#🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eldrith · 16 hours ago

Text

thank you eeeee!! i love trying to write/build tension tbh so im happy u liked it! 🦢🤍 you’re so sweet — I’m glad ur enjoying the series as well & i can’t wait to read more of ur works!!

˗ˏˋ Honeyed ˎˊ˗ Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x queen's advisor!fem!reader words: 4.6k synopsis: “After we heard news of your success in the rebellion, Her Grace was eager to have you sit council with us. She seems to remember you quite fondly.” He says honestly, “She believed we would get along quite well.” notes: switching povs; can be a oneshot, or perhaps i'll make it a short series. follows a non-canon timeline/events; Jacaerys is not betrothed to Baela. characters aged-up to 20/21. warnings: canon-typical mentions of war, kissing, allusions to smut. Jace is kinda horny and very flirty. unedited. that's all. feedback is appreciated <3 requests open. masterlist

JACAERYS VELARYON IS WELL ACCUSTOMED TO RECEPTION FEASTS.

In fact, this is the first time in several moons where he has yet to feel slightly taxed at the experience of one; roasted meats, glazed fruits, vegetables with garnish, ale…

People, too - always fluttering around benches outstretched before some great hall, he and his family perched at the forefront, as if on display for those to gawk at.

Of course, this time, he is alone.

The great hearth that sputters and licks in the corner of the hall casts long shadows upon the chalky walls; no great beauty, perhaps, but this castle is indeed very alluring. He can imagine many fond memories could be made having grown up in a place like this.

Jacaerys watches the girl in his peripheral pour another goblet of ale; a servant offers to pour it for her, but she waves them off with a shake of her hand, smiling nearly as warm as the fire which eats away at her backlit shadow. A girl he’s known since he was just a boy.

You.

Your name rings in his head; He’s always found you quite interesting.

Jacaerys remains unsure as to why; was it the way your ankle sometimes wobbled when you curtseyed in front of his mother or his grandsire the King, back in your youth? Or the way that smile only seemed to grow under the dim lights of the Red Keep - your hair, done quite elegantly by one of the many ladies who had once tended to you, torn away from its restraints and ribbons as you ran down the halls with trickling laughter, dogs at your ankles and Lucerys trailing after you.

Perhaps the way you spent hours, sitting quietly with his Aunt Helaena, threading needles through fabric and listening to her bizarre cadence dance in the breeze. The day you hit his Uncle Aemond, striking his cheek with a wooden toy and receiving twelve lashings as punishment?

You and your brother grew up in the Red Keep just as the others - not as frequent as he and his Aunt and Uncles, but still, you remained - with your Lord father as a member of the King’s council, your laughter oft echoed through the hallways of his youth.

The quirk of a lip, the flicker of an eye.

When Jacaerys was just one and ten, he met you for the first time. It had been on an eve cold and miserable - the summer storms in the crownlands could be confusing and harsh, boasting days of rolling thunder and a torrential pour from the heavens that would have windows boarded and children gathered round the hearths.

You had three brothers; two younger, plump things that would squirm in the ladies’ arms and couldn’t yet speak - and then the other one, the eldest; the heir to your Lord father. He had a laugh much like yours, though was much more reserved.

Jacaerys found him easy to converse with, showing him Vermax and hiding a huff of laughter when the boy’s eyes widened in poorly-concealed fear.

You, if ever having a lick of that same fear, never dared show it on your face. Though you were but a mere girl, barely one and ten yourself, there had been no trace of a quiver when Jacaerys had taken your palm and led it towards the huffing, roving snout of Vermax; indeed, there had instead been some honeyed warmth in your eyes, alight with interest.

That day was quite long ago. From what he understands, your Lord father relocated back to your ancestral home just shortly after Jacaerys’ mother returned them to Dragonstone - your father died shortly after, and your brother has ruled Lord since he was fourteen.

But it has been nearly seven years since Jacaerys last saw you, he supposes - as he is now one and twenty; and now, in just three days’ time, you will return with him to Dragonstone.

His arrival was swift this evening - less chilly than the day you’d first met all those years ago, Jace wasn’t nearly shivering - but Vermax was tired and hungry, and he’d found himself feeling quite similar.

