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maidragoste · 1 year ago

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Chapter One: The Reaping

The Hunger Games AU

Katniss!Jacaerys x Peeta!Reader (I labeled it that even though Jace's backstory is different from Katniss's but he and Reader will be the star-crossed lovers of district 12)

Chapter Two Chapter Three

I really hope you like it because I'm so excited to write this au!

Please let me know what you think in the comments, as always, likes and reblogs are appreciated too 💖💖

My inbox is open so I'm always willing to read your headcanons, opinions and answer your questions.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

Jacaerys entered the Victors' Village, not that he was a victor. In fact, his name had never come up in the reaping. But he and his brothers lived there since his uncle Larys took care of them after his father died in the middle of an explosion in the mines while working.

The teenager quickly quickened his pace while adjusting his grip on the only two squirrels he had brought from all the ones he had hunted during the morning with Baela, his best friend. He may not have needed to hunt for food anymore but he was one of the few people in District 12 who knew how to hunt. Some people had depended on bartering with his father to bring a plate of food to his table. His father would not have wanted him to leave those people abandoned, so every day he sneaks into the forest with Baela to look for deer, rabbits, squirrels, birds, fish, or any type of edible vegetable or fruit. He always gave the best goods to Baela, after all, she had more mouths to feed with her mother, her twin sister, and her two little brothers. But the rest he exchanged with the merchants or even sometimes he practically ended up giving away his merchandise due to the low price that he was willing to accept from the families that he knew did not have enough to eat to prevent them from ending up asking for more tesserae. Uncle Larys had never told him but Jacaerys knew that he thought he was a fool for doing that.

Jacaerys hated the silence in the village but it was no surprise considering that of the twelve houses there, the only house that was being inhabited was his uncle's. Of the seventy-three Hunger Games that have been held so far, there have only been two victors from District 12 and the only one still alive is Larys Strong.

Jace hurried into the house trying to ignore the heaviness in his stomach.

“I told you Luke would throw up again this year! You owe me!” was the first thing Joffrey, his youngest brother, said when he saw him.

Lucerys, or Luke as his dad had nicknamed him, was the middle brother, and every year he had the worst time during Repairing; which was the moment when the District escort went up to the podium and then took a random piece of paper from each glass urn, one containing the names of all the boys between twelve and eighteen years old and another with the names of the girls. This was how the tributes were chosen for each Hunger Games. Like any coherent person in District 12 Luke feared being chosen as a tribute and unlike Jacaerys he could not hide his fear.

“Take this to the kitchen,” the oldest of the brothers asked, handing the squirrels to Joffrey before running to the bathroom.

When Jacaerys entered he found Luke hunched over, holding the toilet bowl. Ignoring the smell of vomit he hurried to his brother's side and with one hand began to rub soothing circles on Luke's back while the other brushed the hair from his face. He doesn't know how many minutes they stayed like this until the youngest finally stopped vomiting.

"I'm sorry, Jace" Luke apologized with a broken voice and tears on his cheeks, clearly feeling ashamed for being in the same position for another year. "I really tried."

"Hey, you have nothing to apologize for," Jacaerys denied as he helped him up from the floor. "It's okay to be afraid. Only an idiot wouldn't be afraid."

"Joffrey is not afraid," the youngest murmured after cleaning his face.

Joffrey must have been the only thirteen-year-old in District 12 who wasn't horrified at the thought of his name coming up in the Reaping. Jacaerys believed it was because Joff thought he would be able to win the games just by being a relative of a victor. Also, of the three, Joff seemed to want Uncle Larys's validation and attention the most. In these three years living with him he had never told them that he loved them but Jace thought that he should at least care a little about them because otherwise he could have let the authorities take them to the community orphanage instead of taking care of them.

"I told you, an idiot," Jace said, managing to get a small laugh out of Lucerys. "Listen, Luke. Everything will be fine. You never asked for a tessera so your name is only on four pieces of paper."

In the first year when you started to be part of the Reaping, they put your name only once in the bowl. But every time you have a birthday they add another paper with your name on it. If you do not ask for any tessera then it is assumed that you will reach the age of eighteen with only seven papers.

Jacaerys always tried to reassure his brother, and also himself, saying that the chances of his name coming up were low compared to all the people who had to ask for tesserae to be able to eat.

"Lucerys, Jacaerys, start getting ready for the Reaping" Larys ordered from below. There was no need for him to shout as the house was silent.

"Take a bath, you stink" Jacaerys mocked, ruffling Lucerys's hair before leaving him in the bathroom.

"Happy Hunger Games! and may the odds be ever in your favor!" greeted Effie Trinket, the District 12 companion, with the same excitement as in previous years.

While Effie gives a speech about what an honor it is for her to be there as a companion, Jacaerys's eyes meet Baela's. She smiles at him and he struggles to return it. Baela is so brave, he doesn't know how she isn't trembling with fear knowing that her name is at least twenty times. Maybe in recent years she was no longer asking for tesserae but before Jacaerys moved in with his uncle she had.

"Ladies first!" said Effie announcing that it was time for the drawing. She approaches the urn with the girls' names and then reaches deep inside and takes out a piece of paper. You can feel the tension in the air and for a moment everyone seems to hold their breath until Effie opens the paper and I read it "Y/n Y/l!"

Shit. Jacaerys knew you. He had seen you more than once at the bakery when he went to buy or exchange his merchandise with your father. Not only that but you two share classes together at school. You weren't friends. But you were still there for his brothers when he was too devastated by the death of his father to care about anyone else. You were the one who stopped some idiots from bothering Luke at school, you were the one who helped Joffrey with his homework to prevent him from repeating a grade, and you, in the only conversation you ever shared, reminded him that he was important to the District, that his brothers needed him, that he could not abandon them, that his father would not have wanted to see him as a ghost in life, that he would have wanted him to help the people of the District.

Jace had to go say goodbye to you, his gratitude may be three years late but he needed to thank you for taking care of his brothers when he had failed them and remind him that he had a purpose.

Jacaerys watches you move towards the stage. Your posture is straight, your chin up and your steps are firm but he can see the uncertainty in your eyes. You still look pretty in your pink dress, it wasn't glamorous at all—no one in the district wears glamorous clothes—but in his eyes, you stood out. It's probably because, unlike other girls in the district, your clothes didn't hang off and your bones didn't show, you didn't look like someone who was malnourished.

Maybe with your beauty and if you had a good interview you could get lucky and captivate a sponsor, he thought. He hoped that this year his uncle would try even harder to bring home a winner.

Once you are on stage Effie asks for volunteers. Of course, no one offers.

“Now it's time to meet our male tribute!” Effie announces, rushing to the boys' urn and pulling out the first piece of paper she sees, “Lucerys Strong!”

This must be a nightmare, Jacaerys thought. They were supposed to be safe, they had never asked for tesserae. He was snapped out of his stupor by hearing Joffrey's desperate cries calling for Luke as his brother began to walk with fear and tears in his eyes to the stage. Jace didn't even think about it, he broke out of his formation and started running after Lucerys.

“I'm a volunteer!” he shouted when the peacekeepers grabbed him, wanting to take him away from Lucerys. “I volunteered as a tribute!” he repeated, standing up straight, once they released him.

"Magnificent!" Effie exclaimed, happy because there was finally some action in the District. "But you are supposed to present the winner of the reaping first and then ask for volunteers…"

"Just let him up," the mayor interrupted her sharply, clearly upset by the situation. He knew Jacaerys because he always bought strawberries from him and Baela.

“No, Jace!” Lucerys said with a trembling voice, still shaking her head. “You can't!”

“Go to Joffrey” the eldest brother ordered firmly, he wanted to hug Luke but he was afraid that if he did he would also start crying and he couldn't do it knowing that the cameras were filming everything. He couldn't appear weak. “Go,” he repeated, pushing him aside and heading to the stage without looking back.

Jacaerys' brown eyes meet yours and the heaviness in his stomach increases. He would have to kill you if he wanted to come home, you, the person who pushed him to move forward after her father's death. He had never thanked you and much less would he do so now knowing that in a few days, he may be the one who ended up killing you. Obviously, luck was not on his side but if you died he really hoped that it would be another of the tributes who would end up taking your life. If it became him and he managed to win the games, Jacaerys was sure that there would not be a day in which he would not think of you.

"Wonderful!" Effie exclaimed once the young man finished climbing the stairs. "What's your name?"

"Jacaerys Strong," he answered.

"I'll bet my shoes he was your brother. You didn't want him to steal your glory, did you?" The companion's smile disappeared before the furious looks of the victor and the tributes. "Good! Let's give a big round of applause to our new tribute!"

But no one applauds. The entire District demonstrates its disagreement with its silence. Not only that, but many people begin to bring the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and then point them at Jacaerys. He looks shocked as they give him that gesture. It was not a common thing to be used in the District but every once in a while, someone would do it during funerals. It was a gesture of giving thanks, of admiration, of farewell to a loved one. The same gesture they had made at his father's funeral. Jacaerys feels a lump form in his throat. He can't help but look at you, this was thanks to you, if you hadn't reminded him that the District needed him like they needed his dad then maybe he would have continued in silence staring into nothingness, living mechanically instead of starting to help people like his dad used to do.

The mayor begins to read the Treaty of Treason. Once he finishes he instructs you and Jace to shake hands. Jacaerys notices that your hand is a little smaller than his and he feels warm against hiss. You catch him off guard when you squeeze his hand as if to encourage him. He returns the gesture even though he knows he shouldn't, it wasn't the time to become friends.

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darlingofvalyria · 1 year ago

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❝I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage. I will not be swept aside.❞

[ The Prince Jacaerys Velaryon should have known his wife better— or at least, her ire, for when his trysts with the bastard Snow reached the Spiders and soon, the ears of his Princess Consort, rage and war drummed for Winterfell, demanding heads.

—Maestre Kevan, Volume IV of The Bastard Eater, passage chapter under 'The Flame that Sung for the North'. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 10,062 ] [ series masterlist ] | jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt!reader (aegon's twin sister), one-sided aegon ii x reader, jace x sara snow

contains— canon divergence - manipulative reader, targcest, smut, angst - post-vizzy t death, rhaenyra is queen - mentions of children, pregnancy, childbirth - allusions to infidelity & character death(s) - targaryen madness, revenge, domestic violence (not jace), unhinge behaviour, intense use of 'bastard', profanity, gaslighting, guilt-tripping - this is basically gone girl, you gone girl jace - dark fic - mentions of depression (aegon ii), allusions to suicide (not reader) - nsfw: oral (f receiving), breeding kink, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— i didn't think i was going to do the sara snow thing, but herewe are. also i just wanted an excuse to go absolutely ape shit. reader gets very intense, like thoroughly unhinged. this is literally me supporting women's wrongs. it is also quite insane that this reached 10k and it's still just the first part lmaooo + comment, reblog & like at will!

"THAT FUCKING BASTARD! THAT GODSDAMNED, WHORE-FUCKING STRONG HALF BREED!"

Your shrieks echo stone and shadow, interrupted only by the things you pick up and hurl. Anything your hands grab, you throw and spit obscenities against, rage and tears ruin your pretty visage. The fury swept past your cherub features, a dragon breaking through the Hightower seams, upending fire and roar from the pits of your being.

"HOW DARE HE?! I GAVE HIM AN HEIR! I BROUGHT HIM PEACE! I BETRAYED—" you roar, pulling your pearl dagger— a gift from your Strong Bastard of a Husband — and throwing it to your vanity mirror, glass shards exploding. "— MY KIN!"

"DAUGHTER, PLEASE!"

Arms wound across your torso—hardened and chain-mail — as you fight against your bounds before a pain flashes to your cheek. Your rage quiets, hard breaths from your lungs. You turn your tear-stained anger to your mother and her palm, fright and terror on her regale visage.

Death of a spouse becomes the Queen Dowager in her pale blue robe and unbound spirals of auburn hair. Peace had begotten a realm that is balanced on the lineage you had produced for the Queen, her heir, and your own, as the new Princess of Dragonstone. With Otto Hightower for evermore banished to Oldtown, Kings Landing had been brought to a flowering kindness.

Queen Rhaenyra's ascension had been a wondrous affair, fit the for the first crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Not a Queen Consort, not a Queen Regent. An heir who rose for the crown always meant to be hers.

But the calamity that brewed in her ascension... no. You paved the peace. T'was you who wrangled the Great Houses that proved allyship to your twin brother's banner, you who blessed her with tranquility of a rule that will be known for ages that will precede you all.

And now her son... her son dared to destroy everything.

A conversation floats above your head, by your Queen Mother and her sworn shield, the Ser Cole, but you barely hear anything past the ringing in your head.

The Targaryen Madness the sheep so call it, an idle voice, faint and familiar, whispers in the niches of your brain. It has infected you so. It breathes, fuelled by the air wrought by your husband's betrayal. It sings, sweet love. It sings.

"—your grace, I urge to hold her—"

"—she is my daughter, Ser Cole, I am not in danger. Release her."

Justice, the voice shrieks? Screams? But it is so soft in your head, a wail of a memory, a woman or a man? must be had. No dragon falls in such disgrace.

The tight wound over your torso is unleashed but the knight is not far, tensed to cage you, when your mother grasps your elbows as you grab hers, nails digging into the thick fabric of her hem that she still winces, your grip steel-tight.

"My darling, please. I cannot help you if you do not speak what ails you." She brushes her hand desperately across your face, smearing your tears, trying to find the daughter she bore past the savagery and madness that beholds you now. "What has happened?"

You draw a tightened, harsh breath to your lungs, rattling your bones that you quiver in your attempt for sanity.

"I am being shamed, mother," you whisper. Stark, violet eyes meeting the worried round, brown of hers. "The Strong bastard is whoring himself to another, a Northern bastard."

A cackle falls your lips as alarmed gazes are exchanged above your head.

"Y-You cannot say such things aloud, sweet girl," your mother hushes your madness, pulling you close to her chest as she shoots a glance at the door.

Criston checks outside, but only your maids linger. Dyanna presses a finger against her lips, catching the knight's eye, and the rest scatter, surely to make sure that no one that need not know of their mistress' words is within reach. A shiver still runs his spine. He will never get used to the quiet, almost non-verbal way your connection worked and reached. Your Spiders weave webs all around, even as their mistress sunders with rage.

"Mayhaps you are mistaken, for sure the prince is loyal, and he adores you—"

You pull back against her, teeth bared. She flinches and Ser Cole steps forward, wary. "It is the third missive now that I have received. Did you think I would not have confirmed twice— thrice? I didn't believe it the first time! But three people have now confirmed that all this time, in the guise of rallying his mother's cause in the North, he is spending ample time with the Lord Stark's bastard sister. His bastard fucking sister!"

Your mother's horror catches that of Ser Criston's, but your fury is your own, you are a dragon trapped in the ruin of your own making, of the webs you had spun so cleverly to get to this point, and you cannot stop.

"I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage, my blood spilled the birthing bed for it." A cry leaves your lips as your grief and rage pools like ichor from your chest to the floor. Alicent is torn away from you— your nails had gone through her robe and she had cried in pain, a mimick of your own, a mother to a daughter to a mother to a daughter, a cycle, an Ouroboros — and you fall to the floor, grasping at your chest.

"I will not be swept aside. I will not be ignored."

A gasp falls from your lips as your mind moves to a quiet, still place. The tremble fades, your rage and grief whirls, collects, as you push it all back inside your chest.

Your madness must be sharpened for it be used as a sword.

And you cannot let him be happy in another's arms.

If you cannot drag them to the Hells, sweet dragon, the idle voice hums, hisses? Screeches. Your ancestors— all of those who have succumbed to dreamy madness — appears in the corners of your vision like soldiers. Awaiting for you to join them. Awaiting the blood that you will spill.

Then you must raise the Hells unto Winterfell.

"...my daughter?" Alicent calls, hesitant. Cole hovers but does not approach, standing guard in protection of the Dowager. It breaks her heart to see you this way, a young woman still, much older than she was when she married but only because you had always sought your future. You had always had a hardened scale, far stronger than she.

Even when you made your entrance to the world— the unmeasurable pain of bringing not one, but two heirs into the world, her firstborns, all at once — you had never cried. The maestres, maids, they worried for you, as your twin brother had not stopped crying, so alive and red, raw from the wound of being fresh.

But you... you had not made a sound.

The entire weight of your being— your mind, your emotions — even then, you wrangled them close to your very centre, never letting them stray too far from the edges of your fingertips. As if any release must be made with a perused thought. An incentive of reason.

Even then, you plotted every step you took.

Now, Alicent watches as her firstborn daughter suctions all her emotions— that Targaryen madness that plagued the blood of her husband, his ancestors — and made her ploy.

Against the husband that dared make a fool of her.

The silence beckons nightmare. Old fear flickers inside the Queen Dowager.

"Where are my daughters?"

"What?"

"My daughters," you repeat, a hair's breadth louder than the first time you spoke. Your eyes flutter upward. The deadened gaze curled Alicent's heart in fear. "Where are they?"

"In the nursery, with the twins and Maelor. Helaena and Aegon are watching them."

You offer your hand up mutely, and Cole exchanges one last, lingering look with the Dowager, before offering his own. You stand up, thank him softly, and brush and clean up your face to the best of your ability. An utter calmness over your visage.

"Tell no one of what I had told you," you say, fixing your hair and rubbing the red from your cheeks. One minute there is madness, the next there is nothing. There is only a girl. A woman. A princess. "No one knows apart the three of us, and if you ever decide, Ser Criston, that nigh is the glorious time for you to betray my mother or I, know that the last thing thing oyu will fear is the Stranger's hand when I am through with you."

Your mother shouts your name, horrified. "What are you thinking? What are you plotting?"

You cup Alicent's face, smiling ever sweet. "Your innocence will keep you safe, mother. All I ask, for the heart you keep for your children, that you keep this between sealed lips and tilted chin. You know nothing, yes?"

"... Yes. Nothing."

You place a tender kiss on your mother's head. "Keep Daenera and Aemma safe for me. Aegon and I are flying to Dragonstone promptly. Sweet Helaena does ever so get overwhelmed by watching all of the children by herself."

"D-Dragonstone?"

Your sweet smile touched with poison, stretches. "It is high time I take a dragon for myself, don't you think so?"

While an insecure obsession had fraught your younger brother about claiming a dragon, you had met it with indifference.

For how can you not mourn the loss of Aemond's sight, staring in quiet horror the entire time as the maestre did his best to salvage the muck mess of blood and nerve endings, before the old man had shaken his head, and you turned to the small bowl that contained your brother's eye, unable to look at anything else.

Not even when your mother's rage was met with apathy and anger, her demands for justice nothing more than a woman's insanity, a mother's grief that must be swept away, tucked under a chin and a sadness she will never get rid of.

"Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

Your soft-hearted, darling, baby brother. None of his words had thawed the freezing of your heart, the grief under the swell of your breastbone.

Your own mourning was kept between teeth and tongue, as you had slept with your siblings that night. The four of you, tucked under the wing of the other, Aemond close to your chest as possible, as quiet, hot tears ran down your face. Every moan of pain or whimper he made in his sleep tore at each new vein inside of you.

"Dragons are the symbol of our House's power," Aegon had once said, windswept hair you tried to tame with your fingers, smelling fresh of Sunfyre and winds.

"And yet, there were no eggs in our child beds." He stiffened while you smiled sadly, curling your twin's hair away form his face, making him presentable and dusting the bout of sand that managed to find his leathers. You had been scolded long before by your grandsire of how you coddle Aegon, how you defend him, mother him more than your mother ever could, but you cannot stop. You were meant to care for him, tethered you once were inside your mother's womb together, you hold him steady now.

Whenever he was lost, whenever his sadness overtook him, wrung your brother dry of life, you bat the Stranger's hand and bring him back.

"But we have proved them wrong," he insisted. "All of us, even Aemond with Vhagar— the war queen, Visenya's dragon — we have claimed ours. Daeron all the way Oldtown has Tessarion, even Helaena has Dreamfyre. And yet you insist..."

You wound your arms over his torso, keeping him close in a silly hug where you sway and dance him around. A laugh escaped him while you inhaled the scent of smoke, soot, and that grime stench of beast.

Aegon on his good days lacked the bottle-edge of wine, of cheap salts from the waft of the soiled, Silk Streets.

This was your brother. No one else.

"I fare better without one," you whispered in his ear. "I appear innocent, sweet almost, without a beast in my command. They look at me with nothing but pity and the urge to protect me. Our father likes me like this, his poor, lovely daughter without a dragon of her own, listening so intently to his histories of Old Valyria. Our sister is eased, as one daughter is plagued by dreams and struggles with the real world, while the other cannot even claim a dragon of her own. Poor princess, Hightower blood must have thickened in her veins. She too, is no threat."

