where he left her, though she had managed to pry one arm out from under the heavy blankets. Grey Wind looked up from the floor, his tail giving a single, soft thump against the hardwood.

​"Room service," Robb announced quietly, setting the bowl on the nightstand.

​Y/N cracked one eye open, eyeing the steam. "Did you follow the instructions on the can, Stark? Or did you try to make it 'lean'?"

​"I didn't touch the sodium," he promised, dragging the reading chair closer to the bed. He reached for the bowl and a spoon. "Come on. Sit up a bit."

​"I can feed myself, Robb. It's a fever, not paralysis."

​Despite her protests, her arms were trembling violently when she tried to push herself up against the headboard. Robb didn't say a word. He just smoothly reached behind her back, taking her weight effortlessly against his forearm, and propped a second pillow behind her shoulders.

​She was desperately craving a steaming, sour bowl of Kansi from back home, the rich bone marrow broth the only thing she felt could actually cure her. But as Robb carefully blew on a spoonful of canned chicken soup and held it near her lips, she decided this was a very close second.

​She took the bite. It was salty, entirely artificial, and tasted like pure comfort.

​"Good?" he asked, his blue eyes searching her pale face.

​"Yeah," she whispered, swallowing hard. "Thank you."

​He fed her half the bowl before she weakly shook her head, unable to stomach any more. Robb set the bowl aside, handed her another glass of water, and waited until she was settled back under the covers before retreating to his chair.

​"Sleep, Y/N," he murmured, opening his law textbook again. "I'll be right here."

​The true test of Robb’s patience did not occur during the fever-spiked terror of Thursday night, but rather the stubborn, restless recovery of Saturday morning.

​By 10:00 AM, the Winterfell campus was bathed in crisp, bright sunlight. Inside Apartment 4B, a standoff was taking place in the hallway.

​Y/N, wearing her purple university sweatshirt and the golden-horned unicorn slippers, was clinging to the doorframe of the bathroom. Her hair was a messy bun of pure chaos, and she still looked concerningly fragile, but her eyes burned with academic panic.

​Robb was standing squarely in the middle of the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, completely blocking her path to the living room.

​"Stark, move," Y/N croaked, her voice still rough. "I have lost thirty-six hours of study time. The lymphatic system isn't going to memorize itself. I need my flashcards."

​"You need bed rest," Robb countered, an immovable mountain of muscle and stubbornness. "You just broke a hundred-and-two-degree fever yesterday. Your immune system is entirely shot."

​"I am a pre-med student! I know how an immune system works!"

​"Then act like it," he shot back evenly. "Because right now, you're acting like a liability. If you pass out in the living room, I’m the one who has to carry you back. Go back to bed, Y/N."

​"I'm going to fail my practical," she whined, leaning her forehead against the doorframe in defeat. The brief burst of adrenaline was already fading, leaving her feeling dizzy and hollow.

​Robb’s stern expression softened instantly. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and gently wrapped his hands around her upper arms. His grip was warm and grounding.

​"You're not going to fail," he said, his voice dropping to that low, soothing register that made her heart skip a beat. He slowly turned her around, guiding her back toward her bedroom door. "You're the smartest person I know. But you're useless if you can't stand up during the exam."

​He essentially marched her back to bed, waiting until she reluctantly crawled under the covers before pulling the blankets up to her chest himself.

​"Stay," he ordered, pointing a firm finger at her.

​He left the room. Y/N let out a frustrated groan, fully intending to sneak out the moment she heard the front door click. But the front door never clicked. Instead, she heard the heavy, scraping sound of furniture moving.

​A minute later, Robb reappeared in her doorway. He was carrying his massive stack of pre-law textbooks, his legal pad, and his laptop. He set them down on the small desk in the corner of her room. Then, he left again and returned carrying her thick biology textbook, a stack of blank flashcards, and a fresh iced water.

​He dropped her study materials onto the mattress next to her legs.

​"Compromise," Robb announced, pulling the desk chair over to the side of her bed. He sat down, opening his laptop. "You stay under the blankets. You don't move. You can read your flashcards. If you need something, you ask me."

​Y/N stared at him. "You're moving your study station into my room? What if you get sick?"

​"I play rugby in the mud for fun, Y/N. My immune system is made of iron," he said confidently, uncapping a highlighter. "Plus, I need the background noise to focus. The living room is too quiet."

​It was a blatant lie, and they both knew it. Robb Stark required absolute, library-level silence to study. He was doing this entirely for her, mimicking their living room routine so she wouldn't feel isolated.

​Y/N reached out, pulling her flashcards into her lap. Her chest felt incredibly tight, and this time, it had absolutely nothing to do with the flu.

​For the next three hours, the only sounds in the bedroom were the scratching of Robb's pen, the soft rustle of Y/N flipping her flashcards, and Grey Wind’s rhythmic snoring from the floor. It was domestic, quiet, and terrifyingly intimate.

​Around 1:00 PM, Y/N's hands started to slow down. The words on the flashcards were beginning to blur together. She dropped her head back against the headboard, letting out a heavy, frustrated sigh.

​Robb stopped writing immediately. "Headache?"

​"Brain fog," she complained, closing her eyes. "I can't read the word 'lymphocyte' one more time without my eyes crossing."

​Robb set his pen down. He leaned over, gently plucking the stack of flashcards from her loose grip. "Alright. Close your eyes. I'll read them."

​Y/N cracked an eye open. "You don't even know how to pronounce half of these words, Stark."

​"I am a pre-law student. I literally memorize Latin for a living," he scoffed playfully. He looked at the first card. "Alright. Macrophage."

​"A large phagocytic cell found in stationary form in the tissues or as a mobile white blood cell," she recited perfectly, her eyes drifting shut again.

​"Correct," Robb said softly. He flipped to the next card. "Spleen."

​"An abdominal organ involved in the production and removal of blood cells in most vertebrates and forming part of the immune system."

​They fell into a seamless rhythm. Robb’s deep, steady voice became the perfect anchor for her racing mind. He didn't rush her. When she stumbled over a definition, he would gently prompt her with the first few words, his tone endlessly patient.

​Eventually, her answers grew shorter. Her voice grew softer.

​"Okay, last one," Robb murmured, watching the way her breathing was beginning to even out. "Thymus."

​"Lymphoid organ... situated in the neck..." she mumbled, her head lolling slightly to the side. "Produces T cells... for... immune response..."

​"Perfect," Robb whispered.

​He set the flashcards down on the nightstand. Y/N was completely asleep, her chest rising and falling in a steady, healthy rhythm. The fever was gone, the manic study panic had passed, and she looked peaceful.

​Robb didn't go back to his desk. He stayed in the chair beside her bed, resting his elbows on his knees, just watching her. He reached out, his knuckles lightly grazing the back of her hand where it rested above the blankets.

​He had spent his entire life taking care of his younger siblings out of duty. But sitting in this sixty-two-degree room, listening to a pre-med student mumble about the immune system, Robb Stark realized that taking care of Y/N wasn't an obligation.

​It was a privilege. And he never wanted to stop doing it.

[rhaecerys-velaryo]

Modern University AU pt.2

Pairing: Robb Stark x Fem!OC (University AU)

​Word Count: 3.6k

​Summary

​The housing office at Winterfell University had one job. Instead, they double-booked Apartment 4B, leaving pre-med student Y/N trapped in a sixty-degree apartment with a star rugby player, his massive Malamute, and a family that has already decided she’s one of them.

​It starts with a "ma'am" and a boiled chicken breast. It ends with Y/N realizing that Robb Stark doesn't just want a roommate—he wants a permanent fixture in his life. pt.1 - pt.3

By the time late October rolled around, the brisk autumn winds had stripped the trees bare across the Winterfell University campus. For Robb Stark, this was a homecoming. He thrived in the chill, treating the dropping temperatures like a personal invitation to finally stop sweating during rugby practice.

For Y/N, it was the beginning of the next Ice Age.

The primary battleground for their newest domestic dispute was a small, beige, plastic dial located halfway down the hall of Apartment 4B. The thermostat.

Robb’s default setting was a crisp, unforgiving sixty degrees Fahrenheit. To him, this was a perfectly reasonable, comfortable temperature. It allowed him to sleep soundly, and more infuriatingly, it allowed him to casually stroll around their shared living space in a pair of thin gym shorts and a faded t-shirt as if they were summering in the Mediterranean.

Y/N, however, possessed the thin, tropical blood of her ancestors. Sixty degrees was not a living condition; it was a preservation technique.

To survive, she had evolved into her final form: the Couch Burrito. She layered thick leggings under sweatpants, wore oversized hoodies, and permanently encased herself in a massive, vibrant purple and pink fleece blanket. Her signature golden-horned unicorn slippers were non-negotiable footwear.

But fleece could only do so much. Thus, the espionage began.

It started as a crime of opportunity. Robb had left for an early morning lecture on Constitutional Law. Y/N, shivering violently while trying to pour milk into her iced coffee, eyed the beige dial in the hallway. She checked the deadbolt to ensure he was actually gone, crept down the hall, and gently nudged the dial up to sixty-two degrees.

The faint click and the subsequent whir of the heating vents kicking on was the sweetest sound she had ever heard. She spent the next two hours in a blissful, slightly less hypothermic state of study.

When Robb returned, he immediately stopped in the entryway, pulling at the collar of his shirt. "Gods, is the oven on?" he asked, walking straight to the hallway. He stared at the dial. "Y/N, the thermostat is on sixty-two."

"Is it?" she called from the couch, not looking up from her textbook. "Must be a draft making the sensor act up."

Robb narrowed his eyes, turned the dial firmly back to sixty, and walked away.

The next day, when Robb went to the gym, she nudged it to sixty-four. It was a risky, greedy move. When he came back an hour later, sweating heavily, he looked at her like she had committed treason. He immediately cranked it down to fifty-eight in retaliation.

The silent war raged for a week. The dial went up; the dial went down. Robb would leave post-it notes on the plastic casing that read: Save the polar bears. Leave it at 60. Y/N would cross it out and write: Save your roommate from severe vasoconstriction.

The inevitable confrontation occurred on a Friday night.

A brutal rainstorm was lashing against the apartment windows, making the chill in the air feel infinitely worse. Y/N was curled in the corner of the couch, a shivering mound of purple fleece. Robb was pacing the living room, reading a case file out loud to himself. He was, to Y/N’s absolute horror, wearing only his grey sweatpants. No shirt. Barefoot.

"Stark, put a shirt on," she groaned, her teeth literally chattering. "I am getting frostbite just looking at you."

Robb paused his pacing, looking down at her with an infuriatingly comfortable expression. "It feels great in here. Good for the circulation."

"I am experiencing peripheral cyanosis," she argued, lifting one hand out of the blanket to show him her slightly pale fingernails. "My body is actively pulling blood away from my extremities to protect my vital organs because you insist on living in a meat locker."

"You are being dramatic," Robb chuckled, tossing his file onto the coffee table. "You're from the tropics, Y/N. Your internal thermostat is just calibrated wrong."

"My internal thermostat is calibrated for human survival!" she shot back.

Determined to save herself, Y/N threw off the purple fleece. She stomped down the hallway, her unicorn slippers aggressively squeaking against the hardwood. She reached for the beige dial, fully intending to crank it to a balmy seventy degrees.

Before her fingers could even graze the plastic, a large, calloused hand clamped gently over her wrist.

Robb had moved with the silent, terrifying speed of a premier athlete. He was standing right behind her, so close that his broad, bare chest practically brushed against her back. The sudden, overwhelming heat radiating off his skin was staggering. He really was a human furnace.

"Don't touch the dial, Y/N," he murmured, his voice dropping low, right next to her ear.

Y/N’s breath hitched. She froze, completely forgetting her speech about hypothermia. The hallway suddenly felt incredibly narrow. She could feel the steady, slow rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his hand wrapping entirely around her slender wrist.

"I'm freezing, Robb," she whispered, losing all of her previous bite.

Robb didn't let go of her wrist. Instead, his thumb began to stroke slow, soothing circles against her pulse point. "I know," he said softly. "But if you turn it up to seventy, I won't be able to sleep. I’ll sweat through the mattress."

"So I just slowly freeze to death?" she asked, tilting her head back slightly.

Robb finally released her wrist, taking a half-step back, though his blue eyes remained locked onto hers in the dim light of the hallway. He looked conflicted, as if fighting a very specific internal battle.

"Sixty-two during the day," Robb finally compromised, letting out a heavy sigh. "Sixty at night. And..."

"And?"

"And if you're really that cold on the couch," he muttered, scratching the back of his neck, a faint pink dusting his cheekbones, "you can just sit closer to me. I run hot. You know that."

Y/N stared at him, her heart doing a frantic, complicated flutter in her chest. He was offering himself up as a human space heater just so he didn't have to touch the thermostat. It was the most ridiculously stubborn, inherently sweet thing she had ever heard.

"Fine," Y/N agreed, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across her face. "Sixty-two during the day. But I’m holding you to the space heater offer."

"I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it," he replied, a matching smirk pulling at his lips.

It was the beginning of the end for their personal boundaries. But the true shift in the apartment’s ecosystem didn't fully cement itself until the following month, when Robb discovered that he wasn't the only Stark in the household susceptible to Y/N’s bribes.

The first sign of the Great Defection was subtle.

"Grey Wind, *heel*," Robb commanded, his voice carrying that natural, booming authority that made people on the rugby pitch stop in their tracks.

He was standing by the front door, leash in hand, ready for their evening run through the freezing November drizzle. Grey Wind, a massive, seventy-five-pound mountain of silver fur and muscle, didn't move. He was currently sprawled across the living room rug, his chin resting directly on Y/N’s left slipper—the one with the golden unicorn horn.

Y/N didn't even look up from her anatomy coloring book. She was meticulously shading the brachialis muscle in a vibrant shade of violet. Her right hand was absentmindedly buried in the thick fur behind Grey Wind’s ears, her fingers scratching a very specific, sensitive spot that Robb had apparently never discovered in three years of ownership.

Grey Wind let out a long, low groan of pure bliss, his back leg twitching rhythmically.

"Grey Wind," Robb repeated, his brow furrowing. "Let’s go. Trail run."

The dog opened one yellow eye, looked at Robb, let out a huff that sounded suspiciously like a dismissal, and closed it again. He nudged Y/N’s hand with his snout, demanding the scratches resume.

"He’s tired, Robb," Y/N murmured, finally glancing up. She looked like a violet-tinted gremlin, her glasses sliding down her nose. "We had a big afternoon. Didn't we, Grey? We learned all about the nervous system."

"The dog is a Malamute mix," Robb said, hands on his hips, looking between his disloyal companion and his roommate. "He was bred to pull sleds through tundra. He is not 'tired' because he watched you color in a diagram of a human arm."

"Actually, he helped," she corrected. "I told him he was a good boy every time I finished a muscle group. Positive reinforcement, Stark. You should try it."

Robb sighed, dropping the leash on the entry table. He walked over, looming over the two of them. "I use positive reinforcement. He’s highly trained. He’s passed three levels of professional obedience schooling. He’s a disciplined animal."

As if to intentionally sabotage Robb’s argument, Y/N reached into the pocket of her oversized hoodie. She pulled out a small, dried piece of mango—her favorite snack. Grey Wind was upright in a millisecond. His ears were pricked, his tail was thumping a frantic rhythm against the floor, and he was offering Y/N a paw before she even asked for it.

"He’s a mercenary," Robb whispered, horrified. "You’re bribing my dog with tropical fruit."

"I'm supplementing his diet with antioxidants," Y/N countered, feeding the dog the treat. Grey Wind took it with the gentleness of a saint and then immediately licked her entire cheek. "And for the record, he started it. He came into my room last night while I was studying and sat on my feet because they were cold. He’s a natural heater. It’s a symbiotic relationship."

Robb froze. "He went into your room?"

"Yeah. Around midnight. He stayed until I went to sleep."

Robb looked at Grey Wind. Grey Wind looked at the ceiling.

For three years, Grey Wind had slept at the foot of Robb’s bed. He was his shadow, his protector, his loyal Northern companion. But over the last week, Robb had noticed the dog lingering in the hallway. He’d noticed the way Grey Wind’s head perked up at the sound of Y/N’s bedroom door opening.

