#jacaerys velaryon/oc

[maryaandmorevna]

A Song of Swan and Dragons IV.

Ao3 link

Summary: Following Princess Rhaenyra as one of her ladies-in-waiting, Arianne Swann was woefully unprepared upon arriving at the Red Keep.

No scroll or tome could have captured the astounding amount of gossip that thrived within the Targaryen court. For a mere lady like her, it felt as though she had made a catastrophic blunder before even having the chance to place her pieces on the board.

Yet, if she allowed her heart to guide her—especially toward the man it had chosen—Arianne believed she could endure anything and emerge triumphant. Prince Jacaerys Velaryon would one day be king, and though her father often said that hope was a fool’s errand, she dared to dream she might one day be his queen.

If only his boor of an uncle would stop tormenting her.

Chapters: 4/? (47,745k)

Warnings: safe for now, canon-typical sexism, the story will get progressively darker and will include explicit content, canon character death(s), dubcon, noncon, it's war folks

Tagging my dear @lacebvnny, hope you like it! Our poor Arianne in this one.

I., II., III.

IV. Izula

"People do not see you, They invent you and accuse you." - Helene Cixous

(Arianne)

.

Clumsy as Seven Hells.

Arianne knew that as long as she kept blinking she might be able to keep tears at bay. They itched, those translucent droplets gathering between her dark lashes.

Prince Aemond offered her one last icy glare before he stalked through the crowd and out of her eyesight.

Her breath lodged underneath her throat.

Out of all the insults in the world, he spat that she had no grace.

Her house prided itself upon it. A swan was...above all, a paragon of grace.

Arianne's clammy hands trembled - she wished to fade into the walls rather than stand in the middle of the banquet hall, surrounded by the joyful crowd of lords, ladies, and courtiers.

Clumsy.

A blight that has no grace and does not belong here.

The low and venomous voice burned through her skin and permeated her flesh.

Less than a tavern wench.

What could she have possibly done to Prince Aemond for him to bestow her with so many insults?

For a moment, she imagined that they had found the mutual language, that they could be cordial, but he threw it right back at her face.

Hateful, hateful, hateful, hateful twat!

"Arianne, are you alright?" Jace came to stand right by her when she took too long to respond to his offered arm. He carried a certain, familiar warmth with him, and the concern bleeding through his tone made her flutter her eyelashes bashfully.

"I'm fine—" Arianne started, but her words faltered, her voice trembling just enough to betray her.

Did Jace think she was without grace? L-like a tavern wench.

Her bottom lip quivered.

She was an embarrassment to her House.

"What happened?" He asked, his dark brows furrowing.

Arianne brushed her palms down her dark skirt, her pinky finger getting stuck against the embroidered feather. The mere attempt to repeat what the One-eyed Prince uttered would have her succumb to hysterics.

Jacaerys Velaryon tilted his head up, gaze knifelike as he followed his uncle leaving the hall and vanishing into the passageways.

"Did he say something to you?" He asked again, his tone colder now.

Arianne pressed her right molars into the inside of her cheek.

'Only that I was clumsy as hell and that no one would accept me as your queen.'

"No… no, of course not," she murmured, though her voice lacked its usual strength.

"He just said he didn’t care about a rematch."

Figures moved around them as another dance began. Jace gently pressed his fingers on her forearm and slowly guided her to safety.

A servant offered her a goblet from the golden tray and she gladly took it. The wine was heady, a blend of dark cherries, ripe plums, and spice—perhaps cinnamon or clove—lingered at the back of her tongue.

"That’s all?" Jace attempted again when she met his dark chocolate eyes over the rim of her chalice.

Arianne nodded, unable to commit to words. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth, not when the sting of Aemond’s insults still made her stomach churn.

"You do not belong here."

"Clumsy blight just like your grandmother - how much does he pay you -"

She realized it wasn't just the words but the way he’d looked at her—like she was fragile, inconsequential, and utterly beneath him.

Besides, what was he insinuating with that? What would they pay her for?

She drew her brows together.

Her company?

Her...her...her... Arianne coughed against the back of her hand, scandalized.

Did he think she was a courtesan?! How preposterous, her family would've disowned her if that were true!

Her mother would have dragged her by the neck to some remote sept and given her to silent sisters - insisting their newly acquired novice be canned for her sins.

Her father -

Arianne's stomach lurched.

Father would consider her dead from that moment on.

Her grip on the goblet tightened, the warmth of the wine doing little to ease the chill coiled in her stomach.

Arianne cursed herself silently for lowering her guard around that malevolent arse and then cursed him into Seven hells, before remembering that cursing was a sin.

'Forgive me Maiden, but truly I do not think you would find Aemond Targaryen palatable either. I think you'd sooner remove his uppity head from his shoulders than let him prattle.'

Ser Galladon he was not.

Jace studied her, the flush of crimson bedecking her cheeks, the tight frown her full lips were settled into - his gaze searching.

'Tavern wench! Tavern wench! How dared he? 'Arianne scrunched her nose - she'd been nothing but courteous! She sought his forgiveness and what did she receive in return? More insults!

The fires of the Freehold, she’d beamed, as though the topic alone could bridge the chasm between them. As though Aemond Targaryen, with his jagged dagger of a tongue and demeanor that would put the Night King to shame, might soften at the shared reverence for their ancestors’ triumphs.

Foolish.

"Naivety, daughter," Her father had tried to lecture her — though clearly in vain —

"is a weakness—one that others will exploit without hesitation. To speak openly, to trust too readily, is to lay yourself bare to a world that feasts on vulnerability."

How could she have let herself believe, even for the briefest of moments, that he might see her differently? Just because she wished it so — because he'd be her uncle by marriage if her dreams came true.

Aemond hated her—clearly hated her. The way he looked at her, with that unnerving pale gaze, piercing through her armor, leaving her flayed and exposed.

"Did my mother put you up to this?" Jace crossed his arms, the movement pulling the fabric of his doublet taut over his broad shoulders. His cape, fastened at one side with a brooch shaped like a dragon in mid-flight, cascaded down in heavy folds of deep crimson velvet.

"My prince?" Arianne blinked, startled.

"Did she ask you to speak to him? To any of them?" he pressed, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "To get close, to learn what they’re planning? Because if she did—"

"Jace," she interrupted, her voice breaking through his rising anger. Arianne batted her lashes in an attempt to clear her mind.

"Gods, no. Nothing like that." She shook her head and took another sip. A thunderbolt charged through her nerves — but his mother had asked her to speak with Lady Tarth! Which she failed to do!

She'd been conversing with that foul boor all night! Arianne returned her chalice to the table lest it slip from her perspiring palms.

He'd appeared there out of nowhere! How was she supposed to breach decorum by ignoring him?! She hadn't managed to gauge Lady Tarth's opinion on the Court welcoming a debate on an already settled succession matter.

"Ah... do not waste thoughts on my uncle then, even his own brother finds him unpalatable. " Jace declared, waving his arm.

 A glint flashed in his eyes of molten umber, and he chuckled.

When he spoke again, his voice was tinged with something whimsical.

"Shall I remind that spiteful cur that he cried to his mother over a silly pig in the Dragonpit?"

Arianne pressed her hand to her lips, stifling a giggle. She shook her head as if to seal the conversation.

She would not think about Aemond Targaryen and his wicked words, at least not until she could cry it out in the safety of her chambers.

Yet her mind could not, would not, quiet down - it tumbled and twisted so vehemently that the hall's music, voices, and pleasantries were but a quiet whisper.

"It’s her ladyship’s decision," Aemond had snarled, his fervid gaze locked on her with a torridity that made her stomach churn.

Why had he said that? If he despised her so thoroughly—why would he pretend to leave such a choice to her? What if she had decided to walk the inner courtyards with him? He'd have to suffer clumsy Arianne the Tavern Wench even more than he already did.

 Would he have laughed openly to her face if she accepted his invitation?

To humiliate her further?

To remind her how little she was suited to hold any position at court, let alone that of a Queen?

Or—her breath lacerated her throat—he had truly meant it and she scorned him by refusing?

Something tumultuous, something that made her chest tighten and her skin clammy invaded her mind.

No, that would be ridiculous. She pushed the thought away as she knew nothing of men or their peculiar behaviors. They were creatures of whims, mother would often say.

However, if a man wanted to spend time with a lady he wouldn't call her someone's mistress.

It would be absurd.

Utterly, veritably unsound.

Was he the only one who thought her frivolous with her honor?

Her thoughts pivoted suddenly, uncomfortably, to Jace.

" She will be my betrothed."

Arianne blanched, eyes widening as it dawned on her. Her eyes flickered to her handsome, curly-haired prince who had been, thank the gods, distracted with sipping his wine.

The tips of her ears tingled.

Jace had said it earlier, so plainly, as if it were an inevitable truth.

No, she couldn't hope. Hope is a fool's errand, her father always said. Jace only said it...well, because of Aemond...that... But...but..., Arianne pulled on her embroidered sleeve so tightly, she could feel the stitching holding onto fabric for its dear life.

A terrible sort of heat suffused her face, the words settling over her like a cloak too heavy to bear.

"Jace, you..." she began, her voice diminishing as she took him in now, beautiful and princely, his warm eyes set on her.

Arianne tried again, her words stumbling over themselves. "Earlier, you—"

"I am leaving!" Luke's voice cut through her attempt, rendering it inconsequential. He stormed past them, face flushed from anger or something else - Arianne could not know.

Jace sighed, his attention drawn away. "Luke—"

"No!" Luke snapped, his voice cracking from the frustration. "Don’t. I’ve had enough of this place, they are all muttering behind our backs—"

Arianne sucked in her bottom lip, glancing at the crowd from where Prince Lucerys escaped. So many green doublets in Targaryen court. Too many green gowns. Hightower green.

"Luke," Jace interrupted, his tone calm but firm. "We’ll leave together. Just wait—"

Luke pushed past them, muttering under his breath, his shoulders stiff with anger.

Jace turned back to Arianne, his large eyes brimming with something apologetic.

"Let me handle this," he rasped gently. She nodded, unable to say anything else. How awful she must be, selfishly caring about her betrothal when Luke could have his whole life upended if the Crown gives weight to Vaemond Velaryon's accusations.

Jacaerys lingered for a moment, then strode after his brother, his crimson cape trailing behind him in a sweeping arc of fire and blood.

Arianne stared at her half-empty cup, her posture rigid, her pulse racing steadily up her neck. The weight of Jace’s words earlier struck her again, and she pressed her lips together, her hands trembling faintly.

Her heart seized.

Betrothed.

Should she write to her father again? Or her Aunt Johanna?

She'd written to the black swan of Lys more often after settling in Dragonstone, the fear of her lord father finding out diminishing with such distance from Stonehelm. Johanna already knew from her last letter that she would be in King's Landing by now.

'Aunt Johanna would know what a man thought. From Lys to Asshai, men had fought for her favor.'

Arianne surveyed the spacious hall for any sign of Lady Tarth's gray updo yet her luck seemed to have run out - the old lady was nowhere in sight. With another curse upon Aemond's name, she relented and decided to retire for tonight.

A knight she did not recognize offered to escort her but she politely declined - she had memorized her way to the Holdfast.

Her handmaid was still awake, giving her evening prayers to the Seven.

Arianne let her untie the lace bindings at her back with no protest and dressed herself for bed. The unadorned, linen chemise shimmered faintly under candlelight. It clung to her form, falling loosely to her calves, as gentle as a breeze.

"Out with it." Miriam crossed her arms, copper hairbrush in hand, once her young Lady Swann quietly sat to have her hair loosened from the tight hold of the braids and brushed.

Arianne's eyes found her maid's reflection in the brass mirror. Miriam's hair was pulled back in a neat chignon of warm sunflowers and her thin eyebrows were narrowed.

"What do you mean?" Arianne pursed her lips.

She'd been so careful to avoid precisely what she imagined was now brewing.

Were her thoughts and secret pains truly so legible?

Her mother had been right in picking Miriam to watch over her, for nothing escaped her notice.

"If you think you'll be Queen you are simpler than I thought..."

A tremble of discomfort passed through her lower back.

Mayhaps, she was simple because Aemond somehow guessed - no, knew - she'd spent countless nights ruminating on those same premises.

It was a plain syllogism really.

She was Saera Targaryen's granddaughter.

Saera was the worst of the Conciliator's children. Nefarious. A clawed harlot.

Therefore, Arianne had that same taint. It poisoned her blood and made people doubt her good graces.

'I need to be above suspicion. Better behaved, as pious as the Queen, then maybe...'

"You're awfully docile. No argument?" Miriam replied with a raised brow, her voice laced with disbelief.

"You're not even trying to grab that fat book and weasel out of - " She waved the brush in the air.

"-my butcher's hands."

Arianne had to huff at her wording.

Her maid had been as gentle as she could but brushing Arianne’s wavy mass of maple-brown hair was unpleasant because it always got tangled. Always.

The knots seemed to multiply with every pass of the brush, like a wild thing refusing to be tamed.

Miriam had learned long ago not to take offense to the occasional wince or gasp from her lady, and to barrel through her refusal to have it done before going to bed.

"Miriam," Arianne whispered softly at last. She swallowed thickly around the weight in her throat. Her fingers twisted nervously in the folds of her chemise because she knew her maid was poring over her reflection in the brass.

"Do you think I have no grace?" She wondered, unwilling to meet Miriam's keen eyes.

The other woman stilled, hairbrush resting lightly in her palm. Arianne knew her handmaid was trying to see her better, but her gaze just wouldn't leave her knees.

"You are a daughter of House Swann." Miriam offered at last.

Her fingers deftly seized one of Arianne's heavy curls, smoothing it between thumb and forefinger.

"Grace Above All. How could you not have it? It is in your blood."

"I am a rotten fruit then." Arianne muttered bitterly. "One-winged swan. Maybe I was swapped in the cradle. Something is wrong—"

"Where is this coming from?" Miriam cut in and crossed her arms.

"I am clumsy," Arianne confessed, her voice catching as she finally met her maid's eyes in the reflection.

"It's unbecoming. Laughable."

Her breath quivered.

She had collided with Jace before during turns and he waved it off, but now - What if he were to arrive at the same conclusion? Clumsy Arianne Swann. Who'd marry her? Certainly not a Velaryon prince.

One other prince found her so unbecoming he wanted her gone from court.

Aemond snarled that she did not belong there.

"My lady," Miriam replied, with a slight raise of her brow, "if you're fishing for compliments at this late hour—"

"I am not!" Arianne snapped, furious heat tickling her cheeks.

"I really...what was father thinking, sending me to Dragonstone? I'm not..." She faltered, her fingers twisting harder in the chemise.

"My grandmother didn't belong here, how could I?" The question left a hole in her ribcage. What Prince Aemond had said gnawed at her insides, because what if it were true — what if she truly was ill-suited for all this?

"You're nothing like her!" Miriam argued with a surprising fierceness.

"She -"

"I know." Arianne cut in, her voice quieter now, the words weighted down by the obsidian stones of Stonehelm.

Miriam sighed, brushing a stray curl back into place with a tenderness that belied her brusque tone.

"Well, you are as comely as she was."

Arianne's nose scrunched.

Her thoughts flew to the image of her grandmother she conjured in her mind from stories—fabled Valyrian hair that shone like woven starlight, cerulean eyes so piercing they could freeze a room. So, so charming supposedly — when she wished to be.

Arianne had none of it.

Her eyes, mossy green like her father’s, had somehow managed to persist through generations of Swann sons and daughters, stubborn and unyielding against both dark browns and palest of blues.

Her father took after Saera in everything else, much to his chagrin.

His hair, a dazzling white-gold, caught the light like the finest gossamer. He carried himself with an almost dragon-like grandeur, and Arianne often thought that if he’d been given a dragon, many would have mistaken him for a true Targaryen prince rather than a scion of an old Andal house.

After beholding the Old King's portrait, she was rather surprised at how much his grandson — her lord father — resembled him.

Yet, if she ever mentioned it to him, he would have septa whip her palms with a thin birch branch.

"I highly doubt that." Arianne shrugged noncommittally. She adjusted the tiny horses on the lapis-lazuli board before her, trying to feign disinterest.

"I just wished to know if dancing was truly a requirement for a lady's luck with marriage prospects."

Her lips pursed into a pout as she fixed the misaligned pieces. A light horse's value is two-thirds of a heavy horse's. It is one of the most versatile pieces. If she had not accepted the exchange and pursued Aemond's with an elephant...

"I’ve seen her portrait, you know," Miriam said after a pause, her voice quieter now, almost conspiratorial.

"Before Lord Swann had it removed. You favor her."

Arianne’s head turned, and she afforded Miriam with a sharp, incredulous look over her shoulder.

"Well, thank the Seven," Miriam added quickly, raising her hands in mock defense, "—it is only her lovely face you inherited and not her temperament. You are not an evil cow like she was, my lady."

"Miriam!" Arianne gasped, though the corners of her mouth twitched with the threat of a smile.

"It is the truth! You'd think being so pretty would make her kind, but she had all the older serving girls beaten if anything displeased her. And everything displeased her in Stonehelm. My mother told me and she does not lie."

Arianne’s fingers paused above the bronze elephant.

Even among her kin, Princess Saera's reputation was far from flattering. Beauty and high birth had done little to soften her temper or foster any measure of humility.

The older members of Swann's household had spoken of her sparingly, but what they said painted a picture of a woman whose beauty was matched only by her cruelty.

Arianne often found herself wondering if her grandfather loved his Targaryen princess. She had been his wife, but, according to her father, Princess Saera was hoisted on him without much room for debate.

She had not even been a maiden when they wed.

King Jaehaerys had taken the life of a man who deflowered her and forced her to marry after that debauchery.

She abandoned her son when she decided to leave for Essos. My father — then only a babe.

Now her name lingered in her family’s history like a shadow, dark and unwelcome.

"You are an awful flatterer, Miriam," Arianne said finally, her voice tinged with dry amusement, breaking the heavy silence.

"I practice," Miriam quipped, her grin flashing.

"Now, enough of this. I need to brush your hair. Gods know it will tangle into a viper’s nest if I don’t."

Arianne sighed dramatically, leaning back into the chair with exaggerated resignation.

"So, I look like the most hated woman in the Seven Kingdoms, and I have the grace of a tavern wench. What merciful gods—"

"Your embroidery is also atrocious, must I remind you." Miriam tutted, hiding her grin behind the copper hairbrush.

Arianne’s lips parted in a scandalized gasp.

"I take it back, you—"

"But," Miriam interrupted again, her voice softening. "you are courteous and kind, and quick-witted besides. I am certain everything will turn out well."

Kind. 

The word did nothing to assuage her distress. Kindness was one of those virtues her father considered a demerit.

Arianne winced as the bristles caught a knot in her waves.

"Being kind does not help me here. I'd rather dance well, sing, and be more like Rhaena." She uttered morosely.

While Arianne's introduction to the Red Keep was as successful as Rhoyne's war on Valyria — courtesy of that evil one-eyed demon, Rhaena Targaryen thrived.

The Hightowers' contempt for Prince Daemon did little to dim her effortless charm. If she were not already promised to Lucerys Velaryon, she would have to chase suitors away with a sword.

She glided along the marble while dancing — engaging in conversations and settling debates — with a poise Arianne could not help but envy.

Jace too, seemed to possess an innate penchant for diplomacy, as though he had been born with the ability to weave alliances.

Even if they muttered behind his back about his dark curls, not one of them could call him an unworthy heir.

Miriam sighed, releasing the strand of her lady's hair she had intended to brush. She set the torture device down deliberately, her hands folding in front of her.

"If you truly lacked any grace, do you think Lord Donnel would have a stack of letters as tall as you, all asking for your hand?"

Arianne huffed.

"It’s my dowry," she replied with a faint shrug. "Not me."

"It is not your dowry," Miriam's huff bled with exasperation.

Arianne’s lips twitched as if to argue, but Miriam pressed on.

"Besides," she said slyly, long fingers curling around the copper brush.

"Prince Jacaerys fancies you."

Her response drowned in the fierce rush of blood, her eyes widening.

"She will be my betrothed."

The beating muscle in her chest billowed turbulently. She couldn't - wouldn't dare hope.

Alas, Arianne's disobedient, grasping heart could envision it. 

Jacaerys Velaryon taking his mother's name.

Jacaerys Targaryen, the first of his name, getting crowned, his eyes as dark as storm-tossed waves.

Jacaerys holding her hand and helping her sit on the saddle. Securing them with belts. The air whips at her cheeks as Vermax soars ever higher.

Their wedding feast - his cloak on her shoulders.

Jace feeds her their marital bread, and she smiles, and smiles, and smiles, as Queen Alysanne's golden crown decorates her head.

Pain flared from her left temple as bristles caught in another tangle of her luxuriant chestnut curls.

"H-how would you know?" Arianne sputtered, pinching the bridge of her nose. 'What foolish, nonsensical dreams.'

 They would be old before supplanting his mother as King and Queen. Princess Rhaenyra had years ahead of her, gods willing.

"He’s never said anything like it," She added, voice trembling from the echo of the valyrian response he gave to Aemond.

Miriam's hand stilled, her brush pausing midair.

Arianne peered at her maid's exasperated visage.

"Because I am not blind." The older woman declared levelly. One of the burning wicks gave a few last flickers of warm light before dying in a pool of molten wax.

Arianne shook her head, her voice dropping into a resigned whisper.

"Even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. It won’t be his decision."

Because father was right. Princess Rhaenyra might not wish to ally with them through Jace, but rather one of her younger sons.

Lady Swann furrowed her brows.

Joffrey, Aegon and Viserys were just boys and she was a woman grown. Besides, it was rotten luck to marry anything less than a firstborn son — her father would not have it. 

He would prefer giving her to Bryen Caron even, she imagined. It did not matter that he was one of the Carons, a simpleton or that he lost half his teeth in a brawl because he was Lord Royce's eldest son. Heir to Nightsong. If she were to wed him, Arianne knew it would be her blood one day inheriting everything — her firstborn son by Bryen. 

If she were to wed Prince Joffrey Velaryon, their sons — Lord Donnel Swann's grandsons — would inherit...nothing. 

No, father would absolutely not have it.

Jace was Rhaenyra's heir, and no simpleton. If she could marry him, if only...

If gods could be merciful for once, because she liked him and her father would be proud of her — marrying the best firstborn son in the kingdom. 

His grandsons would inherit the Iron Throne.

Arianne placed the bronze dragon in front of teal king, isolating him. Her imaginary opponent would suffer a defeat in three. It irked her, the fact that if she had not exchanged her light horse, she might have won against Aemond Targaryen. 

But it did not matter that she liked Jace.

Jacaerys Velaryon and her both were little more than tools for lucrative bargains and enterprising alliances. He, something of a rarity, a coveted tool of pure valyrian steel, an heir, and she — a common one of plain iron, just another noble lady awaiting her father's decision about the remainder of her life.

Miriam tilted her chin up with the tip of her index finger.

"Princess Rhaenyra seems fond of you." Her voice was as soft as a goose pillow, and Arianne knew she merely wished to soothe her ache.

Yet, the words tightened around her throat like feral hands. 

Princess Rhaenyra expected her to have done what was ordered.

Tears welled in her eyes, so, so full of salt.

She tried to blink them away, but the dam broke before she could stop it.

"She won’t be after tonight," Arianne whispered, her voice cracking.

How was she to explain that she tried conversing with Lady Tarth, when Aemond Targaryen and his venom soured the older woman's mood?

Aemond.

His name had an acrid aftertaste.

Like a curse.

"Mayhaps everything would turn out well if you'd say your prayers for once." Miriam rolled her eyes and spoke no more, intent on detangling her lady's hair for bed.

Prayers helped no one. She ought to strengthen her position like bolstering catapults with a heavy-horse.

With a soft, nearly imperceptible groan, Arianne stood up once her handmaid concluded she'd suffered enough. She lifted a hand to her forehead, rubbing it as if trying to push away the ache that settled there.

The bed appeared irresistibly soft.

Arianne gathered the Fires of the Freehold into her arms and shoved the plush covers aside when Miriam's firm grasp caught her shoulder.

"Do not even think it! You need rest!"

"But only one paragraph-" Arianne insisted, her knuckles paling with the effort to resist her maid's seizure of precious tome.

"Your lack of sleep is why such calumnies weight on your mind, my lady. Give me the book and go to bed."

She huffed, and with a glare, relinquished The Fires. Arianne burrowed beneath the covers, throwing a few pillows to the floor in an unladylike form of protest.

"I do not have to listen to you, you know. I'm your Lady." She muttered.

Miriam snorted and doused the candles.

.

.

.

The hour of the nightingale came with the first, thin rays of sun. Arianne tossed in her bed, reluctant to leave the warm comfort of it.

More so since she had a task at hand. To find Lady Tarth in the Great Hall during the morning assembly. She will somehow have to juggle it with picking out silks for Princess Rhaenyra's new gowns. Her belly was growing larger by the day, as was the babe in it.

Younger princes also had to be escorted to their lessons, but Arianne hoped Lady Massey could cover for her.

'I won't be able to see Jace before supper.'

Knowing her maid would be knocking soon enough, she dressed herself in a simple woolen dress of rather pale pink.

Its sleeves, long and flowing, were adorned with a fine, white embroidery that danced in subtle patterns along the edges, adding a touch of grace to the otherwise modest garment.

She tied a ruby-red silk girdle around her waist. It was Myrish, of pristine quality — its sheen catching the light with each movement, and Arianne adored how the ends of the sash cascaded over her hips. The crimson-painted fabric originated from Tyrosh, where sea snails producing the color were abundant.

The door creaked open, and Miriam entered without a word.

She raised an eyebrow at Arianne's choice of attire but made no comment.

"Has my father written to me?" The young Lady Swann yawned, sitting immobile as her handmaid's fingers deftly braided the hair over the crown of her head.

"I will go and check if any ravens came for you, my Lady."

The single braid kept the hair away from Arianne's face, looping behind her ears like a delicate headband.

The rest cascaded freely down her back.

When Arianne left her chamber the Holdfast was rather empty, save for other ladies scrambling to fulfill their duties. She caught the flash of green once she passed the corridor leading to royal suites.

The Queen?

Alicent Hightower was rushing — clad in an exquisite emerald gown, she passed Rhaenyra's youngest lady-in-waiting without a glance. Beside her walked a knight of the Kingsguard. Arianne curtsied but by the time she looked up they were paces away from her already.

"Delicate situation in the prince's chambers—"

The rest Arianne could not hear because the Queen rounded the corner and disappeared.

She was rather dismayed because she had hoped the most important woman in the realm would have remembered her from last night. Arianne practiced her introduction to perfection, and even, if briefly, managed to speak to Queen Alicent. She was from Oldtown! The most wonderful town in the Seven Kingdoms! The Conclave conducted their meetings there, and the library - the grandest in the Realm! The Hightower itself is the tallest structure ever built!

Arianne asked if she had ever been in the Citadel and the Queen merely smiled. "Rarely I am asked about the Conclave and my House. But no, women are not permitted inside."

Alicent dismissed her gently, as people waited in line to speak to the current ruler of the Seven Kingdoms in all but name, and Arianne was overcome with a soft sort of melancholy.

When she was a slight girl of eight, her mother said the same thing after Arianne had professed she would love to marry a Hightower boy because then she would go live there and read all the books in the Citadel.

' "Lord Hightower does not rule over the Conclave, little pearl. The Maesters choose who can enter."

"Then I will become a maester, mother." She scrunched her nose in childish determination.

"Silly, girls cannot be maesters. They cannot go to the Citadel." Her brother Robb, eleven of age and golden-haired, pinched her cheek.

"Never?"

"No, sweetling." Her mother patted her head. "Only the good Queen Alysanne was granted entrance."

Arianne drew her brows together.

"Then I could become a Queen one day." She declared, much to her mother's chagrin.

Her brother guffawed and chucked a wooden toy at her.

"A Queen of froggy ponds only—" '

The Great Hall was full of murmur — the courtiers forming an endless sea of silks and velvet. The morning sun filtered through the high windows, casting long beams of light that made the polished stone floor gleam.

The stained glass fascinated Arianne, depicting flames in the warmest ochre, the dragons with scales of darkest coal to ivory.

'The white one must be Meraxes.'

She spied Rhaena Targaryen close to one of the gargantuan columns, not far from the throne. She was conversing animatedly while several ladies nodded along with her every word. A young knight seemed to have acquired stars in his eyes as he glanced shyly at the silver-haired daughter of Laena Velaryon.

Taking a breath, Arianne made her way toward Rhaena, weaving through the courtier clusters with a quiet, deliberate determination. A caustic pang of envy almost made her hesitate.

When she finally reached the small circle of conversation, she smiled nervously.

"Arianne," Her friend beckoned her close, and a woman Arianne was certain was one of the Roxtons side-stepped to allow her in.

The others in the group, seeing Rhaena’s welcoming gesture, gave nods of acknowledgment, some of them even offering polite smiles.

"Have you met my dearest cousin, Lady Swann? The Keep's cyvasse champion." Targaryen princess introduced her. Arianne blanched at her choice of words, they were hardly cousins, and she was hardly a champion.

Prince Aemond held that informal title, she had asked around.

Of course, he did. Hateful prick.

"Rhaena," Arianne began, her fingers straightening down her ruby belt. “if I might speak with you in private for a moment?”

Rhaena’s smile faltered only slightly, the faintest edge of surprise crossing her face.

Someone cleared their throat.

The others clearly didn’t appreciate being brushed aside, and Arianne could sense their collective annoyance.

“Oh,” one of the ladies murmured, her voice dripping with a subtle, masked irritation. “How… important, I wonder, that Saera's granddaughter requires private conversation.”

Several nods erupted around the group.

"Is she marrying into Boltons with those colors on her?"

Arianne groaned inwardly. It was important! She had no time for idle chitter-chatter.

The corner of Rhaena's lovely mouth curved into a smile — with just a touch of feigned disappointment.

“Ladies, I do hope you will forgive me. I am terribly needed elsewhere.” She inclined her head apologetically before her gaze returned to Arianne.

“Of course, Arianne,” Rhaena linked their elbows and let the Swann girl lead her away.

“I’m certain these lovely ladies will continue their discussion in my absence.”

Arianne hurried through the mass of people, trying to decide where they might speak without interruptions. They exited the Great Hall before she pursed her lips.

"How do you do it? So easily?" Arianne sighed, eyeing Rhaena from the corner of her eye.

"Do what?"

"The court thing." She clarified as they descended the first staircase. "They all like you."

Rhaena giggled, a charming tinkle of sound.

"Well, I don't ask for privacy when everyone is starved for gossip. It reflects poorly." She squeezed Arianne's arm before they both greeted several of King Viserys' dignitaries.

Once at a safe distance from prying ears, Arianne groaned.

 "I hate gossip." Her free hand brushed over her roseate skirts.

Especially when it is directed at me. Bolton? What would she do all the way up North?

The corners of Rhaena's eyes crinkled, lashes fluttering in what one might consider a mild amusement.

They turned the corner, entering the spacious corridor that opened into a long loggia. Between the columns, the view of the lush greenery of the castle grounds gave Arianne's heart a tug.

They seemed to stretch for miles, full of pebbled paths and old trees.

Stonehelm had well-cared-for grounds as well, her mother considered their beauty a reflection of her work as the Lady of the House, but they were perhaps one-third of the size.

One of Arianne's earliest memories entailed her older brother shoving her into the fish pond before running away. His palms have been raw red for weeks from the lashes he received as a punishment.

She pulled at Rhaena's crimson sleeve lightly, not wanting to damage the brocade.

"I need your help." She whispered, pretending to peruse the detailed tapestry on the nearest wall.

Yet her breath caught mid-thought, her eyes widening. 

'Wait a moment, are those people bare...?'

The tapestry's scandalous display—a swirl of figures entwined in unmistakably Essosi decadence—left her blinking, her cheeks heating in quiet horror.

She quickly averted her gaze to the stone floor underneath their feet, a sudden and oppressive flush of mortification entering her mind — were those things she would have to do with a husband? The septa said a woman is supposed to lie down and not think about it, but those women weren't lying down, they were on hands and knees and the men — the men —

Would Jace do that to her?

Her vision spun.

"Arianne," Rhaena laughed lightly.

"I think our castle in Pentos would've made you faint. These are rather tame—"

"They are naked!" Arianne quaked, nudging her friend towards the stone bench nestled against the outer columns, safely distanced from those sinful textiles.