They, of course, knew the reason for his visit: You grew into quite the strategist when your family fought a resurgence just last year against a rival House; his Queen mother desires your mind and your presence in her council in the days leading to war.

It was your brother, the Lord, with his wife who’d accepted Jacaerys; you’d been there, too, standing beside him with the rest of your siblings and your mother. He'd been struck by the woman you've grown to be - not only the curves of your hips, nor the graceful smile, nor the spark in your eyes - but the mind so valuable his mother sent the Prince to deliver you to the council. You’d been proud, dressed elegantly in an intricate gown, bowing graciously with a grin that grew when he kissed your knuckles, the wind whipping your hair the same way it did in your youth.

Yet you’re no child now.

Jace chances a glance down the table again, seeking you once more. Your body is turned, conversing with the young girl who pours your brother’s ale beside Jace; A laugh echoes through the hall at some murmured joke you tell her.

He’s once again astounded by your beauty.

Your hair is braided away from your face, skin reflecting gently in the firelight - the gown you’ve donned is intricate, with your family’s sigil sewn into the breastpiece; the hemline of which dips low enough for a fierce heat to grow over his cheeks as he takes in the supple and forgiving skin that shines gently when you laugh.

Jacaerys forces himself to take a large gulp of ale, relishing the chilled beverage as it slides down his throat - a brief respite from the heat that has begun to gather in his abdomen as you tilt your head, catching his gaze from the other side of your Lord brother.

He could swear his heart stops when one of your eyes, alight with some misbehavior, drops in a slow wink - a color upon your cheeks that he is unsure is from the heat, the ale, or something else entirely.

He surely knows what his own blush is from.

Nails dig into the carved wooden chair below him - how must he be expected to endure such sweet torture for days with you on dragonback? Never mind, the subsequent days in which you will reside with them on Dragonstone as a new member of his Queen mother’s council?

“My Prince,” you call from your seat, gathering the attention of your brother as well - Jace’s attention is given to you fully and immediately as you tilt your head, “are you enjoying yourself?”

He nods curtly, swallowing as though caught. "My apologies, I seem to have been lost in thought," Jacaerys replies, thankful that his voice remains smooth and measured despite the momentary distraction. He sets down his goblet, eyes lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary; such beauty has always captivated him, and it makes his cheeks impossibly warmer when your brow lifts tauntingly.

"Indeed, the feast is quite wonderful.” He adds, “Your House’s hospitality is renowned, as always."

The Lord’s eyes twinkle some mixture of pride and amusement as he nods, "It is our duty to ensure our Royal guest feels welcome.” He turns to you, then, “As my Lady wife is quite sick at the moment, I might ask my dear sister here to show you the grounds and your quarters after our meal - if it is not too much.”

You glance at your brother with a mock sternness. "Too much? You speak as if I'm prone to causing trouble, dear brother."

It is with irony you say this: Jace remembers all the troubles of your youth; the Pink Dread, the toads under pillows, the hide-and-go-seek games you played (one-sided as always) with the kingsguard.

The jest in your eyes brings a smile to both Jacaerys and your brother. The man beside him chuckles, his demeanor lightening; "On the contrary - trouble seems to follow you like a faithful hound, doesn't it?”

Your eyes, in a bashful glance towards Jace, reveal the honeyed state of your eyes; they seem to melt, with some steely devotion holding you upright. He can see why his mother is fond of you.

“But Prince Jacaerys is more than capable of handling it - in fact, I’m worried to recall in our youth, he may have been the one to encourage it." A jest - well-meaning, good natured; Jace laughs, shaking his head as the Lord claps his shoulder.

He is not the boy he once was; duty matters, now. You and Jace are to be joint members of Queen Rhaenyra’s council - you must act like it. A lingering voice whispers in his mind, persuading as your eyes land on his - perhaps duty can wait until you land in Dragonstone.

You bite your lip when Jacaerys offers his arm to you; taking it delicately, you smile graciously as he bids the members of the feast a farewell and lets you guide him softly into the castle’s halls.

PRINCE JACAERYS VELARYON IS MUCH TALLER THAN YOU REMEMBER.