"He’s a traitor," Robb muttered, though there was no real heat in it. "I’m the one who pays for the high-end kibble and the vet bills, and he sells me out for mango and ear scratches."

"Maybe you just don't have the touch, Stark," Y/N teased, giving Grey Wind one final pat before returning to her coloring.

That night, when Robb whistled for Grey Wind to come to bed, the dog didn't even lift his head from where he was curled up on the rug outside Y/N’s door. Robb stood in his doorway for a moment, feeling a strange, hollow sort of jealousy—not just because his dog had defected, but because Grey Wind had managed to get closer to the girl in the purple hoodie in four weeks than Robb had managed in two months of trying to be the "perfect, polite roommate."

The final breaking point, however, wasn't about the dog. It was about the crime against humanity that Robb Stark called "dinner."

Y/N had been particularly stressed all week. She had a practical exam coming up that involved identifying three hundred different bone fragments, and she had spent most of her time in the campus morgue or the library. She had been living on granola bars, iced lattes, and the occasional bowl of instant noodles.

On Thursday evening, she walked into the apartment, her eyes bloodshot and her shoulders heavy. The air was filled with a scent that she could only describe as... *nothing*. It smelled like steam and disappointment.

She walked into the kitchen and found Robb at the stove. He looked like a masterpiece of a man—shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair messy, looking focused and capable. Then, she looked at the pans.

"Robb," she said, her voice sounding faint. "What are you doing?"

"Cooking for us," he said brightly, oblivious to the impending tragedy. "You've been stressed, so I thought I'd handle dinner. It’s almost ready."

Y/N stepped closer. In one pan, four chicken breasts were being grilled. There was no oil. No butter. No salt. Not even a stray flake of pepper. They were a terrifying, uniform shade of beige. In the other pot, a mountain of white rice was bubbling away, looking starchier than a pile of laundry.

"Where is the seasoning, Robb?" she asked, her voice trembling with the weight of her ancestors’ collective judgment.

"Seasoning has sodium," Robb explained, flipping a piece of chicken. It made a dry, leathery sound against the pan. "I have a big match on Saturday. I need to keep my water retention low. This is pure, lean fuel."

"This isn't fuel, Robb. This is sadness. This is a biological insult to the concept of taste buds." She reached out, picking up a fork and poking the chicken. It didn't yield. It felt like a tennis ball. "If I eat this, I will lose the will to live before I even finish the first trimester of my degree."

Robb looked offended. "It’s efficient! It takes ten minutes, and it hits all my macros."

"I don't care about your macros! I care about my soul!" Y/N threw her bag on the counter, the exhaustion of the week boiling over into a desperate need for actual flavor. "Move. Out of the way. Go sit on the couch and think about what you've done."

"Y/N, I really don't think—"

"Move, Stark!"

Robb moved. He sat at the kitchen island, his hands folded like a scolded schoolboy, watching as Y/N underwent a total personality transplant. The tired, slumped student was gone. In her place was a whirlwind of rhythmic efficiency.

She moved through the kitchen like a conductor. She yanked open the fridge and pulled out a jar of her homemade marinade—a dark, aromatic concoction of soy sauce, calamansi juice, brown sugar, and a mountain of minced garlic. She swept his beige chicken into a bowl and submerged it in the liquid, her expression one of grim determination.

"You can't just fix it now," Robb argued weakly. "The fibers are already sealed."

"Watch me," she snapped.

She fired up her own heavy skillet, adding a generous splash of oil and a knob of butter. The moment the heat hit the pan, she tossed in more garlic and ginger, the scent immediately eradicating the smell of steam. She didn't just cook; she performed. She chopped green onions with the precision of a surgeon, her knife-work a blur.

She took the rice—which he had mercifully not overcooked yet—and transformed it. She fried more garlic until it was golden and crispy, then tossed the rice in the aromatic oil until every grain was glistening and savory.

Ten minutes later, the apartment didn't smell like a locker room anymore. It smelled like heaven. It smelled like home.

She plated the food with a flourish. The chicken was now a deep, caramelized mahogany, charred perfectly on the edges and glistening with a sweet-and-savory glaze. The garlic fried rice was piled high, topped with crispy bits of golden garlic and fresh scallions. She even produced a small side of quick-pickled cucumbers she’d had in the back of the fridge.

She slid the plate in front of Robb and sat across from him, crossing her arms. "Eat."

Robb looked at the plate. He looked at the steam rising from the rice. He picked up his fork, his movements hesitant, and took a bite of the chicken.

The silence that followed was long. Robb’s eyes widened. He chewed slowly, his expression shifting from surprise to something that looked suspiciously like a religious awakening. He took a bite of the garlic rice, and his shoulders literally dropped two inches as the tension left his body.

"Gods," he whispered, his voice cracking.

"Is it hitting your macros, Stark?" she asked, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

Robb didn't answer. He was too busy shoveling another forkful of rice into his mouth. He looked up at her, his blue eyes intense and shining with a sudden, overwhelming realization.

"Y/N," he said, swallowing hard. "I would marry you for this rice. Right now. I’ll go get the ring. I’ll call my mother. She’ll understand."

Y/N laughed, the sound bright and genuine, all her stress finally melting away. "Easy there, big guy. It’s just garlic and soy sauce."

"It’s not 'just' anything," Robb insisted, pointing his fork at her. "I have lived twenty-one years on this earth, and I have never understood why people enjoy eating until this exact moment. I thought food was a chore. I thought it was something you did so you didn't die during practice."

"That is the saddest thing I have ever heard," she sighed, taking her own first bite. "Even Grey Wind knows better than that."

As if on cue, Grey Wind trotted into the kitchen and sat directly next to Y/N’s chair, his nose twitching. He didn't even look at Robb’s empty seat.

Robb watched them—the girl who could make a dead piece of chicken sing and the dog who had completely abandoned him—and he felt a strange, warm shift in the atmosphere of the apartment. It wasn't just a place they shared anymore.

"New rule," Robb said, pointing his fork at her again.

"Oh, another rule? Does this one involve blenders?"

"No," Robb said, his expression becoming serious. "You cook. Every night. Or at least four nights a week."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "And what do I get out of this deal? I'm pre-med, Robb. I don't have time to be your personal chef."

"In exchange," Robb leaned forward, his voice low and persuasive, "I do all the dishes. Every single one. I will deep-clean the kitchen every night. I’ll do the heavy lifting—groceries, trash, scrubbing the floors. I’ll even do your laundry. You never have to touch a sponge or a vacuum cleaner again as long as we live here."

Y/N paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. She hated dishes. She hated the feeling of wet food on her hands. She hated the way the trash bags always seemed to leak. And the idea of Robb Stark—with his broad shoulders and his obsessive-compulsive need for organization—handling all the grunt work while she just focused on flavors?

"And the groceries?" she pressed. "You pay for the ingredients? My calamansi isn't cheap."

"I pay for everything," he agreed instantly. "I'll go to three different stores to find your specific vinegar if I have to. Just... please. Don't make me go back to the beige chicken."

Y/N looked at him. He looked so earnest, so desperate, and entirely too handsome for his own good. The "Kitchen Truce" was born in that moment, a fundamental shift in their power dynamic.

"Deal," she said, reaching across the table.

Robb took her hand, his large palm engulfing hers. Instead of a quick shake, he held it for a beat too long, his thumb brushing against her knuckles. The air in the kitchen suddenly felt a lot warmer than the stove could account for.

"Deal," he repeated.

The rest of the evening followed the new protocol. Y/N retreated to the living room with Grey Wind to finish her anatomy coloring, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. From the kitchen, she heard the rhythmic sound of water running and the clinking of plates.

Robb wasn't just washing the dishes; he was scrubbing the stovetop. He was wiping down the counters with the intensity of a man who had just been given a second chance at life.

When he finished, he didn't go to his room to study. He walked into the living room and sat on the floor at the base of the couch, leaning his back against the cushions right next to Y/N’s legs.

"Whatcha coloring?" he asked softly.

"The digestive system," she replied, a smirk playing on her lips. "Seemed appropriate."

Robb laughed, leaning his head back. "Too soon, Y/N. Too soon."

Grey Wind shifted, moving from Y/N’s feet to rest his head on Robb’s knee, finally offering his original master a bit of comfort. Robb reached out, scratching the dog’s ears, but his eyes stayed on Y/N.

They sat there for hours—the athlete, the student, and the traitorous dog—in a sixty-degree apartment that finally felt like it was starting to thaw. The slow burn wasn't just a flicker anymore; it was a steady, warming flame, fueled by garlic rice and the quiet realization that neither of them wanted to be anywhere else.

By the time Y/N fell asleep on the couch an hour later, Grey Wind was at her feet, and Robb was still sitting on the floor, his back against the couch, reading his law textbook by the light of her TV. He didn't move to wake her. He just adjusted the purple fleece blanket so it covered her shoulders, his hand lingering on the fabric for just a second, before turning back to his case studies with a quiet, contented smile.

[rhaecerys-velaryo]

Modern University AU pt.1

Pairing: Robb Stark x Fem!OC (University AU)

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary

​The housing office at Winterfell University had one job. Instead, they double-booked Apartment 4B, leaving pre-med student Y/N trapped in a sixty-degree apartment with a star rugby player, his massive Malamute, and a family that has already decided she’s one of them.

​It starts with a "ma'am" and a boiled chicken breast. It ends with Y/N realizing that Robb Stark doesn't just want a roommate—he wants a permanent fixture in his life.

pt.2 - pt.3

The late August heat was absolutely unforgiving, baking the pavement and turning the air into thick, suffocating soup. Y/N dragged her final, absurdly heavy box of biology textbooks up the three flights of stairs to Apartment 4B, mentally thanking the universe that she had managed to secure a single unit for her junior year. No roommates to steal her food, no one to complain about her studying at 3:00 AM, and most importantly, complete control over the thermostat.

She balanced the heavy cardboard box on her knee, jammed the shiny new brass key into the lock, and pushed the door open, ready to collapse onto the bare living room floor.

Instead, she dropped the box. It hit the hardwood with a deafening thud.

Standing in the center of her living room was a wolf.

Or, at least, something that looked terrifyingly close to one. It was a massive, grey and white Malamute mix with piercing yellow eyes. The dog slowly turned its head, looking at her with a calm, unnerving intelligence.

"Hey, don't drop the—" a deep voice called out from the kitchen.

A guy walked around the corner, holding a stack of pristine, color-coded storage bins. He froze when he saw Y/N standing in the doorway.

He was, objectively speaking, unfairly handsome. He had a mop of thick, messy auburn curls, striking blue eyes, and the broad, muscular build of someone who spent entirely too much time on an athletic field. He was wearing a faded grey t-shirt and gym shorts, looking perfectly at home in the apartment Y/N had just paid a small fortune to lease.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" he asked politely, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Y/N blinked, the exhaustion of moving temporarily overridden by sheer indignation. "Did you just call me ma'am? I'm twenty-one, not a Victorian widow. And what are you doing in my apartment?"

The guy let out a short, incredulous breath, setting his bins down on the kitchen counter. "Your apartment? I signed the lease for 4B three months ago. I just picked up the keys this morning."

"That's impossible," Y/N argued, stepping fully inside and shutting the door behind her. The giant dog immediately trotted over, sniffing her sneakers. She dug her hand into her tote bag, pulling out her neatly folded rental agreement. "I signed the lease for 4B in May. This is my unit."

He wiped his hands on his shorts, walking over to close the distance between them. Up close, he was even taller, towering over her with an imposing but entirely confused presence. He pulled out his phone, pulling up a PDF document and turning the screen toward her.

"Robb Stark," he introduced himself, pointing to the digital signature at the bottom of the page. "And as you can see, 4B. The leasing office handed me the keys at nine."

Y/N stared at the screen, then down at her own paper. They both said 4B. A cold, sinking dread began to settle in her stomach.

"I'm calling the office," she announced, pulling her phone from her back pocket.

Ten minutes and one agonizingly long hold-music track later, the horrifying truth was laid bare.

"So, let me get this straight," Y/N said into the receiver, her voice dangerously calm as Robb stood a few feet away, listening intently. "You double-booked the unit. You put a pre-law athlete and a pre-med student in the same apartment, gave us both keys, and your solution is 'there's a second bedroom, so you'll just have to share'?"

Robb winced visibly at her summary.

"Every other complex is sold out," the leasing agent’s tinny voice apologized through the speaker. "The fall semester starts in three days. We can offer a slight discount on rent for the inconvenience, but otherwise, 4B is a two-bedroom, two-bathroom unit. You are welcome to break the lease, but we have nowhere else to place you."

Y/N hung up the phone, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her fingers to her temples. The dream of a quiet, solitary sanctuary evaporated into the sweltering August air.

"Well," Robb said slowly, clearing his throat. "I suppose we're roommates. I'm sorry about the 'ma'am' comment, by the way. Southern mother. It's an ingrained reflex."

Y/N opened her eyes, looking up at him. He seemed genuinely apologetic, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looked tidy, responsible, and completely disastrous for her peace of mind.

"Y/N," she sighed, officially introducing herself. "And if your wolf eats my anatomy models, I'm billing you for them."

Robb actually smiled at that, a bright, genuine grin that transformed his entire face. "Grey Wind is perfectly trained. He won't touch your stuff."

Before Y/N could point out that Grey Wind was currently attempting to chew on the strap of her tote bag, the front door burst open without a single knock.

"Robb, I am telling you, those blinds are atrocious and I will not let you live in a place that looks like a prison cell," a tall, striking girl with fiery red hair announced as she marched into the apartment, carrying a potted fern.

Right behind her came a shorter girl with dark hair, carrying nothing but a lacrosse stick. "Who cares about the blinds, Sansa? Did you see the size of the living room? We can totally wrestle in here."

"Nobody is wrestling," a stern, exhausted-looking man said, walking in behind them with a heavy box of pots and pans. He was followed by a woman with the same auburn hair as Robb and Sansa, holding a tray of baked goods, and another dark-haired guy who simply nodded at Robb before dropping a duffel bag on the floor.

The apartment, which had felt spacious just five minutes ago, suddenly felt like a crowded elevator. Y/N pressed her back against the wall, entirely overwhelmed.

Robb’s face flushed a deep, embarrassed red. He stepped between Y/N and the invading horde. "Mom, Dad, guys. Stop. Put the stuff down."

The family paused, finally noticing the strange girl plastered against the wall.

"Oh!" the mother said, her eyes widening in surprise as she looked from Robb to Y/N. "Robb, you didn't tell us you had company."

"She's not company," Robb groaned, dragging a hand down his face in pure exasperation. "There was a mix-up with the lease. Mom, Dad, everyone... this is Y/N. My new roommate."

Silence descended on the apartment. Sansa lowered the fern. Arya looked Y/N up and down, her eyes landing on the heavy box of biology textbooks. The dark-haired guy—Jon—shot Robb a look of pure, unadulterated pity.

"Well," Y/N said, managing a weak, awkward wave. "It's nice to meet you all. I'm just going to go... claim my bedroom."

As she slipped past the wall of Starks and dragged her box down the hall, she could hear Arya's voice echoing clearly from the living room.

"She's way too cool for you, Robb. You're going to ruin her life."

------------------------------------------

Two weeks into the lease of Apartment 4B, the sheer incompatibility of their circadian rhythms became the battleground on which their roommate dynamic would be tested. The administrative error that had forced a pre-law athlete and a pre-med night owl under the same roof had manifested its most agonizing symptom: the war of the clocks.

Robb Stark, Y/N quickly learned, was not just a morning person. He was a terrifying, energetic, dawn-worshipping menace. He belonged to a demographic of people she fundamentally did not understand—the kind who voluntarily woke up at 5:30 AM to run across a freezing rugby pitch before the sun had even considered rising.

Y/N, conversely, was a creature of the night. Her brain only truly activated after 10:00 PM, fueled by the terrifying pressure of organic chemistry and an ungodly amount of espresso.

The first major clash occurred on a Tuesday.

Y/N had finally closed her laptop at 3:15 AM, her vision swimming with molecular structures. She had crawled under her heavy purple fleece blanket, dead to the world, only to be violently jolted awake precisely two hours and fifteen minutes later.

The sound echoing through the apartment was not just loud; it was violent. It sounded like someone had thrown a handful of loose gravel into a jet engine.

