Issahh
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Summary
Aemond watched in horror as Lucerys pressed the tip of his sword to the trembling High Septon’s throat.
This was not the timid boy who once hid behind his mother’s skirts. The man before him was taller, broader, and burning with the wild light of their bloodline.
Targaryen madness, Aemond thought.
When Lucerys spoke, his voice was calm—clear, cold, and utterly certain.
"You will release Prince Aemond from his vows, you will wed him to me.", he smiled, there was nothing gentle about it, "You will do it now."
OR
It has been five years since the war ended—five years since Prince Aemond Targaryen became Septa Aemond.
He thought the rest of his life would pass in silence.
Until the day Lucerys Velaryon came for him.
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Pippa Norris never came to her brother’s races—until Monaco 2025. She expected noise, cameras, and chaos. She didn’t expect Oscar Piastri. One glance in the paddock is all it takes, and suddenly love at first sight doesn’t feel so impossible.
The only problem?
Lando.
Series
- Part 1 of DRS: Drivers Romancing Sisters
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The Paddock Medic by winterwitch_01
Fandoms: Professional F1 Esports RPF, Oscar Piastri - Fandom, f1
30 Oct 2025
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Jane sighed and tilted her head. Feeling bad for the young man “D’you want the medical opinion, or the Scottish one?”
He blinked confused. “Scottish, I guess?”
“Okay, well...you’re no’ made of glass. One sprain isn’t gonna tank your career. But push it too soon, and you’re lookin’ at weeks instead of days. Yeah? Take the hit now, come back stronger. Simple maths.”
He looked at her properly then — those sharp, serious eyes finally softening.
“You’re not just saying that?”
She smiled. “Mate, if I was here to kiss arse, I’d be workin’ PR.”
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Hunter Granger, a fifth-year Gryffindor prefect and the brightest student among his classmates, is an example of a model student and a young wizard. But deep down, he is not as good as people think he is. Pansy Parkinson learns this the hard way after pushing him too far.
In this universe, Hermione is a boy. The story contains explicit content - please look at the tags before reading.
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“Oh come now, I didn't mean to bore you,” he drawled. “Were you hoping for more of a show?”
He was standing squared, the towel slung low on his hips. His hair dripped streams down the valleys of his neck, and though his eyes did not quite know where to seek out her own, skidding blindly upon the air above her head, they shone with a familiar fervor. It was a look she knew well from the quidditch pitch: When the rushing wind whispered he’s right there behind you, and she would risk a glance over her shoulder, meet icy grey, so close, always so unexpectedly close, a broomlength away at most, and the chill of his eyes and the thrill of the chase would send her muscles to shivering, and it would be all she could do just to hold on tight and fly faster.