alrightyxaphroditee

[alrightyxaphroditee]

whatever her soul is made of her and his are the same

[alrightyxaphroditee]

Spoils of Surrender

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Lannister reader

Tags: arranged marriage, loss of virginity, plus-size reader, tent sex, oral sex (female receiving), p. in v. sex, hopeful ending

Wordcount: 3,490

As the Lannister armies are defeated by the Northerners and Rivermen, your father Lord Jason surrenders and pledges your hand to Lord Cregan Stark, to seal his change of allegiance.

Cregan Masterlist

Sun was rising over the Riverlands, its warmth barely enough to stop the shaking of the officers gathered in a line in front of Lord Cregan Stark. No doubt had they expected to prevail, but now their arrogance was wiped off their faces and even their commander, Lord Jason Lannister, looked frightful.

The Hightower armies had marched first, emboldened by the presence of Prince Daeron and his dragon, the young Tessarion, and were now stuck in the Riverlands. Caught between the formidable threat of Caraxes, along with a rather large portion of the Rivermen and the Arryn armies, they had been unable to fall back and provide any assistance to the Lannisters. They had been ambushed by unexpected garrisons from the Riverlands and the Northerners, coming down just in time.

“It is a rare quality in a man to admit when he has been bested,” Lord Jason tried to reason as he stood in front of the victor, and Cregan Stark loathed his self-important demeanor. “But I would gladly admit you have prevailed over us, and I would pledge my armies to yours, my lord, so that we might avoid unnecessary bloodshed.”

“Why should I believe your intentions? You are an oath breaker,” he said, his tone low but enough to make the man twitch.

“What would appease you, Lord Stark?” he asked, a slow smile spreading over his features. “Are you in want of a wife, by any chance?”

Cregan almost bristled at the suggestion, mildly insulted that the promise of a lady to warm his bed would be enough to mellow him.

“Mine own daughter is currently being escorted to King's Landing to marry King Aegon,” he explained, referring to the tragic passing of Queen Helaena at the hand of her own despair, following the death of her son. “I am sure she could please you.”

The fact that the man would be so eager to offer his daughter to his enemy displeased him greatly, but he had to admit that marriages were an old way of solving quarrels, and that many a clan in the North had allied itself with others in this way in the past. 

“They should not be far, we had hoped to shield the escort with our own garrison," the Lannister lord continued.

“Send for them to turn back,” Cregan agreed. “And prepare your parchment and quills, I will seal your surrender with a proper treaty.”

It was barely sunrise the next day when an inconspicuous carriage arrived at the campsite—since the surrender the morning prior, they had sent word to Harrenhal and Dragonstone, awaiting their next orders. 

The small door to the carriage opened and you were assisted by a sentry to get down the few steps. Soon you were met with the sight of a full military camp bearing the Stark and Tully banners, and your father came to greet you, looking defeated and uncertain. You had been informed of your house’s defeat on the way back, but the messenger had been unwilling to tell you more, and now your stomach was heavy with worry.

“I don't understand, father,” you exclaimed as he took your hands in his.

“I am afraid our odds have changed, my darling. Our armies are detained by Lord Cregan Stark,” he announced, and you gasped in sudden fear. “But he will release them, and me... on one condition. If the peace treaty is sealed with your hand in marriage. You were ready to do your duty for our family and now that duty is this.”

“The Wolf of the North?” you asked feebly, looking over your father’s shoulder to a group of men dressed in blacks and grays, bearing dark beards and hard expressions. You had heard of Cregan Stark before, and how he had crushed his own uncle's rebellion, and the prospect of being given to him filled you with dread.

“He is not the most delicate man I have encountered, if anything he seems a bit brutish and boorish, but I'm sure you will be able to soothe his rugged edges,” Lord Jason said, curling his fingers under your chin. “Won't you, sweetling?”

“If I must,” you replied tearily.

“You must, my dear,” came the answer, whispered against your forehead with a kiss.

The ceremony had been short, perfunctory, and nothing else had been celebrated—your union wasn’t one to be cheered, but a necessity in a time of war. With no courtship and barely a few words exchanged between you and your husband, you found yourself in a large tent later that evening nervously clutching the cloak he had wrapped over your shoulders.

You tried to reason with your nerves, telling your anxious mind that perhaps a healthy warrior would be better than a wounded king. You had heard of Aegon's promiscuous ways from your uncle, but from what you knew of Lord Stark, he was not inclined to such proclivities. 

“My Lord, may I ask?” you tried to initiate a conversation and your newly wedded husband turned to you, setting his sheathed sword aside. 

“Of course, my lady.”

“Why marriage? Why could my father not swear his allegiance to you and fight at your side?” you grasped at straws, hoping you could still undo what had been done in front of Gods and an entire army of men.

“I am afraid I do not trust your father's word, my lady. Twenty years ago he and his brother swore allegiance to Rhaenyra as King Viserys' named heir,” he recounted, his deep voice rolling easily from his large frame. “They have broken that oath.”

“You think him to be without honor, and yet you accepted me as wife?” you replied, feeling strangely scolded, but he did not answer, no doubt unwilling to indulge your emotional outburst.

You looked around nervously, and this time he came to soothe you. “No one will hear us.”

“You cannot know that. We are in the middle of a war camp,” you replied, stepping aside. 

“I know this is not the comfort you would have wanted, but this is all I can offer,” he said, dipping his head slightly. His calm demeanor unsettled you, and you did not know how to react to his unwillingness to respond with as much emotion as you were showing him.

“I do not care for comfort,” you retorted, very much aware that you sounded like a petulant child.

“Is it the pain that worries you?” he asked gently, and this time you couldn't contain your tears. “I may be in conflict with your father, but I would not hurt you to get back at him.”

He allowed you a moment to breathe and collect yourself, instead turning to a corner of the tent where a table and two chairs had been put. His boots made soft, muted sounds on the carpet that covered the ground, his long cloak grazing his ankles.

You watched timidly as he removed his pelts and unbuckled his leathers, draping them over the back of one of the chairs, and leaving his belts on the table. He looked less intimidating once he was left in his shirt, his gambeson draped over the cloak. His boots were soon discarded as well, leaving dry mud on the carpet.

To your surprise, he didn’t turn to you but to a basin not far, first bringing water up to his face with his large palms, then to the back of his neck; almost as an afterthought, he pulled his linen shirt over his head and used it as one would a cloth, rubbing at his chest and under his arms. You felt your breathing pick up as you could hardly tear your gaze, admiring his thick waist and broad back, tracing with your eyes the healthy layer of fat stretched over bulky muscle.

You swallowed, tearing your gaze away as he turned to you again. He frowned, no doubt wondering why you were still dressed. “I would need help with my gown,” you said quietly and he was quick to come and assist you.

You shivered as he kissed the nape of your neck as soon as he had pulled the laces, then your shoulder once it was exposed. You forced your arms to remain at your side when the gown was dropped to the floor and you realized he had unlaced and lowered your shift as well. 

You gasped aloud as his large hands came around you to cup your breasts, kneading them in his large palms, thumb pressing their peaks. You found yourself leaning back against his sturdy frame, as he was gentler than you expected. Heat pooled between your thighs, surprising you, as his mouth found the soft spot under your ear and he buried the low rumble of his pleased breaths in your hair. 

One of his palms made its way down your abdomen, enjoying the soft hills of flesh, until the tips of his fingers stroked you, rougher than you were used to. You squirmed and he lightened his touch, one of his fingers swiping the swollen nub at the top of your folds until you breathed your very first sigh. 

“Lord Stark,” you called gently, flushing under his endeavor. 

“Might you call me by my name?” he murmured in your ear, pressing himself into you until you felt the hard line of him against your backside. You startled as he lifted you easily and carried you to the bed; you did not know if you would sleep much but if you did, you knew it shall be comfortable. The cot was thick and covered in furs, soft and warm. 

“I would make you comfortable, perhaps breach you first,” he said as he looked upon you, placed among the pelts while he pulled at the laces of his trousers, and you stammered.

“What do you mean?”

“Breach your maidenhead first, before I take you,” he clarified. “The pain will be lessened.”

“Lord Stark…” you flushed, and he only looked at you more intensely at the use of his title. “I would give my maidenhead to you, if only I still had it. The Maester said horse riding no doubt took it…”

He smirked, looking strangely pleased. “I am glad of it. Better that you lost it to a good horse than an inconsiderate husband.”

“I'm sure you would have made me comfortable,” you said politely.

“I would have, and I will,” he replied, dropping his trousers along with his smallclothes, and you averted your eyes. 

You brought your gaze to the ceiling of the tent and the beams that kept the cloth stretched as he climbed atop you, but to your surprise he didn’t push himself up as he settled between your legs. 

Instead he bent down and kissed your core, and you startled at the sudden heat. Gently, he lifted your legs over his broad shoulders. "You may pull my hair if you need to,” he murmured, and you couldn’t find your words before he pressed another kiss between your thighs. 

His tongue was hot and daring, curling inside you, his lips catching on your pearl. His tongue traced your folds, not forgetting a single spot to try, figuring out what made your back arch. He sucked your pearl inside his mouth.

You indeed clung to his hair as you rocked into the wet heat of his mouth, and his large hands wrapped around your thighs encouraged you. He reveled in how your soft flesh yielded to his touch. His own arousal was throbbing between his legs but he willed himself to ignore it—there would be time to satisfy it soon, however it might cause you pain and he would rather you found some pleasure first. 

His jaw was aching by the time you arched into him, finding your peak, and it only fueled his desire. He had been blessed, he thought, to be given such a luscious, pleasant creature. 

As you caught your breath, he got up to get you a drink of wine, and he smiled as you blushed upon seeing his hard cock hanging between his legs.

“Should I not be pleasing you now?” you asked timidly after handing him back the cup—he finished it, cleansing your taste from his mouth in case you would be inclined to kiss him. 

 “You are,” he replied as his gaze roamed your body from your toes to your eyes, taking in your heavy breasts, your round hips and the lovely swell of your stomach.

He allowed a small smile to pull at his mouth as you watched him crawl in the middle of the bed, his long, large legs stretched in front of him. He pulled you to straddle him with confidence, sighing as your weight settled on his lap. 

With a hand to your lower back he pulled you in, rubbing your wet core on his length. He held on to his restraint, allowed himself this simple pleasure until you grew more comfortable. Hands on his shoulders, you watched the contained groans spill from his lips, and he gladly craned his neck as you dipped your head, tentatively seeking him. 

He looked younger up close, with full lips and wise eyes on his smooth face, and you suspected he had shaved his beard for the occasion, as most of his men bore hairy faces. You pressed your lips to his, soft and searching, enjoying the low moan you pulled from him as you curled your tongue against his. 

You kissed slowly but deeply, and he allowed you to take the lead as you were still sensitive from his mouth, your hips rocking steadily. A different kind of heat built in your stomach, less sharp than when he had licked you, but no less enchanting. 

“Cregan,” you murmured as he guided you gently, his rough hand on your hip. 

“I will guide you, my lady,” he reassured as you bore down on his cock. The feeling of its swollen head pushing past your entrance made you gasp, and the stretch burned from his girth as he pushed inside firmly. 

“Shouldn’t you call me by my name?” you gasped, attempting to distract yourself from the discomfort. 

“I would rather call you by mine,” he murmured as he nestled his face in your neck, hiding his groan. The tight grip of your walls around his cock was making him lose his composure and loosening his tongue. “Lady Stark.”

The pain slowly eased as you rocked together, his hands on your waist and thigh to hold you in place. You could tell he was holding himself back, his large frame trembling from the effort as his cock throbbed inside you. 

As he started sucking on your breasts you remembered his earlier words and raked your fingers through his long hair. It was thick and luscious, and a good distraction, but eventually you grew tired, your thighs burning. 

“Allow me to take over,” he hummed against your lips, and you nodded gratefully.

“Tell me how to please you,” you asked, and for a moment he hesitated. 

“Let me know if it causes you discomfort,” he said as he dislodged you gently, and turned you to face away away from him, pushing you atop a pillow. “Would you allow me?” he asked.

You blushed, but nodded, and soon he was kneeling behind you, pushing back into your body as you knelt on the sheets, propped on a large cushion. The angle was deep, the stretch reaching much further into you, and it made you mewl. Cregan could not contain his groans then, hissed behind clenched teeth.

His hips snapped up into you, his large hands holding your waist, one of them occasionally wandering up and down your spine, teasing the sensitive dip of your tailbone. 

You could not deny there was an appeal to it, and you easily lost yourself to the rocking of his body into yours as well as his grunts and groans. They made heat lick at your core, and when his hands tightened you curled your spine in, chasing a different angle, and it earned you a pleased expletive. 

The heavy line of his body molded against your back, his mouth pressing warmth between your shoulder blades, and you mewled again as his fingers wandered between your thighs, seeking your pearl. The sharp heat of his previous attempt when he had disrobed you returned tenfold, and soon you could hardly contain your cries as his hips snapped forward. 

Cregan moaned as he felt you clench around him, growing wetter as you fell apart, and his control snapped. The strong pace he started was selfish, desperate as he was to find his peak and spill within you. 

Your body was a temple he wished to worship, a great expanse of skin and curves made for love, for pleasure beneath the furs. The wildest side of his soul howled at the implication—that you were fruitful, ripe for the taking, in perfect health to bear many healthy children. From your large breast that fell perfectly in his palms, to your thighs and hips that called to be gripped, every inch of you made his mouth water. 

“Cregan,” you called rather timidly, and your hand came to rest on his, guiding his fingers at your core to quicken.

“My golden beauty,” he groaned in your neck as you trembled against him, and his own peak crashed over him. He buried his moans in your nape, and you cried out in the pillow you were resting on, a gentle wave rocking you into its cradle as your husband pulsed and spilled inside of you.