"Can you help me, Rhaena?" Her tone was laced with an urgency born of desperation.

"I need to speak to Lady Tarth and last night...well, your cousin Aemond interrupted me and it was...tense. W-would she talk to me again?"

Rhaena tilted her head, her expression poised somewhere between curiosity and suspicion.

"So that is what you were doing with that thief." She flicked her moonlight strands behind her shoulder.

"I wasn't doing anything with him." Arianne retorted quickly, her face flushing deeper.

'Only one dance, after which he proceeded to compare me to a Tavern Wench and found me lesser. Rude twat!'

Rhaena's cheek twitched.

"Hmmm," she murmured, as if deciding whether to let the matter drop. "Let us see what we can do. You do know Lady Tarth plays cyvasse, don't you?"

Arianne blinked.

"No...she does? H-how do you know?"

Rhaena sighed, the sound reminding lady Swann of her mother when she'd caught her sneaking cakes from the kitchens.

"Ser Edric Wylde told me." Her brows, as pale as gossamer threads narrowed at Arianne's confused stare.

"Can you imagine he has twenty-seven younger siblings? And an older brother, Jarlon." She added, tone decorated with the slightest of reprimands.

"You asked me how — by speaking to people more, making them feel important. Men are honestly...they would talk until the end of time if they thought their voice impressed a woman. One of my tutors always emphasized the art of speaking as essential as wielding a sword."

Arianne deflated, peering down at the couple promenading along the grounds. What tutors? She had her septa and castle's maester.

"Speaking of Edric," Rhaena continued smoothly. " his younger sister told me my dragon-pilfering cousin followed you into the gardens that night."

Arianne's throat seized.

"W-who?"

"Aemond." Her friend clarified levelly.

"So, what is happening? I am warning you, Arianne, if you're gonna fancy a man who stole my mother's dra—"

"That is utterly insane," Arianne interjected, her tone sharp with disbelief.

'Fancy Aemond?!'

The thought itself was enough to make her innards twist.

She might as well fancy a Skagosi cannibal.

"I haven't even seen him, so how would I know if he went to the gardens?" The lie left her lips hastily, escaping her clamped throat. The last thing she needed was for anyone else to find out she kicked a prince in the shin and acted in a manner unbecoming of a lady.

Arianne's verdant gaze, in an attempt to avoid Rhaena's, landed briefly on one of the tapestries.

The naked male was kneeling between the woman's legs. 'W-was he kissing her womanhood?'

Her mouth dried.

There were stories, gossip, about Prince Aegon's proclivities, but a brief, and very, very torrid thought made her palms clammy — she'd wondered if that loathsome paragon of vanity ever did engage in carnal indulgence like the bodies — pale as ivory or golden as the sun — depicted here.

The concept itself, of a man like Aemond on his knees sent a strange jolt to the bottom of her belly.

Arianne wondered what could make the man commanding the greatest military power in the Seven Kingdoms - Vhagar - kneel.

Then again, Targaryens were quite strange with their customs.

Her nails bit into her palm violently and she turned back to Rhaena.

'Evening prayers would do me well.'

"Please, help me. I do not want to disappoint Rhaenyra." Arianne's voice softened, the plea woven into her words unmistakable.

Rhaena studied her for a few moments, before relenting.

"Alright. Let us find her first."

She stood up and fixed her exquisite gown made of vermilion brocade. Two young women spoke in hushed tones until they reached the main corridor.

For once, Arianne sensed her luck returning, because Lady Tarth appeared on the stairs leading toward the Great Hall, her mood evidently buoyant.

"Just allow me to speak first, Arianne,"

Rhaena urged into her ear.

.

.

.

Arianne was beaming.

She couldn't even control the light skip to her steps as she returned to Holdfast. Lady Tarth had not held last night against her, and more — Rhaenyra would be pleased with what Arianne had learned.

The older woman thought Lucerys Velaryon was Lord Corlys' chosen heir. He should inherit Driftmark.

This could not have turned better for Arianne.

She hurried to Lady Massey's room to help with the silk delivery. The lingering warmth of her conversation with Lady Tarth left her feeling oddly jovial, a rare sense of triumph settling over her. If she thought on it, the Lady of the Evenstar Fall was rather nice company.

They conversed about the famous cyvasse game between King Jaehaerys and Lord Rogar Baratheon.

Lady Tarth appeared to be impressed by her commentary of the game.

"The trebuchet could've negated the King's spearmen. Had Lord Baratheon noticed the dragon was pinned, he could've trapped the King's king. Death in four."

Lady Tarth had tilted her head at that, her dark eyes glimmering.

"A sharp observation, my dear. A few would dare voice it."

The Lady of Evenstar even lamented, half in jest, that all her sons were already wed. "If they weren't, I would gladly welcome a clever mind like yours into my household."

It brought an influx of warmth to Arianne's cheeks.

Her heart tittered in hopes that Princess Rhaenyra would see her in a similar light.

Arianne knocked on Lady Elinda Massey's door, her incisors biting into her lower lip. 'Gods, let it be Jace, please, please, because if not —

If not him, then who, and whoever it was, they could hardly match the prestige of a future king — Jace, her curly-haired Galladon of Morne.'

Marriage loomed ever large on the horizon, not as a choice but as a certainty.

Father had all but said so — she would be married by the year's end. Eight and ten almost, it was nigh-time.

The only reason he had waited this long was because of Jacaerys Velaryon. 

"You are my only daughter, Arianne — my pearl beyond price. I would see you flourish."

If not Jace, then Lord Paramount, she supposed. Father would not settle for less. Not for Bryen Caron. Not for old Lord Horpe.

Arianne hoped he had not meant to offer her to the dreary North, even if Cregan Stark was allegedly handsome and her age. Besides, why would Lord Cregan even want a southron wife?

Her lips twisted into a wry smile at that.

How ironic that she could pin a dragon or corner a king on the board regardless of her opponent, but remained so helpless when it came to plotting her own future.

Just as she raised her hand to knock again, the door creaked open to reveal a rather disheveled Elinda.

"Arianne," She said, her tone hushed and hurried.

"I was looking everywhere for you. But I couldn't find you so..."

“What’s wrong?” Arianne asked, a lilt of unease in her voice. It must have been something of importance, because Lady Massey rarely lost composure, her blue eyes always reminiscent of calm seas.

“The Library’s custodian came by, and…” Elinda hesitated, her expression tightening. “Well, he seemed furious. He had two Septas with him.”

Custodian? What possible —

Arianne felt her pulse quicken, her stomach sinking.

“What?”

“They went to your chambers.”

The words hit her like a thunderclap, her mind scrambling to make sense of them.

'Gods, oh gods.'

Without another word, she turned and rushed toward her chambers, her heart pounding louder with each step.

As she approached, she could already hear the commotion inside.

“You!”

The custodian’s voice, sharp as an executioner's blade, rang out the moment she came into view.

Arianne's palms grew damp.

She swallowed.

His wrinkly face was flushed, and his pointed index finger trembled with outrage.

The door to her chambers stood wide open, and from within, she could hear Miriam’s voice raised in protest against the clipped tones of a woman.

“How dare you steal a tome of such rarity from the library! To think your ladyship even involved a prince in it!”

Arianne halted just outside the threshold, her body locking tightly as her heart plummeted.

'The Fires of the Freehold!

What? How... How in the Known World did he —'

A jagged tightness clogged her throat.

'How could he know? Jace...'

Arianne's lungs refused to expand.

She could not get Jace in trouble!

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to curtsy and step inside, her movements wooden and jerky.

"There she is!" A plump woman, adorned in the simple, gray robes of a Septa pointed a finger at her.

"You'd be wise to offer an explanation for how this came into your hands!"

The taller Septa clutched The Fires of the Freehold against her chest as though it were the crown jewels, her face a mask of disdain.

"I just...borrowed it to read." Arianne felt as though somebody else possessed her body and spoke because she could not. 

"I didn't steal it!"

“Thief!” the plump Septa spat, her voice burning like a birch strike against flesh.

'Seven help me!'

“No, no, no, that is not true!” Arianne protested, waving her hands desperately.

“I would have returned it after I finished!”

"Confess it to a Septon and pray the Gods forgive you this foul sin, young lady." The taller one intoned coldly.

"And your princess has already been informed."

Arianne’s vision blurred, her heart lurching violently.

'Rhaenyra knows?

Oh no,no,no,nonononono —'

Her mind reeled, trying to piece it together. She hadn’t told anyone about the book. Jace and her alone know so... 

No one, except—

"I am reading The Fires of the Freehold now. Have you read it?"

"Of course. But all known copies, all six of them, are here or the Citadel. How did you get your pretty hands on the tome?"

She froze.

Aemond.

Her stomach clenched painfully, her thoughts spiraling into chaos. The betrayal burned like dragonfire, scorching her from within.

Aemond.

Aemond.

Her chest tightened as white-hot anger whirled inside her vessels, mingling with the iron in her blood. 

He offered to help her translate it! Only to...Arianne, you idiotic girl — how could you even tell him —

Aemond.

Arianne curled her fingers.

Aemond — gods curse him and his name.

It had to be him.

It was not her, and it was certainly not Jace.

She dug them so deep into her clammy palms that it hurt, but the pain felt distant - almost insignificant against the reality of the situation.

They told her princess.

She will be sent away. Punished.

Father will —

It was unbearable. The humiliation.

She glanced after the two women as they exited her chambers.

If she explained it to Rhaenyra, then maybe...

Miriam just stared at her, unable to find the right words. Arianne could not fault her for it, because her own throat was rendered useless.

She walked out and followed a corridor until it turned left towards the royal suites. Princess Rhaenyra would not — she would not send her away, would she?

Arianne’s heels clicked softly against the stone floor as she blindly passed several handmaidens and guards. 

Why? How could he do this to her? She did not even finish translating the massacre of Quarlon's entire army under the walls of Norvos. The scouring of Lorath!

What had she done to provoke this cruelty? She replayed their conversation about Galendro's work, searching for the moment she had erred so egregiously that he would do this. Was it because she rejected his offer?

How petty! Could a Prince be so spiteful?

Did he not say they were even now? Arianne scrunched her nose. One day she would make him pay for this humiliation — knowing damn well she could not do so now, he was a Prince, but one day - when she weds the Crown Prince — she would make Aemond Targaryen regret it. She would find the thing he cherished most and deprive him of it.

As if Princess Rhaenyra would ever accept her hand for Jace after this, she thought morosely.

Arianne halted outside the large, double doors.

The torchlights along the corridor danced on the carved dragons etched into the wood, their eyes gleaming like rubies in the dim light.

They were slightly ajar and she frowned — Where were all the handmaidens, servants, and ladies-in-waiting?

Then, voices spilled through the crack, low but unmistakable.

"Ah, the maesters." Prince Daemon's voice was a drawl, his disdain palpable even through the thick oak. "Of course. It is they who keep him�� addled on milk of the poppy while the Hightowers warm his throne."

"Rhaenyra, if you would see him without it, almost blind with suffering."

Arianne blinked. That voice — the Queen's?

She realized with a jolt that she was eavesdropping. Her fingers hovered near the doorframe, but her feet refused to retreat.

What if they spoke of her transgression? Would Queen Alicent press Rhaenyra to send away her unruly lady-in-waiting? Her cheeks burned at the thought.

"Oh, Alicent, I have no doubt it was… an act of the purest mercy, but tell me, for the King’s suffering, did the maesters also prescribe the removal of Targaryen heraldry and the installation in its stead of various statues and stars?" Prince Daemon snarled.

A barely audible sigh of relief escaped Arianne's lips.

They were not speaking about her mishap with the book.

The silence fell for a few uncomfortable seconds and then the Queen's voice lifted again, all steel and iron.

"The emblems of the Seven serve only to guide us on an uncertain path. To remind us of a higher authority."

"Speaking of authority," Rhaenyra interjected. "what is the Crown's decision regarding Vaemond Velaryon's brazen insult?"

"Insult." Alicent intoned.

"The King's Hand has sent a letter to Driftmark. Ser Vaemond is entitled to petition His Grace to consider this matter."

"When?" Rhaenyra pressed.

"A moon from now," Alicent replied smoothly, her tone betraying no hint of emotion. Or perhaps the heavy wood hid it from Arianne.

"The Books of Law and the Seven’s mercy grant time for the preparation of petitions and evidence."

'A moon? If father reached Griffin's Roost, he should be here by then as well.' She sent a letter there just days ago.

A flicker of hope ignited in Arianne's chest, only to be swiftly doused by cold dread.

A bout of nausea churned in her stomach—not for fear of punishment over the book, but for what one whole month might mean. More than enough time for Rhaenyra to come to an accord with Princess Rhaenys, which would mean —

it would not be her who would marry Jace.

"And with the condition my father is in, who will sit in judgment of my son’s claim on his own inheritance?" Princess Rhaenyra’s voice pulled Arianne from her spiraling thoughts.

"That would be me, " The Queen replied evenly, "and the Hand."

Arianne caught the faint sound of Daemon scoffing, though the noise barely carried before Alicent’s voice sliced through once more.

"But be assured, the Father is just and commands me to forget the accusations you have hurled in this room today."

'What accusations?'

She scarcely had time to process the words before the door creaked, and Alicent swept out, her green skirts rustling.

Arianne's breath breath hitched as the Queen’s sharp gaze fell on her, so utterly unreadable. Hastily, she dipped into a low curtsy, her head bowed in deference.

"Your Grace," she murmured.

For a moment that stretched unbearably long, Queen Alicent stood still, her silence heavy as a drawn blade. Then, with a faint, almost imperceptible nod, she turned on her heel and glided down the corridor like a specter, leaving Arianne to rise on trembling legs.

She swallowed thrice before knocking on the halfway-open door.

Inside, Rhaenyra’s voice was the first to answer. “Arianne,” she sighed, her tone laced with a weariness that only served to deepen the tension in Arianne’s chest.

'Mother grand mercy to your humble daughter, Maiden guide me —'

Adjusting her silken girdle, Arianne stepped into the room.

She lowered herself into a graceful curtsy before both Rhaenyra and Daemon.

“My princess,” she addressed Rhaenyra with the utmost respect, then turned to Daemon, offering the same courtesy.

“My Prince.”

Rhaenyra studied her for a moment, then nodded, her expression unreadable.

“You may rise, Arianne.”

Before she could proclaim and insist how terribly sorry and repentant she was, Daemon’s voice cut through the silence, as biting as the frost.

“They said my aunt Saera stole jewelry from her mother, Queen Alysanne.” He shot Arianne a glance, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief.

“You steal books. Quite the downgrade, if I must speak plainly.”

Arianne stiffened, gaze cast downward. 

Well, if mocking was her punishment, she should be thanking the Seven.

Aemond's foul grin flitted through her thoughts. She realized there was a certain similarity, a likeness of sorts, between him and his uncle, The Rogue Prince.

Except, she highly doubted Daemon stalked around reporting people for sneaking books out of the library.

Rhaenyra shot the Prince a sharp, warning look, her brow furrowing slightly.

“Let me speak with her, Valzyris." (Husband.)

Daemon raised a pale eyebrow but inclined his head, stepping back. He sat in one of the armchairs and crossed his arms.

Arianne’s breath caught in her throat as the words tumbled out, almost as if she had no control over them.

“I swear I didn’t steal it!”

"I would never steal anything!"

Her voice cracked, desperation creeping into the edges of her words.

“I just borrowed it! Please forgive me! It was a misunderstanding—"

Daemon, a glint of curiosity in his eyes, shook his head and snorted.

“Who did you anger enough to have them report you?” He shrugged with feigned innocence.

“Everyone sneaks in there all the time and—"

Rhaenyra glared at him sharply, her eyes narrowing with a warning.

Daemon raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his expression shifting to one of mock defeat.

"Very well, Your Grace," he muttered, then turned and exited the room, clearly deciding to leave the matter to his wife.

Rhaenyra took a long breath, turning back to Arianne with a tiredness to her gaze.

“You are quite adept at following the rules, even at your detriment sometimes. I know you didn’t steal it.”

Oh.

Arianne blinked, the weight of the words grounding her in relief.

Thank the gods —

"Because my son borrowed it for you."

A candle flickered between Arianne's breaths.

Her heart twisted.

She cleared her throat, before shaking her head.

"Prince Jacaerys would not —"

"Oh, he would." Rhaenyra flicked her hand dismissively. She leaned back into the cushioned chair, sharp eyes poring over her lady-in-waiting.

Arianne did her best to keep her trembling hands steady — clasped together in front of her stomach. A sliver of dread tickled her spine.

“And I think I know why,” The Crown Princess continued, her tone pensive.

"He is overly fond of you."

Arianne paled.

She dared not raise her gaze to meet Rhaenyra's.

Fond of her?

How could it be that the one thing she wished to hear more than anything now sounded so damnable? So sinful? So uncomfortable?

Because Arianne knew, or at least, she had an inkling, that Rhaenyra was not going to entertain the idea of an alliance born of an infatuation. Less so, if it incited her firstborn son  — her heir — to act unruly.

Rhaenyra studied her for a long moment, her expression inscrutable.

"I will not pretend there isn't," The future Queen paused, perusing the embroidery decorating her sleeves.

"A consideration about a betrothal." Her eyes, now murky as the riotous seas, met Arianne's fearful green ones.

She swallowed yet again.

“But until such time,” Rhaenyra declared, hands resting on her swollen belly.

“I expect you not to encourage him.”

The seas pulled her under. Arianne's face reddened. She was not, was she? 

Her mother had told her the same day she had flowered to behave with care. "Men will look at you, daughter — and some of them will look at you differently now. They'll want what belongs to your future husband. A virtuous lady must never instigate such aspirations."

 “Your Grace, I would never—”

Rhaenyra raised a hand, silencing her.

“Dragon’s blood runs hot, Arianne. I know it better than most. The Hightowers might whisper treason about his parentage, but he is my son. A Targaryen. He will go after what he thinks he wants.” She exhaled sharply, shaking her head.

“Surely, you must understand the trouble this… fondness could bring. Jacaerys is my heir. He will one day sit on the Iron Throne. His heart belongs to the future of the Seven Kingdoms."

Arianne’s heart twisted, shame and disbelief surging within her. She itched to say so many things — that she considered the future, that she would never bring him trouble, that her heart belonged to it too.

Yet, she could not.

She could not utter any of those things. Tears welled in her eyes.

"I swear Prince Jacaerys had nothing to do with this." The lie tumbled from her dry lips.

Father is going to be so furious with her. How dare that hateful prick ruin her life?! Oh, if she could strangle Aemond —

Before the silence could stretch further, the door to the chamber flew open with a thud.

“It was me, Mother!”

Arianne's long-lashed eyes widened.

Jace burst into the room, still clad in his training tunic, his dark hair in disarray.

Rhaenyra turned sharply, her brows lifting in surprise at his abrupt entrance. He breathed loudly, his chest rising and falling as if he had run the length of the castle to be here.

Green met brown and Arianne's pulse upsurged to her ears. She glanced down first, unable to do anything else under Rhaenyra's stare.

Scarlett heat enveloped her cheeks.

Jace stepped in front of her, as if to shield her.

“Do not blame lady Arianne,” he addressed his mother, though Arianne could not see his expression.

“I borrowed the book for her. It was my idea.”

He is making it worse. Her gallant prince.

While her heart melted at his words, her head knew better. This would only give weight to Princess Rhaenyra's concerns.

His hands were clenched at his sides, his shoulders drawn taut as though bracing himself for a storm.

Rhaenyra’s face shifted as she took in her son's eagerness. She regarded him for a moment, her lips pressed into a thin line, before she spoke, her voice calm but heavy with authority.

"Leave us, Arianne."

Arianne curtsied stiffly, her face ashen as she slowly retreated. Still, she dared not meet Jace's tender gaze.

She could still hear the faint murmurs from within once shutting the heavy door behind herself —Rhaenyra's controlled diatribe, Jace's desperate pleading.

But none of it reached her as she stumbled away, her thoughts a whirlpool lapping at the inside of her skull.

Arianne had barely taken a step before the tears overwhelmed her eyes, blurring the corridors before her.

She leaned against the cool stone wall, sobbing.

She had not even told Rhaenyra about Lady Tarth — not that it mattered now. Rhaenyra was disappointed in her.

With her behavior. With Jace's behavior.

'Oh, gods, I'll never read any book ever again.'

 Arianne gnawed on her bottom lip and instant regret flooded her veins. 'Please, just not the books. Leave the books. I didn't mean it.'

Her hands trembled as she wiped furiously at her face, but it only made the tears fall harder.

Arianne slowly made her way through the Holdfast. The weight of Rhaenyra's words crushed her.

Betrothal was possible, but, but, but —

'What would father think?'

Her legs almost gave out and she had to steady herself lest she fall down the polished staircase.

The very idea of him knowing about this, knowing of the whispered accusations and the suspicions cast upon her…

'Stranger take Aemond Targaryen!'

 If a word of this were to reach her father—if he even heard a whisper about the borrowed book—he would never forgive her.

He held onto grudges as if they were treasures.

She could plead her case walking barefoot from the Wall to Sunspear and it would be to no avail.

The punishment would be swift, and cruel, and final. Would he marry her off to some old minor lord to put an end to her folly? Some distant, distant noble she could never stand, a man old enough to be her grandfather, shackling her to a life she couldn’t bear? Or perhaps he'd take harsher measures, thinking it a failure of her upbringing. 

Silent sisters would await her.

Oh, she'd rather run to Essos like Saera once did.

To Lys, to Aunt Johanna.

She would take her in, Arianne knew. But she would truly be dead to her parents then — their hearts would shatter to learn their daughter had become a lyseni whore.

'Would Rhaenyra write to them about this? Maybe she would not? No one else seemed to even know but her, Custodian, and those septas.'

Arianne rubbed her teary eyes with the back of her hands.

She hurried, crossing the narrow hall and the three ladies seated on the wooden bench. The Queen did not seem to even mention her, she was there to discuss the petition for Driftmark.

Arianne pressed her eyelids tightly together, wishing desperately for the weight to lift, for the tears to stop.

There was nothing to do but wait.

Oh, how much she loathed powerlessness.

If only she could hide somewhere, anywhere, just until this awful sobbing stopped. Her face must look blotchy and ugly from crying.

Arianne continued walking, looking for one of the gardens. She might hide under a pear tree or a rock until the end of her days.

She disappointed Princess Rhaenyra. She couldn't imagine a worse thing happening now.

' W-what if she really writes to my father?'

She hurried along the colonnade, its archways opening into the inner courtyard.

'Father would not forgive this.'

Arianne could see it — a simple carriage without much comfort to send her back home. She'd have to travel the Kingsroad for a month before reaching Stonehelm in disgrace.

Her father would tell her she had no one to blame but herself before giving her hand to Lord Horpe, or even worse, one of the Carons.

If Jace truly fancied her — and she hoped, hoped, hoped it so —

even if everything went to ruin, he could steal her away on Vermax and wed her and —

oh, the infamy! She would never dare!

To even think about it, what unabashed sin! 

Wicked Arianne. 

Saera's granddaughter in truth.

They could put her on some morally abhorrent tapestry —

Arianne felt her legs tangle and before she could steady herself, her right knee met the cold, stone floor with a resounding thud.

Ouch.

She shot up back to her feet so quickly that the air spun around her.

She at least managed to keep herself from yelping or cussing — which would be utterly unladylike.

'H-how embarrassing.'

Her eyes darted toward the corridor, and she released a small huff of air when she realized there was no one coming in her direction.

"Your education should've included walking it seems."

Arianne's head snapped to her right and her muscles stiffened.

Prince Aemond Targaryen was leaning against the column, his lithe arms crossed.

'Him! Him, gods curse him! W-where did he come from?'

"Your Grace."

She muttered levelly, her fingers curling into fists.

Arianne's first instinct was to flee all the way to Mossovy.

Her heart, however, lurched, rightful wrath towards the silver-haired Targaryen spilling in torrents into her blood.

It wasn't the wry taunt about her clumsiness, it was the abominable crime of taking The Fires of the Freehold from her!

Of ruining her life! She ought to kill him where he stands!

Arianne wished her eyes could pierce through him as she stared. He seemed to have come from the training courtyard by the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. A few shorter strands of his silky hair, pale as the pearl, were strewn across his temples.

Arse!

She couldn't even accuse him. She had no proof, but somehow, she knew it in her bones that it had been him who slandered her to the Custodian.

'She did not steal a book! Jace borrowed it for her.'

In mere moments, Arianne was overwhelmed with all sorts of sinful thoughts about Aemond Targaryen's untimely demise. She would pray to Father to make him suffer, to Warrior to make him a craven, and to the Crone to send an illness his way!

To Stranger itself, to make his rotten heart suffer!

How could he deprive her of a book she told him she stayed up all night reading?!

He in question, merely clicked his tongue at her and hummed.

"Does crying prevent you from curtsying properly? I am a Prince of the Realm."

Arianne sniffled and wiped at her face furiously.

"I am not crying!"

Aemond fixed her with his shrewd, icy eye before drawing himself to his full height.

She observed how his shadow stretched to almost meet hers.

"I do wonder what is it this time, Lady Swann." He stalked toward her, his sturdy dark boots thudding softly against the stone floor. The rhythmic sound seemed to echo her volatile heartbeat.

"One of your suitors decided he'd rather pursue an honorable woman, mayhaps? Or your payment was less than what you'd—"

"Yet I do not find my crying important enough for a prince of the Realm to wonder about it." Arianne retorted, digging her nails deeper into her palm, almost yelping at the pain.

It did keep her grounded when she wished nothing more than to become a swan and peck his remaining eye out.

'Payment? Payment for what? Just w-what was he insinuating again?'

"Humor me," Aemond said, his voice a dark purr of a sound.

Arianne glanced up, observing the high collar of his training tunic rather than his face. She cleared her throat and wiped her hands down her roseate skirts.

"I am Princess Rhaenyra's lady-in-waiting, not your fool." The harsh response made Aemond's blood thrum. So, Lady Swann was avoiding his gaze.

The muscle in his jaw ticked.

Arianne decided it would be for the best that she absconds quickly, lest she truly try to maim him again. 'He would deserve it! Her princess now considered her bad influence on Jace.'

"Your Grace." She dipped in a quick, low curtsy — her knees ached from it, and dashed past him, her skirts swishing around her legs.

Aemond caught up to her in two strides and blocked her way, his arm extending like a gate across her path.

"You forget yourself, woman." He snarled.

"You are mine-whatever-I-decide you are."

"Have you any manners at all?" She shrieked, rather startled by the harshness in his usually melodious voice.

He ignored her outburst and continued, chuckling nastily.

"How is your progress with The Fires of the Freehold going? Did the bastard translate you the scouring of Lorathi islands?" Aemond's defined lips peeled back to reveal his white teeth.

'You evil, evil arse!'

"I know no bastard. And it is going fine." Arianne gritted out.

Aemond's ivory eyebrow lifted.

"Truly? Here I've heard a different tale, Lady Swann." He taunted, his face settling into feigned wonder.

"That they've confiscated the tome from you."

She must've drawn blood from how forcefully she was pressing her nails into her own skin.

'Heard the tale? He mocks me.'

Lady Swann could scarcely believe a prince could be so wicked to not only do it but to torment her over it. Was he still angry over her earrings? She apologized!

Could he think she scorned him last night?

What despicably cruel retaliation, then! Arianne concluded — because now she might never get to read it. Only six copies existed in the Seven Kingdoms. Four were locked inside the Citadel, and now she'll never be allowed to peruse the two housed in the Royal Library.

 'Oh, shivers take him, if he truly branded her a thief over some wounded pride of a man.'

She had been nothing but polite!

"You've heard it true," Arianne uttered stiffly.

"Some awful miser told the Custodian I had the book."

Aemond's one, cerulean eye widened.

"An awful miser?"

He tilted his head mockingly. "Or just someone with respect towards the laws and rules that keep our Realm from descending into chaos?"

Arianne had to exert a significant effort not to laugh at his badly performed act of a righteous man.

"And does Your Grace agree with him?"

She glanced at the deep, darkened scar decorating his left cheek.

"Naturally."

"I wouldn't have dared hope otherwise." Arianne's mouth widened into a brittle smile and she curtsied, hoping it was for the final time. 

It was him, and she will not forget it!

Rather than to risk another bout of unladylike violence, she turned around.

So what if she had to walk all the way back and confront Miriam about her utter disgrace — it seemed a superior choice than to argue with the evil boor himself.

She wouldn't even refer to Prince Aemond by a name anymore, he'd earned his special title. He was evil boor from now on.

"You should be aware though," He tutted after her, in tones cool and sharp as valyrian steel.

"Those misers will know shall your pretty head try to loot the royal library again."

Loot?

Heat surged through her chest, rushing to her face as indignation overcame her. She peered over her shoulder at the tall dragonrider.

Aemond ran his tongue over his incisors and hummed.

"You've never seen the dungeons, have you, my lady Swann?"

Arianne shook.

How dared he? How dare he speak to her this way, as if she were some common thief, as if her desire to know more was a crime?

Her breath hitched, her muscles locking as she tried to suppress the insults threatening to erupt.

Aemond Targaryen was a blight. He was as ill-behaved as her grandmother had been. Only he hid it better, the capable swordsman, the studious prince, the Queen's favorite son — oh, how blind those courtiers were!

He was sent here by some Stygai demons to ruin her life.

Arianne knew the best way to proceed would be to apologize again, much as it pained her lady's heart. Profess her regret for whatever it was that earned his enmity and bide her time.

One day, when Princess Rhaenyra becomes Queen and Jace the Crown Prince - and she his Crown Princess - Oh, she'll find Prince Aemond the best seat to watch her, graceless bird, become Queen among Dragons, and then she'll exact her revenge. Even if holding grudges was a sin.

Her bottom lip quivered.

Even if it was strategically the most sound approach she could not do it.

She would sooner die than be Aemond's supplicant after what he had done to her.

Her father would sooner let a pirate ship carry her away like it did his cousin Johanna, than to hear she humiliated herself in front of a Targaryen.

A certain something curling around her spine —her pride—would not allow her to walk away from his taunts.

Not this time.

She was a lady of a noble house, her father a Lord of the Marches and her grandmother a princess herself!

Arianne whirled around, the strands of her chestnut hair bouncing with the force of her movement.

The fiery glare she fixed on him could have scorched dragonhide.

"I know this awful miser is you!" she snapped, her voice acidic and unwavering despite the tremor in her hands.

Her words reverberated in the corridor, something that startled even herself. She stomped back toward him, her chin held high. Arianne flicked the heavy curl that had fallen over her shoulder back with her hand — Aemond seemed to follow the motion with his pale eye.

She thrust her finger out in an accusatory jab.

"You told the Custodian I was reading Fires of the Freehold!"

The words were flung like arrows, her voice tinged with the sting of betrayal. She only told him about it because he claimed they loved the same books.

Arianne could feel her pulse thundering in her ears, fueled by the righteous wrath that consumed her.

She’d been humiliated, shamed, and stripped of her dignity—all because of him!

"You malevolent arse!"

Her outburst echoed against the columns. Arianne took in a sharp breath, it sizzled inside her lungs. Oh, Seven! 

Her cheeks reddened, and her eyes burned with the unshed tears of frustration.

Aemond stood there, unflinching, his condescending grin deepening, and that infuriating gleam of amusement in his blue eye only stoked her fury further.

She wanted to scream at him, to lash out more, to do anything that might make him understand the depth of her outrage.

He made her look wicked in Princess Rhaenyra's eyes.

Aemond’s delight was immediate and utterly insufferable, a sardonic chuckle that rumbled deep in his chest.

He shifted slightly — one leg stretched brashly forward, fingers tracing idly the pommel of his sword.

The leather strap of his eyepatch caught a sliver of sunlight as if it too mocked her.

"Hontes drējī pykagon perzys issa." (A bird is a spitfire, indeed.)

He muttered it more to himself than her, his lips twitching as though savoring the observation.

Arianne's nostrils flared.

The infuriating ease with which he dismissed her anger was enough to set her blood to boil.

"Rya nopāzma!" (Go to hell.)

She hissed rabidly, remembering all the valyrian insults Luke, Rhaena, and her learned one rainy afternoon.

For the most fleeting of moments, something in Aemond's eye glimmered, disbelief passing through his features.