Granted, you were merely a young girl when you last laid eyes on him - then, still a scrawny boy who poked and prodded those blonde-haired beasts in the halls of the Red Keep; but now, as you gaze up at his strong jaw, the curls of dark hair that move in the gentle wind, you have to school the warmth that grows in your abdomen.

There is a silence that swallows your footsteps through the dimly lit corridors; the familiar scents of your castle – a mixture of old stone, polished wood, and the faintest hint of lavender – envelop you, reminding you of your childhood days in the Red Keep. It makes you smile, fingers itching to flex over the bicep that lies under your palm.

“Much has changed since we were children,” you say softly, glancing up at Jacaerys in the quiet - his face is partially obscured by the shadows, but you can see the faint smile that plays on his lips. There is something in his face - the quirk of lips, the slope of his nose - that reminds you of his mother.

“Indeed,” Jacaerys replies, his voice warm and low, “But some things remain the same.” He looks down at you, and for a moment, you feel as if he can see right through you – past the years and the changes, to the girl you once were.

It makes your cheeks redden, turning to look out at the walls of portraits, ignoring your very own face, stern and nearly regal, staring down at you as you end the hall.

Your smile is soft as you catch his eye, "It seems you know, flattery will get you everywhere, Prince Jacaerys.” You tease, shaking your head. “I can see why your mother chose you to carry her diplomatic wishes.”

“After we heard news of your success in the rebellion, she was eager to have you sit council with us. She seems to remember you quite fondly.” He says honestly, “She believed we would get along quite well.”

It is an incredibly large compliment, one that you struggle to accept with grace. It makes you smile stupidly at the stone, carrying on through the castle with polite conversation on the local history.

Eventually, you stop at a large wooden door, intricately carved with the sigil of your House. “These will be your quarters, my Prince,” you say, opening the door to reveal a spacious, elegantly furnished room. “It’s quite late; If you’d prefer, I can show you the gardens in the morrow.” You offer, itching for a chance to rid yourself of his company, if only to ignore the heat and desire that has begun to spin you into its web. The youthful crush and giddiness has returned with so much force it’s taken you in a whiplash, flushing cheeks and racing heartbeat - a girlish smile that cannot wipe itself from your face under his handsome stare.

A fire crackles in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room.

Jacaerys takes in the room appreciatively. “Your family’s hospitality is truly remarkable,” he says, turning to face you. “Thank you.” His voice is much deeper than you remember, of course, and it lights you with something near desire. Hunger, perhaps; in its peculiar ways. “If it isn’t a bother to you, my Lady,” he says, voice somehow soft under the glow of fire. “I’d like to continue. I’m feeling rather restless.”

You smile, feeling a heat once again rise to your cheeks. “It would be my honor, my Prince.” You agree, torn between nerves and flattery, relief that he wishes to remain in your company for the evening.

He steps closer, his eyes searching yours, as if hesitating for a moment, before speaking. “And please, call me Jacaerys. We’ve known each other far too long for such formalities.”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. “Very well… Jacaerys.”

You resume your stroll through the castle - you tell him all you know of its history, as he has proven a keenly curious and attentive listener; though your mind begins to stray as you make your way into the castle gardens.

In a few days, you will leave this castle. You will leave the Riverlands, to return with the Prince to Dragonstone - a sense of dread begins to settle in the pit of your stomach. The excitement of seeing Jacaerys again is tempered by the daunting task that lies ahead - joining Queen Rhaenyra's council is the greatest honor of your life, yes, but it is also a tremendous responsibility.

You glance at Jacaerys, who seems so confident and composed in the moonlight, and a wave of insecurity washes over you. Though you gained valuable experience during your House's war last year – strategizing, negotiating, and leading men into battle – this is different.

This is no war over plots of land and trade routes - this is a war that will determine the fate of the realm.

"What troubles you?" Jace asks suddenly, his voice gentle; as if he sensed your unease. You trail through a row of hedges shrubbery, and you notice how well the green agrees with him. The observation feels sacrilegious.

You force a smile, not wanting to burden him with your doubts - "It's nothing," you say, but he stops and turns to face you, his expression earnest.

"I can see something is weighing on you." He’s cordial, concerned as you meet his eyes once again, jaw clenched slightly.