You pulled back, smiling at him. "They like me better like this. Pitiful, compliant, nothing but a sweet and pretty flower that sways in the Spring breeze. A beautiful decoration but no more."

He rubbed a thumb on your arm, a worry knot on his forehead. Aegon adored you but he struggled to piece together where your plot lies. You are a web-spinner, forever dancing out of reach, catching prey and lengthening your intricacies. "Is that why you hide your training with Aemond alone? Ser Criston is mother's sworn shield, he would not mind—"

"I will not place my secrecies to a knight with a soiled cloaked," you snorted. "No matter how tall he stands beside our mother. I trust no one but my kin. And I know that no matter how heavy you drink, sweet Aeg of mine, my secrets are your own."

He took your hand, kissing the back of it, stare impregnable. "As your blood is my own, our fire is one flame. I go where you tell me to."

You kissed his cheek, a reward, laughing. He smiles proudly at the sound. At this time, you dangled yourself to your brother as bait as the pressure from your grandsire to make him King started rising. You had been given notice that he had been talking to House Lannister, Wylde, even some Riverland lords.

You did not mind becoming Aegon's second wife. Just as his namesake, he will have his Rhaenys and Visenya. Unlike the Conqueror however, he would adore his Visenya more than a true flower. Helaena would enjoy that far better.

"And if I tell you to jump?" you half-purred.

"I will ask you how high."

Memories and choices break and tide as you scramble for hold on the rocky cliff face. Dragonmont in the dark is a behemoth beast, a screech or two breaking like lightning crackles, or the familiar drum beat of wings before the silence consumes once more. The stench of fire, of beasts and carcasses helps cloak the darkened night.

"Udligon ñuha brōzagon, Answer my call," you hiss into fraudulent emptiness, hands gripping rocky edges until your blood beads, "you fucking lizards."

"Have you gone mad!?"Aegon shouted, trying to pace with your run to the dragonpit.

A rocky laugh broke out from your being, not deigning that with a reply. Aegon huffed angrily.

"Alright, tell me this then. How are you so sure I'm not just about to put you on a bleeding volcano to die? We claim your dragon in the morn, sister. First thing before we break our fast. I'm sure by then, Vermithor or—"

You whipped your head around, pulling halt. "I leave tonight to claim my dragon. Whether it is you and Sunfyre who gets me there, or Aemond and Vhagar, is no matter to me. I will claim one tonight. It is up to you to decide now if we tell Aemond or not."

Aemond, whose anger is wounded tight, the barest excuse for war always at the edge of his hum. The misstep at Storm's End had cost him everything. Had cost your mother everything. Queen still, Alicent Hightower had bent the knee and offered her life in exchange for mercy. Before Rhaenyra passed judgement, Viserys I had passed.

It didn't matter that you had ensured a higher dosage from the Harrenhal witch in his usual milk of the poppy. Your spiders moving with ease through the silent channels you had established long before your own flowering.

The Red Keep had scrambled, the Heir with it. It was enough time for Lucerys to have come out of the red, confirmed to live through the worst of it without as much as a broken bone. Arrax however, had been badly maimed, and would no longer take flight. But he and his rider would live. Aemond would live. Alicent would have her son. Rhaenyea will have hers, and the crown.

Kevan had done his duty unto you while you settled the storms in Dragonstone. You rewarded him handsomely.

Aegon sighed. He too, would like your honour avenged, but not for the sake of war. "As you wish, sister. I hope you know what you're doing and I am not about to send you to your death."

Just like what you did to your mother, you reached forward and cupped his face. If before, your touch stills his heart and floods his cavities with warmth, a flash of fear strikes the twin son at the eerie smile on your face.

"Skoros morghot vestri? What do we say to the god of death?"

Aegon blinked. "Tubī daor. Not today."

You smiled. "Trust me, sweet Aeg. It is not my death the Stranger will take. Not until the fjords of the North are at my mercy."

"Iksan kesīr sir naejot māzigon ñuha sikagon pakto! I am here now to claim my birth right!" Your scream echoes and falls, repeating back to you. There is a hum, like an electric current that sizzles and pops inside your blood and marrow, and you scramble higher and higher on the rock. Your blood does not sing for the dragon lairs, but above. Up and up, jagged edges cut your skin and dress, the wind whipping with sea mist, but nothing, no one, can clamour you as you reach the peak.

At first you see nothing but darkness and hollow sounds. But you let your eyes adjust, a hiss breaking out of your dry lips as you stumble. You look down. What you first thought were rocks and wayward bones of cattle is bigger.

Whale? No.

Dragon. Dragon bone.

You look and will every sense that your eyes do not. The smell that is drowned— iron. Bones bigger than a person. Than cows and whales. Bones of fearsome beasts. Darkness moves, taking form, more than shadow. Scales hewn rough and jagged, as if stone themselves. Midnight black moving with the gentlest of sighs.

As soon as you realise what— or who — is in front of you, the eyes open with an intelligent gleam. Your heart jolts at the emerald irises that gaze back at you, slitting at the appearance of a human.

'The stench of death follows him', the voice of an old keeper hums into your ear. You no longer remember who told this to you, but the words ring true in your memory. 'Scales of midnight, as if hewn from darkness and death. A harbinger, your grace, an omen of the darkest nightmares.'

"Rytsas. Hello." You smile, ever sweet, ever charming.

This is a thread you had never felt before. Not one of your own making, but something older. A golden thread that led the eyes of Daenys the Dreamer. That spun the ties of Aegon the Conqueror. The voices that herded your madness had gone quiet in the mad rush to get here, but now their presence thickens. Words you cannot hear, nor understand, flood the silence as dragon met rider for the first time.

Keepers and historians have called him he, but every bone in your body tells you that the being before you is a she.

And wouldn't that make sense? A cannibalistic being is a woman?

She opens her maw, only ever slightly, smoke and fire crackling out of it. Molten lava in the belly of her insides tease the cool, night air and warms you.

Her version of a smile. Hello, she seem to say.

"Māzīs. Come," you say, giggling. "Dohaerās. Serve."

That night, you took your first flight.

That night, the Cannibal took her first flight with her first— and only — rider as well.

❝ . . . It is said that the formerly named "The Cannibal" had been entranced by the hunger of his new— first and evermore — rider. Prince Aegon the Elder who had escorted his twin sister that very night with Sunfyre, had looked up in alarm and fright to a maddened screech. Excitement and laughter pouring out from the newly bonded Dragon and Rider had soon turned fear into awe.

Gaelithox, she had been named as they had ridden until dawn broke by the rider who loved her 'till the end of their days, was said to have seen a mirror in Her Grace. The fathomless hunger for blood and organ from the same bodies of their kin. For Gaelithox ever hungers and satisfies for the same meat as her, at the height of her grief and ire that fuelled the Queen Consort to climb Dragonmont by hand, she too hungered for the throats of her traitorous blood.

Gaelithox will only have one rider in her whole life, as she found no same twin soul as akin in the Bastard Eater Queen. Their bond moved as if two bodies beheld one soul.

She shied from humans, and oft found too rough with other dragons. Vhagar was an exception, oft seen acting as an elder sister to the Queen's dragon when neither royal rode them and played in the skies. Smaller dragons were forbidden to approach her however, nor was she allowed in the dragonpit after almost devouring the flightless Arrax.

She died two moons after the Queen's death, delivering her final flames for her rider and would never more breathe her infamous green flames akin to Wildfire, ordered by the Crowned Heir, Princess Daenera Velaryon. It is said that the princess attempted to bond with the cannibalistic dragon but it refused.

The dragon spent her last moons in heartbreak, oft seen in Dragonstone and the Red Keep, circling her rider's most favourite places. Her final resting place is at the very top of Dragonmont from whence the Queen claimed her. It is said that the Queen's crown, the one the King Jacaerys had gifted her after the birth of their first sons, the Princes Laenor and Gaemon, is said to be placed there, as well as a portion of her ashes.

It is said that the King and the Queen's twin brother, the Prince Aegon, personally made the trek in remembrance.

It is widely suspected that Aelyx, Princess Daella's dragon, the youngest child of the King and Queen, may have been Gaelithox's only existing hatchling for he too is made of rough, midnight scales. The dragon that bred with her remains to be unknown. ❞

—Maestre Kevan Noratz, Volume X of The Life and Lies of the Emerald Flame, passage chapter under 'The Time of Hunger: Gaelithox'.

You leave Gaelithox to a mournful goodbye on Dragonstone, pressing your forehead against her hard, scaly head, promising to come back, of exchanging her diet for fat, juicy whales, for more wind-whipped rides, before riding back on Sunfyre with Aegon. The younger dragon would not rise from the beaches in fear of the cannibalistic elder, but you made ensuring promises to teach Gaelithox not to chew your dearest brother's dragon.

You had gone most of your life without the feeling of a bond beneath you, warm and alive and wild, and the roar and stench that though new, felt so familiar in your ribcage— you will fly again. And with your brothers beside you. With Helaena and her lovely Dreamfyre.

To think they had taken this from you too, to placate them. To play into their hands like a mewling kitten.

No more.

It is paces before fast is about to break when you both touch back down to Kings Landing. The Keep busying with its occupants, servants and maids bolstering with quickened feet to ensure the lords and royals are awakened with full, poached meals, dresses and coats readied for their lords and ladies, a new, glorious day under the Reign of the Black Queen.

"What now?" Aegon asks, trying to keep with your pace but he is fatigued, failing to stop his yawns. The excitement of last night had come upon him like a fog, and he is missing his bed. Hells, he is missing the bed he stays with his wife if it meant he would get a full night's sleep in the hours of the day.

"Now, we speak nothing of what happened."

He turns to you, frowning. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." You beam, nodding in favour of soldiers and maids who bow in reverence to the Crown Princess. You know you smell of dragon and night, and you need a bath. And to talk to Dyanna before you seek your daughters. "I will need time and people. The board must still be set for me to perfectly execute what I have in store."

"Alright." He yawns again. "I'll be in my quarters, passed out, if you need me. Please do not need me until sup."

You laugh breathlessly, grabbing his hand and giving it a wet kiss. "I will give you your rest, be assured. Kirimvose, dōna lēkia, Thank you, sweet brother."

The words are simple, said in a quiet murmur heavy with love and meaning. Aegon presses a loving kiss to your head, unable to stop himself winding an arm around you.

"Syt ao, va moriot, ñuha prūmia. For you, always, my heart."

As you break to each other's chambers— his, to sleep, you, already meeting Yna and requesting for a bath — you don't notice the lurker that watched the intimate moment between twins, humming in amusement before it moves to follow you.

Back in your quarters— your marriage quarters as Jacaerys had requested that you forgo having your own, not wishing to part with you — the maids are already busying themselves airing the room, moving to follow your usual routine. The only thing breaking it is the tub now in the centre.

"Thank you," you say to Yna as she picks out the pins from your hair, shrugging off your dress in the process as soon as the maids had untangled the lace behind you.

"Call for Dyanna," you tell them as they bow and leave, the door clicking softly behind them. Plans must be made. Bath for now.

With the world stifled for a second, left with only you and your thoughts, you plunge your body under too-hot water, sighing against the aches and pains in your body. Dragon-riding is a new endeavour to your muscles, and though enjoyable, was still too new.

You sigh as tears fall from your eyes, blinking exhaustedly against soft, humming daylight. You had always known that love, as it is, is a maiden's folly. A foolish, hapless play meant to fool young girls into thinking the world is kind; a pretty place.

It was an even farther thought from you, a princess of the realm. At a young age, it has been drilled to you that your womb is a rare commodity. Your body has never been your own, a piece meant to be moved in a bigger game that you are used for, not play.

You weren't stupid.

If there's a few things Otto Hightower had ever granted you, apart from gifting you his keen prowess in moving power beneath your fingertips, in hungering for more, for better— it is understanding what each person is, who they can be, how you can move them. A flatter, a flair, a push. As a man, there is much to be desired about your grandsire; he used people, used family to pursue power, but you can't truly fault him for that as you were the same.

You just took better care of the people under your wing.

And for Jace, you had banished him.

The worst part, you knew there was a good, fat chance you would care for the princeling. He was a kind man, a sweet man, and with a guiding hand, you could forge yourself the best husband for yourself as much as you can mould a great king and a wonderful father. Women's hands are ever carved to mould and prod men. We stand behind, a presence or a hand, an echo of power.

But your Jace had surpassed it all, and in the moons leading up to your present day, to giving him his heirs, two beautiful daughters, the promised full Valyrian colouring in the silver hair in Daenera, your eldest, the wide, violet gaze in Aemma— the name of his mother's mother, a request of him that you had kindly, graciously fucking agreed to — of course there is a part of you, the girlish, tender heart that you long thought you had buried to get here, would fall for the brown-eyed, wondrous man.

You sink deeper into the tub, sighing as you let yourself unravel—

When you feel it. A presence in your room. It's soft. Silent. Not a lot would feel as such, but as paranoid as you are, as you keep your spiders clean and pretty with your dewy-eyed webs— you know better.

Your mind runs with ideas on who it might be, and come to a few people. No true name rises. The Red Keep is flooded with spies and traitors. You test your luck, sitting up on the tub, raising an arm over the lip of it and flicking water with your fingertips.

"If you are here to kill me, I'm afraid it will be a lost cause."

He laughs, sardonic and edged and familiar, jetting a tingle down your spine.

Well. There's getting a calm bath.

"Perceptive as always, niece," he says, heavy footfalls approaching now that he has been caught. "I'm just here to say hello."

You raise your eyes, mouth curled but unsmiling at the man who acts as the biggest thorn to your plots. Daemon Targaryen has never fallen through your webs, on guard against your flatter, your push, or your flair. Of course, taking the position of his daughter might have forever burnt that road, but you would think he'd ease up just a little bit when his wife, the Queen, had warmed to you considerably.

Unlike your mother, you had never been hostile to your bitch of an elder sister. Just like your plots for Aegon and Jacaerys, and nodding along to thread your father had started but abandoned, foolishly thinking the realm would follow without him fully ensuring your sister's claim to the throne— you carefully maintained a polite farce with Rhaenyra.

Ultimately, this became a boon to you, as she had responded positively to your abrupt marriage to her son, even reminding her deranged guard dog of their own marriage. The cream to your lemon cake had been when you birthed Aemma, the Queen's most favourite grandchild thus far. When she was a babe, Rhaenyra was never far; almost, always holding your daughter, cooing at her cheeks, remarking her likeness to her namesake with pure fondness.

But Daemon Targaryen knew, in the deepness of his marrow, that there is something wrong with you.

"Hello," you answer primly. He laughs, leaning against the passage to your open balcony. "We could have had this elating greeting at fast, if you wish to break it with me and my own."

He scoffs, unable to hide his disdain at the thought. It breaks his stare of your naked visage. Men. "I would rather jump to the fighting pits, good daughter."

"How rude. Is that all?" You meet his gaze steadily, tilting your head. "If it is not obvious yet, good father, I am bathing."

An amused smirk. "I can see that." Lecherous fucking geezer. "No matter. I just have a... curious thought, a wonder I suspect you may be able to answer. See. Truly odd it is, for the keepers to alert me this morning that Sunfyre had taken a ride past the Hour of Owl." Your heart thuds in your ribcage and you do your best to keep your expression mildly irritated. "Not with one, drunken rider, but with another. It had taken them hours, only coming back when morning had already presented in the air."

He steps forward, slow, menacing, until he reaches the edge of your tub and crouches. Your gazes are still unmatched in height, defiant as yours might be.

"The distinct smell wafts them, a Keeper said, and one suspects that though one dragon left last night, two might have come back this morning for he had seen another fly away." His fingers dips into the water, swirling the steam without breaking eye contact. "I wonder if you know anything about it, darling niece of mine."

The mocking emphasis is not lost on you. If the Queen is the Realm's Delight, you were Darling of the Realm. A sweet, merry girl, the secondborn daughter of Viserys I who frequently fought for the plight of the small folk, who gathered friends of all kinds of lords and ladies no matter the standing of their houses to her own, visiting far lands and charming every person in any room. Who made any feast brighter, always sparkling, always the darling.

Less of a dragon, more of a fairytale.

You sit up, leaning, baring your breasts completely to him as you pull yourself up on the ledge he is crouched from. He leans back, only slightly, as you smile demurely. Sweet. Tart. On the edge of pulling his head and hitting it against the copper tub.

"I am unsure of what you suspect, or is accusing me of, kepus, uncle," you purr and there's a twitch in his mouth, a widen in his irises— men are so fucking simple — "I had been feeling down last night, as my husband, as you know, is beyond my reach at the moment as he rallies alliances for the good of the realm. My brother had simply offered to take me out riding, trying to quell my loneliness with an excitable flight I had never been afforded."

You tilt your head. "Even if there had been a dragon binded to my own, why why would I not regale the realm with news of my success? I have longed for a dragon of my own, but alas, I have not quite succeeded where most of the family have." You pout. His eyes flicker. "Mayhaps I am more Hightower than I am Targaryen."

A huff leaves his lips, the amusement in his smile arching to his dark, dark gaze. Before you can react, his hand had comes forward to hold your chin in a tight grip, your jaw aching soon enough at the fingers that dig against your skin, wanting to bruise, to break.

Though a tremble passes your body, you keep his stare, gritting your teeth as the pad of his thumb brushes your lips. Moments and desires thrum between a charged hatred.

The lust is twisted from wanting to fuck you to wanting to kill you. The line is not simple. Maybe that is your fate together.

But he can't. You are well too ingrained in his family now, loved by the people he cared about. You are untouchable. For now. This is a warning, waiting for you to stutter, to show your hand. Any show of your true intentions... he is more than happy to swing Dark Sister across your throat.

He releases you without another word, standing up and leaving through the front door, the door clicking shut.

You sink back into the bath, letting the water engulf you.

Your daughters are moons apart in birth, and there are only a few differences between them that people oft remarked they could be twins. Daenera is taller, spindly. Built like Aemond when he was younger. Her hair is spun moon and eyes of mullish blue. It reminds you of Daeron's eyes. You had named Daenera yourself, a gruelling birth that took the entire night. You promised Jacaerys he could name the second. He had chosen Aemma for a girl, Laenor for a boy.

Not a few moons later, you were with child again. Your husband pinked at the cheeks at the chiding from his family. When she cried into the afternoon sun—Aemma was born mid day, during a council meeting — he pain did not stop the laugh that came out of your mouth from the horrified expression from the Master of Coin as your water broke.

Aemma had a sweetheart face, cheeks much fatter than her older sister's, with a yellowish tinge to her hair, curlier too, reminding you of Aegon. And Aemma laughed more, her deep, violet eyes always half closed as she exploded in giggles and bright, sunshine happiness.

Sons they might not be, but you had given heirs for the throne. And for them, you would do anything to keep their futures intact. Bond with a dragon, face the Rogue Prince, upheave Winterfell. Anything.

You flounce to the nursery where you know the two would be, smiling sweetly at every person you pass as they bow in reverence. Most wore sights of confusion, their greedy eyes and wagging tongues drinking in the deep, emerald glisten of your gown.

It's an old dress, one you keep in the corner of your collection. It isn't as if you had forgo the colours of your mother's house, but playing court meant every movement, even the clothes you wear, can be meaningful. And since your marriage, your Jace liked you in Velaryon colours.

"A goddess come to bless," he gasped against your collarbone, keeping your legs high on his waist as he rutted into you before his teeth sunk on your skin. As newlyweds go, there is not a lot of teasing to be had for your husband to curl against you in a darkened alcove. Merely wearing his favourite colour on your skin has him panting like a dog. His favourite dress is a seafoam blue that dragged longer against the ground in a soft, almost-gossamer material with a silver belt.

Enticing him never took long, but you enjoyed the dance presented. You enjoyed the dark hunger that filled him until he grabbed you to take you because he just had to take you.

The fresh wound slices deeper as you imagine all the things Jacaerys is doing to the so called Sara Snow. The emerald green of your gown shimmers with your anger.

"Fucking bastards," you can't help but say aloud, nodding at the guards posted on the nursery as you hear the squeals of your daughter and the calm, even voice of your brother.

"Muña! Mother!" Aemma squeals, untangling herself from being pressed against Aegon's side as the children— Daenera and Jaehaera — cuddle around him, before running to you. Helaena is on the floor, entertaining baby Maelor. Your mother, hands twisting against her own, stands vigil by the window, staring far ahead.