You closed your eyes, your limbs heavy and languid as he lowered you to the furs, mindful of your hair and the seed that was coating the inside of your thighs. He went back to the basin he had cleaned himself at earlier, and brought a wet cloth to wipe at your skin—you flushed as your eye caught the way his manhood hung heavily between his own legs, even now that he was spent.

His chest was flushed as well under his dark hair, and after he had tossed the cloth aside, you pulled him back on the bed to nestle your head upon it. 

"We march east on the morrow,” he explained gingerly as you stretched the glorious expanse of your skin along his and rested your head near his heart—he was not used to softness, you could tell. "A small garrison will escort you to Winterfell."

You hummed quietly, unhappy at the thought of being brought up North to snow and cold, and without your newly wedded husband at that. A mere day ago you were a maiden of House Lannister, to be given to the wretched King Aegon whose claim was challenged, and now you had been taken as a prize of war by none other than the Warden of the North. 

"Unless you would rather remain in the Reach,” he added, no doubt sensing your discomfort. “Perhaps the weather will be more agreeable.”

However you saw through his words and worry curled in your stomach. “You are not sure you will come back,” you concluded, pushing yourself from his chest and looking down at him—his eyes were serious but warm, which was unexpected for two icy gray pools.

“This night with you has filled me with enough warmth to last this war, but only the Gods know. If I do not prevail, you will return to your home,” he informed you with a small, pained smile, and your heart ached knowing you wouldn’t have the time to know more of the warmth held in him. There was a kindness carried in his large frame, but you would get to see more of it.

“I would not go to your home and wait for a raven to cast me out…” you said with slight sorrow. “Neither can I go back to my home, to my father who gave me away to clear his dishonor. I will remain in Riverrun, as I’m sure Lady Tabitha would not turn me away,” you decided, shaking your head at the prospect of returning east. “Come and fetch me when this war is over.”

“I shall, my lady,” he replied as he pushed himself up, pressing a light kiss to your forehead before he climbed off the bed and marched to the chair, picking up his clothes. “Us Northerners are made of harder stuff,” he vowed, turning to look at you, catching your impressed eye. 

“Indeed,” you blushed, and for a moment he hesitated, linens and leathers still in hand. 

“The night is still young…” he swallowed under your gaze, feeling his loins stir again. 

“Lions and wolves aren’t so different… We both share the same vigor and appetites, don’t we?” you tried timidly, allowing your knees to fall apart slowly. With a grin, Cregan dropped his clothes and crawled back on the bed, only to allow you the upper hand, and you toppled him into the furs. 

Dividers by @arcielee. Thank you @zaldritzosrose for beta reading ♡

Author's Note: As the oneshot came to an end, I started thinking of their reunion and I really want to write it. I know I already did a post-war reunion fic but in that one Cregan and his wife knew one another; here they have barely met, it would be quite different. Would anyone be interested in reading that?

Cregan taglist: @kateris-world @elleclairez @watercolorskyy @praline357 @whodis-26

@elle-28 @mari0302 @hb8301 @flawroses @random-shit-i-like-2

@heavenly1927 @vixemi @rockerchick05 @maniccrystalhippie

@melsunshine @siimiasoi @mxtokko @arcielee @apollonshootafar

@thenameswinter99 @maeriontargaryen @youbetterneverknow @multyfangirl @r-3dlips

@yujyujj @lessdepressy @blessedbymoon

Comment to be added to the taglist.

[alrightyxaphroditee]

zlibrary gone... FUCK TIKTOK FUCK BOOKTOK I hope that app burns in hell

[alrightyxaphroditee]

both of them pulling out a book when they’re upset, the near identical pose… they’re like twins.

[alrightyxaphroditee]

[alrightyxaphroditee]

I could never forget about harwin strong

We forgot about him far too soon…

Where are the fanfic writers?!? No character has ever needed you more!

[alrightyxaphroditee]

Alicent and Ser Crispy Cream having a righteous flirty session.

Meanwhile Gwayne Hightower:

[alrightyxaphroditee]

𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒’ 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ jacaerys velaryon x female betrothed reader.

SYNOPSIS: jacaerys is reminded of his betrothed’s unwavering loyalty, and her affections. he is more than desperate to indulge.

note: jacaerys is nineteen, reader is eighteen.

format: one-shot — not requested.

word count: 5.8K.

warnings: SMUTTY SMUT (mdni), porn with little plot, risk of getting caught (dragonstone library), talk of insecurities, jacaerys is needy and sweet in this, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, handjob, lots of jace moans in this fic, brief dry humping, wet/rain jacaerys, table sex, making out, hair-pulling kink, unprotected sex, p in v sex, jace & reader have only been with one another, soft ending + aftercare

author’s note: I know that this isn’t What Honor Demands (please don’t be mad) but I did want to put a sprinkle of Jace content out there for you all! please be kind to one another, and thank you for reading & supporting my work! I love you all dearly! :))

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧. 𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭.

One often felt so insignificant in the halls of dragons, whose masters forged countless strongholds made of flame and obsidian. Torchlight danced in darkened corridors, producing tendrils of shadow that made the walls move, come alive during the hour of the bat.

Dragonstone’s hallowed hallways and winding corridors were scattered with the occasional Kingsguard, watchful gaze hovering about as you went on your way. Sleep eluded you, reclusive as ever, leaving you with nothing but a mind full of ceaseless thoughts.

Groggy footfalls fell across ancient stone as you carried yourself toward the library within the labyrinth of Dragonstone, in-search of your betrothed.

Pensive and frustrated as of-late, Jacaerys spent much of his evenings surrounded by endless piles of literature to preoccupy his mind, or nights spent on the back of Vermax beneath the open air. You did not begrudge him of his desire for space, but you sorely missed his presence — your bed felt exceedingly empty.

A silent yawn wrought your lips as you slipped between massive slabs of dark wood, the groaning of the doors reverberating throughout the cavernous alcove. Thunder shook the skies around Dragonstone, and with it, a torrent of rainfall that smacked against the dark stone surrounding the island.

It was there in the library that you saw Jacaerys, tousled curls slicked by the deluge, framing his face in such a princely manner that it stole your breath away. Your humble beginnings as a mere young maiden sworn to wed the heir to the Iron Throne had blossomed, flourishing into a loving relationship between yourself and the Prince.

All men that you had glanced upon paled in comparison to Jacaerys Velaryon, whose features were framed in such a regal light. The illumination of the hearth set his flesh ablaze with a burnished gold, brows creased in concentration as he leaned over a thick, dilapidated volume.

Prying his gaze away from dust-laden parchment, his eyes found you, his betrothed, captivating in your silken slip and woolen robe. His throat bobbed as he swallowed the sudden onslaught of nerves in your presence, an involuntary yet consistent response.

You treated him to a kindly smile, warm enough to soothe his shivering bones, doublet soaked from riding in the deluge. Part of him was stung with guilt for abandoning you each night to sulk in sullen silence, but he did not want to burden you with his feelings of inferiority.

Amber hues seemed transfixed upon you, taking in your ethereal sight, silks the color of Lady’s Lace, robe embossed with cerulean stitching. Your tresses were somewhat disheveled from rest, disagreeing with the pillows.

Abandoning his mindless studies, he sat straighter, shoulders squared as if to fill in the fullness of his height. You approached, aura gentle and thoughtful, as if you could pinpoint the source of his misfortune. “Is everything alright?” Jacaerys inquired, perplexed as to why you were out of bed so dreadfully late.

“It is,” A dismal yawn slipped through your teeth as you came to stand near him, circling around the stone table, noticeably lower in stature. “I fear that the raging weather has left me unable to find sleep.” You were from a place where such furious storms were uncommon.

As if he were to blame for this happenstance, Jacaerys appeared apologetic, fingers clenching together. “You have my apologies, my Lady. I hadn’t expected this deluge to carry on this late into the night.” With a begrudging sigh, he peered toward the stained glass windows littered throughout the library.

An amiable burst of laughter tore forth from your lips, head canting to one side as you rounded the table, gaze picking apart the various texts and heaps of parchment that lined the stone. “You’ve nothing to apologize for, Jacaerys. It seems you’ve taken advantage of the opportunity.” You gestured to his state of dishevel.

“Like yourself, sleep evaded me. I needed to find some reprieve; a thunderstorm seemed better than nothing.” His reply seemed strained with underlying frustration, as if the chord would snap within him at any given moment.

Your velveteen digits graced his shoulder, caressing circles into the muscle there, even if it were concealed by the thick wool of his doublet. Even if he did not speak it into existence, your comforting embrace brought him a semblance of warmth that little else could provide.

Drowning himself in reading now seemed incomprehensible, paling in comparison to the mere grace of your presence. “You seem very hard at work,” You chimed, lowering yourself into the high-backed chair to his left. “The subject of your studies?”

Jacaerys didn’t smile, yet the tension in his shoulders began to unfurl, as if your very presence willed him to do so. Nimble digits flipped through a page or two, the parchment worn and thin from many decades of dormancy and little use. “Targaryen bloodlines.”

There was some discomforting twinge within his tone, as if the very notion brought about complex feelings. It was his idea to invite Dragonseeds into their home, yet he hadn’t fully realized what harm it had caused to his claim. This vexation had developed into a thorn in his side, tearing open a wound that he thought he’d healed from.

He had dealt with the uncomfortable truth of his bastard heritage all his life — and now, he was made to confront it, see it in its unpleasantness. Even the unconditional love of his mother could not shield him from the vile insults, from the crass tongues of those who saw him for what he was — the bastard.

Your countenance wavered, empathy sinking into your gaze, brows softening as you folded your hands within your lap. Jacaerys had never fully confided in you the plain truth of his bloodline, but you had an inkling of his heritage — that hadn’t changed how you felt.

Wordlessly, you reached for his hand, and it was Jacaerys that brought your interwoven fingers to rest atop your knee. He did not need to vocalize it — he knew that you knew. Part of him was grateful that you never questioned it, or him.

“Understand that I will fight with you — fight for you. No amount of blood or worthiness shall change that.” You assured, collected and tender as you traced your thumb across his knuckles. They were disarmingly soft, pad of your finger brushing over the veins in his hand.

Jacaerys exhaled, sinking backward into the bite of the wooden chair, dark brows furrowing together. “It seems as if you are the only one that will.” His confession was a heavy-handed one, filled with an immeasurable melancholy that you wished you could rip away.

It was all that consumed him as of-late — his claim to the Iron Throne, the lack of reassurance from his mother, who seemed to drown herself in prophecy and history instead of his defense. Jacaerys felt as if he were adrift, alone in the black sea, threatened to be pulled beneath the tempestuous tides.

The touch of your hand was what kept him anchored, still bound to this reality, to the inevitability of war. Soon, he would face the Greens in the battlefield — and what then, if the war was won? His mother would sit the Iron Throne, and who would succeed her?

His half-brothers had all the hallmarks of a true Targaryen — violet irises, pale tresses, dragon eggs placed in their cradles. Who would follow him? Plain-featured, dark hair, amber-flecked hues that bore a striking resemblance to the former Commander of the City Watch.

With a sullen heart, Jacaerys glanced at you, his beloved, your countenance bathed in the waning glow of the firelight. An ardent fondness reached your stare, keeping his hand rooted against your knee. He idly plucked at the ivory silk of your shift, chest blossoming with a trembling exhale.

“You must forgive me for my absence as of-late,” Jacaerys felt as if he owed you an apology. For nearly a fortnight, he had kept you at arm’s length, for fear that he would tarnish your bond with his intrepid mind and distressed musings. “I haven’t intended to distance myself from you.”

“Jacaerys,” With a gentle hum, you brought your other palm beneath his, cradling his hand between your own, his flesh icy compared to your magnetizing warmth. “I know what burden you bear, and I know how distraught you’ve been. I cannot fault you for wanting space.” Even then, he felt as if that wouldn’t suffice.

“My misfortune is not an excuse to leave my betrothed unattended,” Resolute, he looked at you with such arduous devotion, one reserved only for a paramour. “Whatever burden I bear, I wish to endure it by your side, or not at all.” Whatever he did to deserve you, he was quite uncertain.

Betrothals were not easy to navigate — when he first found himself speaking to you, he feared the crushing weight of disappointment or a loveless match, something only formed from duty. He was pleasantly surprised by your willingness to discover the soul that rested beneath titles and propriety.

Another smile crossed your features, and it stayed this time, his heart galloping within his chest at your resplendent beauty.

There was a kindness that touched your gaze, one that he was unaccustomed to. He was often looked upon by strangers with indifference or contempt, and those who questioned his bloodline only glowered with vitriol and a thinly-veiled bitterness.

“Allow me to share in your sorrows with you,” At your insistence, Jacaerys did not make any attempt to protest the subject of your words — he knew that you wouldn’t allow it. “Whatever obstacles come hurling your way, know that we can brave it together, not apart.”

A lighter sentiment touched his features, then. He was no longer marred by frustration and helplessness, but newfound confidence. It was subtle, but you could see it reach his eyes, amber hues that danced with such an intense affection for you.

“As long as you permit me to assist in whatever tribulations you might face yourself,” It wouldn’t have been justified to make you wade through his obstacles without fighting your own hand-in-hand. “You are my betrothed. I should hope you will always rely upon me.” With a reassuring squeeze, you smiled at him.

“Rely upon one another, and let out hearts beat as one,” A tenderness gripped the tone of your resonance, as silky as the very gown you wore. “Until our last days or the end of our story.” The finality of your words filled him with an indescribable sense of optimism and hope.

Jacaerys adjusted his hand, but only to lift yours to his lips, gracing your velvet knuckles with his plush lips, eyelashes fluttering in your direction. Youthful eagerness and crackling ardor took over — he stared at you with a renewed compassion.

