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honestsycrets · 1 year ago

Text

starved | [miguel o'hara x reader]

❛ pairing | new papi!miguel x new mami!reader

❛ type | oneshot: explicit content

❛ summary | peter says he's sex-starved. he isn't. he's just... adjusting to less time with his wife.

❛ tags | breastfeeding miguel, lactation kink, slight pregnancy kink, touch starved, pissy miguel, spanish is not translated, mention of violence, some cursing, f!reader.

❛ sy’s notes | written as per poll request! thank you everyone who voted.

Miguel likes to work.

Or, he thinks he likes to work.

The fate of the multiverse and all that boring ass bullshit. Peter has heard it all, twice, thrice over. What he knows is what he sees. What he sees is an overworked man running through anomaly files, sending out orders, and not spending time where it really mattered.

“Is that who I think it is?” Peter’s annoying ass house slippers flapped over the ground by Miguel’s feet. Peter’s hands rubbed together, sparking little bursts of heat between his palms. “It is! Mireya!”

Mireya, the newest addition to his small family. She was nestled comfortably in the crook of one of Miguel’s muscular arms as if it were the safest place in the entire world, suckling on what was left of a bottle of breastmilk. Miguel turned to place the empty bottle down on his desk. Peter followed, peeping over Miguel’s arm at her. Despite Miguel’s reservations, her bright brown eyes bored Peter with interest. She cooed at him. “Can I hold her? Let me hold her, it’ll be great! Aw look, she has curls.”

“My daughter isn’t your doll.”

“Look how pretty, she’s just like her mami. All sunshine and dimples and--,” Peter reached forward, easing his scrawny hands under her plush little arms and picking her up. Miguel’s hands fell onto his hips, shifting weight from one foot to the other, glancing down at his feet expectantly. “You know, for a new dad, you’re grumpier than usual.”

“Peter.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he bobbed back and forth, spinning in a circle. She giggled the kind of laugh that was all sugar, making Peter grin even harder. “I mean, wasn’t Mireya your idea? Are you-- y’know?”

“Y’know?”

“Sex starved,” Peter whispered like it was a great, terrible secret. As if in this vast space of silence, someone might catch his words and convict him because of them. Miguel’s half-lidded eyes slid against one another, held for a second, then spread open in an annoyed flick. He fluttered his gloved fingers at Peter to hand Mireya over.

“I’m just saying if you need a night alo--”

“I don’t. I’m not sex-starved.”

He waved him off. His eyes fell on his daughter, boring back up at him with those beautiful eyes he had waited so long to see. He shifted his weight from one leg to another, lulling her back into her late-night slumber, cradled against his chest.

Sex starved, he said. What a shocking joke.

His room was no place for a child. It was perpetually dark, dimmed for his sensitive eyes. So, at the end of the day, Miguel had your room to return to. A real home, one with more than a ratty run-down chair and a lifetime of regrets. A home that he couldn't make alone. Miguel pressed past the bedroom door where he found you overcome by sleep. Just like Mireya in his arms.

He turned his gaze down to Mireya once more, her soft and squishy body a vision of peace. Tiny fists balled up over her belly as she slept in her soft velvet onesie. The whole world in his hands: the start of a happy little family. Only right now, it didn’t feel so happy. Those were the cycles, the push and pull of life.

Tonight would prove to be another silent night with his thoughts. His chest swelled with a rush of air, bunching up his shoulders as he moved to the adjoining room to set Mireya into her warm crib. Torn from his warmth, her palms stretched out, ready to wail. Miguel placed his hand along the wooden rail, his stomach flopping into throbbing anxiety in his stomach. She could wake you up. "Shh," he set his finger in her tiny palm. Mireya’s small hands rested listlessly around her head. The wail never came.

“Mi vida,” your sleepy voice fell over his ears, a gentle caress. He longed to hear it from your lips again. “Is she already asleep?”

“Sí--” he glanced over his shoulder, catching just a sight of one of his favourite little slips. Dusty rose with delicate lace details. He studied the edge of the gown, flowing over your thick thighs as you walked. Shock.

“You look beautiful." You looked down at your soft belly, a mincing smile pulling at your lips. He knew you were nervous, the way your hands obscured your plush belly. Mesmerized, his finger fell away from Mireya's soft grip. Peter's words echoed in his mind, a deep annoyance. It made his skin crawl, this growing annoyance in the acknowledgment that he had no sex in weeks, months. He took a step forward.

“I hope she doesn’t sleep through the night. My breasts are full,” Your fingers skimmed the taut skin. The glint of your wedding band invited him forward as if… you should be his tonight. You were his wife-- and though he didn't expect you to give him relief, he missed you. Miguel dipped his head, stroking the sore muscles of his neck.

Are you, y'know, sex-starved?

“When does she ever..." he couldn't help from saying. He grazed his fingertips over the swollen skin of your breasts, glancing from the skin to your deep, shy eyes. His breath thinned, realizing that you were disengaging, too scared to look him in the eye.

“She does, Miggy,” you breathed. His jaw worked, annoyed. “Lately. You’d know if you came home at night.”

If it was lately, he had no knowledge of it. Every lab screen he pulled up, every status report from Lyla, and every silent night in the lab, obsessing over how his little girl was doing-- he missed it. He should be coming in more often, crossing the threshold of work to family life. His hand cupped the underside of your breast. You winced, embarrassment working on your face. You pushed his hand away, likely feeling exposed by his touch on your tender skin.

“Does it hurt?” He leaned down, mingling his smoky, musky scent with your delicate one. He leaned in to place a soft, open-mouthed kiss along your neck, the warm pulse of your skin against his plump lips.

“Miggy, you’ll wake her up.”

Your fingers laced in his before you pulled him out of the room with a click of the door. He settled his hand on the middle of the door, sliding his hand up your waist, the soft fabric crinkling over the movement. He glimpsed a look at your soft panties cupping your round ass. “Miggy, I… I can’t. I’m tired.”

Of course, you were tired-- He underestimated how much work you took on in her care. He willed the wisps of his desire to snuff out. The distant flicker of hope followed promptly after. Maybe, one day, you would want him again. It wasn't today.

“Ya veo,” he suppressed his frustrated growl, wrinkling his forehead. “Another time.”

It wasn't the next day. Or the one after that. Or the one after that.

The anomaly whirled along a cobblestone street, exploding in a cloud of dust and stone. Its many black dipped hands flickered, dulling into little more than a negligible tremor of their limbs. Everyone else noticed the complacency that came with loss of consciousness. Miguel did not.

Miguel sauntered forward, dragged it by its muddy boots out from the crumbly remnants of the wall, and whirled it into another. It wasn't moving. It was done, tired, exhausted. He didn't care, his large hand encompassing its tendril hair and smashing it over the dusty floor. A violent crack, crack, crack of its head scratched his inert need to destroy something, anything, anyone. It fell from his hands with a slump. Miguel spat a bit of blood to the side, his cheek chewed raw under the tension of the moment.

“You need to take Peter up on that offer.”

Miguel stretched his neck one way. Then the other.

“We’ve been over this,” Miguel grumbled, hiking the pummeled body over his shoulder. It gushed blood, streaming into a diluted pink with the downpour of rain. A simple contusion, Miguel said. It was just a contusion. And a concussion. Maybe a gash or two. It would heal if the thing woke up. “I don’t need help.”

“You thrashed it, whatever it was,” Jess said pointedly. Miguel’s finger ran across his watch. The air was stale without an acknowledgment of Miguel’s churning temper, growing into a churning tempest by the passing minute. He stared long and hard through his mask. She drew out the silence as she waited for his response.

“It’s a contusion.”

The portal whirled to life before them in a slurry of vivid color, an unforgiving abyss. Jess slumped her bike with weight on one thigh, hand on her belly. The longer Miguel stared at her, so full and pregnant, the more he was reminded of you. He pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no use-- he saw visages of you everywhere he looked.

“Doesn’t look like any head contusion I’ve seen,” Gwen slid into the portal. His lip curled, annoyed by the obvious objection to what he was saying. If they would let it go-- he could go on about his life, wait for this obsession with his sex life to abate. Wait for you to come back to him.

“You can’t keep taking out your—“

“I am not sex-starved!”

“Convincing.” Jess sped into the portal.

Miguel soothed the stress out of his forehead, opening and closing his palm, a current of energy coursing through his palms. They picked— and they picked— and they picked at him. At some point, he was bound to explode. He only hoped you wouldn't be in his way when it happened. He whipped the anomaly through the portal and followed after.

On the other side of the portal, there was Peter— again. Cooing with his hands on his daughter— again. His dark mask faded away, his suit wicking water off his frame. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he located you beside Jess and Gwen. You nudged its crumpled body with your shoe. He didn’t often feel ashamed of his actions. Usually, they were necessary. Something was wrong, your face pinched and curled in disgust. He felt the string of your disapproval pulling through his arms, a slight, incriminating tremor flickering through his finger. He willed it away.

“What did you do to this poor thing?” you turned to Jess, a click-click-click off your tongue. He’d hardly call it poor. “It’s overkill.”

“Girl, ask your husband,” Jess folded her arms, reclining on her bike.

“Mi Miggy?” you went to him. You leaned over, pecking his cheek with a terribly insulting kiss, tickling his jawline. He swallowed. Blinked. Then frowned and brushed off your fingers, finding the care misplaced. You could care for an anomaly but didn't care to ask him how he felt. What he needed. Your voice wilted that sunshine quality, dropping almost to a whisper. “¿Qué te pasa, Miggy?”

“Nothing.”

“Miguel--"

“I said nothing!” He knelt down, grasping its ankle and dragging it down the long, drab hall that stored a variety of anomalies. A line of blood soaked the floor, swerving after his rumbling steps. You took a step forward, snatching his wrist between your fingers. He whirled around, a tremble on his lips firmed out into an unforgiving glare. You let up the pressure on his wrist, allowing him to spin his hand free. “Déjame en paz! There is nothing shocking wrong!”

Mireya cried. So did you.

The admittance that Peter was right wasn’t one that Miguel was about to make openly.

Although he showed up that night, as you informally requested, the night proceeded awkwardly. There was no talk over dinner, not as he watched you feed his little girl, swaying by the window of the enormous city below. As you gazed into the sea of twinkling lights, Miguel came up behind you. His palms encompassed your slight shoulders, moist against your exposed shoulders. His naked chest grazed your back.

"Are you going to apologize?"

Why should he have to? If anyone listened to what he was saying-- he wouldn't be in this mess. Still, Miguel steeled his face. He placed a mincing kiss on the top of your head. His voice thinned out, barely a feather on his lips.

"I snapped."

"You did a lot more than that. You scared her."