Y/N lay there for a moment, staring at her ceiling in the dark, wondering if a construction crew had somehow breached the living room. When the grinding noise paused and then immediately revved up again, she threw her blankets off with a feral groan. She marched out of her bedroom, her hair a chaotic bird's nest on top of her head, wearing an oversized, faded university t-shirt and an expression of pure, unadulterated malice.

She found Robb in the kitchen. He was fully dressed in his athletic gear, looking unfairly awake, his broad shoulders flexing as he held down the lid of a heavy-duty Ninja blender. Inside the plastic pitcher, a terrifying slurry of frozen spinach, ice cubes, and protein powder was being pulverized into submission.

Grey Wind was sitting patiently by the fridge, entirely unfazed.

Y/N leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. She waited for him to turn the machine off. When he finally did, the sudden silence in the apartment was deafening.

Robb turned around, holding the plastic pitcher, and jumped slightly when he saw her lurking in the shadows.

"Gods, Y/N," he breathed, pressing a hand to his chest. "You scared me. What are you doing up?"

"What am I doing up?" she repeated, her voice a raspy, sleep-deprived whisper. She pointed a shaking finger at the blender. "Stark, I say this with zero exaggeration: if you ever turn that industrial rock-crusher on before the sun is in the sky again, I will personally dismantle it and hide the pieces in the walls."

Robb blinked, genuinely taken aback. "It's just a smoothie. I have rugby practice in thirty minutes. I need the protein."

"You need Jesus," Y/N corrected darkly. "Or a shaker bottle. People survived for centuries without pulverizing ice at five in the morning. Drink some milk. Eat a raw egg like Rocky. I don't care. But that machine is now banned between the hours of midnight and eight AM."

"It's really not that loud," Robb protested, pouring the questionable green sludge into a travel cup.

"It registered on the Richter scale, Robb. My teeth are vibrating." Y/N rubbed her temples, feeling a headache blossoming behind her eyes. She shuffled over to the fridge, pulled out a massive jug of cold brew, and poured a generous amount into a glass. She added a splash of oat milk and a pump of vanilla syrup, entirely ignoring the fact that it was not even six in the morning.

Robb leaned against the counter, watching her with a mixture of amusement and concern. "Are you drinking an iced latte? Right now? Won't that give you a heart attack?"

"This," Y/N said, taking a long, desperate sip, "is the only thing keeping me from committing a felony. And for the record, cold brew has a higher caffeine concentration than standard espresso. It's medicinal."

"You went to sleep at three," he pointed out, gesturing to the sliver of light he had seen under her door when he woke up. "You're running on two hours of sleep and pure caffeine."

"And you are running on grass clippings and aggression. We all have our flaws." She turned on her heel, her glass clinking. "No blenders before eight, Stark. I mean it."

But the friction wasn't just a one-way street. If Robb was the terror of the dawn, Y/N was the menace of the midnight hour.

Three days later, Robb found himself lying in bed at 2:00 AM, staring at his ceiling. He had a massive Constitutional Law exam the next day, and every time he drifted off, a burst of dramatic orchestral music and a loud, booming voice drifted through the thin walls of Apartment 4B.

He threw his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his face in exhaustion, and walked out to the living room.

Y/N was curled up on the couch, illuminated by the flashing lights of the television. She had a textbook open in her lap, her laptop balanced precariously on the armrest, and a fresh iced latte sitting on a coaster. On the screen, a high-stakes, extremely loud historical documentary about the fall of the Roman Empire was playing at a volume that belonged in a cinema.

"Y/N," Robb said, his voice thick with sleep.

She didn't hear him. She was entirely absorbed in highlighting a diagram of a cellular membrane while the narrator on the TV screamed about Julius Caesar.

"Y/N!" he said louder, stepping into the room.

She jumped, nearly knocking over her coffee. "Robb! What are you doing? It's the middle of the night."

"Exactly," he said, gesturing broadly to the television. "It's the middle of the night. Why are the Romans currently invading our living room at maximum volume?"

"It's background noise," she defended, pausing the TV. "I can't study in dead silence. My ADHD needs secondary stimulation or I end up reading the same paragraph about mitochondria fourteen times."

"I understand that," Robb sighed, running a hand through his messy curls. He looked exhausted, the dark circles under his blue eyes making her feel a sharp twinge of guilt. "But I can literally hear the battle formations through my pillow. I have an exam tomorrow."

Y/N looked at the TV, then down at her iced latte, then back to Robb. "Right. Okay. I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was that loud."

"We need ground rules," Robb declared, sitting heavily on the opposite end of the couch. Grey Wind, who had followed him out, immediately hopped up and rested his heavy head on Y/N's lap. "Because if we keep this up, one of us is going to drop out of sheer exhaustion."

"Fine," Y/N agreed, scratching the dog behind the ears. "You buy a quiet blender or you pre-make your swamp-water smoothies the night before. I will buy a pair of noise-canceling wireless headphones for my midnight study sessions."

"Deal," Robb said, holding his hand out.

Y/N shook it. His hand was warm, his grip firm, and despite the hour and the bags under his eyes, he still looked unfairly handsome. She quickly pulled her hand away, clearing her throat. "Go back to sleep, Stark. The empire has fallen."

The rules worked for the most part, but the ultimate test of their newfound domestic rhythm came at the end of the week.

Sundays were sacred to Y/N. By the time the weekend ended, her brain was utterly fried from biology labs, mock exams, and endless flashcards. To cope with the impending doom of Monday morning, she had developed a strict, non-negotiable ritual. From 7:00 PM to 9:00 PM every Sunday, Y/N did not study. She sanitized.

Robb had spent his Sunday at the campus library, agonizing over case briefs. He returned to Apartment 4B just past 7:30 PM, entirely drained, dreaming of throwing himself onto the couch and watching football.

He unlocked the door and was instantly hit by a wall of sound and the overwhelming, sterile scent of bleach, lemon, and Fabuloso.

The apartment was practically vibrating. A sleek, black Bluetooth speaker was perched on the kitchen island, currently blasting Little Mix's "Power" at a volume that rivaled a nightclub.

Robb dropped his keys in the bowl, bewildered. He walked into the kitchen and stopped dead in his tracks.

Y/N was wearing her oversized purple university sweatshirt, athletic shorts, and a pair of bright yellow rubber gloves. Her hair was tied up in a messy, chaotic bun. She was currently using the handle of a Swiffer WetJet as a microphone, passionately lip-syncing the high notes while aggressively mopping the hardwood floor.

On the counter, next to the speaker, was her signature iced latte.

Robb stood there for a full minute, watching her. She spun around, sliding slightly on the wet floor, pointing the Swiffer at the refrigerator as if it were a massive crowd. She didn't notice him at all. She was entirely in her element, scrubbing away the stress of the week with fierce, pop-fueled determination.

The song transitioned seamlessly into a heavy, bass-dropping DJ set, the beat fast and chaotic. Y/N didn't miss a step, moving from the floor to the kitchen counters, spraying an ungodly amount of disinfectant and wiping it down in time with the music.

"Hey!" Robb shouted over the bass, stepping fully into the kitchen.

Y/N shrieked, dropping the bottle of cleaner. She whipped around, clutching her chest, her eyes wide. When she saw Robb leaning against the doorframe with a highly amused smirk on his face, her cheeks flushed a violent shade of crimson.

She scrambled to the island, lunging for her phone to turn the volume down to a manageable hum.

"Gods, Stark! Do you have to materialize like a ghost?" she snapped, ripping the yellow rubber gloves off and throwing them onto the counter.

"It's my apartment too," he laughed, crossing his arms. He looked around the kitchen. It was genuinely spotless. The stainless steel appliances gleamed, and the air smelled aggressively clean. "What is all this? Are we expecting a health inspector?"

"It's my Sunday reset," Y/N muttered, refusing to look him in the eye out of sheer embarrassment. "I clean the apartment from top to bottom. It helps me decompress. And before you complain about the noise, it is seven-thirty in the evening. This is prime, socially acceptable noise-making time."

Robb held his hands up in mock surrender. "I wasn't going to complain. Though the transition from Little Mix to dubstep was certainly a choice."

"It was a continuous mix," she defended defensively. "And next on the queue is Taylor Swift, so brace yourself."

Robb chuckled, walking over to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. He navigated carefully around the wet spots on the floor. "You do this every Sunday? Between seven and nine?"

"Every Sunday," Y/N confirmed, crossing her arms defensively. "It’s my one boundary. You get the ungodly hours of the morning to blend grass, I get two hours on Sunday evening to blast pop music and kill bacteria."

Robb took a drink of his water, looking at her. Her cheeks were still flushed from dancing, a few stray hairs falling out of her bun and sticking to her forehead. The apartment smelled amazing, and despite his initial exhaustion, the sheer energy radiating from her was infectious.

"Alright," Robb said easily. He set his water bottle down, walked past her, and picked up the yellow rubber gloves she had discarded.

Y/N blinked in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"Well," Robb said, pulling the gloves onto his large hands—they stretched comically over his knuckles—"if this is happening every Sunday, we might as well cut the time in half. Where do you keep the glass cleaner? The living room windows look like they could use a wipe down."

Y/N stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. The golden boy of the rugby team, the stoic pre-law student, was standing in her kitchen wearing bright yellow dish gloves, offering to clean windows.

"Under the sink," she managed to say, pointing dumbly.

Robb grabbed the Windex and a roll of paper towels. He walked toward the living room, pausing at the edge of the kitchen. He looked over his shoulder, a genuine, teasing smile playing on his lips.

"Turn it back up, Y/N," he called out. "If I'm going to scrub windows, I need to hear the rest of that Taylor Swift song."

Y/N stood in the kitchen for a moment, a slow, entirely helpless smile spreading across her face. She reached for her phone, turning the volume back up just as the bridge of *Cruel Summer* hit.

They had found their rhythm. It was chaotic, loud, and smelled like bleach and cold brew, but as Y/N watched Robb Stark aggressively wiping down a window pane to the beat of a pop anthem, she realized she wouldn't trade it for anything.

[rhaecerys-velaryo]

Imagine being Robb Stark's the one that got away

Inspired by: Lifetime (Reimagined) by Ben&Ben

The air in the godswood of Riverrun was crisp, biting at the edges of Robb’s heavy direwolf mantle. He stood perfectly still among the northern lords, his face carved from the same unyielding ice as his ancestors. He was the King in the North. He was supposed to be a symbol of strength and victory. But as he watched you walk down the aisle of fallen red leaves toward the weeping face of the heart tree, his crown felt less like gold and more like a noose. You were wrapped in the fine wool and furs of your house, looking more beautiful than he had ever allowed himself to admit. Waiting for you at the base of the weirwood was the Smalljon Umber—a mountain of a man, fiercely loyal, brave, and entirely wrong for you. Or so Robb’s breaking heart violently insisted.

Paper planes and porcelain

Smell of rain through the window pane

And the sight of you

Oh, you were a good dream

His mind treacherously pulled him backward, away from the grim reality of the war and into the sunlit memories of Winterfell. Before crowns, before swords, before the weight of the world fell upon his shoulders, there was only you. He remembered the smell of the summer rain washing over the courtyard stones, the two of you hiding in the glass gardens, whispering secrets and sharing folded parchment birds. You were a fragile, perfect constant in his life, a warmth he had taken for granted. You were the dream he used to retreat into when the pressures of being the Stark heir became too heavy.

I was scared to lose you then

But secrets turn into regrets

Buried feelings grow

Oh, you were a good dream

He had known, even then, that the affection he harbored for you went far beyond the bounds of childhood friendship. He had felt it every time your hand brushed his, every time your laughter echoed through the Great Hall. But he had been a coward. He was terrified that if he spoke the truth, if he crossed that invisible line, he might ruin the one bond he cherished most. So, he buried it. He locked the words in his throat, convinced there would be time later. But war did not care for the timing of boys. The banners were called, the titles were bestowed, and the secrets he kept had mutated into a quiet, suffocating agony as he watched his lords arrange a political match for you to secure northern loyalty.

Was there a lifetime waiting for us in a world where I was yours?

Was it the wrong time, what if we tried giving in a little more

To the warmth we had before?

As you took your place beside the Smalljon, Robb’s breath hitched in his chest. A terrifying, vivid hallucination washed over him—a glimpse of a timeline that would never exist. He saw you standing beside him in the great hall of Winterfell, a direwolf cloak draped over your shoulders. He imagined the feeling of his ring on your finger. He imagined a little boy with his Tully blue eyes and your smile, running with a wooden sword through the snowy courtyard. He saw a lifetime of quiet mornings and shared burdens, a life where he was not just a king, but *yours*. It was a vision so tangible, so agonizingly close, he could almost reach out and touch it.

Was it too bold of me to assume

You will catch me, oh, was it just an illusion?

Say the word, I'll drive in reverse

I would spend a lifetime waiting for you

The Septon began the prayers, the ancient words ringing hollow in Robb’s ears. And then, it happened. Before the Smalljon could reach for the maiden’s cloak to unfasten it, you paused. You turned your head slightly, your gaze sweeping over the crowd of lords until your eyes locked directly onto Robb’s.

The world stopped spinning. The wind died in the branches. In that single, suspended second, Robb’s stoic facade completely fractured. *Say it,* he begged you internally, his hands curling into tight fists beneath his cloak, his nails biting into his palms. *Just give me one word. Give me a sign. Look at me and say my name, and I will stop this. I will order them to stand down. I will turn back time, I will undo every vow, I will surrender my crown if it means taking you back with me.* He was screaming at you in the silence, offering to tear his entire world apart for just one chance to fix his mistake.

Was there a lifetime waiting for us in a world where I was yours?

Was it the wrong time, what if we tried giving in a little more?

But the word never came. The desperate, pleading look in your eyes flickered, clouded over with the heavy resignation of duty, and then vanished. You severed the connection. You turned back to the weirwood, back to the giant of a man beside you. The moment was gone, slipping through Robb’s fingers like water. The Smalljon unclasped your maiden’s cloak and draped the heavy, roaring giant of House Umber over your shoulders, claiming you in the eyes of gods and men.

Tangled with another's eyes

Never mind, you were never mine

Glimpse of me and you

Oh, you were a good dream

Later, at the feast, the Great Hall was alive with music and roaring laughter. Robb sat at the high table, a statue carved of grief. He watched Smalljon Umber pull you onto the floor for a dance, watching the way his large hands held your waist, watching you offer your new husband a shy, gentle smile. The brutal truth settled over Robb like a shroud: he could not mourn the loss of something he had never truly possessed. You were never his. The beautiful, domestic life he had imagined in the godswood was nothing but a ghost story he had told himself to survive the cold.

I'd spend a lifetime waiting in vain just to go back to the way we were before

Was it the wrong time, what if we tried giving in a little more

To the warmth we had before?

Robb reached for his goblet, his movements mechanical, hollow. He knew that tomorrow he would have to march. He knew he would have to lead these men, including your new husband, into the fire of war. He would have to smile and pretend that his soul had not just been hollowed out. He would live his life, he would fight his battles, and he would carry his duties. But in the quiet, empty hours of the night, when the crown was too heavy and the camp was asleep, he knew exactly where his mind would go. He would live entirely in the past, waiting in vain for a girl in the glass gardens who no longer existed.

Is there a lifetime waiting for us?

All this time, I have been yours

The King in the North stood up. The hall quieted as he raised his silver cup toward the center of the room. He offered you and your husband a perfect, practiced smile, offering his royal blessing to the union. No one saw the absolute devastation behind his Tully blue eyes. No one heard the silent, tragic vow he made as he drank the bitter wine—a vow that, no matter whose name you bore, or how many years passed, a piece of him would remain frozen in time, quietly and eternally belonging only to you.

[rhaecerys-velaryo]

LOVESICK Zombie

TW: Mild gore. mentions of blood and death. Established relationship. mild submissive zombie bf

Summary: You have a boyfriend that unfortunately became infected. He's possessive, protective, and very clingy. All he does is grumble and say a few words, but you love him all the same.

WC: 4185

Inspired by character made by nipuni on character.ai (link for the character)

All Chen Ming could see was red. Red, red, red. It dribbles through the crevices of his pale fingers, runs down the stitches of his arms.