The sight of you in your evening slip made his heart pound against his ribcage, as if it had dropped right into his stomach. Sometimes he behaved as if he hadn’t touched you before — as if this were the first time all over again. “You continue to bewitch me,” Jacaerys murmured, canting his head to one side. “I love you for it.”

A smattering of heat blossomed across your features, the familiar warmth crawling down the length of your spine, resulting in a subtle shiver. “I wasn’t aware,” You mused, a certain flair within your voice that subtly invoked more than just romanticism and sweet words. “Is that a constant feeling?”

Swallowing the lump of boyish nerves that gathered within his throat, Jacaerys regarded you with a rather incendiary warmth, his gaze that of an unrestrained lover. “It is rather persistent,” Excitement began to stir within the pit of his stomach. “Especially now.”

Seven Hells, you deserved to be put to the lash for the lascivious thoughts you had.

It was as if the atmosphere had shifted entirely, from one of two youths navigating their troubles, to the first inklings of shared desire and appreciation. You hadn’t expected the suddenness of this shift, but you welcomed it regardless, belly stirring with butterflies.

Digits tightened into your silken skirts, in a valiant attempt to relieve some of the anticipation you were experiencing. Your intimate relationship with Jacaerys had always been in the sanctity of your bedchambers — achingly sweet and exploratory, but now, it had some element of thrill to it, especially if you opted to act.

Admittedly, the sight of him disheveled and dampened from the raging deluge had roused a familiar fire within your loins, producing a hint of slick between your thighs. Acting on impulse here, in the library of all places, broke all bonds of propriety — but neither of you paid it any mind.

Leaning forward within his seat, Jacaerys wordlessly beseeched you for a kiss, soft mouth inviting as ever, lips flushed and rosy. Without hesitation, you moved to meet him halfway, lost within the throes of your gentle entanglement. He was always gentle — that would never change, no matter his demeanor.

With all the tenderness of a gallant lover, Jacaerys ensured that he savored your kiss, eyelids fluttering shut as he reached to smooth his palm across your thigh. He shivered at the sensation, able to feel the outline of your pliant curves through the obscenely-thin silks.

He smelled of damp petrichor and old books, laden with dust, as if he’d spent all of his days rotting away within the depths of rain-soaked parchment. Your conjoined hands wove together, and you guided him until both of his palms planted themselves atop your thighs, sinking into their plushness.

Once the fire was stoked, it was difficult to smother it.

“Here?” Your shrewd voice interrupted his string of salacious fantasies, none of them pious enough to confess to. Jacaerys felt embarrassed for what he thought, for what he intended to do — perhaps he would seek absolution on the morrow.

“It is an ungodly hour,” Jacaerys reassured you, but in your defense, part of him feared the potentiality of being caught. “I don’t suspect anyone would come searching.” His suggestion was open-ended, but he did offer you an out, soothingly caressing along your legs. “Would you prefer if we retired to our chambers?”

Some sharp pang of exhilaration stoked the fire within your belly — coupling here filled you with the unfamiliar thrill of trying something daring. Instead of answering verbally, you resorted to action, rising from your rickety chair to toss one leg over his hips, sinking yourself down into the firmness of his lap.

Jacaerys’s expression was one of complete and utter bewilderment, but of the best sort — he was ensnared, simply put. A scarlet flush rose to his features, painting his visage with a bright-red shade. His breath audibly hitched within his throat, palms settling against the swell of your hips.

“It is the hour of the bat,” You agreed, heart hammering erratically beneath your breast, until you could bear it no longer. “Let that be our shield.” Once the words had escaped you in a breathy exhale, Jacaerys captured your mouth in an explosive kiss.

His passion would never be mistaken for roughness — your betrothed was as kindly and spirited as they came; you collapsed beneath his tender hand. Those dexterous fingers of his kneaded into your waist, traveling along your curves, longing to feel your naked flesh without obstruction.

A low groan blossomed within his chest when your digits flew to the nape of his neck, threading themselves into his soaked tresses. He was painfully handsome like this, damp from the rain, gaze full of ardor and silently pleading for your touch, hands wandering anywhere and everywhere.

Gathering your skirts as politely as he could, Jacaerys inched the fabric up along your legs, shivering in delight at the sight of your exposed skin. One would think he’d never glimpsed a woman before, the way he reacted whenever he saw you.

The soft pads of his fingertips glided along your bare thigh, allowing the silk of your shift to gather around your hips. His growing erection helplessly strained at the front of his breeches, and the desperate ache was only furthered when you ground yourself into him.

A gasp was shared between you both, skin becoming unbearably warm as you rocked your hips into him, finding your unholy friction. It only became increasingly heated, knowing that you wore nothing beneath your nightgown, and Jacaerys let out a wanton groan when you moved against him.

“Jacaerys,” Breathless and drunk upon desire, you felt his mouth seek yours again, coaxing you in for another kiss. There was desperation laced within his actions, finding his solace in the endless map of your lips, committing every detail to memory. “Touch me.”

Bringing his palm to your chest, Jacaerys needed no instruction when it came to caressing your breast, thumb rolling over your peaking nipple through thin silk. You were the first girl he’d laid with — if the Gods were kind, you would be the last.

Unexpectedly, your satiny lips found the column of his throat, pressing a string of appreciative kisses there as he kneaded your chest. A sweet, keening groan escaped him, abashed at your embrace. Between the ministrations of your fingers in his tresses and mouth on his neck, he feared oblivion.

A sharp clap of thunder shook the skies, yet it did not perturb either of you, ceaselessly carrying on in your needy coupling. One of your palms drifted to his chest, gripping at the embroidered velvet, pushing his collar aside to kiss his neck.

His digits tightened at the material bunched around your hips, eyes fluttering shut in a state of bliss, toying with your nipple as it pebbled beneath his touch. Jacaerys’s mouth watered involuntarily at the thought of tasting you, which he hoped would come soon, if you permitted him to do so.

You enjoyed his softness, his throat quivering beneath your lips, offering his subservience to you freely. A breathy grunt of your name cascaded from his mouth, prompting you to shiver within his embrace. Gods, that sound — it would be emblazoned in your mind for days to come.

With a gentle shrug of your shoulders, you let the woolen robe glide from your body, pooling on the cool stone below. Another downward brush of your hips sent the both of you reeling, clothed bulge grinding against your needy core, prompting you to shudder.

Jacaerys turned, bringing his soft lips back to yours, seizing your mouth in a blazing kiss. He continued to palm at your breast, cupping the pliant mound within his hand, evoking another whimper from you. Neediness took root, firmly planting itself within his stomach.

“Might I taste you?” He breathed against your lips, giving you pause as you regarded him with a simmering adoration. Jacaerys had done it once before, and he often thought of it in private moments, or sometimes recklessly at supper or during small council meetings.

Sheepishly, your head bobbed up and down in a lackadaisical nod, unable to mask your excitement at such a proposal. Wordlessly, he coaxed you up from his lap, nearly groaning at the loss of friction, though he suspected there would be ample opportunities for more later that night.

Using the table as a brace, you watched as your betrothed knelt before you, like a sinner coming to confess within the boughs of a sept; his confession whispered between your legs. Your woolen robe served as a suitable cushion beneath his knees, and he happened to unclasp his own cloak.

Peering at you through thick eyelashes, Jacaerys gingerly guided the silken slip up along your legs, watching with rapturous interest as you let it gather at your hips. He kissed his way up the length of your leg, letting them drape on either side of his shoulders.

Your hand came to rest against his crown of dampened curls, a shudder rolling down his spine at the sensation of your fingers gripping his tresses. Inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent, Jacaerys kissed his way to the gathering slick between your thighs, palms smoothing themselves against your legs.

A heat so feverish that it nearly destroyed you, his tongue raked hot embers over your cunt, tracing along the length of your slit before dipping between your folds. A gasp tore past your mouth; ecstasy beyond comprehension, gnawing away at your bones.

Jacaerys dutifully lapped at your core, nose brushing against your mound, tongue dancing from the pearl of your cunt to your entrance, his movements repetitive. A sigh of delight floated into the air, your pleasure made known as you lightly tugged on his tresses.

Soft, pleading moans reverberated throughout the library, and you were lost within the labyrinth of his affections. Your hips involuntarily jerked and jolted forward, rocking down into his mouth, evoking a throaty groan from your betrothed.

His name floated from your mouth like a prayer, reverent and gasping, as if it were the only word you knew. Your mind was foggy with the haze of desire, one that you found yourself caught within. A string of crass sounds emanated from below; soft, needy lips hungrily kissing along your cunt.

Steeped within your slit, the taste of you ambrosial, Jacaerys continued his ministrations, tongue flicking along your core, making a sluggish ascent toward your clit. Soft palms caressed your thighs, thumbs drawing patterns into your satiny flesh.

Even the finest of stouts could not contest your sweetness, arousal thick upon his tongue, like the nectar of an unfurling flower. Jacaerys’s mouth lapped along your cunt, until he found the clutch of nerves at the hood of your slit.

His eagerness was palpable through each flick of his tongue, lost within the oasis between your legs. A myriad of soft whimpers and whines escaped you, hand gingerly tugging on Jace’s hair as he showered your cunt in an alternation of steady licks to lingering ones.

Deliberately, he stoked the fire churning within your belly, teasing your pearl with feather-light kisses and circles of his tongue. A strained moan escaped you, prompting you to fist at his tresses, burying your digits within rain-slicked curls, involuntarily bringing him closer into the warm apex of your thighs.

Bathed in the sienna embers that crackled from the hearth, Jace appeared more handsome than ever, completely and utterly captivating. If it were up to him, he would’ve been content to stay here forever, pleasure you over and over again until you collapsed.

The short, dizzying gasp that tore past your mouth spurred him on, as he pressed another string of kisses against your slit. The continued sensation of your digits carding through his curls made him sigh with elation.

Again, he traveled to your pearl again, gently suckling upon the bundle of fiery nerves. Your poor thighs rattled on either side of his head, twitching with throes of ecstasy as he toyed with your clit.

“Jace,” Seven Hells, you sounded so divine. Through parted lips and wanton moans, you sighed his name, wanting him to continue exactly as he was. He could feel the pleading resonance within your sweet tone, bringing him to heel. “Gods, don’t stop!”

Jacaerys felt another groan stir within his chest, one that seemed caught within the bottom of his throat. He allowed himself a brief respite to catch his breath, peering at you from between your legs. “There?” He’d asked, watching your head ecstatically bob up and down.

A short, sporadic huff left you, followed by a string of incoherent pleas. “Y—Yes!” Your whine was somewhat shy, the vibrato of it quieting down, as if you suddenly feared becoming caught in the act. “Jacaerys, please!” You begged, and who was he to deny you?

Pursing his lips around your pearl, he gingerly suckled on the sensitive bud, drawing forth an unholy myriad of moans and whines from your mouth. Such sounds left their brand upon him, a shiver cascading down his spine as he pleasured you.

The incessant throbbing of his cock within his breeches made his yearning grow tenfold, feeling it strain against the woolen cloth. He continued to suck at your clit with a palpable gentleness, noticing the way in which your body quivered and writhed from pleasure.

Jacaerys alternated between the greedy suckling of your pearl and broad laps of his tongue, lulled into submission by the crescendo of your moans. You brazenly tugged at his damp curls, other hand snug against the wet fabric of his doublet.

Bliss and pleasure wracked themselves across your body, bringing with it a fire so great that it demanded to be extinguished. Jacaerys’s mouth was wonderful in every way imaginable, his pouty lips dancing wherever they pleased across your aching cunt.

Your hand skirted backwards, accidentally knocking over a stack of books, rolls of parchment fluttering to the stone floor below. With a needy desire to chase after your release, you rocked your hips forward, evoking a strangled groan from your betrothed.

He could feel the arousal mounting within his own body, and the constant quivering of your legs as he brought you closer to your release. Jacaerys continued to caress along your legs, from thigh to calf, mouth happily buried within the warm apex between your legs.

That sensation of your digits brushing across his scalp made him shiver, tongue delicately flicking from your entrance to swollen pearl before he began to suck on it again. Such noises would make a septa flush from their crassness, causing his belly to swirl with fire.

“Jace — Oh! Jace, Jace!” Abandoning the use of his true name, you sang his moniker to the high Heavens, feeling your release come swiftly, an incendiary wave of heat that threatened to consume you completely. You moaned, hips stuttering as you let bliss take over you.

Jacaerys caught the onslaught of your nectar, consuming every drop that you gave him with a neediness, cock twitching within his trousers. He cleaned you up with soft, short laps of his tongue, feeling you everywhere — burned into his mind, permeating his lips.

With a shaky exhale, you felt his head leave your legs, and your grip fell away, watching as he stood to find his place against you. “Such sweet torment,” Jacaerys murmured, nudging his forehead against yours. “You bring me to ruin.” He sighed, feeling your fingers move to the front of his doublet.

“I should be the one saying that,” Your laughter was brief and fleeting, a smitten smile tugging at either corner of your mouth. “Gods, you are so wonderful — so handsome, so perfect.” The sound of your resplendent praise made Jacaerys flush, wide-eyed and wanton.

His newfound closeness, standing in between your legs, allowed for your palms to cup his face, thumbs stroking along his cheekbones. “I need you,” Jacaerys confessed, his timbre husky, throaty with desire as he nearly pleaded with you. “If you’ll let me — please.”

Wordlessly, your hands flew to the front of his breeches, brushing against his clothed erection. Jacaerys groaned, countenance one of desperation as you untied the laces, freeing his cock from its confines.

You stroked along his length, causing him to shiver, cock warm and aching within your delicate grasp. Jace buried his face near your shoulder, brows furrowing together as you treated him to the soft embrace of your hand.