You catch your secondborn, giggling as you pressed kiss after kiss on her face.

"I see everyone has started without me. Where is Jaehaerys?"

"You were late, sodjisto, aunt," Jaehaera grins gummily. Jahaera is only a year older than Daenera. Your daughters, five and a half and five respectively. "Jaehaerys is with kepus, uncle. They are training."

"Smart girl." You meet your brother's gaze, whose eyes had notably been staring at your dress, mouth turned down. "Why don't you three play with Helaena? I shall speak about Name Day gifts for your Uncle Joffrey for a bit, hm?"

As Aemma shrieks something about cakes, and Daenera dutifully kissing your cheek in greeting before she takes Jaehaera's hand, you turn to your brother and mother.

"Aemond?" you ask softly, keeping your voice out of earshot. Alicent shakes her head. You nod. "Good. We don't want him inciting a war before I have mine properly planned."

As the Dowager draws in a sharp inhale, Aegon grabs your hands, the worry pulled taunt in his eyebrows. "Are you seriously contemplating war, sister? Isn't there a better way to punish them?"

"What punishment does a man regale in?" you hiss, stepping close to him. "Or the Queen's heir for the bloody matter? When Aemond nearly killed Lucerys, and he confronted me as if I had ordered Vhagar to tear through his brother, I thought I had put to bed any doubts in our marriage. It seems that men stray, regardless. My daughters may be his heir now, but what is to say that bastard wildling he's found himself cock deep in produces a son? Will he shame me with a mistress? Or will he shame me with a second wife?"

Your mother's lips tightens, her fingers paling at how tight she is gripping her nerves.

"Bastard or not, if he takes her to wife, I will be nothing. Make that babe a son, and the realm will rally for it. Daenera is his heir. My daughters will not be forgone. I will not be pushed aside. This is mercy, brother," you say softly, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. "My last one. It requires time, moons, to unfurl. It requires seeding doubt and unfathomable inadequacy. Better if Aemond is none the wiser, Helaena the same. But I will need both of you for this to work. It is the only time I will ever ask. For me. For my daughters."

"And you will punish Winterfell with a war?" your mother asks, frown pulled deep. "That is the plan?"

"I will not. I won't do such a thing so blatant, mother, you know me better than that. But this is my last mercy, and it will be the last. For the next time he offends me so, I do not care if Rhaenyra feeds me to Syrax. I will put a dagger through his heart, heir or not."

The Prince Jacaerys comes back not a week later. Though he comes back to the same castle with the same occupants— your shiny new threads gleam. The stage has been set, a play ready to act. You had sent more spiders in the North, keeping a close eye to every blasphemy your husband has been enjoying in the absence of his duties, and as the rage in you quietly grew with each new whisper, your determination hardens.

You mark each indescretion. You keep a tally.

You count for each fall your blow will land on him.

Vermax lands with a screech and a heavy thump, your husband leaping off him with a grin on his face, matching the one you own, waving your arm joyously with Aemma in your arm and Daenera beside you, holding to your skirt as she grinned at her father.

Aemma wiggles under your hold, and you let Jace get close enough before you set her down, laughing, "Okay, okay!" Her laughter carries through as she scrambles like a bull to her father. A squeal peals out of her as Jace picks her up just in time and tosses her in the air.

"Want to meet kepa, father, sweet girl?" you whisper to Daenera, running a hand down her hair before she nods, breaking out into her own sprint, hugging her father as he greets them with laughter and kisses.

You let them have their time, and this, at least, eases your heart truthfully. A kind reminder that Jace adores his daughters.

You stay at the edge of the entrance, your too-wide grin softens into a smile. You were dramatic, nothing new about that, but even in the pale, pearl blue of your dress in silky, Myrish lace, the emeralds in your heavy, golden belt winks. Green ribbons twisted in your hair alongside fresh flowers. When the trio of your family treks toward you, silver-haired babes clinging to your dark haired prince, you serve a wink at the girls and they untangle themselves from their father while you stepped forward.

A choreographed dance, not giving him time to think. To pause.

Every step is calculated, every item on your body— the silk, the small seahorse that locks your dress behind you, the tint on your lips to the oil in your hair and body — is made to perform. You engulf him in you as if you want to suffocate his senses, your arms wrapping around him with sweet kisses pressing on his face, his neck.

Most in the dragonpit looked away, others, scandalously amazed and enchanted, watch as the princess is undeniably enthralled with her lord husband.

His laughter rumbles across his body, infecting your own, smelling of dragonback and crisp winds. You wonder if your nose is more heightened, you would be able to smell his whore in him, but you don't. It's just him. Your Jace.

Your body moulds against his as his arms tightens around you. When you lean back, you sweetly press a chaste kiss on his lips, grinning.

"What is this?" he huffs a laugh, meeting your doeful gaze. Your fingers curl around his chin, his cheek, idly tapping and touching as if you are committing so much newness to memory.

"Kostagon iā ābrazȳrys daor jaelagon zirȳla valzȳrys? Can a wife not want her husband?" you ask softly, pressing a few more kisses before sucking the last one just under his ear. His body shudders. You hide your smirk. "Skori ēza issare qrīdrughagon tolī bōsa? When he has been away too long?"

A yearning look tints your gaze from under your lashes, and you have to stifle the winning smirk as guilt pinches his face.

"My apologies, my wife. I did not mean to be away from you for long. From the girls." As his eyes flick to his daughters, your mask momentarily sharpens into clear distaste. The urge to dig your fingers into his eyes until he is bleeding and screaming under you is one you tamper with great distress.

Did not mean...

Did not mean to have a dalliance with another woman?

Did not mean to fall into bed with a fucking bastard, you insidious cunt, while I await here with your heirs?

Your anger thrums, nestled deep in your heart, it breathes. You school your face the moment he turns back to you, bringing your hands to his lips, kissing each finger with reverent tenderness. His brown eyes smoulder, rubbing your bare— irises widening — back.

"If you wish it, I can be on my knees for my apologies, my princess."

Your mouth curls. "I'm afraid that might have to be quite later, my prince."

"Huh?"

"The Dowager Queen hoped to congratulate you on your successful campaigning. Reaching as far as the North so frequently, we planned a feast for your return." Eyes shinning, you cup his face. You hope the guilt eats him raw from the inside out. Like worms. Like termites. Hungry, hungry, hungry. "We have never been more proud of you, I have never been more proud of you."

You laugh brightly, ignoring the way he squeezed you just a bit harder that mere second the same time his eyes tightened. "The moment I told the girls of it, they had begged to dance with you." Then you bit your lip, frowning slightly. "I... I understand if you are tired, 'tis a long journey after all, I did try to tell them you might want to rest, we can sneak you—"

"No, no, my heart, of course I would be happy to, I— I want nothing more." He brings you close, face disappearing into your neck. "Thank you. I love you."

You hum, carding your fingers through his hair. "As I love you."

For the rest of the feast, you dance just at the edges of his fingertips, ensuring that you permeated his sights and senses despite it. A game. A dance. When he thanks revelries who congratulate him, who ask him of his adventures, you proudly stand beside him, dutiful as the wife that you are, spearing him with compliments as much as you can. Hands squeezing his arm, your oils swallowing him with your smell.

When dinner came, you take chances massaging his thigh, sliding a salacious grin that had him blushing, ever so sweet, green— making you wonder what kind of fucking bastards do that he finds your attention so swallowing.

You don't let up.

Whenever he, in turn made a move, you sidestep, flutter a smirk, a wink; always escaping, letting him grow frustrated as the night went on.

Your one respite from taunting him had been when he danced with his daughters, making a gallant show of asking them, even Jaehaera. Giggles and spins, the ladies of the court fawn and coo.

Even now, you're making him to be the perfect man. The endearing husband, the wondrous father, the brilliant prince, the perfect lord.

To execute your plan, it must be made with a surgical precision. A slice that guts him to his knees, that breaks his spirit and quenches the whispering, wicked madness nestling with your ire. On another cheek, he must remain upright and upstanding, as to keep your daughters' future in perfect order.

You catch the domineering gaze of Daemon Targaryen, idle as he is, on the side of his distracted Queen, talking to a highborn lady. You don't look away as you toast him your cup of Arbour Red before you pucker your lips for a taste. Your eyes move to where your husband is already looking, flushed red and sweaty from all the dancing, your girls, preening and giggling around him.

You tilt your chin at him, a challenge in your gaze, before you slowly pull your lips away from your wine, stained red.

His throat bobs.

It will be a long, arduous game. Full of pitfalls and tightened webbing. One trip can kill you. But once the machinations are in order, once everything and everyone is in their proper places... oh, you cannot wait for the dance the dragons will make.

A flutter, a simpered footstep. Then a rustle of a dress as one bows.

"My lady," Dyanna greets behind you.

"Hm?"

"The spiders in the ice have met the pup in the snow."

"And?"

"The pup is not suspicious, in fact, they might go as far as to say that the pup is lonely. Though others largely understand her existence... no one likes a bastard."

You snort. "No, they don't, do they?"

"The wolf cares for the pup though, and is largely protective of his only sister."

"Hm. Complicated, but not impossible. Have Meera change the tone of my missive. A softer edge. Sweet but not overtly. Ensure the prerogative of politeness. Then have it sent to the Rookery. The proper channels."

You sigh, taking the edge of your braid and twisting through the ribbons your maid tangled between them. Tonight, you had elected Targaryen colours. A black dress akin to scales and a low, exposed back and dipping front, held together in red ribbons and silver chains. One that might be too on the nose, but the constant, feverish stares from your husband made it worth it.

"We have to ensure a good relationship with the Warden of the North, don't you think so?" You have not looked away from your husband since your maid came, and as he whispered something in Daenera's ear, nodding off to her grandmother with Aemma towed, he turned towards you, one stride after another.

"Precisely what I thought, milady."

"Go," you order her for the last time, giving her your cup, just before Jacaerys reaches you.

Game, set.

Worshipping you has always been something Jace excelled at. At the least, his cock was much larger than most, and without the preparation of his tongue and mouth, it burned. At most, he oft found himself holding your shaking thighs, your head and shoulders left on the bed as he feasted on you like a man starved, hungered for your nectar, the sounds you make, and the shaking of your body as you reached your peak on his tongue.

"J-Jace, please, I—" Your breath stutters, a hiccup escaping your mouth, but he is not letting up. On his knees as only a lordling can with his back straight, he is holding your thighs, your lower back, eating your cunny for the third time of the night.

As soon as he had reached you, he grasped your waist, whispering against your hair in a rumbled groan, "You are torturing me so, my wife. We leave. Now."

"Now?" you echoed, amused. "This is a feast in your honour."

"My honour is already hanging by a thread. The revelry will go on without us. I want to have my fill of you."

And fill he had. He didn't even wait to get you out of your dress before he had pushed your skirt upward, gone on his knees, and got his tongue inside of you.

Now, you are overwhelmed, overstimulated as you are hazy, gripping the wrecked sheets as your peak reached you once more. A strangled, breathy cry of his name falls between your lips as your back arched impossibly so, and instead of letting up, this seemed to fuel him harder, the muscle of his mouth working harder inside of your cunt, hands digging into your flesh to keep you steady.

It builds with a stimulation unending, and just as you're on the throes of your last high, it builds again, quick and fast this time, shuddering gasps of, "o-oh gods, g-gods, Jace!" is the last thing you are able to shout before your fourth peak breaks against the shudders of your last one, your wetness exploding, and you start crying before he lets up.

Your blubber becomes laughter, and he is soft as he lies you down, massaging your thighs as you twitched. He hovers above you, running gentle hands across your arms, kneading through skin, before he reaches your face. He's still in most of his clothes, his long white shirt and breeches, but his mouth is covered in your wetness before he wipes it, obscene in the prettiness of his face and messy locks from where you had tugged and grabbed.

He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, so close to your body, all too tangled in your soul, and can feel his hard cock upright and wanting against your belly, but he pays it no mind. Concern mars his features as he brushes down your hair.

"Are you alright, my love? Too much?"

You shake your head, brushing your hand down his chest. "N-no, I am well. I just never did that before."

He smiles, kissing your closed eyelids before he brings you close to his chest, cuddling you deep. "You deserve all the pleasure I can give you," he says against your hair. "I have been gone far too long. Consider it my apology."

You hum, eyes open. "Apology for what? You were doing your duty, nothing more, ñuha zaldrīzes, my dragon." You feel him stiffen as you keep your voice soft, caring. "I understand duty far better than you. It is what I love most about you."

You look up, taking his chin between your fingertips as you stared at those warm, brown eyes. "You, who carries your honour like a shield and your duty like a sword. I feel as if the gods had blessed me a husband far better than I should have had for I know I do not deserve you."

"H-how can you say that? You are—" He swallows. "— You are the most excellent woman. The mother of my children. You... You are the one I do not deserve."

Your head falls back against his chest, gripping his shirt. Only by your teeth had you stop yourself from screaming.

You curdle, you keep, you poise.

"My love?"

But you pay him no mind, pushing him on his back as you straddle him, your hands working quick to unlace his breeches until his cock slaps against his stomach, end red and swollen. A sharp hiss falls from his lips as your hand tugs on it once. Twice.

He calls your name, spits it really, eyes blown with lust as he holds your waist, unsure if he should lift you off him or grind you against his aching cock.

"I want you inside me," you whimper, plead, feeling his cock twitch at your words, your false, yearning gaze. He mistakes the burned tears of anger in your eyes as unbridled want. "I have gone so long without your warmth, your cock, swelling inside me, your seed nestling deep, taking root—"

"Yes," he gasps, fingers digging into your doughy sides, pulling you up, moving you around whilst you grabbed his length and directed inside your wet, hot cunt inch by inch, filling you so thickly you can feel him in your throat. It takes time, patience and grit, but you're wet enough and you're determined. Once he's fully inside of you through a choked moan of your own, his neck arches, head thrown back. "Fuck! Yes, y-yes, there you are, my g-good fucking girl."

You move slow at first, taking him, bracing one hand on his knee, almost testing the feel him of back in the familiar contours of your cunt. Veins pop between each groan and choke that shudders through him whilst praise, your name, the possessive titles— my love, my wife, my princess — is spit in between.

When the heat tightens in your belly, you shift positions, placing both palms on his chest, and riding him without abandon, bouncing up and down as you watch with a sharp eye as his release builds. His hips move on their own, fucking up in you as you meet his thrusts with equal vigour, and it's delicious. It's heated. You grind your swollen folds against his mon and your cries make him thrust up harder into you, calling your name, denting your doughy hips.

You don't stop, your pleasure at the back of your mind, wanting him to unravel, to break— a final cry of your name dissolving into a choked moan, spilling his seed deep inside, the continuous snap of his hips digging it deeper into your womb.

But your last peak is still tightening, so you press a quick kiss on his chest, a bite really, before you continue to chase your own high, a hiss slipping his lips but moving your hips with his iron-grip, stutters of, "d-do it, reach your high, f-fuck! fuck!"— Your head throws back, nails digging his skin as your cunt clenches his cock in a vice grip, forcing his hips to snap up once more, twice, until you fall, slumping against him.

When he kisses the top of your head, murmuring words you ignore, you close your eyes.

Your plan is in motion. The missive will be sent to the Lord Stark, in pursuit of an innocent friendship. The spiders you have placed on the Northern bastard are set, and a dragon flies in Dragonstone with your bond in its blood.

Your Jace is home. He will fall in love with you all over again. His wonderful daughters and darling princess, he will regret the events that have transpired in the cold. In his head, he will make promises to do better, to be better, that whatever happened is a blip. A mistake that will not happen again. but you know, he will trip. He will wander once more.

But you will make sure that the next time he does so, he will regret it for the rest of his days.

Because it is not you who will burn Winterfell to the ground.

It will be him.

Your plan moves, your web is perfect.

Now, the spider waits for the idiot fucking flies to feed on.

TAGGED: @inkareds @marihoneywk @caterina-caterina @ahristata @xxvelvetxxxx @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @bunbunbl0gs @yazzzmints @bellstwd @hiraethrhapsody

#jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon x y/n #prince jacaerys #hotd jacaerys #dark!reader #jacaerys smut #jacaerys velaryon smut #jacaerys fanfic #jacaerys fanfiction #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒#₊˚ପ⊹ hightower green 🕷

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the-fiction-witch · 10 months ago

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Jacaerys (Jace) Velaryon MasterList

My Lord Verlayon - Smut The Snow - Sweet The Snow P2 - Sweet Sparing Sword - Flirty Heat of The Water - Smut Heat Of The Water P2 - Smut Heat Of The Water P3 - Smut Dragon Ride - Smut Say You Want Me Too - Flirty Little Bump - Sweet AF Little Bump P2 - Sweet Dragon Blood - Flirty AF In The Eyrie - Politics In The Eyrie P2 - Sweet In The Eyrie P3 - Sweet Sweetling - Smut Sweetling P2 - Smut Sweetling P3 - Smut Sweetling P4 - Smut Sweetling P5 - Smut Water - Sweet Loss - Sad My Perfect Bride - smut Boys - Sweet Boys P2 - Smut Boys P3 - Smut Boys P4 - Smut Show Off - flirty Missed You - Flirty AF Secret Visits - Sexy Secret Visits P2 - smut When Darkness Falls - Smut Little lady - Flirty Little Lady P2 - 18+ Little Lady P3 - 18+ Little Lady P4 - 18 + We Could Helo - 18 + Morning After - 15 Morning After P2 - 15+ Morning After P3 - 18+ Morning After P4 - 18+ Morning After P5 - 18+ Loss - 18+ Frustration - 18+ Comfort - 18+ House Of Christmas P3- 12 Yes My Lords - 17 Apologize - 15

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snowprincesa1 · 1 year ago

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{seducing the prince }

Jacaerys x F!Lannister!Reader

Summary: Jacaerys knew he would have to marry for duty, he didn’t know his duty would be to you.

Trigger warnings:‼️Coitus and jacaerys a whipped man playing hard to get 😘😘😘😘

Special thanks to my babe/beta reader @luckytoucan 💗💗💗💗

Jacaerys always hated you. Hated how close you were to the Aegon and aemond in his childhood. How you always preferred their company over his. He tried so hard to make you notice him, to make you perhaps feel and inch of what he felt for you. Each time those dreams get shattered by the sound of your laugh with helaena and daeron over him. He didn’t fail to see how Aegon and aemond had indoctrinated you with hatred against him and his brothers. He had to hate you, hate your pride and pettiness, the snobby Lannister attitude you held. He saw you as one of the Queen’s party hoping for Aegon the elder to ascend the throne over his mother and him.

But sure enough that did not happen. Queen Rhaenyra ascended the throne and when jacaerys turned sixteen named his heir to the crown infront of all the lords and ladies of the court. He would forget you, forget how you looked walking through the gardens with his aunt, he would forget the way you danced, the way you haunted his very soul. Jacaerys felt himself grow mad with the constant thoughts of you blurring his mind turning it into a slurry. He needed to get away from you and the clasp you had of him. He needed you gone from his sight and away so he could just lose memory of you entirely. Over the years your cruel teasing did not weaken, often throwing him a flirty smile knowing damn well that nothing on this earth would ever get you to marry a bastard, crown prince or not, you took pleasure in complimenting as to how strong he had grown. Every ‘compliment’ you threw was an insult in disguise.

You can only imagine the shock he felt when his mother there queen Rhaenyra betrothed him to you years later, his stomach flipped upside down, in excitement? Fear? Annoyance? He looked over to you and there you were smiling at him as though you held the upper hand.

“You are not upset by this? Not even in the slightest?” He asked surprised as he grew more frustrated at the fact you seemed so alright with this.

“If i marry you I will be queen someday, surely you are just an addition that comes with the arrangement” you said sipping from your wine, amused by his reactions. Of course, he should have expected this from a Lannister, no matter how pretty they come you cannot change their nature. Always so smug, he wanted to make you feel the way he did. He was so helplessly in love with you but deemed your lannister self incapable of love, too smug to even care to feel a thing. Now as your betrothed he found himself at an advantage..

You on the other side always tried to to revert back to the past and change the way you behaved towards him. You quite literally tried to charm your way into his heart but all your actions seemed to be of no avail. He always shut down every smile with a polite nod, every kind word you said was met with his disdain, he quite literally at this point assumed your whole existence as a mockery towards him. You believed your betrothal would soften his heart up but instead it hardened it. The man could not seem to bear your presence, always growing agitated.

You attempted to win him over with gifts, with kisses which he averted from, with physical affection holding his hand and batting your pretty eyes at him, he showed no reaction to these. You often attempted to flirt with him in high valyrian which he had perfected, instead of appreciating your effort, he took the time to correct your pronunciation and grammatical errors.