You let him sit with his regret until you fell asleep. He debated returning to the lab or his room to try again tomorrow. But he knew his wife. You were attentive to everything that he did. You might take it as a sign of his disinterest. After minutes turned to hours, he breached the door and slid into your bed when he was sure you were asleep.

When his eyes coursed over your figure, he realized all he missed. It was too long since he felt the warmth of a real kiss. Not the brief pecks on his lips as he rushed out the door to help Jess or Gwen or any other number of spiders demanding his attention. He missed the warmth in your eyes, the way they turn into crescents with a happy smile or jaunty laugh. He longed for that sensation of your fingers combing through his hair, taking your time and curling his fluffy hair behind his ear, eyes trained on his alone in a sea of spiders. That… sensation of being the only one that you wanted.

Mireya was that for you now. He longed for it every time he came into the room, seeing you sway with his child in your arms, cradled against your breast, feeding her into a restful sleep. What he thought was a mere seed of jealousy turned out to be a terrible beast, tendrils of resentment that you can’t see what he needs. He needs you. And it isn’t his beautiful Mireya’s fault, no. It’s his.

Instead, he lay there with his palm wretched around his cock, soaked in the artificial lubricant, throbbing into his hand. He remembered his words that night. A begrudging -- Mami, give me a baby-- and how well you took him. Your body seemed to know what he wanted, swelling with his child after a few weeks. He buckled into his palm, cranking around the base and swirling up to his leaking tip, bubbling with his need. He circled his finger over the head, swiping the fluid away.

“What are you thinking about?”

Miguel paused, sweat crept down his thick throat over his broad chest. He shuddered under the weight of your silken words. His hand coiled around his cock in one more jerk, somehow accepting that he had been caught.

“Are you thinking about me? Or is there someone else?”

"Someone else?" he breathed. His lips dropped into a frown, agitation simmering to a boil. It cooled when you looked at him-- but really looked at him. The bed shifted under your weight, ruffling pillows aside. You hoisted your legs over his body, pushing his cock against your soft vulva and his stomach, breasts pushing into his face. So close that Miguel inhaled the uniquely sweet smell of your milk obscured by thin lace.

“Why would I have anyone else?” he asked, his chest distantly aching. His gaze tracked from one breast to the other. He stole a glimpse at your face, stricken with shyness. The slight pout of your lips, eyes refusing contact. “Do you even want me?”

Undoubtedly yes.

“You don’t come to see me. You don't fuck me. You don't even--"

"You're always tired."

"But you could wake me.”

“Could I? To deny me again?” It hadn’t meant to come out so passive-aggressive, but with the natural inflections in his voice, he knew you could read him like a book.

“Oh, papi," not that soft voice. He might hope again. "I always want you.“

Hmpf. Debatable.

“Even when you’re jerking off in my bed. Or couch.” You slid your pink tongue along your lower lip, guiding your body against his. The wet draw of your juices over his dick drew his sharp scarlet eyes to the sight, knocking your stiff clit with his dick. For a moment, his words failed. He should have known you would watch him.

“Is that why you're so... angry? Because of me?" He made a small noise, barely a huff. You drew his hands to your full breasts, obscured by a thin layer of fabric. This time, he smothered a groan in his chest. How pathetic, he thought, to be moaning from something as simple as your firm breasts back in his hands. What was he-- twelve? "Have I been neglecting you, Miguel O’Hara?”

“Yes-- you've neglected me,” he murmured, dragging the lace underneath each breast, knocked together by the straps of the fabric. He melded your breasts again between his hands, massaging the sore skin. His thumps flickered over your nipples, stiffening them into peaks. With a small pinch to your breasts, milk dribbled over his fingertips.

"I won't do it again," he wondered if you missed his touch by the full, grateful hum of your lips, your palms disappearing into his dark hair. You coursed along his dick again, eliciting another piteous noise of longing from his throat. "I promise."

“Hm," was the only agreement. "What a mess,” he teased, not bothering to look at you. It had the desired effect, your shoulders shyly bunching up, the cute pout of your lips, warmth in your cheeks, quivering eyes. He loved it when you looked so fucking shy, so vulnerable, and all for him. "You're leaking all over my hand."

“I’m-- sorry,” you flushed, “It… happens.”

“Mhm, you're full,” Miguel flicked his pink tongue along your stiff, fat nipple, drawing it into his mouth with a suckle. Sweet milk soothed his tongue. He hungrily drank it up, shifting his other hand back to angle his cock at the entrance of your core. A hand left his thick locks and jerked to his broad shoulder, stabilizing your hips down to sink onto him. Blood welled to the surface with your claws scratching piteously along his sunkissed skin. With a bit of resistance, he slid perfectly into your body, just like he always did. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips against your breast. It was somehow different-- the tug and stretch of his cock-- as he fucked the mother of his child. Maybe it was all in his head. “Shock, you’re gorgeous on my dick.”

“Miggy--”

He shifted to the other breast, his hands nearly stapled on your hips, encouraging you to do the work. Your warm milk slid into his mouth, down his starved throat. The pleasure of knowing he was draining you of your milk was tempered with the ever-present fact that soon, you’d have his spunk in your belly again. Your hips flushed, drawing around in quick circles, flushed with his pelvis. Small waves of pleasure grew in your belly. Your stiff clit glided against his skin, again, and again with the undulations of his hips. You felt pinned between his mouth and dick, restricted in movement, but all his, devoured by his need.

“Come here, mi hermosura,” Miguel released your breast from those lush lips, sliding his tongue along his lips to catch the remnants of your sweet milk. He slid down along the pillows, flushing your chest to his, and propped his legs slightly for a better angle. His muscular arms wound around your back, cock pumping into you with renewed vigor. He knocked against your cervix in this position, holding you fast and tight in his arms. You nestled against his sweaty chest, accepting his thrusts so well.

“Miggy-- I’m not-- on anything.”

“You're breastfeeding, close enough,” he mused in your ear as though it were a joke.

You might have argued with him if you weren’t so blinded by that fantastic juddering of his hips. As it were, pleasure rocked all thoughts of birth control out of your mind. Miggy, an ever-present lover, groaned as he held out through your orgasm milking and soaking his swollen dick in your cum. Not a moment later, Miguel forced a long stroke of his dick inside your cunt, reaching his climax buried deep in your tremoring walls. You squeezed him tight, milking him dry of his orgasm until it all faded into fuzzy pleasure. You sighed as his arms loosened, warm and full of Miguel after so long. His soft dick slipped free, cum oozing onto his thighs, but he couldn’t be bothered to deal with the mess.

He set a kiss on the top of your head, then your forehead, and eventually snatched your lips in a warm kiss. You could taste the sweetness of your milk on his tongue and flushed. Your head dropped down on his chest, listening for the gentle whining of your daughter. It was silent but for the intermingling of your heaving breaths.

After all the issues: the disappointment, the fighting with Peter and Jess, Miguel couldn’t help but chuckle. All it took was jerking off in your bed. He should have known-- you never did like to be left out on his fun. You were always a jealous lover, even at the threat of his own hand.

“Hm? Why are you laughing?”

“Peter said I was sex-starved."

“Well," you glistened a smile, kissing along his jaw. He huffed. "He wasn't wrong."

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chloe-petrichors · 4 months ago

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cradling constellations // jace x reader

when rhaenyra brings her family to court to celebrate the king's fiftieth name day, there was but one thing on your mind: getting to see jace, the boy you'd loved in secret, once more.

whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. —emily brontë

fandom; house of the dragon pairing; jacaerys velaryon x f!aunt!reader (no use of y/n) warnings; canon-typical incest, canon-au (it's viserys' birthday party baby), altered timeline (jace and reader are in their 20s) idiots in love, instant attraction/love at first (second) sight, childhood sweethearts (kinda?), soulmate vibes, love confessions, switching povs, smut (mdni !) including masturbation (m), p in v, fingering, oral (f receiving), implied loss of virginity, unprotected sex, mild marriage kink if that’s even a thing, body worship, dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, mild overstimulation, soft dom vibes, jace being a tits man. word count; 15k+ (oops) notes; me, obsessed with jace? more likely than u think. this whole fic spawned from the fact that i noticed jace's freckles on a gif and lost my gd mind. this was meant to be a quick smut fic. and then i took 11k+ words to get to the smut part. i'm sorry (i'm not). this is totally self-indulgent, soulmates, love at first sight kinda fluff-to-smut and i regret nothing. way too much time of writing this was me trawling through the asoiaf wiki pages to find details that are relevant for one whole sentence. why am i this way. valyrian is pulled straight from a translator i found online, pls let me know if you notice any errors! requests; are open !

the first time you laid eyes on jacaerys velaryon, you knew he was something special.

you had just been children, then, uncertain of each other due to the discontent between your families. but he had been kind to you, dark eyes warm, and it had been an easy thing to be kind in return. your brothers make it difficult, of course, as they seem to do with everything they get involved in. aegon had been the worst at first, spouting off the same vitriol your mother had always whispered into your ears, but aemond had not been far behind him.

after the events of laena’s funeral and the loss of aemond’s eye, the hostilities only grow and grow. helaena keeps herself apart from most of it by virtue of her typically distant manner, but your brothers insist on drawing you into the same arguments again and again. it's tedious, laborious, but they are your family.

jace and luke are too, of course, not that anyone else seems to want to admit it. for all that they are velaryon’s by name (and strong in heart, mayhaps, yes), they are your nephews. your brothers only seem interested in remembering this when it serves them, however — which is usually when they’re lording it over the dark-haired boys.

in truth, the velaryon’s are hardly innocent either. it seems like the two sets of boys bring out the absolute worse in each other without fail, and it’s usually left to you to try and be the voice of reason.

away from your brothers’ taunts, jace is like a different boy entirely. endlessly curious and ceaselessly kind, the brunette seems to always have time to talk and jape with you. your friendship grows surprisingly easy as children, and with early adulthood comes the bloom of a different kind of affection, too. you never say anything, knowing all too well that if your brothers catch even a whisper of your feelings that there will be no end of hells to pay.

it matters little, regardless. your mother will never tolerate a betrothal between the two of you and you know better than to even attempt to broach such a topic. it had been sheer miracle that she hadn’t tried marrying you off to aemond after securing aegon and helaena’s marriage, and you aren’t willing to tempt fate by giving her ideas now. so what if you spend countless nights dreaming of freckled skin and dark hair? it matters not in the scheme of things.

rhaenyra flees kings landing after daemon’s return to westeros, leaving you feeling strangely bereft without your nephews’ company. years go by with no contact from your sister’s family, and so you let your old daydreams fall to the wayside. there’s no use dwelling on what you can’t have, and no point bringing it up since even now just a mention of luke or jace is enough to inflame aemond’s temper.