Dragging your palm along his cock, his hips involuntarily rocked forward, galloping after the friction. You felt his mouth plant strings of hasty kisses all along your shoulder, toward the dip of your neck, and then against your throat.

Gently guiding yourself backwards, various objects clattered against the stone table, a book being pushed off of the edge as Jacaerys moved forward. The tip of his flushed cock glided through your slick folds, prompting the both of you to sigh together.

“May I?” Jacaerys huffed, wide-eyed and completely and utterly flustered, so trapped within his own desire that it nearly rendered him speechless. With a quick bob of your head, he rocked forward, groaning in delight as your tight cunt throbbed around his aching member.

Using one palm to brace yourself against the table, your other arm flew to drape around his neck, mouths breathlessly clamoring together, seeking one another. You kissed him, doing little to mask your rapturous hunger as he sank forward, cock nearly kissing your womb.

A tempestuous clap of thunder made you jump, goosebumps cascading down your spine as an onslaught of rain ripped against the stone surrounding the library. The sight of his disheveled tresses and unbuttoned tunic made you unbearably hot, lips torn apart as soft, pleading whines escaped you.

One arm caged itself around you, his palm stroking at the curve near your ribcage, the other lifting your leg to hitch it around his hips. Jacaerys had not an ounce of desire to become rough with you — invigorated, perhaps, but he fully intended on savoring you.

His initial thrusts were somewhat sporadic and awkward, the follies of inexperienced youth, but he soon found his pace, cock gently gliding in and out of your cunt. Wanton sighs escaped his plump lips, brows creased in concentration as his head neared yours.

A soft groan resonated beside your ear as Jace adopted a sluggish rhythm, not wanting to intensify things too quickly. Your eyes fluttered shut, body content to bend to his thrusts, grow accustomed to his pace. He reciprocated your kiss, black curls falling in front of his temples.

There was something endearing about his slight clumsiness, the way in which his hand occasionally fumbled around your body. With time, he suspected that he would know you quite well — physique included. His digits kneaded into your leg, tracing from knee to haunch, holding you close.

The intermingled sounds of your desperate lovemaking soon floated into the air, a myriad of moans and sharp exhales; sighs of a deeply devoted passion. Your fingers raked across the nape of his neck, finding their purchase within his tousled curls.

He groaned your name, the sound only a lover could make, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. Gods, he wouldn’t last long like this. Jacaerys felt your knee squeeze his waist, your other leg draped off of the table, legs spread apart for him.

The silk of your nightgown pushed toward your stomach, loins exposed to the brush of cooler air. “Jace,” You moaned, pressing a string of quick, rushed kisses all along his jaw, evoking another groan from between his lips. Your cunt clenched around his cock, drowning in the pleasure. “Jace!”

His pace was leisurely, yet twinged with desperation, as if he were burning with a longing to be close to you. His cock pulsed inside of you, throat blossoming with another throaty groan. Before you could whimper, he involuntarily smothered it with a kiss.

Each rock of his hips was intended to be disarmingly gentle, ensuring that every inch of his length bottomed out inside of you. Your stomach swirled with molten heat, coagulating as slick arousal as you felt it collect between your legs.

Every worry that had permeated his careworn mind was pushed to the recesses, something to be abandoned in the wake of your presence. His need for you, his love — it outweighed everything else. Whenever you kissed him, he could feel your ardor seep into his bones, consuming him to his very core.

Jacaerys’s breath became labored, another groan threatening to burst from his chest as his cock throbbed with an incessant pleasure. His muscles tightened, feeling your other leg move up to wrap around his hips altogether, drawing him into the warmth of your embrace.

Your arm lowered, and your back finally flattered entirely against the stone table, amidst parchment and tomes, dust-laden volumes that framed your head. The lick of firelight bathed you in an ethereal glow, stealing away Jace’s resolve.

He rocked into you, thrusts becoming a touch quicker in-spite of his encroaching release. Jacaerys covered you with his body, dark curls framing his countenance; a curtain of concentration. He moved to grab your hands, fingers twining together as he kissed you.

Gods, you were perfect — it was all he could think about, your grace and poise, your captivating beauty as he thrust his cock in and out of you, visage rosy and flushed. With another rock of his hips, length buried deep within you like a sword within a sheath, he shuddered.

His release felt overwhelming, a hot tidal wave that caused the tension in his stomach to unfurl completely. Hot ropes of his spend found its place within your womb, causing you to groan. Jacaerys rocked forward, gentle as could be, filling you with his seed.

With his composure in dire need of repair, he took a moment to catch his breath, lips curling into a smile. He could not mask his happiness in the wake of your tryst, moving off of you with a brief exhale.

“Are you alright?” Jacaerys’s warm timbre blanketed you immediately, and he went about correcting his trousers before attending to you. He adjusted your slip, assisting you in tugging it back into place until you seemed somewhat less disheveled.

“Of course,” Your own smile was demure, sheepish as you smoothed your palms across your silken sleeves. “And you?” With a gentle hum, you stepped forward to fasten the many silvery clasps of his doublet, noticing the flush of scarlet that had settled into his cheeks.

“Perfect,” Through thick eyelashes, Jacaerys gazed down at you with such adoration that you could drown in it. He held your waist, thumb drawing circles into your ribcage. “I wanted to thank you for ensuring my wellbeing. It is I that should be attending to you.”

With a brief shake of your head, you brought your palms to his chest, brows knitting together. “We are betrothed, Jacaerys. We can attend to one another,” You insisted, leaning up upon your toes to plant a kiss against his jaw. “We will do plenty of that once we are wed.”

Jacaerys’s countenance softened, and his muscles still burned from the exhilaration of your coupling. He looked toward the state of the table — parchment on the floor, scrolls scattered everywhere. “I love you.” He said through a thin smile, gracing the crown of your head with a kiss.

“I love you,” You assured, following the line of his gaze towards the disarrayed table. “Though, we should clean all of this up. What will Maester Gerardys say if he finds the library in this state?” You mused, a twinkling of mirth settling within your gaze.

“We could say that we were hard at work,” Jacaerys crooned, playful as could be as he retrieved your robe, bringing it over your shoulders before he scooped you up within his arms. “Studying.”

“Oh,” A gasp of surprise left you, but joy and happiness were soon to follow as he held you, forehead pressing against yours. “Are you saying that we should study more often?” You mumbled, and that caused Jacaerys to blush again, features unbelievably heated.

“At your earliest convenience.”

[alrightyxaphroditee]

lmfao 😭😭 yall got him so bad

Harry Collett attempting to read any book that isn’t the Hunger Games, apparently

[alrightyxaphroditee]

nsfw alphabet for jacaerys velaryon

word count: 2.02k words pairing: jacaerys velaryon x wife!reader warning(s): explicit sexual content, minors dni author's note: just a quick self-indulgent set of headcanons to warm up my writing muscles! I haven't written in 3 years so I figured this was the perfect way to get back into it. hope you all enjoy ₊˚⊹♡

nsfw content beneath the cut!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Jace is not one to shy away from aftercare. He loves the feeling of vulnerability as he lays with you in the afterglow, his arms encircled around your body tightly, his face buried in the crook of your neck. Sometimes he’s very chatty, other times he allows his actions to do the speaking for him. Gentle caresses of your skin, chaste kisses pressed to your cheeks and forehead, soft squeezes of the supple flesh of your thighs - his worship of your body extends beyond the act of sex. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His hair is both his favorite and least favorite part of him. On the one hand, it’s a stark reminder of the reality of his parentage, something that haunts him day in and day out. And yet the feeling of you tugging on his hair as he slowly slides in and out of you nearly sends him to heaven prematurely. He takes pride in the way that he looks, and always makes sure that his hair looks perfect.

His favorite part of you is your lips. He adores the way that you bite your lip when you’re deep in thought, often imagining that it was him biting it instead. He loves to run his thumb along your bottom lip as you’re on your knees preparing to take him into your mouth. He shivers at the feeling of your lips trailing down his neck as you ride him, the action magnifying all pleasurable sensations by tenfold.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Jace will always take the opportunity to finish inside of you. Even if you are not actively trying for a pregnancy, he sometimes cannot bring himself to pull out first. If you specifically tell him not to come inside of you, he’ll likely spill on your belly or your thighs. He would never do anything that you were uncomfortable with.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Bonus points if you have silver hair and/or are a Targaryen Hahaha what (credits to my bestie bc I actually couldn’t come up with this on my own, thanks @tasha-writes)

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Jace is a virgin the first time you lay together, but that does not mean he has no tricks up his sleeves. He is familiar with female anatomy to an extent, and knows the basics of how to please you. Although clumsy at first, he is an attentive lover, and quickly picks up on what makes you shiver, what makes you clench your thighs, and what makes you gasp in pleasure. He prefers to focus on giving you your pleasure, and takes pride in bringing you to your peak over and over again - that blissed out look on your face brings him to his knees every time.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Jace favors any position that allows him to kiss you with no problem and that gives him an unobscured view of your face. A few favorites are the mating press, lotus, cowgirl, and missionary.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

To him, sex is an act of love, so he does not mind laughing during the act. After all, what is the point if you cannot have fun with it?

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Jace has exceptional hygiene, although he doesn’t put a lot of thought into grooming down there. Occasionally he will do a quick trim, but otherwise he leaves it all natural. His hair is dark and curly, just like the hair on his head.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

This man is incredibly romantic, every time you have sex it’s a tender and intense experience. He is huge on making eye contact with you, savoring the expressions you make as he drives in and out of you, reaching the deepest parts of your body. When he’s close, he almost always presses his forehead pressed against yours, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. When he comes, he presses his face into your neck, compliments and declarations of love rolling off his tongue over and over again.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Only once before he married you, and he felt immensely guilty afterwards, as though he had dishonored you. Only when you are unavailable to him after marriage. When he leaves you behind for a political meeting, or when you are away visiting family without him, he will indulge himself. It is never satisfactory, as he has grown accustomed to the warmth of your body, leaving him to miss you even more.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Jace is pretty vanilla as a whole, however, he does have a few mild kinks that he enjoys exploring with you. He has a pretty strong praise kink - if you compliment him during sex (or at all really), an involuntary whimper will likely fall from his lips and his hips will stutter. He’ll have to fight the urge not to finish right then.

His praise kink goes both ways, though. He’s very chatty during sex and 99.9% of the words coming out of his mouth are compliments directed towards you.

Additionally, he enjoys being edged on occasion, especially if you’re on top of him taking your own pleasure. 

The idea of you carrying his heir fills him with pride, and a fiery heat unlike anything he has ever felt before. There is a reason he loves to spill himself inside of you, beyond simple pleasure. Jace is a family man through and through, so the idea of making you round with his child definitely spurs him on.

Also, hair pulling. This one is pretty self explanatory. Have you seen this man’s hair?

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Preferably in private, he’s not shy about the way that he feels about you, and sometimes the thought of someone overhearing gives him a spike of adrenaline, but overall Jace is opposed to anyone potentially being able to walk in on you. Because of that, he sticks to pretty mundane locations - your bedchambers, his bedchambers, the bathing chambers, and when he’s feeling particularly adventurous (typically after a couple goblets of wine) once or twice in the dragonpit.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It really does not take much to get Jace going - a caress of his cheek, you playing with his hair, a soft smile at him from across the room…any attention that he gets from you has the potential to rile him up.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Jace would not be willing to share, and would probably feel a bit hurt if you were to ask for a threeesome. He already feels as though he is not good enough (for you, for his mother, for the realm, the list goes on…), so this would be an especially cruel stab through the heart. 

Jace likes for sex to be a way for him to worship you, so anything that could potentially harm you is completely out of the question. This includes choking, slapping, biting, and anything else that could be considered rough. In the same vein, he would be entirely unwilling to participate in degradation towards you of any kind. After all of the whispers that he has endured throughout his life, he would hardly want to bestow the same upon you, regardless of the intentions behind the jabs. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Jace definitely prefers giving, enjoys receiving sometimes but prefers not to finish that way. He’s awkward and clumsy at first, but as I mentioned above, he’s very quick to learn what you like. He particularly enjoys pressing his tongue all the way inside of you and using his thumb to rub gentle circles on your clit, reveling in the reactions he pulls from you. 

He loves the feeling of your juices all over his lips and chin, but loves the taste of you even more. Jace is prone to making lewd comments about your taste, completely shameless and drunk on the high of giving you pleasure. 

He would be content with you being his last meal.