It feels odd, this connection - this mood, more somber and serious, is a sharp contrast to the jesting you’d delivered in the great hall nearly an hour ago.

"I... I suppose I'm worried," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "I've had some experience, yes, but… I fear I might not be prepared for what lies ahead."

Jacaerys looks out to the white flowers that climb along the hedgeline. One ethereal hand, glowing in the moonlight, graces its petals softly. "I understand," he says. "But Her Grace values loyalty and competence above all else. Traits you have grown to more than embody, my Lady.”

The compliment is nearly too much; so you insist, with a soft voice, that he calls you by your name as well.

He repeats your name with a small smile and a nod, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary before he looks away, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as you continue down the stone path.

"You must have seen many changes here over the years," Jacaerys considers minutes later, looking along the fine herbs and beautiful plants which sprout from the earth; you nod. "Indeed," you agree, grateful for the shift in focus. "Though this castle has a unique way of honoring its forebears." You gesture to a line of statues along the right of the path; your brother, the most recent and less attended by the degradation of time - vines with purple flowers curl around his chest like armor and you smile fondly.

“A statue for the past,” you say quietly, eyes roving over your brother’s stoned face, flickering over to your late father’s, where a yellow flowered vine spreads over his own chest, “and a plant for the future.”

Jacaerys looks rather touched at this. “And who chooses the flowers?”

You smile smally, “Their wives. As a tribute to their heirs.”

Jace stares, taking in the row of statues - the castle stony and large in the distance - just far enough to miss the music that fills the hall. A flicker of a breeze kicks a curl up from his temple; torn, your fingers nearly reach out to brush it off his horehead. Bizarrely, you can’t draw your eyes from his lips.

“And you?” He asks after a moment; you freeze, heat clouding your cheeks. He clarifies after your look, clearing his throat and remaining facing the statue. “Are you… spoken for?” His voice is barely above a whisper, his gaze flickering uncertainly to yours.

Oh.

Your breath catches at the question, surprised by its directness yet unable to deny the thrill it sends through you. You hesitate, considering your response carefully - the tension you feel, that pull - it cannot be one-sided, you know that. But there are duties, there are diplomatic barriers. You wish you could tear them down without risking reputations.

“I have not yet found someone to…” you clear your throat, cheeks heating. “No.” You gesture to the line of stone men, “Only the Lords and their Ladies remain in our garden, anyways,” you shrug with a small smile, willing your heart to stop racing over his attention. "Maybe I'll plant a vine elsewhere before I leave."

You begin to walk again, down the row of stony men who watch over you. In the silence, your burning curiosity gets the best of you. “And you?” you ask as you find yourselves in the center of the garden, besides the intricate fountain which trickles with water.

It seems your question has caught him off guard - he blinks, lips parted as he stares at you. For a moment, you’re unsure if you’ve crossed a line - your heartbeat echoes loudly in the stillness of the courtyard.

"I... haven't made any such arrangements," Jacaerys admits, shaking his head with a small smile, voice low. Some heat - relief, or interest - blooms in your chest and you nod at him, pressing your lips in a small smile.

He hums, seemingly turning the conversation away from the tense air around you. “I believe you will enjoy Dragonstone, though it must be hard to leave.”

You swallow, considering - looking over the view, the wild grass, the flowers that peek up through the splits of ancient stone. It’s quiet in the dark, the moonlight glittering your gown as you smile wearily, “I suppose I’ll miss this castle very much. Though surely one day, I might return.”

He hums, considering the view himself, illuminated in a holy light that has your cheeks hot. “I’d miss it, too.” He agrees, looking to the warm hall that still flickers with the lights of the feast. “This castle is nearly welcoming enough to forget the impending responsibilities."

You chuckle softly, your eyes meeting him with a spark of mischief, "Nearly? My Prince, I'd hate to think we're only 'nearly' at impeccable hospitality."

He smiles, a glint of amusement in his eyes though his cheeks glow a rosy hue at his slip-up. "Yes. It would be a shame if that were true," he concedes, his tone light, "But I remember all of your secrets in our youth, and your brother seems to believe you carry some of that tenacity still."