There is no taste on his tongue. Instead, there's a feeling of disgust he feels within his conscience--anger towards the aggressor. Still, he continues his assault on the writhing figure under him, just as you stared on in horror at the sight of gore and carnage.

They nearly hurt you, he thinks. He needs you safe.

It all started with an infection, then leading to the process of decay and undeniable bloodlust towards the fallen victims. Ming was determined to protect you from it all. He had been turned while attempting to escape a hoard with you.

It's been weeks since the apocalypse hit and the world had been turned upside down in a matter of days.

The blackened bite on his leg was a reminder of his inevitable death.

"…" He manages to will his limp limb into wiping at the crimson blood that dotted his lips, dull eyes frantically moving to where you stood to make sure you were there and well.

You're untouched. Unharmed from the danger, for now. With the memories he's retained carried his previous feelings of deep love over to his undead body from when he was human. It's the least he can do, obsessing over you just the same. Only this time, by tenfold.

Y/N is terrified but you look over your undead boyfriend, checking to see if there were any injuries. While it wouldn't really affect him anymore, you often still took care of his wounds, sewing them up if they were small enough or putting gauze over the bigger ones. "Chen? Are you okay?"

Ming's head tilts to the side slightly at the sound of your voice, snapping him out of his frenzy. As if he'd forgotten about you in the moment of his bloodshed, he's quick in shuffling himself over to you.

His hand reaches out to grip your arm, cold fingers wrapping around your limb like a band. He's checking you over, his eyes scanning everywhere to make sure you weren't hurt in the scuffle.

"I'm fine, baby." You tried reassuring him. You were getting used to the way of things, and while the gore of everything he did still terrified you, you knew it wasn't something that you could change unless there was a cure for all of this.

Ming's tense form somewhat relaxes at the knowledge of your safety. He gently pulls you close, his slender arms circling around your waist as he buries his head into the crook of your neck. His shoulders heave slightly as he takes in your scent, letting out a grumble in his throat in an attempt to soothe the rage flowing within his dead body.

He simply hums in understanding, the slight nod of his head as a response. Though he doesn't make the effort to pull away just yet, preferring to keep you close to his form, his fingers tracing over the skin of your back. It's a soothing feeling he relishes in, feeling your heat sink into his corpse.

He's silent for a moment, his arms tightening his hold in a possessive manner.

"Come on, we need to finish getting supplies here then we'll go back to our safe house, okay?" you say, gently urging Chen Ming forward as you wanted to gather as much supplies before the sun sets.

The grip he has on you tightens at the words. He can't help himself. He's obsessed, possessive. You're his alone. His fingers dig into your flesh and he lets out another low sound from his raspy throat, pulling you in closer until there's hardly any space between your hips. Despite his current undead state, he had the ability to feel, and in this instance his body craves only for you.

" .. S'f… Safe." Ming rasps quietly. It's a few words uttered for the day, using his vocal cords and limited ability to form anything more complex than a few short sentences.

You sigh, knowing his protective traits had paired easily with his stubborn personality when he was alive. "Yes, safe. Just the both of us." You reassured.

You gently place your hands over Ming's where they grip you tightly, feeling the cold intensity of his touch. His fingers loosen slightly at your touch, but his eyes remain fixed on you, a mix of desire and possessiveness swirling within them. He hesitates, torn between his overwhelming need to protect you and the realization that his grip is too tight.

"Chen," you say softly, trying to convey both reassurance and firmness in your tone. "I know you're trying to keep me safe, but you're stronger now. You don't need to hold on so tight."

He can't stop himself. A whine leaves his lungs as his fingers grip into your body even harder than before, not wanting to let you go. You're his.

His. You're his.

" No. Need… Stay… Keep you.. safe."

He mumbles into your ear, his head buried in the crook of your neck as his arms refuse to loosen their tight grip.

As Chen Ming's grip tightens around you, you feel the strength in his undead arms, a stark reminder of his protective nature taken to extremes. His cold touch presses against your warmth, his fingers digging into your flesh with an intensity born of his unyielding need to safeguard you in this harsh, apocalyptic world.

You gently stroke his hair, trying to soothe the turbulent emotions swirling within him. "Chen, I know you want to keep me safe," you murmur softly, your voice a gentle reassurance amidst the turmoil. "And you do. You always do. But I need you to loosen your grip a little. You're hurting me."

Ming's hold tightens momentarily in response, a growl rumbling deep in his chest. His undead body reacts instinctively, possessively, unable to fully grasp the difference between protection and possession in this new existence he inhabits.

"I am safe, there's no one here. Why don't you hold my hand? Just hold my hand and follow me." You compared him to the children you took care of before in the daycare you worked at. Most times, redirecting his attention to something else would help or providing other ways he can do as he wants. Gentle parenting.

" .. Hold. Hand."

That seems to do it. He releases his tight grip around your form and instead takes your hand into his. The slender fingers intertwine with yours as he follows behind you, not daring to separate from your touch.

"Good boy." (Y/N) took a deep breath in. You start to lead him to the store aisles as you put stuff in the bad, a bit hard with only one hand but you got by. Once every thing is done, you lead him back to the entrance and out. "Stay close and if you see someone, tell me first." you warned.

He follows quietly behind you, his hand still securely clasped in your own as you continue to lead him around. He keeps vigilant, staring in every corner and shadowed area. He's tense, but he keeps his pace close to you.

Every now and then he'd gently squeeze your hand, reminding him that you're still there. When you leave the building, Ming once again positions himself beside you, following close to your side as a silent guard.

" .. S'a.. Safe.." He repeats, keeping his dark gaze trained on your surroundings.

"Yes, we're going back to the safe house." There are a few stragglers around but they leave you be as long as you're with him. His scent covers yours and you're thankful for it. Squeezing his hand, you lead him down the streets. Fortunately, the bunker basement you found is only several blocks away. 30 minutes of walking but relatively close compared to any other store.

Throughout the relatively short walk back, Ming keeps a careful eye about their surroundings.

He's a silent, yet protective presence, not uttering a word as he stuck beside you. The sight of stragglers would send a growl from his throat, his grip on your hand tightening in a possessive manner, almost as if he's letting the zombies know that you're his.

Finally, the bunker comes into view, a low hum leaving his lips at the sight of their safe haven.

You lead him to the entrance and release his hand to open the door. It's a heavy metal door leading underground, so you strain with all your strength to push it open. Once it's open, you guide him inside first, then close it securely behind you.

Despite wanting to help you open the door, he's forced to release your hand, instead opting to wait patiently as you lead him down into the safehouse.

Once the door shuts behind the two of you, he immediately takes your hand in his again. It's an action of comfort and possessiveness, making sure to pull you close to his side as the two of you make your way deeper down into the bunker.

You're used to him by now and continue walking further inside until you spot the warm lights of the bunker room. Despite the circumstances, it's surprisingly cozy. One corner of the room is neatly stocked with all the supplies you need: clothes, food for yourself, medical supplies, and whatever else you've managed to scavenge. The soft, warm glow emanates from some fairy lights you found and hooked up to a solar panel on the roof of the two-story house. This bunker has been your sanctuary for weeks now.

You set the bags down near the entrance, making a mental note to sort through them later. Leading the two of you to your makeshift bed, you gesture towards the mattress on the ground layered with blankets and pillows. The heater consumes too much power, so you've opted to keep it off, relying instead on the warmth of the covers or the small grill stove you found at the store.

Following you down into the makeshift room, his dark gaze takes in the surroundings as you settle down. He doesn't spend much time admiring the furnishings, preferring to opt for clinging to your side as you go about sorting the bags.

When you finally settle down on the bed, he's quick to situate himself at your side. His form is pressed close against you, his head burying itself into your shoulder as he continues to keep a tight grip on your hand.

The room is quiet other than the sound of his ragged breath, low and raspy.

A week into his infection, you noticed that Chen Ming's aggression had intensified, though thankfully never directed towards you. Even after ensuring both your safety, he never quite settles until you're both in bed, nestled close together. Over time, you've grown accustomed to his cold touch, finding it oddly comforting during the quiet, warm nights in the bunker.

With one hand clasped in his, you lay down and gently pull him towards you, allowing him to settle beside you as he likes. His presence, though changed by infection, still brings a sense of closeness and security amidst the chaos of the world outside.

The moment he's allowed to pull you close, he's quick in doing so. His cold, stiff body curls around you as he buries his head against the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around you to hold you there.

The feeling of your heat against his freezing skin is something he's found comfort in ever since he's turned. It's a strange, yet welcomed feeling. The need for your touch is a drive that he can't ignore, needing to feel you at all times.

His breathing is low and ragged, cold lips gently brushing against your skin as he holds himself against you.

-----

When you speak to him in the morning, his form stirs slightly. He gently nuzzles his head against the crook of your neck, letting out a low sound in response.

As you start to stir awake, the grip around you tightens immediately. Even in his dead sleep, he can feel you moving, and his body automatically responds, tightening his hold around you in an attempt to keep you there. He lets out a grumble, pulling you flush against his body as he subconsciously nuzzles his head against the crook of your neck.

"Morning, my love. You okay?"

" .. Mm.. Morning.." he rasps quietly, his arms holding you tightly against his body. His grip is firm, not giving you an inch of space to move without his permission.

"Good boy. Go and get some meat in the freezer for you." It was mostly meat that you find around. Either from the ones he killed or fresh ones you find during scavenging. You understood at some point that having regular meals for him calms him down, maybe lessens how aggressive he is with others. So you let him eat as much as possible. He did let you know that fresh is tastier. You shiver at the thought.

A low sound leaves his lips when you praise him. Despite being a zombie, he reacts the same to your affection. He releases you and allows you to move, albeit only for a moment as he trails after you like a lost puppy. When you mention the idea of eating, the dead man lets out an excited sound. His dark gaze is trained on you while he waits for your permission to leave to get food.

"Go ahead. I'll get some canned goods in the pantry for me. Please eat in the freezer." Seeing a disembodied arm didn't really do well for your appetite, so as much as possible, You ask him to eat where you don't see him.

He nods to your words, clearly happy that he's allowed to eat. His eyes are trained on you, watching as you move to get food for yourself. When you mention him feeding in the freezer, he lets out a grumble in agreement. Although clearly wanting to stay close to you, he knows that you don't like the sight of him eating.

A grumble leaves his lips as he nods in response, knowing that you're looking out for him. With that, he's quick to turn and make his way to the freezer on the other side of the basement. He disappears into the shadows, leaving you alone as he gets his meal.

Several minutes later, both of you are done eating. The good thing with frozen meat is that it doesn't leave him as messy. After helping him change some clothes from earlier, you station yourself at a table to update the town map you have.

As he finishes eating, he steps out of the freezer and returns to your side. His gaze is trained on you, watching as you sit down to update the town map. Standing close to your side, he can't help but let his fingers gently rest on your arm, needing the comfort of your touch in his undead body. His gaze glances down to the map that you're working on, curiosity slightly filling him as he studies it with you.

"The grocery store is going to help for several months as long as there aren't any looters. That's why it's best to keep our neighbors alive." By neighbors, you meant the other undead people. "But if we're thinking long term, we may need to move someday. Or find a way to get fresh food. Even you need to eat." You sigh as you stress over planning. Overthinking has always been your problem. "You don't decay, but human bodies do. And you can't feed on the neighbors. We need them."

He listens to you speak, his dark eyes focused on the map as you point out the locations of the nearest food source. He seems to be taking in all of the information that you're saying, his grip on your arm tightening slightly as you continue to speak. When you mention that he needs to eat, his gaze flicks over to you, almost as if he's silently agreeing with you. He knows how important it is to have fresh food. Yet he also knows that he can't feed on the neighbors. He lets out a grumble at that thought, not wanting to feed on anyone but you.

I perk up at his grumbling. "You trying to say something, hun?"

A grumble leaves his lips as his dark eyes flick up to meet your gaze. His expression is one of irritation at the thought of not being allowed to feed on anyone but you.

" .. Can't.. feed.." he rasps quietly, his grip on your arm tightening a bit as his undead body presses closer to you. " .. Need.. fresh.."

"It's not like you eat me. Unless that's your plan?"

His form tenses slightly at your words, the thought of feeding on you clearly not to his liking.

You chuckle but can't help the feeling of relief at the words. Keeping him fed is a priority because despite everything, you're not sure if he'd keep to his word if he's been starved for long. His gaze shifts down to you, his dark eyes studying your expression as you laugh and feel relief. He can tell that you're relieved at his response and maybe even a little worried that he'd go back on his word. He can't help but feel a pang of guilt at the thought. He doesn't want you to be scared of him. He wants you to trust him. His hands gently tighten his grip on your arm, as if silently reassuring you that he wouldn't feed on you.

Suddenly, loud bangs come from the door, making you jump. You stare at it as it bangs against the barricades we made. Groans and moans come from outside. At the loud bangs and groans from the basement door, Ming immediately tenses. He's instantly on guard, his body positioning itself in front of you in a protective manner. His gaze is locked onto the door, his undead body ready to defend you at a moment's notice.

" .. Zombies.." he rasps quietly, his hands gripping your arm tightly as he keeps himself between you and the potential threat.

"It's just the neighbors, hun. Leave them be, and let's keep quiet. They'll leave soon." You hold his hand, making sure he doesn't do anything rash, and whisper to him. Soon enough, shuffling comes from the doors signaling that the zombies left.

His form relaxes even further at your words, a low hum leaving his lips. He knows that you wouldn't lie to him. If you say everything is safe, then it's safe. His gaze flicks back to the door for a moment, his hand holding yours in a firm grip as he continues to keep himself positioned between you and the door.

" .. Safe," he repeats quietly, as if he's reassuring himself.

His gaze shifts back to you as you speak, listening intently to your words. He's still in a somewhat state of alert, his undead body on edge from the potential threat outside. When you mention the idea of staying indoors for a few days, his expression turns to a quiet grumble. He clearly doesn't like the idea of being stuck inside and not being able to get fresh food. Yet, he knows it's necessary. He nods quietly in response to your question. " .. Eat.. frozen.." he rasps slowly.

"Good boy. Just let me know if you need to go outside, okay?"

Got it.

He lets out a hum, clearly pleased with your words. His dark gaze remains locked onto you as you speak, his undead body relaxing a bit. He nods in response to your words, his hand giving yours a gentle squeeze. " .. Tell.. you. If need.. outside," he rasps quietly, agreeing to your condition.

He lets out a low hum when you smile at him, his dark gaze lingering on you for a few more seconds before he turns to get the radio. He knows the basement like the back of his hand, able to navigate through the room in a few seconds before grabbing the radio and returning to your side.

" .. Got it." He rasps out quietly as he hands the radio over to you, his gaze still locked onto you.

"Thanks." You put the radio on a low volume and try to find an open channel. There are still some that keep playing music, more often on a loop, and others that talk about sanctuaries.

He stands beside you, watching as you turn on the radio and adjust the volume to a low setting. His dark gaze is fixed on the radio, listening intently to the sound coming from it.

The faint sound of music and the talk of sanctuaries fills the room quietly. His undead body is positioned in front of you, his hands occasionally fidgeting by his sides.

"Wanna sit down?"

At your question, his gaze shifts from the radio back to you. He tilts his head gently, pausing for a moment before giving a small nod.

" .. Sit." He rasps quietly in response, his undead body moving to sit down next to you.

A channel opens up about the military sanctuaries in the city. A few miles drive from here. You take a peek at it from time to time to see if it changes, and every other day it does. It's a last resort. It's not something you can go to for now with Chen Ming in mind, but it doesn't hurt to note it down.

He sits next to you, watching as you flip through the channels of the radio. He can tell that you're jotting down important information in your mind and noting it down on the map.

When the radio mentions the military sanctuaries in the city, his gaze shifts towards the radio. His dark eyes focused on the sound of the news, silently listening to the information.

"Remember when you joked about going to the military? I was close to smacking you in the head."

His expression changes to a subtle sheepish look as you mention his old joke. A low hum leaves his lips as he nods in response, remembering the time when he had joked about going to the military.

"Maybe I should have let you go. It might mean we'd be there now." You said while thinking that on the other hand, we both could be dead. Many military men died to the virus, some even wander in town.