You embroidered for him. You attempted to melt his heart by talking of the future where the two of you would have little children. Nothing worked, the most infuriating part was that with all the time you spent swaying him you felt yourself grow more fond of him yourself.

Whenever jacaerys sparred with Nettles, a supposed dragon seed brought to court because of her fierce skills in combat, you felt your heart feel the pang of anger and sadness. He seemed more fond of his uncles over you at this point and you felt absolutely helpless. You wanted to leave the past behind and win his affection. Perhaps that is not what fate wanted for the two of you. You walked away from the sparring ground and jacaerys noticed your absence in his mind.

The whole court was not blind to this tug of war game between the two of you, the jealousy that lingered between other possible lovers the two of you had. His brothers teased him incessantly over how he kept your embroidery in a special box in the cupboard and how he blew up if anyone attempted to touch what you gave him. Jacaerys loved the attempts you made towards him to make up for your past behaviour, he loved every moment of it. Every smile of yours would replay over and over in his mind once it was over. Thoughts of future children with you sent his blood rush to his nether regions, to see you carry his children.

He would often dress up far better than he usually did for sparring lessons in case you’d visit..or rather he’d dress down, discarding his sweaty shirt only if you were in the vicinity.

Nothing bothered Jacaerys more than seeing you with his uncles, at princess helaena’s name day party. His angered expression not was one he attempted to hide. you could feel his glare towards his uncle Daeron, a man of the same age as him. Daeron was mischievous and cheeky who also like everyone enjoyed annoying jacaerys as the two of them always saw each other as rivals even though they shared a wet nurse. Jacaerys could take it no longer dragging you away from dinner, his hand lingered on your arm, holding you firmly but not enough to hurt you.

“How many times must you repeat this song and dance?” He hissed pushing your back into the cold pillar “why can’t you leave me be?” He asked, his hands holding yours as you struggled in his hold, his hands had covered the entirety of your wrist as though it was nothing.

“Can you not see? How blind can you be?” You asked in an angry tone. His grasp did not leave your hands as he suddenly turned you around pressing you against the rough pillar wall pinning your hands to your lower back as you felt his figure croon over you. “Why do the gods have to make me put up with you” you felt his hot breath on your ear and the heat of his body radiating your own. You were glad he could not see your flustered face.

“I’ve only ever tried to get your attention” you voiced out, on hearing your voice he pressed you further into the bricks. You could hear him chuckle.

“So you throw yourself at my uncle?” jacaerys answered his grip tightening around your wrists. He felt conflicted a part of him died to believe your words, that you wanted his attention, the other ran his imagination wild seeing you with Daeron in uncompromising positions. “ah yes, they’re true born and i am..” he trailed off his hands abruptly let your wrist go. “And what do they tell you that it is a pity that your beauty is being wasted on me, a strong prince as you once said” his voice echoed in the empty corridors, he had lost all awareness of his surrounding.

“No! I did not say that! I have played very trick in the book, I have used every tactic anything to get you to like me and the only time you seem to ever even look at me is if I am with another. You think I like parading myself in this tight gown for no reason? Have you even seen my dress or have you been too caught up in your hobby of making me your enemy”

“Yes I have seen the way you look!” He answered angrily. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked at you.

“Then tell me how do I look!” You yelled back you felt tears if frustration bubble at the rims of your eyes, you looked away quickly would this how the entirety of the marriage would go? With you begging for him to notice you? You needed him to notice you at this point, want was no longer sufficient.

“Beautiful” jacaerys said the words he had held in his mouth for so long “So beautiful that if I take one glance it’ll never be enough, if I get one taste that too would not suffice, my greed, my lust is insatiable for you” you knew you had him then, he was yours and yours to keep. Your efforts weren’t in vain.

“You do not hate me then?” You asked surprised as his eyes watched you intently at your every move, what were you planning now..

“Oh make no mistake I do, I’ve always hated you. You’ve always played me as though I was a game. I am not my lady I would have remember that I am the crown prince of the seven kingdoms, my parentage does not matter because I am a Targaryen” he said he turned to leave one more.

You walked towards him and grabbed his face in yours, he admitted that he thought you beautiful and in your eyes that was a victory in itself, this was your chance to seduce your brunette prince as you closed the distance between your faces by planting a gentle kiss on his lips, in hopes it would sway his feelings about you. He gasped against your mouth feeling your lips press against his so perfectly. His hands instantly wrapped around your waist feeling the fabric of your gown crumbling it in his hands, “you shouldn’t hate me, sweet prince” you teased him, habits die hard. As his lips fought your own for dominance, his right hand reaching up to hold your face as he drank you in, the moment your lips parted for a gasp his hot tongue found its way into yours, your mouths in total sync, it was hard to keep your mind sharp now, just as he did you grace into your senses.

That’s how you found yourself with your dress ripped to shreds and your leg propped on his shoulders as he thrusted into you sharply, he made no attempt to stop any time soon, you gasped and moaned and claws at his chest anything to make you feel as though you had control over your betrothed. He drove you mad stopping just when you were about to peak, he denied you of cumming over and over leaving you teary eyed moaning as he brought you such pleasure and pain. If he denied you once more you felt as though you would collapse from the sheer need.

This was your punishment for everything you had ever done to him, every smirk, every mocking word, you felt yourself bend in ways you never thought possible. Jacaerys felt up the fat of your thighs as he leaned in the two of you in to fetch a passion filled kiss. You felt his heavy length press into your sensitive spot and he smirked on seeing you squirm under him as so, release was a mirage so close yet so far. “I should not let you cum, you do not deserve it” he said kissing the leg that sat on his shoulder.

“Tell me how I can win your forgiveness my prince” You moaned out feeling him hitting that one spot that made your head go hazy as you looked to at him with lust drunken eyes.

Jacaerys smirked “there’s nothing you can do” he grunted out letting moans of his escape as his eyes shut from the intensity of the pleasure, perhaps he was being too cruel to you..

“You are right I do not want your forgiveness, I want more— I need you to be mine” you whined out, the pure euphoria of having you in his arms, under him, needing him just like he prayed to the gods you would. His feelings perhaps were not entirely one sided.

“You already have me, do you not see?” He said truthfully holding your hand to his heart “it beats for you lioness” He whispered in your ear and you gasped from the sheer intimacy and lewdness of your hips moving into each other, the soft wet sounds emulating in the wide halls but now all you could focus was on the man before you, his fingers reached down to your nub rubbing a calloused finger over it, the right little circles along with the snapping of his hips made you throw your head back and moan in tears as you felt your release build up for the fourth time since jacaerys had edged you, your eyes filled with tears as you looked to your betrothed with pleasing eyes to let you cum.

Jacaerys could not find it in himself to deny you of your pleasure anymore as he felt you come hard with a shrill cry of his name. All over his tunic. He felt his own release build up seeing your fucked out look with a few more sloppy hard thrusts he gave you all his cum, strings of his seed trailed down your shaky legs. He swore this was the hardest he had orgasmed ever in his life, his breath lost as he plopped himself over you his head resting in the crook of your neck as you rolled his silky brown hair between your fingers.

“You mean it? You love me?” You asked feeling him hum on your neck placing soft kisses on it as the two of you sunk to your feet using the pillar as support as jacaerys peppered you with kisses.

“Lying has never been in my nature” he said “I have loved you since the moment you I laid my eyes on you, princess” he smiled pulling himself from your neck to gaze upon your afterglow, messy lip tint smeared all over your face from the bruising kisses he gave you. You gasped and playfully punched at his side. “Your little tactics to get me to love you were quite entertaining, I admit” he smirked kissing you once more” as the two of you embraced in the cold of the night you felt so warm with his arms over you.

“You’re telling me all my seduction tactics were never necessary?!” You asked bewildered at your betrothed, you saw jacaerys crack up laughing as though if your realisation was the funniest thing to him. He would have to make up for this he knew, he was always ready to turn the tables around and win your forgiveness with his own seduction tactics.

#jacaerys x reader #jacaerys Targaryen x reader #jacaerys strong x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys x oc #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x y/n #jacaerys Targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys strong #house of the dragon #asoiaf #hotd #hotd fanfiction #jacaerys fanfic #jacaerys x female oc

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howyouloveyourdragon · 2 years ago

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The Prince and His Corpse Bride (part ii)

part i

pronouns: she/her warnings: eventual infidelity? (he and Baela have no romantic connection) summary: The good news is that Jacaerys has found his grandmother’s ring. One problem. He may have accidentally gotten married to the wrong person? As he traipses through a strange new world to get it back, his not-wife isn't what she seems... disclaimers: of course i do not own the original corpse bride nor asoiaf however this is my own work and story, i do not give permission for my work to be transferred onto other platforms or translated dividers by: firefly-graphics wordcount: 3,818

“Wha-Who are you?” Jacaerys splutters, scrambling his back against the weirwood tree. The dark shadow of nightfall begins to overcast and he can distantly hear Cregan shouting for him. Your lips fold of their own accord as you snicker, you kneel down to his height. “I told you, silly,” You giggle and brush a strand of fallen hair behind his ear in a manner akin to affection. He recoils but you take no notice, smiling just as sweetly at him as if he had gifted you a thousand poetries. You lift your veil to flow down your back rather than over your face. “I’m your wife.” If Jacaerys wasn’t sure this was a dream then he certainly is now. He flinches at the words and slaps a hand to his mouth. “N-No.” He protests, breath stuttering as a nervous chuckle breaks past his dead cold–No!--just cold lips. His palms raise as if in surrender though he intends to do the opposite. “There must be some mistake for I am already betrothed to another.” Your eyes narrow, the flesh of your cheek–the half still present–flows between your teeth. His heart batters hard against his ribs. Your head tilts now, inspecting him and suddenly he feels like a little boy presented to the court again, lacking the snow white hair he is eager to possess.

You sigh at his frazzled appearance and horrified expression. “Indeed.” Your voice bellows and he sighs himself but in relief. “Send your former betrothed my regards.” You turn your back on him and even though it would be so easy for him to run away; he finds himself chasing after you. For the ring, he assures himself, for the ring. A torturous wind ensues but you don’t seem phased, your hair barely even ruffles. “No, I–” He huffs and outstretches her palm. He raises his head high. You’re a Targaryen. He reminds himself. Remember what Daemon told you. Princes do not need permission. He winces at the phrase but still pierces her eyes with his own. “I need that ring.” He demands. Again, you tilt your head but this time condescendingly. You square your shoulders and attempt to match his height. Both your and the prince’s eyes narrow. “No.” You state coolly. “You don’t.” He opens his mouth but you wag a single index finger in his face. “You don’t.” You repeat like scolding a puppy. “This is a vow of one’s devotion toward one’s wife, correct?” You ask, quick and almost as though you had thrown this out before. He nods stiffly. “And a symbol of cherished love and protection?” Again he nods, brow furrowing. “So it belongs to your wife?” He sighs but before he can speak, you interrupt his impending thoughts by wagging your finger again. He seals his lip tightly. He nods. “Yes.” He finally speaks. You nod and he has the gall to be proud of himself for once. You stop walking and spin around to face him, clapping your hands together shortly. “Then we have no problem.” His eyes widen. “Really?” “Yes. Your wife is wearing it.” Jacaerys shuts his eyes and curses himself.

“You are not my wife.” He states, trying to stay calm even as you start walking off again. He grimaces and glances behind him at the First Keep. He wrestles with himself a moment before scurrying after you again. Jacaerys Velaryon has run before and he does not like it. He hates it rather. He hates that he left for Dragonstone as a child, he hates that he left his life in King’s Landing, leaving him as a stranger in what is supposed to be his own home. He hates his brown hair but he hates the stares cursed onto him most of all. Because they’re all thinking the same thing. You do not run unless you have something to hide from. And he is done hiding. He will accept his responsibilities, marry Baela and he will get back that ring. The winds of Winterfell become all consuming, pressing against his face as if in an attempt to stop him. The roots of so many Northern trees coil before his foot, curling in attempts to trap him. The mixed messages surge through the prince’s mind. Even the Gods’ nature do not know which youngling they side with. The prince or the corpse. He is not fond of his odds and this does not cast him in the confidence he prays for.

He follows, pleading with the woman like a beggar which he supposes he is now. A shiver jolts through Jacaerys like a warning. “Whatever it is that pleases you I will consider so long as you return my ring. You will be rewarded handsomely.” “There is no need! I am quite satisfied, lord husband.” You quip, the words slithering from your tongue like a trained snake. Jacaerys calls out, trying to track your figure as you twist through the various trees when suddenly she falls. He gasps, eyes widening as he scrambles to find her, was there a bottomless pit he hadn’t heard of? “Lady?” He calls out, peering over the edge but he frowns at the mere blanket of snow and fallen leaves. A single shaking hand of his reaches out to pad it gently and he gasps when it pushes through into emptiness. He frowns as he investigates, blinking furiously. Jacaerys continues prodding at it, how perfectly it looks encased around his forearm. When he pulls it out again, he finds that it is not wet. It is as though he had never touched the snow at all but instead of further questioning it, he sighs out in relief. It must be a dream. And then he falls, or more accurately; is pulled.

Jacaerys shrieks as he plummets down below but again the snow hasn’t shifted. It appears like a tightly enclosed tunnel of moths and darkness. His breath quickens madly, A dream, this is a dream, a dream, a dream. The air whips around him, unnatural wind tosses his hair in his eyes and moths flutter to press into his clothing. His hands swat at them to no avail, squinting at the force of the wind. His nose wrinkles at a newfound smell, it is like laying in damp fabric. He hears a squeal and snaps his eyes open, head rising to see your excited form clapping. You rush to help him stand and he begrudgingly accepts it, eyes roaming the strange room. “I knew you would come,” You gush, intertwining your fingers with his reluctant and rigid ones. You take no notice. “I knew you would come for me and you would follow me down and you were absolutely wonderful! Oh you were perfect, everything that I have ever dreamed of–!” “You pulled me!” He realises and narrows his eyes. You shrug and smirk mischievously. “Would you not have come, anyway?” You tease which manages to snap his mouth shut because he would have, he knows he would have and you know he would have. He is an honourable prince and while he may not particularly care much for you right now, he was not willing to let you fall to your die over his pettiness.

He huffs as you hum sweetly and lead him through a long, night-dark passage, taking the time to glance at the various dark blue paintings surrounding you; portraits. All of them and there must be over five thousand at least. You twirl with his hand and sing sweet songs. He softens at the endearing display though disease eats at his stomach. “What are these?” He asks, pointing to one of the oil paintings. You halt and glance before grinning and skipping up to it, tugging Jacaerys as you go and making him stumble. “That,” You beam. “is her grace Princess Alyssa.” His eyes widen like those of a bird and he gapes. “My great-grandmother?” He asks and you freeze. Your brows knit. “You’re a…Targaryen?” You ask slowly, breath hitched and holding. The young prince takes in the potion of anxiety and nerves splashed upon your expression by his words. Still, Jacaerys stands proud of his ancestry and nods sharply. “Yes. I am the blood of Targaryen and Velaryon, a dragonrider and your prince. What is it you know of my line?” He musters all the strength of his blood to wrap around his bones. To firm them. Solidify his confidence and raise his chin high. He doesn’t like how you’re hesitating, how you bite your lip and nibble it like a frightened animal. “I did not realise.” You mutter quietly, almost disappointed. He deflates. Impulsively, your hand reaches out and ruffles through his brown hair and you visibly brighten again. “I thought you had been a Stark with hair so wonderful.” Suddenly, a flush creeps along his face and he almost purrs at the praise. “But no matter, you are my husband all the same.” And like that you’re walking again, leaving him to scamper after you with questions burning at you. “I am not, though I appreciate such niceties.” You ignore him. “Silly,” You chastise, voice reminiscent of scolding a young kitten. He huffs again, on the verge of snapping but then your words soothe him again with curiosity. “She was a kind madame, guided most of us here.”

“Guided you?” Jacaerys asks with an uneasy tilt, tentative. “Where do you mea–?” He’s interrupted by the resounding music, of harps, vielle, lutes all bashing strangely and out of time. Jacaerys’ orbs skim across the large room, at the intensity and swarming bodies all eager to gasp and greet him. He shivers and bats them away, close to falling. You hold him up and grin, giggling at who he assumes to be your friends, he doesn’t know what to think anymore. “Husband,” You beam. “I would like you to meet my family.” They all squeal and prod at him experimentally. “Don’t scare him!” You warn them but still smile brightly. Jacaerys stares, wild-eyed around him and clings to you like a frightened kitten. Both his arms loop around your waist but he straightens his back, still attempting to appear the regal prince of his name. A significantly older woman approaches and squishes your cheeks. “He’s cute.” She coos and winks at the both of you. Jacaerys bursts red and looks down. A man this time takes it upon himself to bump his hip and rake three fingers through his hair, only three,one on his left and two on his right. Jacaerys shudders and cringes back but the man takes no notice. You squeeze his hand and begin pointing out the various people around him but he can only find it in himself to remember four of them. “A…big family.” He chokes out and glances around. “Where are your mother and father?” Perhaps you will listen to reason if he can convince your parents that this was a mistake, your marriage is unconsummated of course. You only giggle at him.

“They are not here,” You respond in cadence. “They are still living.” Silence. Shock. Horror. Those are the only things rushing through his ears but you seem unaffected as his jaw drops and his lips stutter and stumble. “Wha-what do you mean?” He asks, moving to grasp your forearms tightly. Your brows rise. “You did not know?” You ask, swallowing around the nerves. It is not bashfulness that consumes his face in crimson this time. “Still living? You are dead?” He repeats, roaring. A few of your ‘family’ members gasp and grumble to themselves. He tenses and shoves himself away from you. You frown. “You came for me, you-you came to save–!” “I did no such thing!” His voice is boisterous. “You have taken me on a wild goose chase to follow my ring which you have stolen from me!” Your mouth opens to protest but he stretches a finger in your face. “No! You will not talk, you are a childish, naive girl who cannot accept her own death and is now dragging me through Seven Hells just to reclaim my own belonging–” “One that is sacred and worth more than some Northern girl that I have met mere minutes ago.” “Husband, are you not pleased?” You ask, suddenly your snark is gone and left in its place is a fragile teenager. He ignores you and keeps rambling. “I have a betrothed, I have a life, I have a throne to claim one day, I have–” He stops, his arms stop waving about and he looks at you again, really looks at you. He stops. He is not the only one frightened.

Your eyes fill with water, your lip trembles and your arms are wrapped so tightly around yourself. Breath lodges in his throat. He made you cry. Jacaerys waits a moment and then two more before turning gentle and softening his own eyes. He reaches out to you. “Lady, I am sorry, I–” You sniffle and bolt but as he’s about to chase after you, not for the first time, the stout woman from earlier grabs his arm stiffly, upturning her nose. “Leave her. You are lucky her heart is not as hard as her bone.” She glances up and down at him and he can tell what she’s thinking. He sighs and looks down, letting her too slip away. “He may have the bloodline but he doesn’t have the brains does he?” Jacaerys hears distantly and clenches his jaw before turning to find a resting place aways from them. He sighs as he sits at a stool, he thinks the room is very strange indeed with its various skeletal portraits and strangely human furnishing, a bar is even behind him right now. He hears a clink of glass on the said table but ignores as he feels an oncoming presence. “Hello,” A voice grunts beside him before he feels a slap across his shoulders. “A Targaryen, eh?” Jacaerys nods, already prepared to hear scepticism. “Not Rhaenyra’s kid are ye?” He frowns and finally looks up at the man with speckled face and thin hair. Jacaerys thins his own lips and glances over him. “Perhaps.” he settles on, unsure where it will land him to either confirm or deny. The man smiles. “Ah,” He nodded. “I knew I could see her in your eyes.” Jacaerys frowns and looks down, shame wrapping him like an old blanket. Old, worn and damp. You wish it would bring you the same comfort as it did when you were a child but something is wrong now. It isn’t with innocence in your ears, it is with speculation and longing. He swallows. “My eyes are brown, my Lord.” He rebuts with careful grace. The man leans forward to catch his eye. “Yes but the mischief is there,” The man grins like omniscient himself. He reaches a hand out and ruffles the boy’s hair.