He enjoys receiving as well, but never asks for it outright. He prefers getting his pleasure from other acts, so he would honestly be content without it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Jace tends to be more slow and sensual - he loves to take his time with you. He’s very romantic, and knows how to hit each and every angle that has you squirming and sighing in pleasure. If he’s feeling particularly in the mood, he’ll sometimes fuck you with slow, hard strokes, or fast, shallow strokes. He refuses to be rough with you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If the two of you have a quickie, there's never any penetration involved. He’ll push you against the wall of your chambers before a council meeting and lap at your core until you’re begging him to stop, but that’s as far as he’s willing to go when it comes to quickies.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Jace isn’t much of a risk taker when it comes to sex. He’s willing to experiment from time to time if you suggest it, but he is very, very rarely the one to suggest it.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can last a good bit. On average he’ll push for two rounds - one round where he spends the majority pleasuring you in a way that does not include penetration (aka eating you out), then fucks you and finds his release a bit…too early. The second time he fucks you for a good while and pulls another orgasm from you both. Unless one of you is too tired to follow through, this is typically the route he will take.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

If it was up to Jace, there wouldn’t be the use of any toys. If he did use them, it would not be his idea, but he would use it for you. He wouldn’t be comfortable with the use of toys on himself, though, so the only toys you two would ever use would be for you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Jace is definitely not one to tease by nature. He loves to bring you to your release, and wastes no time in doing so. But, if you’re into teasing, he’ll try it out (and might even like it) for you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Definitely vocal. Lots of soft groans, definitely moans if/when you give him head, whimpers if you run your tongue up the side of his neck. Overall, he’s very reactive to your touch both physically and audibly.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He bites his lip and screws his eyes shut when he’s concentrating really hard on not finishing too early.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

7in/17.78cm , curved upward, thick. I don’t know, I feel like it’s pretty and he knows it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Jace has a very healthy sex drive for someone his age. He isn’t insufferable about it, though.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He tends to fall asleep thirty minutes to an hour afterwards. He will not sleep until he feels that he has shown you the proper amount of attention and affection. Sometimes he’ll suggest taking a bath together before heading off to bed. He’ll take any excuse to take care of you ◡̈

author's note: thank u for reading! I hope I did him justice, this is my first time writing for him :,)

my requests are OPEN! ◡̈ dividers by cafekitsune

[alrightyxaphroditee]

[alrightyxaphroditee]

[alrightyxaphroditee]

my bestie is so talented everyone go read this

A stitch in time

Just a little brain worm about Alicent slipping back in time instead of, well, dying. let me know if I should keep this going.

Word count: 2400

The last thing Alicent remembered was feeling absolutely frigid. Despite what the Maesters said about a raging fever, her teeth chattered, and her body was wrecked with violent shivers under 4 layers of blankets. It had been 3 days of this madness, the sickness had set in quickly, as Winter Fever tended to do. As the sun faded behind the walls of Kings Landing, Alicent gave into the exhaustion plaguing her mind and body, hoping the blackness brought with it the embrace of the Stranger. 

Of course, she could not be so lucky, the Gods, it seemed, would have her suffer as long as possible for her past misdeeds. She awoke feeling more physically refreshed than she had felt in ages, bar the bone deep exhaustion that had settled into her after the war. The Dance of Dragon the smallfolk had taken to calling it. Such a graceful name for such a violent thing. 

Knowing no more sleep would come to her, although judging by the darkness it must be the early hours of morning, Alicent slowly peeled herself from her bed. Gently she picked the brush up from her vanity and lowered herself into the seat and began the lengthy process of brushing out her hair. Alicent spent the better part of an hour and a half in front of the mirror, brushing, twisting, braiding, reflecting, never once looking into the reflective surface. 

Long ago this ritual of reflecting on her mistakes had replaced her morning prayer. Her faith withering away with her sanity and beauty. Alicent gripped the handle of the brush harder and resisted the urge to throw it, to break, and rage, and bring guards running to her chambers who's only job was to keep her alive and suffering. Even winter fever could not take her, she was cursed to a long life that had been stolen from her children. 

A sharp knock startled Alicent enough that she dropped the brush in her hand. She shouldn't have been, most days she was left to her isolation, but the last couple days had seen Maesters in and out of her rooms. When no one entered Alicent trudged over to heavy doors and cracked them open. Outside stood a grouchy looking white cloak, and a rather harried looking wetnurse with a crying white haired baby. The former queen felt the phantom sensation of milk swelling in her breasts. 

"Apologies my queen, but the prince is refusing to latch, and it is bothering the princess so. I thought you might have better luck with him. I must hurry back to the nursery and see to the girl," the wetnurse shoved the crying babe into Alicents arms and scurried away. 

The guard made no move to take the young prince from Alicent, so unsure what else to do she retreated into her room to sit at the foot of her bed. It had been a long time since she had held a babe, perhaps not since she had ordered a newly born Joffrey to be brought to her chambers. When Helaena's children had been born Alicent had been more concerned with politicking than her grandchildren. 

Alicent scowled as the child in her arms made grabby hands at her chest and held it a bit farther away. This must be the offspring of Aegon and Daenaera. A child of zero relation to her thrust into her care for whatever reason. The child returned to cacophonous cried and the former queen wondered at the physical similarities to her own Aegon at this age. Targaryen genes were strong she supposed, such a shame it hadn't worked in Rhaenyra’s favor. 

Finally the babe exhausted himself and quieted down, falling asleep in her arms. Alicent still wasn't sure what to do with him. She wasn't permitted to leave her rooms, but she doubted she was supposed to have one of the heirs to the iron throne in here with her either. It was then Alicent finally looked up and made eye contact with herself in the mirror - and nearly dropped the babe on the floor.

It was like looking at her royal portrait, herself, but not. Impossibly young, haunted with responsibilities and experiences she shouldn't have had to endure. She had officially lost it, there was no possible way she had shed decades. There was no way the wet nurse had addressed her as queen in any other way than a slip of the tongue. There was no possibility that the babe in her arms did not belong to Aegon III but in fact was her own eldest child. 

Alicent screamed.  

Alicent wasn't entirely sure of she blacked out or went into shock, but but but the time her brain was properly processing information again she was sat at a large dinner table a very alive, if sick, Viserys to her left at the head. Across from her sat Rhaenyra, diligently avoiding looked at her. Laenor was sat next to Rhaenyra. On Alicents other side was two-year old Aegon, and on her lap a very tiny Helaena. Perhaps not even six-months old. Viserys was taking to Rhaenyra, something about Daemon, and Alicent squeezed her little girl tighter to her, the horror of seeing her body impaled on the spikes still a fresh wound after all these years. 

Unless… unless it had all been a dream? Or was this the dream? Had the gods blessed her with foresight, or was this her life flashing before her eyes before death finally claimed her? Alicent lifted her glass of wine with a shaking hand and didn't remove the glass from her lips until it was empty. She caught a strange look from Set Strong, hovering behind Rhaenyra, but otherwise was ignored.  

“What is your opinion on the matter, my dear?” Alicents hand halted half way towards waving the cupbearer over. 

“Sorry, opinion about what?”

“Daemon and his engagement to the Velaryon girl, we received news of the upcoming nuptials this afternoon if you recall,” Viserys reminded her. Did they? Alicent couldn't remember. She did recall Laena eventually died in labor with their third child. Died in Vaghar’s fire by the lady’s own command. 

Alicent spoke without thinking, “I suppose I feel for the poor girl. I wouldn't want to be married to the brute.” Across the table Laenor began hacking, spitting out the wine that he had been sipping on. Rhaenyra immediately began rubbing his back, a look of genuine concern passing over her face. Perfect at the role of diligent wife. 

A frowned marred Visery’s face, “That is my brother you speak of.” 

Alicent started mashing a small potato off her plate, “And so dear husband, you must know his temperament as well as I do, better even. Of the two, you have received all gentleness.” having said her piece Alicent began cooing at the baby in her lap 

“You are in rare form tonight, My Queen,” Laenor complemented, voice strained from choking on the wine. Out of the corner of her eye, Alicent saw Rhaenyra purse her lips, eyes darting between her husband, step-mother, and father, attempting to get a read on the situation. Silence filled between them, broken only by Helaena’s babbling. 

“I fear my humors are disturbed by the strangest of dreams I had last night,” Alicent allowed. She fidgeted with her fingers, staring down at her daughter’s head. The men moved on rather quickly after that, discussing matters of hunting and state, but Alicent could feel Rhaenyra’s eyes remained on her. The princess and queen remained silent for the rest of the meal, the princess studying the queen, and the queen picking at her finger nails and debating which life was reality and which was dream. And if this life was reality then what was she going to do about saving her children? Would repairing her relationship with her step-daughter be the answer? Or would truly exiling her father beyond the domain of the Iron throne be the answer? Would anything she could think to do make any difference if the Gods were determined for the dance to occur? But why would the God’s wish destruction on house Targeryean? Was she to be forced once again to lie with, to care for Viserys? Would she again be forced to reckon with her father’s scheming? Was this again? Was this for the first time or the second? Was this the only time? Had she ever truly lived past this evening as she was in it now? Had the God’s shown her the future or had her own brain manifested the worst conclusion in response to her father’s warnings? Or was she delirious and dying of white fever in that moment? 

“Alicent,” Rhaenyra’s quiet voice cut like a knife through the deafening noise in Alicent’s head. “Breathe, Alicent.” Alicent’s gaze shot up, wild with fear to meet the princess’s discerning gaze. “Are you alright?” Was she alright? No, absolutely no. She had lived a whole and terrible life and didn’t know if it was real or not. But either way, it haunted her. And she simply could not stomach sitting at a table of ghosts one moment longer. 

“Alas,” Alicent choked out, “I am not feeling my best. Quite queasy, in fact. I must excuse myself. Aegon, come” Alicent stood sharply and stalked out of the hall. Between the sharp steps of her heels, she could hear the uneasy footsteps of a toddler and the more sure ones of his maid behind her. As well as a third pair of gliding steps. Rhaenyra, no doubt, had excused herself front dinner as well and made to follow her. Alicent refused to look back or acknowledge that she was there. 

Alicent waved the wetnurse away as she came to claim Helaena from the queen’s arms, opting to tuck the babe into the cradle herself. It was strange, Alicent couldn’t remember ever doing this before with any of her children. She had lacked general attachment to her children until they were old enough to have personalities. Perhaps that was part of what led her boys to be so … unhinged. If, of course, her dream was another reality, or a future. Once Aegon was tucked in and mumbling nonsense in his sleep and Alicent had somewhat pulled together the pieces of her mental break, she deemed it safe to address Rhaenyra. 

“Are you just going to hover there, or is there something that I can do for you?” Alicent asked, voice coming out cold in her attempt to keep it even. “I can’t imagine this is you finally showing some interest in your siblings.” Rhaenyra sat on the chair next to Aegon’s bed and Alicent had to fight the terror slowly rising at the proximity of the half-siblings. 

“You seemed disturbed at dinner, and,” Rhaenyra took a breath and combed her hand through Aegon's silky baby hair, “despite everything, I still hold some affection for you.” Rhaenyra stood, “It is you who ultimately cut of our friendship, Alicent. Were you to accept peace I would gladly have it.” 

Alicent considered for a moment, but images of a burnt Aegon, a one-eyed Aemond, and a dead Helaena held her back from fully embracing the idea of peace between her and Rhaenyra. No matter what, no matter if she and her children bent the knee to Rhaenyra, there would always be lords of the realm that called for the first born son to sit the Iron Throne after Viserys. Rhaenyra would have no choice but to kill or exile Alicent’s children. She would either have to fully convince Visery’s to name Aegon his heir, or war it seemed, would be inevitable. How awful. 

“Rhaenyra, you should leave.” Alicent could almost hear the small hope Rhaenyra fostered within her heart cracking like glass. In truth she missed her friend, but she feared the arbitrator of her family’s deaths more. As Rhaenyra stood to leave, a strong wave of anxiety flooded Alicent, overcoming any of her good sense. “What will you do to my children, Rhaenyra,” Alicent wished she had drank more wine at dinner, “when your father can no longer back your claim, and the lords call for a king rather than a queen?” 

The silence that followed Alicent’s question was nerve wracking, and she wished nothing more than to bit at her nailbeds until they bled, but a show of weakness in this moment was unthinkable. “Where does this question come from, Alicent?” 

The queen resisted the urge to grate her teeth, a nonanswer at best. “My father, he has warned me that once you become queen my children’s lives might be forfeit to ensure your claim. I simply want to know what your intentions are.” Alicent’s eyes burned. Too many times she had come to Rhaenyra, for peace, friendship, and had been turned away. 

The princess sat back down and placed her hand on the queens knee. Alicent resisted the urge to jerk away, it felt like any sudden movements would destroy the fragile atmosphere of understanding. “I do not wish to hurt my brother and sister, and what other siblings may come. Given that my siblings bend the knee, you have my word their safety is guaranteed.” Rhaenyra cleared her throat and continued, “I would have them as part of my court in some capacity. One of my siblings might be hand one day, or commander of the Kings Guard. It depends what they wish for themselves, what they show capacity for.” 

The two girls sat in silence. Alicent wasn’t exactly sure how to respond, processing what the princess had told her, putting it up against her father’s paranoid warnings. Warnings she had originally dismissed, believing herself to know Rhaenyra’s character better. Warnings she had let poison her own feelings towards her former friend. That had poisoned her children towards their sister and nephews. That had planted the seeds of the war. Perhaps, perhaps it was not unavoidable after all. Perhaps, her mission to protect her children was one and the same repairing a relationship with Rhaenyra. Her father was wrong. She had known that once and lost her way. 

“You are so close with Syrax,” Alicent began, “Aegon could use such guidance with Sunfyre, I am sure. Your father is far to busy to teach him the ways of a dragon rider, and I am no expert myself. An older sister is the perfect guide.” 

Rhaenyra gifted Alicent’s outreach with a genuine smile, “I would be honored.” Perhaps, the friendship was not so unsalvageable after all.

[alrightyxaphroditee]

the symbolism. the soulmatism. the parallels.

[alrightyxaphroditee]

bye i'm supposed to be driving to my bf's house rn but let me read this rq

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ cregan stark x fem!targtower!reader.

SYNOPSIS: a blissful marriage to an honorable man — it is more than you could’ve asked for. with the heir on the way, you make a request of your husband.

anonymous request. unofficial sequel to wolfsblood, dragonsblood.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anonymous.

{ WORD COUNT: 6.1K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), overprotective cregan, reader is pretty horny for cregan (valid), pregnancy, reader is pregnant, sexual activities while pregnant, cregan is a father in his mind, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, cregan loves munching, vaginal fingering, teasing, biting, hair-pulling kink, obvious size difference + size kink, slight face-riding, lots of cregan admiring in this one-shot, very soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I love writing for Cregan so much, y’all don’t understand the depths of my adoration for him. I churned this out pretty quickly, but I loved writing it, Father Cregan is the best! I hope that you all enjoy, & thank you for your support! ❤️

𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐩, 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬.