"My, my what a foul mouth you have—"

"Your deed garners no respect, Your Grace!" she interrupted sharply, stepping closer, emboldened by her fury.

A mistake, in hindsight.

Aemond moved too quickly for her to react, his hand darting out to grasp her wrist with a downright frightening precision.

The heat of an unexpected touch rooted her in place, her breath lodging in her throat.

His grip was firm but not bruising, the strength of his fingers pressing into her skin just enough to hold her there.

Arianne could suddenly not think, hyper-aware of the bared skin of her wrist and the way her blood trashed underneath it — meeting his.

It was utterly improper—by all laws and morals of gods and men—and her mind raced with the implications.

Would he harm her? Kill her? B-break her wrist?

Dread cascaded down and around and through her spine.

No one had ever — well her brother did hit her when they were younger but that had been different. She hit him too — but Aemond could, if he wished, and who'd punish him for it?

He has a dragon — she gulped — no, not just a dragon, he has Vhagar.

Arianne willed herself to remain calm.

For a man of his rank, a Prince, to seize a lady in such a manner...

It bordered on scandalous.

Her gaze snapped to his hand, then to his face, and she felt her pulse mutinying vehemently against the confinement of his grasp.

Aemond's expression was unreadable, his pale eye burning with an intensity that seemed to bore straight into her.

"Unhand me, Your Grace," she demanded, her voice low and strained.

She twisted slightly, testing his hold, but his fingers did not falter.

"What do you imagine would happen if everyone disregarded rules and laws like you, Lady Swann? Hmm?" He crooned, a dangerous undercurrent racing beneath the words.

Aemond leaned closer, his breath warm and steady against her skin.

"If men took what they wanted like you did?" The grip around her wrist tightened briefly.

Arianne gulped, her free hand trembling at her side. She wiped it against her skirts. The proximity was unnerving, the heat of his presence coiling around her like an unwanted tether.

"I did not take it, and your grace knows it! Prince Jacaerys borrowed it and happened to give it to me." She stammered.

Still, he held her, his thumb brushing against the inside of her wrist as if testing her pulse, gauging her reaction. The gesture was both intimate and unsettling, a deliberate breach of decorum that urged her to demand a release and flee.

"B-besides," Arianne continued despite the uncomfortable tightness of her vocal cords. "If men only wanted to read books, I do not see what is so wrong with that. No one is hurt by it. You cannot compare it to raiding-driven subsistence where men just plunder peaceful settlements for land and food."

Her words were hurried, as if she could will the moment to pass faster.

Aemond's hold on her lingered — his fingertips calloused and rather warm against the inside of her wrist.

"Their liege lord was murdered ever so often during the Old Way and they raised rebellions because it would cause instability and—"

"I do not need a lecture on the primitive savagery of Iron Islanders, Lady Arianne." he interrupted smoothly, though there was a clipped edge to his tone.

"Release me, then. I have duties to attend to." Arianne spat, cutting the air between them. Her frustration was mounting.

Aemond’s gaze bore into hers, dark and molten — his single eye burning like the edge of twilight.

He tilted his chin as if weighing whether her demand deserved acknowledgment.

After a few long moments, his fingers loosened, sliding away with an infuriating slowness that made her feel as though she had conceded ground rather than reclaimed it.

But he did not step back.

"What duties,hmm?" he questioned, his voice low, mocking.

"Gallivanting around my Keep, diverting men's attention with those ridiculous dresses you wear—"

 "There is nothing wrong with my attire!" Arianne bristled, brushing her skirts defiantly.

Her movements were brisk, her pulse still thrumming incessantly in her wrist where his touch lingered like a scorch mark.

"Nothing," Aemond drawled, his tone dripping with derision.

"If you wished to resemble a strawberry tart."

'A- a strawberry tart?' His explanation rattled her so much, Arianne couldn't muster a proper answer. The insult struck her so unexpectedly that she could only gape for a moment, her thoughts scrambling for purchase.

Her dress was a paragon of modesty!

Perhaps it was a tad bit vibrant with a red silk girdle but how was it Aemond's problem?

Besides, what was wrong with strawberry tarts?

"I don't understand," she confessed at last, her voice tinged with bewilderment and indignation. Arianne searched his face for some clue to his meaning, but his expression was unreadable, save for the faintest twitch at the corner of his good eye.

It now roved over her with a deliberateness that made her spine stiffen, lingering on her rose-tinted woolen skirts before returning to her face.

"Those iron-born savages would ignore every other sustenance if they saw you frolicking and pretending unaware of your womanly wiles."

The accusation hit her like a strike, her cheeks stinging.

"You cannot swindle me though, my lady," Aemond added with a hearty dose of venom in his voice. It was too measured, too deliberate.

Arianne swallowed hard.

"You should talk to a septon, your grace. Imagined slights are a disease of the mind and soul." She snapped, lifting her chin.

Aemond’s expression darkened.

His long, tapered fingers gathered the free end of her silk girdle. Arianne's cheeks colored into the same ruby-red that now gleamed inside his palm. H-he ought not to touch her clothes!

"I would never allow my lady to dress like a Lyseni courtesan." He spat, releasing the fabric.

Arianne balked, her mouth opening and closing before she could form a coherent response.

Her anger surged anew.

"Thank the Seven, I am not your lady!" She hissed, her body trembling with fury.

"Indeed," Aemond replied coldly, though a flicker of something — she couldn't quite make — crossed his features before he masked it.

"Thank the gods. A commoner wife would be preferable to you. She'd know her place, at the very least." He taunted, with something  not quite a smile.

"How wisely you speak, Your Grace." Arianne batted her eyelashes several times before the corner of her mouth curled.

"Mayhaps you go court one then, instead of ruining my day."

For a long, tense moment, Aemond said nothing.

Something brimmed in his eye, a brief, almost imperceptible flicker of surprise crossing his features before being buried under a cool, marble-like facade.

His lips twitched, just slightly, as though he could not decide whether to sneer or hiss something back.

Just as his mouth opened, his gaze lifted to focus on something above her, further away.

Aemond stilled, then quickly composed himself as he saw who approached — several courtiers, Ser Tyland Lannister among them.

The group moved toward them with casual grace, their footsteps light on the cobbled stones, yet their arrival seemed to extinguish something in the air.

Aemond's eye sizzled with irritation, but he said nothing—choosing instead to shift slightly away from Arianne, into a proper distance for their stations.

She turned her head and observed them as various voices greeted the Prince.

Tyland Lannister noticed Arianne, his mouth opening in something akin to a concern.

"Lady Swann," he said with a gentle note of surprise.

"Your eyes are rather red. Do not tell me something has made your ladyship cry? You only need let me know—"

Arianne let out a quiet, relieved breath, her expression softening into a smile.

At least now she had witnesses.

'The Lannisters are the Queen's supporters, you foolish girl.'

Even if they were not, she hardly doubted anyone would take her side when the other one had a ferocious beast like Vhagar.

'Would Jace...would he do something about his uncle? If she told him he seized her like...like...oh she did not know!'

Arianne grimaced inwardly. No, she could not tell him. Rhaenyra had made that clear.

He had enough on his plate now, and, not to mention, his legitimacy could be called into question.

Was Princess Rhaenyra telling him now to keep away from her — unruly Arianne?

Oh, curse you, Aemond.

Though, an idea flashed in her mind.

How effortlessly Rhaena moved through the Court, either side welcoming her with open arms! 

Perhaps if she tried to speak prettily, too?

"Ser Tyland, you truly are my knight in shining armor."

Her voice was underlined by genuine gratitude—Tyland had given her a welcome reprieve from Aemond’s cruel presence.

'How had Rhaena explained her ease in conversing with people? To give them a chance at feeling important.'

Arianne thought about it briefly, deciding this was her refuge from the evil boor himself.

She straightened, subtly shifting away from Aemond’s imposing figure as she faced Tyland with a new spark of amusement.

"It is true, I’m on the verge of tears."

Arianne let the words drip from her lips as if she were indulging in a great tragedy.

"Prince Aemond has been talking about the taxation system the crown exerts over fiefdoms, and I... I scarcely understood him."

She took in his finely tailored Lannister attire—a richly embroidered crimson tunic with gold thread winding around the edges in intricate patterns.

"Of course, I’ve tried reading the monetary treatises you wrote, but..." She gestured with a hand, her fingers curling in mock defeat.

Tyland’s face brightened at the mention of his work.

"I am honored, Lady Swann. But how could you forget to tell me earlier taxation interested you!" He accused, though his smile was genuine and he was seemingly unaware of the pretense in her tone. Of course, she understood how taxation worked! Arianne gave him a polite nod, her shoulders relaxing.

"But it is all so difficult," she continued with a dramatic sigh, casting a glance toward Aemond, who stood silently watching.

"The prince was clearly bored by my lack of knowledge."

Tyland leaned in, eager to lighten the mood.

"Surely no one could be bored conversing with you, Lady Swann."

He shook his head as if such a thing was preposterous.

"A lady of your wit and beauty would charm a Night King."

Arianne let out a soft laugh, eyes sparkling.

"You flatter me, Ser. I was hoping you had a moment to spare and simplify it for me," she said, a bit more brightly now that Tyland’s presence had dissolved some of the tension.

"I would prefer to have knowledge of such matters. You do mention how several members of a noble house ought to peruse the numbers lest some opportunities slip through the cracks. How fortunate I could be if I learned about gold form a Lannister."

Tyland’s grin widened, clearly pleased. An older lady whose name Arianne did not know nodded eagerly. She wore red and gold as well.

"Ah... of course. Mayhaps you’d offer me a rematch sometime then."

He took a half-step forward, his voice growing more playful.

"I do pride myself on my prowess in cyvasse, yet your maneuver with using an elephant as a sacrificial piece..." He was about to continue, but then, his eyes flickered past her, catching Aemond’s glare.

The prince stood ramrod straight, his icy stare fixed firmly on Master of Ships.

Tyland hesitated, suddenly aware that he had interrupted something.

The easy, confident smile slipped from his face.

"Your Grace," He murmured, his tone shifting to one of polite caution. His eyes quickly regarded Aemond, who had barely moved, save for flexing his fingers in a way that suggested restraint.

The air grew thick and Arianne cleared her throat.

She could practically feel Aemond's fervent glare bore into the back of her head. 'What was he glowering about?'

 His distaste for her had been clearer than a mountain lake, so he should be happy she was leaving.

He should be overwhelmed by joy that she could not, in fact, kill him!

Or did the One-eyed Prince think she ought to suffer under his wicked thumb for hours?

Well, regardless of evil boor's opinion, she was going to extricate herself from his unsettling torment.

“Your Grace,” she began, turning to Aemond and trying not to tremble under the hateful attention of his sole eye.

“We would never dream of delaying you from your princely duties. Surely, your loyal subjects are constantly entangled in their own... misunderstandings with books. Perhaps it is your responsibility to rush and report every last one, my Prince of the Realm.”

Tyland shifted on his feet, not really wanting to find out how Vhagar's rider would react to Lady Swann's words—they were nothing more than a very elegant dismissal.

Someone cleared their throat.

The harsh lines of Aemond's face took on a mien of cold indifference.

His blue iris glinted like ice under sunlight.

He clasped his hands behind his back and blinked, before speaking,

"I assure you that every thief will be brought to justice, my lady Swann." His tone could put the deadliest lyseni poisons to shame.

 "I suggest caution though, Ser Tyland. Her ladyship trips over her own feet, and often so."

Just as Arianne thought she was safe, his melodious voice made her ears red again.

Her bottom lip quivered from another bout of shame, but Tyland would have none of it it seemed.

Master of Ships stepped forward and proffered his elbow to her.

“Lady Swann,” he declared, his voice as sweet as linctus. “if it pleases you, may I offer my arm? I would be most honored to escort you. And I will explain everything you wish to know about the system of taxation detailed in my treatise."

A fleeting thought of how Rhaena might be the smartest person she knew — because everything she had said was working — invaded Arianne's mind as she smiled.

"Ser Tyland. I would be delighted.”

'I'd be delighted to sail to Skagos to avoid this particular Targaryen.'

Tyland inclined his head, his own smile growing as he turned toward the waiting courtiers.

“Your Grace,” he added with a respectful nod to Aemond, before leading Lady Swann into the courtyard.

Arianne felt the tension in her spine finally diminishing.

She allowed herself a soft exhale, the corners of her lips lifting in genuine relief.

Aemond’s presence had been oppressive, his words mean and uncourteous.

He seized her wrist like some savage.

Now, in the company of Tyland and the courtiers, she felt like she had slipped free from the coiling grip of a dragon's tail.

Would Princess Rhaenyra write to her father?

Arianne didn't glance back, though her mind was still working through fantasies of exacting revenge on the One-eyed twat for taking the Fires of the Freehold from her, all the while crafting small pleasantries to distract herself from the encounter.

When Jace becomes King, and she his Queen, she will have Aemond Targaryen exiled to Yi Ti!

To Sothoryos!

To Grey Waste!

To ruins of Valyria if need be!

[starogeorgina]

𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

Paring: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targ oc

Warnings: Smut, violence, blood, swearing

1.16

Jacaerys flinches in pain. His fingers dig into the dark brown leather arms of the chair as the maester finishes stitching the wound in his thigh where the arrow had struck him. Jace had reluctantly accepted the smallest amount of milk from the poppy after being persuaded by your mother, who was becoming distressed seeing him in pain. Your mother and Daemon had taken kings landing without any bloodshed when the green army guarding the city dropped their weapons and retreated when they saw Syrax and Caraxes circling above the keep. But the cheering for your mother's victory was short-lived when you and Jacaerys returned injured.

When the maester moves away, a handmaiden steps forward with a bowl of clean water and a cloth to wipe the blood away. Her touch is unintentionally harsh, and when Jace clenches his fist, you decide to intervene.

“Allow me.”

You hold your hand out to take the bowl from her, but the handmaiden looks back at Maester, as if she’s waiting for him to give her permission. The sooner Maester Gerardys arrived from Dragonstone, the better. You didn’t blame the girl for being unsure; she had served the greens for so long that she probably thought you were all monsters.

“I can tend to my husband,” you say softly. “You may go; we will be fine.”

The handmaid leaves the bowl and cloth on the table, then bows before leaving. Clearing his throat, the maester says, “I will need to return soon and put a fresh bandage on the princess’s arm to cover the stitches, my prince.”

“I will redress the princess’s arm once she has bathed.”

“My prince, princess,” the maester seems unsure but goes without saying anything further. Since maester Orwyle was in chains, the current maester would only be serving in the keep for a short time before returning to the citadel.

Exhausted, you sit on the floor between Jace’s legs and start washing away the blood, old and new. Seeing fresh tears gather in your eyes, Jace gently tilts your chin up to face him. “I hate seeing you hurt.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know my love, but it’s over. Our mother is on the throne, and the greens are no longer a threat. Our children can come home.”

You press your cheek against his clothed thigh. “It’s not over, though; Aegon escaped. He will still have men willing to back him for being born with a cock. What if he finds our children before we do?”

Jace’s jaw tightens. He couldn’t deny it was a possibility. “Sunfyre is still in the dragon pit; Aegon won’t be able to go north on foot. If he’s smart, he’ll leave the red keep. Knights have been sent to search Old Town and what remains of the riverlands.”

He was right; as long as Aegon was unable to reach his dragon, he’d be stuck lurking in the sewers where he belonged. The greens were currently locked in the cells of the castle, aside from the most dangerous one. “I’ve still not received a raven back yet; I’m worried.”

“It will take a couple of days, my love, and I trust Lord Stark will let no harm come to our family.”

“I best get this off you,” your hands shake as you resume wiping blood off his leg. When Jace suddenly tenses, you stop. “Jacaerys?”

He quickly steps in front of you, snatching his sword that’s lying on the wooden table. The door to the chamber bursts open, and in the commotion, you knock the bowl containing bloody water over. Daemon comes to an abrupt halt. “There are six members of the kingsguard posted outside these quarters, and you believed our enemies could waltz by them?”

“And yet some of the very same kingsguard remained in kings landing and served the greens. Until her grace chooses knights herself, I won’t trust them.”

“How very wise, my prince,” Daemon smiles before looking both over. “You are both still filthy. Good. Come along; her grace wants us to join her immediately.”

—

Jace finds solace holding you close in the bed you’d be spending the night in. As your mother only reclaimed her rightful throne earlier that day, permanent quarters had yet to be readied, and the servants were working hard to remove any sigils of the usurper before hanging your mother's banners. Not that you cared about something so insignificant as sleeping quarters; you just wanted the day to be over.

Jace smiles at your shoulder; your robe is open at the front, giving him access to the bare skin of your stomach. He traces his finger along the glossy-looking scars left from multiple pregnancies.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing; I’m just admiring how beautiful you are.”

A small laugh passes your lips. “You can hardly even see my scaly scars in this light.”

Over the years, Jacaerys would insist you think of the stretch marks as dragon scales whenever you complained of them. From anyone else, it may have been an insult, but Jace always said it admiringly. Neither of you had bathed since returning, as Daemon said it would be good for the people to see Rhaenyra's eldest children and heirs looking like warriors. Both of your bodies and hair were covered in soot, blood, and dirt. Jace stripped his clothes off, then collapsed onto the bed naked, while you threw a thin blue robe on.

“They are reminders of how strong you are, only adding to your beauty.”

You chuckle at his sweet words. You run your fingers through Jace’s thick hair, keeping as you start to fall into a slumber, but the pressure building makes you reposition further up the bed until you’re sitting with your back against the headrest. Jace looks at you quizzically and moves to sit beside you.

“The weight of my breasts is hurting my back.”

He glances at you sympathetically. If your baby was here, the pain would subside dramatically since you’d be able to feed him. You noticed Jace’s gaze now lingering on your swollen breast. Realizing he’s been caught, he gulps down, “This is the biggest they have ever been.”

You readjust your posture, and this time Jace does the same, so he’s right beside you. He pushes your robe open further and cups your breasts, feeling the warm, swollen flesh in his hands as he lifts them slightly.

“Gods.”

“Feel any better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

He slowly rubs circles on your sensitive nipples until they are hard, then dips his head down to take one into his mouth. Jace gives equal attention to both breasts, licking and sucking on them to give you relief. One of his hands slowly moves from your breast, down your rib cage, and stops just below your navel. Wetness was gathering between your thighs, and Jace knew this by the way you pressed your legs together.

His lips ghost over yours. “What do you want?”

“For my husband to desire me.”

“Sweet wife, all I’ve ever wanted was you, and even now, I still ache for your touch.” Jace caresses your thigh; the metal on his rings is cool against your skin. He presses his long finger through your slit, gathering arousal, then rubs it over your clit, causing you to moan. He sucks on your nipple again.

Lewd sounds fall from your mouth as Jace pushes a finger between your folds. Your back arches at his touch. Given how long it had been since you were last intimate and how reactive your body was to his touch, it doesn’t take long for your legs to begin shaking as your orgasm gets closer. Jace props at your hole with a second finger, but when you wince, he pulls it away.

“Still so tight, princess; I don’t wish to hurt you.”

“Fuck, Jace!”

Screaming his name, you climax over his fingers. “If it weren’t for the pain and wound on your thigh, I’d mount and ride you as I would a dragon.”

“I will be most definitely looking forward to the feeling of you claiming me as yours again.” Smiling, his nose brushes against yours, “but I’m not done with you yet for the night. I’m desperate to taste you.”

—

“Have the cots moved slightly further apart. My sons will only kick each other during the night if they are too close.”

The handmaiden nods. “I will have them moved, princess.”

In the early hours of the morning, you were informed your mother's old quarters would be the ones you would reside in. The color green was almost completely withdrawn from the castle walls. All bedchambers would be adorned with the sigil of House Targaryen, along with the moon-and-falcon sigil of House Arryn, to honor Queen Aemma. And a silver seahorse on sea green from House Velaryon to honor not only your husband but also your late father, Laenor Velaryon. Aemma and Rhaenys bedchambers would be beside each other, and Avery and Aethan would share a room until they were older.

“Thank you… forgive me, I never caught your name.”

“Mia Princess. Which bedchamber would you like to be in Prince Daemon’s room?”

“The room next to his brothers, but have his cot brought to my side of the bed. My babe will be sleeping in the same room as us.”

Nearly all of the servants had traveled from Dragonstone by boat to serve the queen in King's landing. The handmaidens who knew how to care for your children chose several items for their new chambers, including furniture, clothing, and bedding. You pick up one of the blankets and look for the name sewn into it.

“Good morrow, my prince.”

“Good morrow,” he nods politely. “Good morrow, wife.”

Noticing something was slightly off with Jacaerys, you turn to face the handmaiden. “Could you ask for them to move the crib into our bedchamber before building the furniture in the princess’s room?”

“Of course, right away, princess.”

“Thank you, Mia.” When she’s out of the room, you place a hand on Jace’s arm. “Something wrong, my prince?”

“You haven’t eaten this morning.”

Chuckling, you look at him surprised. “Is that all? I could not find sleep and bathed early, then got caught up in different things. I have news: a raven arrived from Clara, and the children are fine. The Stark’s are taking good care of them.”

“Thank the gods!” he sighs in relief. Jacaerys, like you, was terrified that something would happen to them; his calm demur about the situation was just a front. Stepping forward, he holds the blanket in your hand at the opposite end. “Aega?”

“It’s supposed to say Aegarax, but I’ve not had the time to finish it.” You’d embroider the name of your children’s dragons into their blankets once they are chosen. “Soon all my time will be consumed with motherly duties again, and I for one cannot wait.”

Jace runs his knuckle over your cheek; the gaze in his eyes is nothing short of adoration. “My love, I don’t believe those duties ever stopped.”

—

Growing up as the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, you were spoiled with the finest gowns and jewelry. Even when you lived among vipers, you still had an exceptional wardrobe. But as one of your handmaidens finished the intricate braids in your silver hair, you felt different. The black dress was made of the softest free-flowing fabric and was slightly shorter at the front to allow your red dragon riding boots to be worn soon. On the bodice of the dress, a three-headed red dragon is sewn in. The sleeves were short enough for the stitches on your arm to be seen.

Daemon’s gaze was burning into the back of you as he patiently waited. He knew how important keeping appearances was. He was dressed in the armor that he would wear into battle.

When the braiding is finished, you excuse the handmaiden and stand. Daemon gives you an approving nod: “You look fearsome, good daughter. Queen Visenya would be proud. Not only a princess, but a Targaryen dragon-rider who fights for the rightful queen.”

Toying with the rings on your fingers, you say, “Might I ask where we are going? I don’t believe her grace mentioned us going to battle on dragon back.”

“To face our enemies. As you know, Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Jacaerys are discussing solutions on how best to deal with the crown's debt to the Iron Bank caused by the usurper, and her grace wishes for you to take the lead on another issue. Shall we go?”

Daemon has his hand on the hilt of dark sister as you follow his lead, making your way through the hallways of the keep. When the halls are nearly empty, Daemon breaks the silence. “As I said to her grace, you and Prince Jacaery are perfectly matched. You both possess your mother’s gentle nature, are quick to anger, and never forget a slight; however, if you are to rule one day, we will need to make sure you can channel your anger properly.”

“Ah yes, something you strive in, Prince Daemon.”

He chuckles, “Our queen thinks the same thing. Which is why she thinks it's best you decide what happens next.”

You stop walking when you reach the outside of the throne room. It scares you, not knowing what awaits on the other side. “I’m frightened, Daemon,” you say quietly enough that only he can hear. “What if I let my mother and Jacaerys down?”

“You are a Targaryen, Lyarra. Blood of the dragon, and one day you’ll be queen. The simple truth is that, as the daughter of the first queen of Westeros, you’ll have to understand the importance of your responsibilities.”

“I understand my responsibilities.”

—

“Why am I to decide?” You ask in your mother tongue.

High Valyrian rolls off Daemon’s tongue impeccably. “The queen still feels guilt sending you to live with these usurper cunts. She is trying to make amends.”

It hurts your heart to know your mother still blames herself for how badly the Hightowers treated you.

Although Aegon fled when your mother and Daemon took back the king's landing, the rest of the green council were arrested and held in the black cells of the keep. Not daring to overstep by sitting on the throne that belongs to your mother, you stand in front of it. Your hands become sweaty as you look down at the prisoners who were on their knees, trying to decide their fate. It wasn’t an easy decision to make, especially with the memories of how cruelly you had been treated coming flooding back. You glance at Lady Baela, the only other member of the Queen's Council who is currently present. She gives you a small nod, a silent act of support.

Clearing your throat, you speak in English again and address members of the kingsguard. “Return Maester Orwyle, Ser Tyland Lannister, Lord Jasper Wyldel, to their previous cells. They are to be sharply questioned to see if they are of any further use to us.”

“And if they aren’t?” Daemon asks with a mischievous look on his face.

“Then they can either die or go north and join the nightwatch. Take Ser Arryk to the cells on the second level. After being questioned, he will receive the same choice.”

Alicent scoffs.

“If I may ask something, princess?”

You look at the traitor's bastard Otto amused and say, “Speak freely, but nothing you say will change your fate.”

Understanding, he nods, “What is to become of Aegon’s heirs? They are—”

“Innocent,” you cut him off. “Princess Jaehaera and Prince Maelor will be treated as any other highborn child. You have my word; no harm will come to them.”

“The city belongs to Princess Rhaenyra for now.” Alicent’s voice is laced with venom. “But she will not hold it long. The rats play when the cat is gone, but my son Aemond will return with fire and blood.”

“Aemond is dead.” You study her expression, and she does not waver. The former queen doesn’t believe her son is dead. You walk down the steps until you are in front of her and crouch down. “The bruising on my neck is from his hands. He managed to sneak into Dragonstone and waited until I was alone in my bedchamber and tried to strangle me to death.”

Her eyes gloss over with tears.

“Prince Jacaerys put an end to the assassination attempt.” You stand up straight again and smooth out the creases in your dress while taking a couple of steps backwards. “The usurper's loyal hound, Ser Criston Cole was killed by dragonfire on the battlefield.”

She holds your gaze and grits her teeth. “Which dragon?”

“Vermax.”

“Bastards are monstrous by nature.”

“Another word about my husband, and I shall have your tongue cut from your mouth. The last time we saw each other, you mocked the deaths of Prince Lucerys and Prince Gaemon. You should be grateful I haven’t had your head placed on a fucking spike.”

Otto gives his daughter a stern look, telling her to be quiet.

“Death is an easy escape, Alicent. You can live the rest of your life knowing that your own ambition is the reason your children are dead. Send her to the silent sisters.”

When she’s escorted out of the throne room by Ser Erryk, you return your attention to the men remaining. “Otto Hightower, I sentence you to death for the crime of treason.”

Prince Daemon stands beside you, and you step to the side silently, giving him permission to go ahead and carry out the sentencing. The former hand of the king would always be a threat to your family. Daemon goes down the steps and, in one swing, slices Otto’s head off with dark sister. You hold back a shriek when blood begins to spread across the marble floor.

Your eyes narrow in on the last person kneeling. “Take Larys Strong to the black cells; keep him in chains until his sentence is carried out tomorrow in the dragon pit.”

—

“You did good,” Daemon praises as you leave the throne room. “Those green cun—”

He was cut off by the handmaiden you spoke with earlier, rushing over to you, her cheeks flushed red. “Princess,” she gasps. “My prince, my lady. Forgive the interruption, but the queen has asked for you to go to the council room immediately.”

You could sense the urgency from Mia without her outright saying how serious the situation was, “Thank you.”

You hold your dress at the front so you can run without tripping, and the three of you rush to the small council pivy. Soon as you enter the room, your eyes are glued to Jace, who is gripping onto the edge of the table, tears rolling down his cheeks. He looks enraged.

“My Prince,” you go to him, and his grip on the table is hard; his knuckles turn white while he grabs ahold of something tightly in the other. “Mother, your grace, what's going on?”

Your mother's chest and neck are blotchy from stress; she holds onto her necklace tightly for comfort. There are tears in her eyes as well. The queen struggles to control her emotions as she tries to speak.

“A raven arrived for me,” Jace’s voice cracks. “It was a massage from Aegon; it says ‘a daughter for a daughter, bastard’. He still thinks I took Aemma from him, and now he’s going to take Reni from me.”

You feel as if you’re going to be physically sick. “What?”

“This is Reni’s,” Jace says, opening up his hand, and you shudder at seeing your daughter's doll. “We need to go North immediately.”

When Jace goes to storm out of the room, you catch his arm, preventing him from leaving. “Jacaerys, wait!”

“We cannot wait; he’s going after our little girl.”

You take the doll from his trembling hand. “Rhaenys sobbed when she realized her favorite toy was left behind.” With her name sewn into the doll's dress, anyone could have easily guessed who it belonged to. “Her doll was in our bedchamber.”

“Which means…”

“Aegon is in Dragonstone.”

[myladysapphire]

Solace

As the daughter of Alicent Hightower you had been fed stories of your older sister and her children, so when you are bethrothed to Jacaerys you arent too sure as to what to expect, and go into your courtship expecting the worse, only to find out you couldn't have been more wrong.

word count: 5,908

CW: MDI 18+, smut, fluff. p in v, fingering, loss of virginity, oral (f reciving), incest not beta read!

Jacaerys Veleryon x Fem!reader

a/n - no war au

Masterlist

She had been betrothed to Prince Jacearys since they were both children, before most noble children even knew the expectation of one day getting married off and yet since the day of said betrothal, they had not spent a single moment together. Nor had you exchanged a single letter nor a single thought of the other, at least she had not. 

In all honesty she had simply lived as if he and their impending marriage did not exist, so when he returned for his brother's hearing and for their courtship to officially begin, they were at a complete loss of where to begin, they knew of no common interests, and there family’s had been pitted against each other their entire lives.  Seeing as they had never been close in their youth, nor present much time together, seeing as she had kept to herself or Heleana, and Jacearys having spent most of his time with his brother and hers.

She had always preferred solitude, preferred to keep to her books, painting, and her beloved dragon Gaelithox. Gaelithox perhaps the only being she would spend day after day with willingly. 

she had hoped he would be similar. Though from what she could remember, he always seemed to find himself surrounded by others, not once does she remember seeing him alone. Perhaps if she had then she would have gotten to know him. But for her crowds were her worst fear, talking to more than one person or anyone was really. But Jacearys was always the centre of attention, with his good looks and charisma, it seemed he never begged for attention, it just always simply found him. She hoped marrying him would not force her to become the same.

How they expected her to one day be queen confused her. With Jacearys as the future king she would have all these responsibilities and have to do everything she hated. Her mother had made sure to tell her that, to start to show her what would be expected of her.

For all she knew it was a scare tactic from her mother, y/n knew her mother hated them, she would call them bastards and would whisper in her ear more and more rumours about her eldest sister and her eldest son. 

So, when he arrived all she could do was watch him. Scared to start a conversation, and too nervous to make any moves towards him. So she stood from the sidelines as he found himself surrounded by the keeps inhabitants. 

As she watched him at dinner, following lucerys victory of being declared the future lord of the tides, she very much doubted he would like solitude as much as she did. The few moments where he found himself not in conversation, he almost seemed nervous. She feared he would never understand her fear of crowds, or her hate for balls and feasts. Nor understand what her mother referred to as her quirks. He was loud and charismatic, all traits she lacked. He was drawn to crowds and seemed to thrive at the events she hated. But he seemed to suffer in the moments she loved the moments alone, the quiet moments.

She had been forced to sit away from her usual seat and sit nearer to the centre, a place where all eyes were on her. She sat opposite her eldest sister, Rhaenyra, with Jacearys on one side, and Aegon on the other. 

Aegon had been making crude jokes all evening, whispering and taunting her. Though she had become extremely talented at ignoring him, it was starting to bug her, and all she wished was to retire to bed. 

Luckily, he seemed to be the only one interested in her, until Rhaenyra decided to start a conversation with her. She had never really known her eldest sister, having always been stopped by her mother. She remembered when her and Rhaenyra would have bi-weekly garden tea, until her mother found out and banned her from even going near Rhaenrya chambers.

Over the years her mother had told her only the worst about Rhaenyra, and forced her own hatred or mayhap envy of her onto y/n. And yet she only ever seemed to be kind to her when they did interact. 

“Sister?” y/n heard her call out.

“Yes princess?” she responded, stuttering from being addressed. 