“I do not suppose you remember me.” The man withers with the ghost of a smile and a sigh peeks from his lips. “A shame but not insulting.” he murmurs. Jacaerys softens, he’s disappointed someone again. The young prince looks down and sighs. “I cared for you as a child, when your mother was in council meetings and your fa-Ser Harwin was at his duties.” There’s a knowing glint in his gaze and Jacaerys looks at him again, more carefully this time before gasping and jumping to embrace him. “Ser Lorn!” He exclaims and suddenly he doesn’t feel like a scolded child, he feels like a free one. Ser Lorn chuckles and pats his back, throaty laugh more familiar than the clothes Jace wears. The man tugs away from him and motions to the bartender. He thanks him and grasps a glass full of strange yellow liquid. He slams it on the table with the roughness of a soldier. “Take a drink, dear boy, you’ll need it with these lot.” He glances around at the various peering eyes. “I’m sure this comes as a shock to ye, our Bridey tends to be a bit impulsive.” He nudges him as slushes the drink before handing it to the boy. Jacaerys looks sceptically down on it before hesitantly bringing to his lips and he gags at the strong smell, Lorn bursts into laughs, slapping his back again as Jacaerys takes a reluctant sip. It’s strange, burning and the glass is as hefty as the bar itself. He coughs as he puts it back down on the wood. He wipes his mouth. “Atta boy,” He winces and scrunches his nose at the taste.

“I want answers.” He blurts and turns, gentle-eyed, at his old friend. The man sighs and swallows, looking away. “What do you want to know?” Lorn asks. Jacaerys sits upright. “Everything!” He splurts. “Who is she? Why am I here? What’s happening, what’s going to happen? What is she?” Lorn squeezes his shoulder. “She’s our corpse bride.” He answers then drives a finger into the boy’s chest. “And how I understand it, you have wed her.” Jacaerys’ brow crinkles and he shakes his head. “That’s not true, I never, I didn’t!” He huffs in frustration. “I never would have said those vows had I known her body were there. Had I known this was even a possibility!” Lorn tightens his lips. Jacaerys looks off to were his ‘bride’ had fled away. “I didn’t mean to.” He looks like a sad puppy left out in the rain. “How did she get like this?” “It’s a long story…” “I have time.” Jacaerys’ eyes harden and suddenly his prince persona has returned full force. “It was many years ago, you yourself must have been but sixteen.” Jacaerys frowns. He had expected her to be a lot older. “A Lady in her own right and a beautiful one, many suitors and even more vying for her attention.” Jacaerys hesitates as he takes in the information. “Is…Is she…?” “Is she what, dear boy?” “Is she the Lady Y/n?” Silence takes over and then slowly Lorn nods. “A mysterious man too well known for his own good came and visited Winterfell. A man said as brutal as the hand of the Gods but as beautiful as she and our poor baby, she fell hard in fast. Her father denied the man her hand but she swore to him that she would elope. Our lovers made a promise but when it came time, when she snuck to the Godswood with only her mother’s wedding gown and as many jewels as would fit in her satchel…” Lorn pauses, sorrow making him wince. Jacaerys waits. “She was ready but she waited and waited for him to show until finally she heard rustling, turned around and–” Jacaerys leans forward, more enthralled than he could ever have imagined. “Then everything went black and when she opened her eyes? She was dead as dust.” Lorn takes a swig of his ale.

“But…” Jacaerys slowly processes the dreary tale and bites his lip. “But what about the man?” “She never told us. What she did tell us is that she made a vow lying under that tree, she’d wait for her true love to come set her free and vow in the way that was supposed to be and cloak her in his protection for all eternity. Protection.” Jacaerys sags his shoulders. “And now he has come.” Jacaerys rise in alarm with wide eyes and shakes his head, standing. “That’s-that’s not me!” He protests. “I have a betrothed!” “You made a vow, dear boy,” “No! Not to her, to Baela! It was an accident! I was practicing!” “She’s a lovely girl.” Lorn utters softly, softer than anything he’s ever heard. “She is kind and graceful, dutiful, she is–” “She is dead! Her vows shouldn’t matter!” The boy snaps and Lorn hardens. “Watch your tongue. Vows of the dead are a very serious business.” “What?” “There are seven rules,” He states calmly. “One, once a vow is made it must be fulfilled otherwise the participant dies,” Jacaerys’ eyes grow impossibly rounded. “Two, someone living can bring a deceased person back to life if they seal them with fated promise and help them fulfil their vow. Three, If someone undead makes a vow to someone living, it does not take any effect, neither participants must take it. Four, If someone makes a vow before they pass, they must spend their undead existence attempting to fulfil it, they may only pass to the afterlife once it is fulfilled, or forever live undead in the inbetween of realms. Five, the vow must be satisfied once begun within two moons time or the undead will be forced live forever in a state of unrest.” He hesitates now. “Six, the vow does not have to be completed to be satisfied by someone living and seven, it must be completed within seventy-two hours.” Jacaerys sighs in relief. “Then I am free!” “You know that would not be right.” “It was not right that I was tricked into this.” Jacaerys argues.

“No but it is not her fault.” “Then whose is it?” “Sometimes there is no one,” Lorn answers, shaking his head. “I’m supposed to marry Baela, it is my duty,” Lorn rolls his eyes, tired of the same repeated words. “Well are you in love with her?” Jacaerys tenses at the words and twitches his face. “She is my cousin, I have known her all my life, of course I love her!” “But are you in love with her?” Jacaerys grunts in frustration and stands. “No but that matters not, I swore an oath, I swore to honour her, to-to–!” “What good is a marriage without being in love?” Lorn asks, warmth threading through his words. “Your mother was miserable.” Jacaerys snaps his sights on him. Lorn waits. “This isn’t the first time that she has seen you, if you were wondering.” Lorn mentions slowly. Jacaerys knits his brows together for the hundredth time that eve. “She used to follow you around like a puppy everytime she visited King’s Landing, she used to hide behind trees and peek as you trained with your brother and uncles.” Lorn chuckles. “I didn’t know…” Jacaerys whispers and looks away. “You used to watch her too.” Silence lingers in the cold, decayed air. “I know.” The prince speaks, looking down. “She was beautiful.” “Is beautiful.” “That does not matter! She is not meant to be mine…What if…” He swallows, an idea shooting through his mind. “What if I find the man? The man she was supposed to marry? Will the vow stay true?” Lorn stays quiet in conflicting thought. “I suppose but–” “Then I will find him!” Jacaerys splutters with relief. “I will speak with my Lady, apologise and find her true love!” “You must be warned of the time limit. Do not forget, young man.” Jacaerys nods quickly and begins scrambling away again. “I won’t!”

The Prince and His Corpse Bride Taglist: (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings) @chompchompluke @its-actually-minicika @paranormal-fairy1984 @ntlycnrgl @hopelesswritergall

HOTD Taglist: (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings) @wrendermedone @hopelesswritergall @blackdreamspeaks @its-actually-minicika @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly @adelusionalwriter

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itsladyliv · 1 year ago

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today i am here with a little something for @fkevin073 who is writing so beautifully a Jacaerys x OC fanfic called bury my heart next to yours on AO3 ❤️❤️❤️ (which is kind of an AU based on another amazing work of hers that you guys should really check out!) and honestly,, it's only four chapter now but it has taken over my mind and i just HAD to do something alright

this is entirely based on my 4 a.m. speculation but if anything i am right that aemond's jealousy will NOT be as cute when he grows up

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ladyofwinterfellstark · 2 years ago

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Favorite Mistake || Jacaerys X OC

note: i will be posting this on my main acc @pansyparkinsonsworld later. this will also be posted on AO3 and wattpad !!

CHAPTER ONE: lost composure

Jacaerys looked at the young lady in front of him; she looked like the most beautiful Lady of all of the Seven Kingdoms. "Good day, my Prince," The young Targaryen lady bowed, before Jacaerys. "I am the Lady Rhaella Alyssa of House Targaryen, daughter of Daemon and Laena Targaryen."

"Lady Rhaella, how did the tourney treat you?" He replied warmly. "I had the great honour to meet your father, he seemed to be a good person. How is he, your father?" He said this while taking a sip of his wine.

He put her hand out and gestured for her to sit down. "He seems alright." She nodded, sitting down. "We are sister and brother now, my father married your mother."

"Oh, I know that," he said. "We'll be brother and sister for the rest of our lives no doubt and I take great pride in that."

He took another sip of the wine and sighs. This one was more sour but it grew on him after a while. "My lady, what do you think of a strong union between our houses and the Velaryons? I will be ruling for a long time if the Seven are kind enough and so, I hope, would you. The more allies, the better."

"It will be rather.. bittersweet, I'd say. Too many Targaryen-Velaryon marriages, in my eyes." Rhaella scoffed.

"And you would be right. We've been betrothing ourselves to each other for some time and it is high time that we make some new friends", He told with a grin.

"What houses would you rather us to ally with than Velaryons?" He asked with a curious tone. "Personally, I would love to see the Redwynes or the Hightowers. However, the Redwynes are too poor and the Hightowers lack the naval capabilities and the prestige to be considered. Perhaps a northern marriage?"

"Is this your way of asking that I am single and not betrothed to Lord Cregan Stark?" She sipped some wine. "All the gossip in court are.. sadly false." She knew that to be false, for her Father scared away every suitor meant for Rhaella.

"I never assumed that you had a betrothal." He paused, thinking of his next words. "But now that you mention it… What would your father say?" He asked, my tone now curious as a cat. "My lady, would you be interested in a potential betrothal to me?" He asked, somewhat excited. He’s never been to the North, but the tales he has heard are intriguing at best, and terrifying at worst.

"Hmm," She hummed. "Perhaps, if I'd say so myself. Are you willing to, my Prince?" She smirked, as she took some wine. "And.. are you betrothed?"

"Of course I am willing. I would be stupid to miss a chance at a bride as beautiful and as clever as you are", He said with the utmost honesty. "However, your father is not the easiest man to sway. What are your thoughts on the potential match?" He asked, leaning forward in his seat.

"It would be with utmost joy if you were to marry me," She smiled, as she looked at him leaning forward. "My father is of no matter to me, I'd like to see his face when you were to marry me."

"Ah, so we are of the same mind!" He grinned. "I can already imagine his face! He would be pissed, wouldn't he?" He laughed a little. "Well, you have my word. As soon as you are ready to marry, I will propose to you." He said, as his grin turned into a smile.

"My dear Prince," She stated, as she caressed his arm. "Why would you wait for me? I'd like nothing but more than to marry you now. I am impatient, I am well in my child-bearing years, so why wait?"

His cheeks turn red. It was not something he had anticipated. She paused for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. Then it came to him… "Why wait, indeed?" He says with a smirk and he slowly brings her hand to her lips and kisses it.

She blushed, as he kissed her hand. "My Prince," She stated, as she sat on his lap. "I'd hate for a long betrothal. Let us be married now. Please." She said, as she grabbed his hand and placed it on her thigh.

His heart starts beating faster as he took in her words. Is she actually proposing we marry at this very moment? He lets her hand remain where she puts it, waiting for her to say something. "Are you sure about this?" He asked softly, gently caressing her leg with my hand.

She nodded, as he caressed her leg. "My Prince," She stated. "I am positive, I like nothing more than to be married to you." She said, as she grabbed his hand and placed it on her thigh.

He could feel his face turning red. He had imagined such a scenario but never in this way. If we marry now… our children would be true Targaryens and true Velaryons. How could I say no to such an offer? "We shall make our marriage this night," He said slowly and gently, keeping his eyes on hers.

"This night?" She smirked, as she placed a hand on his chest. She knew what she was doing. "Why not now? My body has been aching for yours, and I am a rather impatient Princess, my love." She purred in his ear.

His cheeks turned completely red as his body moved closer to hers without his will. This was not the response he was expecting. "Then now," He nodded, as he placed both of my hands on her waist, looking straight into her eyes full of passion.

She leaned her face towards him, and smirked. "I want you" She whispered, and whimpered in his ear. "I'm well in my child-bearing years, so do it. Do it."

His heart was completely racing, his breath was getting hotter and faster as he moved towards her and embraced her. His lips met hers and he started kissing her neck as he moved his hand up, down to her hips. "As you wish, my Princess," He gasped between the kisses. "After all… I am your Prince and you are my Lady… so what is a Prince to deny his Lady's command?" He smiled.

She moaned in his ear, and leaned her head back. "My P-Prince," She stammered, as she placed her hand on his chest. "You are mine, and I'm yours," She stammered. She got her hands all over his chest, and she's gasping. "I am yours, and you are mine. You got that, Jacaerys?"

"I am yours and you are mine. Is that clear enough, love?" He said as he continued kissing her neck, slowly moving to her lips again.

"Yes, my love." She whispered. "Perfectly clear," She gasped, as she took his lips in once more.

"I love you." He whispered into her ear again. "I love you and you are now my wife. I shall tell the whole realm about our marriage, I promise." He kissed her softly once again, his hands caressing her body and her hips, pulling her close to him.

"You shall," She whispered. "The grandest of grand weddings. And if we were to ever marry, I shall bear your children, and I will be the most devoted wife to you, Jacaerys. I promise you that, oh how I will.."

"The most devoted wife?" He says with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. "What happened to the impatient Princess that couldn't wait until tonight?" He asked once again, this time with a laugh.

"I am impatient, yes it is true." She started. She leaned into his chest, and smiled, as she listened to his heartbeat. "But oh, how I can be patient for you, my love."

"You will?" He asked, as he smiled and pulled her closer to me. If she said she could be patient for me… then so would I be for her. He kissed her on the lips again and said with a smirk. "Then show me how patient can you truly be, love." He said with a wink, looking at her and expecting the next move.

"Hmmm," She pondered for a while. "I could always just.. marry Aemond, if you'd wish for us to be married tomorrow night." She teased. "Or perhaps even Aegon."

"Is that how you will test my patience? By threatening to marry others?" He said with a laugh. "Is that really the best you can do?" He asked, grabbing her hand and moving it closer to his thigh.

"Not quite sure, my love." She teased. "You tell me," She whispered in her ear, as he placed her hand on his thigh.

"If you want to play games, you'll have to try harder than that," He said with a smirk. He started kissing her neck as he moved his caresses up to her back and arms. "I am sure of one thing, however. And that is that I will make you the happiest woman alive and I'll prove it to you," He said with conviction in his voice.

"You are already making it happy right now, Jace." She muttered, as she kissed him. She kissed him gently and softly; and she let go. "And I am sure that you and I will have a happy marriage."

"That we will," He said, as his kisses started getting harsher and more passionate. "I'll make sure you get all the love and attention a Princess such as you deserves". He smiled, still kissing her passionately. "And you will prove that you are the most perfect wife a Prince could wish for. My dear beloved wife."

She blushed at his words. "Your dear beloved wife?" She smirked at that. "I'd like that. Rhaella Alyssa and Jacaerys of House Targaryen and Velaryon. Rhaella Velaryon." She hummed.

"I like that name… Rhaella Velaryon", He smiled at his soon-to-be wife. "My lady, I don't think there are many other things to do for now. How about we spend the rest of the day together, alone? We do not need to inform the realm, you know." He smirked at her.

"What shall we do, then, my love?" She asked, as she laid her head on his chest and drew little heart figures there. "Dragon riding? Horse riding?" She lingered on..

"Or we could just stay here at our solar", He whispered in a soft, whispering tone. "No dragons, no horses. Just the two of us." He kissed her, placing his hand at her thigh once again. "Just the two of us, spending the rest of the day in each other's arms, as the husband and wife we are." He smiled and kissed her neck with more passion than before.

She gasped, as he kissed her neck with more passion. "I—," She gasped. "Jace—."

"Yes, my love?" He said with a smirking look on his face, kissing her neck once again, this time, with even more passion. He moved his head and looked her in the eyes. "What is it?"

She pressed her hand on his chest, and kissed him. "Continue what you are doing, consume my mind with all of you. You own all of me, and I.. I own all of you," She whispered as she laid her head on his chest.

For those moments, the rest of the world seemed to stop existing. His only focus was her, her lips, her body, her every single aspect. He placed both of my hands on her waists and pulled her even closer to me. "You have my full attention, my dear wife," He smiled. Once again, He kissed her lips, this time even more passionately.

"I love you so, Jacaerys." She whispered, as she placed her hands to his hair. "I love you so much," She said, as she looked into his eyes. "My love."

"I love you too, Rhaella." He whispered to her, continuing to kiss her deeply. "I could even say that you belong to me now, as I belong to you, as your love and your husband." He placed his head on hers, as if trying to absorb every single aspect of her. "I love you more than anything else in this whole wide world, my love." He whispered, with such sincerity in his tone.

She leaned in, and smiled. "You belong to me? This is such a dream, and I do not want to leave this dream ever. Gods, if I am dreaming, do not wake me." She laughed at the end. "I am in paradise with my beloved, and he is that of Prince Jacaerys Targaryen."

"This is no dream, Rhaella. You are my wife now, and you are all I could have asked for and more." He said, looking down at her as she laid her head on his chest. "And I love you and I will do anything to make you as happy and as loved as you deserve, my love. I will be your paradise, my love. Every single day. For the rest of our lives."

"Gods, this isn't a dream then," She smiled. She looked at him as she laid her head on his chest. She loved affection, and showed it. "What will our children be.. once we do have?" She asked. "Will they receive my Valyrian hair or yours? Will they get my eyes or yours?"

"They will be our children", He smiled with the most sincere smile he could give. "It doesn't matter their hair or their eyes, for all that matters they will have us, they will have love. They will be the most loved children in the Kingdom and we will be their most loving parents. That's all that matters, is it not?" He asked, still looking at her with the most tender eyes imaginable.

She hummed, and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath, and exhaled. "My love.." She started. "Would you.. Would you marry me, if I were not Daemon and Laena's daughter? Would you still marry me, even if I was born to a lesser born House?"

That question took me by surprise. I was not expecting that, and by the way she said… it seemed it was an important question to her. He thought about it for a moment, trying to give her the best answer possible. "Yes, Rhaella, I would still marry you and I would love you no matter what." He nodded, with confidence. "A wise man once said: 'You don't love something because it is perfect. You love it despite its many flaws.' and I love you, Rhaella. Every part of you."

She smiled at his response, and kissed him deeply and full of passion. "You love every part of me? Even the perfect imperfections?" She asked, hope in her eyes.

"Even the perfect imperfections", He repeated after her, and he kissed her again with passion. "I could always talk of how perfect you are but the truth is… I love every part of you, both good and bad. That's love isn't it? To love each other, for what they are and what they'll become together." He asked, hoping his words make sense and that he answered her question properly. She nodded, and smiled. "I love you, my love."

"I love you too, Rhaella," He smiled with such genuine emotions, caressing her hair gently. "Tell me… are you happy? Is this your desire… to spend the day inside, with no one else around us?" He asked softly, once again bringing her as close to him as possible. "Just the two of us?"

"Yes," She giggled. "I dislike it when there are a lot of people present, it gives me discomfort so much. And I greatly dislike it, when an older Lord tries to converse with me."

"That's my wife," He said with a smile, as an idea crossed his mind. "I thought we could spend the evening at my chambers, like this. The whole night even, doing whatever we wish. Is that up your alley?" he asked teasingly to her. "Just the two of us. Alone. No lords, no people, nothing but us."

"Yes, take me to your chambers." She smirked, as she stood. She tidied up herself, and patted down her dress. "How many hours have we been here? Gods, it must've been hours.."

"I think it's been more than half a day by now," He chuckled, still caressing her hair gently. "Shall I take you now or would you like a small break?" His eyes meet hers with a teasing and seductive look as his hands slowly start moving towards her hips.

"Whatever are you doing, my love?" She asked, as his hands moved to her hips. She smiled, as she cupped his face. "Do I need to have a reason to touch my wife?" He smirked. "If so, my only reason is love." He said, kissing her once again softly and with passion, waiting for a response.

"But we are still not married, right now. Only.." She paused. "Only what?" He asked, smiling at how she got lost in her words. "I am still your to-be husband, am I not?" he asked, putting his hands on her face once more and kissing her in the lips once again. "Now say it once again: 'My Prince' ", He whispered in a teasing tone.

"My Prince." She teased, as she kissed him on the lips. "Shall we?"

"It looks like we are more than ready," He says with a warm smile. "Shall we go to my chambers then and finish what we started?" He asked, with the same teasing tone.

"Yes, my prince," She whispered in her seductive tone. After all, what were they going to do? "Then follow me, Princess." He whispered with the same seductiveness as her. He gave her a little wink and a smile before walking away, expecting her to follow him.

#jacaerys velaryon #hotd #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys fanfic #jacaerys fluff #jacaerys fic #fanfic #fluff #hotd fic #hotd fanfict

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annwrites · 5 months ago

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⸻ a call to arms. part seven. ⸻

· pairing: jacaerys velaryon x dragonseed!reader · type: part of a series · summary: you take jace's virginity. · word count: 3,031

You and Jace had shared nervous smiles over dinner, consistently blushing each time you met the other's eyes over a dessert of plum cakes and pudding.