It was easier to breathe, you’d realized — King’s Landing had always been so stifling and pungent, the population too thick, the air acrid. Here, in the North, it was sprawling with open spaces, regions of untouched forest and unsettled countryside.

The bite of the harsh, Northern chill was not an easy adjustment to make after a lengthy life spent in Southern regions — the gnawing wind often seared your extremities, and it was not any easier on Silverwing. Fire ran through your veins, tempered by your tender heart and kindly disposition.

Your beloved husband would not have it any other way.

What had started as an unsteady, tumultuous betrothal marked by obvious bitterness from your family and wariness from his own House, had blossomed into a fruitful union. You couldn’t have asked for a better partner, and it made you realize how fortunate you were.

Snow was uncommon in most of the South, yet it remained constant in the North, mountains blanketed in endless horizons of white. It was a particularly icy day, winter winds stinging your cheeks, prickling your flesh with its pinpricks.

Mounds of pale, grayish fur swaddled your form, lined in the finest fleece, downy and plush against your skin. The trodden path to the Godswood was marked by frozen dirt, dusted over with a fresh layer of snowfall. Sprinkles of crystalline drops fell from the cloudy skies, and your breath emerged in hot wisps of air.

Lilac hues drifted toward the mountainous form of your husband, whose back was turned to you, swathed in the dappled pelt of a direwolf. Ice hung from his shoulder, a massive longsword of Valyrian Steel, an heirloom passed down through generations of House Stark.

Someday soon, it will pass to your firstborn son.

You recalled the night that you were wed, beneath the crimson leaves of the Weirwood Tree. It was serene, a moonlit dusk that struck the snow with an ethereal glow, your hands bound as you recanted your vows. It had been some moons now since that day, and you had only felt joy since then.

Cregan listened to the light crunch of snow beneath your footfalls as they reverberated throughout the Godswood, the pond frozen-over with a layer of ice. Pale bark marked with a foreign face peered back at him — this was a place that he and Rickon visited many times.

Before his little brother had passed, they pretended to fight wars here, forge their weapons, sticks found from the forest floor, and envision themselves as Knights. He could still feel his brother sometimes, his presence a whisper in the blood-red leaves, somewhere within the forest’s song.

Religion was a complicated thing for you. Your mother wielded the Faith of the Seven like a crudely-worn shortsword, letting it strike to her advantage even when it was rusty, at best. You had little interest in it, and Cregan seemed to respect your growing distance from your old roots. The Old Gods were his — you had nothing.

Inklings of snow drifted from the pale skies, growing darker as evening approached. The North became unyieldingly harsh after the sun began to wane, the sting of biting wind swirling around you, seeping into your bones. You were rather cold, but persisted for Cregan.

“Ser Rodrick said that I might find you here,” Silence dissipated, filled with the sound of your voice, as soft as feathers, a soothing balm. You stepped closer, beneath the boughs of the great tree, the canopy thick with vermillion leaves. “How are you faring?”

With Winter approaching, spreading its cold, brittle tendrils across the North, Cregan’s duties had increased tenfold. Preparing his people for winter, ensuring that food was plentiful, that they were safe — it was the burden of leadership, but there was no one better suited for it in your eyes.

“Well enough,” Cregan murmured, storm-colored hues drifting over the Weirwood tree before they turned to you, completely and utterly transfixed. You stole every wisp of air from his lungs with your beauty, clad in the trappings of his people. “I apologize for running off.”

An amiable smile crossed your features as you reached for your husband, slipping a gloved palm against the crook of his arm. “You needn’t apologize, husband. You are owed your solitude, and I wouldn’t dare tell you otherwise.” You have his bicep a gentle squeeze.

Cregan’s gaze softened, sparkling with a warmth reserved only for you, his beloved. Your presence always seemed to melt away his hardened exterior, but he much preferred it that way. He stepped closer, towering above you in all of his indomitable glory, craning down to press a kiss against your brow.

The gloved leather of his hand moved to cup your abdomen, and the growing life within. The joyous news of your pregnancy had been the talk of the North, the new Lady Stark, preparing to birth an heir of Winterfell. Those thick furs you wore obscured your belly quite well.

“I should be asking you how you fare, carrying our child,” Cregan insisted, gingerly caressing around your stomach with the pride of a doting husband. “Here you are, walking all this way to the Godswood, when it is I who should be by your side.” If there was one word to describe Cregan, it was overprotective.

Gods, he was attentive — if he did leave your side, he ensured that you were well looked-after, under the watchful protection of his guardsmen. You couldn’t fault your husband for his safeguarding nature, given that it was to be your firstborn.

Sometimes he forgot that you were a dragon-rider.

“Being beneath the open sky has done me a world of good, husband,” You mused, canting your head to one side. You were not completely round and waddling just yet — halfway through, as the Maester stated. “I cannot stand to look at that dreadful cobblestone for days on-end.”

Cregan did not protest, nor invalidate your claims. He was not the one carrying a child — he did not have a right to speak on behalf of you. A shiver rolled down your spine, due to the bitter chill of the wind, coupled with the encroaching snowfall.

Instead, he reached for your jaw, cupping your face within the roughened texture of his leather-clad palm, presenting you with a kiss. It was kept brief, yet the ardor lingered, as strong as a burning flame. “You are shivering, beloved. Let us return to the Keep.” He rumbled, shielding you beneath his cloak.

A respite from the cold would be welcome. Even if you possessed the blood of the Dragon, you did not fare well in such blisteringly glacial conditions. The thick cover of your husband’s cloak brought a sense of comfort, coupled with the natural heat that radiated from him.

Snow crunched beneath his heavy footfalls, your own masked by his boots. Cregan made sure to guide you every step of the way, hovering with his impressive shadow. “I have been contemplating a name for our child.” You spoke softly, a smile toying upon your lips.

“Have you?” Cregan appeared appeased, a stoic smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t know if we are to have a son or a daughter.” He remarked, letting your hand wrap around the bulk of his forearm, guiding you through the Godswood.

“Perhaps not, but I wanted you to hear,” Such ideas had been stirring around within your mind for weeks, and with Cregan so preoccupied, you hadn’t broached the topic of conversation. “Gilliane, after your mother, should we have a daughter, and … Rickon.” You hesitated. “Should we have a son.”

Cregan’s steps began to slow, and he looked upon you with such love and devotion that it was nearly overwhelming. He couldn’t have loved you anymore if he tried — and he had tried. Towering over you, he pressed a kiss against the top of your head, one that blossomed with fondness.

You gave him the greatest honor of all — that of fatherhood, and now, you had bestowed upon him sentimental names, those of his family. Love flourished within his storm-colored hues, and he seemed to soften at your words. “You would honor me beyond words, wife. Do you not wish to pay tribute to your own family?”

Placing a hand over the growing swell of your stomach, you seemed somewhat indifferent to talk of your family. Helaena and Daeron were the exceptions in this, but it did not pain you any less. “I pay tribute by carrying our child,” You replied, your smile threadbare. “That is enough.”

Solemn, Cregan simply nodded, understanding your strained relationship with the family you had left behind in King’s Landing. From what you told him and from what he discerned, you seemed much happier here, liberated and free of such poisonous clutches. “Of course.” A soft rumble reverberated throughout his chest.

Winterfell’s snow-laden gates were now within reach, as guards in Stark tabards harkened the return of its Lord and Lady. He thoroughly enjoyed watching you interact with the denizens underneath his protection — you often greeted them with smiles and laughter.

He watched you grow into your station as Lady Stark, a growth that showed such promise. You had been shy around Northerners at first, but you now walked as if you had been in Winterfell your whole life. Cregan kept you close, his stance that of a protective husband, hovering above you with his hulking stature.

The Keep was close, and you could feel the crackling warmth of the hearth lick across your skin in the forefront of your mind. Cregan was characteristically stalwart, keeping you wedged against his side, swaddled in the thick furs of the direwolf.

Once inside, you welcomed the gust of warmer air. The Keep burned many fires and braziers when winter became sharp and bitter, your cheeks stinging from the cold. “Shall we retire this evening, or are you lacking in nourishment?” Cregan inquired, knowing that your penchant for foodstuffs had increased while pregnant.

“Could something be brought to our chambers? Perhaps a stew or a broth, that sounds rather warming.” As if on-queue, your stomach lurched with inklings of famish, as if your child also demanded something to eat.

“It will be done,” With his stoic assurance, your husband bent down to press a kiss against your temple, smoothing a palm across your back. “I will join you shortly, wife.” Cregan had a tendency to walk the Keep before retiring — spare a word to the guards, those in the kitchens, and anyone underneath his care.

“Do not keep me waiting for too long.” You mused, lips curving into a warm smile that could melt even the hardiest of ice — including that of your husband. The vulnerability that seemed to come to him in your presence was a comforting thing.

With a soft huff, Cregan cupped your chin, looking upon you with tempestuous hues, as gray as a winter’s storm. “I wouldn’t dare.” He assured, presenting you with a tender kiss. Gods, you had sorely missed his mouth in many ways, and you were swift to reciprocate.

After you had become with-child, fuller and round with the heir to Winterfell, you had not engaged Cregan as much in terms of intimacy. He wanted you to relax, to not have to lift a finger. You missed your husband in more ways than one, giving way to your own basic desires and carnal instincts.

The kiss possessed a charged edge, tension looming above, the fringes of it seeping into your lips. You held onto his forearm, an audible sigh slipping past your mouth when Cregan withdrew. He could detect your yearning — the sentiment was a mutual one, but he feared hurting you, as any man would.

With a gentle hum, you allowed your husband to leave you, watching as his impressive form encapsulated all space within the corridor he walked in. You let him tend to his duties, and you made for the spiraling stairwell, making your way to your chambers without a hitch.

Thick, wooden doors gave way to the sanctuary within, the hearth being stoked and tended-to by one of the servants. “I thought you might want it warm, m’lady.” She mused, having laid out a series of new wardrobes for you across the foot of your bed.

“Thank you, Tanea.” The new gowns and dresses seemed to be made with your new specifications in-mind, accommodating for your growing belly. Part of you felt self-conscious when it came to your pregnancy — you no longer seemed to fit into your own skin.

“You must be excited, with the babe on the way,” Tanea was easy to speak with, an exuberant young woman with cherubic features. “Your Lord-Husband certainly is.” She chimed, finishing with the hearth as she moved about.

“Is he?” Cregan was sometimes difficult to read, countenance permanently etched with that stoic Northern scowl of his, but you knew how happy he was. Knowing that your servants could see it filled you with delight. “I may need your assistance, Tanea.”

“Very much so, m’lady. He speaks as if he is a father already,” She fluttered to your side, assisting you in relinquishing the weight of your fur cloak and overcoat you wore. Tanea arranged the garments back into the large, wooden wardrobe. “Do you need anything else?”

“I do not,” You smiled, moving to sit atop the fur-laden footlocker at the end of your shared bed. “You have my gratitude, Tanea.” The girl curtsied, a proper gesture, before making her way from your chambers.

Intrigued, you happened to admire the new gowns strewn across your bed, many of them styled in the Northern way of dress, save for your evening shifts. One in particular caught your eye, made of sage-hued silk, translucent and frilly, the sleeves billowing.

Pinching the fabric between your fingers, you decided on wearing it to bed, pushing yourself up right as you organized the rest elsewhere, into the space of your wardrobe. Heavy footfalls resonated outside of your door, with it creaking open to give way to Cregan.

Your mountain of a husband carried two bowls of steaming stew, placing them down along the small, rounded table. The intricate carving of a wolf rested along the table’s edge, made of wood from the Wolfswood. “Are you tired?” He inquired, removing Ice from his shoulders, scabbard and all, placing it near his bedside.

After you had become with-child, he kept it close, in case of any unsightly, dire circumstances. He would not ever allow himself to be defenseless in your presence. You had thought it to be somewhat overly cautious, but you did not dissuade him otherwise.

“Not really,” You hummed, reaching for the many pins keeping your braids in-place. You removed them one by one, placing the ruby-studded needles upon your vanity. It felt better to let your hair down, pale tresses cascading across your shoulders in soft waves. “I am perfectly awake.”

Cregan’s visage was one of clear appreciation and adoration as he stepped closer, admiring the way you looked. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He insisted, hands moving to assist you in unlacing your dress. This was a common practice with each passing night — you enjoyed it.

Warmth crept along your features as you stood still, allowing him to untie your bodice with his calloused fingers, until the garment loosened. “You are much too kind, husband.” Stepping from your gown, you were left in a white slip, one that had grown somewhat uncomfortable with its tightness.

“It is not a kindness, but the plain truth.” Cregan replied, pressing a kiss against the pale crown of your head, inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent. “You are my beautiful wife.” He affirmed with a grunt, and moved away to change into his own smallclothes. Abandoning his leather and armor always felt unusual for him.

There was no debating your husband, whose stubbornness was sometimes renowned. Instead, you smiled, abandoning the snug, ivory fabric for your field of sage, hastily pulling it on over the swell of your stomach.

It gave you ample time to observe Cregan, whose musculature ensnared you time and time again. He was impressively thick, broad-shouldered and built like the Wall itself. Seeing him standing there in just his trousers made something hot stir between your legs.

You crept forward, shamelessly wrapping your arms around him from behind, and you could feel a tremor throughout his body when he huffed. “I have a handsome husband, a perfect husband — and that is the plain truth.” You hummed, cold cheek burying itself against the warmth of his skin.

Wordlessly, you peppered soft kisses against his spine, and to any scars and bruises that you could see. You listened to the sharp exhale from your husband, who did not protest your actions. Your lips felt like the kiss of snow, still cold from the chilly outdoors.