You flush, cursing your brother's teasing in front of the Prince.

"He enjoys embarrassing me, I'm afraid." You sigh, biting your lip. Prince Jacaerys quirks his own smile, tilting his head - a less regal, more boyish look that makes your heart flutter. "Still," He starts coyly, "there must be some hidden treasures you reserve here, my lady."

Your heart skips a beat at the suggestive undertone in his words; the Prince, Jacaerys Velaryon - bold, none the boy he used to be. Back straight, chin tilted as if there was already a crown upon his head, yet he speaks so freely about such private matters. It sparks your coyness.

Thankfully, your brother is right; you do indeed dance with trouble quite well - especially when trouble comes in the form of a handsome, curly-haired prince. You lift a brow, matching his playful demeanor, "Oh, undoubtedly," you reply with a mischievous smile. Gently, you reach out, running the tip of your finger over his black doublet; his eyes stay on you as you trace the dragons inlaid in red over his chest. His breath catches gently at your motion and you can't help the surge of satisfaction. "But revealing all the secrets too soon would ruin the fun, don't you think?" You all but whisper. "Especially when our guest is so noble as yourself."

His eyes dance at your words, alive with some kind of desire. You wonder if it is repeated in your own gaze. Jacaerys dares lean closer, his voice a velvet whisper. "And if I'm a very impatient noble guest?”

You swallow around your heart-thundering throat, shaking your head gently, as you close the small gap between you even more, until you can see the few freckles bore on the bridge of his nose, the slight plush of his lips. “It’s a good thing you are here for several days, then, my Prince.” You whisper.

He shakes his head gently back at you, a light mockery, but you’re stuck on the hook of his eyes that bore into your lips, stuck on how you can feel his breath against your forehead. “Jacaerys.” He corrects, watching you wetten your bottom lip.

You hum, “Prince Jacaerys.” You mend, hiding a smirk as he licks his own lip, eyes cast down at you as if he cannot look away. You worry you cannot, either.

He shakes his head again as if stuck in a loop, curled strands of hair moving with the motion. “Jace.” He insists, brows furrowed gently. You watch his face in the moonlight, beautiful and regal.

You smile coyly, “Prince J-”

He shakes his head, leaning in closer until he is flush against your ear; shivers rove over your spine and you can no longer blame it on the chilly breeze of night. You cannot escape the smell of him - amber, some hint of smoke, leather, and distinctly Jacaerys.

His lips brush against the shell of your ear, “I thought I asked you to call me by my name, my Lady.”

A deep heat of desire coaxes a sharp breath into your lungs at the sensation of his lips. You can almost feel his smile that grows against your skin as he feels your skin raise in small bumps of desire. "You know me well enough, don't you?" He asks once again.

You let out a stuttered breath; do you know him well enough? You certainly wish to. You are doused with the thought of your brother, of the Queen, of Dragonstone, of the war - you should not be acting like children, playing such games with each other.

“Jace.” You relent, cursing how his name falls from your lips like sweet, molten honey; how you sigh out; how you take a step towards him to breathe in his scent once more. "We shouldn't," you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper, the words laden with both desire and caution.

Leaning back, his gaze locks with yours; dark and intense. "I know," Jacaerys replies, low and filled with longing, his hand brushing against yours as his palm slides up your forearm. You swallow thickly, unwilling to be the one to pull away first; Though, what would people say? The Prince with you, neither betrothed or courting - about to depart to join a war for his own family's claim to the Iron Throne?

Such worries soon melt away when arousal swirls in your lower abdomen - his eyes take in your figure, roving slowly over your curves, eyes hungry with want and breath thick with desire.

"We have…" you begin, voice trailing off with a gasp as you struggle to find the right words amidst the overwhelming pull you felt towards him; how his hand slides over your shoulder and moves to grasp your cheek gently.

A thumb, slightly calloused, graces over your skin with some kind of desperation, his eyes searching yours. "Duties?" he finishes for you, echoing that very diplomatic reason that binds you both.

"Yes," you agree softly, your heart racing as the magnetic attraction starts to suffocate you. He nods along with you, and you cannot help but let your head tilt up - towards those very pink and full lips, towards his whisper. “Yes.” He repeats, agreeing with you. “Responsibilities,” he whispers, and it is with a complete jolt to your system that you feel his words brushed gently against your lips. "We shouldn't." He agrees with you.