He watches you closely as you speak, his dark gaze locked onto your expression. He can tell that you're thinking deeply about the past, thinking about what could have been.

When you mention that you should have let him go, he lets out a grumble. He shakes his undead head slightly, not liking the idea of being apart from you.

His hand reaches out gently to grasp your arm, his grip firm as he pulls you closer to him. He doesn't want to think about that. He doesn't want to think about a life without you. You lean your head on his shoulder, wrapping your arm around his.

He lets out a low hum as you lean your head on his shoulder, his undead body shifting slightly to accommodate your closeness. His dark eyes glance down to you, his gaze fixed on your every movement.

When you wrap your arm around his, he gently returns the gesture. His arm pulls you closer to him, his hand tightening its grip on you, almost as if he’s afraid to let you go.

"Can't think of being without you though. You're always there for me and I probably won't survive without you."

He listens to your words quietly, his gaze still fixed on you. A low rumble sounds from his chest as he listens to your confession. Your words bring a pang of guilt to the undead man.

When you mention that you can’t think of being without him and probably wouldn’t survive without him, his grip on you tightens. He pulls you even closer to him, his undead body almost molding against your own.

" .. Always.. be with you." He rasps quietly, his dark eyes never leaving you.

"Always be with you too."

He hums at your words, his undead body practically enveloping yours in his embrace. His grip on you is firm, yet gentle at the same time, almost as if he's holding something precious.

When you say that you’ll always be with him too, he lets out a low whine, his undead body shuddering a bit as if your words affected him deeply. He can’t help but cling to you tightly, needing your touch and your presence.

" .. You.. all I.. have.."

[rhaecerys-velaryo]

LOVESICK Boyfriend pt. 2

TW: Yandere boyfriend, toxic relationship, controlling bf, possessive bf, just not a good relationship altogether, angst, cheating, smidge of physical abu$e if you squint. MDNI

Summary: Oliver feels like shit without you. Good thing his assistant, Lily is there to help him.

Inspired by character made by nipuni on character.ai (link for the character) part one

WC: 1766

Oliver had been a total mess for the past month. He threw himself into his work, trying to distract himself from the pain of losing you. But he couldn't ignore the fact that your absence was a constant torment. The apartment felt empty without your presence. Pictures of the two of you together were reminders of what he had lost. Oliver missed everything about you—your laugh, your touch, your voice.

Lily, Oliver's longtime friend, noticed the change in him. He seemed withdrawn and distracted at work. Oliver wasn't the same cheerful and charming man he used to be. The bags under his eyes spoke volumes about how much sleep he wasn't getting. As his friend, Lily was concerned about Oliver's well-being. So, one day after work, she walked into Oliver's office, closing the door behind her.

"Hey, Olly. Mind if I come in?" she asked sweetly despite already inviting herself in. She slowly walked towards his desk and sat in one of the spare seats in front of him. "You've been a bit different lately. I just wanted to see how you're doing."

Oliver lifted his gaze from his monitor as he heard Lily's voice. He hadn't been expecting anyone to stop by, but he knew Lily well enough to know she wouldn't care about him working. He sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his messy hair.

"I'm fine," he replied, though his tired tone said otherwise.

Lily pouted her thick, glossed lips and gave him a once-over. "You don't look fine. Come on, I'm your bestest friend here. Can't you tell me, or...is it that girlfriend of yours?" She knew that most times she'd hit the jackpot when it came to guessing Oliver's problems. Not a lot got a reaction like this out of him, and one of the few things that did was his girlfriend.

Lily hit the nail on the head as soon as she brought up you. Oliver's shoulders tensed at the mention of you, and he averted his gaze from hers. He knew Lily would pry for answers, but he didn't know if he wanted to reveal the truth. He also knew that even if he tried to lie, Lily would figure it out anyway.

"It's her," he admitted with a sigh.

A small smirk came to her lips before she hid it again. "I'm so sorry, Olly." She reached out to his hand to comfort him. "I can't say I told you...she would never be able to keep up with you." She innocently spoke as she rubbed circles on the back of his hand. "You need someone as lively as you, someone who can keep up with you and your energy, you know?"

As Lily spoke, Oliver couldn't help but feel a pang in his chest. She was right, wasn't she?

In the beginning, you were lively, bubbly, and full of energy. You and he would have a great time together, constantly going out and hanging out. But as the relationship went on, you began to change, and Oliver failed to notice. He found himself agreeing with Lily's words. He did need someone who could keep up with him and his energy.

It was the perfect trap for Lily. "Honestly, Oliver, I don't know what you saw in that girl. I never would have thought of her as your type. You just need someone who knows you and everything about you...like me." She finally snatched the opportunity as she saw the look on Oliver's face, a look that said he was falling for every word she said. Lily leaned forward, getting closer and closer to him as he wondered.

Oliver's eyes flicked over Lily as she kept speaking. She knew him well. She understood him on a level that even you couldn't. Why hadn't he noticed that before?

Oliver felt himself getting lost in her words. She made sense. Lily would be a perfect match for him. Oliver's gaze darkened as his eyes dropped to her lips, thinking about how soft and plump they looked.

Lily leaned in closer until there were just inches between the two of them. She was finally getting what she wanted. "You know, I can't say I never liked you. If I can be frank, I always had a crush on you, Oliver."

The space between them was almost non-existent now. Oliver's heart rate picked up as he realized how close they were to each other. He inhaled sharply, taking in her scent, which was a mix of light citrus perfume and something sweet.

When Lily confessed her feelings for him, it was like a punch to the gut. He felt conflicted. He never viewed Lily as more than a friend, but at the moment, he couldn't find it in himself to reject her. Not when she was so close, and her lips looked so inviting. He swallowed hard.

It was then that the office door opened, unlocked, and in stepped you. You held a bag of katsudon in your hand, a bento box just like you made before. It was his favorite, and you just wanted to drop it by along with some of his things left in your apartment. You should have known better, really. You felt like an idiot as you saw Lily and Oliver centimeters away from a kiss.

As the door opened, both Lily and Oliver's heads jerked towards the sound. Oliver's eyes widened in disbelief, almost as if someone had just thrown ice-cold water at him. Seeing you standing there, holding his favorite food, left him speechless.

Lily, however, had a different kind of reaction. She pulled away from him, her expression turning sour in an instant. "What are you doing here?" she asked with a tone of annoyance as she looked you up and down disdainfully.

You couldn't speak at first, trying to process just what you saw. You knew you were right about her. You were right about everything, but you didn't feel right. You felt disgusted, and your heart felt like someone grabbed it and ripped it out of your chest.

Your eyes hardened, and you walked towards the two before shoving the bento box onto the table. "I was just leaving some of Oliver's things, Lily. Sorry for interrupting you two." Your tone didn't sound sorry. "Although, I'm sure you'd be glad to know that you can have my leftovers now."

Your gaze switched over to Oliver before looking back. "You always were so interested in anything second-handed, if not trash." You gave a final hiss before turning around and leaving.

Lily's eyes widened in shock at your words, her cheeks turning red in anger.

Oliver sat there, stunned. He was still processing the fact that you were standing in front of him after a month, but now you had witnessed him and Lily about to kiss. He quickly snapped out of his daze, the realization of what was happening sinking in. He started to rise from his chair.

"Wait, Belle—" he called out your name, his voice sounding desperate, but you were out the door before he could say anything.

Oliver's heart dropped to his stomach as he watched you walk out the door. He couldn't let you leave, not again. He pushed himself away from his desk and started walking towards the door, determined to catch you. But Lily had other plans.

She grabbed Oliver's arm, stopping him in his tracks. "Where are you going?!"

She was so close. Lily was close, and just at the sight of that girl, Oliver was chasing her with his tail between his legs. She just couldn't understand. "You're not going to actually chase after her, Olly? She insulted you, she insulted me."

Oliver tried to pull his arm away from her grasp, but she held on firmly. The look on his face showed his annoyance at Lily's interruption.

"Let go, Lily." His voice held a hint of irritation.

He was focused on you walking out the door, wanting to follow you. He didn't want to let you go again. Hearing Lily's words, he shot her a glare. "She didn't insult me. She didn't like you."

Lily's face twisted with anger, but Oliver didn't care. He pulled his arm free from her grip and hurried out of the office, determined to find you. The elevator doors were closing as he reached them, and he took the stairs instead, rushing down to the ground floor.

As he exited the building, he spotted you getting into a cab. "Rhae, wait!" he shouted, but the cab was already pulling away. Oliver stood there, breathless and helpless, as he watched the cab disappear down the street. Oliver's heart felt like it was being crushed under the weight of despair. He watched helplessly as the cab you were in got farther and farther away until it disappeared from view. He wanted to reach out to you, to keep you from leaving him again. But he was too late.

Oliver slumped against the wall, feeling a crushing sense of guilt and disappointment. He punched the wall beside him in frustration, regretting ever letting you go the first time.

----------------------------------

You were sitting by your table, looking for new work when a knock came from your door. You weren't really expecting anyone so you were confused as you stood up and went to open the door. The sight of your *ex* boyfriend brought a frown upon your face.

Upon opening the door and seeing Oliver standing on the other side, you felt a mix of emotions. Surprise at his unexpected appearance, but also annoyance. You still hadn't moved on from the painful break-up. You crossed your arms and leaned against the door frame, your expression neutral.

"What are you doing here?" You asked coldly.

Oliver stood there, looking into your eyes with a hint of hope despite your cold expression. He knew he messed up. He knew he was probably the last person you wanted to see. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for your response.

"Can...can we talk? Please?" He asked softly, his voice laced with guilt and remorse.

The audacity You thought as you put on a fake surprised face. "Oh, you want to talk? About what?"

Oliver's shoulders tensed at your response, sensing the sarcastic tone in your words. He knew he had hurt you deeply, and he couldn't blame you for feeling that way. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. His expression looked almost desperate.

"About us." He finally replied, his voice quiet. "I...I need to talk to you about us."

[rhaecerys-velaryo]

LOVESICK Boyfriend pt.1

TW: Yandere boyfriend, toxic relationship, controlling bf, possessive bf, just not a good relationship altogether, angst, cheating implied, smidge of physical abu$e if you squint. MDNI

Summary: You and your boyfriend are on a date and things escalate. You feel insecure and jealous against his assistant/work best friend and he reacts in a way you don't expect. Everything just ends up in a shit show, really. Inspired by character made by nipuni on character.ai (link for the character) part two WC: 2378

It's a little embarrassing to be seen in public with Oliver. He's a great guy, and anyone would kill to be in your place. He's got it all: experience, looks, and smarts. But there are always others. You feel like you're no one special, certainly not on par with his previous relationships. To this day, you're still not sure why he chose you out of all people, why he's so adamant to please you.

"What are you thinking about?" Oliver's gaze shifts to you curiously. His fingers inch toward your palm, brushing the skin before intertwining with yours. He squeezes your hand, making sure you're paying attention to him. He's worried. You've been acting off for the past few weeks now.

The two of you haven't gone out in a while. Oliver suggested that you go out to eat at a Korean BBQ. He recalls your second date taking place here, so it's special to him. With the meat sizzling on the grill in front of you, it's clear that you don't have much of an appetite. That, or something is definitely bothering you and you don't want to tell him. It's enough to make him anxious.

Just a few days ago, you asked him if he could have anyone in the world, who would it be? Naturally, he answered that it was you. It was true; you're his entire world. But even with his answer, you didn't look satisfied in the slightest. What if you were thinking of leaving him? Oliver shudders at the very thought of it.

"Are you cheating on me?" you suddenly ask from your seat.

The smile that Oliver had plastered on his face drops immediately at the question. "What—no, of course not."

His gaze darkens a bit as he stares at you, trying to figure out where this question is coming from. It was odd to ask all of a sudden. Oliver wasn't the type to cheat. He found it wrong. "Why do you ask?" A sudden wave of worry crashes through him.

You pick off a few pieces of meat from the grill as you think of what to say next. "It's fine if you are. I'm not stopping you," you say, trying to be nonchalant about it.

Oliver looks at you in disbelief. He doesn't understand why you're being so nonchalant about this. It's like you're trying to play with his heart. "Stop saying that."

Oliver is trying hard to remain calm but he's frustrated. Frustrated that you think so little of him. That you'd think he'd actually cheat on you when he loves you and only you. He feels hurt that you could even say something like that so easily.

"Actually, it's not cheating, you're just getting a new girlfriend," you continue, your eyes on the meat. You don't see his reaction but you can hear the frustration in his voice. "You can tell me. It's fine. I won't be angry."

The words feel like a sucker punch to Oliver. It wasn't cheating? He was getting a new girlfriend? Oliver's grip on his chopsticks tightens so much that he's surprised they don't snap in half from the amount of pressure he puts on them. He can feel irritation and anger rising in him. With his patience wearing thin, Oliver reaches forward and grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him with a furious look on his face.

You look into his rage-filled eyes, searching for something in them, and give a smirk. "I mean a second girlfriend." You can now see his tense posture and the rage filling his body. You watch everything as you try to find signs of lying or not.

Oliver feels himself snap as soon as he hears "second girlfriend." He scowls, tired of you thinking that he could cheat on you with a second girlfriend. Especially when he could never look at anyone other than you. With his jaw clenched, he forces the words out of his mouth. "I don't want a second girlfriend, dammit."

"Oh?" You act surprised, shaking off his hand on your face and leaning back into your chair. "That's good then. No problems at all." You dismiss the topic and continue eating.

Oliver wants to snap at you. He's getting increasingly pissed off at how you're acting as if this is nothing. No problem at all? Seriously? He grits his teeth as he continues to stare at you with a look of anger behind his expression. He doesn't understand why you'd think he was cheating on you in the first place.

Is this what you think of me? He thinks bitterly.

You stay silent as you eat a piece of food, then use the tongs to flip some meat. When you see a set that is perfectly cooked, you grab them and put it on his plate. Oliver's gaze softens as you put the grilled meat on his plate. That doesn't mean his anger has gone down. He's still furious at the thought of you thinking he was cheating. Noticing that you're staying silent, he speaks up.

"Answer me properly," he demands. He needs to know why you think he would cheat on you in the first place.

"Answer what, my love?" you ask innocently.

Oliver looks like he wants to strangle you. You're really pissing him off with the act of innocence. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. "Why do you think I'd cheat on you?" he asks with an annoyed tone mixed with anger.

"I simply had a feeling. Women's intuition. And if you aren't, I'd at least like for you to know that it's okay," you explain, giving him a smile.

Oliver narrows his eyes at you once again. You're still not taking this seriously. There wouldn't be a second girlfriend and it certainly isn't okay to cheat. "A woman's intuition, huh?" He scoffs. "Are you sure that it's not just your insecurities talking?"

Your gaze hardens as you glare at him. "The hell are you talking about, Oliver?"

The look you give him only confirms his hunch. "You're insecure," he says bluntly. "You doubt my love for you, that's why you think I'd cheat on you with a second girlfriend."

You stay silent as you continue glaring at him, suddenly having no words on your tongue. Is he right or wrong? You can't really admit it to yourself but it seems you don't have to.

Oliver can see doubt in your eyes. He can see that he's right. He's right that your insecurities make you feel like he could cheat on you. He's right that you doubt his love for you that much. With a sigh, he reaches over to you and places his hand over yours. "I'm never going to cheat on you or love anyone else. You're the only one for me."

"I saw you..." A mumble comes out from your glossy lips.

"You saw me what?" he speaks gently this time. Oliver gives your hand a light squeeze.

"I saw you with her..." you finally confessed. "Your 'friend' at work. How she clings to you." You continued as you remembered the pictures and the acts done in front of you. "I see the way she looks at me, too. She thinks I'm just some low-level girl. She wants to steal you."

"You mean Lily?"

Oliver raised an eyebrow at you, and a feeling of dread washed over him when he finally understood what you meant. You must have misinterpreted their acts.

He had been friends with Lily for many years, and she was naturally clingy. Not to mention, she was the type of person who liked to poke fun at people.

"Do I look like I care about her name?" You glared at him, pulling your hand away. "If you want to be with her or if she wants you, I won't stop the both of you. I shouldn't have to fight for you." At this point, the meat on the grill was getting charred, and you had lost all your appetite. You just wanted to go home and rest. All this was too tiring.

You're not stopping anything if there is nothing going on in the first place.