He'd made a comment that you had tasted far more sweeter and delectable upon his tongue.

You had replied by silently sliding your spoon along your own, watching as he adjusted himself over his trousers, which consequently caused a warmth to bloom between your own legs at the sight.

Now that dinner is finished, however, you assume the fun of today is at an end and you are to return to your chambers, until Jace holds true to his stated wants from that afternoon.

"I'd like for you to join me," he says, glancing to the steaming tub the servants had filled just as the two of you were finishing your meal, then back to you.

You take a small step closer. "If someone...entered while we—"

He comes toward you, caressing your cheek for a brief moment with a soft smile before going to the door and flipping the lock.

He returns to you, taking your hand in his. "None shall disturb us."

Jace watches silently as you undress yourself—your gown, chosen by him, pooling at your feet.

Next, you remove your smallclothes, baring yourself to him wholly.

Shyly, you position your clasped hands before your sex—watching him as he glances to you from under dark lashes, drinking in your every comely inch.

You pad to him—closing the small distance between the two of you—and cup his cheek.

"Are you alright?" You ask quietly.

He nods, gently resting a hand against your naked hip. "I did not think it possibly for me to desire you anymore than I already do. For me to think you more beautiful."

His eyes meet yours.

"I was mistaken."

You slide your hands to his chest. “Would you like for me to—”

He nods.

You unclasp the front of his shirt, slide your hands beneath the soft material, and push it from his shoulders.

Your fingers lightly trail along his smooth, bare chest—down to his abdomen—and he clenches his jaw at the feel.

Next, you unbutton his trousers, then tug them down his thighs.

He toes off his shoes, then steps out of them, along with his pants.

You cup the shaft of his erection over his smallclothes, and he moans quietly. You push them down, and that familiar long, pink cock springs free.

You grip it once more, and he wraps his hand around your own, shaking his head.

“Just the bath. For now.”

You smile, returning your hands to cupping his cheeks, nodding.

You and Jace both ease yourselves into the lavender-scented hot water, and he leans back, resting against the tub, while you settle yourself atop his thigh, and kiss his cheek.

“Would you like for me to wash you?” You ask, retrieving a bar of soap and a cloth from a small table attached to the side of the tub.

He swallows nervously, nodding.

You lather the cloth, wiping it along his shoulders and chest, tenderly kissing his lips.

You quickly take note of his unease and meet his eyes once more.

“If you wish for me to leave—” You say softly, before he interrupts you.

He shakes his head again, taking your waist in each of his hands. “I want you here. I want…you—this. I just…”

He pauses, then threads his fingers in your hair. “I’d like for you to take the lead tonight.”

You nod, moving the warm cloth along his arms.

He continues. “All I do each day is think. To the point where I make my head pound. I speak with my mother’s advisors. We plan, we strategize, we send out missives, we try to recruit allies. All while she…”

He shakes his head, his grip upon you tightening in irritation.

You think you understand then.

You run your fingers through his dark curls. “You merely want a night where you need not think.”

He nods, sighing in relief that you understand.

Jace leans his head back and closes his eyes.

You kiss his temple, continuing on, washing him clean, along with yourself.

“What was he like?” You ask quietly.

His eyes slowly open. “Whom?”

“Lucerys.”

He leans forward just a bit, running a damp hand up your back. “He loved his family. Fiercely.”

He swallows. “He was the one who took Aemond’s eye, in fact. I don’t know that was ever his intention, but…”

You tuck a curl behind his ear. “Why?”

“He claimed Vhagar the night of Aunt Laena’s funeral. Rhaena had hoped to instead. She and Baela woke us. We…went after Aemond for it—feeling like Rhaena was the one person entitled to the dragon, given it had been her late mother’s. He called us bastards, so we attacked him. And then Luke took his eye with a blade.”

He shakes his head. “So Aemond got his vengeance. He lost an eye, and my little brother lost his life. And then little Jaehaerys lost his. On and on this war goes. Children the casualty.”

You think of your sister at his words.

You eagerly await correspondence from she and your mother.

You don’t want to consider it, but you know you already have: returning to King’s Landing, smuggling them out, and flying them away.

Far, far away.

Jace slides his hand a little lower, rubbing circles with his thumb. “He never wished to be heir to Driftmark. He hated being on the sea. But loved the skies. And he liked horses—his favorite toy, in fact, was a small horse. Took it with him everywhere when he was little. He was always worried about not being good enough. In comparison to our mother. At times to me. He never…”

He trails off, his chin wobbling.

Your brows knit together, so you dig your fingers into his curls, cupping his cheek comfortingly.

“He never got a chance to prove himself wrong. Rather, to find out he was to begin with. That he was good enough, that is. He was good. He…”

Jace begins to cry, so you lean forward and hold him in your arms, allowing him a moment to drown in his grief while he wraps his own around you, wishing for a little brother that will never return.

Jace slides one of his robes onto your shoulders, already clad in one himself.

“Should I return to my room?” You ask, unsure of yourself.

He takes your hand in his and leads you over to his bed in answer.

Once the two of you are standing to the side of it, he slides his hands beneath your open robe, swallowing thickly.

“I want you…to be the first.”

His eyes flit to yours.

You still, staring up at him.

And then you take one of his hands between both of your own. “Are you sure?”

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon—grandson to the late king—wishes for you to take his virginity.

You’d come here simply for some coin. And now you’ve a dragon, and a prince wrapped around your finger. All without so much as even trying.

You think perhaps you are having a very strange dream and are likely to wake at any moment.

You pray if you do, you’ll be safe and warm in your bed, with your little girl pressed against your side as she sleeps peacefully, dreaming of fairytales.

He nods slowly, sliding his hands higher, brushing the pads of his thumbs along the soft skin beneath each of your breasts. “I am.”

You reach up, cupping his cheek. “Jacaerys—”

He presses a firm kiss to your forehead. “It is what I want.”

He searches your eyes then. “If you do not—”

You stand on tiptoes, brushing a kiss over his lips to quiet his doubts.

“I do,” you whisper.

He gently pushes your robe from your shoulders, and it falls to the floor, baring you to him once more.

And then he crushes his lips to your own.

Jacaerys is lied back comfortably on the mattress while you straddle his waist, kissing him, sliding your hands along his chest, down his abdomen, caressing his face, tucking curls behind his ears.

You plant playful kisses along his forehead and nose and cheeks and chin, and he grins contentedly in response.

You reach a hand between your legs, rubbing yourself with your slender fingers—not that you require the aid. You are already more than ready for your prince.

You straighten and he reaches up, cupping your breasts.

“Do…do you still want me on top?” You ask, wanting to ensure this is perfect. For his sake above all else.

He slides his hands lower, gripping your hips, his erection practically throbbing to be buried as deeply inside of you as possible.

He nods. “I want…”

He trails off, slightly embarrassed.

He’d pleasured himself just the other day to the fantasy of taking control of you in this way. But he realizes now that he’s… He’s, admittedly, nervous in voicing how his wants have now changed.

“I want the same as I did in the tub: for you to continue taking the lead this night. I want for you to… Tell me what to do. Use me for your pleasure. Please.”

You shift in unsurety.

“I want not to think. Just to feel. To feel you.”

You smile softly.

Jace reaches down, taking himself in-hand, and you center yourself, easing onto his length.

He throws his head back, moaning in pleasure while he fills you up.

You stretch around him, accommodating his length, shuddering in satisfaction when he reaches deep inside of you.

He’d been given the privilege of having a taste of you just that afternoon. But this is something else entirely. Something…extraordinary that he lacks descriptive words for. Mayhaps it goes beyond the bounds of speech.

“Tell me what to do,” he whispers breathily.

You begin to slowly rock your hips against his…not entirely sure what to tell him.

“Enjoy yourself, Jace,” you reply with a sweet smile.

He slides his hands up your naked thighs, admiring the sight before him: the two of you joined as one. A part of him inside of a part of you.

Gods, just the thought alone brings him nearer to releasing his seed.

But he wants this to last. Needs for it to.

“I want you to tell me…”

He pauses.

“Command me,” he states, his cock twitching between your wet walls.

You slow, then stop entirely, staring down at him with furrowed brows. “Are…are you certain that—”

He smiles warmly. “It’s what I desire.”

He tugs your hips forward, encouraging you to continue.

And so you do.

You rock your hips steadily, growing gradually in fervor.

Jace’s hands trace your curves, run along your soft skin, taking stock of every inch of you.

He reaches once more for your breasts, so you take his hands in your own, twining your fingers together, and you lean over him, pressing the backs of them to the pillows his head rests upon. Your breasts—the very things he’d wanted for—now directly in his face as you gaze down at him, clenching tightly around him.

“Not until I give you permission may you touch me, my sweet prince. Do you understand?”

Jacaerys whimpers quietly, softly nodding his head.

His eyes roll back before he shuts them, relieved you are giving him that which he most wants without further instruction needed.

You lean back once again, and his hands remain where you’ve placed them as you continue to rock your hips against his.

It is so strange to have a prince—the prince—who had only, just a few days ago, loathed you, asking you, a commoner, to command him in bed of all places.

A sennight ago you would’ve laughed at such a prospect.

But it warms you to know that he trusts you in such a way, and so quickly, at that. He sees you worthy of having such confidences bestowed upon you.

You rest your hands upon his chest, grinding down against him, and he turns his hands, gripping the pillows beneath them, clenching his teeth, groaning deeply in pleasure.

You click your tongue softly, cupping his cheek.

“Oh, my sweet prince,” you coo, brushing your thumb along his lips. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

He nods, his eyes fluttering open—brown irises blooming with wanton lust.

Your lip twitches. “Good.”

You rise until only his tip remains inside of you, then ease back down and he lets out a low curse.

He slides his fingers into his curls, fisting them in frustration.

“Gods, I want to touch you,” he states through clenched teeth.

You look between your legs to where he has disappear entirely, and you shrug slightly. “If we are to be technical, my sweet boy, you already are.”

You gaze at him from under your lashes and his cock twitches from deep inside your soaking heat.

His brow twitches.

“Please,” he begs.

You want to give him what he wants without a second thought, but what if what he wants is for you to make him work for it? Mayhaps you should’ve talked more about things before just…getting into bed.

You lean down and brush a kiss over his lips, curls falling over your shoulders that frame your face, and his that lies beneath you.

“You will obey,” you whisper. “You may put your hands upon my body when I permit you to, and not a moment before.”

He grins slightly, and you know then that you are giving him exactly what he wants. It makes you happy that he is, too.

“Yes, mistress,” he replies.

You fight against your brows raising in surprise at that.

You don’t want him to feel embarrassed or ashamed in trying…this. Don’t want him to feel a single negative feeling during his first time.

You wish for it to be everything he wants it to.

You continue to rock your hips against his, quietly squelching and he sighs at the sound. It pleases him greatly to know he is pleasing you. It is all he wants: to bring you to finish while you are connected in this way.

You reach between your legs and begin to slowly circle your clit and Jace practically whines at the sight.

“Let me instead. Please, I beg of you. Let me tend to your needs.”

Your hand stills, and then you remove it entirely.

You then let it hover between the two of you, palm face-up. “Give me your hand, my love.”

Jace smiles, doing as you bid him, and you slide it down your stomach, until his fingers graze again the soft white hairs between your legs, and you twine your fingers between his, circling that hot, sensitive bundle, guiding him in silent instruction.

He arches his hips and you moan his name, releasing his hand while he continues to circle that part of you which most needs his attention.

In return, you gently push dark curls from his brow, trailing your fingertips along his cheeks and firm jawline.

“Are you…you do like—”

Jace reaches up with his free hand, cupping your cheek. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

You rest your palm over the back of his hand and turn your head to kiss it. You then slide it lower, to your breast, and he squeezes it gently, rolling your nipple between his fingertips.

Your hips jerk slightly as he continues to gently circle your clit.

You then lean forward and slide a hand beneath his neck and he sits up, wrapping his arm around your waist, crushing his lips to yours.

You press your forehead to his, drawing in ragged breaths, growing closer to that peak you desperately wish to find again at his hand.

Jace’s hand slides down to your bottom, guiding you along his length.

“I’m close,” he whispers.

You nod, sliding your arms around his neck, kissing his forehead lovingly, stroking his curls.

“Shh, that’s it, my sweet prince,” you say, gently encouraging him to finish along with you.

“Do I—” He swallows thickly. “Do I have your permission?”

You pull back slightly, looking into his eyes from beneath hooded lids.

You smile warmly. “Of course you do, my sweet boy. I want you to.”

“Thank you,” he replies in a mere whisper, pulling your lips back to his own.

You continue to pleasure yourself against his length, and his breaths begin to come in pants.

“That’s it,” you say, nodding. “That’s it, my sweet, sweet boy.”

He rests his head against your breasts, listening to your heart pound, and he closes his eyes.

You rock your hips faster and faster, his cock straining inside of you, desperate for release, his testicles tightening while your hot, wet walls coax him toward that which he most needs while he holds you tightly in his firm embrace.

He takes one of your nipples within his warm mouth, suckling at your breast, then licking a hot trail to your other, rolling your opposite nipple between his teeth.

“Oh, my sweet boy,” you quietly cry. “That’s it, Jace. Good boy, that’s my—”

He throws his head back then, coaxed by your words—by the names you call him—and his seed spurts inside of you, while he moans loudly, groaning your name.

You reach between your legs, quickly circling your swollen clit, whispering his name repeatedly, squeezing around him, and you press your lips to his shoulder when that wonderful feeling of release washes over you.

Jacaerys can’t stop smiling.

Neither can you.

The two of you lay on your sides, with one of his arms draped over your hip.

He’d washed the both of you clean after, and then assured you in the morn that he would have a servant procure you moontea.

You cup his cheek and press yourself against the front of him, feeling utterly warm and safe and happy.

Tears sting his eyes as he pulls you into his chest, cupping the back of your head.

“Thank you, Y/N. For making my first…” He trails off for a moment. “For being my first, and for making it perfect.”

You rest your palms against his chest, closing your eyes. “Thank you for letting me.”

#fic: hotd (jacaerys velaryon x reader)#jacaerys fanfic #jacaerys velaryon x y/n #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon imagine #jacaerys velaryon x reader #hotd x reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x oc #hotd imagine #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #jacaerys fanfiction

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just-some-random-blogger · 11 months ago

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I don't know if you accept requests, but I'm going to risk it. Did you see the last photo of Harry Collett and Tom Taylor (the future Cregan Stark)? Could you write a Harry/Jace x reader x Tom/Cregan threesome? I'm obsessed with them

Push & Pull

It's basically Lannister tradition to create a scandal on your nameday, or maybe that's just you.

Jacaerys Velaryon x Lannister!Reader x Cregan Stark | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, jealousy?, am I the drama!YN, typos, etc.

A/N: hello nonnie! i do take requests, but i dont explicitly state it because ive been having a hard time writing. i had an idea for a jace fic when you sent this, so it felt really timely, but then that fic i went to die 💀✋ so im tryna revive my spark writing smth else. i know you said a threesome but i just 💔 the best i can do is them tryna one up each other. I AM SO HYPE FOR THEM FR FR but i didnt really see the actors' photo together, just them in the trailer

"Is that the older Velaryon boy?" I mutter to my brother in between taking a sip of wine.

Jason turns where I'm looking and takes a sip of his own wine, "indeed."

"He's rather easy on the eyes, isn't he," I smile at my Jason.

He raises a brow, "and you are rather engaged, aren't you?"

"Engaged to be engaged," I shrug, looking around the room again, "and I do not even see our man of the hour anywhere."

"Lord Stark is travelling here from Winterfell. One would expect him to be late."

"Are you not the same brother of mine that said impressions have their weight in gold?"

Jason narrows his eyes, "clearly that was Tyland."

I roll my eyes at him and look away. I quickly turn back to Jason after I notice something, "oh, look. He's coming over."

"Lady Lannister."

I avert my gaze from my brother, to Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, who gives me a nod in regard.

"My prince," I smile and curtsy.

He smiles back then turns to my brother, "Lord Lannister."

Jason raises a brow and nods curtly.

"If your sister will allow it," Jacaerys turns to me, "I would like to ask her for a dance."

I giggle under my breath. I share a look with my brother. Jason assesses my expression before turning back to the dark haired man, "my sister is not accepting dances this moment."

I turn to Jacaerys as he gives me a questioning look, "may I enquire why?"

"I hurt my ankle," I mutter, "whilst getting off the carriage."

Jacaerys' forehead visibly wrinkles, "you took a carriage here?"

I purse my lips into a soft smile, "I did."

"To Casterly Rock?"

"I was visiting a lady friend who lives not too far from here."

"... I see."

Just as Jacaerys says this, the doors open, and Lord Cregan Stark's arrival is announced as he walks in. As he swaggers in, I am struck by a delicious idea.

"On second thought, my prince," I extend a hand, "my ankle is feeling rather better now."

I feel my brother give me a dirty look, but before he can say anything, I am whisked away for a dance.

Jacaerys leads me as we dance, holding my hand firmly as we glide across the floor, and pulling me closer than what was needed when the movement called for it.

The truth was, I didn't mind it, but there was nothing I loved more than putting a man in his place.

"You're being quite familiar with your touches, Jacaerys," I mutter when we as close enough.

I see his eyes light up when I call him by his first name. He chuckles, "can you blame me for wanting to be so?"

I hum as he spins me around, "I doubt many refuse your advances anyway, with the life of a princess up for prize."

Jacaerys ends up behind me as we continue with the dance. I feel his breathing as we continue with the next steps. Once we pull away and face each other again, I speak, "it is an honor to be the first."

Jacaerys looks at me in confusion when I curtsy rather than take his hand. I smile, "I have another waiting on me," then walk away.

It doesn't take long for me to weave my way out of the dancing bodies, nor to find the said person waiting for me.

I press my lips together into a soft smile as I approach the towering man, "Lord Stark."

Cregan nods and extends a hand, "my lady."

I take his hand and smile when he kisses my knuckles, "I do hope your travels were safe."

Cregan straightens up and tilts his head, "safe?"

He takes a step forward and brushes my knuckles, "I arrived to see my future bride ensnared in the jaws of a dragon."

I clasp my hands together and raise a brow, " I believe the Velaryon's sigil is that of a seahorse."

"And I believe he is set to inherit the throne after his mother, the king's appointed heir."

I purse my lips and lock eyes with Jacaerys from across the room. A moment later, I turn back to Cregan and smile, "political talk has always bored me."

He shifts on one leg, "I would not bore you on your nameday."

"Then dance with me."

Cregan takes a second, then offers me a hand.

Not a moment later, the two of us are dancing with the rest of the crowd. Cregan is much more wary with his touch, more courteous, and modest.

I cannot help but tease him with lingering touches and with the bat of my lashes, "you are surprisingly graceful for someone of your stature."

Cregan chuckles, hands gripping my waist with more intention, "perhaps the same could be said about you, my lady."

I raise a brow, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, with your injured ankle and all."

I tilt my head, eyes locked on his as we change partners. I keep my attention locked on Cregan as I come back to him the next measure.

"How do you know that?"

He tucks my hair behind my ear, "your brother told me as you danced with Jacaerys Velaryon, how you humored him, despite your reluctance."

We spin around and switch partners again.

This time, I cannot keep my attention on Cregan as I find myself face to face with Jacaerys, himself.

He immediately speaks, "I did not know you were waiting upon Cregan Stark."

I do the steps with him and purse my lips, "why would you need to know who I wait upon?"

"I thought I made it clear," the corner of his lips quirk, "I wish to be familiar."

I chuckle, taken slightly off guard, "and I thought I made it clear that I did not."

Jacaerys' hold on my hip lingers, "did you?"

My breath hitches when he pulls me flush against his chest, arms around my waist as we twirl. He breaks away, seconds too long, and we change partners again.

Except I don't, and neither does Jacaerys, for then the music finds its completion. We stand in front of each other, staring, as the rest of the room breaks into applause.

"I would like to share another dance with you, my lady," says Jacaerys.

"She is already spoken for," another answers for me.

I peer up at Cregan as he comes between us. He blankly stares at Jacaerys. It lingers and becomes rather painful. Eventually, he gives him a nod in regard, "your grace."

"Lord Stark," Jacaerys clenches his jaw before nodding back.

I stare at them as they stare at each other for another prolonged moment. I purse my lips then sigh, "I am actually feeling rather parched. Would you two boys like to pour me a drink?"