and then, of course, the news comes that rhaenyra is returning to court for the king’s fiftieth name day. there are great feasts and celebrations planned in honour of your father, which you privately think silly considering it’s unlikely he would be well enough to attend half the festivities. still, there’s no denying your excitement at the idea of seeing jace again. he would be a man grown, now, his twentieth name day having passed only a few moons ago.

for once the majority of your family will be under one roof, and you are certain it will end in disaster — but you intend to enjoy it while you can.

going flying the morning of the velaryons arrival is perhaps not your smartest idea.

your nerves wake you well before dawn. you feel as if you’re going to crawl out of your skin if you don’t do something, and you know your chances for flying will be limited with the celebrations expected to start tomorrow. so you decided to take the chance while you can, dressing quickly in your riding gear before creeping to the dragon pit well before any of your family wake.

silverwing likes it when you take her for unexpected flights, so she makes no complaint when you have the dragon keepers release her. you go through the motions of saddling her yourself, as you always do, taking the chance to reinforce the bond with your dragon.

silverwing hadn’t been your hatched dragon. the egg that you had slept beside as a babe had never hatched, just as aemond’s and helaena’s hadn’t. it had infuriated aemond when you were children, that jace and luke’s dragons hatched while he was left without. it had made him an easy target for the other boys; aegon had often led the others in riling him about his lack of dragon until he had claimed vhagar. you can admit now that the others had oft been cruel to him in their japing, and it had ended poorly for everyone involved.

your claiming of silverwing had been incredibly boring in comparison. she had found you, in truth, a year after aemond claimed vhagar. she’d been your great-grandmother the good queen alysanne’s dragon before your own, and had not taken a rider since the queen’s death. she’d flown from the dragonmont to find you, and you’ve been nigh on inseparable since. your mother despairs over it, hating how her often her ‘perfect daughter’ has shown up to court late with windswept hair and flushed cheeks.

but, to you, flying is freedom.

there’s nothing else like it in the world; the sensation of silverwing beneath you, the seven kingdoms at your fingertips, and only the sky above. your mother has never really let go of her fear of the dragons, and you can understand it in a way; she is no targaryen, and she’ll never know what it is to bond with a dragon, to have that presence so alien and yet so familiar nudging against the corners of your mind. any attempts to explain it to her are met with bemusement and wariness, and you’d long ago learned to stop bringing it up.

silverwing’s joy to fly merges into your own as you climb atop her, running a soothing hand over the gleaming silver spikes at her neck as you adjust the straps. her impatience thrums loudly through the bond as you settle yourself into the saddle, and you feel her heart beat through you like a second pulse as your own anticipation rises.

“ivestragī īlva sōvegon, ñuha raqiros! [let us fly, my friend!]”

she needs no further nudging than that, and with a delighted roar she launches into the air. your laughter is stolen by the wind as she beats her wings, propelling you higher and higher before sweeping over the towering peaks of the red keep. with a shouted instruction she banks sharply to the left, flying out over blackwater bay as the sun finally crests the horizon. the dark sea lights up with reds and golds beneath you, the sky gloriously blue above, and silverwing’s distinctive scales shine in the breaking dawn.

a glorious morning, you think, and as the two of you climb higher to the sky you feel all your nerves and excitement for anything but the flight leave you. this is what your mother will never understand; flying is an escape, yes, but not from your duties as she assumes it is. this is an escape from your worries, from the petty machinations of court. in the sky with your dragon, you need worry only about how chill the wind will be, or if aemond is out with vhagar, who’s a grumpy old beast at the best of times and silverwing is feeling mischievous.

you find peace, here, in the sky. this is what you were born for.

long minutes pass as you fly leisurely, circling over the bay and the keep and back again in ever widening circles. sometimes silverwing dives just to do so, plunging so close to the blackwater that you could reach out and skim your hand over the dark depths. you lose track of time as the two of you fly, contentment bleeding across the bond so completely you can’t even tell which one of you it’s coming from.

a dragon’s cry in the distance catches your attention, and silverwing pulls up from where she’d been ducking her head into the water to snatch fish. she propels you rapidly higher into the air, crying out in response as you break through the thin cloud cover. you expect to find aegon’s dragon; sunfyre is the only dragon silverwing likes, rather than tolerates, to be making such a noise in greeting.

but it’s an unfamiliar dragon that greets you, olive green scales shining with the damp from the high altitudes. your mind races as you struggle to place it, and it’s only when you catch sight of a head of dark curls astride the dragon that you realise who it is.

vermax.

and jacaerys.

your heart skips in your chest, silverwing’s unexpected excitement tangling with your own nerves as she swoops towards the much smaller dragon. it’s only her sheer happiness that stops you from panicking or shouting a command to halt in valyrian, and moments later you recall she’d have known vermax from her time on dragonstone.

she somersaults over and around vermax playfully, and you release an exhilarated laugh in response as you cling tightly to the saddle. you see only snatches of jace as your dragons fly complicated patterns around each other, but the quick flashes you do get find an easy smile on his face.

the dragons spend a long while flying together, racing and diving and spiralling to new heights. they move so quickly that you have no chance to try and greet jacaerys, can offer nothing more than quick smiles as you pass him. it gives you the time for your nerves to settle back down, time to reassure yourself that any childhood feelings are long faded and that you will be able to act perfectly composed when it is time to greet him.

eventually you realise your dragon is not going to land until you tell her too, and vermax is clearly just as willing to chase after the larger she-dragon for as long as she is willing to be chased.

“māzigon, silverwing. istiti tegun [come, silverwing. we must land],” you shout, laughing again when the dragon whines her displeasure. she listens regardless, soaring down in tightening circles with vermax following close on your tail. her landing in the dragon pit is far from smooth, but you’re well used to compensating for the jostling as she settles onto the ground once more.

you’re quick in freeing yourself from the saddle, murmuring warm thanks and praise to your dragon as you walk to the side of her great head to meet a single burning eye. “kirimvose, ñuha raqiros. kesi sōvegon arlī aderī [thank you, my friend. we will fly again soon],” you tell her, and she responds with a content grumble as she nudges her head gently against your chest in affection.

you leave the dragon keepers to return her to her cave, instead turning to watch as jace shares his own goodbyes with his dragon. you take the chance to look at him, properly look, and find yourself suddenly warring with self-consciousness and a burning in your chest.

despite the acrobatics of the dragons, he looks perfectly put together with his dark curls brushing his shoulders and a pleasing tan to his skin. you fear you must look a ruin, with your hair undoubtedly a mess and cheeks flushed from the cold bite of the wind. your breath is still a touch laboured from the exertion of the flight, while he looks perfectly composed in his fancy black and red doublet. you curse the old gods and the new that you’d picked out your old riding gear this morning — comfortable, yes, but certainly not ideal for greeting the heir to the heir and the man you’d once daydreamed about marrying.

you push the thoughts away with determined stubbornness, refusing to dwell on the warmth in your chest when jace finally turns to look at you. he’s grown, you note immediately, now standing at least a head taller than you. any traces of baby fat have left him, leaving behind a strong, square jaw and strong yet slim shoulders. his dark eyes are warm, though, and his smile friendly as he takes you in.

you dip instinctually into a curtsey, a perfectly respectable greeting ready on your lips, but you’re startled into straightening back to standing when jace laughs.

“come now, princess,” he says, fond and teasing he approaches you. he’s the only one who’s ever been able to make the title sound more like an endearment. “since when have we been ones for formality?”

it sets you at ease immediately, tension relaxing from your shoulders as you beam at him. “i suppose we never have been very good at that, have we?” you let your eyes skip over him again, something like relief settling in your bones at the sight of him. “it’s good to see you again, jace.”

“aye,” he returns, dark eyes sparkling. “it is good to see you, indeed.”

for a long moment he simply looks at you, and it makes that peculiar warmth in your chest blaze a little brighter. there’s something in his face that you’ve never seen there before — but then you think of course there is. you haven’t seen him in so long there’s probably all kinds of things about you him you no longer know. it aches, almost, to think it, but in a way he’s a stranger to you; a man with the kind eyes of the boy you’d loved in secret, once.

you clear your throat as you drop your eyes from his stare, glancing at the bustling keepers as they tend to your dragons instead as you cast about for something to say.

“are the rest of your family not flying in?” you query after a moment.

he shakes his head, dark curls swaying with the movement. “no, arrax and tyraxes are still too small to fly luke and joff for such a journey, and mother would rather stay with my brothers on the ship.”

you nod in acceptance, shifting slightly on the spot. “well then, let me be the first to welcome you back to king’s landing, my prince.” you take the formality out of your tone with a playful wink, and are gratified to see the way he chuckles at your antics.

“i had hoped you’d be the first i’d see.” he admits this casually, as if this doesn’t set your heart and mind racing. “i have missed you, aunt.”

you duck your head again to try and hide the smile spreading across your face. you tell yourself sternly to stop acting like some lovesick child, all the while that small flame continues to burn away inside of you. “and i you, nephew.” you glance up at him shyly from beneath your lashes, teeth worrying at your bottom lip, and you don’t miss the way his eyes track the movement.

he’s the one to clear his throat, this time, stepping a half-pace away from you and gesturing for you to proceed him. “shall we head to the keep, then? my mother’s ship should have arrived by now and we wouldn’t want to miss the formal welcome.”

“as you say,” you agree, and the two of you set off.

you spend the long walk to the keep catching up on the long years between you. you’d expected the time apart to be like a gulf between you, a canyon that could not be crossed, but if anything it’s the opposite. it’s as if you’d last seen each other only hours ago. it should startle you, how simple it feels to fall into your old friendship, but you don’t have it in you to be surprised. that’s always been the thing with jace, after all — it’s easy. being around him, speaking to him, listening to his odd tangents. it all comes as natural to you as breathing, as if there’s a part of you that was just born knowing him.

he's dodging your questions as you finally arrive at the keep, having let slip something about an old secret from the days of your childhood that he’s never shared with you. it makes something flutter in your chest, the way he looks at you as he says it. the way he’s looked at you the whole time, in fact, has you having to bite back a smile. he looks at you as if he is looking at something precious, expression tender and fond and uncomplicated. it threatens to steal your breath again, and so you make an effort to try and act as unaffected as possible, because he cannot mean it in the way you think you might want him too.