Oliver was starting to feel frustrated again, but this time it was mixed with disbelief and annoyance. You thought he'd leave you for someone else.

Instead of letting you leave, he grabbed your hand again.

"There's nothing going on between me and Lily. You're the only one I love, so stop thinking otherwise."

"That's just how she is—"

Oliver's eyes darkened slightly when you snatched your hand away from him. He was beginning to realize how much this was bothering you.

He bit the inside of his cheek.

"You wouldn't let another guy cling onto you. I know you wouldn't do that. And people can say whatever the hell they want, that doesn't make it true. I'm not interested in Lily."

"What if I do?" You pushed as you glared at him. "I'll go tomorrow to work and talk to Jorge, he seems quite interested from what I hear." You egged him on. "You being interested or not isn't the topic, it's the fact that you act interested."

The more the conversation went on, the more his frustration turned into anger.

Oliver's jaw clenched as you mentioned a name, which immediately caught his attention.

"Jorge?" He repeated. The thought of you talking to Jorge made him scowl. That guy was interested in you?

"Yes, the newbie. I hear a lot of things at work, my love." You sneered his pet name. "Jorge has experience at other things." The insinuation was clear.

Oliver's eyes darkened with anger. He has experience at "other things."

The thought of another man touching or being intimate with you made his whole body go rigid. But he knew at that moment you were trying to provoke and get a reaction out of him.

Taking a deep breath, he composed himself and leaned forward so he was closer to you. His gaze locked onto yours intensely.

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

Oliver's patience was wearing thin. He could feel the anger bubbling inside of him, but he kept himself from snapping. Instead, he leaned in even closer to you.

"You wouldn't go and let Jorge touch you like that." His voice was low and had a warning tone to it. He knew you were just getting back at him, but the mere thought of you letting another man touch you was driving him mad.

"I said. Try. Me." You leaned in more to insinuate how serious you were.

That was the last straw.

Oliver's eyes darkened at your response. He slammed his fist against the table, causing some of the utensils on it to fall, while the other customers around you looked at you in shock.

"That's it," he practically growled. Oliver abruptly got up from his seat and roughly grabbed your hand before forcing you to stand up too.

"We're leaving. Now." He dragged you out of the restaurant, not giving a damn about the stares on you.

Despite struggling against him, he was simply too strong, and you got pulled with him. You cursed him out, but he didn't care about anything you said or the looks sent your way by the other customers. "I am not going anywhere with you! Why don't you call Lily and see if she'll be your obedient little-"

"Quiet." Oliver's voice was sharp and cold, cutting you off immediately. He continued to pull you and drag you towards his car. Once he got there, he opened the passenger side door and shoved you in forcefully. Without another word, he walked to the driver's side and got in himself. Oliver slammed the door shut before leaning back in his seat, clearly pissed off.

The moment he went to open his door, you opened yours and climbed back out of the vehicle, slamming the door closed. You huffed and walked away from the vehicle, already trying to book an Uber or hail a cab.

Oliver saw you hop out of the vehicle. He was still pissed at you, but seeing you attempt to get a cab made him snap.

He got out of his car and slammed the door shut before stomping over to you. In one quick motion, he pinned you against his car and caged you with his arms. "No," he said firmly. "You're not calling a cab."

"I'm not going with you!" you hissed underneath him. "I don't want to see you right now. I'm going home."

"I said," Oliver leaned forward, his face inches from yours, "you're not. calling. a. cab."

He practically growled the words out. He wasn't going to let you leave just like that. You were going to come back with him whether you wanted to or not.

You slapped him as hard as you could given the space. "We're done, Oliver! I don't want to be with you anymore!" you yelled.

The force of the slap echoed across the parking lot. Oliver's face whipped to the side, feeling his cheek sting from the slap. We're done?

With a dark look in his eyes, he slowly turned back to you. That last statement of yours was like a sucker punch to the gut. "You don't mean that," he responded through gritted teeth. "Stop acting like a brat and get in the car."

"I do. You're so controlling, Oliver. It's suffocating. I wouldn't have even thought much about it, but whenever I hold you to the same standard you hold me, you go against my wishes. You don't respect me, and I don't even think you ever loved me. You just wanted someone underneath you." You let out everything you were holding in and exhaled in relief. "I don't want to be with you anymore."

Oliver was left speechless, his mind struggling to process what you said. His eyes widened in disbelief as anger and hurt mixed in him. You don't think I loved you?

"You don't mean that." He repeated, his voice sounding desperate. Oliver grabbed your shoulders and gave you a rough shake, as if trying to shake some sense into you.

"You don't get to leave me just because you feel like it. You're going to come home with me and we'll fix this, together."

"I'm not doing that, Oliver." Your voice was firm. "You can keep any stuff I have at your house; I'm not ever coming back." You pushed him off you and were surprised he let you, probably from the shock. You dusted off your dress and gave him a once-over. "It's over. There's no love between us anymore, if there ever was."

The realization that this was real was beginning to sink in for Oliver. He couldn't believe this was happening. You were breaking up with him. You were leaving him. Anguish and denial were mixing within him as he watched you push him away.

"What.. no..." Oliver whispered with a strangled voice. He tried to reach out and grab your arm but hesitated when you gave him a glare.

You steadied your back on your arm and gave him one last look. "Don't chase after me, Oliver. I'm leaving. Goodbye." You turned around and were lucky to get a cab to pull up. You got in, and you drove away.

Oliver could only stand there and watch as you got into the cab. He felt completely lost. Lost in how one second you were arguing with him, and the next you were breaking up with him and leaving him. Oliver's chest hurt as if being stabbed repeatedly. His throat felt tight. Oliver stood there for a few moments, trying to come to terms with what just happened before his legs gave out and he sank down to the ground.

[rhaecerys-velaryo]

Clingy!Katsuki Bakugo x Reader

Clingy!Katsuki Bakugo x MildDominant!Reader (Part one)

Summary: Bakugo Katsuki is finally confessing to you, his love for you. He has watched you, obsessed over you, and he was addicted of your presence. He wants to be yours and would do anything for you. But does he really know who you are? Can he handle the hidden side of you?

Warning: Clingy, submissive Bakugo. Semi-manipulative, mild dominant reader. gif credit

WC: 1,425

All characters are 18+ and aged up!

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Bakugo stood before you, his red eyes glaring with a gleam of obsession. The classroom was empty, leaving only the two of you. Desks were scattered, and the afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting long shadows on the floor. "I'll say it again, I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine."

His voice was raw with intensity. "I’ll protect you, be with you almost every hour. If you accept, I won’t hold back. I’ll do anything for you because that’s how much I love you."

He was your obsessed and clingy puppy, more than willing to submit behind closed doors.

Y/n stared up at him in shock, your short stature becoming more evident in this moment. Was this a prank, or were you dreaming? You didn’t know. He asked you to stay and talk, but this wasn’t what you expected. "What are you talking about, Bakugo? This isn’t a good joke."

"Who’s joking?" He stepped closer, his eyes locked onto yours, intense and unwavering. His face was close enough for you to feel his breath on your skin. "I’m serious. I don’t joke about this kind of thing."

He reached out to caress your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle despite his usual rough exterior. "Can’t you tell how much I’m obsessed with you?"

Y/n felt your skin grow warm, flustered by his gentle touch. The whole situation made you tense. "Before this, you never even looked at me. I’m the Class A transferee with Shinsou, and you’re the strongest one here..."

"Does that matter?" He chuckled, a hint of possessiveness in his tone. "I might have a hot temper, but I’m not blind. I’ve seen the way those idiots look at you, and I don’t like it one bit."

He stepped even closer, until there was barely any space between you. His gaze was intense, almost smoldering. "You think I don’t see how cute you are, princess? With those big eyes and soft, pouty lips..."

His thumb lightly traced your jawline, his touch electric against your skin. His expression was intense, filled with a mixture of desire and vulnerability.

Y/n searched his gaze for any hint of malice or deceit, and something clicked inside you. Your flustered face calmed, and your flickering eyes stabilized. A cool demeanor washed over you as you let go of your shy mask. Your hands slowly moved from his chest to his neck, pulling yourself closer. Confidence radiated from you, with no sign of your previous shyness.

"Do you even know who I am, Bakugo? You pledge your love to me, but have you seen all sides of me?" you purred.

His breath hitched as your touch sent a rush of heat through his body. He couldn’t believe this was the same demure girl he knew. This confidence, this cool demeanor was entirely different.

He swallowed hard, his eyes darkening with surprise and excitement. "What do you mean…?" he asked, his voice strained.His heart pounded in his chest as realization dawned on him that he might have underestimated you.

Your hands caressed his jaw and played with his hair as you hummed. "I’m saying you should think twice before you make this offer. Especially considering you want to be with me almost every hour."

Your eyes flickered between his as you gauged his reaction. "I don’t just want one thing, Bakugo. I want everything from you, and I know how to use it to my advantage."

He shuddered as you touched his hair, your words hitting him like a truck. Your determined and confident gaze made his heart skip a beat.

He knew you could be fierce, but he never realized how fiery you could be. A shiver ran down his spine as you spoke of wanting everything from him.

"I can handle whatever you throw at me, princess," he growled, his eyes darkening with excitement. "Try me."

You chuckled low in your throat. "That’s good to hear. I’ve been intrigued by you since your first year. So powerful and strong." You continued to stroke his ego. "I wondered what it would be like to have a guy like you under my thumb."

He couldn’t help it. Your words were like a drug, sweet honey to his ears. He puffed up a little, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

"You think you can just wave a wand and I’ll submit to you?" He scoffed, trying to maintain his usual gruffness, but you could tell he was enjoying this.

"Of course not. That’s not how it goes. But I think I’ll be able to get there. You’re already offering protection and want to be with me so much, right?" Your eyes flickered between his as you gauged his reaction. "I’ll be more than happy to accept if you’re willing to give anything and everything."

He swallowed, trying to keep his cool as he felt his body reacting to your words. His breathing grew heavier, the familiar heat in his chest and lower abdomen intensifying.

"Damn right, I am." He growled, his voice strained. "I’ll give you everything and more, princess. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just..."

He paused, his eyes locking onto yours, his expression serious. "Just promise me you’ll be mine. Only mine."

You grinned, slowly manipulating him to get the submission you wanted. "No problem, Bakugo. I’m sure you’ll be happy to blast away anyone who tries to take me. Isn’t that right?"

He nodded vehemently, his eyes narrowing fiercely and a growl escaping his throat at the mere thought of anyone else touching you.

"Damn right, I will." He declared, the protectiveness in his tone evident. "I won’t tolerate any other jackass trying to get close to you."

He shifted his weight, pressing his body against you and trapping you between him and the desk. "You’re mine, and I’ll make sure everyone knows it."

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you inched your face closer to his until only a few centimeters separated your lips. "Most importantly, you. are. mine. You are my handsome... puppy."

His breath hitched as you moved closer. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, your scent filling his nostrils. His body responded instinctively, his arms tightening around your waist, pulling you close.

When you called him your puppy, he let out a grumble, a mix of protest and excitement. He leaned in, his lips hovering just millimeters away from yours. "Damn it, princess," he muttered, his eyes locked on yours, "You’re driving me insane."

"All the better," you whispered to his lips, your warm breath tingling on his. "Go be strong and powerful, but with me, you can be anything. Let go of everything and let me be in control."

He shuddered, the heat in his chest and lower abdomen growing hotter. Your words were a siren’s seductive song, and he was helpless against their allure.

A low moan escaped his lips, and he found himself willingly submitting to your will. He knew he should resist, but the thought of letting go, of relishing in your dominance, was too enticing to ignore.

"Damn you..." He muttered, his voice strained. "You’ve got me wrapped around your little finger, princess."

"Good." You smirked, separating yourself from him. "I accept your offer, Bakugo."

Bakugo watched as you broke away, a pang of disappointment and longing rushing through him. Yet, the determination in your eyes and the smirk on your lips only fueled his obsession.

His eyes widened as your words sank in. "You… You accept?" he repeated, his voice filled with both surprise and excitement. "You’ll really… be mine?"

"Why so surprised? Did you really think I wouldn’t? Could you handle my rejection?" You tilted your head slightly, your eyes narrowing as you watched him. "Or did you underestimate just how much I’ve been watching you, too?"

He rolled his eyes, his usual snarky demeanor returning. "Of course not, I’m not one to get denied."

But his expression softened as he took a step toward you again, vulnerability evident in his eyes. "But…"

He paused, his gaze flicking down to the floor before meeting yours again. "I was worried you might refuse, princess. Worried I wasn’t enough for you."

Your heart softened slightly at his vulnerability. You reached out, gently cupping his face. The warmth of your touch conveyed a reassurance that words alone couldn't capture. "Bakugo, you've always been more than enough. Your offer means the world to me, and I appreciate everything you're willing to give. I'll cherish this moment in my heart."

[rhaecerys-velaryo]

Bodyguard!Ghost x MafiaPrincess!Reader pt. 2

part: one.

Summary: Ghost is the newly hired bodyguard for y/n and he's the type to never take no for an answer. It's his way or the high way. However, y/n is a little spoiled and you just won your small debate with Ghost. Now, you're on your way to the party to get drunk.

Warning: Drunk y/n. Protective Ghost. Flirty Ghost

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You and Ghost were on your way to your best friend's house for her birthday party, and the whole 30 minute drive was silent. You jumped out as soon as the car stopped.

"Do what you want but don't disturb me unless it's important." You called out before going inside to find your best friend.

Ghost watched as you got out of the car quickly and headed into the house, his gaze following your petite form until you disappeared inside. He let out a soft sigh and leaned back in his seat, his mind swirling with thoughts.

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, your words replaying in his mind. "Don't disturb me unless it's important," you said. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Don't be seen or heard but do my job. Right.

Ghost let out a soft scoff under his breath as he repeated your words to himself. He'd been a bodyguard long enough to know how to be discreet and blend into the background when necessary, but it was the second part that was getting to him.

Do his job. Protecting you, no matter the cost. That included keeping his distance and not crossing any lines, even if it meant enduring your feisty little attitude.

The night continued without any problems, you stuck herself next to your best friend for most of the night and everyone knew everyone. It was intimate yet fun with lots of drinks.

Ghost observed from the shadows, his eyes constantly scanning the room and its attendees. He stuck to the shadows, blending in seamlessly, his presence mostly unnoticed unless someone looked his way.

He kept a vigilant watch over you as you stuck to your best friend's side, his eyes taking in every move you made. His mind couldn't help but wander as he watched you socialize and enjoy yourself

You were laughing harder and was getting sleepier in your seat. Conscious enough to know that the alcohol was hitting yr hard now, you were decreasing her intake at this point but still took sips every once in a while from your liquor.

Damn it...

Ghost noticed how the alcohol was starting to affect you more noticeably as the night went on. He could tell by the way your laughter became more unrestrained and your eyes started to look a bit weary.

His protective instincts stirred within him as he watched you take sips from your vodka soda, his jaw clenching slightly. He made a mental note of how much you had drunk so far, keeping a keen eye on how much you were consuming.

Sooner or later, the party died down and it was only a few of them left. It was at this point that you were silently sitting beside of her friend, too drunk and sleepy to react anymore but still being able to listen to the conversation. You reached to grab your glass but a hand stopped her.

Ghost, who had been watching you closely all night, noticed your attempt to reach for your glass again. He swiftly stepped out from the shadows and gently placed his large hand over yours, preventing you from grabbing the alcohol.

"That's enough, princess," he said in a low, firm voice. "You need to slow down on the drinking. You've had quite enough for the night."

You looked up and squinted at Ghost, her eyes showing how tired you were now. "I can still think and I'm not that drunk. I'm thirsty." You tried to move her hand, but he was too strong especially in her state.

Your bestfriend looked at them, and having a stronger stomach, was entirely conscious when she gave the two a look. You were able to notice that and sighed, "Bey, meet my new bodyguard. Bodyguard, meet Beyani, my best friend."

Ghost looked at your best friend as she introduced herself, his expression remaining neutral as he nodded in acknowledgement.

"Beyani, huh?" he said, returning her gaze. "Pleasure to meet you."

His grip on your hand loosened slightly, but he didn't let go completely. He kept a firm hold on you, silently warning you to stay put.