“Are you quite alright, you look quite pale?” her face was concerned, as did Jaceaerys when he turned from his seat to face ger at his mother’s words.

“i-“ you looked down starting to pull at the skin on your fingers, “i do not find i fit in well in such gatherings, it's just stress” she spoke, voice shaking as y/n looked down and bringing her fingers to her mouth biting the skin around them.

“Would you like me to escort you back to your chambers?” She heard Jacearys ask in concern. 

At this her mother’s attention was captured, as she snapped her head around, ending her conversation with her grandsire, in doing so capturing the whole tables attention “what’s wrong dearests?”

“i- i would like to retire mother?” y/n almost begged, desperate for the offered reprieve.

“of course Aem-“her mother began, before being interrupted, clearly offering Aemond to escort her to her chambers. 

“I shall escort her,” Jacearys interrupted, standing from his seat and offering his hand that

she took it nervously.  These were the most words either had spoken for each other, at least that she could remember. 

Walking down the halls of the keep, she found herself in a comfortable silence.  Though Jacearys seemed to find it rather uncomfortable as he began to ramble on about gods knows what.

“so i told Luke -“

She hummed, responding to a question she probably heard minutes ago, she hated to admit it but she was seriously struggling to follow whatever he was talking about. The topic of which changed near every second. 

He stopped walking suddenly, causing her to be pulled back as their arms were still interlinked. He seemed to finally realise he was talking nonsense and had lost her completely “I’m sorry, I’ve been rambling on and you can’t even follow a word of what i was saying i-“ 

“oh no i- i, well yes, but I believe you are just nervous… as am il” y/n spoke softly. 

He nodded, “your right, i- i have been trying to think of anything i know about you, any shared memories and yet i can not find a single thing” he shook his head, seemingly ashamed.

“oh well… we never really talked until today, i always much preferred my own company to that of others”

“oh i- really?” he sounded confused as if spending time by himself was beyond him.

“i always found i was always more myself when with others, in fact i find myself nervous when I am alone '' he spoke, slowly making sure not to ramble on once more.

“I suppose I have never found such solace with another person as to feel myself with another person” you looked down, she too seemed so polar to one another and feared her solitude would always be interrupted once she married him. 

“I understand that, Luke is the same way” he looked at her then, “i hope that i can be the person you find solace in, one day..” he took her hands, stoking them softly, it was always a hard thing for her, touch. Always avoiding it, and only taking hugs to shaking someone’s hand when she knew social construct dictated she should. And yet with him it was fine it seemed nice almost, something she could get used to, even find solace in.

“I would like that”  she nodded, and he gave her a sweet smile, relief almost washing over his face. He took her arm once more and led her back to her chambers, this time instead of rambling, he simply asked her questions about herself, and for once she happily answered them.

The next day she was awoken to the sound of rapped knocks on her door. Though she normally slept in, it was still rather early for such a thing. Opening the door she saw Jacaerys standing with a bouquet of flowers, more specifically peonies, a flower that you would often find embroidered on several of her dresses. 

“Prince-“

”Jace” he interrupted “ please call me Jace, we are to be a married soon it is only right” 

“Jace” she said slowly, getting used to the informality she lacked with even her own family , “what are you doing here so early?” 

“Early?” he laughed, as if if the idea that nine in the morning could ever be considered early,  “i suppose it could be”

”Why are you here?” She asked, almost irritated.

“Sorry,” he spoke, reaching his arm out to present her with the peonies'' i simply came to ask if we may break our fast, with the hope you had yet to eat and yet it seems i woke you,” he shook his head “i apologise, i am used to waking up early for training. I should have thought you may have preferred to sleep in” he looked down nervously.

Sniffing the flowers, she moved into her room, leaving the door agar as an invitation for Jace to come in. ”I would like that” she nodded, “Though this is still rather early for me, so i shall need to call my maids to help me dress and prepare our breakfast”

”early?” He again asked, “what time do you normally wake?”

”Mostly before noon, but not before 10,” you looked up with a small smile, “i find i can sleep the days away if allowed, it is one of the few things i can never seem to get enough off”

He laughed, the nerves leaving him slightly. “I find i am always awake by eight, at the latest, sadly i do not possess the same skill to sleep in, a skill i am much jealous of.” He smiled, “ i shall have the guards fetch your maids and order breakfast, and perhaps tomorrow we may share lunch instead” 

“I would like that,” she nodded.

Their fast was spent with the exchange of shy smiles and timid questions asked, as time went on  they grew more comfortable and found their rhythm, and she found the tiredness she felt from talking to others never came. 

The next moon was perfect, each day she would wake, dress, then Jace would meet her and she broke her fast and he took his second meal. Then they would walk the gardens. After a few days, she confessed how typically she would ride Gaelithox the second she awoke, and soon they found they were going for dragon rides every morning. Vermax and Gaelithox enjoying each other's company. Every second was filled with chatter, and those few that were not, neither felt any awkwardness, just contentment, solace.

They seemed to spend almost every second of every day with each other and yet she not once found it tiring, or wished for a reprieve, she simply wished for more.

There were even days where she wished for no talking and Jace was more than happy to spend the whole day in silence, simply enjoying each other's company, as they went about their own tasks.

She felt as if she was learning everything there was to know about him, through his stories she felt as if she knew his brothers, his family, like she had grown up with them , and not just watching them. She learnt his quirks and he learnt hers. And every day they seemed to learn something new. 

But today was the first day she would spend without him since his arrival, with her father , the king, asking for Jace to accompany the small council meetings from now on. 

So she had planned to spend the day alone, resuming her old daily routine even on the days where Jace was not in her company. 

That was until her mother decided to skip the small council meeting and spend the day with her.

”Do not ever trust them, dearest” her mother tutted, brushing through her hair. “They only wish for you and he to grow close so when the time comes you are on their side-“

She had tried to tune her out, but the instant comments answered messing with her head. She felt as if she was falling in love with Jace and yet they way her mother spoke of him, it was as if he was worse than Aegon, a fact she knew was not true.

“mother!” she finally  snapped , shaking her head she pulled away from her mother, “i do not care! Jace shall be my husband and as you have reminded me since the day I first bleed, that my duty is to my husband and his family before my own.” she then whispered to herself “a fact you do not follow yourself” continuing she said “ so why now when it is the son of the woman you despise, am I to do the opposite?” It was so out of character for her and yet years and years of hearing the words bastard and betrayal and whispers of war, she was finished. 

She fully pulled away from her mother and stood up, straightening her dress, “this past moon i have felt more seen and known by Jace than anyone my whole life. My whole life I have detested company, and chatter, and have at any and all attempts avoided events. and now i find the one person i do not detest, and would falsely attend any event he wishes me to, someone i enjoy spending time with, my future husband! You wish to ruin it for me! Do you not want me to be happy?” She nearly yelled, her face turning from the sweet, shy and docile face it had always been had turned angry “you clearly do not wish for Heleana to have happiness, as clear with her marriage to Aegon at three and ten!” She was steaming, years of biting her younger so as to not gain attention, or do more talking that’s necessary, bitterness flowed through her.

”dearest i-“ her mother started, moving towards and reaching for her to pull her in a hug, only to be met by an instant rejection.

”I simply wish for whatever war you are making up in your head to end, so you can finally allow me the happiness I deserve!” And with that she walked about, only to be met with Jace and Rhaenyra's face as she walked out. 

Jace chased after her, leaving his mother left to deal with Alicent.

”y/n” he called out, “y/n stop!”

“No, I can't,” she said as she continued down the halls, though she did slow down, allowing Jace a chance to catch up with her. “if i stop walking I’ll march right back in there and apologies!” she proclaimed.

“I'm sure you won't, you did the right thing '' Jace spoke, still trying to catch up with her.

“i have bite my tongue my whole life, never expressing my thoughts or opinions, and today i did!” she spoke, as she realised she was walking towards Jace’s chambers. She didn’t even think of where she was going, having stormed out of her own rooms, it seemed that in this past month his room had become a comfort to her.

Finally catching up in time to open the door to his rooms. “y/n you don’t have to explain, you didn’t do anything, you just spoke up for yourself and…for me” y/n swear she saw him blush.

“i know it was hard for you, that talking and expressing yourself is something your struggle with…but you stood up for yourself it’s nothing you have to feel bad about it’s something you should be proud of” he grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips “and in all honestly  i was rather impressed”

“you where?” she blushed, stepping one closer. 

he nodded, “ you know me and my mother were coming to your chambers to discuss the wedding” he said wrapping his arm around her waist. a movement and touch she had now grown to love. “ We are to be married in a fortnight” his face moved closer to her.

“We are?” she questioned, her breathing getting heavier. 

he nodded, there faces so close they were sharing their breaths “yes, soon you will be my wife, and i your husband and your mothers silly little rants will have no sway any longer” 

she gasped, he leant forward and finally kissed her, it was soft and sweet, leaving them both a blushing mess. 

The next two weeks moved slowly, filled with wedding planning. 

Her relationship with her mother was strained, finding most of the planning to be with her eldest sister Rhaenrya and even Heleana more so than her own mother. And the few times she was there she simply sent a glare in their direction and took at every laugh and smile.

She found that she rather enjoyed her sister's company, the two having a few similar interests. Rhaenyra seemed kind and cared for her children a great deal and as a result she did with her too. 

She knew her mother cared, but watching her mother interact with Rhaenyra highlighted that most of her mothers objections were actually ones of jealousy. She was Jealous of Rhaenyra and more so of Daemon, as he received more glares the more he and Rhaenrya showed affection to one another. So much jealousy that she swear she saw some longing in her gaze whenever she stared at Rhaenrya.

The day before her wedding she finally found herself alone with her mother though from the way her mother barged into her room she knew the conversation the pair were about to have would not be a pleasant one.

“sit down dearest” she spoke as she herself got comfortable.  Doing as her mother bid, she sat beside her. Her mother quickly took her hand in hers, tight enough that even if she were to recoil it would not break her free. 

“When I had this. Conversation with your sister, she already knew some of what was to come, with her Marrying Aegon, and will he loved to taunt her with the gory details for moons before their wedding” Alicent took a deep breath. “On the morrow you will be wed, and with that shall come some expectations” 

she nodded, not quite sure what her mother meant. “not only will you be taking on some of my duties but there is also the expectation of an heir…” she looked at her then, expecting her to interrupt in some way. She stayed quiet, she knew she would have to have children but how the act itself was done was peculiar to her.

Her mother shifted uncomfortably, “once you are wed the marriage must be consummated” she awkwardly grabbed at her hands, “it will be uncomfortable but some pleasure can be found in the act” she sent her mother peculiar look, causing her mother to cough uncomfortably and once again move to explain “your husband will…insert himself in you, and spill his seed, allowing a babe to be made, though it can take some time so i shall prey you are lucky and conceive soon…”

she looked down quietly “mother “she spoke slowly, “Aegon is my brother, though he and i aren’t close i have…walked in on him numerous times, time enough to know what sex is” 

Her mother was shocked, looking down and shaking her head, “your brother has no shame-“

“mother, i also have a septa who taught me” she laughed, Heleana only did not know because she was young mother, i am aware, in fact me and-“ she cut herself off not wanting her mother to become more shocked at hearing how her and Jace have already talked of the wedding night.

They were both inexperienced, though Jace had been taken to brothels by Daemon he had never actually done anything, wanting to save himself for his wife. A fact she was most happy about. 

She loved Jace, she realised. He was everything she did not expect, though he was chatty and loud, he was also kind and sweet, a perfect gentleman. She and him had more in common than not, they both loved to read though Jace found little time to do so, so was more than happy to listen to her ramble on and on about the last book she read. She had shown him how to paint and draw, a skill he, though terrible at, found rather enjoyable, especially when he got the flicking paint at her. She herself had even found she loved a few of his hobbies or well if you can call sword fighting a hobby. 

she remembered the morning, it was still early in their courtship, the first week in.  She and Jace had yet to sleep and yet they could see dawn breaking through the windows in his room. They had spent the whole day and night talking, getting to know each other. “it’s dawn already?” Jace sighed as he moved from his spot on the sofa. she sighed from the movement, missing his warmth. 

“it’s seems so” she hummed 

“it’ll be time for training soon.” he spoke, not necessarily to her. 

“Do you train alone?” 

“Here I do, On Dragonstone Daemon is typically dragging me and Luke out of bed the second the sun begins to rise but here he has no desire to train” he looked at her, “why don’t you join me?” he asked.

“i have never even touched a sword” she exclaimed, as if the idea was a mad one.

He grinned “exactly, it’ll be most entertaining!”

she laughed, “fine, but you must promise to show me your high Valyrian!” y/n declared, he had been complaining how bad his Valyrian was but refused to show her, despite her being fluent and offering to teach him.

He sighed, then a big grin filled his face “very well, let us teach one another, i teach you in swordsmanship and you teach me high Valyrian” 

she laughed “very well! though i make no promises to these swordplay lessons!”

They met again in the training yard, both in training clothes. She had borrowed hers from Jace and she was sure he was trying to sabotage her. His clothes hung from her in an almost comical way, he himself had laughed as she nearly tripped netting the training yard.

“you look beautiful” he said though his eyes were full of mirth as he took in the way his clothes hung from her.

“Perhaps you could have given me some of Luke's clothes instead” she sighed, a frown forming her face as she hung her arm up to show just how big his sleeves were compared to her arms.

“Next time we shall!” he declared, stopping his laughter to then pass her a wooden sword “for now it’s fine.” 

The sword was heavier than she was expecting, as shown by how she nearly dropped it.

“do you do any exercise?” he asked, seeing her near miss with the sword.

she scoffed “no, do i look like someone who does?” she asked bewildered.

he laughed “no i suppose not, and knowing you it doesn't surprise me that you do not” he took the sword off her “perhaps we should start with some exercise”

“what?” she asked, she hated doing anything that could be remotely referred to as exercise. 

“Don’t worry, just some light exercise, to build stamina”  he looked at her then, something passing through his eyes. something she had yet to see. 

He had made her run ten laps, stretch in more easily than she knew possible, And then finally let her hold the sword. “You know I was hoping you wouldn’t take this so seriously” she sighed, hitting the dummy repeatedly. Jace corrects her technique with each hit. “really?”

“Of course not, when you said it I had hoped we would just be jesting around” she sighed dramatically, before moving to place the sword down on the rack. “I think that this ‘lesson’ is over.” she started to walk away only for Jace to grab her arm.

“Wait!” he said, pulling her back to him gently. “Are you really not enjoying yourself?” he asked with a sad smile on his face. 

y/n sighed, before a small smile graced her face “no, but perhaps hearing you speak some high Valyrian may make it more joyous.” she spoke, though she was enjoying herself a little, though it would definitely not be a hobby she would be taking up, though watching him practice his swordsmanship, that is a hobby she will be taking up.

“I- really?” he asked, his face unsure, “nyk-e don’t ȳdragon ziree sȳr”

She laughed, his accent and pronunciation were all over the place, perhaps she was better at swordsmanship after one lesson that he was at high Valyrian after years of lessons, “it’s gaoman daor ȳdragon ziry sȳrī”

I do not speak it well

“See what I mean!” he exclaimed, as she continued to laugh.

“oh Jace, gaomagon daor worry nyke sure kesā jiōragon sȳrkta isse daor jēda” she taunted. 

do not worry I’m sure you will get better in no time

“I have no idea what you just said '' he sighed, shaking his head, “but at least i can hold a sword properly” he taunted back to her.

“Hey! It's my first lesson, have you been learning high Valyrian for how long?” she questioned, a gleam in her eyes.

“hāre jēdri” he replied, a smile as he realised he had pronounced it correctly

Three years

She hummed, beginning to circle him, “hāre jēdri? funny seeing hae heleanas riñar ȳdragon sȳrkta eglie valyrain than ao se issi balrey hāre pōntāla”

three years? Funny seeing as Heleanas children speak better high Valyrian than you and they are balrey three themselves

“I- well, stop taunting me!” he protested.

“Only if we can stop this, will I have reached my yearly exercise limit.. For the year!” she joked, dramatically falling, conveniently into his arms. 

“Fine, fine!” he said, “but you can not mention to anyone about my high Valyrian.” he brought her back to her feet.

“Oh please who would i tell? se lo nyke gōntan, skorkydoso would ao sesīr gīmigon?” she laughed, starting to walk away, only to have Jace chase her back all the way back to her chambers.

and if i did, how would you even know?

It was safe to say she never participated in his training again, but on the odd days she was awake when he went, she found she did in fact enjoy watching him.

It took a few attempts before they found a hobby they both loved equally. Painting. She had been painting for as long as she can remember, Jace however had taken it up about two weeks ago, but seemed to love it as much as she.

“Let's paint each other!” Jace declared, as he saw the paints y/n left out. 

She hesitated, “have you ever painted before?”

“No, but how hard could it be?” She laughed at that, but said nothing.

They sat opposite each other, their art facing only themselves. They gave themselves an hour before they would show each other what they had painted. 

Jace went first. He seemed so proud of himself. To give him credit it was fairly good, though it looked nothing like her. 

“It's good!” she exclaimed, “i like it” she reached forward to grab it “i shall have it framed” she hummed. Jace smiled widely at that.

“Show me yours!” he asked, or more declared as he turned the canvas around himself. 

His face was shocked, mouth wide, “i- wow” he was at a loss of words. “This is incredible!” he exclaimed, his face one of awe, “and you said mine was good!, you were lying!”

She laughed, “no-no it is, i promise” i grabbed his art then, comparing the two, before throwing his on the floor, “oh please, mine is rubbish, yours is wow! I think it shall become my official portrait!” he exclaimed standing up and walking to the doors with it. 

“woah ! where are you going?” she asked standing up to follow him.

“Too show everyone” he stated as if it was the obvious answer.

He showed it to everyone he saw, a blushing y/n on his tail.

“Mother.” she spoke, back once more in the present, “i trust him, more than anyone and anything” at that her mother relaxed, and for the first time in what felt like a long time, she saw a real smile gracing her mothers face.

The day of the wedding came, she had expected nerves and jitters, and yet all she felt was contentment. She knew she was lucky, most brides barely knew their husband before they wed them, and she knew Jace and he knew her. She knew his quirks, his hobbies, and he knew hers. They were polar opposites, and yet they fit so perfectly together. She was excited for this day, and as was he.

The dress she wore was her mothers dress. A white dress with sleeves coming down to her elbow before dropping down to the length of her dress showing a deep red. On her shoulder sat two dragons, dragons she had changed to represent Vermax and Gaelithox. The dragons were joined together and connected in an intricate pattern on her bodice. She wore no jewellery, only a small head piece, woven into the braids on her hair.

“You look beautiful” her mother declared. “Are you ready?”

y/n nodded, taking one final look at herself in the mirror, one last time before leaving her room.

The wedding was a blur, it went by so fast and before she knew it, Jace and her were declaring their love and sealing it with a kiss. They exchanged giddy smiles as they left the 

sept, their hands never wavering from their grip. The night celebrations went by quickly. The only time they never once left each others sides. It was the first event y/n ever truly enjoyed, they had danced four times that night, feasted to their heart's content, and enjoyed the first few hours of being newlyweds. 

Then it was time for the bedding. She had never been more grateful than when Jace shouted at the men attempting to drag her away, and he himself picking her up and taking her to their now shared chambers. 

“I am sorry for that.” he spoke, taking her hand in his, “I had made it clear we would not have a bedding, but -”

“Aegon had other plans' ' she interrupted, “do not worry, it's just who he is' ' she laughed.

For the first time in weeks the silence between them was awkward. Both knowing what was to come, but not how to start.

After a few moments Jace finally moved forward, he reached for her slowly, one had wrapping around her waist, the other reaching up to caress her face. They both looked at each other shyly, before Jace moved in closer, his lips capturing hers. It was soft and slow.

His lips still joined with hers they moved further into the room, his hand moving from her waist to her back, reaching and slowly unlacing the binds of her bodice.

“Are you okay with this?” he asked, breaking away from her lips.

She nodded, “yes.”  As she slowly reached to pull of her dress, leaving her in just her chemise.

Jace groaned his pants tightening, he reached forward once again capturing her lips in his.

 They slowly moved towards the bed, her hands reaching towards his clothes, slowly taking them off and leaving him in his small clothes.

There lips breaking apart, they both took each other in, before finally lying on the bed. Jace continued to kiss her slowly moving from her lips to her neck, his hands reaching down to her should and moving the straps of her chemise down, revealing her breasts.

“gods” he groaned, “you’re so beautiful” he said as he moved down to kiss her breasts. Slowly moving down her body, removing her chemise as he did, leaving her bare beneath him.

He was level with her heat, he had heard of kissing there and the thought of tasting her in such a way made a groan escape him. “Can I?” he begged, unsure of what he meant y/n nodded.

Jace dived in, giving a cautious lick through her folds, he groaned at the taste and quickly went back licking and tasting like a starved man. She herself was moaning in pleasure, her hands clutching the back of his neck, tightening when he finally found her bud.

Releasing the reaction form touching the small bud of nerves, he made sure to focus his efforts on it, sucking it into his mouth, and bringing his fingers up to her entrance, beginning to circle her juices and slowly tease his way into her.

Tensing at the feeling of the intrusion, she gripped further onto him, and started to move away. With his spare hand he gripped onto her and pulled her back to him. His finger now pully in he instead started to focus his intentions of pumping them in and out of her. Causing her to start moaning once again in pleasure, even more so when his second and third finger entered her. Soon she was reaching her peak.

He slowly backed away from her, pulling down his small clothes to revel his hard, thick long length.

“gods” they both groaned at the sight of the others naked body. He slowly crawled back onto the bed, his body covering hers. He once again took her lips with his, in a passionate and heated kiss, his legs slowly parted hers as he positioned himself at her entrance.

“Are you sure?” he once again asked, caressing her face.

She nodded, covering the hand on her face with her own and reaching forward to kiss him again, “yes” she consented.

He nodded, kissing her once more as he slowly entered her.

She groaned at the stretch, feeling at slight sting as he slowly entered her. Her face contorted in quick discomfort, but quickly faded as he settled himself fully inside her, allowing her time to adjust.

“gods, you feel amazing” he groaned, moving his head to her neck. “can I move?” he groaned, near begged.

“yes” she said, and he wasted no time, slowly pumping in and out of her. Slowly the discomfort faded and all she could find was pure pleasure.

Moving in and out of her, Jace was moaning, kissing her neck with each thrust, he had never felt such pleasure as he did in this moment.

Slowly picking up the pace, he soon found that sweet spot inside her, that turned her into a moaning mess. Wrapping her arms around his neck she was soon grinding her hips against his, chasing her peak, and he was soon reaching one of his own, spilling his seed inside of her.

Slowly pulling from her, her moved to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her towards him, he kissed her slowly and whispered, “I love you”. In that moment she felt what could only be described as solace.

That night, they did not sleep a wink, nor would they in the moons that followed. Their marriage was a harmonious one, one of love and joy. And when the king finally passed, and Rhaenrya was queen, there was no division of factions of house Targaryen, she liked to think that their marriage has helped branch the units, and make them once more a family.

Even more so when nine moons after their wedding she birthed their first child.

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[councilofcastamere]

WINTER NIGHTS | CREGAN STARK X TARG!READER ꧂

a b r i d g e m e n t : With tensions rising, your elder half-sister Rhaenyra arranges for you to seek asylum in the freezing land of the North. And fortunately for you, Cregan is there to show you how Northmen operate.

TW: penetration, loss of virginity, breeding kink, mentions gender roles but in a sexy way, sexual tension, sibling jealousy, childhood neglect, mentions of death by birth, shitty character development

A/N: I know the girly portrayed is Visenya but her body is tea in this so maybe I do know best…

The second daughter. The oh-so passed over maiden. Not belonging to anything, nor belonging to nothing. Not the first, and not the last. An ever enduring memory to a passed over era. Nothing significant. Never anything significant.

That’s what you were. Insignificance. A beautiful insignificance, if you could see beauty in tragedy. Beauty in all the ways of life. All the little horrible things that make up a big, beautiful, picture. People shan’t look close, you’d assure yourself.

But you were you. Born to the everlasting way of royal life. To the peaceful Viserys, and his second wife, a woman whose name is not all that important. Another maiden from a noble house that perished to childbirth. Lost her life, giving life.

And as it did not to many maidens, the Gods did not grant you the chance to grow up with your mother. The blood that dripped down her thighs had covered you from head to toe as you came into existence, and she had naught of you in her arms before a deep and long slumber overcame her. The stranger had come for her, and he did not slow down on its way. He’d taken her as quick as she’d given you to the world. A quick exchange, you’d suppose.

Now and then you think about her. What she might have looked like, what she might have liked, what she might have been had she survived the wretched burden of your existence. You’d often wonder if infants who survived childbirth ever felt as deep a burden as she did. To have your very first breath of life tainted with the death of an innocent. Tainted with tragedy.

Growing up in King’s Landing hadn’t been all that as it sounded. You’d never really been that happy, as ungracious as it sounded.

You had an older sister - Rhaenyra - who’d occasionally humoured you. You’d never seen much of her, really. Perhaps it was your own fault as well. For not actively seeking her out. For not being the younger sister one was supposed to be. Some people - as close to you as they may be - are just unattainable in your mind. Your kin aren’t your kin until you allow it.

You have better companions than her, you figured. You had your lady-in-waitings. Lady Vievenne of house Swann. Lady Laycie of house Oldflowers. Lady Claere of house Ambrose. Lady Evelyne of house Hightower, who was, by all accounts, a gift from your newest stepmother, Alicent of the house Hightower.

What you also had was younger siblings. Such as Aegon. Though he is naught but a skirt enthusiast, swimming along the sea of young maidens at his whim. But he cares not whether they are, does he?

And oh, do not get yourself started on the one-eyed prince and that smug little smile on his sharp-featured face. Nonetheless, he was gentle. Oh so gentle with his touch. And oh so sinister in the way that made you feel important enough to be in his good graces.

However, you chose to distance yourself from all parties involved as fate made it clear what it had in store. A great slap to the great Targaryen dynasty. A dark cloud looming over the already curse-clad clan.

For even you knew that the only thing that could tear down the House of the Dragon, was itself.

“Sister.” you greeted one late evening, having taken flight to Dragonstone on your she-dragon, Starfyre. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“…y/n.” the elder sister called out, a small smile on her lips. “I… am glad for your visit.”

“…I’m certain you are,” you say, trying with all your might to contain a frown.

You eyed her awkwardly as she wiped her sweaty hands off her dress, letting out a sigh as the elder royal wasn’t quite certain how to approach the topic.

“I… understand… things quite haven’t been… that active, in our kinship,” Rhaenyra speaks up, taking a step closer. “And for that, I apologise.”

You could only nod, a small smile gracing your lips at the heartwarming confession of absent love.

“I apologise, also.” you smiled, your hands finding each other behind your back. “I suppose I should have been the one to seek your company and counsel as well.”

“Good.” Rhaenyra smiled awkwardly, a silence engulfing the echo-ridden chambers. “The reason, as to why I called you, might be surprising.”

You froze slightly, heart pounding as the possibilities of implications travelled through your mind. The goosebumps on your arms grew more prominent as a cold breeze passed through.

“Oh?” you answered, cocking a brow. “And what might that be, sister?”

“I ask of you to travel to the North,” Rhaenyra admits, a tone of seriousness overshadowing the warm moment. “I have already sent a raven to Lord Cregan Stark, and he has agreed to host you. If it pleases you, of course.”

No answer came out of your lips, save for your a mere breath. You felt a pang in your heart, consuming your every emotion, making certain you cannot detect how you feel about the news.

A dragon in the north? What a jest. You’d do better in Dorne, surrounded by sun-kissed squires and stable boys than laddish lordlings and Northern butchers.

“And… why should I?” you asked, respect in your tone. “Pardon me, my sister, but why have you made this decision for me?”

“Tensions are rising, y/n. You know that as well as I do.” Rhaenyra sighs, her body language giving up on its tense posture. “And I am aware of your… complex feelings on it. But to the North you must. I’m sending Rhaena to the Va-”

“Yes, because Rhaena gets to be hosted by a relative of yours, in safety. Meanwhile you sent me off to some Northern stranger!”

“Y/n.” Rhaenyra warned, raising a brow. She took a step closer as you composed your words. “You are my sister, and I will have you safe in the North. The Northmen are honourable men, and in time you’ll know.”

✫彡

And so you were, clad in thick fur, lady Vivenne and lady Evelyne at both sides of yourself. Across from you sat three servants, and somewhere else sat your sworn shield.

“It will be splendid.” Evelyne beamed, properly adjusting her hair, tied up in a bun, similar to the ones the older maidens wear. “We shall meet every dusk, and speak about our day. In front of the fire.”

“Not if I can help it.” you sighed softly. “Apologies, my ladies, but I’ll let you two get at it. I’d love to explore the North in solitude.”

“Right…” Vivenne nodded, looking through the small peep holes as the carriage slowed down, just outside the gates of Winterfell. “We’ve arrived, I suppose. You’ll have to greet Lord Stark. If he’s anything we’ve heard of and more, I wish you luck.”

You only nodded, watching as your ladies exited the carriage, standing at the side of the door. Their faces are cast down, as if in mourning. Perhaps they’re mourning the life of luxury provided at King’s Landing.

You could not blame them for it, really. From growing up in their own house, to growing up in the Royal house, to trade it again to live to see the snowy winters of Winterfell.

You shook slightly, the cold air hitting your face in an instant as you slightly lifted your dress, taking a step out of the three provided for the carriage.

You looked ahead of you, eyes locking on the noblemen and women, standing straight and proud. The women bore clothes of low quality, so obviously sewn to fit any class. The men wore dark furs, contrasting to the blue clothing of the opposite sex.

And in the midst of it, stood Cregan Stark, accompanied by a mere little boy of just two years of age. Your eyes locked upon his stormy-grey ones, his face etched into a stern expression, eyes focused on yours.

You maintained the eye contact, taking each step closer to him.

“Princess Y/N.” Cregan greeted formally, taking your soft hand in his. “Welcome to Winterfell. I am Lord Cregan Stark.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark.” you smile, curtsying in a fashionable manner. Your eyes stood glued on his as his lips brushed against the palm of your hand. “I’m truly honoured to be here.”

“…I’m certain you are.” Cregan answered, eyeing you skeptically.

Hearing false compliments wasn’t out of the ordinary for the wolf of Winterfell. He knew well enough that you weren’t suited for the North. You were a Southern lady, used to the life of feasts, luxury, and sparkly dresses.

“Let us go inside, shall we?” you smiled charmingly, looking up at the tall castle with dread in your eyes.

“Aye, so we shall.” Cregan nodded, his broad shoulders most notable as he sauntered into the opened gates.

✫彡

The first night went unfamiliar to you, the harsh blows of the cold weather creating a prominent presence looming over the already melancholic times.

You sat in your chambers, sitting at the stony window sill as you watched Cregan from above.

The lord was overlooking young squires on the courtyard, engaged in conversation with the knight in charge of guiding the young to-be-knights.

All dressed in fur, shoulders looking as if they were padded. Cregan’s hair was tied up, with two front strands escaping and hanging loose. His grey-blue eyes stood glued at watching the young squire’s techniques, and you could only sigh as you got lost in his appearance.

Ever since stepping foot into the North of Westeros, you’d developed a strange sense of interest in the beauty of Northern men. How they all dressed so grimly, but intimidating. How they’re oh-so honourable and hard working. How they always seemed so clean shaven but rugged all at once.

And you could not help but wonder what it would be like had you wedded one of them.

Being completely honest, you’d never really been the sort of maiden to stay inside of her chambers, waiting for her husband to return from his duty, deprived of affection.

With any Southern lord, being a doting unappreciated wife would never cross your mind.

But with Northern men, however, you had the feeling your efforts wouldn’t go unnoticed.

Before you could continue your vulgarly confusing thoughts, you saw Cregan’s eyes shift to yours, finding your gaze.

You could only lean against the window, a hand on the stony side as you gazed back at him. Your hair was loose, and you were dressed in your creamy beige nightdress.

You held his gaze for a moment, until ultimately turning away, leaving the implications of that gaze to his imagination.

✫彡

By the third day, you’d been reading in the old library belonging to House Stark. You’d sat on a plush seat, the dusty book on your lap as your gentle fingers flipped through the pages.

But you weren’t alone.