“oh, but you simply must tell me!” you wheedle cheerfully, a mischievous smile on your lips. “you wouldn’t keep a secret from me, would you, my prince?”

you pout at him, fluttering your lashes in the way you usually do when trying to get your way with your brothers. jace swallows audibly at the sight, some emotion you can’t read flickering across his eyes as his gaze drops to your mouth and then lower again before returning to your eyes. something in his expression makes you flush, cheeks burning as your lips part slowly. a heat rises in you, unbidden, as he steps ever so slightly closer into your space. you’re overwhelmed with the smell of him; sea salt and dragon smoke and something almost woodsy underneath it, something entirely jace.

he murmurs your name so quietly you almost miss it over the sounds of courtyard. his hand twitches as if to reach for you as he ducks his head slightly, and you think if you lifted yours just so you’d be able to brush your lips over the strong line of his jaw. you realise suddenly how much you want to — how much you want to drag your tongue over his skin and taste.

oh.

you want him. that peculiar feeling that had been burning in your chest — you recognise the desire for what it is, now. the easy camaraderie that you’d fell into on the walk to the keep subsides in the wake of it, and abruptly all you can think of is what his mouth will feel like on your own. the palpable tension between you makes your hands tremble with the urge to touch, heart pounding so loudly in your ears it drowns out anything that isn’t him as the rest of the courtyard fades away.

you sway the barest inch closer, inhaling his scent deeply, and watch as jace’s nostrils flare in response. with a shaky breath you lift your chin, eyes dropping to his parted lips, and you bite your bottom lip as his tongue sweeps over his own.

“jace…”

“brother! there you are!”

luke’s voice startles you both back to reality as you spring apart. you hadn’t realised just how close you’d gotten, your chests almost brushing with every breath, until the gap between you widens. you drop your eyes to your feet, cheeks blazing with embarrassment as you realise how close you’d come to kissing him in an extremely public place. you chide yourself internally for forgetting yourself, and take another second to gather your composure before lifting your head with a smile.

“hello, nephew,” you greet luke warmly, doing your best to ignore the way jace’s eyes burns into the side of your face. “it is very good to see you again.”

“aunt!” luke fairly cheers, and you note how the youth still clings to his face. while certainly older than the last time you��d seen him, he still seems like a child to you. his limbs are long and gangly, in that awkward stage at the cusp of adulthood where he’s not quite grown into himself yet. he bounds closer, drawing you into a hug that you allow and return with a fond laugh.

“luke, honestly,” jace tuts, shaking his head as the two of you separate. “we’re at court, now. at least try to remember your manners.”

the younger boy winces. “ah, right, yes.” he sketches a quick but perfect bow your way. “it is a great honour to see you once more, princess.” he flashes a cheeky smile and a wink your way as he straightens out, and you press your hand to your mouth to smother a giggle at the exasperated look on jace’s face at his brother’s antics. he’s hardly one to talk, you think, considering how quickly he had dispensed with manners when greeting you.

in return, you dip into a practiced if impish curtsey. “it is a sincere pleasure to see you as well, prince lucerys.”

luke does giggle, then, as jace rolls his eyes so hard you think they’re at risk of falling out of his head. despite his dramatics, you spot the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth as he watches you jape with his brother.

“the queen is looking for you, dear aunt,” luke says after the greetings are done, and your amusement flees you as your stomach drops.

it’s only then you realise that with both luke and jace being here, you’ve certainly missed the official welcome of princess rhaenyra back to court. you wince at the thought of your mother’s ire, resigning yourself to a long lecture about your responsibilities and how dragon riding is ‘not one of them’. jace catches your expression, concern creasing his face as his brows furrow.

“alright?” he checks, and you do your best to offer him a reassuring smile.

“yes, i’m sure all will be well.” you hesitate a moment before offering a one-shouldered shrug, ignoring the voice in your head that sounds far too much like your mother telling you how unladylike such a motion is. “i expect my mother will be displeased with me for missing the official welcome, but the festivities will surely distract her quick enough.”

luke and jace both offer you a commiserating smile as the three of you head into the keep. you expect your mother will be waiting in her solar, which is on a close route to the guest suites set aside for the visiting royals, and so you walk with the velaryons as far as you can. when it comes time to part, jace lingers at the entry of the hall as luke continues down the corridor. his dark eyes are fixed to yours so intensely it steals your breath as you slow to a stop as well.

“i’ll see you at the feast,” he says quietly, capturing your hand in his much larger one and bringing it to his mouth. your breath hitches in your chest, eyes widening as he brushes his lips tenderly over your knuckles. your lips part in surprise, tingles racing up your arm from where his mouth makes contact with your skin. before you have chance to respond, jace dips into a sweeping bow and then bids you farewell, leaving you staring after him for a long moment.

well. if your mother doesn’t kill you, you think jace certainly will.

jace sinks into the hot water of the bath with a deep sigh of relief.

after meeting with his mother to explain why he’d been late to the formal greetings — or, rather, offer excuses as to why he’d been late, since he doesn’t think his mother will take well to the idea he was so busy enjoying himself flying with you that the thought of any formal welcome party left his mind entirely — he’d sought his chambers. the bath had been ready and waiting for him, tendrils of steam wafting from the clear water, and he’d wasted no time in shedding his clothes. he’s keen to wash the dragon stink from his skin before the feast, and he makes quick work of scrubbing his skin clean. when he’s done, he allows himself to relax against the metal of the tub, arms draped carelessly over the metal rim as he soaks.

king’s landing from dragonstone is not too long a journey on dragon back, but flying for such a stretch causes its own particular aches. vermax had enjoyed the chance to stretch his wings, at least, and had enjoyed the playful flight with silverwing even more.

he can admit to himself he’d enjoyed it, too, the sight of you astride your dragon lighting something within him. it’s been so long since he’d seen you, not since the aftermath of laena’s funeral, and he hadn’t been prepared for how the sight of you — breathless and flush and beaming at him — would make him feel. he’d almost managed to push back his boyhood adoration and childhood daydreams of marrying you one day with the years passing, but seeing you again brings it all rushing back and he feels as hopelessly enamoured with you now as he did as a child.

you’ve grown well, there’s no denying that. where childhood had left you sometimes awkward and gangly, you’ve become a woman grown now with all the curves and delights that come with it. he’d been embarrassed at how hard it had been to pull his gaze from you on the trip to the keep, but you’d not seemed to notice. too occupied with filling the air between you with light chatter, you’d been oblivious to the way his eyes had dragged over your form again and again.

you just — you’re so unlike anyone else he knows. he’d let himself forget how lovely you were, but there was no way to ignore it now. riding the high of your flight and genuinely happy to see him, you’d been like something out of a dream. your face had been as open to him as ever, plainly delighted to see him, and seeing you had eased some ache he’d become so used to he’d not even know it was there until he felt the lack of it.

he’s not some foolish child. he knows better than to think of things like love when his head must lie with his duty. but the thought remains regardless, lingering in the back of his mind that you would be as easy to love now as you had been when you were younger. it had been a childish love then, of course; innocent and sweet in the ways only children could be. but it had been there, unspoken and unacted upon, but no less real for it.

you’re not children anymore. it would be impossible to think otherwise with the way your riding gear had clung flatteringly to your chest and hips. your mouth looked so pretty stretched into a smile, a smile for him, and he thinks it’s a testament to his restraint that he’d not kissed you on the spot when you’d pouted so prettily up at him. he’d thought for a fleeting moment that perhaps you were going to kiss him with the way your eyes had darkened, how you’d gravitated into his space as if without intention.

heat pools in his stomach as he thinks about how the neckline of your riding dress had cut low enough to allow him a peak at your chest, heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. he wonders what your mouth would taste like, what noises you would make if he’d slid his tongue against your own. gods, he feels like a green boy seeing a woman for the first time — almost undone at just the thought of you. he won’t be able to get through the welcome feast like this, he thinks, so on edge with his lust for you burning him from the inside out.

it’s not even a conscious choice to curl his fingers around his cock, half-hard already as he thinks of you. jace’s head tips back against the rim of the bath, eyes drifting closed as a quiet gasp escapes him. the warm water eases his way as he strokes himself, and he lets himself imagine it’s your slick, instead.

he pictures you before him, pretends it’s your hand teasing at the skin at the head of his cock. your hands are so small, so dainty, he thinks you probably wouldn’t be able to wrap them all the way around him. he imagines they’re a little calloused — soft, mostly, but with the fingertips just rough enough from years spent riding and caring for your dragon. they’d drag so deliciously against his skin, and you’d take to the task with the same voracious enthusiasm you do with everything else. you’d watch him closely, pick up on the cues of his pleasure, and he’d unravel for you so quickly it’d be embarrassing if it was anyone else.

“fuck,” he hisses out, thumb dragging over the liquid leaking copiously from his tip. his head tips back even further, water dripping from his curls onto the stone floor as he chases his release. his imagining splinters into disconnected fantasies; you, on your knees with your mouth stretched around him, lashes damp with reflexive tears as your eyes fix on his. you, sprawled beneath him and writhing as he feasts on your cunt like a man starved. you, babbling in high valyrian as he sinks into the tight wet heat of you. you, clenching and shuddering around his cock as you come for him, blazing and beautiful. you, you, you.

his release hits him hard, a low groan tearing from his throat as his hips thrust up into his hand as he drags out those last few moments of pleasure. his panting breaths sound loud in the silence of his chambers, and jace is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he is alone. there is, of course, no trace of you.

he knows in that moment he has to have you. he cannot tolerate the thought of anyone else — not for himself, and certainly not for you. he wants you as his wife, his queen, the mother of his children. jace doesn’t care how he must do it — as long as you’re as willing as he is, he is going to make you his.

the feast has started by the time jace arrives.

his indulgence had cost him time, and then he’d spent longer than usual readying himself while trying to ignore the fact he was doing so only to impress you. by the time he makes it to the hall his family are already seated and the minstrels are playing a jaunty tune. his eyes seek you instantly, and he resists the urge to frown in disappointment as he sees you sat between helaena and aemond. he’d hoped to sit beside you and use this time to see if there was any hint of you returning his feelings. no matter — there would be time enough later. if he has his way, there’ll be all the time in the world.

you look beautiful, he notes. you’re dressed in your usual deep green, the gown cut flatteringly for your shape. your face is animated and happy as you chat to aemond, and though he finds the idea of anyone enjoying that grumpy prick’s presence bizarre, he enjoys the sight of you so at ease.

as he approaches the head table and the empty seat between his mother and luke, your eyes linger on him. he’s gratified by the way you light up when you spot him, offering him a warm smile in welcome for all that you’re quickly entangled into a conversation with your sister. it eases some of the sting at finding you unavailable, and he’s helpless but to smile back at you even when your gaze slides back to helaena.

luke eyes him strangely as he settles into his seat but says nothing as jace reaches for a goblet of wine. his mother greets him absently, entangled as she is in conversation with the king, and he takes the moment to glance out at the hall.