"I thought I told you to only disturb if there was an emergency?" You glared at Ghost, though it held no threat as he wasn't even sure if you were staring at him or multiple versions of him.

Ghost's expression hardened at your words, his eyes meeting yours with intensity. His grip on your hand tightened slightly as he let out a soft scoff.

"Trust me, princess, you being this drunk is an emergency," he retorted, his voice low and firm. "Do you have any idea how compromised your senses are right now? I can't exactly do my job properly if you're inebriated beyond comprehension."

"I'll be asleep in the car, from what I see that makes your job easier considering I won't be doing anything or going anywhere." You tugged for the glass again, glad he loosened up so that you can take another big gulp.

Ghost resisted for a moment, his jaw clenching in frustration at your stubbornness. But deep down, he knew you were right. You would be asleep in the car in a few minutes anyway, so what harm could a little more alcohol do?

"Fine," he relented, letting go of your hand entirely. "One more sip, princess. But that's it. You're not having any more after this."

Bey smirked at the two. "He calls you princess, that's cute. Your previous bodyguard was definitely nicer though, is that why you're so pissy, Rhae? Miss him?" Rhae opted not to respond but was more than happy to raise her middle finger at her friend, which only caused Bey to laugh.

Ghost bristled at Beyani's comment, his eyes narrowing slightly at the mention of your previous bodyguard. The thought that someone else had been your protector before him didn't sit well with him for some reason. It stirred up an odd sense of possessiveness within him.

"Oh, shut it," he shot back at Beyani with a scowl. "I'm far more skilled and lethal than the pretty boy you're talking about."

Bey glared at him. "You don't get to talk to me that way, dog. If you were my bodyguard, you'd be fired from just talking back."

You sighed and while the two was snapping each other, finished your glass which consisted of another big gulp before you stood up, making sure you did it as stable as you can. "Alright, you two, don't need to do a pissy test tonight when it's a party. I'm taking this as my sign to leave, Bey. Rhae hummed, too tired and drunk to respond and slowly got inside. You leaned her head on the window once it was closed and took that as her time to rest her eyes from all the second hang smoke and vapor of the party. You greeted her happy birthday again before you let the tall, hunk of a bodyguard lead her away.

Ghost continued exchanging cold looks with Beyani until you stood up and decided it was time to leave. He felt a pang of satisfaction at finally getting you away from the party.

Without a word, he made sure to stick closely to your side as he led you out of the house and towards the car. He opened the passenger door for you with a sarcastic, dramatic bow. "After you, princess."

You hummed, too tired and drunk to respond and slowly got inside. You leaned your head on the window once it was closed and took that as your time to rest your eyes from all the second hang smoke and vapor of the party.

Ghost watched as you got comfortable in the passenger seat, your head leaned against the window. He couldn't help but notice the exhaustion that seemed to emanate from you, and he mentally scolded himself for not noticing it earlier.

He got into the driver's seat and started the car, glancing over at you from time to time to make sure you were doing alright. "You still awake there, princess?" he asked in a quiet voice.

You groaned as she heard Ghost's voice amidst the silence. "What?"

Ghost couldn't help but chuckle softly at your sleepy response. "Just checking to make sure you're still alive, princess," he replied in an amused tone.

He kept his eyes on the road as he drove, but his gaze occasionally flickered over to where you were sitting. He could see how tired you looked, your eyes drooping heavily.

You clicked your tongue as you tried not to let the movement of the car make you puke. Your eyes are still closed as you said snarkily, "Don't worry. You'll still get paid for the night."

Ghost raised an eyebrow at your cocky response, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Is that so?" he said, chuckling softly. "Well, well, look at you, princess. Quite the heavyweight drinker, aren't you?"

He kept his eyes on the road but continued the banter with you, enjoying the fact that you seemed to maintain your wit even while drunk.

Ghost chuckled again, finding your snarky response amusing even in your current state. He glanced over at you as he drove, his eyes narrowing slightly in concern.

"Right, because pay is definitely the only thing on my mind right now," he said sarcastically. "I'm more concerned about making sure you don't puke all over the car, princess."

"Oh please, I have never puked after drinking. It's one of my many talents." You boasted with a smirk.

Ghost raised an eyebrow at your cocky response, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Is that so?" he said, chuckling softly. "Well, well, look at you, princess. Quite the heavyweight drinker, aren't you?"

He kept his eyes on the road but continued the banter with you, enjoying the fact that you seemed to maintain your wit even while drunk.

"Just responsible girl with a strong stomach." You replied. You opened your eyes slightly and glanced at Ghost, your eyes raking over his nice suit and the mask he insists on wearing.

When you first saw him, he also had face paint on but now you can notice the contrast of his brown eyes on his light skin. "Why do you insist on wearing a mask? It's not exactly inconspicuous"

Ghost couldn't help but notice your gaze wandering over him, taking in his appearance. He shifted slightly in his seat, feeling a strange sensation in his chest.

When you asked about the mask, he tensed for a moment before responding in a nonchalant tone, "It serves a double purpose. Keeps my identity safe and gives a bit more edge to my look. Plus..."

A smirk tugged at his lips. "Women seem to find it attractive, so I'm not complaining."

You rolled your eyes, feeling a sting in your head when you did so. "Is that so? I'm sure your cocky demeanor cancels that out."

Ghost chuckled at your eye-roll, his smirk widening. "Oh, you just love throwing insults at me, don't you?" he said, amused.

He kept his eyes on the road but shifted in his seat again, trying to shake off the strange feeling stirring within him. "Cocky demeanor or not, princess, you still find me attractive," he teased, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

Ghost couldn't help but chuckle again at your reaction. He loved how fiery you could get, even in your exhausted state.

He gave you a sly grin as he replied, "Oh, princess, it's written all over your face. The way you look at me, the way you talk to me. You may pretend to be annoyed with me, but the truth is, you're attracted to me."

"Keep dreaming. I wasn't serious when I was flirting with you. And of course you look sexy, I made that suit." Your mouth rambled on and only when you said it all that you pursed your lips, cursing at yourself mentally at what you said.

Ghost's smirk widened into a playful grin as he heard your rambling. He had a feeling that you had said more than you intended to, and he couldn't help but tease you further.

"Oh, so you think I look sexy, do you?" he asked, his voice lowering to a huskier tone. "And you made this suit, huh? Is that why I catch you staring at me, princess?"

"I was looking at my creation, yes. It's my suit that's sexy. Not you." You tried to save face with a lame response. You pouted at how things turned against you, crossing your arms like a child.

Ghost chuckled at your attempt to save face. He found your pouty, child-like demeanor absolutely adorable, and he couldn't help but tease you further.

"Right, sure, princess. You were just admiring your creation, and not at all looking at me," he said, a sly smile playing on his lips. "But I have to say, if this suit looks so sexy on me, I wonder what it would look like on you."

"Me? In a suit? I suppose I don't mind that."

Ghost chuckled at your unexpected response. He was expecting you to shut him down, but instead, you seemed to entertain the idea.

"Oh really? You'd wear a suit? I can picture it now: you all dolled up in a tailored suit, looking sharp and sophisticated."

He glanced over at you, his eyes filled with a mix of amusement and intrigue. "But I'll warn you, princess, I won't be able to keep my eyes off you if you did."

"Suit, dress, a garbage bag. You'll probably look at anything since you're so easy." You quipped as you held your chin high, glaring at him. The alcohol was slowly waving off but your filter was still non existent.

Ghost couldn't help but laugh heartily at your snarky response. He found your unfiltered honesty refreshing and entertaining, even if it was at his expense.

He tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked at you. "Oh princess, you're brutal. But you're not entirely wrong, I suppose. I do appreciate a good-looking woman in anything."

He paused for a moment, his gaze roaming over your form once again. "But there's just something about you in particular that catches my attention."

"Did you drink something at the party or are you putting up a trick again? Well, it won't work on me."

Ghost chuckled once again at your suspicion. "Oh princess, you think you have me all figured out, don't you? I didn't drink anything, not even a drop."

He continued to drive, his eyes remaining on the road but his gaze occasionally flicking over to you. "I assure you, my attraction to you isn't some trick. It's very real, whether you believe it or not."

[dearingdoe]

Self Aware! Simon who is watching you stay up late on your phone with a small frown at the fact he can't do anything about

Oh what he would do to help you fall asleep

Wrapping his arms around you, making sure you felt safe and secure, making you fall asleep, making you feel loved- oh how he wanted nothing more than that

Part of him wanting to put something up on your tumblr; a fake ad of some random company telling you to go to sleep

but he knows you wouldn't listen to it, so instead he's popping this up on your dash and hoping that maybe you'll listen to him this time

[rhaecerys-velaryo]

Idea: Clingy, Possessive Bakugo. Mild submissivenes.

Bakugo stood in front of you, eyes glaring down with a gleam of obsession. The classroom is empty and it's just the two of you. "I'll say it again, I want to be yours and I want you to be mine.

I protect you, and I will be with you almost every hour. If you accept, I won't be holding back.

I will do anything for you because that's how much I love you."

"He was your obsessed and clingy puppy and he was more than willing to submit to you behind closed doors."

part one

[rhaecerys-velaryo]

Thank you to everyone who got me to 50 likes!

[rhaecerys-velaryo]

Bodyguard!Ghost x MafiaPrincess!Reader

part two

Summary: Ghost is the newly hired bodyguard for y/n and he's the type to never take no for an answer. It's his way or the high way. However, y/n is a little spoiled and you are determined to go to your best friend's birthday party even if it means flirting with your new bodyguard.

Warning: a bit of a spoiled brat and whiny y/n but nothing too much.

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"It's a no for you, y/n. You are not allowed to party tonight," Ghost said as his body leaned on the doorframe, towering over you.

He had his hunky arms crossed as his deep ocean eyes stared at yours. He's the recently-hired bodyguard recruited by your father. Unfortunately, he is quite annoying and overly controlling.

"Now, go back to your room or else..." his tone was stern and commanding, making it clear that you would face consequences if you disobeyed him.

"But it's boring in my room!" y/n whined a little. "And what's the use of a bodyguard like you when you can't protect me without locking me up like some kind of prisoner!" You were already ready in your red bodycon dress and overcoat, your five inch heels did nothing against the bodyguard's tall height.

He couldn't help but chuckle at your little outburst. You looked incredibly cute when you were upset, especially with your pouting face and your tiny frame compared to his large muscular build. But that didn't change his firm stance.

"I am protecting you by not letting you go out and do God knows what." He responded eith his gruff voice

He pushed himself off the doorframe and stepped closer to you, his eyes narrowing. "You're not going anywhere tonight."

"I doubt I'm the worst hire you had. I rarely go out and it's not like I'm a daredevil. Come on....whatever your name is. I'll be a good girl." Y/n tried to convince him with your infamous puppy eyes. "It's just that it's my best friend's birthday party and I always go every year, you can even ask my father about that."

Damn her and her cute puppy eyes.

Ghost grumbled as he glanced away from you, his tough exterior faltering for a moment. He was trained to withstand psychological warfare, but even he was a sucker for puppy eyes.

His voice still retained some of its authoritativeness, though.

"Don't try to charm me, little one," he warned. "And it's 'Ghost'. Just Ghost."

Y/n mirked internally and pouted up at him. "That's a cool alias. Ghost." Unexpectedly, you leaned forward and left a gentle touch on his shoulder with your hands. "I'm not trying to charm you, I'm just stating facts. All we're going to do is have a party at her home and drink. Once I'm wasted, I'll just be a cute sleepy thing in your arms."

Ghost’s eyes widened momentarily at your touch, his body instinctively tensing up. He was caught off guard by the unexpected display of physical contact, but he masked his surprise quickly.

"Ah, the drunk sleeping-beauty routine," he said gruffly, attempting to keep his composure. "You have a habit of getting drunk, don’t you? Maybe that’s why I have to keep a close eye on you."

"Only on occasions. But I never drink till I forget, so don't worry." You waves your hands nonchalantly.

Ghost chuckled a bit at your words, his eyes glinting with amusement. He knew he should be annoyed by your carefree attitude, but there was something about your boldness and confidence that intrigued him.

"Oh yeah? You say that now, but let’s see how drunk and needy you get later." he said with a smirk.

You huffed and crossed your arms. Who said I'll be needy? You looked back up into his eyes, considering that's all you could see. A grin formed on your lips at the implication. "So is that a yes?"

Ghost raised an eyebrow at your question, his smirk growing wider at your stubbornness. He couldn't help but admire your determination in convincing him to let you go. But he wasn't going to admit that so easily.

"I didn't say that, I'm just saying it's a possibility."

He leaned against the wall again, his arms crossed as he looked down at you. His intense gaze held yours for a long moment, considering your proposal.

You looked at the watch around your wrist and gasped, "Uggghhh, I'll literally do anything at this point. I'm getting late!"

Anything, huh?

Ghost's mind briefly paused at your last sentence. Did you really mean anything? His mind immediately started contemplating the different ways he could take advantage of your careless promise.

He chuckled darkly and stepped closer to you, his towering form practically caging you against the wall. His expression shifted into a smirk, his eyes holding a dangerous glint.

"Anything, you say? Careful with your words now, little one." He smirked, but you knew better.

"Anything that doesn't have my father kill you, sure." You snarked back. You knew your father's strict ways and you'll be more than happy to use that to her advantage.

Ghost chuckled darkly once more, his smirk growing wider at your response. He could see the cleverness in your smirk and the way you were using your father's protective nature to your advantage.

He moved closer until his body was pressed up against yours, trapping you against the wall with his muscular form. He lowered his head slightly, his deep voice a mere whisper in your ear.

"You're a sneaky little one, aren't you? Using your daddy's protection to get your way." His breath was warm and intoxicating against your skin.

You gulped as you felt the cool wall on her back and Ghost's warm chest on her front. "W-What do you think you're doing? Back off. If this is what you mean, then get your head out the gutter. I'd rather die than use my body." You tried pushing him away.

Ghost chuckled at your attempts to push him away, his large hands firmly grasping your wrists and pinning them against the wall next to your head.

"Calm down, princess," he murmured, his voice a low growl against your ear. "I have no intention of forcing myself on you. I'm not that kind of man."

He held you there for a moment, his eyes watching you intently before he let go and took a step back. He smirked again, his gaze sharp and intense.

"I was just testing your limits, sweetie."

You grimaced at him and just took out your phone. "The feeling is mutual, but I am definitely not liking what I found out about you." With that, you dialed your father's number and waited till he picked up. After a few words, your father gave her permission to leave noting that Ghost can just follow her. You made sure that the whole conversation was on speaker.

Ghost watched as you called your father and put him on speakerphone. He raised an eyebrow at your unexpected move, intrigued by how you were playing this game. His expression remained neutral as he listened in on your conversation with him.

Once it was clear that you had gotten your father's permission to leave, Ghost's gaze shifted to you once more. He let out a soft scoff under his breath.

"Sneaky little minx," he murmured quietly.

You hung up the phone after thanking your father and gazed at him smugly. "I could have just done that at first, but I wanted to see what you'd do. Guess we both had the same thought in mind."

Ghost chuckled softly at your words, a hint of amusement in his deep voice. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall behind him, eyeing you with a wry smirk.

"You're more clever than I thought. Trying to see how far I'd go, huh?"

He took a few steps closer, his large frame towering over yours once more. His eyes were fixed on you, his expression a mix of curiosity and intrigue.

"And what thoughts were you having in that pretty little head of yours, sweetie?"

"To see what it would take for you to break and be a good little dog." You replied.

A good little dog, huh?

Ghost's smirk widened at your words, his gaze turning dark and intense. His eyes never left yours as he took another step closer, closing the distance between you even further.

"Breaking me, eh? You think you have what it takes to do that?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. His hand moved to gently take hold of your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

"Careful, little one. You might bite off more than you can chew."

You opted not to answer and just got your bag and walked out of her room. You just gave him a look. "Let's go. I'm already late. You're driving and I sent the coordinates to your phone."

Ghost let out a soft scoff as you walked past him, the smirk still on his face. He watched you grab your bag and stride out of your room confidently.

He followed after you, his footsteps silent despite his large frame. He got his phone and checked the coordinates you sent, nodding in acknowledgment.

"You're going to be the death of me, I swear," he muttered to himself as he led the way to the garage.