Cregan let you stay that way, and in-truth, he enjoyed it thoroughly. Those large, calloused hands placed themselves atop yours, lifting both to his lips as he kissed your knuckles. He let them drop, and you caressed him wherever you could. The gesture was soft, but he couldn’t deny the growing sensuality present between you both.

“For the blood of the dragon, your hands run cold, wife.” Cregan rumbled, soothingly tracing his fingers across your wrist, feeling your physique against his back, including the swell of your belly. You pressed your palms against his abdomen, able to feel the taut, subtle muscle there.

“It is a good thing that I have you to warm them,” The silky, soft resonance of your voice brought him comfort. You sounded so relaxed and blissful, feeling him sluggishly turn around within your hold. Cregan cupped your cheek, rough pad of his thumb tracing across your lips. You kissed his thumb. “Kiss me.”

Cregan’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, and he instead gestured to the meal he’d brought with him. “Once you eat and have proper sustenance, I might indulge you then, beloved.” He mused, noticing the twinge of disappointment on your face.

“Might?” There was an upward inflection within your tone, as if the mere suggestion of might had offended you to some degree. Your burly husband then caged you within his embrace, palms soothingly caressing along your hips. “Must you insist on tormenting me?” You teased.

With a low grunt, Cregan reached for his tunic, eyes twinkling with mirth. “For now.” Tugging on the dark blue linen of his nightshirt, he gestured for you to eat, sitting beside you at the table. His own chair groaned in protest, and before he knew it, you were devouring your stew.

A mouthful of warm, seasoned broth filled your maw, accompanied with hearty chunks of venison and stewed vegetables. The cuisine in the North differed greatly from the South, not that you minded. You often felt more fulfilled after meals than you used to.

“Gods, that was wonderful,” You groaned, the stew satisfying your cravings. It warmed you to the bone, causing a shudder to roll down your spine as you finished, nudging the bowl aside. “I could eat several servings of that.” Your confession prompted Cregan to smirk.

“Famished, were you?” Cregan mused, watching as you moved out of your chair, cradling your stomach with one hand. He very nearly rushed to assist you, but he knew you would’ve swatted him aside.

“Quite, but I am eating for two. Your child needs it as much as I do,” You remarked, wandering toward the hearth as you extended one palm toward the fire. The comforting heat licked across your flesh, the orange light dancing over your features. “Much better.”

Cregan joined you not long after, guiding you to sit atop the large footlocker at the end of your marital bed, closest to the open flames. His rough fingertips glided over the plane of sage-hued silks, as he admired your womanly form through the fabric. “This suits you.” He rumbled, gently tugging on the silk to accentuate his point.

“Tanea had the seamstress craft me new clothing, given that I’ve grown quite a bit,” Admittedly, you felt some insecurity in your current state, afraid that your husband may not enjoy you as he once had. “I am glad that you like it, husband. I was worried that you wouldn’t.”

Perplexed, chestnut brows furrowed together, his countenance one of clear concern. Slipping an arm behind you, he calmly stroked your side, silently beseeching you to tell him of your worries. He knew what it pertained to, even if it was left unspoken. “Your worries are misplaced. I love you.” He assured.

“It isn’t just that, I — I suppose I feared that you wouldn’t still enjoy me this way. Most husbands in the capital seemed so disinterested when their wives began to show.” This wasn’t the South, and Cregan was as far from a disinterested husband as one could get. He kissed your jaw, letting you rest against him.

“You are carrying our child, the heir to Winterfell — I would continue to love you regardless of what your body might look like. Damn the Southerners,” Cregan murmured, planting a hand atop your belly. “I look at you and I see my wife — I see perfection. My heart calls your name.” For a man so rugged and rough, his words made your blood surge with exhilaration.

Joining his hand, you placed your palm atop his, the one firmly perched against your belly. If Cregan were being truthful with himself, he found you to be painfully beautiful like this, swollen with his child, knowing that he put a pup in you. Those lascivious fantasies had now become reality.

“Ñuha dōna zokla,” My sweet wolf — your High Valyrian often brought him to heel, bringing out the siren’s lull within your voice. Cregan had made a valiant effort to learn some of the language for you, but it never sounded as pleasant on his Northern tongue. “I am yours.” You beamed, lilac hues glistening with ardor.

Bringing a calloused palm to your face, he traced the fine plane of your cheekbone, reveling in the velveteen texture of your flesh. A wolf, brought to heel at his dragon’s side. Cregan studied your Valyrian features, basking in your beauty, coaxing you in for a kiss.

Your mouth was disarmingly soft, catching him off-guard, stealing away all of his coherency. He felt you turn inward, palm planting itself against the thick, corded muscle of his thigh, gripping him tightly as he deepened your kiss.

Something warm stirred within him, a longing to feel your body against his, able to detect the hitch within your breath as he drew you closer. Your wanton need radiated from you in thick, permeating waves, enough to bring him into the intricate web of your desire.

“Easy, wife.” Cregan rumbled, wanting to temper your carnality before it raged into that of a dragon’s flame. Your pleading gaze suggested otherwise, prompting him to caress along the length of your spine. “I do not wish to hurt you.”

A begrudging sigh escaped your lips as you incessantly tugged at his tunic, staring at your husband with furrowed brows. “You wouldn’t,” You uttered, tracing your fingers over his heart. “We do not have to commit the entire act. I simply want to enjoy you in other ways — I miss it.”

Subtlety wasn’t your strongest suit, and Cregan knew this. Arousal stirred within him, cock twitching at your lascivious insinuations. “Hm,” A soft growl left him, one that seemed to share your sentiments. “Is that what my lady commands of me?” He murmured, holding you close.

“She does,” You hummed, treating him to a playful smile as you reached for his chestnut tresses. One of your hands slithered beneath his tunic, feeling along the solid, thick muscle of his abdomen. He stroked at your belly, a stern hum reverberating within his throat. “Gods, I need you.” You exhaled.

With your need laid bare, Cregan heeded you with a fire swirling within his gut. His hand dipped down to the apex of your thighs, pushing beneath your silken shift until he found your cunt. Gods, you were wet already, a tantalizing thing, one that he found delight in.

“You are warm already, beloved.” Cregan’s thunderous timbre raked down your spine, effortlessly gaining your subservience with ease. You shivered, feeling his thick fingers deftly caress across your slit, teasing and toying with you, gathering your slick.

Feather-light touches would have to suffice as Cregan lazily pressed one digit against your clit. His mouth found the slender expanse of your neck, delivering hot, passionate kisses against your throat.

A simpering whine tore past your parted lips, one filled with such urgency as you shifted closer, writhing against the sensation of his hand. Any lick of friction would do, consuming your body with its amatory heat. He grunted into the hollow of your throat, kissing you wherever you could.

Your own mouth found the impressive bulk of his shoulder, seeking to bring your teeth into his flesh. A sonorous, rumbling grunt left your husband when you bit him, leaving behind the crescent marks of your teeth. If it weren’t for your pregnancy, he would’ve marked you in this way, too.

Seeking the softness of your mouth, Cregan’s mouth twitched into a threadbare smirk as he kissed you hard, letting it linger as his hand withdrew from your skirts. A groan of disappointment left you, but he intended on making up for it fully.

He moved off of the footlocker, planting a lasting kiss against your brow. Towering over you, Cregan’s shadow eclipsed most flickers of firelight, gray hues swirling with warmth as he bent the knee to you, his beloved. It was a mesmerizing sight, one that you reveled in.

His massive musculature bullied its way between your thighs, warm palms shifting to caress along your legs, from ankle to calf. He had never seen someone as resplendent as you, breathtakingly beautiful, the blood of the dragon, his wife.

Gathering your skirts within your hands, you fisted the silks, dragging them up until they pooled around your hips. Warm lips embraced the crook of your knee, peppering kisses across your leg, until he reached the velvet flesh of your inner thighs.

Your hips began to tilt forward, seeking the pleasant heat of his mouth, a heat that he gladly granted you time and time again. Cregan kissed his way to the slick warmth between your legs, a thunderous exhale escaping him, chest vibrating with a grunt.

Cregan gingerly adjusted your position, letting your legs rest against his broad shoulders, your back sloped against the furs and footboard of your bed. He pressed a kiss against your mound, nose buried near your pelvis before he made his descent.

A warm lap of his tongue dragged itself over your core, like hot embers raking across your cunt. You sighed, blissfully succumbing to wanton desire, reaching for his crown of chestnut tresses, gripping at the back of his skull. “Cregan.” You whined, head rolling forward just a bit.

Pale waves framed your face, countenance contorted into an expression of sheer and utter bliss, brows furrowing together. Your husband happily found his solace between your legs, mouth pressing hot kisses across your cunt. His hand gripped at your haunch, the other trailing against your leg.

It was ambrosial, your taste; a finest stout, sweetest of nectars that stained his lips with your perfection. Cregan lapped at your cunt, dutiful and attentive, ensuring to find every spot that made you gasp for air.

Nimble digits fisted into the furs at your side, mouth agape as a myriad of throaty moans escaped you. Your hand roamed through his tresses, tugging and pulling whenever his tongue graced the pearl of your cunt.

Splitting past your folds, Cregan tasted every inch of you, tongue seeking your cunt with a fervor. He was vigorous in his ministrations, not shying away from consuming every drop of your arousal. His nose brushed against your mound, hands kneading into your thighs to reassure you, let you know that he had you.

Any inkling of roughness had dissipated from him in the wake of your pregnancy, replaced with a passionate devotion, a rapture reserved only for you. His strong hands held you close, caressing you wherever he could.

You tasted sweet upon his tongue, honey-thick and a feast to sate his appetite. If he would choose his fate, it would be in between your legs, listening to the myriad of moans and throaty whimpers leave you. It was satisfying to know how much you enjoyed this; derived pleasure from it.

A tremor gripped your legs, little spasms of delight making their way throughout your body. Cregan’s mouth forged a blazing path from the hood of your cunt to your entrance, tongue greedy and hot, before he went back up again, seeking your sensitive pearl.

“Cregan!” Gods, he brought you such pleasure, a pleasure that seemed to seep into your very bones, sate your endless yearning, for now. Your legs curled inward, tight atop his shoulders as you rocked yourself into his mouth, doing little to suppress the volume of your moans.

He pressed closer with a wolf’s appetite, throat burning with carnal hunger as he continued to lap at your slick cunt. Your arousal felt honey-thick upon his tongue, something reserved only for him, chin glistening with your nectar. Your legs squeezed at his head, and he knew that he pleasured you well.

Molten heat churned within the pit of your stomach, a sensation that you had been longing to feel again. Cregan did not relent, yet he happened to slow just enough to savor you, dragging his tongue toward that clutch of nerves at the hood of your cunt.

As soon as he pursed his lips around your clit, you nearly forgot your own name, thoughts completely derailed, scattered into a blissful abyss. Your body reacted with shivers and tremors, hand gripping at the nape of his neck with a reckless abandon.

Your back arched slightly, collarbone glittering with perspiration through the thick, warm haze of your chambers. The hearth had brought about a feverish heat, coupled with the throes of your intimate entanglement. Cregan derived satisfaction from your pleasure, delighted to please his wife.

Pliant flesh filled his palm as he cupped your derrière, bringing you closer, letting you grind yourself against his mouth, use him and take whatever you needed. A grunt stirred within his chest, reverberating within his throat as he went about seeking your clit, suckling on the pearl of your cunt.

“Oh Gods,” You moaned, nearly clasping a hand over your mouth to hide the salaciousness of your voice. Surely, the servants had heard you by now — you would be fortunate if all of Winterfell didn’t hear you. “I — I’m close!” Rocking forward again, you let out a whimper.

With a strangled whine, you desperately chased after your release, one that you had sorely needed. Cregan’s cock twitched at the sound of your delicious moans, a shudder rolling down his spine whenever you whimpered his name. “That’s it,” He rumbled, hot breath fanning over your core. “Go on.” His encouragement was softly spoken through his Northern timbre.

He wanted to stay there, rooted between your legs, mouth consuming your cunt as if it were his last meal; a man wrought with starvation.

Cregan favored it, thoroughly reveling in the way your body reacted to him, visceral and ecstatic. He gingerly suckled on your clit, feeling your fingers tighten within his chestnut locks, gripping him tight. He wanted you to have your release, built upon this pent-up feeling.

He could feel your encroaching release, feel the tension in your grasp, the way you let your hips continue to lurch forward. Without relenting, Cregan continued to suck at your clit, letting it intermingle with hot laps of his tongue, dutiful and fervent between your legs.

A comfortable silence filled the gap between you, intermingled with the sounds of your pleasured cries and Cregan’s sonorous grunts. That heated coil within your stomach began to unfurl, bringing an onslaught of arousal with it as you bucked into his mouth.

At last, your peak consumed you in a white-hot oblivion, and you very nearly saw the stars themselves. With a strangled gasp, your legs tightened on either side of his head, followed by a blissful rush of liquid heat. Your grip began to slack upon his tresses, chest heaving from exertion.

Cregan lingered there for a few moments more, tongue caressing your cunt, cleaning up any last drop of your nectar. His mouth glistened with it when he did inevitably withdraw, lashing across his lips before he kissed your thighs, showering you in affection.

“Do you feel better?” He mused, kissing the crook of your knee before standing to his feet. You were positively hot, feeling a feverish warmth crawl across your skin, thighs shaking in the aftermath. You hastily adjusted your slip, regarding him with a gracious expression.

“Very much,” Your confession made him smirk as he helped you into bed, abandoning his tunic at the iron-wrought foot. As he settled down, you joined him, curled within the space at his side. “Would you like me to return the favor?”