it’s a relatively small feast. large enough to not cause offence to the heir to the throne, but not so grand as to detract from the festivities planned for the next fortnight. he recognises a few faces in the crowd, people from different houses from across the kingdoms. the king’s birthday celebrations are no small affair, and he spots representatives from all the great houses as well as some of the more minor ones.

it makes him want to slump in his seat, for all that he keeps his posture straight. he knows the next few weeks will be full of politicking and double speak, and it grates. as the heir to the heir, jace knows it’s partially his responsibility to ensure their alliances still stand while seeking out any news one that might present themselves. he has no doubt that some of the lords in this crowd will have brought their daughters, planning to parade them in front of him and his brothers in hopes they might pick one as their betrothed.

his lack of betrothal has been a point of contention for many of the court, he knows. most had assumed he would be betrothed to his stepsister baela, and he’d thought the same for years. it was only when his mother had confided that baela had no interest in being queen and, in fact, was so strongly opposed to the idea that she swore to fly to essos and never be seen again if they tried marrying her to him that he realised just why such a betrothal had never been announced.

it had left him free, in a way, to pursue his own desires; without a betrothal attached to him he’d shed any guilt about seeking company at the pleasure houses. but, in turn, it had left him open to the machinations of the other houses who all sought to have their blood on the iron throne. it’s incredibly tedious, but he knows he must grin and bear it for the sake of his mother and his house.

the food arrives then, and he busies himself with the meal and talking to his siblings. his grandsire makes a speech welcoming his daughter and her family home, and jace notes the sour faces of alicent’s sons. they keep their tongues, at least, which shows a maturity from them he truthfully hadn’t expected. perhaps they’ve grown just as you have, he thinks, but dismisses the thought when aemond catches his eye and only sneers in response to jace’s tentative smile.

he's often wondered at the conflict between the two sides of the family. the animosity now he can pinpoint, of course; aemond losing his eye. but there had been years before that of tense, standoffish behaviour interspersed with camaraderie when everyone seemed to forget they weren’t meant to be friends. he remembers playing pranks with aegon while luke trailed after them, and he remembers sitting with helaena while she perused the dirt for bugs.

he remembers you, most of all. kind and fearless and smart, you’d enamoured him from the moment he was old enough to recognise girls were different to boys in interesting ways. even before then you’d been fast friends, something in your similarly mischievous behaviour drawing you into each other’s orbit. he’s always been drawn to you, he thinks, to the uncomplicated joy you took in your life. there was so much to be miserable about, so much duty on all your shoulders, but you always found something to smile over. your unfailing optimism would no doubt be irritating to some, but to him it has always been one of his favourite things about you.

his gaze, predictably, shifts to you. he startles to find you looking at him already. you flush immediately as your eyes lock, presumably embarrassed at being caught, and he enjoys the colour it brings to your cheeks. you don’t drop his stare, though, not until helaena says something to draw your attention back to her once again. he catches sight of a private little quirk of your lips as your head turns, and something like satisfaction settles in his chest as he hides his own smile in his goblet.

perhaps this feast won’t be as tedious as he’d feared.

“are you enjoying the festivities, princess?”

jace’s voice pulls you from where you’ve been staring into your wine as if it holds all the secrets of the world. you’ve lost count of how many goblets you’ve had, chattering away with your siblings before aegon had started to become cruel in his inebriation and you’d all opted to split apart through the hall. you glance up to find the velaryon prince standing before you, hands perched loosely on the hilt of his sword. he looks unfairly handsome, you think, with his tumble of curls and well-fitted doublet, and something about the slight smirk on his face makes you think he knows it.

“i am enjoying them well enough,” you allow, flicking your gaze from his to look out at the dance floor. aemond is dancing with helaena, aegon far too deep into his cups to bother thinking of his wife. your mother is as tense as she has been since you’d found her earlier; her stepdaughter’s arrival to court has set her incredibly on edge, and the lecture she’d given you earlier had certainly been one of her worst. and your father is oblivious to it all, simply too pleased at the presence of his favoured daughter to care about the way the rest of his family are fracturing apart.

he's not been a good father to you, the king. he’s called you and helaena rhaenyra more than once over the years, and even when his eyes are you on you, you never feel like it’s you he sees. your mother had tried to soothe the ache of his absence, of his blatant favour for a woman who was not here, but as the years stretched on even she had seemed to fade further and further away from you all. for so long it’s just been the four of you, clinging to each other and tearing each other apart in equal measure. you’ve oft thought that daeron is the luckiest of you, able to thrive at the hightower and away from the mess of your family.

you pause at the maudlin turn of your thoughts, peering contemplatively into your wine again before offering jace a slightly sheepish smile. “i… fear i may have indulged in too much wine,” you admit, startling a laugh from the darkhaired prince.

it’s aegon’s fault, you decide; before he’d gotten belligerently drunk he’d been so cheerful, seemingly pleased to have the pressure of being the eldest targaryen child in court off of his shoulders. in his cheer he had plied you with wine, laughing and japing with an arm over your shoulder as you reminisced on simpler times of your childhood. happy to see him so, you’d not resisted, but now you find yourself regretting those choices as your thoughts tumble sluggishly through your mind.

jace shakes his head fondly at you, reaching out to carefully steal your goblet away. his fingers brush against yours as he does so, the barest of touches and yet enough to set your heart racing as you blink slowly up at him. he sips from your wine deliberately, amber eyes darkening as he holds your stare, and your lips part with an unsteady breath. something about him drinking your wine from your cup has your stomach fluttering pleasantly.

gods, i want him.

the thought is enough to startle you, heat suffusing your cheeks as you avert your gaze. jace doesn’t, though, and you can feel the weight of his stare on you like a tangible thing. it makes your skin prickle with warmth, and you lurch a touch unsteadily to your feet before you can say anything silly like ‘kiss me, please’.

“i think i should retire to my chambers before i make a drunken fool of myself,” you announce, fingers smoothing over the green velvet of your dress.

“i’ll escort you,” jace returns, tone leaving no room for argument.

he sets aside the wine and offers you his arm, quirking an eyebrow as if in challenge. you hesitate for barely a second, taking a steadying breath, before looping your arm through his and allowing him to lead you through the crowd towards the open doors. the woodsy smell of him you’d noticed before is clearer, now, and you take another deep breath of the scent. it calms your nerves and yet inflames your desire, and your fingers tighten infinitesimally against his bicep.

you stop at the doors of the feasting chamber for long enough to let ser erryk know that you’re retiring for the evening, leaving it to him to pass the message on to your mother, and then you and jace are alone in the halls of the keep.

of course, you��re not truly alone. guards litter the corridors and even at this late hour servants bustle along, busy with their chores. but in the quiet of the keep as jace leads you to your rooms, you can almost imagine yourself alone with him. the thought threatens to overwhelm you, mad fantasies of him tugging you into a dark alcove to devour you flashing through your mind, and you scold yourself internally.

you’re really very cross with aegon. he and his wine have left you in this state, too far into your cups to keep control of your dangerous wonderings. if only he had not kept calling for more of that gods-be-damned arbor gold, you’d have been able to keep your wits about you. you’d wanted to dance at the feast, too, mayhaps even with jacaerys but at the very least with your brothers. instead, you’re being led back to your rooms like a child who’s had their first taste of wine with dinner and let it go to their head.

jace’s presence helps your intoxication little. seeing him again, touching him, smelling him — it’s all too much when all your defences are down like this. you feel like a girl again, staring breathlessly after him and so full of certainty that you love him, and it’s just— ridiculous. you’ve spent mere hours in his presence and you’re like some lovelorn idiot with no thought in your mind beyond being as close to him as is possible. it’s foolish, reckless, absurd. but it’s there, regardless, unfurling in your chest with a lovely kind of agony.

you keep quiet on the walk, too afraid that if you open your mouth you’ll beg him to have his way with you or, worse, confess your re-blooming infatuation for him, and jace seems content enough to walk in silence for a while. eventually, though, he speaks.

“i don’t think i’ve ever seen you drunk before,” he observes, tone light.

you glance at him sidelong, pursing your lips at the teasing smirk curling on his mouth. “it’s aegon’s doing,” you tell him solemnly. “my brother is something of an expert on the subject of wines, and his tolerance is… much higher than mine own.”

jace snorts. “aye, i had noticed.”

you lapse into silence, again, only now you find yourself stealing glances at him. he really is very pretty, you think, though in quite a masculine way. something about the sharp line of his jaw and the curl of his eyelashes keeps drawing your attention, and you suspect you are not being subtle with your admiration in your inebriated state. as you walk by an open window moonlight floods into the hall, sending jace’s profile into sharp relief, and your eyes catch on the smattering of freckles on his smooth skin. something about the pattern makes you think of the stars, and you realise too late that your quick glances have turned to a lingering stare.

“is there something on my face, princess?”

jace’s mockingly innocent words draw your eyes to his. he’s smirking down at you, eyes dancing with amusement, and your cheeks flush. gods, you don’t think you’ve blushed so much in moons compared to the mere hours you’ve spent in his company. the things this man is doing to you — it is unconscionable. you don’t know how much more of this you can take before your resolve breaks.

“i apologise, my prince,” your respond after a beat, teeth biting at your lip. “i did not mean to… i was leagues away.”

his eyes darken, mischief fleeing them in favour of flickers of something else as they linger on your mouth, and that damnable heat in your stomach blazes. you want desperately to surge forward and kiss him, or for him to take you in his hands and kiss you. you just want, and ache, and burn. and it’s too much, far too much for your wine-addled brain to process, but you know if anyone was to happen upon you in this corridor, starting at him with your mouth parted and your breaths shuddering through your lungs, there will be consequences.

“we should— we are almost at my chambers.” your words are stumbling, loud in the sudden quiet that had descended over the pair of you, and jace startles a little, eyes darting away from yours as your stomach plummets. gods, what are you doing? staring at him in such a way? he must think you a simple-minded fool, gaping at him for the sake of a few freckles. you step away from him, rubbing your arm as you turn your eyes to stare intently at your feet instead. “i can make it the rest of the way from here. you should return to the feast.”

jace is quiet for a long moment and you peek up at him to see him watching you with an indecipherable expression for a charged breath before nodding slowly and taking a step away.