Cregan Stark sat near you, his knees in almost touching proximity to yours.

“Aye, the North is cold, but it’s honest.” he tells you, gently shutting his own book. “The snow doesn’t lie about its intention. No courtly games like they play in the South.”

“Oh, please.” you smiled, shutting your book as well. your body shifted so it was facing his, resting your head on one hand. “The courtly games are what makes it so fun.”

“Now, riddle me this.” You smiled, noting his full attention on you. His body language exuded calmness, and you felt secure in the knowledge that his comfort lies with you. “How do you not like courtly games? Personally, it makes my life all the more amusing.”

“I suppose it’s all jesting for you, princess.” Cregan said, his eyes resting on yours. “Amusement or not, I’d rather know where I stand…”

“With you, however…” His eyes trailed down to your bare shoulder, the white nightdress you’re wearing very much a sight of sore eyes. “I think I know.”

“Oh, do you?” you teased, cocking a brow. “And how so, pray tell?”

“Well…” he grunted, shifting in his seat to tighten the proximity around you two. “You’d do well not to cross any Northern man. They don’t take well to… courtly games.”

You only smiled at that, your upper body instinctively leaning in, albeit torturously slow.

“And, uh, suppose I… marry a Northern lord.” you teased quite coquettishly, a hand moving to rest on the thick fur coating his body. “What am I in for.”

You watched as his smirk only widened, gently taking the hand that rested on his fur, and taking it in his.

“Marry a Northern lord like me, and have your nights warmed under the thick fur of blankets.” he says, his thumb rubbing against your knuckles. “Northern loyalty runs deep, princess. That’s what you’d be in for.”

You nodded slowly, and you could not help but notice those coloured eyes of his descending onto your perky breasts.

Great, this was all going well so far. “I’d imagine… do you think he’d gift me a pup? I’ve always wanted a tiny pet, to keep.”

“Yeah?” The lord licked his lips, a hand resting on your waist. “You think you’d handle a wolf properly?”

“Well, I would.” you smiled, nodding in agreement. “I’m a dragon… and dragons do not surrender that easily.”

You smiled, shifting in your seat again as Cregan amusedly indulged you in your silly thoughts. “Just imagine it, my lord. I’d be holding that pup every night trying to get it to warm to me.”

Your hand slowly, but surely, trickled down to his clothed thigh, trying to maintain a sense of quiet intimacy.

“You’ll have your work cut out for you, then.” his voice lowered, bordering on husky. “Wolves aren’t so easily tamed, not even by someone with…”

He paused for a moment, a hand gently taking the one you placed on his thigh.

“…your charms.”

You’d have a cheeky comeback on the tip of your tongue, had it not been for Cregan’s lips descending upon yours, clashing together like Blackwoods and Brackens.

You let out a soft breath as you eased into the kiss, feeling his large hands grip your waists as if his life depended on it.

Your hands moved from his shoulders, to his neck, and then to his armoured chest. The armour he carried felt cold to your hands, yet it made it all the more sinful.

“Did you have this in mind?” you murmured against his lips, tongue circling his as you so sloppily attempted to kiss him. “Seducing me?”

The silence engulfed you two for a moment, only being overshadowed by the sound of soft breaths.

“You have it wrong, princess.” he breathed, firmly planting you upon his lap, your back pressing against his chest. “Do you take me for a halfwit?”

You smiled, looking over your shoulder as you attempted to chase his lips with yours again.

“No, but I certainly did not take you for a man so easily seduced.” you teased, guiding his hands to your clothed breasts. “You don’t seem the type to give in that easily.”

“Because it’s untrue.” he spoke up, lips brushing to against your neck. “But do you honestly think nothing would be done about the way you saunter around, looking as you do?”

His hands slowly tugged against your nightdress, pressing a hard kiss to your achy jaw before pulling away.

“Lay yourself down on the carpet.” he commanded, hands shifting to peel off his fur coat, along with his armour and tunic.

All you could do was nod and watch on as his armour went discarded on the floor, the metal material cranking against the stone ground.

His bare chest was now visible, the defining abs illuminated by the glowing fire. His hair messed up when he threw his tunic over his head.

“Cregan, I-"

And in one moment, you felt his large body overshadow yours, clashing lips again. Cregan lifted his body as to not crush you, hands on either side of your head.

You only permitted yourself to breathe unevenly, stead of moan. Your hands found his shoulders, desiring to pull him closer than possible.

“Ever since you’ve arrived you’d been nothing but trouble.” Cregan murmured, lips finding your throat. “Sauntering around with your ladies, endlessly teasing me.”

Your legs only shifted to wrap around his waist, back slowly arching at the kisses.

He took notice, and let one of his hands pin you down, lips descending towards your perky breasts.

“Gods, you’re wrong for this.” he grunted, swirling his tongue around the nipple. “For provoking me, as you did yesterday, and the day before that.”

“For thinking you have the authority to do this to a lord.” he breathed, your small breast fitting into his large palm.

“For…” he continued, kissing down your stomach, before ultimately glancing back at you “…thinking you’d get away with this.”

“I did not think I’d get away with this.” you tease, watching as he moves face-to-face again. “Which is why I did it.”

Your hands find his muscled arms, squeezing it gently. “I want to know how Northern men do it.”

You’d think you were jesting, but were you truly?

You’d have opened your mouth to say anything else, looking up at him, if it weren’t for the Northern lord himself roughly flipping you to your stomach.

“You wish to know, my princess?” he murmurs, unlatching his breeches. “You’d have your first time be with a Northman?”

You nodded, cheek resting on the carpet fabric without surrender. “Yes. Gods yes.”

He hiked your skirt around your waist, your plump ass visible to his peering eyes.

“You’ll be ruined for other men, aye.” He grunted, his hand wrapping around his rock hard cock.

“That’s good, because I desire no one save you.” you smiled, allowing him to lift your hips up and arch your back.

“Yeah?” he smirked, the tip of his cock rubbing against your damp hole. “You’ll have me make you my wife?”

You nodded, impatiently moving your hips. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

“You’d be a good wife, wouldn’t you?” he grunted once again, head finally pushing into your unloosened clit. “No Southern games, no poignant looks of yours.”

“You like that about me.” you painfully breathed, feeling the uncomfortable ache of his cock in your newly penetrated cunt.

His head descended, placing gentle kisses upon your shoulders. “A maiden. Perhaps you aren’t as well-equipped to handle a wolf as you said you were.”

“I am.” you protested, pushing your hips back. “Move your hips. I wish to prove myself.”

He only speeded up his thrusts, and as you allowed the moans to fill your lips, his hands found a way to push your head down.

“You’d carry my pups?” he asked, thrusting into you aggressively, pumping his cock in and out. “Wait on my cock every night?”

You only moaned incredulously, asscheeks clapping along with every snap of his hips.

“Yes.” you breathed, gasp and claps filling the room. “Fuck, put a babe inside of me. I want your children.”

“We’ll have to wed sooner, before the babe gets born in wedlock.” he grunted, hands gripping your hips, pushing you back onto his thick length. “But that’s what you wanted all along, was it?”

You gripped the fabric of the carpet, cheeks burning as it rubbed against the irritating carpet.

“For a thick cock such as this.” he teased, tugging at your hair.

“Yes.” you moaned pathetically, cheeks flushed as you felt a knot forming into your stomach.

Your lips parted, your eyes rolling above-ways.

“Yes, yes!” you moaned loudly, feeling his hands grope your breasts. “Fuck, you’re moving fast.”

“Never fast enough.” he murmurs, member sliding against your wet slit.

He could feel your tight walls clenching around him, milking his cock for all it is worth. His grip on you tightened as he thrust down to meet your upward motion.

And with one sharp thrusts, you felt the knot loosen and the cream dripping out your twitching clit.

Yet, he didn’t stop, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he rode you through your orgasm.

The feeling of your walls clenching around his cock was enough to send him reeling as well, burying himself deep inside of you.

Hot spurts of cum dripping out of your hole, you completely got yourself spent, closing your eyes and deciding you could just fall asleep on this carpet.

“No sleeping in the library.” he scolded lightly, putting on his fur coat, covering his naked physique. “Come here.”

You exhaustedly crawled over to him again, and snuck yourself into his coat, the clothing covering both of your naked bodies.

“I’m taking you to your chambers.” he sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “And for the next time, do not attempt to get so exhausted. I went easy on you this time.”

[annwrites]

⸻ a call to arms. part one. ⸻

· pairing: jacaerys velaryon x dragonseed!reader · type: part of a series · summary: desperate to provide aid to your starving family due to the blockade, you venture, along with a great many other lowborns, to dragonstone, in hopes of gaining something—anything—which you might bring back to them; something to fill your little sister's belly. things turn out quite the opposite as planned, as what you now believe to be a mad queen, locks all of you in her dragonpit, and you're forced to run, hide, & fend for your lives against two hungry dragons. in the end, only two individuals are left standing: hugh hammer, who has now claimed for himself vermithor...and you—chosen by silverwing. just when you believe things can't possibly get any worse, you then meet prince jacaerys. · word count: 1,674

He grinds his teeth together, filled with utter contempt—disgust—that whatever you are—bastards, lowborns, flea-ridden rats—are now, above all else, dragonriders.

And he is meant to share common spaces with you now? Such as the Great Hall? Meant to pass you in the halls and tolerate the sight of you?

To ride alongside you?

To treat you with...what? Kindness? Generosity for having 'come to his mother's aid'? He will most certainly not be treating, nor addressing you as an equal. Either of you.

To be a dragonrider...it is a sacred bond. And now he is meant to believe that even the lowest scum Flea Bottom has to offer has the same right as he to sail the skies, unleashing fire and blood upon the enemy?

Never.

He will never.

The rest of them got what they deserved for thinking they had any right to claim that which is meant only for those like him.

Queens and kings, princes and princesses, lords and ladies alike.

He is better than both of you.

Even if he is similar in ways he does not want to admit...

Boots echo against stone floors, dark curls falling over dark eyes, a brooding temperament within.

Jacaerys emerges into the Great Hall, Hugh promptly rising from his seat, bowing his head. "My Prince."

Jacaerys studies him for but a moment, briefly judging the plain-colored clothes he dons, before turning his sights across the room to you, who is seated between two stained-glass windows, arms wrapped around your bent knees, while you cast your attentions outward, instead of on him.

Your Prince.

Your superior.

He clenches his jaw at the sight of your long, silver hair that moonlight casts in an ethereal glow, making it appear as if it is sparkling. Cascading down your back like molten silver in soft waves.

"You there—girl—do you know how incredibly rude it is for you not to stand and curtsy when in the presence of royalty?"

You jolt—torn from tormented memories of but a couple days past; of people running, screaming for mercy. Dying choking on their own blood as dragonfire burns them alive.

None of you had anticipated—had imagined—that the very queen you were coming to, under the guise of offering your aid to in the war, would lock you in a room to be eaten by terrifying beasts.

Aegon deserves the throne in comparison to such a monster.

You have made a great mistake, mayhaps. Then again, becoming a dragonrider has already filled your belly, provided you with clean sheets to sleep upon, a guard outside your door, hot baths.

But it is not you who needs these things. You want them for your family.

There is no turning back now, however. You knew as much with certainty when that silver dragon laid her head at your feet before leaning forward, brushing her warm snout against your abdomen while you struggled to contain your bladder and bowels. While you sobbed hysterically, begging for mercy from a being that you do not so much as share a common language with.

You know not a word of High Valyrian, though you will now be expected to learn, you suppose.

Among many other things. Such as how to ride the animal...

Your stomach twists nervously at the thought.

You turn away from the window, slide off the ledge, then grab your skirts in either of your hands before tucking a foot behind your other ankle, bowing. "My Prince."

He scoffs, coming closer. "That was the worst curtsy I've ever seen."

You fold your hands in front of you, keeping your eyes downcast. "Forgive me, My Prince, it is...the first time I've attempted one."

He rolls his eyes, settling his arms behind his back before glancing over his shoulder to Hugh, jerking his head toward the hall he's just come from, and he quickly makes himself scarce.

He looks back to you.

"And what is your name?" He demands.

"Y/N," you state quietly.

A muscle in his jaw feathers. "You are to look at me while we're speaking. Do you understand?"

You nod, trailing your eyes upwards—over a red-and-black velvet tunic, the three-headed symbol of his house embroidered upon the breast—until they're looking into hues of chocolate-brown.

He clenches his hands into tight fists behind his back.

You've every trademark of a pure Targaryen: silver hair, lilac eyes—with flecks of violet—skin so fair it's near-translucent, delicate features.

He fucking loathes you for every asset which you possess and he does not.

He would never—will never—state it aloud, but you look far more Targaryen than he ever will.

He wishes one of the dragons had taken you down its gullet as well. That way, he would not be forced to suffer the nigh-daily sight of you now.

He looks you over, circling you like a dragon does its prey—desperate to find something he may use to mock you with; some imperfection—before standing tall before you again.

"You think wearing rags before your Queen's court appropriate?"

Your expression quickly settles into a scowl.

Good, he thinks. Give him an excuse to introduce you to the Queen's justice. He is silently begging you for as much within his malice-filled gaze.

Your small hands clench into fists at your slender sides. "My mother made this dress for me."

His jaw ticks. "From now on, you will wear more suitable clothing when outside your private chambers—which means conservative in nature; not whatever men found desirable upon the Street of Silk. You are a representative of our house now. A dragonrider. A soldier to our cause. You will look the part."

Tears sting your eyes as yours bore into his own hatefully.

"I am not a whore," you reply contemptuously.

There is a beat of silence, his brows furrowing slightly. Surely you are lying. You have the look—more than.

And then you continue.

"And with what coin, My Prince?" You sneer.

He takes a step closer, causing you to shuffle backward, catching yourself against the window-ledge, the stone digging into your palms as you grip it to steady yourself.

He leans in close—your faces mere inches apart. "I beg your pardon?"

You do not shrink away from him.

Gods, you already hate him with all that you are.

"I came here for coin. Desperate for—"

"So greed is what sent you? Not to aid us in winning back my mother's throne? Her rightful seat. You come to steal away a dragon, and then what?"

"My family is starving!" You finally shout, at the end of your rope from the last few sleepless nights that've been filled with nightmares instead of rest; your temper having reached its limit. "My mother and little sister both! How would you feel if it were you? If your loved-ones were suffering, while all you could do is sit back and watch them waste away before you? So, yes, I came. I claimed a dragon—even if my intentions had only been merely to host audience with a clement queen who would provide aid to her suffering subjects. Not burn them alive for coming to help her!"

He grits his teeth. "You will watch your tongue, you insolent little wench. My mother sent boat-fulls of food to King's Landing. She has provided—"

You begin to laugh, with a lack of humor behind it all, cutting him off. "Oh, yes, how very kind of her to give aid to the very subjects she is responsible for the suffering of in the first place. The blockade is all your all's fault! People were fighting like dogs in the streets—assaulting—killing each other for a small sack of grain! I risked mine own life for a peck of potatoes! That's it! Even then, I was forced to wrestle a full-grown man off myself to get it. I was fortunate to escape with my life—with any food to speak of for my struggles!"

You step forward, forcing his royal highness to take a step back, and he swallows thickly.

"You've never known hunger a day in your life, have you? Never known what is it to wear 'rags' while you don your silk and velvet, while you sleep on thousand-thread count sheets, while you flout your jewels, and your fancy titles, and your gilded castles while the rest of us bow and scrape before your feet for a mere morsel of respect! You are meant to take care of us!"

Once you've finished, your heart pounds in your ears, your shoulders rapidly rise and fall, and it's then that you notice Prince Jacaerys' hand is tightly gripping the pommel of his sword—his knuckles having now gone white from the force.

Your eyes flit back to his, tears filling your own. "And I am meant to one day call you king, given we are 'successful' in our endeavors to win your mother back her glorified chair," you say, spitting the final word at him.

The two of you stand tall before the other, refusing to be the first one to break—your chins held high, even if your stomach is now twisting painfully into knots while your bowels turn to water.

If he puts you to death for your unimaginable disobedience—your disrespect...who will help your family then?

Your little sister... Your little girl.

She became as much when your mother went away in herself after your father's passing. It did not matter that you were still a mere child yourself when it happened. She became your responsibility to look after and tend to from that day forward.

And now...you feel as if you have failed her.

"Go to your room," he orders lowly, his body shaking from anger, brief pauses between each word.

You curtsy one last time.

"My Prince," you mumble, brushing past him, wanting to break something.

He stalks off in the opposite direction, feeling much the same: wanting to burn something—or, rather, someone—alive.

[wyvernest]

cregan stark x f!targaryen!reader

previous(first) part - next part | all chapters list

>Queen Rhaenyra has sent you away from the brewing war to safety since your brother, Jacaerys, has secured the Pact of Ice and Fire. You have to honor it by marrying Lord Cregan Stark.

cw: slow burn, fluff, eventual smut, angst, follows book events with slight deviations, im planning to let jacaerys live! every chapter is around 2k wc

chapter cw: tension, fluff, a little angst, they are starting to fall for eachother

“The ceremony will be held tomorrow.” Cregan’s deep and steely voice rings with an imposing echo onto the stone walls of the great hall of Winterfell. “My lady is worn from the journey.”

Although the order seemingly held some benevolence to your sore legs and southern blood barely adjusting to the newfound cold, his voice feels so detached that you find yourself wondering whether he truly did care for your spirits, or if he only wished it as a polite formality.

“I will take my leave before sundown, sister.” Jacaerys places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I must be back at Dragonstone before the new moon.”

“Ill news?” you ask, already troubled and feeling incapacitated from protecting and helping your family.

“Ser Criston Cole marches on Duskendale lands. I must be present at the council to take action.”

“What about me?” You worry, and only after speaking do you realize how stupid the question was.

Jacaerys takes a moment to reply, evidently not wanting to make you feel more secluded than you were.

“I will not make any decision that you wouldn't have in my stead.” He decides, “I will send you ravens to inform you, and represent you.” a pause, “unofficially.”

There is nothing more to be said. Any words he could sweeten end with the same inevitable finale. No raven could fly fast enough to deliver your ideas soon enough for the Greens not to gain an advantage over the reluctance of your team.

You are a pawn. Your dragon is a pawn. And you will only read about the war as if it were history before you could contribute.

“I understand.” You manage to let out without showing how disturbed you are and possibly making the northern lords think that you were terrified to marry their leader.

With a hug too frail to even begin to express how much you will miss him, your brother mounts his dragon after the welcoming festivities in the great hall and takes off with a blow of wings that normally would have had you taking a few steps back from Vermax.

But now it didn't matter anymore. You watch as your only friend dissolves into the skies thick with white clouds, becoming nothing but a raven in the distance.

Suvion cries out, a sharp, strained screech that only pain as great as yours could have caused, and the clouds answer, though you cannot see him anymore.

You are taken aback at the feeling of heavy pelts placed upon your shoulders, and only then you realize how cold you are. Your frigid fingers reach around your own neck to grasp at it and keep it from falling.

“The cold is treacherous. One moment you may think you're warm, and the following, your heart stops.” Cregan comes to stand next to you, looking away to where Vermax had disappeared.

“Thank you, my lord.” You speak coyly, quietly, so he wouldn't catch the crack in your voice and think you weak and soft. Perhaps in a different situation, you would have blushed at his kindness, but the ice wall you felt between you and him was now more palpable than ever. Alone, with a stranger.

“You should come inside.” He insists, but it is not advice, it's a courteous command.

Without a word, you turn and listen. You are escorted to your chamber in the castle, and as you pass through the halls, you look around like a lowborn in a dragonpit. At least that's what it must look like, but in your heart it was storming; how different the place was from what you have known your whole life, the people, the sounds in the yard, the very air of the keep.

He stops in front of your door, beckoning you inside.

“Send for me should you need anything your handmaiden cannot provide.”

His voice is softer, as if trying to indulge you and your loss. As if he understands.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Cregan.”

You do not know for certain if there truly is a gleam of affection in his eyes as he says it, but you do know that you held yourself back from leaning forward in his arms.

Oh, how you wanted to just let it out, and how you wanted him to hold you through it. To offer some comfort that, at least, he cared for you. That he wasn't a cold hearted man with nothing warmer than diplomatic skills. Whom you would have to learn how to love the hard way. Only you know how your heart briefly yearned for him to offer you strength.

But alas, it was not proper. Too soon.

“Cregan.” You accept, and he barely hears it. Your heart sinks when he nods politely and slowly shuts the door, and it sinks further at the sound of his boots on the cold stone outside your chamber, walking away.

A terribly tragic thought slips into your tired mind; that he is betrothed to you, yet his heart belongs to another. Northerners love northerners, and the Stark men have mostly married into vassal houses of the north in the past.

No matter how loyal he is to be from now, his thoughts will always be about her, the people will always know about her.

Suvion's head appears at your window, blocking out the moonlight.

“Oh, you,” You whine, opening the windows and laying your upper body on his snout.

You hear someone gasp and scream in the courtyard, no doubt because of the dragon clawing at the walls of the castle.

“We should find some place good for you. Somewhere safe and warm.” He growls sorrowfully, as if aware.

But it doesn't last long. As quickly as he came at the window, Suvion rips away from your touch and carefully leaps out of the castle yard and up into the night sky. His otherwise white scales now partly reflect the dark of night in their shine, making it impossible for you to even tell how high up he was.

Alone again. You knew he wouldn't go far, that he only needed to hunt and come back, but you wished for leverage that was now gone.

Restless and troubled, you decide to take a stroll around the keep that is to be yours in less than a day.

You follow your curiosity back to the great hall, from where you hear whispered voices and see glimmers of lit torches.

“...of the beast. Food is scarce.”

“It will set eyes upon us.”

“Lord Glover, this is necessary. I do not wish-”

The lords at the table turn abruptly at the sight of the shadow you cast into the obscured hall.

“My lady. Is everything alright?” You hear Cregan's voice, his face away from light.

You feel embarrassed and stupid, interrupting a clearly important talk of resources that did not yet concern you and making the impression of a spoiled, uneducated woman.

“No- I didn't mean to intrude.”

“You could never be intruding on talks of our domain.” He attempts to soothe your nerves, although the implication of responsibilities is indomitable in his tone.

You approach them, carefully eyeing the other lords, feeling quite literally akin to a lizard slithering into a den of wolves. You cannot read anything on their stern faces, and it doesn't fail to make you uneasy and put your guard up.

“The dragon, my lady,” one of them starts, a man well past his youth, “he is a welcomed weapon in the North, although -”

“Although it is true that war has brought us both here, my lord, a dragon is not a weapon.” You warn with a poised expression, as respectfully as you could, yet fire dripped from your words.

The other men frowned in surprise and disapproval, but said nothing. You glance at Cregan, by your side, hoping to be faced with kindness, but instead your heart skips a beat at the sight of a cutthroat look he was throwing at the men, protective of your contribution.

“-apologies. The dragon is a welcomed ally. But livestock is barely enough to get us through what's to come. What are we to offer? Sheep?”

“We have endured harsher winters with lesser than we have today.” Your betrothed reassures, despite the evident growing concern.

“Suvion is big enough to hunt for himself, I dare say. The cold doesn't seem to burden him. There is absolutely no need to thin out the herd for him, my lords.”

You struggle to conceal a sharp gasp when his hand runs up your lower back. A way to show approval of your input, no doubt, yet you find that every crumble of affection he grants you is more than enough to spark fire in your body. Is that what you have come to?

You were worried enough that the rough stoicism of the north man wouldn't provide half the love you dreamed of, yet now you falter on that thought. If such a touch is already setting you alight, what would more do?

“A good omen. Prince Velaryon’s first visit wasn't as uneventful.”

“It is settled then. We will discuss other matters after the wedding.” He commanded, and your stomach flipped at the mention of your union.

With the lords out of the room, Cregan turns to you.

“I thought you would be resting. It's near the hour of the ghosts.” He speaks gently with a warm vibration in his voice, as if you have been wedded for years and he knows all about your practices and nature.

“I couldn't. The more I lay there waiting, the more it felt like I would never find sleep again.”

A faint smile lights up your tense visage, an instinctual way of wanting to see him soften as well.

He looks intently, clearly understanding of your friendliness, but it does nothing to soothe his brow further.

“Come. I wish to speak with you, since neither of us cannot find slumber.”

Neither of us? What is that supposed to mean?

You once again hook your arm around his, his body heat immediately warming you up and putting you at ease. He leads you into his chambers, a strong fire already lit in the hearth.

“Is this proper?”

“Whoever shall dare speak ill of my wife will never speak again.”

A shiver runs up your spine. Whether it's a pleasant or a distressed one, you cannot tell anymore.

“I know how you must feel, although it may not seem like it.” He begins, beckoning you to sit on the edge of the bed. “It's the duty that comes with the name.”

“Yes.” You agree, wanting to hear more of what he wishes to tell you. “Although my biggest concern lies with my position. I feel…” You cease before you could say something like “trapped” or “exiled”. He has been nothing but good to you since you arrived and you do not want to seem ungrateful or hostile. You do like him.

But before you could find the right words, he kneels in front of you on the floor and takes your hands in his. Your heart stops. Your brain shuts down. Gods.

“-powerless.” He untangles your mind and finishes your thought. “But you aren't. We will offer help, I do not intend to trample the oath I swore to your brother. The oath I am to swear to you.” He adds, his tone is soft and tender yet his words so meaningful and heavy, you hear them as though their echo reverberated in the entire room around you.

His thumb delicately rubs over your knuckles, his expression as stoic as ever, only his actions speak differently. He leans forward and places a kiss on the back of your hand, assuring and loving.

You draw in a sharp breath, as if you haven't felt affection before in your life.

“Cregan.” is all you manage.

“It is true that this union was made with interest. But you are not unwanted, my lady. I believe we will find more than allies in each other.”

TAGS!! im sorry for those that don't work its tumblr's fault i checked all of them multiple times

@cost234 @dracaryxzs @cherrymallowtm @ithilwen-blackwood @lady-targaryens-world @lightdragonrayne @krokietino @sukunassfinger @rey26 @beebeechaos @melsunshine @aemondwhoresworld @romeavecryst @raynetargaryan2 @fireandblood-mharmie @mitski9328373 @drwho-ess @dorkysupernova @nitimurinvetitumsposts @ghitakhnifissa @darylspersonalwhore @helo1281917 @delaynew @poochies04 @accidentpronedork @fiction-fanfic-reader @rha3nyra @wallacewillow0773638 @star-serpent @potionsclub @drwho-ess @moadvx @jellybeanstacey0519 @italianchameleon @ephemeralninon @sithapprentice @cloveradora @hawkins-2000 @thatspiderwebinthecorner

@wolvestitches @idohknow @nyxbranwenn @asteria33 @nina6708 @r-3dlips @oxymakestheworldgoround @daisyhams @notmycanoe @percyjacksonspeen

@squidscottjeans @itchkhiara @klutzylaena @heylittlelollita @scrumptiousloser @karmaswitch

[earth4angels]

𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

modern!jacaerys x f!reader ─── smut, vanilla sex, jace is a mama's boy, a lil english major who's serious about his academics, basically a goodie two shoes. reader is an adventurous cheerleader babe. p in v, love making as secretly as possible with his family at home (i know theyre freaky). not fully edited.

summary: finals season has arrived and jacaerys is worried about his championship game and passing his classes. he just did not think you would change the way of how studying could even work.

jace nation tag list: @jacaerysgf @star611 @jules420 @intheheartoftheking @gracexthoughts @astrxq @reyndaisy @hxtd @smurfelle @nanaldy @valdezthg @littleblackcatinwonderland @nixtape-foryou @starrgurl46 @ethereal-athalia @stelleduarte @canyonmoon-2 @ambrosia-v-black @chuuritoz @melsunshine @frombloodandfire

“Get it together jace,” Jacaerys muttered, his hands running through his already messy hair. His fingers tapped rapidly through the page of his text book as if the answers were going to appear magically to him.

“Jace. Mom has been calling you to eat for the past fifteen minutes, you know she hates lateness,” Lucerys stood by the doorway of his brother’s room a slight smirk on his face as he looked at his brother who now slammed his face onto the book.

“Geesh… and I thought I was terrible, you’re even worse,” Luke joked. Jacaerys only moved his head to peek at his younger brother before he threw a pen at his head.

“Get out Luke, tell Mom I am no-“

“Tell me what exactly? If you think I am going to let you go to sleep without eating, you are absolutely wrong my dear,” Rhaenyra crossed her arms, a stern look on her face that had Jacaerys scrambling on his feet to meet her.

“Sorry mother,” he muttered, he scratched his neck before he twirled his fingers around, Rhaenyra sighed. She entered the room with soft steps, Jacaerys had now stopped his nervous ticks the moment he felt his mother’s touch.

“You got this my sweet boy. You’re the bravest, and smartest boy, I have raised you well. I know you will finish strongly, or am I wrong?”

Jacaerys widened his eyes, “No mother.”

Rhaenyra ran her fingers through the mess of hair, she smiled softly, “Now, wash up. Your brothers are waiting for you, Daemon bought that movie you and Luke begged him to buy.”

Luke exclaimed excitedly before he ran down the hall to the dining room, Rhaenyra and Jace heard him thanking their step-father over and over. They chuckled together.

As Jace scored the winning goal, the team swallowed him onto the ground, he groaned. He only wanted to see the one person that motivated him, that came to every single one of his games to cheer for him loudly that he felt no trophy could ever top the love he had for you.

The crowd cheered loudly, Jace managed to escape the sweaty bodies of his teammates before he was wrapped with a warmth so familiar, he knew it was you. He caught you in his arms the moment you ran up to him, your smile making him feel weak in the legs. He would bring the world and the stars for you if you’d ask.

Your pom-poms covered both of your faces as you leaned down to kiss him, since you had jumped on him, your legs wrapped around his waist - he held you up, his arms tightly holding your thighs, pressing you close. Your rosy lipstick now stained his already plump lips.

He groaned in satisfaction, you pulled away, giggling when he chased you for another kiss, “Congratulations Targaryen, you’re now going to the championship game.”

He smiled stupidly, from where he was looking at you, you looked like a bright star, your hair was held back by a headband that matched the color of his jersey. Your eyes covered in shiny glitter that he helped put on before the game because according to him, he wanted to try to put some on you. You were beautiful, and all his.

He leaned up to kiss you deeply, feeling your fingers dig deep into the slightly wet curls of his. The world vanished then, and Jacaerys wanted you more than ever, but it was not a place where he wanted to devour you.

You pulled away, he groaned again in annoyance, “Hold on tiger. You stink. And your mother and brothers are waiting to celebrate your win.”

He opened his eyes to see you with a teasing face, he narrowed his eyes in suspicion, you had a cunning smile. He did not want to question it yet so he placed you back onto the floor, without saying a word he took your hand interlacing it with his, both of you meeting his overly excited family that covered him in confetti. He thought life couldn’t get any more better than this.

His bed bounced as pushed his glasses upward, stopping them from slipping off his nose. He knew you were with him, but he paid you no mind as he mumbled the words from the slides to himself.

You leaned your head onto his shoulder, watching him study the same presentation over and over. You sat beside him, quietly biting onto your cinnamon roll that Rhaenyra begged you to take to Jace as well since she knew he was bound to skip dinner.

“Jace.”

“Hm,” he nodded his head slightly, letting you know he was listening to you. He truly was not though, he had a pen between his teeth biting on the top cap. You sighed.

“Jace.”

“Mm,” again he responded nonchalantly.

You rolled your eyes having enough. You took the laptop from him, shutting it close as you tossed it lightly onto his bedside table. You watched him widened his eyes, his arms reached to fight you but you beat him as you pushed him down onto the bed, sitting right on top.

His glasses moved upward, touching his forehead just a bit. You chuckled as he groaned in annoyance nonetheless his hands moved to hold your waist.

“Y/n… I need to study… you know I have to get good scores on the finals to keep my spot as top student.”

You smiled softly, your hands trailing down his chest to the toned body of his. His eyes fluttered, he enjoyed you touching him, he squirmed under you feeling his erection grow. He was shy to admit that even the slightest things you would do made him excited.

“You studied enough. You and I both know you’ll pass. Just how we also know, you will win the game,” Your fingers reached up to his face, pulling his glasses back to its original spot, you had always loved him with glasses. He huffed softly, his eyes moving upwards to try and avoid your strong gaze that had him digging his fingers softly into your waist.