The two of them turn to me, but before they could respond, I'm already heading off to the banquet table. My brother's eyes shoot daggers at me as I approach.

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dreammfyre · 7 months ago

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the heir's favorite ⋆ jacaerys velaryon

SUMMARY. You are the first daughter of the marriage between your mother Rhaenyra Targaryen and your father Daemon Targaryen. Always the most rebellious and difficult of all, temperamental, impulsive. However, weak before the temptation to possess your older brother, the crown prince Jacaerys Velaryon, a knight par excellence, the opposite of you. But no one in Dragonstone imagined that you shared much more than dragon's blood.

WARNINGS. +18 Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!oc. Targaryen incest (brother and sister). Jacaerys aggressive and dominant. Smut. Based on the second season of House Of the Dragon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE. This was a suggestion left anonymously in the messages, so I invite you to leave yours. Thanks for reading.

The empty room was so quiet that you could feel your thoughts could be heard all over the place. The full moon illuminated the dark sky, standing out against the stars that night where everyone was resting in their chambers, but you were unable to lie in your bed, much less fall asleep without having nightmares. The Stone Table was where everyone met daily to discuss strategies for the war that was being unleashed in Westeros, but now that empty place was strange, so much silence and loneliness. The extinguished embers did not illuminate the tabletop, you touched the stone expecting to burn, however, it was totally cold.

"Who's there?" a familiar voice entered the place. You turned immediately finding Prince Jacaerys, your older brother and heir to your mother's throne. "Sister... it's very late."

"I know, you should be resting." You replied walking towards him.

"It's a bit complex lately." He took the luxury of joking, in response you smiled without much encouragement. "May I know what you're doing here?"

"Not much. Seems to me you're not the only one who doesn't get any rest." You lifted your shoulders casually. "Any news on your rounds?"

Jacaerys shook his head in disappointment, pacing around the table resting his hands on the handle of his sword without taking his eyes off you, analyzing your presence carefully, as if silently judging you. You rested your hands on the stone of the table relaxing your body on your arms, but your head couldn't stop scheming hundreds of thoughts and bloody imaginary scenarios regarding the war.

"Cole's army is getting bigger and bigger and we don't have a damn clue about anything." You said with a tense jaw. "And about my father..." you sighed deeply without looking your brother in the face "no word from him for days."

"That's not your fault." Jace tried to make you feel better with repeated kind words, but your guilt was growing and the anguish of the approaching war wouldn't leave you alone. "Daemon is not the priority."

"That idiot should be here, on the island, with his queen and his children." You whispered angrily. Then you looked up resolute in your decision. "I'll go see him tomorrow."

That didn't sit well with your brother.

"Don't talk nonsense, Visenya." The heir scoffed. "You can't go to Harrenhal alone, it's too dangerous and we don't know if the way is clear."

"You think I'll arrive by land alongside Daemon's imaginary army?" you sneered in the same condescending manner, a brazen gesture that made Jacaerys' blood boil. "I will ride Vermithor's back at dawn and arrive before the sun peaks. I will return the same day with news before the queen."

"That's a lousy idea!" Your brother exclaimed angrily. Grabbing your arm with brute force, forcing you to look him. "How can you even think of traveling alone to lands we don't know if they are enemies or allies?"

"We need to move fast before they come for us, Jacaerys." You squirmed under his grip feeling his fingers bury into your pale skin. "Do you intend to wait for my father to return?" you managed to break free from his grip with difficulty, Jacaerys ran a hand through his wavy hair desperate not to talk sense into you. "Because you may take a seat, I will not be accompanying you."

"Visenya, please understand the magnitude of your stupidity." He begged, chasing you from side to side. Your brother knew how impulsive you were, and how hard it was for you to get an idea out of your head, no matter if it was good or bad and in this case it was a rather dangerous one. "What happens if you cross paths with Vhagar in the skies?" The prince raised his voice to you demanding and imperative trying to intimidate you, anyone passing nearby could overhear your discussion. You turned your back to him, you didn't want to look him in the face out of embarrassment because deep down you knew his words were true. "You have no business there!"

"I have no business here either!" you exclaimed with the same intensity. You were temperamental by nature and now you were blowing off steam. "I'm tired of staying cooped up on the island, waiting for others to figure things out! I'm a dragon rider, and I'm constrained by these walls."

Your brother understood that feeling better than anyone, he grabbed you by both cheeks, covering your face with his firm hands.

"I know how you feel, Visenya. Believe me, but walking out at the first impulse is not the solution, don't you understand?" You put your hands over his, looking at him intently. You wanted to nod to answer him the question he asked you, but you were mesmerized in his nearness and his breath hitting your face. "Stay here, with us." He watched you carefully without letting go, losing himself in the sense of his pleas to look at you closely, you were so beautiful in any light no matter how dim, a Targaryen through and through with bright, intense violet eyes of long white hair like your parents. Jacaerys couldn't help but stare at you, the half-open lips tempting him to taste you, trying not to lose what little composure he had left. "With me."

You possessed the ethereal beauty of your mother and the complex character of your father, Daemon Targaryen. Under your little ethics and impulsiveness you did not think if it was a coherent idea and you threw yourself to kiss the thick lips of your brother who reciprocated instantly, none of them reasoned, they only moved to the rhythm of the kiss where their moist lips brushed anxiously. Your brother's hand on your waist took you by surprise, more so when he pressed you against his body bumping you against his chest and cornering you against the table.

"Go to sleep." Jace scolded you making an attempt to stop kissing you, but you kept reaching for him. "This isn't a good place."

With a smile you ignored knowing the only way to stop the situation was for you to go to your quarters and you didn't feel like leaving. You grabbed her hair tangling your fingers in her chestnut curls, Jacaerys strength intimidated you, but it wasn't enough to stop you.

"Don't go to Harrenhal." He pleaded leaving kisses on your neck, tracing a wet path over your skin taking advantage of inhaling your scent. "Do it and I promise I will warm your bed every night."

You felt a shiver run down your back at his offering, Jacaerys kept leaving kisses until he reached your collarbones uncovered by the neckline of your dress. His warm lips made your heart beat faster, you grabbed him by the face stopping him.

"Would you do that for me?" you asked with dangerous innocence, watching his glossy swollen lips.

"Do you really doubt it?" he answered against your ear, then brushed his nose against yours slowly, you left a short kiss on his lips almost by instinct, so tender and unexpected that you heard a laugh come out of the prince.

"I'll think about it." You whispered touching his chest, playing with the textures of the fabrics, his agitated breathing gave him away, having you close was a personal challenge for the prince. It was a lie, you weren't going to think about it, you just wanted to give him what he needed to hear to stay with you.

Jacaerys' big hands began to take hold of your body squeezing you tightly making you gasp, then you lifted your chin giving him access to your neck, the kisses there unsettled you in a special way and only your brother knew it, taking advantage of your weakness, listening closely to his breathing and feeling the warmth of his breath was much better. Everything about him you liked, and you were missing him lately. The pressure and uncertainty of the war had taken your head elsewhere, you had abandoned each other for valid reasons, but at that second you just wanted to give yourself to him one more time.

You stood on your tiptoes to gain a little more height reaching for his ear, your brother tensed at the delicate touch of your hot tongue against his lobe, you licked delicately knowing that it turned him on, he confessed it to you one night and you never forgot it. A deep moan of satisfaction came from his throat, then carefully, you lowered one of your hands straight down to his pants, positioning yourself over his hard member that was pressing against the fabric.

"This is not the best place." Begged the prince resting his forehead on your shoulder. "We are in a sacred place, you know?"

You cared little for his insistence or decency when you only wanted to shout his name, though you knew Jacaerys was asking you to stop for the sake of not failing in duty, not because the desire wasn't there. No one understood the reason why Rhaenyra did not cancel the stupid engagement between Lady Baela and the right Jacaerys, no one could deny that they could become blameless kings for the history of Westeros, but there would never be the tension and burning desire throbbing as when the fire was unleashed between you. That first time with a taste of sin, you begging him not to stop, that it was going to become a one-time secret that his parents would never find out, a secret they couldn't help but repeat between your sheets and his, in the hallways and in the library.

Desperate, your brother lifted the skirt of your dress with your help by grabbing your leg and pulling it up to his waist. The mere contact made you moan from the pleasure, you clamped your mouth shut to keep from making noise, you were too sensitive and needy and Jacaerys liked to have you under his control. You were always sarcastic, upset and nasty, just like your dragon, but Jacaerys Velaryon knew how to control you.

"What are you going to do if someone finds out about us?" You asked with bated breath. Deep down it was important to keep the secret guarded to keep it. Jacaerys' fingers stroking between your legs making you jump, clinging to the heir's neck and leaning against the table. "What are they going to say when they find out the crown prince fucking his sister."

His fingers slowly moved up and down, playing with your slimy wetness between his fingers. The mischievous grin on the chestnut's face only reflected the satisfaction of having managed to have you like this, so submissive to him.

"Does it scare you?" he whispered against your moaning lips. With his other hand he gripped the back of your neck tightly, so you wouldn't move. "They're going to find out you're my spoiled sister." Two of his long fingers began to search for the perfect place to insert themselves into you. You stirred under his grip settling in for him, your desperate breathing needing him to finish his work, but he seemed very calm provoking you with his words. "Do you know what they'll call you?" he bit your lip, pulling it towards him. "The heir's whore." His fingers slipped inside you so easily, sliding into your wet insides gushing moans from your chest as you felt him move in and out of you. Jacaerys took your leg his free hand clutching his fingers to your thigh preventing you from closing before him.

At the first loud moan you covered your mouth immediately knowing you were attracting attention, the sensation between your legs was stronger. You squeezed your brother's shoulder getting used to the movement of his fingers inside you.

"Don't yell." He ordered uncompromisingly. He had to kiss you to shut you up, which served you a few short minutes. You were losing your mind, your legs wanted to close but Jace put his foot down to stop that from happening.

"Jacaerys." His name on your lips excited him more than anything else, for it was the tone of desperation that mirrored your desire. To know that he controlled you and you were under his dominion with how arrogant you were, that no knight owned you, that everyone desired you for being Rhaenyra's spoiled daughter, but you were his, no matter an arranged marriage or duty was enough. "Mmh." You ran your hand over your face, desperate to keep silent fighting against your body that was beginning to tremble as his fingers went faster.

But for an ego like Prince Jacaerys Velaryon's it wasn't enough. Listening to you enjoy yourself on the Stone Table where every day they met to discuss war strategies was the most satisfying image to his eyes and he was not going to be able to forget it. The way you moved, dragon-like, the sweetest and most desperate noises came from you, none of the whores he had been with compared to the delicacy of a pureblood Targaryen. A unique and unrepeatable privilege.

When your breathing became erratic and the murmurs incomprehensible swearing you were going to reach that peak, Jacaerys came to a screeching halt chastising you. You opened your eyes in disappointment and fury, your heart leaping out of your chest and your legs damp and trembling.

"Be a good sister," he stroked your cheek with the gentleness you deserve to be treated with. You were trying to listen to him but you were so upset you just wanted to insult him for doing that to you. "Turn around."

Your hair stood up at his tone of voice demanding and conciliatory at the same time. As obedient as ever, just for him, you turned your back to him as the prince busied himself with pulling down his pants that were pressing against the erection he was trying to contain. Your heart wouldn't stop pounding, you could still feel his long fingers inside you and the wait, however minimal, was becoming eternal and torturous. You looked sideways at the entrances of the place without finding anyone, but the truth is that you didn't care if at that moment the queen arrived and found them like that, the euphoria and adrenaline was taking over your body and your reason, the overflowing desire had taken your actions. You felt Jace's hands sneaking up your skirt, careful where to touch, looking for just the right position to enter. He stood behind you, your dress pulled up over your back, the mere touch made you moan. You were so wet it was slipping from your entrance.

"Don't say anything." He told you and you nodded, you were capable of begging if necessary, though deep down you knew he enjoyed it making you obey. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

You closed your eyes as you felt Jacaerys slowly push behind you. You took a breath and tried to relax, you both moaned slowly, the prince tensed his jaw and clenched his teeth to keep from making noise, he stayed still for a few seconds searching for your hips digging his fingers into your skin trapping you in that position, moving you back and forth to better thrust. The rubbing of his member on your walls felt warm and wet, an invasion of your body, you were so used to his size that the sensation became familiar, literally. Some of the pieces of stone you unintentionally threw away, that was going to be a problem for later, because now the noise of their bodies colliding was beginning to consume you. The control he had over you didn't bother you, he gripped you tightly taking over everything. Her hips moved with yours instinctively in a delicious back and forth.

"Like this." You gasped with closed eyes and a satisfied expression. You reached for his hand under your dress and clung to him as tightly as Jace clung to you.

His length pumped in and out of you at a rapid pace, but this time, Jacaerys made sure each thrust was deep by ramming his pelvis into your buttocks.

"What a pleasure to meet again, don't you think?" his question was punctuated by your same panting without stopping moving. You weren't able to answer, your high-pitched moans were getting louder and louder, putting both of you at risk. On the other hand, he was breathing heavily. You had to cover your mouth with your hand, biting your palm to stifle your own moans of pleasure at having him inside you.

You started to stir but you were trapped in his hands, he knew you well enough to know what to do, you turned to look at him finding the heir ramming you with force and speed, his hair fell in curls that moved to the rhythm of his rhythm, when their gazes met for a second he stared at you, your face sweating, your eyes bright with a frown of supplication and red cheeks were enough to have no mercy. Your entrance was tightening at the same time you couldn't breathe, that feeling of a wave invading your insides begging for more desperate to reach orgasm. Jacaerys took your with one hand your waist and with the other your hip, encasing his fingers preventing you from escaping, you were in this together and you had to finish it.

You moved your arm and disarranged the pieces on the board. Now you could hear your brother moaning, cursing you for being his undoing and the greatest of his sins, making you his own feeling the power to mark you and deflower you breaking any tradition that governs the Targaryen nobility. It felt so good that you could confess your love to him just so he wouldn't stop. Luckily for both of you, he didn't stop, the rapid movements and the pressure forming in your lower stomach was getting out of control, the noise intensifying from the collision of your bodies and your knees seemed to lose any kind of strength to hold you up, luckily the table was there to support your body, plus your brother who wasn't going to let you fall. Until you couldn't manage to resist anymore, your orgasm came first like a shiver throughout your body, you closed your eyes tightly and watching you exclaim his name in screams of pleasure ended the infinite torture of the heir that took a few seconds to wait.

"Shit." Your voice hopefully came out of your dry mouth. You had your chest against the weight crushing your breasts, one of your hands intertwined with your brother's who was rebounding behind you.

You both took a second to take a breath and assimilate what you had just done, you had promised not to fall into carnal sin again and that's why the last time was several months ago. You leaned on the table with both hands coming back into yourself with your chest heaving, your brother's hands were still in the same place but he was no longer squeezing you with the same possessive intensity. Your hair was falling on both sides, tousled from the movement and your legs were begging you for a rest.

Jacaerys caught his breath, but his heart had not calmed down at all. His body was still experiencing those chills and that unique tension, he took a step backwards out of your body to get dressed. You immediately felt the fluid trickle down the inside of your thighs, dripping slowly down your hot skin.

"Are you okay?" Jace asked pulling up his pants, his movements a little uncontrolled as the adrenaline was still pumping. You nodded fixing your wrinkled dress. It wasn't the first time it had happened, you both knew what it was, that meant you would have to have tea the next morning.

"Looks like I'll be staying."

Your older brother smiled, fixed his hair pulling it back and moving closer to kiss you again, this time slower and softer, trapping your lips with his so slowly that you relaxed. You took his face kissing him again, his scent, his warmth, his bearing that forced you to lift your chin to reach your mouth, the softness of his lips, it was the most comforting sensation you knew.

"Go rest." He whispered without opening his eyes. Tidying your hair behind your ear.

"Okay." You replied in the same tone, so obedient and submissive before him, kissing for the last time his mouth following your movement. "Good night"

Leaving him was complicated, but you were satisfied with the encounter. As you walked you felt the burning between your legs, a reminder that was to last a couple of days that he had made you his once more, that was the greatest secret they kept hidden, they had forgotten for a moment the war between families, the political problems, duty and order.

Jacaerys Velaryon watched you go, silently picking up the sword he had dropped to the ground. That simple symbol that he was capable of abandoning his duty as prince for you, he staked his honor and his word for taking you. He stayed a while longer tidying up the mess they had created, arranging the pieces of stone in the place that corresponded according to the figure, picking up from the floor some that fell without realizing it. It was he who always assumed the role of responsibility for cleaning up the mess and pretending nothing had happened. How was he going to show up tomorrow at this very spot knowing he had relations with Visenya, the spoiled and arrogant princess, right there?

He only hoped Daemon Targaryen would never discover that his daughter was the heir's favorite if he wished to one day ascend the throne.

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darlingofvalyria · 1 year ago

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in hightower green— a masterlist.

The life and lies of the secondborn daughter of Viserys I, twin to Aegon Targaryen II, her rise to power and prominence, and her bountiful marriage to King Jacaerys Velaryon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm.

For her crown, though no conqueror wore, was bathed in the shadows of the silent battles and wars she had won. For the Kingdom and for her lineage. Though she too wore many names, those that knew the stories— or the whispers — called her by others.

The Bastard Eater. The Kingmaker. The Spider Singer. The Emerald Fire.

+18 MDNI | Jacaerys Velaryon x Manipulative Targaryen!Reader, (Aegon's twin)

｡˚ ❀↳˗ˏˋ please make note of the different TWs by each part ˊˎ˗ ↴

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : MAIN STORY (chronological order; you can technically read it them each as one shots) ::;˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

I. IN SCALES OF GREEN, DRESSED IN SEA | smut, angst = The honour-bound prince does not want you. Or so he tells himself.

II. IN CLOTH OF BLACK, BABE IN BLOOD | angst, smut = Through all your scheming— you had made a mistake. It is about to cost you everything.

III. IN BASTARDS OF BLUE, WAGER IN WAR | angst, smut PART ONE | PART TWO (coming soon) = When whispers of the dalliance of bastards reach your ears, your vengeance roars for Winterfell.

(cold feet)

｡˚ ❀↳˗ˏˋ ADDENDUM STORIES ˊˎ˗ ↴🌸

COLD FEET | fluff | you talk your daughter down from her cold feet.

AU! | A DALLIANCE OF DRAGONS | smut, angst | after your husband betrays you, you turn to your uncle for help.

THE CHILDREN (& LEGACY)

FIC TAG MOODBOARDS | [ The Queen Consort & Gaelithox ]

Message to be added to the taglist!

#˚➶ ｡˚ ➥ elle's masterlists ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚.#jacaerys fanfic #jacaerys smut #jacaerys velaryon fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys strong #₊˚ପ⊹ hightower green 🕷

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the-fiction-witch · 1 month ago

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Apologize

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Jacaerys Velaryon Couple - Jacaerys X Reader Reader - Princess Y/n Targaryen (Jace's Wife) Rating - 15 Word Count - 887

Jacaerys along with his wife and sibling Y/n, made their way into the dining hall of Dragonstone. They had come in from a frustration-clearing afternoon flight on Vermax and Tessani, however, they expected to meet their mother in the dining room, not two dragon seeds already helping themselves to the feast.

“We are meant to be in the training yard, learning the commands.” One said,

“And I will, but they cannot deny me being late until my stomach is filled,” The other laughed his feet on the table and food scraps falling to the floor,

“What are you doing here?” Jacaerys asked, “Remove your feet from the table.”

“I’d rather not.” the man snapped back,

“Ulf-” The first man attempted to mediate,

“It is not up to you. You are a guest here.” Y/n told him,

“Who’s it up to then? Maid girl?” Ulf asked,

“Maid!” Y/n gasped,

Jacaerys immediately grabbed her hand, “You will speak to us with more respect. Apologize at once!”

“Who’s gonna make me? Boy?”

“Ulf!” Hugh stopped him, “This is Prince Jacaerys Velaryon and Princess Y/n Targaryen.”

“Prince Jacaerys Verlayon,” Ulf got to his feet, wiping his hands down his shirt, “And Princess Y/n Targaryen, who’d have thought it.”