“as you wish,” he murmurs, ducking his head in a simple bow. “sweet dreams, princess.”

you stutter out your own farewell, half-convinced you’ll be dreaming of nothing but his hands and his mouth this night, before turning and all but fleeing down the hall.

oh, yes. jacaerys is certainly going to be the death of you.

jace spends the next few days at court so entangled in his responsibilities he feels he barely sets eyes upon you.

he and his mother are roped into starting the celebrations in the absence of the king himself. his grandsire’s health is failing, of that there is no doubt, and after enjoying himself a touch too heartily at the welcome feast he requires a few days to recover. he thinks perhaps that’s why these festivities are so important; it’s unlikely the king will make it to his five and fiftieth name day, and almost certainly not his sixtieth. it leaves him with… complicated feelings.

when his grandsire dies, he will no longer be the heir to the heir, but the heir to the iron throne itself. it’s a daunting thought; for all that his mother has seen him well prepared to sit his throne one day, it feels such an impossible task. he doesn’t understand how he’s ever supposed to be ready for such a thing.

the thought rises, unbidden, that it would be easier with you by his side. with your kind heart but sharp mind, you’d make a fine queen. he finds himself daydreaming of it still and scolding himself all the while for acting the green boy, and yet unable to stop. it’s as if his every thought leads back to you in some way or another — he sees a flower and wonders if you’d like the smell of it, or sees a dress and thinks of how much lovelier it would look on you. at night he indulges in more sensual wonderings, and he swears he’s not felt the urge to touch himself so much since he was a boy of five and ten just starting to discover the pleasures the touch of another can bring.

for all that you’d appeared to reject him the night of the welcome feast, he finds himself certain you desire him just as he does you. in fact, he fancies it’s that very desire that had led to you fleeing his company and avoiding him in the days after.

because you are avoiding him.

yes, he is busy with the festivities and you are perhaps equally so. but he does not think it’s busyness that drives you to seek conversation with absolutely anyone else when he looks for your company, and it is not busyness that has you clinging to aemond’s side so fiercely either. you know he won’t approach you when you’re with your brother, knowing how it hurts you to see them trade barbs and knowing himself well enough to know he will not be able to bite back his rancour if aemond says a word about his father.

jace is not an idiot. he knows what people say about him, the words they barely bother to whisper behind their hands about who his true sire is. he has complicated feelings about that, too, but it all boils down to one simple thing: he is his mother’s son. she is heir to the king, and he is her heir. for him, that’s all that can matter.

he knows it’s all that matters to you, too. for all that your brothers had spit bastard at him for as long as he can remember, you’ve never done so. you’ve never looked at him differently for the rumours of his birth, and it’s just one thing among many he treasures about you.

perhaps it’s foolish, to cling to these childhood feelings so tightly, but he cannot let the idea of the two of you together go. he knows luke has noticed how he stares after you in longing, since his brother has never been shy about teasing him relentlessly. he thinks his mother has noticed, too, from the few carefully inane comments she’s made about betrothals and duty.

he supposes an argument could be made for the fact that with the years without contact between you, he doesn’t really know you anymore, not as he once did, but he doesn’t feel it matters. he can learn anything new about you and will in fact do so joyfully, but the important things? the things that speak to who you are at your core? jace has always known those, has always felt connected to you in a way he never has with another, and he loves you now just as he did as a boy.

it would be easier in a way if he felt sure you didn’t reciprocate his feelings. at least then he could try and move on from them, put to bed his endless wonderings of you. but for as often as he turns his head to look at you, he finds you looking away from your own watching of him. the few, brief interactions he has with you over the next few days feel loaded, the desire and affection between you a palpable thing, and he’s tiring of pretending there’s nothing there anymore.

he’s tired of pretending he doesn’t miss you.

so, at the halfway point of the celebrations when there’s another, larger feast held with plenty of chances for dancing and sneaking away into dark corners, he makes it a point to keep an eye on you. the moment he spots you, finally alone, he beelines for you. your attention is on your necklace, readjusting the pendant that rests on your chest, and he cannot help but let his gaze linger on the swell of your breasts as he approaches. he’s found himself staring at your chest more often than is wholly appropriate over the last few days, but then he knows his own weaknesses when it comes to a woman’s form.

“p-prince jacaerys,” you greet weakly when you look up from your necklace, hands smoothing over the skirts of your dress. your eyes dart about the room as if seeking a rescue from someone, and he tries not to feel how such a response to his presence stings. “how are you enjoying the feast?”

“well enough,” he returns, echoing the words you’d spoke to him days ago. gods, has it only been days since that conversation? it feels like an age, and he has felt more distant from you in these passing moments than he is in your years apart.

“that is… good.” your fingers twist around each other, teeth catching on your bottom lip, and he has to swallow back the sudden rush of desire to be the one nipping at the pouting flesh.

“would you do me the honour of a dance, princess?”

his request startles you, eyes widening as your fingers drop back to your side in surprise. he thinks for a wild moment that you’ll say no, make some excuse to remove yourself from him, and he feels himself bracing for the rejection. but you hesitate, searching his face, and whatever you find there seems to soften something in you as you nod.

“of course.” you offer him your hand, an unsure smile on your face.

he takes it with relief, trying not to react at the sensation of your hand in his own. he was right in thinking your hands are smooth, but as he leads you to the dance floor and your fingers slide over his palm he feels the drag of callouses as he’d expected. it pulls him back into that heated imagining of before for a moment, and he has to shake his head slightly to keep himself from losing his wits.

you stay quiet as he guides you into position, dainty hand resting on his shoulder as he places his own at your hip. he leads you through the first few steps in quiet, too, taking the moment to enjoy having you in his arms, having you close. but he realises after a silent minute that you’re obviously not going to say anything, and even as he looks beseechingly at you appear to avoid meeting his eyes.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” he speaks lowly, watching you carefully as you stare purposefully at the bridge of his nose instead of his eyes.

your eyes flicker away and back and then away again, fingers tightening around his own as he leads you through the steps of the dance effortlessly. “aye,” you admit quietly. “i have been.”

“why?” he doesn’t mean to sound so desperate nor so accusing, but the quiet hurt that your absence has caused him surges forth before jace can stop it.

you finally meet his gaze, eyes helpless and wanting and aching, and his stomach twists at the sight of your conflicted expression.

“i— jace, i can’t.” your voice cracks with the weight of your emotion and without thinking he pulls you closer, arm wrapping tight around your waist to provide you some semblance of comfort. “i can’t. not here, please.”

wordlessly he alters the steps of the dance, drawing you with precision through the crowd of dancers until you come to one of the balconies. it’s blessedly empty of anyone else, and as soon as you realise it some tension seems to shake loose of you.

you step out of his grip slowly, almost reluctantly, and walk to the railing, palms splaying on the stone. he joins you after the barest hesitation, drinking you in as you stare out at the courtyard and beyond. he notices how tightly you grip the banister, colour leeching from you knuckles with the strength of your grip, and almost without thinking jace rests his hand beside your own, pinkie fingers brushing. the touch seems to release something in you and he hears how your breath shudders before you speak.

“i embarrassed myself on the night of the welcome feast,” you confess miserably. “i drank too much, and the way that i behaved— staring at you in that way— it was not becoming behaviour of a princess, nor of a, a friend. i did not wish to make you uncomfortable again, so i thought it best i keep my distance from you.”

he blinks in surprise. “uncomfortable?” the mere idea of such a thing is maddening. he recalls the sight of you before him, lips parted and oh so kissable as you’d stared at him with such intention it had set him ablaze. how in the name of the gods can you think he found such a thing uncomfortable? “princess, i can assure you, the only feeling i took from your admiration is delight.”

your head snaps around, eyes finally meeting his own again, and he shakes his head in bemusement at the sight of your desperate hope. “truly? you do not jest?”

he resists the urge to chuckle, knowing you’ll take any kind of laughter, no matter how well meaning, poorly. instead he reaches for you, grasps your hands in his own and tries not to bask in the way you lean into him as he steps recklessly into your space. he feels your trembling breaths puff against his jaw as he ducks his head to stare intently into your eyes, and if he were a weaker man jace thinks he’d be on his knees in prostration for you in that very moment.

“surely you must know how i feel for you?” he murmurs, tracking the way the flush in your cheeks travels down your neck and onto your chest with greedy eyes. “how desperately i adore you?”

“jacaerys—.” you huff, shaking your head in denial for all that with every breath you take you sway ever closer to him. “we hardly know each other anymore. i won’t deny there is, is a yearning between us, mayhaps, but you cannot claim to adore me when you know me not. it’s been years since—"

“—do you think time matters?” he talks over you, strong in his conviction that you and he share a bond that transcends time or distance or duty. “that any distance between us could change what i know in my bones? i loved you before i had a name for it. i loved you when we were children and, yes, i love you again now. mayhaps i don’t know your favourite sweet or if you prefer to watch the sun rise or set, but i know you. i know who you are, princess, for all that i might no longer know the rest of it. i know your good heart, your quick mind and i know that i love you.” he hesitates, drinks in the dawning, open wonder on your face, and then adds, “and i think you might love me just the same.”

you sigh out his name sweetly, fingers tangling with his own as he squeezes your hands tenderly. you tilt your chin towards him as your eyes flutter shut. his nose slides against your own as you turn just so to the side, and your mouth is so close. he could kiss you, right now, and he knows that you would not pull away. but he’s too aware of the noise of the feast, the crowd of people that at any moment could find you in a compromising position.

he wants you, gods does he want you, but he will not ruin your reputation, will not sully your virtue for the sake of a stolen kiss on a balcony when he desires no less than forever with you.

“i will not push you,” he murmurs against your lips, breathing the air right from your lungs as he presses his forehead to yours for just a moment. “if you do not want this — if you do not return my feelings — i won’t push you nor pursue you. i hold too great a respect for you for that.” he cradles your jaw, thumb dragging at the corner of your mouth, and he glories in the way you shudder at his touch. with an unsteady breath he separates himself from you, hands clenching into fists at his side in an effort not to immediately reach for you again.