“You’re only human jace, give yourself breaks hm?”

“I hate when you’re right,” he mumbled.

You laughed, tapping his nose lightly. His eyes moved back to your face, you leaned down to place a soft kiss on his nose you felt him breathe in deeply. He moved his head to reach your lips where he captured your warm lips with his.

You sighed into his mouth, enjoying the way his tongue licked your bottom lip. Your lips parted giving him access to taste you, he moaned when he got a taste of the sweetness from the bun you ate.

With his teeth, he pulled your bottom lip, sucking it lightly, you let him grinding your hip against his hardening erection hidden under the sweatpants you wanted to get rid of.

You rubbed harder, your panties now soaked from the need of wanting him. He let go of your lips as he let out a whimper. You sat on top still rubbing, twisting your hips in small circles to entice him. With half lidded eyes and small drool on the corner of his lips you wanted him so much more than before.

“Shh. I’ve got you,” you whispered, you ran your tongue down his neck finding a spot only you knew ruined him.

Right above his ear, in between his collarbone you placed a kiss and then you sucked hard, enjoying the small whimpers he let out. His hands working fast but clumsily pulling and tugging the straps of your sundress. He needed you, now.

He swallowed, “Please my love. Off,” he tugged the straps hard.

You heard a tear of fabric between your soft kisses that you left on his neck, you breathed in a laugh. You pushed him hard onto the bed, he grunted, you leaned back on your feet enjoying the flush on his cheeks, the curls surrounding him making him look angelic.

The sun was barely going down, and with the little sunlight still left, it touched Jace’s skin, his bright brown eyes covered by his slight fogged glasses from the amount of heavy breathing he was doing.

“Y/n… please…” he whispered, licking his lips watching you slowly tug down the straps, pulling down your bra as well. You watched him gasp slightly, taking in the view of the delicacy of your skin.

“Seven hells… how did I get so lucky?”

You hummed, getting rid of your dress completely, only sitting on top of him in your lace panties. He watched you hungrily, ready to bounce on you but held back, he wanted to take his time with you. Kiss all the little freckles on your body, find new spots that made you whisper his name as in a prayer.

He wanted to find all the new things that made your body quiver, flourish in his hands, his mouth. His mouth suddenly felt dry, he wanted to taste you so bad.

You smiled wickedly, your hand reached forward, grabbing his index cards he had also written to study. You looked through them fast before you tossed them somewhere on the floor.

Leaning forward, you grabbed his hands, placing them on your breasts, sighing blissfully when out of habit his thumbs flicked your now perked buds.

“Every right answer you give me, you’ll be allowed to touch me,” you whispered, smiling even wider when you felt him twitch underneath you.

Jacaerys was competitive, and he wanted to have you so badly but he also wanted to prove to you he was smart. He thought this was better than any study group he ever had, his fingers twitched against your breasts, wanting them deep in your cunt just to watch you bend in an angelic position, all because of him.

For once, he was greedy, he wanted to watch you have power over him. He licked his lips again, anticipating every moment that will occur. He thanked the old gods and new for gifting him you.

“First question,” you sat with his hands still on your breasts, enjoying the lust on your boyfriend’s eyes, the way sweat started to form on his forehead, the twitch of his eyebrow as he tried to read you, to the way his lips parted, his breaths coming out in sharp huffs.

“Name all the kings we had, from first king to now.”

Jacaerys struggled, he regretted now the position he was in, he couldn’t focus having you bare only in silk panties, your skin glowing, hair loose and curled at the tips. He just wanted to make love to you. He held his breath, his hands shaking, noticing, you smirked.

“Uh.. Um…” he cleared his throat, his eyebrows slightly scrunched together as he tried to think, “Aegon, the conqueror,” you hummed.

You let his hand go down the middle of your breast, to your stomach, hearing his breath hitched you stopped.

“I uh… Aenys,” he stuttered, finding it hard to stay still.

Again, you moved his hand to your navel, letting go of his hand as you waited for the rest of the answer to come out of your struggling boyfriend who remained obedient.

“Maegor, Jaehaerys, Viserys…” his voice straining.

You smiled, “Good job my love. See? The answers are flowing out of you.” You stood up then, he sat up quickly, his body in heat running with adrenaline from wanting you. Your fingers pulled the bands of your panties to slide them off your legs. Jacaerys’ mouth fell slack.

You tapped your finger to your chin as in thought, you moved as you spoke to sit on his lap, your legs spread on either side of his own. “Ah.. why is the reason that dragons are the symbol of the Targaryen family?”

Jacaerys tried, he truly did want to show off his intelligence but he couldn’t concentrate anymore. How could he concentrate when he had you on his lap, nude, your curls falling onto your shoulders giving you a glow so beautiful he was breathless.

“Seven hells y/n, I can’t do this,” he moved so quick you were startled that you ended up bumping your head onto his headboard. His eyes panicked, the lust from his eyes softening, “Baby, baby i am so sorry!”

You laughed loudly, taking his face into your hands where you pulled him to give him a kiss. He moaned into your mouth, his hands pulling your hands above your head, interlocking it with his.

“You didn’t answer the question Jacaerys,” you muttered into his lips. He moaned in annoyance over the fact you kept pulling away from him when all he wanted was to shower you with love.

“No offense, but you talk a lot my love, I just want you,” Jace fluttered his eyes, looking down on you his light brown eyes shadowed with a mischievous glint that had you swallow.

“Yeah?”

He nodded, his glasses sliding down more, you pushed them up again, his curls were a mess and damn… he looked ethereal. He was all yours, the pride in your chest swelled as as the love you felt for him did too.

You both smiled at each other before he kissed you again, his lips grazing your cheeks, eyebrows, forehead, everywhere he could touch, you giggled. Jacaerys felt like he could fly, the need to feel you, to connect with you felt heavy on his head.

He took a moment to observe the environment, he was quick, in a moment he heard everything, the laughter of his younger brothers, the sound of his mother talking over the phone. His cheeks blossoming crimson, the idea of having you while his family were so close bought an excitement to him.

He nibbled on your neck before whispering, “We have to keep quiet, mom…” he paused, feeling embarrassed, “anyone can hear us if we’re loud.”

You smirked, feeling the heat boil, “then try not to make me scream out,”

Jacaerys pulled away his eyebrows furrowed as if you said something offensive, “Oh? If i don’t, then I am not deserving of you my angel.”

Everything happened so fast, Jacaerys felt like he only blinked for a second, one second he was tasting you, leaving small marks on your neck then he was under you again, his chest bare, his boxers suddenly feeling hot.

You sat on top again, licking your lips admiring the work you made, a wet kiss on his chest turning red. Jacaerys felt sweat drip from his forehead, he needed to have you, now. But, he knew the reward would soon calm if he was patient - though he did not want to wait.

“Tell me my love, why are dragons the symbol of your family? If they are myth, why is it symbolic?”

Jacaerys rolled his eyes as his head tilted back, “Are you… Are you serious?” he whined, he thought he escaped this.

You tighten your lips together to hold back from laughing, “Oh i am serious babe. Now answer, or else.. I’ll go downstairs and play with Joff, i’ll ignore you all day.”

Jacaerys for the sake of his bulge feeling like it was ready to explode, tried.

He closed his eyes, scanning memories of the information he studied, “It was said that Targaryens are closer to the gods due to their faith in old traditions. Dragons are a symbol of power but also peace. Our family-“ suddenly he hissed, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Your teeth pulled the band of his boxers down, as your hand’s massaged the muscular thighs of his, you paused when you heard nothing but hard breathing, “I didn’t tell you to stop Jacaerys.”

He whimpered, “Dear gods…” he cleared his throat, “Our family symbol being dragons is to remind us of our history, to remind us why helping our people is also building a foundation for a better future, that is why our law firm is uh-“ he moaned when he felt your lips kissing up his toned chest.

“Our law firm is the most popular, and is one of the first establishments holding a strong position in justice.”

You stopped, Jacaerys was breathing hard as if he had ran through a marathon, “You really need to stop overthinking you won’t pass your exams, you are smart.”

Pressing a slight kiss on his lips, you sat up again, “Good job baby,” you moved his shaky hand to your body again, however Jacaerys had other plans, he sat up meeting you face to face.

“You are the world’s best person to ever grace us, I am so lucky to have you,” he whispered all the while his fingers grazed the apple of your cheeks, you couldn’t avoid the amount of love his eyes held you just needed him. The sexual tension between you was too strong to ignore.

“Jace..”

He pushed your hair back, his eyes mapping out the beauty marks on your face. You were so beautiful, he would never once stop repeating it, “I love you, with every ounce of my heart,” and that was when your heart flew out of your chest.

He laid you onto his bed, both of you shaking with need to have each other. His lips traced every bump, every inch of your body until he reached the valley of your breasts. The metal of his glasses making your skin crawl with goosebumps.

“All mine,” he whispered. His fingers traced the perky buds of your breasts before he took one in his mouth, moaning as if he was having the best dessert - in a way he was. Your body lifted from the bed, mind clouded with him only.

“Jace,” you pleaded now, needing him to stop his slow pace, you just needed him inside you. You felt him shudder at the way you said his name.

He pulled back, your eyes shaking in need but Jace was worse, his eyes filled with need, hidden behind those glasses of his he was overwhelmed with the love he had for you.

You felt his bulge nudge your core causing you to tilt your head back, moaning softly, you heard the gasping of your boyfriend who struggled what to do next. He never wanted to rush into things but he needed you, he wanted to explore more of you but he just needed to be inside, to carefully love you and show you.

You made the decision to guide him, you and Jacaerys were not always active, majority of your relationship was very innocent and you didn’t complain, simply being in the arms of your boyfriend was enough. Jacaerys only needed you close to feel the love you felt for him as he did you.

He never disrespected you, always showed you respect and love in small and big ways. His family adored you, with his mom already calling you her daughter she never had. Daemon adored your stubbornness, mentioning how you reminded him of his younger days. To Jace, that was enough.

So when you guided him inside of you, feeling the tip of his erection inside you, both of you gasped, holding each other in desperate need of love. He shook in your arms as your legs wrapped around his waist, he didn’t move feeling too overwhelmed from your heat.

“t’s okay,” you whispered, your heart full, and as you locked eyes with the one man who you swore your life to, he pushed all the way in, the tears seeping from your eyes.

He held you in his arms tightly, whimpering as you tugged the wet curls of his, pulling out and pushing in with such care that had you breathing out choked sobs from the love you felt. He only prepped small kisses, whispering the love he held for you.

“I love you, I love you,” he whispered into your mouth, his hands wiping the tears from your cheeks, feeling his own pool. Your fingers marked half moons onto his shoulde blades, marking beautiful trails of your love as he pushed into you harder, faster.

You removed his glasses then, finally coming to face his eyes that were scrunched together in concentration and if it was another occasion you would’ve laughed but you kissed his face holding onto him as your noses bumped into each other clumsily.

“You feel so g-good,” he muttered, his hand holding onto your right hand, you said nothing as you took him in, feeling the little bubble in your tummy ready to release.

“J-Jace,” you stuttered, squealing when he finally hit that one spot inside you, “OH! Don’t stop… donnn-t stop.”

He knew you were close, you held onto his hair tighter, your eyes rolled onto the back of your head as you bent your neck all the way back displaying your entire neck to him. He pushed harder, making it a mission to have you see stars, he watched you carefully, hearing how you muttered his name like a prayer.

He was so close, but he held back, his cheeks were warm, as he felt the need to come inside you with just watching you wither in his embrace. All that was heard was the bed squeaking, the headboard of his bed slamming against the wall, and as much as he wanted to keep it quiet, he couldn’t. He just needed you.

“My pretty angel, all mine,” he whispered again, he had let go of your hand reaching down on your sensitive bud where he rubbed in circles, you moaned loudly and he reacted so fast he covered your mouth with his as he swallowed your slight screams.

He felt the stutter of your hips and the shocks that your body was going through, and suddenly he felt the tightness of your warmth wrapping him hard that his chest felt on fire.

He closed his eyes allowing the pleasure to sweep him out of the world, with one last push he allowed to come inside you hearing you sigh in bliss, your body still shaking, the tears dry on your cheeks.

You held Jace against you, brushing his hair back, hearing him try to level his breathing back to normal. You did not want him to pull out of you but you needed to pee.

He kissed your breasts before he slowly pulled out, both of you shuddering, he then kissed you deeply. He said nothing, but neither did you, both of you basking in the love.

You watched as he pulled you into his arms, carrying you into his bathroom, he looked beautiful. You sat in the toilet as he prepared a bath, and took the moment when he went to get you clothes to pee.

When he came back he had a hoodie of his and a pair of boxers for you to wear, you childishly made grabby hands, he chuckled before he pulled you to the bath tub with him.

The silence was comfortable, until a thought hit you, “Jace?”

You leaned your head back to look at him, he was smiling with his eyes closed, “Yeah?”

“I think.. I saw Luke’s feet at some point by the door,”

Jace snapped his eyes open in a panic, one look at you, who looked at him with your own set of eyes that held panic, he laughed loudly, you joined him.

Lucerys did in fact stopped by his brother’s door, he only wanted to ask if you wanted to play mario’s kart, but that flew out the window when he heard his brother’s moans. So he sat in the family room with a traumatized look on his face thinking he wished dragons were real so he can ask to get eaten instead.

[bks-writing-adventures]

His Strong Girl (Aemond X Strong! Reader)

Warnings: Brief mentions of bullying and gore, brief mentions of sex, Alicent being a momzilla.

Word Count: 6.5 K

Summary: Aemond has always loved his Strong Girl, she's nearly of age to mary, and he wants her before anyone else can have her.

120 AC

As children, Aemond had always loved her. Even though he knew that he should not. His mother filled his brain with poison, to hate Rhaenyra and all that was part of her, and that included her children. The Strong children, all four of them. It was easy to hate Jace and Luke. They teased him. They found him a pig and called him the second son. They laughed at him and kept them out of their fun. They were kind to the other children in the court, but for reasons he could not understand, he was different. It was so hard on his young brain. He was all that he was supposed to be. H

e could read and write, he had light hair and light eyes. He always prayed at dinner time, and he always wore clean clothes, always had his hair brushed. He did all of his lessons. So what ever could be wrong with him? When Joffrey came along, it was easy to hate him, too. There was no doubt that he would grow into the sculpting hands of his older brothers. As soon as he would talk, he would be name calling and lying too. But when it came to her. Well, it was impossible. 

Her eyes were warm and kind, muddy brown like her brothers and her father. There was a small distance of age between them, a year and a half, but he could hardly tell. She was smart for her age. She was not puzzled by her lessons, and she listened well, could smile and nod. She cut her own food and lived in her own world. He kept his distance for a long time, whenever the whole family was forced together for weddings and funerals. But slowly, like butter beneath rays of sun, he warmed. He grew calm in her presence and peeled back his layers to be vulnerable.

To meet her in the library when she was in her pyjamas, and to whisper gossip that they had picked up in the halls. He had two sides of him. The side that hated the Strongs, and the side that loved. He was good at making sure they did not cross, that was, until the day his aunt died. He never knew much of her. He knew that she was pretty and powerful and rode the greatest dragon in the world. But he did not cry for her. He only stayed quiet as the respects were paid, and his eyes wandered the mourners for her. 

She was caught up between her brothers and their cousins. Black looked odd on her. She always wore pink or blue, maybe red, but hardly ever. Despite being half Targaryen, she had no like for the color. She was all about pastels and ruffles and frilliness. He frowned as he watched, and the feet between them felt like miles. As the group looked over to him, he offered an awkward grin, only to be returned with nothing. His heart sunk deeper into his body, and he tried to give her a light wave, to grab her attention.

But there was nothing he could do, and he could feel her slowly slipping from his fingers. Disappointment ate away at him, and he said nothing to her the entire day. And she made no effort to talk to him, either. And so when evening came and he was alone, with no gossip to speak of in the library, and no puzzles to put together, he found himself in the dragon pit. Tiptoeing carefully, listening to the snore of beasts who had survived all of the worlds wars. The scratch of their claws against stone, and finally, the hiss of fire as it nearly caressed his face. 

The sight of Vhagar was one unmatched, and he moved as though he were being controlled, a mere puppet of the gods as he slowly climbed the scaly creature. He screamed into the wind as it lapped at his hair, and he laughed with joy as they landed with a thump and a roar. All that he was missing in his life was against his palms, and his skin burned with the leather of the saddle. His heart had gone above the clouds, and it hadn’t come down, even as his shaky feet hit the floor, a smile bigger than he had ever worn stretched across his face as he moved to scurry away and back to bed.

He would tell his mother in the morning. She would be so proud. But fate had something else brewing for him, and he was met with the sight of his nephews and his cousins. He clung to the words he had heard from his mothers lips, and he threw them mindlessly as fists collided in the air. He did not remember half of it. And he did not know when it would end, gripping blindly at whatever he could find. A stone the size of his foot, lifting it above his head quickly, every one of his cells begging him to go through with the action. It could have only been a second, maybe not even. 

From the moment he saw the dagger in his little nephews hand, he knew that this was all over. This temporary shot of joy, and it died like a flame to ash as blood soaked his hand. He couldn’t hear his scream, but he could feel it deep in his lungs as he smacked against the ground, clawing at it. He shouted profanities as the guards dragged him to the maesters. He stared at his mothers face, and he sat still as he was surrounded by all of his family. And as he prayed for comfort, he was met with only fighting.

Shouting back and forth between his mother and sister, his father was of no help, and every other moment he was stabbed with a needle, his mouth curling at the feeling as his nails scratched against the armrest of the chair. He knew the eye was gone, but seeing it laying broken in a dish like the bad parts of a chicken. It broke him, and he stared at the wall as blood hit the floor, and when he was finally asked where he had heard the words he shouted, he stared at his mother. Her brows were furrowed, a deep crevasse in the middle. Her brown eyes were shining with a mix of sadness and fury, a touch of fear as she looked over at him. He swallowed his pain and spoke a lie.

 “Aegon.” He whispered out, and shut his eye for the rest to come. The last thing he remembered of that night was the look on her face, and the way her fingers curled, as if she wished to reach out and touch him, only to be quickly whisked away by Rhaenyra and Daemon. That was the night he decided his mother was right about them. All of them. Even his sweet, Strong girl. Because if she were truly strong, she would have come to him. Despite their orders, she would’ve comforted him. But instead, he was alone. Alone and scarred. 

127 AC

When he learned that his sister and her bastard children would be coming to his home, he tried his best to act as normal as he could. He ate his breakfast of pork and eggs, sharpened his sword and trained with Ser Criston. He ignored the groans of his brother, and watched quietly as his sister bounced her babies on her legs. He could almost smile. But he knew exactly how the children came to be. And if Aegon were not his brother, Aemond would have his head on the wall. Dread grew in his stomach as the sun reached its peak, and he hit against Criston’s sword with the ferocity of a thousand men. With every strike, he thought of the night he lost his eye. He thought of the dagger against his skin, the way he was treated so coldly, and how she had done nothing. And every night after that he felt as though he were frozen, reliving the moment over and over. He could feel the pain in his cheek and forehead with every twitch in his lips. 

Soon, the Prince promised he would stop smiling altogether, because maybe then, the pain would stop. And so when he saw his nephews, he stared them down, like a wolf to a rabbit. He liked to watch their discomfort, but his gaze, much to his distaste, softened when he caught sight of her behind them. She had grown beautiful with the years that had passed. Her once chubby cheeks were still round and flushed from the cool air, and her brown curls were pulled back by pins. She wore a pink gown that leaned toward purple, a bit dusty in its tone, covered in small swirls and patterns that he could not process from where he stood. His sweet girl. Her eyes were large, and freckles covered her. He didn’t remember her ever having freckles before, and it took Criston’s voice to break him from his trance.

 “You will be ready for the tourneys in no time, My Prince,” the Knight spoke, to wish he scoffed. 

“I do not give a shit about tourneys,” He responded, his voice quiet and cold. He did not see the pint in galloping around on a horse, fighting other men and yelling like animals, all for the attention of ladies that were as shallow as a tide pool. No. He would save himself for her, if she would have him. And he was certain she would.

 “Nephews, have you come to train?” He asked, his voice louder than before, brows raised. Jace turned to look at his younger brother, and their faces paled. They were afraid, and the thought made Aemond’s heart fill with joy. He threw his sword to the dirt for his men to pick up later. 

“And what of you, niece?” He asked, turning his head to look at her. Jace moved his shoulder to create a wall between them, but it did nothing for her curious eyes. She simply stood on her tiptoes, looked at him, and smiled. The sight brought a smirk to his lips, and when he walked to his chambers, he did so with a newfound confidence. He was quick to change into his outfit for the evening, one that covered every inch of his body, not even his wrists exposed. It made him feel better. As if it hid everything under. As if he were not still the runt of the litter. Even with all his training, he could never seem to grow.

He would always be the smallest of his kin, but what he lacked in size, he could make up for in skill. He could hardly wait for the evening meal. He was not hungry, but he was thrilled. To see her, to tease her. And maybe, if he were lucky, she would meet him in the library like old times. As he paced back and forth, he practically counted down the minutes until the sun finally fell. He groaned as they gathered for yet another meeting, but he could put up with it, if it meant seeing her. 

She stood beside her mother, and it was only then that he could see a hint of resemblance between them. They had the same way of standing, and they were close in height. They shared a curved nose and a cunning gaze, but she only wore it softer. She had not yet seen violence, she had not watched the light fall from a mans eyes. She had not yet lost a love, and he could see her smile softly as the betrothals of her brothers were announced. He relished in the way that she nudged her brothers and gave them a teasing raise of brow before she remembered her surroundings, trying to return to her previously serious demeanor.

A smile pulled at his lips, and his eye narrowed as he stared at her, compelling her to look up at him. Please. He thought to himself, feeling his heart leap as their eyes met. She was just so beautiful. But the peace of her gaze was quickly broken when Vaemond began to speak of their heritage, and Aemond watched in displeasure as her brows furrowed, as her big eyes stared at the floor in shame. 

The others, he could smile at. But to see her caught in the fight, to see her be called names.

 It disgusted him. His back stiffened, and he bit his tongue. He would have plenty of time to speak to her later, to hold her in the years to come, to fuck the bastardy out of her. But he would have to wait. His hands curled in on themselves, and in a fraction of a moment, Vaemond was gone. His head hit the floor with a sloppy thump, Helaena turned away, her eyes huge and her hands on her head, and he watched as his Strong Girl practically mirrored her, her thumbs pressed against her ears and her fingers over her eyes. He sighed, staring at the body on the floor, his gaze slowly following the bloody sword until he was gazing at his uncle. Daemon. An interesting man he was. And slowly, Aemond smiled. This would be an interesting night. 

When dinner time came, he took his seat and looked at the rest of the table. Baela and Rhaena, Rhaenyra and Daemon, and next to them, there she was. He smiled a little to himself. They always did that, sitting around her like a human shield, practically hiding her from his view. He followed his mothers words as she called for prayer, and he smiled to himself as his mother spoke of Vaemond Velaryon. The old man could never shut his mouth. The food came out in small rounds, starting with potatoes and bread, and he gazed at her as he licked the remnants of potato from his thumb.

Her eyes were so big, and he loved watching her cheeks get nice and flushed. And even more, he loved seeing how angry her brothers got, all while her mother remained clueless. When the main course came out, he stared in silence as the roasted pig sat in front of him. He could tell how this was going to go, lifting his head to stare right at Luke, seeing the beginning’s of a smile on his mouth. His hands curled into fists, and just as he moved to stand, she spoke. “Luke. Do not be impolite,” She whispered softly. She was soft and sweet, but she had such a bold presence to her when she wanted it. 

“But-” Luke began, and she gently shook her head. “Eat your carrots. Mother said to be on our best behavior,” She said softly, reaching over to start cutting his soft boiled carrots up. Aemond frowned, slowly leaning back. He had so much anger to release, and no real reason to release it. She was a gem, that girl. She could so easily diffuse a situation. She was the type of woman that she be on the throne. They could share it together, one day. As the evening grew old and their stomachs were full, the music began to flow delicately on the harps. As soon as he saw Jace’s eyes brighten, he stood, walking around the table like a shark circling a helpless seal, placing his hands on the back of her chair. 

“Aemond,” His mother spoke up, her voice filled with caution as she sat up straight. “Do not worry, mother. I only wish to know if my lovely, strong girl wants to dance with me,” He responded, his fingertips moving across her curls. Rhaenyra bit her cheek, and he could feel the tension growing like a cage. 

“I dare you to say that again,” Jacaerys spoke, his hands flat on the table. 

“Brother,” She said softly, gazing back at him. Their eyes met for nearly ten seconds, and finally, he looked away. “I will dance with you,” She spoke, pulling her chair from the table and gently taking his hand. “If you promise not to stomp on my toes,” She says, teasing him a little as he pulled her to the stone tiles. 

“I will do my very best,” He whispered, his hands curling around hers. Her touch was so delicate, and he found himself taking a small whiff of her wrist. Raspberries and cashews. It was a unique scent, but it was hers. He wanted to bathe in it, paint it onto his pillow. “I have missed you,” He said softly. And he had. He often found himself dreaming of the possibilities. Of bringing Vhagar to her bedroom window. Of taking her to the skies and bringing her to the forest, where they were not a Prince and a Princess, but only teenagers in love. “You will be a woman grown soon,” He said softly, his thumbs rubbing circles into her palms as he spun her under his arms. It would only be eight months before they were the same age, and it was only eight months before she would finally be on the marriage market. He just had to make his claim before anyone else could.

 “I know,” She said softly, her fingers trailing to the cuffs on his wrist, touching the golden dragons with her gentle strokes. “I feel as though I was 9 only yesterday,” She mumbled, and he smiled in return. 

“Tell me about it,” He mumbled, his hands moving down to her waist, his touch gentle. His eye wandered to the necklaces she wore, the ones that layered. The shortest was to her collarbone, and the longest was just between her breasts. A seahorse. A Velaryon symbol, something that didn’t belong to her, and they all knew it. His fingers slowly wandered to it, his thumb rubbing against the emerald eyes and the golden details. “This is a symbol of your fathers house, is it not?” He asked softly. His fingers slowly wandered up to cup her face, his fingers against her jaw, licking his lips.

 “It is a symbol of the sea,” She said quietly, and he could see the turmoil in her eyes. He could feel the gaze of his family on him, and he knew they would not be pleased. But his mother was simply delighted, a scheming smile on her face.

 “You like the sea, my lady?” He mumbled softly. They were hardly dancing anymore, he was just holding her close, holding her face, his thumb pressing against her lips. 

“Who does not?” She asked softly, smiling a bit. She was always so sweet when she spoke of the sea, and he could see so much excitement in his eyes.

 “I must admit, I have never had great love for it. Smells of salt and dying fish, and sand simply gets everywhere, the seagulls chase me,” He mumbles, making her laugh a little, brows raised in amusement.

 “Perhaps they just like the look of you,” She said, and he smiled, head tilted. 

“Is that what you think?” He asked. 

“Well, if I were a seagull, I would go for you. Your hair would make a good nest,” She teases, making his eye roll. “But truly, you must be going to the worst spots. I have missed Kingslanding. The shores are beautiful,” She says. His heart thumped, and he found himself gazing into her eyes. 

“Then you should stay,” He responded softly, leaning a little closer. It was hard to remember that they were surrounded, and that they were not the only people in the world.

 “And how would I go about that?” She asked softly. 

“You could marry me,” He spoke softly, and the whole room went silent, the notes on the harp fading out. Her brows raised, and she looked like she might giggle. She couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not, blinking slowly. 

“You do not mean that,” She said softly. 

“Oh, but I do. You would be so happy here.” He mumbled, pushing some falling curls behind her ears, whispering gently against her skin.

 “Wait for me, will you?” He mumbled. Her face flushed, and he could practically feel her heart pounding beneath her skin. She was about to speak, but the doors opened and cakes began to roll out, small cups of pudding, trays of lemon cakes and cookies.

 “(Y/N), come sit,” Rhaenyra called, and she gazed up at Aemond for a moment, as if trying to speak, but nothing would come out. Slowly, they parted, moving to go back to their seats. Her cheeks were so warm, and she prayed that no one else could tell under the warm light of the candles. Immediately, Rhaenyra leaned toward her, searching her face for discomfort. 

“What did he say to you?” She asked, noting the odd look of.. Something on her daughters face. It wasn’t fear, and it wasn’t discomfort. She just couldn’t place that expression. 

“Nothing, mother,” She said softly. All eyes were on her, and Daemon wore a smirk like a man would wear a crown.

 “I believe she has feelings for the boy,” He whispered, making Rhaenyra’s eyes widen. She looked disgusted, for a brief moment, but she quickly hid her distaste, blinking it away as she took lemon cakes onto her plate. 

“We will talk about this later,” She said quietly, plucking the sweetened lemons from the top of the cake and placing one in her mouth. Daemon reached over and took the cake itself. They had a system. She would eat the fruits, and he would eat the parts she did not want. Meanwhile, she reached for a cookie, breaking it into small pieces on her plate, trying her best not to look at Aemond. She could tell that he was getting the same treatment on his side of the table, a knowing smile on his face as his mother shook his arm, trying to juice information out of him. He only chuckled to himself, taking a few sips of his wine. When the dinner finally ended, she was a blushing mess as she followed her mother, looking over her shoulder to see Aemond going in the other direction, a silent agreement in their eyes. They would see each other in the library tonight. As she took her bath, all she could think of was him.

 Him and his offer, and the more she thought of it, the more she smiled. She trusted him more than she ever could a stranger. And she began to think of how she could convince her mother to let it happen. She trusted that Aemond would never hurt her. Maybe men that acted out of their place, maybe annoying nephews at the dinner table, but never her, and she was confident in that. And perhaps the marriage could bring the family together. Rhaenyra had wanted Jace to marry Helaena, after all. She did have a desire for the families to mix. That was it. That would be her selling point. “Some time alone, please?” She asked the maids as they scrubbed her body and hands.

 “Of course, Princess,” They responded, quickly leaving. She sighed softly, ringing out her loofa as she looked at the mirror. Perhaps if she had children with Aemond, they would come out with white hair. Maybe they would have a better life than her. Her eyes then wandered to her seahorse necklace, and she remembered her father, before his death. Her life had been an odd one. She felt like she had a new father every couple of years, and in truth, she had. She had the father who’s seed she grew from, who taught her how to count and tucked her into bed during his shifts on the nightwatch.

She had the father who taught her how to fish, and which shells made the best necklaces, and which crabs were dangerous. And then she had the father that taught her to be bold, the one who married her mother the day after his own wife died. That had been a tough one, and in truth, she still was not warmed to Daemon. She did not like the way he treated her precious mother, and she swore to herself that she would never have a marriage like theirs. When she was finally dried of her bath, she looked out to the stars.

 She looked for her favorite constellations, and she smiled as she remembered the library in the Red Keep. It was beautiful and large and full of enough books to last a lifetime. She was quick to get into her pyjamas, and even quicker to open her door, looking up at her guard. 

“Excuse me,” She said softly, stepping out. “Are you going somewhere, Princess?” He asked, a look of confusion on his face. He had a long beard, and she was sure he had seen him before.

 “Yes,” She answered, making her way down the corridor without saying anything else. She made her way as quiet as she could to the library, passing a rat or two that made her heart jump. That was something that she had hated about the Red Keep. There was nothing on the windows, so animals would come and go as they pleased. She much preferred mice over rats. Something about their tails tickled her brain in the worst of ways. When she finally did reach the library, her eyes searched for him, and she felt disappointment rising in her like steam when she could not find him. Perhaps she had gotten the wrong message. Maybe she made up the language of the eyes. But she would not waste her trip, beginning to pick out a book or two on constellations and The Moon and The Tides.

 “You didn’t think I forgot, did you?” His voice made her jump, and she gripped her skirt as her eyes searched for him. “So close, my little doe. Look down,” He spoke, and when she did, she found him hiding under one of the tables in a pile of blankets. She smiled, crouching.

 “Are you hiding?” She asked softly. She couldn’t see his expression in the dark, but she could feel warmth radiating from him.

 “I am not hiding. I simply wanted to see how long it would take to find me,” He responded, reaching for her hand and pulling her down. This was much easier when they were kids, but now he was longer than the table, and the needed more pillows. 