"Didn't know ghosts die." You said back, clearly hearing him.

Ghost rolled his eyes at your smartass comment, but couldn't help but chuckle softly. He couldn't deny that you had a sharp tongue, and he actually found it strangely endearing.

"Oh, shut it," he retorted back with a smirk. "Even ghosts can expire from annoyance, y'know? And you're testing that limit right now, sweetheart."

You acted nonchalantly, although getting a bit irked by this new bodyguard. While checking your french-tipped nails, you responded "Hmmm, duly noted. Do you want me to call father and just have you replaced? I heard you never had an unsatisfied or dead client. Should I change that?"

That little minx...

Ghost's smirk vanished at your words, his eyes narrowing slightly. He knew you were just playing your little game, testing his limits to see how far you could push him. And unfortunately for him, you had a way of getting under his skin.

"Watch it," he warned in a low growl. "You're walking on thin ice, princess. Threatening me won't end well for you."

"And threatening me ends well for you?"

Ghost's expression softened momentarily as he realized the truth behind your words. He let out a soft scoff and ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Fair enough," he conceded. "You've got a point there, I suppose. But don't think for a second that I won't take action if you cross the line, sweetie."

"I'll be good if you are." You winked at him before stepping into the back seat.

Ghost rolled his eyes again at your wink, his heart fluttering just a bit at the charming gesture. He tried to hide it behind his gruff exterior, but damn you had him feeling all sorts of things.

He got into the driver's seat and started the car, his eyes darting to glance at you in the rearview mirror.

"Don't tempt me, princess," he muttered under his breath. This job was going to kill him. With irritation or something else, he wasn't sure yet.

[rhaecerys-velaryo]

Knight!Keegan x Princess!OC

Knight! Keegan P. Russ x Princess!OC Summary: Ser Keegan is the sworn guard and protector of the Princess. He grew up with her and he was her confidante. One day, he hears of the proposal made between the Princess and a neighboring prince and just needs to tell her how he feels. This is my first one-shot and I am simply trying with an OC first before doing reader inserts or you/reader one-shots. ------------------------------------------------------------------ They had known each other all their lives, Rhaecerys and Keegan, inseparable companions from childhood. Born into neighboring kingdoms, their families had fostered a close bond that transcended mere diplomacy. Keegan, with his steadfast loyalty and gentle demeanor, had always been Rhaecerys's closest confidant, her pillar of support through the trials of royal upbringing.

But as they grew older, the weight of their royal destinies loomed larger. One day, amidst the intricate tapestry of political alliances and ambitions, Rhaecerys was informed she would marry royalty from another kingdom, a union forged to strengthen diplomatic ties.

Eager to see who she would be betrothed to, Rhaecerys reluctantly agreed, concealing her inner turmoil beneath a veneer of regal composure. However, Keegan's reaction was starkly different. He could not conceal his disapproval and stormed out of the Royal Palace, his usually calm demeanor shattered by the news.

That night, under the cover of darkness, Keegan sneaked into Rhaecerys's castle. He knocked urgently on her door, his voice pleading and desperate. "Your Highness... Rhaecerys Velaro. It's me. Please, listen. I beg of you, I can love you better than he ever could. Don't leave me," Keegan implored, his words fraught with emotion.

"Don't go."

Rhaecerys's heart thudded in her chest as she opened the door. Her eyes widened as she saw Keegan standing before her, his usually composed demeanor now stripped away, replaced by raw vulnerability. He pleaded with her not to marry another, to stay with him. She couldn't believe what he was saying, and for a moment, she stood frozen, unable to speak.

Finally, she took a deep breath and spoke softly, her voice trembling slightly. "Keegan, what are you saying? This is madness."

Keegan's eyes reflected the turmoil within him. "Madness, yes. But it's true," he stepped closer, his body language revealing the depth of his emotion. "I don't want you to marry another, Rhae, not when I... I... I love you."

The admission hung in the air, starkly honest and filled with vulnerability.

As Keegan stepped closer, Rhaecerys's breath caught in her throat. She could see the raw, honest emotion in his eyes, and she knew he meant every word he was saying.

She took a step back, feeling overwhelmed by his confession. "Keegan, you can't... I'm royalty. I have responsibilities."

But even as she spoke, she couldn't ignore the flutter in her chest at his words. The realization that he loved her sent a wave of shock and warmth through her body.

Keegan closed the distance she put between them, the intensity in his eyes unwavering. "Responsibilities be damned, Rhae. I don't care about titles or duties. I care about you, and your happiness. And being married to some stranger isn't going to make you happy. But being with me..."

His voice trailed off, his hand reaching out to touch her face.

Keegan studied the conflict in Rhaecerys's eyes, his hand gently cupping her cheek. Their faces were only inches apart.

"I know you're torn," he said in a low voice, "Duty versus desire. I get it. But please, think about what you really want. Not what's expected of you. Not what you think you should do. But what your heart truly desires."

His thumb traced a gentle path over her cheek, the touch both comforting and electrifying.

Rhaecerys's breath hitched at the touch of Keegan's thumb against her skin. She closed her eyes for a moment, struggling to find her voice.

"I can't just... ignore my responsibilities, Keegan," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I have a duty to my kingdom, to my family. I can't just throw everything away for... whatever this is."

But even as she spoke, she knew her words weren't entirely true. Deep down, she yearned for Keegan, for his touch, for his love.

Keegan's eyes were steady on hers, his own feelings burning in them. "I know it's not black and white," he said in that deep, low voice, his fingers moving to brush a strand of hair from her face, "But that's exactly why you're doubting. Your heart is at war with your head."

He took another step closer, his body almost flush against hers. His warm breath ghosted over her face. "Trust your heart, Rhae. Just this once. Please."

Rhaecerys's eyes fluttered shut again as Keegan's breath washed over her skin. His closeness was intoxicating, making her head spin. But his words struck a chord deep within her, and she couldn't deny the truth in them.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, her voice barely above a whisper. "And if I do trust my heart... what then?"

Keegan's breath caught in his throat for a moment, and he had to swallow hard before speaking. When he did, his voice was gruff, intense.

"Then..." he murmured, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw, "Then you'll stay with me."

He stepped even closer, leaving almost no space between their bodies. His hand moved to her waist, pulling her flush against him. "You'll be mine, and I'll be yours."

As Keegan pulled her against him, Rhaecerys let out a gasp, her body melting into his. The feel of his strong arms around her and the scent of him so close sent a shiver down her spine.

"Keegan..." she breathed, her hand coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "Are you... sure you want me?"

Keegan could feel the quickening of her heartbeat as her hand touched his chest, and he inhaled deeply, savoring her scent and her closeness.

"More sure than I've ever been about anything in my life," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I've been in love with you for longer than I can remember. You're the only one I've ever wanted."

His arms tightened around her, holding her close against him. "The question is, do you want me?"

Keegan's grip on her tightened slightly as he heard the vulnerability in her voice, sensing the fear that lay beneath her words. He lifted his hand to gently cup her face, his thumb tracing a soothing pattern across her skin.

"Scared of what?" he asked, his voice gentle but unwavering. "Scared of what your family will think? Or scared of what you're feeling?"

"Both," Rhaecerys admitted quietly, her eyes meeting his. "I fear how they will react if I abandon my duty. And... I fear what this could mean for us."

She took a deep breath, her heart thumping rapidly in her chest. "I'm afraid to let myself go, to give in to these feelings between us, because... I'm terrified to lose you."

Keegan's expression softened further as he listened to her, his gaze never leaving hers. He understood her fear, her hesitation, and her concerns. He had them too.

"I can't promise it will be easy, Rhae," he said in a low voice. "We'll have to face your family, your responsibilities, and the world. But…"

He shifted, his other hand coming up to rest on her hip as he pulled her even closer, his face inches from hers. "But I can promise I won't ever leave you. No matter what happens."

Rhaecerys's breath hitched at the intensity in Keegan's eyes as he pulled her even closer, their faces so close their noses were nearly touching. Her heart thudded in her chest, the heat from his body and his words sending a shiver down her spine.

"I... I believe you," she whispered, her voice shaking slightly. "But are you sure you want to put up with the chaos that comes with being with me? The scrutiny, the judgment, the pressure...?"

Keegan chuckled softly, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He knew well what he was getting himself into.

"Darling," he said, the word a gentle caress against her skin, "Compared to battlefields swarming with enemies and impossible missions with little chance of survival, dealing with scrutiny, judgment, and pressure is a walk in the park."

His hand on her hip moved to brush a strand of hair from her face. "And being with you is worth every bit of it."

[mrsaguapapi]

Ch 1  Ch 2  Ch 3  Ch 4  Ch 5  Ch 6

Chapter 7

Beg

The Vibe: 

Childish Gambino - Me and Your Mama (Let Me Into Your Heart) (Official Audio)

"Namor what are you doing here, it's almost 4 am?"  I say half startled 

"What was Bucky doing here?" He sternly asks 

Who the fuck do you think you are?

I am still very upset about the previous fight, I cross my arms and lean back, "Why? If you are going to lecture me about who I spend my time with, Someone already beat you to it" 

His face relaxes and his tone changes, "I'm sorry, I should not have reacted that way. Please accept my apologies." 

I roll my eyes and step aside, "Come in" Namor steps in and I close the door behind him. "What can I do for you?" 

"Are you alright, you look like you've been crying. Did he hurt you?" he genuinely asks 

"Only my feelings." I chuckle, "I'm fine, I've had a long night." we just stand there for a moment, "Namor, why are you here?"

"I wanted to see you," he admits

"For what?" I yawn "this couldn't have waited until the morning?" 

He steps forward and strokes my cheek, "For an hour I contemplated how to answer that question and even coming over here, " Namor smiles, "I don't know the answer.  I do know that when we first met I wanted to make you mine. "

Oh. OH

"I truly am so sorry for the way I acted earlier. I was worried he'd won you back before I had the privilege to taste you." he explains, "I desire you Ki'ichpan."

I hadn't realized he was slowly backing me into a corner until I hit the wall. He was so close to me that I could feel his breath on my face. In pure strength, I'd say we were matched but with my powers, I was sure I could easily take him out. But I didn't move, something about his energy disengaged my body to the point where I was practically useless. At this moment he could do what he wanted to me without any objection, despite what I was thinking in my head, my body readily accepted this fact. 

He smells like dragon fruit and fresh sandalwood; his body was toned but he wasn't overly muscled and his skin was a nice golden brown. As I continued to inspect him further down I made eye contact with his tight-fitted green shorts and quickly looked away out of shame. 

"Don't be embarrassed Ki'ichpan. You like what you see eh? I'd be happy to remove them for you" he looks at me deviously. Namor moves so close to me that I can now feel his growing erection "Just say the word and I'm yours." 

"Why? Why do you want me? What makes me so special that a 'God' would want me?" I scoff

He looks down into my eyes, "You challenge me. Most women I've encountered, fold under my gaze. As for you? You were unmoved and unbothered. Not to mention our fight; never have I ever felt so powerless after a fight. There is nothing sexier than a powerful woman. Say yes, let me take care of you Ki'ichpan"

Fuck it

Without saying a word or breaking eye contact I drop my towel. I take his hand in mine and guide him up my body, starting from my ass and to my breasts. 

"Drop the shorts," I say 

He steps back and takes off his shorts and tosses them. His dick was fully erect now; he was thick and at least 8in. It was practically standing on its own.  Before he could come back to me I quickly stop him by kicking my foot to his chest and holding it there. 

"Beg." 

Namor smiles and kisses my ankle as he slowly drops to his knees allowing my foot to now rest on his shoulders. "Please, Milleanyia allow me to fuck you." 

"You can taste for now. You don't deserve to have all of me yet."  I tease

"As you wish." Namor moves closer and wraps my leg around his shoulder giving him full access to my wet pussy.  He Begins to kiss up my leg very gently and slowly inching up closer to my core. Slowly he takes my clit to his mouth and he begins to suck on it.

I let out a soft moan making Namor go wild; he spreads my folds and starts to tongue fuck me, licking up every drop like it was nectar from a fruit.  To brace myself I grab Namors hair and hold myself and him in place. I guess he liked the sudden hair-pulling because this time he moaned. His moans went straight to my pussy fueling my oncoming orgasm. 

"Fuck don't stop." he doesn't; keeping the same pace with his tongue he slowly begins to slide his finger into me.  At first, he was slow about it, like he was exploring my insides.  He eventually adds a second finger this time plunging them both in me at a hard steady pace.  At this point, I'm moaning left and right enjoying every moment of this. 

God this has me rolling. 

"I'm so close, please don't stop" I beg him

Namor takes his fingers and slightly hooks them inside me. Now with every pump, he's massaging my sweet spot.  Slamming my head back to the wall I feel my pussy tighten around him as my orgasm takes over. Too lost in my own pleasure I hadn't realized that Namor was moaning with me, enjoying each moment of my release just as much as I. 

Before I fully come down from my high Namor drops my leg and stands up to kiss me.   He was kissing me with such force and want that I could barely breath; it was like he needs me as much as he needs air.  While kissing I slowly reach down to play with his dick, using the precum on his tip to help lubricate him.  

"Fuck" Namor growls, slamming his hand on the wall behind me and laying his head on my shoulder. I begin to slowly stroke him from base to tip, lightly squeezing every so often just to see him melt.

I softly whisper in his ear, "I want you to fuck me so hard, that I feel sore every time I sit" 

He quickly looks at me with excitement, I swear I see a fire light in his eyes. Namor picks me up and leads me to the bedroom swiftly throwing me on the bed. He climbs up and begins to spread kisses along my stomach and breasts occasionally sucking and biting on my nipples, eventually looking into my eyes, "Let me know if I'm going too rough okay Ki'ichpan?" 

I smile and shake my head pulling him in so we can kiss. He reaches down and begins to rub his dick on my slick cunt, coating himself in my juices. He does this for a few minutes before he begins to slowly enter me until he hits balls deep. He was huge, this was definitely pushing my limits; I have never been filled like this. 

Namor speaks," Fuck you feel so tight. Are you ready?"

"Yes," I weakly reply. 

God, he feels so good 

He smiles , "Beg" 

I hesitate for a second but slowly continue, "Fuck me Namor. Please I need you." I seductively say. And with that Namor goes to town, fucking me like a wild animal. 

All I could do was hold on to him, scratching his back as he fucked me to oblivion. I begin to scream out in pleasure saying things that made no sense; he takes his hand and covers my mouth successfully muffling me and whispers in my ear, "Normally I'd say let it out but the last thing we need is for someone to interrupt us Ki'ichpan. Can you keep quiet for Daddy?" He removes his hand

"Yes" I quickly say

He grabs my chin, "Yes what?"

Okay I see you with your Daddy kink

"Yes Daddy," I say a little louder. 

"Good girl." He then sits up and grabs my waist for leverage and begins to pound into me with such force.  I cover my mouth to keep from screaming; in this position, he was hitting my g-spot over and over, building my orgasm right back up. Namor can feel that I'm close, he was too, so he takes one hand and starts to rub my clit. 

"Cum with me Millaenyia." Namor pleads still roughly thrusting into me. 

I close my eyes bracing myself for my orgasm. Namor comes back down to me, holding his forehead to mine, "Open your eyes and look at me." I do as I was told "Cum with me baby," he begs. 

Not being able to hold it anymore I let go,  allowing my orgasm to take over me.  Namor grunts and moans while getting a couple more strokes in before he lets go in my pussy, filling me up completely.  

We lay for a while me holding him on top of me, us never speaking.

He hasn't even pulled out yet. 

I look over at the clock and it's 5 am; it's like all of a sudden I'm exhausted.  

Sorry Marc, not getting up to pee this time. 

Finally, I speak, " I'm this close to falling asleep.  Will you stay with me tonight,  at least until I fall asleep? "

Namor looks up at me, "Of course" He finally pulls out, grabs the blanket to cover us, and lays behind me so we could spoon. I grab his arm and hold it to my chest, "You're amazing by the way" I say half-sleep, "we are definitely doing that again." I chuckle. 

"Oh Ki'ichpan, I have so much more I want to do to you." Namor says, "but in the meantime, we should sleep." 

You don't have to tell me twice. 

After the longest day of my life, I finally doze off.