“We must keep level heads if I am to be a consultant to the Queen.” you say gently, your own hands landing on his chest, not pushing away but tugging, nearly shaking with desperation, to pull him closer. He lets you as he nods, “Your… devotion is admirable.” He agrees against your lips, “But...”

His words trail off as his hand moves from your cheek to the base of your neck, tugging your hair until your breath is tilted just against his lips, his other hand falling to your hip, pulling you closer. Heat thrums in the chill air, your bodies now a breath apart - the shrubbery and plants cease their rustling, the courtyard around you seemingly holding its breath.

"-But?" you whisper, barely able to contain the eagerness in your voice. One hand, adorned with jewelry, snakes towards the nape of the Prince’s neck, his curls thick at the nape - you cannot help the bout of curiosity.

You are rewarded plentifully when his eyes roll back and close momentarily as you tug impatiently on his curls, waiting for his words. A small groan that makes your heart pound and your legs weak.

"-But," he murmurs, his voice suddenly much more husky with desire, "I find it…difficult to resist you."

His lips hover near yours, a magnetic pull, a scream of defiance against your shared words. You silently sigh in relief at the acknowledgement that most of the castle remains in the great hall still, nobody to witness the sins you might just commit.

"And I, you.” You admit, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, “We shouldn't," you murmur against his lips, even as your fingers curl into his hair, pulling him closer.

"I know," he breathes, his voice strained again with the circle game you play. You hold back a whine of satisfaction as his hand slides up to cradle your face, looking into your eyes. There, amidst the burning fire of his Targaryen blood - you find some molten, honeyed desire. It burns for you. “We won’t.” He affirms, your lips missing the warmth of him so close.

You nod, unsure how the gap is once again closing between you; do you pull him by your grasp on his hair, his doublet? Or does he, hands strong and capable, tug you against him?

“We aren’t.” You whisper, eyes flickering to the lips that you so desire. He shakes his head microscopically as he repeats against your own, “We aren’t.”

But you are.

Jacaerys’ lips are warm and insistent against yours; heated, in that way your desire has spurred you, but still shy - a glimpse of the boy he is, who likely has had very few romantic trysts just as you haven’t. Your arms wrap around him as you press up onto your toes, his embrace tightening against yours as he deepens the kiss.

The brush of a tongue, the sharp curbing of a short moan of desire. Your stomach does circles within you as his thumb soothes over your jaw, his large hands encasing your face.

There is a shout elsewhere on the castle grounds, but it provides the jolt of reality that had disappeared from your minds. Still the kiss lingers, a blend of urgency and restraint against your lips and Jace’s, small smiles and bashful chuckles.

If you’re not back to your quarters soon, there might be some questions - and as much as you love a small bit of gossip, you wouldn’t dare admit what you’ve just done with the heir to the Iron Throne.

The thought makes you flush once more.

With practiced grace, you look down; his forehead falls to yours as he takes a breath. You smile smally, “It is getting late; I believe the feast has finished.” You say, trying to ignore the rush of chill that finds you when his body slides a small distance away from your own.

“Indeed.” He agrees, slipping back into his own gracefulness; chin up, eyes strong. You try not to let yourself go giddy at the memory of his hands on yours, or how he offers his arm to you with a small, knowing grin. “Thank you, for…” He clears his throat and you cannot fight the flush on your cheeks. “Showing me around.” He finishes, eyes glancing once more at the statue of your Lord brother across the hedges.

You nod, grateful for the momentary reprieve from the charged atmosphere between you; a pleasant respite from the anxiety that has, admittedly, lessened after your conversation with Jace. "It was my pleasure, Prince Jacaerys," you reply with a hint of playful formality; His cheeks still blush that same pretty pink as when you were children.

And as you begin to walk back towards the main hall, if you catch him sparing several glances at your visage, then so be it.

After all, you will indeed be spending much more time with him in the coming months.

requests open. taglist open.

#mutuals 🕯️#reblog replies #kiss your forehead

1K notes · View notes