“So you have just been watching me walk around aimlessly?” She teased, making him nod.

 “Oh, of course,” He spoke softly, his hands finding her cheeks, squishing them gently. “I want to speak with my sister,” He mumbled softly, pulling her closer until her belly was against his chest. “I will not marry you until I get her permission,” He said softly. She nodded softly, leaning her cheek against his chest. She could hear his heart racing, and she smiled at the feel of the vibrations.

 “I did not take you for the type to want Mommy’s blessing,” She mumbles, making him scoff. 

“I know better than to take away her little girl. She owes me this much, for all that has been done to me,” He spoke, and her hand slowly made its way up to his eyepatch.

 “I am sorry that I said nothing that night,” She mumbled, and he softened against her touch. 

“You were only a child,” He said quietly. 

“As were you. None of us deserved all that has happened to us. If it is any help, I stole Luke’s desserts for a week,” She mumbled gently.

 “Ah, yes. That is the most appropriate punishment,” He teased, making her roll her eyes. 

“I did what I could.” She speaks, her lips brushing against his forehead, placing a small kiss there. A bit of his hair got into her mouth, and he squirmed, making him chuckle. 

“Are you trying to make a nest of my hair?” He asked, recalling their earlier conversation.

 “Oh hush.” She mumbled, curling up into him. Neither of them meant to fall asleep, but it was just so warm and comforting, and slowly, they fell into a slumber, feet sticking out of their fort. When they woke, it was to yells so loud they thought someone was killed. Both sat up far too quick, smacking the tops of their heads against the wooden tables. In shame, they crawled out quickly, her eyes big as she stared up at both of their mothers.

 “What is the meaning of this?” Rhaenyra asked. She sounded so angry, but her eyes were not on her daughter, they were on Aemond, her lips pressed into a fineline.

 “We were having a sleepover,” He said simply. “You know what that is like, don’t you sister? Didn’t you used to have sleepovers with your friends quite frequently?” He asked. He couldn’t speak without being antagonistic. 

“Aemond!” She and Alicent exclaimed at the same time. 

“Mother, please. I promise it was nothing. We were only speaking,” She said softly, eyes on the floor as she was pulled closer, her face and neck inspected for marks. “We just wanted to do as we used to as children, that is all,” She said softly. Rhaenyra slowly calmed, tucking her hair behind her ears.

 “He did nothing to you?” She asked.

 “Of course not. Aemond would never hurt me,” She spoke, feeling Aemond’s hand moving to her shoulder. 

“That much is true,” He spoke. “Sister, it has been a long time since we have spoken face to face,” He said, his eyepatch on the floor, having fallen off in his sleep. He wanted her to look at him in full, to see all that he had become. 

“That it has,” Rhaenyra spoke, her face void of emotion. 

“You know that I love your daughter. That has never been a secret. Do not deny her happiness because of one misunderstanding.” He said, making Rhaenyra’s face slowly fall. Her eyes looked to Alicent, as if she had any part in this. She simply shrugged, mouth parted. 

“What are you saying, Aemond?” She asked her youngest son. 

“I am saying that I wish to unite our families. I will marry (Y/N).” He spoke, leaving no room for discussion. Rhaenyra stared blankly at the pair. She had wished to stop the resentment between the families, and this would be the perfect way. But she could not bear the thought of her daughter staying here, alone with him, with them. She knew that (Y/N) would marry one day, but she just didn’t realize how soon that would be. But as she saw her daughters smile, and the hope in her eyes, she just could not say no. “Very well.” She spoke after a moment, letting out a deep breath.

 “I will allow it. But you will wait the moons until her name day. We will ensure that this is what she truly wants,” She spoke, nodding to herself. Alicent was more hesitant, running through the possibilities in her mind. This was not what she wanted, not one bit. She wanted as much distance between the two families as possible. And what would the people say when they learned that the Prince was marrying a bastard? Her blood was good as dirt, and she came from a family of liars and narcissists. But no matter what she said, she knew her son would do as he pleased, so finally, she nodded, looking down at the floor. 

128 AC The wedding day came quicker than either of them had expected. For at least three hours a day it was just planning, planning, planning. Trying on rings and taking them off, getting as close as they could without their chaperones making a fuss, whispered compliments and holding hands under the table. And of course, having to remind Alicent that this was not her wedding. “Oh, but wouldn’t a green dress be so lovely?” She asked, holding the fabric to (Y/N)’s skin. Rhaenyra could sense her discomfort, giving a light shake of her head. 

“No. She has already decided to wear a gown similar to mine,” She spoke, and as Alicent went to open her mouth, she quickly spoke again.

 “Don’t you remember that from when you were young? How old were you, nine or so? I found you in my chambers trying to get the dress on. It was much too long for you then,” Rhaenyra smiled fondly as she sipped her tea. 

“It will not fit her,” Alicent pointed out, to which Rhaenyra smiled. 

“It is a good to live in the time of seamstresses, is it not? I have already had it expanded and altered to suit her. You should worry about your son. Black leather at a wedding would be quite improper,” She spoke. Aemond sighed, slowly making eye contact with his betrothed. The pair were rather calm, but their mothers… were certainly something. 

“I have already had his clothing commissioned. He will wear a fine beaded doublet of dragons and seahorses, in nod to her…. Velaryon heritage,” Alicent spoke, her voice soft and sarcastic, making Rhaenyra’s eyes roll. (Y/N) could not take it anymore.

 “In all respect, this is my wedding. It is our wedding. We do not need this petty argument ruining our day. We both have fine clothes to wear, we have stunning rings, invitations are sent, and that is the end of it.” She spoke, looking between the two older women, watching them go silent. And so the pair would sit and wait for the day to come, resting together in the gardens, watching the sun fall and rise as they ate their meals on a blanket. They were romantic and disgusting, living in their own little world, just them and their chaperone.

 “I cannot wait until we are finally wed and can be alone,” He sighed, rubbing her hand, kissing the top of her engagement ring. It was golden and covered in stones. It was far from traditional, and it was exactly the type of thing that she enjoyed.

 “Nor can I,” She said softly, smiling as she saw a bunny running across the grass.

 “Only a few days left,” he said softly. “You are certain you want to go through with this? There is still time to call it all off,” He mumbled, making her scoff.

 “Of course I am certain. I will just have to prepare myself for more of your mothers comments,” She responded teasingly. 

“Oh, Gods. Are do not want to think about that. I only wish to think of what it will be like to finally kiss you, to share our names and bodies… to finally sleep in the same bed and wake up to the sight of you every morning,” he murmured, making her cheeks burn.

 “Stop it,” She mumbles, too embarrassed to listen to any more of it, placing her hands on her ears, making him chuckle as he pulled them off. 

“I am thrilled to see your pretty face all sleepy and puffy, and to share our evening meals, to have painting after painting made of you to hang on my walls until I cannot escape those pretty eyes,” He smiled. She squirmed under him, flattered and grossed out, covering her crimson cheeks. “Hm.. the bugs are coming out,” He sighed as the sky got dark and frogs bred in the distance. She sighed, and they carefully packed up their things and made their way back to the Keep. Alicent was watching them from her balcony, and the two walked a safe distance apart. Only a few more days they would have to hold themselves together. And finally, on the 18th day of the 11th moon, all of the Lords and Ladies of importance were packed inside the Red Keep. Beautiful gowns twirling under candle light, the best of music echoing from the harps. Aemond tried to breath as he walked in, his eyes finally finding her. 

And gods, he would marry her a million times over. Her curls were full of pearls and small pins, half of her hair up and the other half down. His palms were sweating, pressing against his doublet. He was painfully aware of everyone looking at him, but he couldn’t look away from her.

 “(Y/N).” He murmured softly as she finally stood in front of him. He was struck dumb by her beauty, blinking slowly. 

“Aemond,” She said softly, their voices quiet and kept to the loudness of a breath. Both of their faces red as the Sept read off some text, but neither of them were paying attention. Hurry up, Aemond thought to himself, getting increasingly more anxious as the minutes passed. And finally, as silence covered them, he reached forward, held her cheeks, and pressed a big kiss to her mouth. It was sweet and awkward, and their teeth bumped for a brief moment. All of the love they had collected for each other in the last months came oozing out, her hands holding his until they finally parted, looking at each other, their breath lost.

 “And you have… kissed your bride.” The Septon spoke, a bit awkwardly, as if this had never happened before. And it had not. The crowd was quiet, looking around for the reaction they were supposed to have, until they finally erupted in applause.

 “I love you, My Strong Girl,” He whispered into her ear. She smiled up at him, arms around his shoulders as flower petals flew like rain.

 “Aww, thank you,” She said, making his eye squint. She laughed, her thumbs pressing her cheeks.

 “And I love you too, my One Eyed Prince,” She mumbled, feeling his arms around her waist, holding her close as if he wished to absorb her. And so the One Eyed Prince and The Strong Girl lived the happiest they could, despite the violence around them and the whispers in their ears, their love never died. Burning furious and strong like Vhagar’s flame, and with every five years that passed, they would have wedding after wedding after wedding, until they were wed beneath all the gods and above all the land. Until their love could not be denied, and until they died, where their ashes were mixed and mingled with the shore, covered in shells and seahorses.

I think this might be the longest fic i've posted so far! I hope you enjoyed it!!

Thank you to everyone who reads.

♡- BK

[rennalaqotfm]

𖤓 DRAGONSPEAR | J.V (MASTERLIST)

Pairing: Prince Jacaerys Velaryon x Martell Princess! Reader

Synopsys: Upon discovering Aemond Targaryen's alliance with the Triarchy, the Blacks are pushed to the point of desperation. With the war looming over the horizon, they have no choice but to turn to an unlikely ally: House Martell.

Content Warning: Smut (MDNI 18+), incest, canon-typical violence, blood and injury, alcohol consumption, slow burn, enemies to lovers, (more specific tags and TW on each individual chapter).

Chapters:

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 (TBC)

A/N: If you wish to be added to the taglist, please fill out this form for easier management.

[maglors-grief]

I'm so confused about all the people that have been insulting targaryen!readers and ocs as "boring" lately.

You expect me to believe that a reader/oc that has a fucked up family and can ride a dragon is somehow uninteresting...? This is a big fandom. There's room for everyone to write what they want. There's no reason for some people to be so judgemental. Fic writers are providing us with free content about our favorite characters. They are taking time out of their day to write us stories. You aren't expected to like every fic. This entitlement in fandom is ridiculous. Fanfiction writers owe you nothing. If you don't like what they write then that's your problem not theirs.

Most of these characters have hundreds of fics written for them, there is no point in dwelling on the fics you don't like. The Aemond/ofc tag on ao3 has over 2000 fics, the Aemond/reader tag has over 1000 fics, but yet I'll still see people whining in the fanfiction tags on tumblr about how a writer dared to write a reader/oc or plot they personally didn't like. Again, you are reading free content, we don't need to hear your criticisms. Not liking a fic is not some crisis we need to urgently address. You can keep your thoughts to yourself and move on to something else. My rant is over. Be kind to fic writers. Life would be miserable without them.

[lionneee]

Your sworn sword

English is not my first language, please be kind

Masterlist

Taglist

•Warnings: fingering, degradation (just a bit), 'just the tip', talking of sexual themes, piv, smut.•

Part 1 -> Part 2

{Request: I have a request! Aemond is send across the narrow sea to be the sworn sword/knight of a (verryy beautiful) princess from a noble house is esso’s. As punishment what he did to lucerys Thanks for reading dear 💙}

To say that Prince Aemond was grumpy was an euphemism.

He was rigid, stoic, and rude.

But your father loved him.

You couldn’t understand why, not after his most recent kill: his little nephew.

You remembered meeting Luke Velaryon once, he was a nice, gentle, kind boy.

His brother Jace was just the same.

Princess Rhaenyra had been invited as a guest at your father’s name day feast with her family, and you remembered spending a nice afternoon with her sons.

You actually kept contact with her youngest child, Jace. You two sometimes sent letters to each other, talking of your days apart.

You would have never said it outloud, but you had a weakness for the boy’s dark, beautiful hair.

But he was promised to her cousin Baela.

As soon as you heard the news, you thought he would have stopped sending you letters, but he didn't, and you almost cried of joy when the next letter came.

Then, your father sided with the greens.

He sided with rude, dangerous people, and named the worst of them as your sworn sword.

When he told you about his choice you begged him, you cried, you did everything you could to try to change his mind but it was all to no avail.

Now, all the other Ladies never sat with you, they were afraid to speak with you, all because of some dark, evil, scary person standing behind you, following every step you took.

It was so obvious how much he hated being a night, yet, he stood his role perfectly.

Aemond was always there, lurking like a shadow behind you, his presence cold and heavy, suffocating your every breath. He never spoke to you unless necessary, never showed any warmth or softness in his voice. There was nothing but formality and distance, a thick wall of indifference that made your skin crawl whenever he was near.

To be fair, the only thing you thought interesting of him was his dragon Vaghar.

Your days had become a game of silence, your once carefree nature now replaced with the constant awareness of his eyes on you. You missed the days when you could write to Jace without a worry, when his words brought you comfort and a glimpse of hope. Now, the letters felt like a secret rebellion, something dangerous, but you couldn’t give them up. They were the only link to a world that still held some warmth.

You still wrote to him, though your letters had become shorter, more cautious. You dared not mention Aemond, or your isolation. Instead, you spoke of mundane things, of books you were reading, of the changing seasons. Jace’s responses, too, had shifted, though he remained kind and attentive. There was always a note of tension, a hint of restraint. You knew he was aware of the shifting tides, of your father's allegiance to the Greens.

 You happily walked in your room, smiling as you held the newest letter on your hand from Jace.

Aemond was walking right behind you, but you couldn’t care.

Jace's letter had just come.

You chuckled to yourself as you closed the door of your room behind you, leaving Aemond outside, guarding your door. 

You jogged to your desk, sitting down on the chair and breaking the sigil, opening with trembling hands the letter.

There were only a few lines written.

You furrowed your brows, confused. He usually wrote at least one page.

Dearest friend,

I assume you have heard of my family’s recent loss, my sweet brother Luke, gone by the hand of my uncle Aemond. 

It saddens me to tell you this, but due to your father’s allegiance and your newest sworn sword, I believe it is time to end our communications.

Jace Velaryon

You felt a pain in your chest.

A deep pain.

You weren’t going to receive any more letters from him. 

I believe it is time to end our communications.

You stood up from your desk, leaving the letter to hit the floor as you ran to your bed, laying face down, your arms crossed under your face as you bursted into tears.

You didn’t eat lunch, you didn’t have dinner. You didn’t want to get up from your bed.

Your maids, even one of your closest friends tried to walk past Aemond to check on you, but he was impenetrable, he wouldn’t let anyone in, not if you didn’t want them to.

His behavior left you speechless.

You knew he was loyal, you knew he was one to do his duty, but the way he stood up for you, not letting anyone in just as you asked, left you almost flattered.

The hours dragged on as you laid in your bed, the room dark and suffocating. The weight of Jace's words still lingered, pressing down on your chest. It was as though the last thread connecting you to the warmth of your past had been severed. You felt utterly alone, the castle walls seeming colder, the silence more deafening.

But outside your door, Aemond remained, steadfast and unmoving. His presence felt different now, less like the shadow you despised and more like an unavoidable part of your life. He had become a constant, whether you liked it or not, and now, oddly, that constancy brought a shred of comfort in your moment of loss.

By the time the moon rose high in the sky, you hadn’t moved from your bed, save to cry quietly into your pillow. The pain of Jace's rejection, not just of you but of the friendship you had cherished, was overwhelming. You couldn’t bring yourself to think of anything else, let alone leave your room.

A soft knock echoed through the thick wooden door. At first, you ignored it, thinking it was another maid or friend trying to check on you, Aemond would have taken care of it in a moment. But after a moment, there was another knock, firm yet measured, followed by a voice, calm, collected, and unmistakably Aemond’s.

 "You haven't eaten." He said, his tone devoid of his usual coldness, though it was still restrained. You laid still, wondering if you could pretend you hadn’t heard him. But the silence lingered too long, and it was clear he wasn’t going to leave. He was your sworn sword, after all, bound to you, whether you liked it or not.

"I’m not hungry." You muttered into your pillow, your voice muffled and thick with the remnants of tears.

There was a pause, a moment of hesitation, which was unlike him. Then, Aemond spoke again, quieter this time. "It has been hours. You should take something, if only to keep your strength."

His words were filled with disinterest despite the meaning of them. He made impossible things possible.

"I don’t want anything." You repeated, more firmly this time. 

The door opened with a loud creek, and Aemond just walked inside. You scoffed, annoyed, but you felt too sad to think about him pissing you off.

“Leave me alone!” You groaned on the mattress, clenching your hands into fists. You could hear him moving in the room.

“That puppy of my nephew is what has reduced you in this state?” He asked, scoffing. You turned your head to look at him, and you saw him looking down at a letter in his hands.

Jace’s letter.

You bolted upright on the bed, fury boiling inside you at the sight of Aemond holding Jace’s letter. His tall, imposing figure seemed even more oppressive in the dim light of your room. His one good eye flicked over the page with a mixture of disdain and cold amusement, while the sapphire in his other socket glinted in the low light.

"Give that back!" you demanded, your voice cracking from the tears and frustration, but Aemond made no move to return the letter. He dropped the letter, letting out another scoff.

“You’re a fool.” He said, his rudeness making you red to your ear.

“How dare you talk to me like that?” You exclaimed, indignited.

“He’s a bastard. You’re sweet on a bastard, the son of my whore sister. That’s foolish.”

You felt your blood boil at his words, each syllable a sharp jab to your heart. “You don’t know anything about me! You think you can judge me just because you think you're so much better than everyone else!?”

He stepped closer, towering over you, his expression a mixture of contempt and something unreadable. “I am better than everyone else. I’m surely better than that boy who has no right on the throne he wants to claim so much.”

Your anger flared, but underneath it was a deep sorrow. “He’s more than just a name or a title! Jace has been kind to me, and you—” you pointed an accusing finger at him, “you are the one who brings darkness wherever you go.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, the air crackling with tension. “Kindness won’t save you, and neither will that bastard. This world isn’t built on sentiment. It’s built on strength and blood.”

“Strength?” you spat, incredulous. “Strength that comes from killing boys? That’s your idea of strength?”

He looked unfazed, his expression hardening. “Luke was weak. That’s why he’s dead.”

“You’re twisted.” You hissed. “It brings you pleasure, doesn’t it? Being feared, see people looking away from you –” He pushed you back before you could continue, as he started pulling off the upper structure of his armor.

You stumbled back as you looked up at him, confused and stunned, but he pushed you back again as he took off the lower part of his armor, making you fall back on your bed.

“You want to know what brings me pleasure?” He grabbed your ankle, dragging you down the bed until your butt was almost over it. He pushed the skirts of your dress up, exposing your legs.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You tried to close your legs, or pull down the skirts, but he raised your legs up, then he leaned down to grab both your thighs, spreading them apart, pressing his face against your underwear.

“This.” He mumbled against the thin clothing, his nose pressing against a funny spot against you, that made a strange sound come out of your mouth. “This brings me pleasure.” He growled as he pulled down your underwear along with the stockings. “Teaching stupid ladies their places.” He said as he dived his face back between your thighs, now his mouth pressing on that same spot, sucking and rubbing with his tongue, leaving you breathless for a moment, the pleasure was so high and so good you couldn’t speak.

You couldn’t see him, your skirts were covering the view, but you didn’t really care. Not when it felt this good. 

You didn’t think you'd ever felt this good. 

The one who was making you feel good, was a Targaryen Prince, a child murdered, the rider of the largest dragon in the world.

You could only squirm, your mind numbed by the pleasure, slowly overcoming all the alarms your brain was sending you, telling you to push the prince away, to not let him touch you in such an appropriate manner.

But then, all so suddenly it stopped, leaving you panting heavily. You saw Aemond raising his head from between your legs, coming into your field of vision.

His chin was wet, his only eye almost completely black as he looked down at you.

His hands moved on your skin, almost gently, caressing your skin as they moved up, your knees, your ankles. He wrapped his fingers around your ankles, securing your legs raised, your feet by each side of his head.

You should have stopped him.

This was improper, it was a sin. A sin you were committing with the worst man in the Seven Kingdoms.

You wanted to move, kick him back, telling him to stop touching you with his filthy, blood-stained hands, but under the dark gaze of his single eye you couldn’t move.

Aemond tightened the grip on your ankles, suddenly pulling you up so your hips lifted from the mattress. Startled, you let out a weak squeak, gripping the sheets tightly as your body moved forward, the back of your thighs landing harshly against him, your core rubbing against a protuberance on his pants, the impact sending another jolt of pleasure through your body.

“Yeah, you like it.” He hummed to himself as he dropped you back on the mattress. He leaned down, his body making space for himself between your legs as his face came to hover yours. “And you want to feel it more, don't you?” He smirked, looking down at you.

You could feel your face burning because of his words, more likely because of the truthfulness of them, because yes, you wanted to feel it again.

“No-” You mumbled as you looked up at him, directly in his eye, trying to sound firm, but he simply chuckled, grabbing your face with his hand, his fingers digging in the soft skin of your cheeks. “Such a liar. No wonder why my sweet bastard-nephew doesn’t want you.” 

That stang.

Your eyes immediately filled with tears and anger.

“How dare you?” You hissed as you tried to push him off of you, slapping his chest repeatedly, but he only smiled even more.

“There, there…” He hummed as his hand went back underneath your dress, finding you private again. No matter how much you fought, his body was keeping your legs apart, and he seemed impossible to move.

You only stopped when you felt a strange feeling, something filling you in a way you’ve never felt, that made you gasp out loud. You unconsciously let out a moan, your back arched instinctively, as your body almost contorted as he started moving his finger inside you.

“So easy to shut you up, mh?” He asked as he followed your face to be able to see every expression you made. “So easy to put into place.” He added then in a low voice.

You gritted your teeth together, trying to find in you the force to push him off, to not give him the satisfaction he was showing with that damn smile of his, but you couldn’t. The only sounds that came out of your mouth were whines or soft moans as his finger moved faster inside you, caressing everywhere inside you, and eliciting a pure bliss of pleasure.

“Jace is a fool for leaving you.” He said as he looked at you, your eyes half closed, your head leaned back, your lips apart. He didn’t even look like he realized he said that, it was like he was talking to himself and accidentally said it outloud. You turned your head to look at him, finding his eyes fixed on you, staring in appreciation. “You’re a rare beauty.” He said, his voice low and rough.

You blinked slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. A warmth spread across your chest, but you weren’t sure if it was the pleasure or the way his gaze lingered on you. 

No.

You thought to yourself.

Not him.

Please.

But the way he looked at you, like he was looking at the most beautiful thing in the world was doing something to you. It made your stomach clench, your head dizzier.

You’ve been told countless times by suitors that you were a sight to see, a beauty, but it did nothing if not make you blush or feel appreciated.

With Jace you felt your heart beat so loud you feared it could jump out of your chest.

You too were aware of your beauty, but you never thought of it as a rareness.

But now with Aemond Targaryen, the cold, mean, cruel man, who was doing unspeakable things to you, who looked at you like a Goddess, you truly felt like one.

Aemond’s gaze pierced through you, a silent intensity in his expression that made your breath catch in your throat. You wished you could deny the way his presence and actions were affecting you, wished you could ignore the way his words stirred something deep inside. But the truth was undeniable. 

As he slipped his second finger inside your thigh core, you felt it crushing on you. You didn’t know what, but for a moment, you forgot about everything, Jace, the war, Aemond’s sins, your worries, your anger and your sadness, it all vanished by the newfound feeling of ecstasy. You whined louder, making aemond clamp his other hand immediately over your mouth to muffle your sounds as he kept moving your fingers. You looked at him with wide eyes, you didn’t know what had just happened to you, but you wanted to keep feeling it, no matter what cost, you wanted to feel that good again.

He kept pumping his fingers inside you as you saw him starting to move, rub, against your thigh, some hardness pressing and caressing your skin. His brows arched slightly, his eye narrowing slightly as he pressed his hips harder against you, seeking more friction and pressure. 

You’ve never seen a man do a face close to that one.

You’ve never seen Aemond make a face like that, and it was beautiful, it was breathtaking, hypnotizing, you felt like watching him all day as he experienced his pleasure.

He didn’t miss the way you seemed affected, obviously. He looked down at you and found you staring at him, his eye darkened even more, his pupil dilating even more if possible as he clenched his jaw.

“You like this?” He looked down at you, moving his hand from your mouth to your neck, gripping it tightly, but not enough to actually cut your air off. You tilted your head back, wrapping your hands on his wrist and arm, gasping as he slipped his fingers out, passing them over your pearl just to see you squirm, his lips moving into a smirk. “No.” He said as he sat up in his haunches between your legs, forcing you to spread them to make room for his body as he started to undo his pants. “You love it.”

You tried to look down, trying to understand what he was doing but he squeezed your throat into a warning, keeping your head in place. “What are you trying to see, uh?” He growled as he pushed his pants down enough to let his cock spring free. “Such a curious menace, always getting into trouble.” He hissed as he leaned over her to look at you from above. “Always sneaking around, making my life harder.” He gritted his teeth. “Making me chase you.” He raised her skirts to your waist as he aligned his cock to your core, wet and warm, hot.

“No – “ You mumbled as you felt the tip pressing on your skin. “Y-you can’t- We’re not married-” You mumbled as you panted, shaking your head. Aemond smiled down at you, his thumb caressing the skin of her neck. 

“No one will notice.” He said firmly, pushing slightly, making his tip grace the inside your core, just slightly, enough to hear another moan from you. “Just…” He groaned as he repeated the movement, moving his hips forward as his face contorted in pleasure. “... the tip – Fuck –” He groaned as he started moving his hips, the tip of his cock was being sucked in every time by your cunt, as if it was trying to keep him inside. 

It didn’t feel bad.

She did feel like her cunt was being torn apart, but she found the pain mixed to the pleasure extremely pleasing.

It was good.

It was so good.

The pleasure was so overwhelming, so strong, so blissful.

“A-Aemond – “ You bit your lower lip as you arched your back, jerking your hips to find more pleasure as his tip kept slipping out and back in.

Aemond couldn’t tear his eyes off the sight, your core making a wet sound every time he slipped in, your walls forced open to make space for his thick cock, his red tip being welcomed in the warmness of your body, and then the sound of your weak wail every time he pulled back, only enough to be able to push back in.

“Yeah like that –” He growled as he tightened his hand around your neck, his eye still fixed on how your bodies connected, his thrusts regular, calculated and hard.

He was hanging by a thread, and he was showing a great amount of control, just by not slamming his whole long cock inside you, and making you scream in pain and pleasure.

“Grind yourself like a whore –” He snarled as he started rolling his hips faster, the wet sound growing louder along with his pace. “Fuck youre so tight – You’re squeezing me inside - ”

It didn’t bother you the way he called you, the way he spoke. If not, it only aroused you more.

You bit your lower lip harder, and no matter how low you tried to keep your noises, it became impossible as Aemond moved his free hand, using his fingers to circle your pearl, putting just the right amount of pressure. Your back arched violently as you threw your head back, your mouth open in an oval shape, grunts and moans coming out one after another as Aemond tightened his hand around your throat, starting to cut some of your air supplies, your eyes rolled in the back of your head.

It was all so much.

It was all so good.

“Come.” He growled as he finally looked up at you. “Come, before I lose it.” His eye fixed on yours. He looked feral. He looked like a chained animal, that once set free, would have hunted and killed everything in its path. “Come, before absolutely ruin you.” 

It wasn’t like you had any control over it, because when the pleasure reached you in such a hard, strong frisson, you could only surrender to it. Your eyes widened, your mouth opened, but Aemond tightened his hand on your throat even more, killing every sound you could have let out. Your eyes watered as your hips jerked, the pleasure washing over you in devastating waves.

He snarled, letting go of your throat, but you barely had the time to take a deep breathe because you felt a stinging pain, barely muffled by the aftershocks of you climax, as Aemond grabbed tightly your hips and harshly pulled to him, making you slip down on the bed and making his cock thrust completely inside you, as he moaned on top of you.

“So fucking tight.” His voice was strained, his breathing heavy, then, you felt a strange sensation of wetness inside you.

You whined as the bliss of pleasure slowly faded away, leaving you in an uncomfortable pain, so you pushed Aemond away, who retrieved with a groan, slipping out of you.

You slowly sat up, looking at him as your mind slowly registered the last moments. 

Aemond stood up from the bed, tucking himself inside his pants and starting to put his armor back on.

You didn’t say anything in the meanwhile, you just stared down at the bed covers, where you and Aemond were laying till a few seconds before, committing one of the worst sins ever.

A sin that felt so good.

You snapped out of your moment of trance only when you heard the door slam shut, and a strange smell of burned paper in the air. You moved to the end of the bed, on the floor, there was a piece of paper on fire.

Jace’s letter.

Part 2

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[starogeorgina]

𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

Paring: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targ oc

Warnings: Swearing, smut, incest

1.18

Notes: Massive thank you to everyone who's supported this story!💕

You start to grow nervous waiting on the carriage arriving from Winterfell. After waking up earlier than normal, you skipped breaking fast and went straight to the courtyard to wait on your children, your heart beating rapidly with excitement at the thought of seeing them so soon. The maester was supposed to change the bandage on your hand first thing, but this was too important; you didn’t want to miss such an important moment.

“I hope nothing has happened. It is a long journey.”

Jace tightens his grip around your waist. “Daemon is out flying on Caraxes, to make sure nothing happens. If something was wrong, we would know by now.”

Turning your head back, you look up at him and say, “I know you’re right, but I can’t stop worrying.”

“All your fears will settle once you see them.” Jace smiles and presses a kiss on your cheek. “I don’t know who will be more excited to see us—our children or Clara. She will need a few moons to recover—Lyarra!”

The gates to the courtyard open, and a carriage with a banner of House Stark comes into view. Hand in hand, you and Jacaerys run down the steps to greet them.

“My babies!” You smile so much that it starts to hurt your cheek. Bliss was the only word to describe how you felt. “Oh, my love's are finally home.”

The carriage stops just before the steps, and as soon as the door is open, Avery and Aethan burst out, and Jacaerys picks them both up. You kiss the backs of their heads.

“Mother! Kepa!”

Before Aemma can even step foot on the ground, you pull her into a hug and say, "My girl, my sweet girl.” You hold out your other hand for Rhaenys to take. “It’s okay, my darling.”

Looking behind her, Rhaenys reaches her hand out to touch something and says, "Come on, pup.” She jumps out and comes towards you, as does a direwolf pup. She cuddles into your side, “mummy.”

Jace places your sons back down to go to the carriage to receive your babe from Clara.

Tears sting your eyes when your son’s hold onto your skirts. The noose you felt around your neck had loosened since Aegon’s demise, but you never felt completely free of it until now. All you needed was for your five children to be at home, and your world should feel whole again.

“Where is Prince Daemon?” Jace asks; his eyes are trained on the handmaiden’s empty arms. “Where is our son?”

For a split second, you fear the worst until you see an unfamiliar young handmaiden appear from the opposite side of the carriage with your babe sleeping in her arms. “The lady of Winterfell kindly allowed one of her handmaidens, Lady Mormont, to assist me in bringing the children back.”

Tears of relief swell in your husband's eyes. He takes Daemon from her and holds him close, kissing the crown of his head. You would have the chance to hold your babe soon enough, but for now, you were content seeing him in his father's arms.

Quietly, you ask, “I’m presuming she is trustworthy.”

“I would not allow her near them if I didn’t believe so.”

You catch Jacaerys eye, and the two of you share a look and smile.

—

Lightly rocking your babe you watch as his brown eyes start to close over. His belly was full from feeding, so he would be settled for a couple of hours. His dark hair was starting to curl, closely resembling his father’s. He was truly beautiful.

“Ow!”

“Boys, be more gentle with your toys,” you say softly.

You feel the warmth from the fireplace against your back as you sit cross-legged on the floor, facing the rest of your children. Avery and Aethan were playing with their toys, wooden horses, and dragons. Rhaenys was curled up beside her pup, which, according to Clara, Lord Stark gave her as a gift since the pup followed your daughter everywhere. Aemma tried to fight sleep but has fallen asleep on your bed.

The excitement of being reunited with you and Jace, seeing their new rooms, and trying to comprehend their grandmother now being the queen was exhausting for your children.