“They live here.” Hugh reminded,

“I have yet to hear my ladies' apology,”

Ulf rather foolishly wrapped his arms around Jacaerys in an embrace,

A rage boiled below the prince’s eyes,

“The young Prince! My handsome nephew.” He laughed joyfully as he pulled back giving Jacaery’s arms a firm tap, “And look at that hair-” He tried to reach for Jacaery’s dark curls but his wrist was stopped hard and fast before a single strand could be touched, almost breaking the man’s wrist. “As dark as they say! Don’t let them tell us we don’t have Targaryen Blood, ‘ey?!” He laughed, “And of course, My Beautiful niece!” he then wrapped his arms around Y/n, “As sweet as the songs aren’t you?” He laughed as he pulled back, “Don’t you worry darlin’ you can think of me as your fun, dirty uncle.” He smirked slapping her on the backside, “Us Targaryens do go in for that sort of thing,”

Y/n squealed and immediately escaped Ulf’s grip to the comfort of Jacaery’s arms,

“You. Dare. Lay. Your. Filthy. Hands. Upon. My. WIFE!” Jacaerys growled, “She is the princess of the realm! Not to be fondled by the likes of you!”

“Of course, didn’t mean to upset the little princess.” he chuckled, “Guess she’s only for your hands to fondle then?”

“How dare you-” Y/n began,

“Dragon riders. All of us lot. Cut from the same cloth.” Ulf changed the subject,

“It is a sacred inheritance, Of our family. Of which you know nothing!” Jacaerys growled,

“Forgive him, My prince, My princess. Ulf is… not use to the manners of the court.” Hugh spoke up,

“No manners at all,” Y/n muttered,

“I’d have to agree with my princess, No manners at all I’d say.” Jacaerys spat, “The dragon and its power is a right you have not earned. And when the flames come from the sky will you be at our side? Or will you make yourself easy and hidden? If you hinder our efforts in this war, by sloth or cowardice I will have you hung and your body fed to the dogs in the street!” Jacaerys warned,

“I- I am sorry my prince.” Ulf bowed,

“Now you will apologize to my princess.”

“Forgive me, princess.”

“Good.” he nodded, “and if I see you lay your eyes on her again, I will have them plucked from your skull and fed to the birds.” Jacaerys moved closer, “If I find a hand has been laid on her, I will have it sawn from your wrist and left for my dragon to snack on,” he moved closer right into Ulf’s dirty face, “As for anything else as our fun dirty uncle… If I find out anything else has touched her, And I WILL find out. I will have your manhood cut from your body and shoved up your ass.” He yelled, “Do you understand?”

Ulf nodded with a gulp, “Yes My prince, sorry…”

Hugh ushered Ulf away with him to go for their training,

As soon as they were gone Jacaerys wrapped his arms around Y/n, her head tight in his chest, his hand on her cheek, he kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her cheeks and finally her lips in a long tongue-filled kiss, only broken by his words. “Are you alright my sweet?”

“I think so,” she nodded, “What a horrid man!”

“I know, I do believe I already regret this idea.”

“You couldn’t know the scum your net would drag up from the sea bed my love,”

“I know…” he nodded, “But still, we seem to have found the sickest of the scum.”

“Makes you wonder why the dragons chose them?”

“Who knows the minds of those old dragons.” he sighed, “But if he so much as looks at you again I want to know about it my sweet.”

“I will tell you, I promise.” she nodded giving him another sweet kiss,

“Us Targaryen’s…” Jacaerys cursed the words,

“He is as much a Targaryen as I am a Lyseni.”

Jacaerys chuckled and gave his wife a tender kiss, “Come, let us feast in our chambers tonight. Alone.”

She nodded in agreement and held his hand tight as they made their way through dragonstone's long corridors to their chambers.

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skarpetaspodnapleta · 2 months ago

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Oh.. the things we would do..

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howyouloveyourdragon · 2 years ago

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The Prince and His Corpse Bride (part i)

pronouns: she/her warnings: infidelity? (he and baela have no romantic connection) summary: Jacaerys went to Winterfell for one reason and one reason only–the support of the only true friend he has ever had but now he needs to return regardless of his desires, and amongst his presence he must also bestow the ring of Valyrian steel so carefully curated to his betrothed. dividers: firefly-graphics disclaimers: of course do not own the original corpse bride nor asoiaf however this is my own work and story, i do not give permission for my work to be transferred onto other platforms or translated a/n: this chapter is very jace heavy wordcount: 3,529

The steel ring glimmers in the moonlight upon Jacaerys fingers as he waves goodbye within the Godswood as he prepares to take flight, Cregan and sweet young Sara reciprocating the hand gesture eagerly. Vermax grumbles beneath him, stretching his wings as if for the first time for years. A forced smile tightens on Jacaerys’ face as his lips part to take in a deep breath. It wasn’t often that Jacaerys left Dragonstone but he was to be wed in a moon’s time and he needed his best friend. No matter how hard, nor what, he tries, however, he cannot dispel his brother’s face from the front of his mind. Even Cregan saw it when the Velaryon’s irises linger too long on the brunet siblings. A sickly chartreuse dagger wedges in Jacaerys’ throat every time he tries to push the thoughts back. He didn’t think of anything once his satchel was restocked and he climbed aboard Vermax, finally mounting his dragon after ten and four nights–each more painful and lonely than the last. He was only meant to stay a mere three and yet that green dagger poked everytime he approached his companion’s scales. He doesn’t want to go back, not truly, because when he does? His own and dearest brother will not be there to toast his union. He will not be there at all. And for some reason that hurts more than any other harrowing kill he has witnessed. The Targaryen dynasty is no longer at war but that does not soothe all ills. Not his own. And for a while it was alright to drink and curse at his friend’s side but even when he couldn’t remember his own name, he could remember Lucerys. He could remember that he wasn't there.

Jacaerys closes his eyes as Vermax makes a low sound reminiscent of whining and bites his lip until he can feel a cut beginning to blossom beneath his sharp teeth. No more late night talking, mourning and horse rides until both he and Cregan reek of the night air. Bile squirms in his mouth but he buries it before Vermax finally takes off, dragging his begrudging rider with him. Jacaerys refrains from commanding because if he does, he knows he’ll tell him to turn back and he cannot do that to Baela. He cannot embarrass her like that, cannot cast shame on his family at all. He will do his duty and return to Dragonstone and marry her before The Seven. It doesn’t matter that he thinks the Sept’s altar makes him heave, that the candles never feel right in his hand, that the ring he will slip onto her finger will feel as though a condemnation. He may never love her, and she him, but he can try and create a painless union–one that is good for the family, one that will strengthen a family worthy of the Iron Throne, Baela at his side. He breathes in. He can do it. His stomach churns at the thought. His mother did it, he can too–he will. He will perform what is expected of him, he will be crowned and he will form a legacy worthy of The Seven Kingdoms. He has to and he will. His mother told him that she will create a new order and he intends to assist in any way he can to replenish it for her. The wind brushes over him in thick waves, watering his narrowed eyes. His nose twitches against the cold. He scrunches it in an attempt to warm his freezing face. The Kingdom needs their Queen and one day they will need their King too. Baela is brave, smart and holds a power within her gaze he has rarely seen before, she will make an excellent Queen. He gave her a promise worth a throne and he will keep it even if it kills him. He knows she is far more than he has yet amounted to.

Vermax shrieks, screaming the emotions that Jacaerys refuses to outlet. His rider chokes out an exhale and digs the heels of his hands into the saddle reins. Jagged pains dig through him and burn as hot as the fires of his House. He thinks of Valyrian ceremonies, of the one he will never have in case it displeases the people. They will think him a fraudulent prince until he seats the chair of iron and corruption. He curses the damned thing and its pretentious swords. He curses that he is not trueborn. He curses that his mother made him so. Did she know how this would occur? Laenor was his father but not in blood. Did the Lord truly hate him so much that he would leave them so quickly? Abandon he and his brothers to a life of condemnation without him. He curses that he would leave them but not Laenor, never him. A sob begs to claw up his throat but he buries it, slashing until he tastes the metallic blood that sears his burning veins. He curses his hair, his Strong hair. His dark eyes devoid of the enchanting lilac his mother bears. Why, oh Gods, why would they curse him so? Had he been a meandering fool in a previous life? Were such things real? He hopes that in the next life he will be curated in a life of simplicity and his parents of common blood. Jacaerys curses himself. He told his mother to send him to the Vale and Winterfell. It should have been Lucerys. His sweet brother, the one worth more than himself. He had thought the shorter journey would ensure Lucerys’ safety yet it had not. What kind of brother was he? What kind of King would he be if that golden crown lay upon his head. Jacaerys is sure he would abdicate if he had not been betrothed to Baela. If she did not deserve the throne far more than he. Cloud encircles him and he snaps back his gaze upon the familiar castle finally. He sniffles and curses the cold.

He curses.

Landing came slow and rough, Vermax had never been swift at the act though nor did he really care. Not for the first time, Jacaerys envied him. A raucous clapping sounded from the soiled ground. Jacaerys leaned over Vermax’s shimmering neck to catch the sight of Baela wearing a sly smirk. He returns to her a suitable smile and attempts to unlatch the sweltering furs adorning his neck, coursing down the length of his back and arms. His feet hesitate before bounding over one side, his left. The prince lowers himself despite Vermax’s grunts. He glides a firm hand along his scales in penance. “Cousin,” Baela greets warmly. He tries not to wince. She is as beautiful as ever; her lengthy snow coils wrap together in a collection of braids–no doubt his mother’s doing–and descend her back, her iridescent eyes glimmer in the beam of sunlight and she bears the Targaryen colours like the personification of dragon blood herself. His eyes catch the golden clasps latching her hair into neatness but stray strands still peak from behind her ears. It was unabashedly Baela Targaryen. He nods, but even he can tell it is forced, then lowers to his knee and presses a quick chaste peck to the roof of her hand. Jacaerys’ eyes look up to her and attempt to soften in the way his mother’s do at Daemon. It doesn’t work. It never works. His chapped lips part. “Beloved.” The words taste sour when pressed upon his tongue. She doesn’t comment on this if she notices his tensity. She nods and allows him to stand again but her own movements are hard. A gentle breeze embraces them but still a sizable space repels their contact. The prince swallows. “Perhaps you shall join me for a stroll next morrow?” Vermax grumbles but Baela breathes out in relief, eyes briefly shutting before she smiles. “Yes. Yes, I would be delighted.” Her brows pinch in a gentle knit, hopefully grateful for the proposal. Proposal. His stomach churns again. His heartbeat rattles through the cage enclosing his ribs, a round ball expands in his throat.

She turns her back and all but runs back to the Keep, or more likely, his mother, Queen Rhaenyra of whom has been assisting her knowledge in their rich history and the order she wishes to maintain. Jacaerys sighs and guides Vermax through the Dragon Pit. The suffocating heat smothers his skin but the comfort it bestows is something he drinks easily. He may not possess the salt of Driftmark but at least the blood of the dragon roars its presence eagerly. \he sucks it into his nose and swallows the burning warmth. His eyes linger on the familiar stone surrounding him, he reaches to press his padded fingertips to his dragon’s scales who huffs. That was something he appreciates–his companion was never angry at him for long. Never doubted their bond. His true and unquestionable friend. Through battle and Kingship he’s certain. Vermax almost purrs, unpleased with his lack of flight. Jacaerys nods. “I know, I apologise.” Jacaerys speaks through a sigh. “I will be better, I swear it to you, my friend.” Vermax hums deeply and rests his snout against Jacaerys’ palm. He almost purrs, preening at the attention as always. The prince bites back a snicker but the corners of his lips unwillingly upturn. He parts and grins. “Three times a day, I shall burn all contact in my thighs for you.” He teases to which Vermax tilts his head and squints his eyes. Jacaerys chuckles. “Fine, four.” Vermax relaxes and juts his chin in discerned triumph. Jacaerys runs a hand over his dragon’s smooth cheek before reluctantly stepping back and leaving the fiery comfort.

That night, he seats himself beside Joffrey, sending a stern expression when the boy attempts to launch his greens at young Aegon. Older Aegon groans and shoots him an absurd glance himself. He flails a flamboyant arm across the back of Helaena’s chair who makes sillious faces at their young babe. Maelor giggles. “Finally come to join us, nephew?” Aegon asks, propping a high brow and lips pulled taut. “I am afraid so.” Jace returns and then cranes his neck to smile at Baela beside him. “You look exquisite this evening.” He tells her politely before raising a fork to twirl in his grasp. “You were in Winterfell long, darling.” Rhaenyra frowns, lips sewn together as she casts concern his way. Jacaerys flushes and shrugs gently. “We lost time.” He replies in rolling lies. “I was helping Cregan assemble his swords and a few found themselves in unwanted hands.” The only sound breathes clattering silvery. Little Viserys dropped to the floor immediately in record speed to return the fallen cutlery to Princess Rhaena with pink cheeks. He has grown a crush on the older girl quite quickly although she clearly does not return the sentiment. She smiles quickly at him and tries to hide the growing frustration that teases her lips. Baela nudged Jacaerys gently and snickers. He returned the act and scooped a helping of potato upon his fork. He dips the food between the seam of his lips and lets the taste lay on his tongue. The betrothed prince and princess could at least enjoy one another’s company which is more than most had been bestowed. Still it hardly soothes his clenched heart. Alicent smiles at them from his mother’s side. “You will see him again soon for your nuptials.” She reminds him, arm entangling with Rhaenyra’s. Daemon groans. “Yes, a pack of wolves are to be invited, I hear.” It is no secret that Jacaerys’ stepfather cared deeply for a Valyrian ceremony in place of the one chosen, he does not hide it.

The remainder of night is spent with tossing and distressing thoughts. He cannot find it in him to sleep. No matter how many sweet lullabies he threads, no matter how many direwolves he recounts, no matter anything because all he can remember is the night his brother left…How they were never told why. Jacaerys sits up, a huff dropping from between his lips. He rolls them between his teeth and groans, smacking his hands to clasp behind his head. The prince weaves his fingers between strands of his hair, grasping them roughly as he huffs. He clicks his jaw and gently faces the window. What’s wrong with him? It must be the early hours of daylight and yet he stays here unable to sleep with wicked thoughts snatching at which part of his brain they wish to feast upon. He remembers a time where he slept easily and it was his brother who needed comforting. Jacaerys swallows around the cotton in his throat. He closes his eyes and leans back onto his pillow. “Jace?” The quiet voice called across the room. A yelp escaped the elder prince’s lips. His eyes shot open and shot to search for the cause. Long dark locks blocked his vision and he jumped, his hands reaching to cup his own cheeks, greeting him with familiar baby weight. He swallowed and took in a deep breath before he responded. “Yes?” He croaked, scrubbing the golden dust from his eyes. Jacaerys’ breath stopped suddenly. A six year old trembling Lucerys wobbled in on unsteady sleepy legs and sniffled. A large candle sat in his hand. Jace’s eyes widened and he bolted upright. “Hey, what are you doing? Put that down, you’ll hurt yourself. Luke just barely dodges the spilling wax, his lip trembles. “I-I-I–” He stutters. “Shh, shh.” Jace soothed and beckoned him closer as tears enraptured his little brother’s eyes. “It’s okay, take your time.” Jace whispered, tugging his head to his own chest. “It’s okay.” He ruffled his hair and let Luke’s tears flood his nightshirt. “I didn’t mean to!” Lucerys wailed, salt burning his throat. “I know,” Jace soothed, “I know. It’s not your fault.”

Screaming is the first thing Jacaerys hears when he awakens–he just doesn’t realise that it is his own until he feels the tight embrace and exotic perfumes of his mother. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” Rhaenyra hums, kissing the top of his head. Jace feels the pressure of burning tears spill past his eyelashes. “I didn’t mean to!” He cries. “I thought he was safe!” Rhaenyra nods and runs threading patterns through his coarse hair. “It’s okay, take your time.” She murmurs.

The morning comes and passes, Jacaerys’ eyes swollen and red as he reluctantly makes his way toward the palace gardens. Baela is standing with antsy hands, fingers playing with one another. Jacaerys bites his lip and smiles the best he can at her. She visibly sighs in relief and approaches, arms outstretched. He frowns and says nothing, merely returning the gesture and patting her back awkwardly. He extends his arm as expectation demands once they pull away and she reluctantly accepts it, her hand sliding down his arm before settling atop his own hand and weaving their fingers together. “A shame that so long has passed since we last met.” Baela comments and he hums despite his mind being elsewhere entirely. They pass a collection of candytufts to which she plucks one into her fingers. He bites back a sharp quip. Her eyes curiously float across his features and she sighs. “You do not care for me, I take it.” It’s not a question. His head snaps to her with wide eyes. Their movements turn fluid as he takes both her hands in his now. “Of course I care for you!” He rebuts but she only chuckles at him–her laughter the sound of a bird’s song and yet still his heart does nothing but sink in panic. “But not in the way we want it to.” Baela’s sharp voice casts through his unwilling ears. He sighs. “No.” Jace concedes. His eyes lift to hers again. “But I wish them to.” She nods, a grief-inducing tilt to her lips. “I know. We will give it time and perform our duty.” She squeezes his hands.

“But we must not lie to one another. After we are wed I do not plan to take a lover and I presume neither do you. If this changes, however, we must speak of it with one another.” Jace sighs and smiles. “Yes. Yes, I couldn’t agree more but I do have one more term.” Baela nods. “No child is to be born of another union, I–” His voice cracks, his tongue darting out to lick his chapped lips. “I could not bear it.” Jace clears his throat and his dear cousin rubs a soothing pattern on his hand. Gods, he wished he loved her. “Of course.” She assures. A loud sigh of relief draws from between his plush lips. She wished she cared about them. “Good.” He clears his throat and then chuckles and he kneels before her. “I suppose this would be a good time to finally present this to you then.” He rummages through his left pocket within his breeches. Baela tilts her head. “Present what?” She asks. Jacaerys knits his brows and sighs in frustration as he tries the opposite but no matter how far he digs, his hands come up empty. Paleness pours through his face, draining the blood like a leech. In a quick haste, his hand snaps to his forehead, his fingers wrap roughly in his hair. “Oh dear…” He murmurs. Baela furrows her brows. “What is it?” She asks, worry dripping from her like the snow in Winterfell. The snow he would have to return to. Slowly he meets her gaze and groans against tight lips. “The ring.”

Jacaerys Velaryon had never travelled so many times within the same year. He can see Cregan waving him down as he draws upon a patch of land, Vermax following his direction effortlessly. He drops from the saddle and greets the man quickly. “Have you seen a ring?” Cregan frowns and freezes before shaking his head. “I have not.” Jacaerys groans and tosses his head back. He guides his hand along his face, cupping it around his mouth and chin, rubbing his jaw. “Perhaps it fell in the Godswood? You were overhead it when I saw it last.” Jace nods slowly. “How large is it?” He asks to which his friend snorts and folds his arms. He slaps a hand across his back. “Come, my friend, we will find it.”

Walking has never been harder as he russells leaves and the earth’s soil in desperation. He would not be quite so worried if it did not belong to his fiery grandmother but alas it had. And he had been so careful. He curses himself, how had he been so reckless? It had barely left his pocket the whole time and yet when it came to leaving he had let it fall so easily? Curses. He huffs before a sudden glimmer flashes on a tree branch. A gasp pierces the seam of his lips and it is with a lengthy sprint that he launches himself at it, the branch tipping to drop it onto a log. Jacaerys’ eyes widen and he clasps it between his fingers, eyes shutting in exhaustion. He breathes out in relief after carefully peeling them back open again. He breaks out in a grin and kisses the dirtied steel. “Thank the Gods, you have not yet forsaken me!” He rolls onto the ground so that his back rests against the dark bark of the tree. “Now all that is left are the vows.” He grumbles to himself. He chuckles gently and raises the ring so that it might gleam in the sun. The exercise heats his tired body. “I suppose there is no harm.” He murmurs to himself dubiously. He carefully sets slips the rings past the break of a fallen branch and unlatches the clasp of his cloak, one with the Velaryon emblem clearly patterned across the back. “With this kiss I pledge my love,” Jacaerys hums to himself. He drapes the cloak to rest atop a strange bump in the soil. He admires the ring before him and takes a deep breath. He glances about him before taking the oddly shaped bark in hand. “and take you for my lady and wife.” He presses his warm lips to the bark slowly and soft like he practised. He smiles gently, voice melting into a low thrum of noise. “We are now one flesh, one heart, one soul–” Jace doesn’t get to finish the faithless vow.

“Now and forever.” A feminine voice sings back. His eyes snap open and he shrieks at the sight before him. His back slaps against the back of a weirwood tree, hands grasping behind him and around it. His jaw drops like a fish out of water as he stares upward. Before him now stands a beautiful maiden draped in white fabrics, torn furs and his very own Velaryon cloak. Congealed blood seeps through from her side to the opposite hip but her smile is as bright as the sun. A knowing smirk spreads across his pale lips. She tilts her head.

“Hello, husband.”

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