“but if you decide you want me as i want you, that you love me as ardently as i you, then my chambers will be unguarded and unlocked for you.” he sketches a bow, heart thundering in his chest as you stare at him in wordless shock. “i hope to see you later tonight, my princess.”

you have no chance to respond before jace leaves you standing on the balcony.

he leaves you with your mind swirling, one thought after another coming so quickly you have no hope in processing them. you’re glad to be outside, at least, the cool breeze helping soothe the heat that blazes through your veins as you press your hand over your racing heart. you don’t know what to think, what to feel, what to do. all you can think about is jace, earnest and honest and in love with you.

he’s in love with you (!).

it’s too quick. too much time has passed with too little contact. in the years since he left court you’ve grown into new people, people who for all intents and purposes are strangers to each other. the lust is there, there’s no point in denying that with how your body warms at the smallest glance from him. and that old familiarity that blossomed as friendship as children and now into easy companionship as adults, that remains as it always has. and mayhaps you’ve thought to yourself, in the dark quiet of the night, that you’ll surely love him once more. that to know him any better at all is to love him again, because how can you know him and not love him?

but there’s been years and leagues between you for so long. time and distance have their ways of changing a heart, and he might say it doesn’t matter but it does. it does.

only it doesn’t, not at all, because giddiness is bubbling up in you so sudden that you cannot fight it, a helpless laugh escaping you as you press your hand over your mouth in unabashed amazement. your brave prince, plunging headfirst into the long-unspoken feelings between you. it incites you to act, drives you back into the hall where you catch aegon for long enough to tell him you’re retiring for the night before escaping into the quiet corridors.

you feel like your heart is going to burst in your chest, nerves and excitement and awe twisting together inside of you until you feel like you might vibrate out of your own skin. the walk to jace’s chambers is a haze, and in the morning you expect you’ll panic, wonder if anyone saw you walking so shamelessly towards the prince’s rooms. but now, in this moment, all you can think of is how fervently you want him, how guilelessly you love him.

the knock on his door — unguarded, as he had promised — echoes loudly in the silent corridor. you can hear your own heartbeat thundering in your ears as you wait for him to answer, and when he finally does he takes your breath away.

he’s shed his doublet and sword belt, standing in only his breeches and a billowing off-white tunic. the ties are loose on his neck and you’re entranced by the peek of tanned skin there, the freckles you can see disappearing beneath the shirt. he says your name, once, and your eyes snap back to him in time to see the relief and wonder coalesce into smouldering fire.

he curls his fingers around your wrist, thumb swiping over the delicate skin in a way that makes you shiver, and he uses the hold to wordlessly tug you into his chambers. you step into the space, eyes darting from the large bed to the roaring fire and back to the bed again as he locks the doors behind you.

you are finally, blissfully, alone.

you feel his presence behind you, heat and woodsmoke radiating from him as you turn to face him. something in your chest loosens at the blatant awe in his amber eyes, like liquid gold in the light of the flames, and before you can pause to think you’re speaking, your feelings escaping you in a flood.

“i shouldn’t be here,” you say shamelessly. “i know my being here is—. i shouldn’t be here. but i couldn’t not be, jace, not when you left without giving me a chance to tell you how i feel. because, gods, of course i feel for you. it’s unreasonable, insensible— there’s so much about each other we just don’t know anymore.” you shake your head, smiling at him wide and helpless and hopelessly, hopelessly in love with him. “but despite all the rationality in the world, all the good sense — despite knowing the trouble this is sure to bring us — i am completely and utterly in love with you, jacaerys velaryon.”

he kisses you, then, surges into your space and cups your cheeks and slots his mouth so sweetly against yours. you gasp into his lips as he kisses you deliberate, slow and tender in a way that makes your chest ache. your arms loop around his neck, pulling him as close as you can as his own arms wrap around your waist. your noses bump and your teeth clash in your eagerness and it’s still glorious, it’s the best kiss you’ve ever experienced because it’s him.

it’s always been him.

you part after a few minutes, remaining close together as he runs his hand through your hair before cradling your face once more. “tell me again,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing your breath.

“i love you,” you say, smiling so wide it makes your cheeks ache. “i love you, i love you, i lo—”

he kisses you again, a quick press of his mouth against your this time, and then he’s laughing softly as his golden eyes shine down at you. “i have loved you forever,” he tells you, indulgent and affectionate as his thumb traces over your cheek. “i will love you forever, my princess.”

he draws you closer still, holds you tightly against him but far enough that he can drink you in, and for long moments you simply bask in the presence of each other, of this slow unfurling of happiness in your heart. this close to him, you can once again see the freckles dotted across his face. without even thinking of it your hand rises, and with butterfly-gentle fingers you trace a path over the constellations mapped on sun-kissed skin. jace sighs softly with your touch, dark lashes fluttering closed as his lips part.

“iksā sīr gevie [you are so beautiful],” you murmur, slipping into high valyrian in the quiet of his chambers.

he exhales shakily, breath hitching in his chest as your fingers brush gently over his eyelids, the slope of his nose, the furrow of his brow. you want to remember him like this forever – bathed in the soft firelight, trembling beneath your tender touch, wholly and entirely yours.

“ñuha dārilaros [my princess],” he breathes, and hearing him speak possessively of you in your mother tongue ignites something within you so suddenly you cannot fight it.

arousal roars to life, deep in your belly, and you are helpless but to do anything but lean forward and press your lips to his once more. jace meets you just as greedily, hands gripping tightly to the flesh of your hips as he hauls you closer until your chests press together. your hand moves from his face to fist in his hair, tugging at his curls until he whines against your lips. he kisses you deep and open mouthed and filthy, tongue sliding against yours so deliciously that you can feel heat pulse between your legs.

one of his hands comes up to tangle in your hair, pulling until your head is tilted back. he trails hot, wet kisses along your neck and you hiss at the sensation, pressing his head closer to your skin. you feel him smirk against you before he mouths at your pulse point, teeth nipping just enough to send a thrill of pain and pleasure through you.

“jace,” you moan, grinding against him shamelessly as he sucks a bruise into the sensitive skin of your throat. you want him so fiercely it makes you reckless, makes you insatiable as the hand not buried in his curls drags down his back to grip at his ass. he groans against you, your name spilling from his lips so deep and husky that you want to do whatever you can to make him say it like that again and again and again.

“this is— we shouldn’t,” he says into your skin. he pushes at the shoulder of your dress to expose more of your bare skin to his greedy eyes, lips trailing the path his fingers have taken. “we should wait until we—. if anyone knew of this—”

“—no one will know,” you assure him, fingers flexing into the taut skin of his ass to drive him closer to you.

“i don’t want to, to besmirch your honour.” even as he speaks he’s dragging his tongue against your collarbone, chasing a bead of sweat down to the swell of your chest.

“fuck my honour,” you burst out, and your language has him moaning. you hitch your leg around his waist and his hand drops instantly to grip you at the knee, pulling you just so until the hard length of him is grinding deliciously against your core. you can’t think, can’t breathe, for wanting him. his touch and his scent and his taste consumes you, inflames you, and you care for nothing but the feel of him against you.

he pulls away from your chest, mouth swollen and pupils blown as he pants hotly. he presses his forehead to yours, squeezing your hip to still you as you shamelessly try to rub yourself against him. “this will bring ruin to you if it gets out, do you understand? it would break me to be the cause of such a thing.”

his desperation makes you hesitate, something about the fierce tone breaking into the haze of lust that consumes you. you take a moment to look at him, and you know with certainty that if you ask him to stop right this second he will.

but you don’t want him to stop. you’ve never wanted anything less.

“jace.” you cup his cheek, thumb dragging over his bottom lip as you force him to keep your gaze. “i know the risks of this as well as anyone.” you lean in closer, your nose sliding against his before you tilt your head to pepper soft, deliberate kisses along his jaw, the corner of his mouth. “i love you.” he sighs softly in pleasure before turning his head to capture your mouth again, and this kiss is a softer, slower thing.

when you break apart, you stare deeply into his eyes, making sure he can see the truth of your words. the heat in his amber eyes threatens to splinter you to pieces as you swallow thickly, almost overwhelmed once more with your desire for him.

“i am yours, jacaerys velaryon,” you say steadily. “no matter what happens from here— i belong to you.”

it’s like a dam breaks in him. his hands are suddenly everywhere as his mouth devours yours relentlessly, leaving you gasping and arching into his touch. he backs you towards his bed as his hands fist in your skirts, bunching the material up to your hips. he breaks from your mouth long enough to tug your dress over your head, leaving you in your thin small clothes, and despite the sweltering heat of the room your nipples harden beneath the sheer material.

“look at you, pretty thing,” he says reverentially, the weight of his heated gaze tangible as he stares at your heaving chest. “is this all for me?”

“yes,” you hiss, head tilting back as he trails kisses down the column of your throat. “all for you, jace. only ever for you.”

he groans at your words, deft fingers making quick work of the complicated stays of the brassiere, and when the material falls from you he stares for a long moment as if transfixed by the sight of your bare breasts. it makes you smug, knowing that those times you’ve caught his eyes lingering on your chest haven’t just been in your imagination.

“you are perfect,” he murmurs worshipfully, large hand cupping the side of your breast tenderly. “such a perfect girl for me.”

his thumb sweeps over your nipple, featherlight at first before returning more firmly when you sigh and lean into his touch. his other hand grips your hip once more, pulling you close to him as he lavishes more attention on your neck. he nips and kisses his way down your throat, your shoulder, the swell of your breast until he’s hunched slightly in front of you, sucking bruises into the tender skin of your chest.

“jacaerys, please.” you know not what you’re pleading for, only that you need something, and it’s as if he can read your mind as his mouth closes over your nipple. his hand, now free, gropes at your other breast as his tongue swirls tight circles around your nipple and your head tips back with a moan. it’s somehow enough and yet not, your hips bucking aimlessly as heat and slick pools between your legs, and you crave.

“more, please,” you beg shamelessly.

jace drops to the floor in response and the sight of him on his knees for you has your head spinning. he presses open mouthed kisses to the soft skin of your abdomen, bites gently at your hip as his hands slide steadily up your legs. you tremble beneath his careful ministrations, and he murmurs wordless assurances into your sweat-slick skin.

he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your smalls, dragging them agonisingly slowly down your legs until you can step out of them. standing completely bare before him you expect to find yourself shy, but the way jace looks at you rapturously has liquid heat licking through your veins instead.

he leaves lingering kisses on your thigh and down your leg, and when his mouth brushes over the tender skin at the back of your knee you feel them buckle. he huffs a gentle laugh against you, warm hands cradling your waist as he urges you to sit back on the bed. you do so unsteadily, planting your hands against the soft feather mattress and watching him with intent ardour.

he nudges your legs apart and settles between them, his shoulders spreading you wide around him and you release a soft breath as his thumbs rub soothing circles into your thighs. “let me take care of you, my princess,” he pleads, eyes wide and soft and beseeching as he gazes up at you. you nod hesitantly, not wholly sure what he intends, but then his eyes finally drop to your core and darken so quickly it makes your mouth dry.

“gods, look at you.” he drags a finger through your folds and your head cants back, a whine escaping you at the touch. “you’re so wet for me, love. so gorgeous.” he brings his finger to his mouth, licking it clean of your slick and it has your mouth dropping open because he’s obscene, you think. he’s glorious.

“you taste so good,” he says, his voice so rough with arousal it makes you shiver. “wanna taste more of you.”

with no more warning that that, he licks a deliberate strip along your slit before circling his tongue over your clit. your hand shoots to his hair, tangling in the dark curls as he feasts on you. his name falls from your lips over and over again like a prayer as he laps at your core, tongue pressing deliciously inside you. you grind wantonly against his mouth, panting as he laves at your cunt.

your pleasure climbs sharply, rising so high you’re helpless to resist the way your stomach tightens. as if sensing your approaching high jace shifts his focus to your pulsing clit, flicking his tongue rapidly over the bundle of nerves.