Cregan never expected you to do anything that you didn’t want to — never feel obligated, either. He would survive without a night of release. “Tomorrow, perhaps.” He murmured, moving to rest a hand against the swell of your stomach, caressing your growing bump.

“Thank you, husband — for everything.” A gentle hum left you as you placed your hand over his, allowing him to protectively cradle your stomach. You let your head rest against his shoulder, his arm holding you at his side.

A bemused huff escaped him as he peered at you with mirthful hues, gray eyes that resembled a thunderstorm. “You needn’t thank me,” He assured, briefly pressing a kiss to your temple. “You needn’t ask for it, either.” Cregan enjoyed the taste of your cunt more than anything else.

You couldn’t help but smile, sheepishly moving to press a kiss against his jaw. “I love you,” You sighed, letting your ardor for him be known as you felt your eyes grow heavy. “Tomorrow, I would like for us to see Silverwing. She grows lonely in my absence.”

Cregan knew how much the creature meant to you. He had met Silverwing before, but he dared not climb upon her back — you’d asked it of him several times before. “Of course, beloved.” He murmured, basking in the heat of the firelight.

A sharp, fluttering sensation blossomed throughout your abdomen, prompting you to gasp. It was sudden and unexpected, but not painful. It was foreign, and had been happening on rare occasions.

“What is it?” Cregan questioned, visibly concerned before you dismissed it with a bright, delighted smile. You gently guided his hand elsewhere atop your stomach, pale brows furrowing together as you searched for the source.

“There,” You mused, joyous laughter escaping you as another kick fluttered against your joined hands. “Do you feel it?” It was heartwarming to watch the happiness glisten within his eyes, the way in which he adjusted his position to truly feel. Cregan’s true smiles were a rarity, and you saw it now.

The blood of the wolf and the dragon stirred within, prompting you to smile appreciatively at your husband. This was something the both of you had made with your love, the heir to Winterfell. “They seem strong,” Cregan remarked, leaning over to plant a kiss against your brow. “Perfect, just like their mother.”

His hand never left your belly, even as he maneuvered the furs over the both of you, letting you move to lay against the warm expanse of his chest. Cregan exhaled, staring into the dying embers of the heart, tracing his digits along the swell of your stomach.

“Strong, just like their father.” You whispered, pressing a kiss against his jaw before you settled down for slumber, shielded by the protective grasp of your Lord-husband.

[alrightyxaphroditee]

eee this was so cute <33

𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐢’𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

modern jacaerys targaryen x f!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

— fluff, MAJOR FLUFF, very vanilla love making, p in v. established relationship, fiancés. aged up jace, short drabble.

jace nation tag list: @jacaerysgf @bryscorner @hxtd @smurfelle @star611 @jules420 @intheheartoftheking @gracexthoughts @astrxq @reyndaisy @nanaldy @valdezthg @littleblackcatinwonderland @nixtape-foryou @starrgurl46 @ethereal-athalia @stelleduarte @chuuritoz @melsunshine @frombloodandfire @ambrosia-v-black @rinisfruity14 @imissyoudarling @still-jon-snow @velaryonbastard @vee-mage

Jacaerys Targaryen knew what love was, and if you asked him, he would tell you the true meaning of love.

At age of 23, Jacaerys fell in love in the most unexpected way, through a rush hour and misplaced donuts, he welcomed love with a shy smile, an apology in a form of a new batch of donuts and coffee with a heart pumping so fast he felt it was going to fall off his chest.

After two years of dating, he did not waste any time and asked you to marry him, with his heart ready to commit — not that he was not ready — he placed a ring that was once his mother’s on your ring finger and placed a deep kiss on the lips he never would get tired of savoring. The sun rained down on you that day warming your cheeks that were red due to the tears of happiness and the warmth of the sun touching your cheeks softly.

Jacaerys was the eldest of the family, he carried responsibilities as the heir of his family’s company, he took it upon himself to study and learn from his mother carefully to be well prepared to take over once his mother was ready to step down. His shoulders were always tense but nothing beat the feeling of your soft fingers massaging the bundles of stress away and your soft murmurings of praising that never failed to make him feel like he was blessed by the gods themselves.

At age 26, Jacaerys was now the perfect heir, now co-owing the business along his mother, going over case files for potential clients. His family adored you as if you were the missing puzzle piece in their chaotic family. Life could not get any better than this.

He sighed as he pulled into the driveway of the small home he bought for the two of you. His fingers ran through his hair, scratching his head to relief him from the headache he was growing into. Leaning back onto the leather seat of the car, he closed his eyes to release the stress he was in before he felt the small vibrations of his phone.

Without checking the caller ID, he answered sleepily, “Jacaerys speaking..”

Your voice welcomed him with open arms and warmth, the tone of your voice sounded cheeky, playful bringing a smile to his face, “Well, Mr. Jacaerys, are you planning to come inside or should I grab a blanket for you since you want to sleep in the car?”

He blinked the drowsiness away as he leaned up to look outside the window, there you stood, in one of his shirts and what seemed panties? His fingers tightened the hold on his phone at the imagination of things he would do to you, the love he would show you leaving you completely full of his affection.

“Well, I don’t know. That’s if my future wife wants to join me for a car nap then I am open for blankets and pillows,” he laughed softly when he saw you roll your eyes hearing his playful banter.

“Get inside baby… it’s cold and I cooked dinner unless you want me to feed it to Vermax.”

Jacaerys grabbed his bag, and keys, shutting the door and locking it — he ran towards you, you squealed when he picked you up in his arms, spinning you softly before placing a kiss on your forehead, then your cheeks, and finally having a taste at your lips.

You moaned softly, running your fingers into the length of his curls, you felt his hold on your waist tightening creating a gentle trail of goosebumps down your body.

You had to pull away before things got more serious, chuckling when Jacaerys whined for another kiss. You pecked his lips softly, “Easy my dragon. You stink of coffee and a ton of legal work, go shower i’ll serve dinner.”

“Don’t want to, I want to stay here,” he whined as he tightened his hold, placing his head into the tiny gap between your shoulder and neck. You laughed again, placing a kiss on his shoulder.

“Jace…”

He moaned in disappointment, “Okay fine but don’t think I’ll let you escape later,” he released his hold from her as he took her hand and walked into the space he had created with you, welcoming him with scents of lavender and spice. He was home.

“I’ll never miss out on cuddles unless you’re going to attack me with tickling then that’s where i’ll command you to sleep in the sofa with Vermax,” you playfully said watching him look at you with betrayal in his eyes, you smirked sticking out your tongue at him.

“Very rude my love…”

As if he heard his father, Vermax ran down the stairs in small barks of welcome, jumping around Jacaerys’ legs for any chance of affection.

Jacaerys smiled widely, placing his things by the counter close to the door, he bent down to hold his small spotted husky. “Hello to you too Vermax.”

You took the opportunity to walk into the kitchen, heating the food you heart full with so much love as you heard your fiancée baby your furry child. As you were preparing a lemonade, Vermax was by your feet now, barking in happy yaps. You laughed at his silly antics, grabbing a treat by the counter, giving it to the waiting furry child of yours.

“I wonder if this is how life will be when we have kids”

You looked up at your fiancé who was watching silently by the doorway, his arms crossed across his chest, his face soft, resting with a smile on his face. Your stomach fluttered, feeling as if there were tiny butterflies.

“I’d love that,” you answered, your cheeks turning red again looking down at what you were doing to avoid looking at him, even after years of dating, Jacaerys still made you feel as if you were just meeting him all over again.

He hummed, his own smile mirroring yours, instead his held so much devotion and love, “It shall be then.”

You cleared your throat to move pass the sexual tension that was growing, you worried for Jacaerys as you knew he hadn’t ate anything, “Go shower.”

Jacaerys approached you, grabbing both of your hands and placing a kiss on every finger before he lingered on the ring he had given you, “I can’t wait to call you my wife,”

Your legs trembled a little, cheeks still ablaze, you pushed your head to his chest to hide your shyness, whining you replied, “Jace..”

Jacaerys loved to tease you, to make those cheeks turn a blossom pink was like a reward for him, you were all his, and he couldn’t ever get over that fact. In four more months, you were officially going to be his forever and that made him the happiest man in the planet.

He placed a kiss on your lips again, his hands on your chin to pull you closer, he sighed into your mouth feeling at peace.

“I’ll be quick.”

Your eyes fluttered, your fingers holding his biceps, as if in a daze you mumbled a soft “uh huh.”

He laughed again, you were just too cute for your own good.

—

To Jacaerys, one of his favorite things in the world was to hold you in his arms every night after dinner. You always waited for him, never caring for the late hours he came home, you were always there welcoming him with warm kisses, and a hug that melted him to the floor every time.

He was leaning on your lap, his head in between your breasts as his arms wrapped around your torso, both of you deciding on a movie after dinner, Vermax laid by the couch, his breaths coming out in small winds. You truly couldn’t ask for anything more than this.

Your fingers traces the curls of his hair, scratching his head feeling Jacaerys sigh in relief, his arms tightening around you, you decided it was late now.

“Jace…”

He moved slightly but never did he open his eyes, “Hm?”

“Let’s go to bed”

He moved then, his eyes drooping with sleep, he turned off the tv, then he pulled you up, bending down to gather you in his arms in bridal style. You jolted with surprise letting out a small yelp, he only moved his head closer to you, resting it on yours as he walked to your shared bedroom in silence. You tightened your hold around his neck, smelling the natural scent of your soon to be husband. He smelled of fresh laundry, a hint of wine and teakwood. You sighed feeling comfort in his arms.

That’s night as you helped him take off his shirt, leaving him in his boxers you leaned into his chest tracing the light freckles on his skin, placing a kiss on every single one you found. You heard him shake, his breaths coming out in gasps.

“I love you Jace,” you said as you kissed up his chin, your lips mapping out a trail only you knew that would lead him begging for more.

He grabbed you then, bringing you closer, his eyes that were once drowsy was now filled with lust and love. And as he placed a finger by your lip, where you were bold enough to lightly suck on it he shuddered, his eyes closed.

You leaned up again, capturing his lips again, that’s where you felt the softness of his love on your lips, with every kiss he left a promise.

“I love you more than my life,” he said, your eyes filling with tears that matched his. Soon, you’ll start a life together, you will officially take his name and walk by his side as his lifetime partner and that made you fill up with pride.

You guided him to take off your shirt, his hands trembling as were yours, he has seen you naked more than once but every time was a knock hard on the chest that left him breathless, so when he saw you completely nude under his shirt he couldn’t help but lean forward to mark his territory.

And as he had one perky bud in his mouth, you held him in your hand, softly jerking him feeling him cry out, your name falling from his lips in shaky whispers. But, love, oh love with Jacaerys, was something you would never trade for anything in the world.

Sinking down onto his length, your folds welcoming him like they knew who it belonged to, both of you chest to chest, hands wrapped in each other as breaths hit both of your faces in hot touches… you declared your love for each other once more.

Jacaerys felt the world spin, he held onto you as you sunk into him once more, his heart beating fast against his chest, his eyes beaming with non stop tears for the love he felt for you, he whimpered into your shoulder, nibbling when the pace you set out got faster.

“I love you Jace, you will always be the owner of my heart,” you choked out, holding onto his shoulder with one hand as the other held a chunk of his curls which had him rolling his eyes back at the stimulation.

He rolled over to place you on the bed, his elbows on either side of your head, and with every desperate need to have you screaming his name, he guided his cock deep into you, sweat dripping from his forehead landing on your cheeks like soft trinkets of rain.

You gasped out when he hit the sweetness of your nerves, and he knew that as you pressed yourself closer to him, your head thrown back onto the pillow as your mouth opened in silent screams.

“My girl. My beautiful wife, the mother of my children, my beautiful angel, come on my love…” Jacaerys never felt so close to the skies than when he was with you, deep inside you, feeling every stretch and pull and to the seven, he felt the luckiest to be blessed with you.

You moaned his name in a shuddered breaths, your tears sliding down your cheeks by how loved and beautiful you felt. Jacaerys watched you, his eyes gathering every detail of your face as you came undone around him. He vowed that he would never take you for granted, for you were the beautiful blessing that grazed his life.

As you leaned up to kiss him, he choked out another vow of love, his fingers searching for yours and when he found them, he held onto them, his eyes closing as he saw a flash of white cover his vision, the stimulation leaving him breathless, shaking.

“I truly can’t wait to marry you,” he whispered into your breasts close to your heart, you let out a breathless laugh, he smiled when he heard your heart pick up.

“I can’t wait to be your wife,” you kissed his head, feeling the soft nudge from his lips where he was now smiling widely.

—

When morning came, kissing the softness of your skin, welcoming you for a new day. You sighed softly feeling yourself warm far to your liking, as you moved to get up to make breakfast, tight arms pulled you back.

Jacaerys had you locked in a bear hug, he was deep in his sleep, however out of instinct he always reminded you where you belonged.

You moved slightly again, careful to not wake him, but you stopped when you heard a whine and then came his mumbling, “Stay… don’t get up.”

You let out a little laugh at his attempt to keep you in bed, snuggling into you closer, his lips leaving kisses on your bare shoulder, he was almost acting like a cat. You never wanted to erase this image from your brain.

Thinking breakfast can wait for a little longer, you twisted to face him where you found a sleepy smile on his face, his eyes were still closed but it was as if he knew, he had won. He wrapped his arms around you once more, taking you into his chest. You placed a kiss on his lips before snuggling into his chest again, finding sleep welcome you once again in the arms of your lover.

If you asked Jacaerys what love was, he would list the many things he done with you that explained why love was the most beautiful and powerful feeling in the world.

[alrightyxaphroditee]

JACE’S HAND WAS ON HER THIGH THE ENTIRE TIME OH IM READY TO JUMP