“jace, gods, feels so good,” you gasp out, fingers tightening in his curls to press his head impossibly closer. “please don’t stop, ‘m so close—”

he sucks harshly on your pearl, ever so carefully dragging his teeth over the sensitive flesh, and you fall to pieces as that tightly wound ball in your stomach snaps. he coaxes you through the trembling release, gentling his attention on you to drag out your pleasure until you’re squirming away from him in sensitivity. when he pulls away from your core his face is shining with your slick and the sight makes you feel feral. you bend to reach him and he presses up to meet you, kissing you hot and messy as you drink the taste of yourself from his mouth.

“you did so well for me, my princess,” he pants into your mouth as he crowds you onto the bed and the praise blooms hot in your chest. “need you to be good for me a little longer, okay? need to prepare you.”

you whimper, capturing his mouth in another sloppy kiss and nipping thoughtlessly at his lips as he settles between your legs. you can feel the heavy length of him against your hip, kept from you by his breeches, and you’re suddenly insensible with desire to see more of his skin. you tug wordlessly at the hem of his tunic, pulling it free from his trousers, and with a huff of fond amusement he separates from you to pull it over his head and toss it aside.

you drink in the exposed planes of his chest, leaning up to drag your tongue from freckle to freckle along his collarbone, and jace groans out your name in response. you follow the map of constellations down his chest, pressing kisses and gentle bites to the skin until you come to one of his nipples. hesitantly you flick your tongue out, curl it around the puckered skin just as jace had done to you earlier.

“fuck,” he hisses, fingers clenching in the sheets as his arms tremble with the strain of keeping himself steady above you.

emboldened by his response you lavish the pebbled bud with attention, switching to the other when the fancy takes you, until jace is shuddering with desire and pushing your shoulders back into the bed. he swallows your protests with a flurry of kisses as his fingers trail down your chest, your abdomen until he reaches the heat between your legs. he presses a finger against you again and you arch into the touch, tossing your head back into the pillows.

“i want you so badly,” he confesses in a whisper as he sucks another bruise into your neck.

“yes,” you respond senselessly, hips bucking up to meet the slow stroke of his finger. “want you, jace, please.”

“i need to prepare you first, love,” he tells you again and you whine in displeasure. “i don’t wish to hurt you, so i need to get you ready for me.”

you’ve heard that it can hurt, what happens in bed between a man and a woman. you can’t comprehend the idea with how good you feel right now, how good he’s made you feel already, but you nod in acquiescence at jace’s stubborn expression and he beams down at you.

“that’s my good girl,” he utters affectionately, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

the finger that’s been sliding leisurely against you shifts, pressing inside with a familiar stretch. you’ve touched yourself before, explored what pleasure you can draw from your own body in the late of the night. you don’t know if it’s different because it’s the angle or just because it’s jace, but the feeling of his finger pumping into you is so much better than anything you’ve managed with your own clumsy digits and you moan with the pleasure of it.

“you’re so tight,” he says in amazement, burning gold eyes staring down at you worshipfully. “can’t wait to be inside you, my princess.”

you moan at his filthy words, hips bucking into his touch as he presses a second finger into you. this one pinches more, makes it almost uncomfortable until jace starts to rub slow circles over your clit with his thumb. any discomfort melts into liquid pleasure as he mouths at your neck once more, fingers crooking inside of you just so until stars burst behind your eyes.

“fuck, jacaerys—”

he shushes you softly even as his eyes gleam with smug pride. he picks up the pace, now, fucking you with his fingers as your pleasure starts to climb once more. just when you start to feel like you can’t take it anymore he slides a third finger in, the stetch burning deliciously this time, and you come apart on his fingers with a strangled moan of his name. he doesn’t relent this time, though, even when you writhe helplessly beneath him; he just chases another release for you without giving you a chance to recover, and the thrill rises so quickly it almost makes it a little hard to breathe.

“just one more,” he soothes as you whine, pressing delicate kisses to the corner of your mouth as he drives his fingers into you relentlessly. “you’re doing so well. just one more for me.”

your third climax hits you so hard your back bows up from the bed, mouth parting in a silent cry of pleasure as jace coaxes you through it before pulling his fingers from you. you ache at the loss, mewling your displeasure as your cunt clenches around nothing. he breathes a laugh at your impatience, kissing you so sweetly in such contrast to the delicious heat between you that it almost makes you weep.

with shaking hands you reach for the ties of his breaches, fumbling with the laces while he kisses you languidly. you make a triumphant little noise when you finally untie them and he smiles at you, adoring and soft and yet somehow feverishly aroused as you push the leather trousers down his hips. he helps you the rest of the way, kicking them off before returning to hover over you.

your hands brush his abdomen as you reach for him, fingers curling gently around the hard line of his cock, and he realises a shuddering breath in response. he watches you intently as you stare at his arousal, fascinated by the way your fingers barely close around the thick girth of him. he’s going to fill you so well, you realise, and you bite your lip as your core clenches again. the tip of him is leaking fluid, and you drag your hand up his cock to swipe your thumb over the head.

jace moans at the movement, so you do it again and again, watching in inflamed curiosity at the way his stomach contracts as he thrusts into your hand, the wet noise of it making you flush down to your toes as desire sparks in your core. his hand covers your own abruptly, stopping your exploration, and you pout up at him as he fixes you with a blazing stare.

“if you keep doing that, i’m not going to last,” he says, voice shaking with the weight of his desire.

“fine.”

you huff, pretending at annoyance even as you eagerly lie back and spread your legs for him. you fix him with an expectant look, raising an eyebrow, and he chuckles fondly as he settles himself between your legs once more. you’re not expecting the velvet heat of him dragging against you and you gasp at the sensation, grinding against him as he thrusts shallowly against you.

“are you ready for me, love?” he checks, cradling your face in his hands as his thumb rubs over your jaw.

you turn to press a kiss against his palm, near overwhelmed with your love and affection for this man. “yes,” you say simply, and it’s all the permission he needs as he ducks down to kiss you unhurriedly.

his head catches at your opening on the next thrust, and with the slightest shift of your hips he’s pressing inside of you. the stretch of him burns, pinches, but just as he did with his fingers, he worms his hand between your bodies to drag circles over your clit. you do your best to relax, keeping your eyes fixed on his golden stare as he slides into you, agonisingly slow.

the whole while he keeps up a litany of praise, calling you good and precious and perfect as sweat beads along his forehead. when he’s finally fully sheathed inside you he stills his movements, kisses you hard and wanting as he thumbs at your pearl, and when you’re ready you tilt your hips. the stretch of him burns, still, but in a way that sets your skin alight as you cling to his shoulders.

he moans your name like a prayer, drawing away from you until the tip of his cock catches at your entrance once more, and this time when he sinks back in your eyes roll back into your head. he feels so good, stretching and filling you so completely that you’ve no room to think, to breathe, to do anything but take it as he thrusts into you. he buries his head in your neck, resting on his forearms as he plunges into you again and again and again, and between your own choked breaths and the sounds of skin against skin, you hear him muttering in high valyrian.

“sīr sȳz syt nyke, sīr ȳrda, sīr lōz. vēttan syt nyke. ñuha dārilaros, mirre ñuhon [so good for me, so tight, so wet. made for me. my princess, all mine].”

it drives you wild, his voice and his words and hearing him speak in valyrian combined with the exquisite torture of the slow drag of his cock inside you. it’s too much, not enough, and leaves you with nothing but the need to feel as much of him as you possibly can. your hands drag up and down his back, fingernails leaving raised red lines in their wake as you seek to be as close to him as you can bear.

“more, jace, gods, please, i need—”

he cuts you off with a hard thrust, your breath punching out of your lungs as he starts to drive into you harder and faster. it’s so good, so fucking good, but still not quite enough and you whine, seeking something you’re not sure you know how to verbalise.

“whatever you need, love. i’ll give you whatever you need.”

understanding your need even when you don’t, jacaerys rears up, grips your legs and presses your knees to your chest before bearing down on you. like this he reaches so deep it hurts in the most unbearably, searingly pleasurable way. and it’s perfect, exactly what you needed, feeling him so far inside you that it soothes you and ignites you and makes you ache all at once.

“y’feel so good,” you manage to slur out, head lolling as you lose yourself to the feel of him taking you apart so expertly. “so— fuck— so deep. so good, jace, so good.”

jace groans your name, pounding into you so hard and so deep that it’s unconscionable, has your eyes rolling back into your head as your hips buck up to meet him recklessly. your peak approaches again, searing heat blazing through you as you inch closer to another climax, and all you can do is whine and moan as he fills you over and over again. he starts to lose the thread of his rhythm as you clench around him, valyrian and common tongue mixing senselessly as praise spills from his lips.

“avy jorrāelan [i love you] my perfect girl, gūrogon nyke sīr sȳrī [take me so well], can’t get enough of you, hells, i love you, ao sagon ñuhon [you’re mine], my love, my princess, my queen, ñuha ābrazȳrys [my wife].”

you come so hard you see stars, walls pulsing around jace’s cock as he curses. he thrusts sloppily into you, chasing his own release and dragging out your own as you keen, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders. he finds completion with a drawn out noise, seed spilling hot and thick inside of you as he lazily pumps his hips two, three more times before collapsing on top of you.

you press absent kisses to his temple, brushing back the sweat-soaked curls from where they’ve matted on his forehead as he shudders against you. you feel lethargic, body aching in the sweetest of ways as you fight to catch your breath. eventually the heavy weight of jace on top of you becomes uncomfortable and you squirm beneath him in protest. with a sigh he slides himself free of you, rolling over onto his back and wrapping an arm around you to pull you with him so that you sprawl over his chest.

you bury your smile into his neck, satisfaction settling bone-deep as his hand runs up and down your back idly. for long moments the two of simply lie together in the quiet, the only sound the rustling of the sheets and the crackle of the dying fire.

“i’ll speak to my mother and the king on the morrow,” he says into the quiet and you raise your head to look at him. he looks serious, amber eyes contemplative as he peers down at you. “i’ll not let another night pass without you as my betrothed.” he smiles at you then, a little crooked as his eyes crinkle, and without thought you reach up to press a lingering kiss to his mouth.

“i love you,” you say, eyes shining with mischief. “ñuha valzȳrys [my husband].”

jace swallows your laugh with another kiss, doing a poor job of hiding his own amusement as his smile presses to yours, and as the candles burn down you let all of your worries and doubts fade.

you love him. he loves you.

there’s nothing else that matters.

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