“It is rude to stare, my love.”

“I’m only admiring,” Jace chuckles.

He had entered the room silently moments ago, but you had felt Jacaerys watching closely, taking everything in. He sits beside his sons on the floor, and Aethan hands him a toy and says, “Thank you.” Jace inspects the miniature dragon in his hands and asks, “What is this one called?”

“Arrax. It looks like Uncle Luke’s dragon.”

Jace’s eyes are full of tears; he ruffles the boy's hair. “That it does, son, that it does.”

It was hard coming to terms with all the deaths and betrayals your family has suffered, but you prayed time would help. The wounds of losing two brothers would never completely heal, but hopefully it would hurt to speak about them one day.

Five moons later

“I’ve written to Lord Stark, like we spoke of. He and his son Rickon will be our guests of honor in Dragonstone.”

Jace tilts his head, waiting for you to continue. He was sitting across the table from you while breaking fast with your children. “Dragonstone?”

“We are the prince and princess of Dragonstone; what better place to host them than our own castle? I spoke to her grace, and she wants to throw a grand feast to thank Lord Stark and his army for their support.”

He swallows down the food in his mouth while nodding in agreement. “Perhaps once things have settled and the realm has healed, we should return. It’s only a short distance on dragonback; we could still do our duties and spend time with our mother, Daemon, and brother while learning how to rule in our own name.”

“I think it’s a brilliant idea.” You smiled. Jace had a point. As much as you loved watching your mother become queen, you had started to miss the island you called home.

“Mummy.”

Feeling Avery tug on your nightgown, you help him sit on your lap. Unlike his other siblings, who all settled into their new routines and lived in the keep, your sweet boy had only clung to you and spent most nights crying until he was in bed beside you and Jacaerys. Avery reaches his small hand out and takes a piece of fruit from your plate, then rests his head against your chest.

Jace leans over and strokes his silver hair. “What do you think, my boy? Should we return to Dragonstone soon?”

Seeing the way your son’s face lightens up at the mention of returning home was all the confirmation you needed to know it was the right thing to do.

—

The library was empty aside from yourself and Jacaerys, although he hadn’t noticed you yet. After spending the morning in the training yard while Daemon continues to teach you, Rhaena, and Baela basic swordsmanship, you went looking for Jacaerys. There was no queen council being held until later in the day; your older children were attending their lessons, and your babe asleep with a stomach full of milk.

Jace jumps when you sneak up behind him, placing your hands on his waist. “You are a sneaky thing,” he laughs. “How did training with Daemon go?”

“Fine,” you say, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “It’s been a while since I had you alone, dear husband.”

“Lyarra,” his breath stutters when he feels your hand rubbing over his clothed cock. “You will be the death of me. Please, don’t tease.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

Jace turns his head around, grips your face, and presses his lips against your own. “Gods, no.”

Grinning, you untie his breeches, then fall to your knees, freeing his cock as you did.

You take Jace’s hardness into your mouth; your tongue swirls over the tip of his penis, then you start to bob your head back and forth as you suck and lick him. Tears roll down your cheeks when you gag, feeling his cock start to jolt in your mouth. It had been a while since you were intimate, and the last time Jace was focused on your pleasure, and it doesn’t take him long to come undone. He moans loudly while spilling his seed into your mouth.

You wipe away the saliva from your mouth and stand back up, just as Jacaerys fixes his breeches. He pulls you into his embrace and kisses the side of your neck. He whispers, “My love, I need to confess something to you.”

“What?”

“I’ve fantasized about taking you in many different ways in Dragonstone. The council room, the gardens, the great hall…” Jace holds you closer to him. “And when we return, I intend to do just that.”

The thought of Jace bending you over the table in the great hall causes heat to pool between your legs. Giggling, you shake your head and say, “Well, your fantasy will be a reality soon enough.”

“Come, let us go back to our chambers. I’ll have a bath drawn for us.”

Two years later

“Is it true Alicent has died?"

Clara nods and explains further while braiding your hair. “The winter fever took her, princess. The maester had her confined to a secluded room in OldTown when she started showing signs. They say that in her final days, she began asking to see her sons and daughter again.”

You had no love for Alicent; she was the bitch who made your mother's life as awful as she did yours. But you also had no room for hatred or ill-will in your heart. Now that Alicent was at peace, perhaps she was reunited with her family. You twirled the rings on your fingers; the reminder of outliving a child was painful. Aemma has already declared that if she is to have a son, he will be named Rhaegar.

“That’s…sad. How did you hear about this so soon?”

Her cheeks reddened slightly. “My friend—who currently serves as a handmaiden in OldTown mentioned it in her last letter to me.”

Her friend was the same handmaiden who traveled back with her from Winterfell, a pretty Northern girl with copper hair. You were more than certain the ladies were closer than most friends, but to avoid rumors spreading, they stopped visiting one another as frequently. “Princess Aemma will be in need of her own lady-in-waiting soon,” you point out. “Perhaps Lady Mormont would want the position as she is familiar with my children.”

Clara smiles and nods her head. “I shall say to her. That’s the braiding-finished princess.”

“Thank you—” You’re cut off when you hear fast-paced footsteps entering your room. The door to your chambers is opened, and Rhaenys runs excitedly. Her hair was styled identically to the way you wore it most days. “Reni, what have I told you about running in the halls?”

The walls outside your chambers were decorated with dragon statues. As a girl, you bumped into the solid objects many times and knew how painful it could be.

“Sorry, mother,” she says as she steps in front of you and twirls. “Do you like it?”

The dress Rhaenys was wearing was the first one she had designed for herself. The gown was olive green with pale orange ribbons and embroidery on it. The smile on Jacaerys face when he saw the dress with colors identical to his own dragon was priceless; he almost became teary-eyed.

“You look beautiful, my girl.”

When Clara finishes the last touches to your outfit, you hold your hand out for your daughter to take.

It was Avery and Aethan’s name day, and a small celebration was being held in the great hall. A ship with Daemon, your siblings, and Lord Corlys arrived the night before. Princess Jaehaera and Prince Maelor would be present as well; both children inherited their gentle nature from their mother.

Her grace, the queen, had flown to Dragonstone Syrax a few days prior. The longest you had gone without seeing her was a week. Even living apart you had remained extremely close.

Four years later

Hearing your agonizing screams of pain, Jacaerys barges into your shared martial chambers. The maester and midwives kept assuring him that nothing was wrong and he should remain waiting outside, but he could take it no longer. You are thankful this labor was quicker than the last; your water had only broken the night prior, and now that the sun is rising again, you are only a few pushes away from the pain being over.

“Jacaerys!”

He comes to your side and takes hold of your hand. “I’m here, I’m here!”

“It fucking hurts!” You sob, “It hurts so much.”

“The pain will be over soon,” he says, planting a kiss on your sweaty forehead. “And you’ll have the babe in your arms.”

“One more push,” the midwife orders.

Screaming, you use all your remaining strength to bring another child into the world. Holding out your arms, desperate to hold your newborn for the first time. The seconds it takes for the midwife to wrap the babe in a blanket feel like it's never ending.

“A strong boy, kicking like a goat.”

Tears roll down Jace’s cheeks as he watches the babe finally be placed in your arms. “I’m proud of you, Lyarra.”

“My sweet boy,” you say, taking in the newborn's appearance. He has typical Targaryen features aside from his dark hair, like his fathers. “He’s so tiny and perfect.”

—

After your handmaidens help you change into a fresh gown and the bedding is changed, Jacaerys assists you over to the chairs by the fireplace in your chambers. You take his arm before sitting down.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen her grace this delighted in a long time,” Clara, who had followed closely behind, “As are the children, they are keen to meet the newest prince to grace us in Dragonstone.”

Since the day the maester confirmed your pregnancy, your mother and Daemon have been overjoyed with excitement. Rhaena was expecting her first child within the next moon, so it only added to the joy of knowing you got to bond over experiencing being with child at the same time.

Jacaerys opens the door for your mother to enter the room, and he and Daemon go to inform your children and siblings that it’s a boy before bringing them through to be introduced to him. “Lyarra, my sweet,” your mother says, walking over to you with tears in her eyes. “The gods have been kind and granted you another beautiful babe, have you thought of a name yet?”

“No, not yet,” you say, lifting your gaze from the babe to meet hers. “Can you stay longer than a few days this time?”

She brushes fallen hair out of your eyes and says, “I will stay however long you want me, my love. If I’m needed at court, I can go on Syrax, then come back.”

You rest your head on her shoulder when she sits beside you and says, “Thank you.”

“You are my daughter; I’ll always be here for you.”

—

Hearing footsteps, Jacacerys looks up from the book in his hands, smiling when he sees you walking towards him. The room is almost in complete darkness, aside from a few candles and the moonlight.

“It’s late; you should be resting.”

“As should you, my prince.”

Jace puts the book down and offers you his hand to help guide you down onto the chair beside him. He kisses the back of your scarred hand. “I swear by the faith of the seven, you are the most beautiful human I’ve ever seen.”

“Stop,” you blush. “It’s a sin to lie, husband.”

“I speak only the truth,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

The day had been overwhelming, to say the least. It was hard to believe your son was almost a day old and was still yet to be named. “I’m exhausted, but I reckon the babe will wake up for a feed soon.” You cuddle into Jace’s side and say, “I’ve thought of a good name, one of great honor.”

“What is it?”

“Jacaerys.”

Jace plants a kiss on the crown of your head and says, “I love you, now and forever.”

𝘎𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘘𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘙𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘯𝘺𝘳𝘢 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯, 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦, 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘭𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘩𝘰𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘔𝘦𝘯, 𝘓𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘮, 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘦.

𝘙𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘯𝘺𝘳𝘢’𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘑𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘴 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘘𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘓𝘺𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯.

[myladysapphire]

You belong with me

you and jace were childhood friends, you never left eachothers side growing up, but that all changed once you both went off to university.

CW: MDI, 18+, smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, angst, jealousy, unrequited love (kinda), love confessions, not proofread!

word count: 5,896

modern Jace x fem!reader

Masterlist

a/n based of taylor swifts you belong with me, lyrics and music video.i also have very little knowledge of american uni or football, but i tried my best though!

You and Jace had grown up, side by side. Your mothers had been the best of friends, and so naturally you both were also. For your entire lives you knew everything about each other, your traits your habits, you knew each other better than you knew yourselves. You made every decision together, especially the decision to go to Dragonstone university together.

And that decision changed everything.

It wasn’t a surprise that Jace became so popular, he always had been. Always so able to draw a crowd and make friends in any situation.

And you, you had always been one to take a backseat. Happy in the friends you had, and never one to put yourself out there as he did.

And sadly, that seemed to be your first mistake.

He had joined the football team, finding new friends and a new crowd quickly.

You stuck to your old friends. Making small efforts to know the endless crowds of people at university.

And so, he and you started to spend less time together, and more and more time apart.

And then he got a girlfriend.

Sara Snow.

The cheer captain.

And the sister of his new best friend, Cregan Stark.

And suddenly you weren’t apart of his life anymore. You had found out he had a girlfriend from sitting on the bleachers at one of his games and seeing her run towards him and shove her tongue down his throat.

As time went on, your texts to one another became less and less, your replies delayed, and sporadic, and his ever more so.

Your study sessions stop, nights in together became nights in apart.

It hurt, you had loved him for so long, as a friend and a lover. Not that he knew. All you could do no was stare in envy as you lost your best friend and never even got a chance to say goodbye.

That year was a strange one, you now watched each other from the outskirts, you didn’t know each other every thought or where they were at all times.

Ther person you looked to in every room, no longer there, no longer was he the person you would text at every opportunity, or share looks as you reacted to what other people were saying.

Now you only knew each other in passing, a few texts here and there, mostly about your course, or if you were going home for summer or the weekend.

And when you both were home, it was so different. Once you would spend all day together, planning your days with each other. And now, you may sit in the same room, but little more than small smiles and small talk was shared between you.

And the few times you did feel you could talk to him; he would be, interrupted by his new friends coming to whisk him away.

The last three years you started to get used to not having Jace as a constant presence, instead you found great comfort in your other friends, you had always been close to them, and apart of you was grateful as you began to realise the love of female friendships, rather than just the love of Jacearys Strong.

It was Friday, the week before the big football game. The game everyone talked nonstop about, even Jace, as he had messaged you asking if you were coming to the game.

You had yet to respond.

Once you were his biggest cheerleader, sitting on the bleachers shouting his name. Now you no longer cheered his name, though you always sent him a kind smile when he did look for you in the crowd.

But unlike before you no longer went to every game, and as time went on you went to less and less.

 “Are you going to the game on Friday?” Maris asked. You were all sat in a private study room, preparing for your midterms.

You shrugged “maybe, I’m not sure yet”

“of course, we all are! It’s the big game, everyone’s talked about it nonstop!” Baela said beside you, “and I also don’t want to miss watching Cregan stark all hot and sweaty, now would I?” she said with a laugh, she and him had been casually hooking up for a past year, and with the way he looked at her she was sure they were soon to become more.

You laughed, “perhaps for you maybe, not that I have anyone worth ogling over”.

“Sure, you don’t” Heleana giggled from the other side of the table “poor Jacey would miss you terribly if you don’t go”.

“Oh please, he wouldn’t care if I was there or not” you rolled your eyes.

“Oh? Aside from his on again off again weird little thing with Sara Snow, Jace is, besotted with you!” Maris interjected.

“she’s not wrong” Rhaena spoke,

“Really?” you shook your head, “perhaps once, but he rarely speaks more than a few words to me anymore”.

“Perhaps that’s because he realised how hot you are” Baela said, sending you a wink.

“Oh gods, do you remember the look on his face when you slept with Justin Lannister in our first year” Maris laughed, “he looked like a kicked puppy!”

“Especially when he saw the hickey he had left” Heleana added.

You shook your head “I think he was more disgusted with the fact I slept with Justin than anything else”.

“hmm” Rhaena hummed, “and when you and Aemond dated in high school, what about then?”

“Oh gods, don’t bring that up” Heleana grumbled, “it still brings me nightmares, from when I walked in- “she fakes gagged at the memory.

“Okay stop it, I think you’ve all proved your point!” you sighed, “maybe once he had a crush on me, but not anymore!”

They all shared a look.

“And what about your crush on him?”

“What crush?” you said defensively.

They all laughed.

You stood up dramatic, gathering your books, “if I go to the game will you all shut up?”

“We make no promises!” Maris said, laughing once more.

“Ughh, I don’t know why I put up with you lot” you grumbled, as you went to leave.

“Because you love us” Heleana, answered.

“And Jacey too” Baela added.

you rolled your eyes as you left, heading home for the weekend.

You returned home often, your mother was all alone with out you there, though you did often find Rhaenyra, Jace’s mother, in her company. You loved seeing them both, finding Rhaenrya presence to be as much as a comfort as your own mothers.

Its one of the reasons your friendship with Jace fading into what it was now, hurt so much.

Before you had practically lived at Jace’s house growing up and now you rarely went over there, despite living next door, your bedroom windows facing one another. It hurt, seeing the life you knew suddenly disappear. To spend the summers in your own home, having your friends come to yours rather than to his, especially when you could see him on his bed, and you on yours.

He had changed, though not so much that he seemed a stranger to you, though his company was certainly strange. He knows hung out around Aegon a lot more, though he had once avoided him as often as he could. You were glad he had yet to adopt Aegon’s personality, the self-entitlement mixed with the self-loathing. Jace remained kind, his gaze often on yours whenever you were in the same room together. Something you had heard Aegon mock on several occasions.

As you walked into your house, the taste of cinnamon and sound of laughter flooded your senses. It was no surprise to see your mother in the kitchen, and even less of a surprise to see Rhaenyra with her, a smile graced your face as you approached the pair.

“mama” you greeted, “Nyra”.

“Oh darling, I didn’t know you were coming home!” your mother greeted, pulling you into a hug.

“I came home to study, I couldn’t focus with all the football stuff going on” you sighed, dumping your bag on the kitchen table.

Rhaenyra laughed, “yes Jace has talked nonstop about the football” she then looked at you with a sad look, “are you planning to go?”

“I’m not sure yet” you replied, stealing one of your mother’s cinnamon rolls from the counter.

“I’m sure Jace wants you there, he misses your rituals you know” Nyra spoke, coming to sit down at the table you now sat at.

“He does?” you did too, he was the reason you got into football in the first place and watching him without your rituals or watching games without Jace’s constant commentary.

“I know he does” she smiled, reaching for your hand, as your mother moved towards to the table.

“Believe it or not, darling, he talks about you often” she gave you a teasing look.

You shook your head, “if only he talked to me and not about me more” moving to stand up and head for your room.

“He said he was coming back this week, perhaps he will” Nyra called out as you started to walk up the stairs.

As you lay on your bed, your eyes moving to investigate Jace’s room. You laid there for a while, hoping they would open.

And they did. He had clearly just returned home just like yourself, his face tired, as he moved to sit on his bed, his face downcast, no smile in sight.         

You moved to sit up, and as you did, he saw you, a small smile gracing his face.

He sent you a small shy wave, and for a moment you felt as if you and he were back to normal.

But then his smile disappeared as his phone rang.

She tried to not watch as he argued with someone, his girlfriend you assumed. They always argued, she was always upset about something he had said, she never got his humour, not like you once did.

You couldn’t think of anything they truly had in common, then again you didn’t know either of them, not anymore.

On paper It made sense them being together, she was cheer captain and he on the football team, whilst you, you were on the bleachers, watching the game and waiting for his victory, whilst she would cheer him on, in his direct view. Ever the supporting act, and you the extra.

Before Uni, you and been his biggest and though you still supported him, it hurt a little seeing her cheer his name, especially since you never knew if they were off or on again until her, she shoved her tongue down his throat.

You and he used to have a ritual before each game. the day before you would always bunk of school, and he would always somehow convince you to join him on his run, you would run side by side, your phones listening to same playlist. (You and he had always had the exact same music taste, music she didn’t like, if the  though few parties hosted by his frat and her sorority were anything to go off of)Then you would spend the night staying up and watching the same three movies, before falling into a sugar induced coma only to be woken up by Nyra and Luke aggressively shilling you both awake screaming that your going to be late, and when you did finally wake up Jace would always force you both to take an ice bath, claiming it to be a good way to wake you up. You never believed him, and it would take him pulling you into the water with him for you to join him.

You would be there for every game and event, cheering from the bleachers.

And now as you watched him arguing with his girlfriend, you wished you knew what they were saying, there issues. A part of you regretted not trying harder to stay friends with him, even though it was him who moved away from you, not you away from him.

You reached down under your bed, trying to find the old sketchbook you used to use to talk to Jace before you both had phones.

You didn’t have his number anymore, having deleted it off your phone, though you remembered it off by heart, a part, something you could never bring yourself to forget it.

You didn’t want to text him, it didn’t feel right, you are reaching out first almost didn’t feel right either but eh looked hurt and you deep down still cared.

Finding a pen you quickly wrote, “you, okay?” Finding a pen you quickly wrote, “are you okay?”

He had sat down on his bed, head in his hands before looking up to see you turn the paper around.

A smile graced his face as he shrugged and reached for his own sketchbook and pen.

“Tired of drama” he wrote.

You laughed a little at his message, writing “sorry” with a sad face beside it, shrugging as you turned the paper around

And he shook his head, moving to stand up as you went to write something else, only for him to shut his curtain before he could see what you wrote. 

You shrugged of his easy dismissal, and how so few words were exchanged before he decided to end the conversation.

You had finished you studying, content and ready for your exams, so blasting your music on full volume you started to dance around your room.

Unbeknownst to you, he watched you dance, a smile pulling at his face as he realised you were the same as always. You danced like no one was watching singing along to the songs as you did. And he smiled, laughing at your antics as he remembered how you used to pull him up and dance with you.

He regretted how he ended his friendship with abandoning you, he wasn’t even sure why he did it. He knew he hurt you. He feltBu, for his own selfish somehow, he had made gain. He had made new friends; he, he was popular and on the uni football team. He liked the spotlight always had and was half to have all these new friends. He had made a great bond with but in doing so he lost his truest friend and the woman he loved.

He had decided to talk to you, to apologise and make up for what he did. So, as he saw you at outside the bench outside both your houses he came over and sat beside you. So, as he saw yous at outside the bench outside both your houses he came over and say beside you.

“hey” you heard a voice say beside you, as you turned your head to see Jace sit beside you.

“hey” you said back, as your hair falling in front of your face. He reached his hand forward, to brush the hair out of your eyes, and tucking it behind your ear.

 “How have you been?” he asked, his hand lingering slightly. You stared at him fro a moment, he still dressed the same, with the same worn-out jeans, the same smile, but with better hair.

You supposed you looked entirely different, though at the same time you hadn’t changed either. Your curled hair was no longer a frizzy messed, but well maintained. You didn’t wear your glasses much anymore, now favouring contacts. He seemed to smile as he took you in, staring at your eyes.

“I’m good, you?”

“Good, excited for the game…” he kept talking and it felt like old times again, you thought, it was so easy, to return to how it once was, chatting about nothing in particular.

He smiled as he spoke to you, happily chatting away. His smile was the same as always, a smile you sworn could light up a town.

“I haven’t seen you in a while” you said after a pause.

“yeah” he said awkwardly, scratching his head “I’m sorry about that, I never meant to- “a car pulled up, with Sara Snow in it.

He got up suddenly, mumbling goodbye as he did. His smile had faded, and turned into a forced smile, the kind of smile you gave to a stranger you passed in the hallway, as he got into her car. She instantly pulled him in for a kiss, her eyes staring you down as she did.

You had never actually talked to her before, never known anyone who had, but you did know Cregan, though not well, and he rarely said anything nice about his sister.

They drove away after that, Jace looking at you over his shoulder as they did.

The rest of the day you kept too yourself, focusing on studying. Jace had yet to return home, the light off in his room. Not that you were checking.

He had sent you a text, “sorry”, nothing more. You hadn’t replied, you didn’t even know what to say.

From the corner of your eye, you saw the light in his room turn on.

He walked in with a downtrodden look. He had spent the whole day with her and felt only regret on not spending it with you.

He and sara were on and off again, never anything serious, no feelings past lust. Especially after how she talked about you today. He ended it officially, and he couldn’t be happier. Especially when he saw yous at at your bed.

He reached under his bed for his sketchbook, reminiscing on how even as children you couldn’t spend an hour with out talking to one another.

It had all changed after uni, and he regretted not dragging you with him as he changed.

“hey” he wrote holding it up hoping you would look, and as luck would have it you did.

You seemed unsure as you yourself grabbed your own sketchbook, writing the words.

“what’s up?”

“I wanted to see if you were okay”.

You furrowed your brows “yeah?”

He sent you a small smile, before grabbing his phone and calling you.

“Hey?” you answered, your tone nervous.

“Hey!” he said trying to lighten your mood a little, “i’m sorry about earlier it won’t happen again”.

Yous kissed your teeth nodding your head, “right” his actions early hadn’t supposed you, they only made you realise that you and he won’t ever return to how you were before. Choosing each other first always, and never up and leaving each other mid conversation.

“I…. i broke up with her, officially”.

You hummed, he nervously coughed.

“I I know I hurt you when I started dating her, and i…I am so sorry, I just got so caught up in the idea of it all, these…these past few years have been a torment to me, watching as you seemed perfectly okay with us not…not being us anymore and I didn’t know how to…how to talk to you or-“

“i wasn’t perfectly okay with it” you interrupted him “at not point was I okay with loosing my best friend” you shook your head, glaring at him through the window “I tried to talk to you  and you shook me off, you chose her over an 18  year long friendship, how would I be okay with It!”

“I didn’t!” he said quickly, his face panicked, “I-I I messaged you I swear I did I sent you so many messages and you never replied”.

“No, you didn’t, I get the odd one but the second is as her shove her tongue down your throat I haven’t received these “many messages” you claim to have sent”.

“what?” he looked shocked through the window, “I told you about her, how I got drunk and slept with her at a party and how she wouldn’t take no as an answer, you never replied, I sent you countless texts about going to study together or hanging out and you never showed up!”

“What! You never showed up when I asked you!” you were near shouting now.

“You never asked me- “

“Neither did you!”

You heard your mum call you are asking if you were okay. You went silent, “we can’t do this over the phone”.

“Meet me at the backdoor” you looked at him nodding your head.

“hey” you said as Jace opened his back door, pulling it closed behind him.

“hey” he said moving towards you, “look, clearly there was some reason we never got these texts”.

You looked at him in disbelief, shaking your head, “gods Jace I didn’t realise you were so blind!” you laughed, “look I don’t know her or anything about her but, are you sure Sara never used your phone and maybe deleted the messages?”

“Umm…no?” he said unsure, “why would she do that”.

“Oh, please Jace, you and I have known each other our whole lives, and when we first started uni, we were acting like a married couple, she probably wanted me out the way so she could date you”.

“But we weren’t…we’ve never- “he stuttered awkwardly.

“Have you never once thought of me-?”

He cut you off, “no!” he said it too fast, so fast that you were unsure if he meant it.

“Really? Because I have, I did” you replied, sending him a shy look. You had hopped he had to and that you are saying this would make him say it in return.

He looked at you shocked, not expecting your admission, then his face turned guilty.  “I know” he said looking down, “but at the time I- I saw you nothing more than a…a friend and so I…I dated Sara to push you away in hope you would stop seeing me as more than a friend.” He scratched his head awkwardly, looking down his eyes filled with guilt.

 “oh” that’s all you could say. It was the first time you had ever admitted you had actually liked him, and to be rejected so clearly. To know the reason why he was with Sara, the reason he was with her in the first place was to get rid of you, it hurt more than three years of only passing words and fading friendship.

“I. I’m sorry I… I broke up with her though”.

You laughed a humourless laugh, almost in disbelief “I well that makes what you said better” you scoffed, truing around to leave.

He grabbed your arm, “No…I” he whispered your name, “I… I do like you like that… I’m just before her id dint realise my feelings for you and I do know…”

You scoffed, “right… so it took fucking another woman and ignoring me for three years, to save me from my feeling, made you realise you liked me to?”

“Yes.” He nodded.

You laughed, a short scoff of a laugh, “by the gods Jace you’re an idiot” this time when he grabbed your arm as you went to leave you only shook him off, storming up to your room and leaving the curtains shut for the rest of the weekend.

That week you swear you saw Jace everywhere. He seemed to follow you almost.

Though you were both doing the same course, meaning 90% of your lectures were together.

“Why is Jace following you?” Maris asked as you both walked out of your seminar.

“Oh gods, I haven’t told you, have I?”

She laughed, intrigued, “no, what happened”.

You looked down laughing as you tried to tell her, “Well Jace and I finally talked and he… admitted he liked me?”

“What!”

“that’s not it… but he also told me that he knew I liked him and that was the reason he started dating Sara… so I would stop liking him”.

“What the hells?” Baela said as she caught up to the pair of you, “did I just hear that right”.

“don’t even get me started! But I basically told him he was an idiot; I mean who hurts someone like that!”

“Idiots!” Maris and Baela said simultaneously.

And as they did you saw Jace appear from around the corner, two coffees in hand. He had a hopeful look in his eyes as he walked towards you.

“Speak of the devil” you mumbled, as you turned to your friends, “I’ll be back in a minute” you said as you walked towards him.

“Jace” you greeted. “What do you want now?”

“To apologise” he said handing you a coffee, “I really am sorry, I never should have done what I did, and I should have told you, and not kept it from you.” He looked at you, his face kin to puppy scrounging for food.

“Then why did you?” You said as you ushered him to an empty room.

“I was scared. “He admitted, smiling shyly, “all my life I had loved you and everyone told me you did too, and then. then you and Aemond started dating and I thought they all were lying to me and how could you ever love me and when you could be with him”

In truth it took you until after your relationship with Aemond to realise your feelings for Jace, in fact it was Aemond who broke up with you because he saw said feelings first.

He continued. “And then you broke up and everyone was telling me to take a chance, and then uni started, and I got scared and realised that you did I fact like me too. But for some reason I was convinced that being in a relationship in uni would only tear us apart. So… so I decided to take a step back and stop whatever romantic feelings we had- “

“That wasn’t your choice to make Jace, maybe for yourself but my own feelings? You had no right!”

“I know… I know. I was- I am an idiot and…I’m sorry, truly.”

You sighed, you could see he was really sorry, and yet an apart of you didn’t want to forgive him. But another part of you wanted to jump into his arms and forgive him.

“I want us to be friends.” He said, with a hopeful gaze. And your heart broke all other again.

“no” you stepped back, “you know of my feelings, and… I-I can’t be your friend, I can’t ignore those feelings, I won’t, I can’t” tears welled in your eyes at the look on his face.

“I don’t know if I can give you what you want.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have loved you my whole life, and I have already screwed that up, I can’t risk whatever we have now for a relationship.” “we have nothing, we are not friends, not lovers, nothing. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain”.

“No, I have everything to lose, I have already lost your friendship, I can’t risk breaking your heart and loosing you forever!”

“So, because you’re afraid of the possibility of us breaking up you won’t try?” you shook your head, “I can’t believe you! I don’t understand what you want! And you clearly don’t see what I want either!” you went to leave, “I can’t anymore Jace, I just want, I can’t look at you without my heartbreaking. You broke my heart and our friendship once before because you feared losing me forever, well know I think you might have lost me anyway.”

You left without another word or a single glance.

The week passed slowly, your friends were a great comfort and your exams seemed to breeze past you, but the nagging in your back of your mind was constant.

The regret and want. The want to see Jace, to take back what you said and make him realise what an idiot he was. And the regret from not grabbing his face and kissing him.

You and he had been each other’s first kiss, using the excuse of ‘practice’ to cover up you real feelings. It had been awkward, with nose and teeth clashing, and then before you knew it the kisses became perfect, casual even. You had both been sure it was the start of something. And then you ruined it by saying yes when Aemond asked you on a date. You never regretted dating him, he was your first love, your first everything. But not your first kiss. He made you realise what love was and that it was what you had with Jace all along.

Then University started, you lived in the same halls, saw each other every moment of everyday, cooking together, studying together. And then the casual kissing came back. Sweet kisses goodbye or good morning. And then one day you had lingered, and he had pushed back. Your daily routine faded, and then it all happened. The football team and Sara Snow.

It would of been better had he just stopped kissing you, stopped initiating the kisses. Instead, he left you, and now you had done the same to him.

And yet here you stood, getting ready for the big football game, with all your friends.

You wore a jersey, his. The day he got on the team he had gotten you both a jersey. It had sat unworn in a box under your bed since then. It fit perfectly, his name written in bold on the back, alongside his lucky number. The number you had picked, the number that was conveniently todays date.

You stared into the mirror taking a deep breath as your friends all readied themselves. You weren’t sure exactly what you planned to do, but either way Jace would regret ever saying no to dating you.

Everyone was at the game, including the entirety of Jace’s family, you found yourself sat next to Rhaenrya and Luke. You sat right at the front, practically, on the field, meaning Jace could see you, and more importantly you in his jersey. They had all taken notice of your jersey, with Harwin sending you a teasing look.

It was loud and chaotic, the entirety of the university at the event and for good cause as Jace’s team had won.

You hadn’t really paid any attention, your eyes solely focused of Jace.  

He made eye contact with you, solely you and came rushing forward. You stood up moving yourself and before you knew it, he had sweeped you up into is arms. Spinning you around, he whispered like a chant “I’m so sorry, I regret everything I never should have- “

You shut him up, taking his mouth with yours in a slow passionate kiss. Moaning into each other’s mouths, you realised you both had got on lost in the crowd, as everyone had run into the field. Leaving you to find a moment alone, to finally reconnect and admit your feelings.

“Come with me” he said grabbing your hand, leading you away from the crowd and field.

“I’ve never taken anyone here before” he said once you finally reached your destination, it was a sweet little outlook with a view of the island. “The day I found it I wanted to save it, for you”.

You looked at each other, hands entwined.

“I love you” you both said in unison, bringing a smile to each of your faces.  

“I am so sorry about everything, I don’t know why I said what I did, why I asked to be friends and nothing more. I’m a fool”

“You’re my fool” you laughed, “in fact were both fools, I don’t know why we kept this from each other for 21 years. “You laughed, before reaching forward and kissing him again.

It was so different from your years of practice kisses. They were deliberate and sweet. This was hot, passionate and desperate.

“Gods, I need you” he moaned into your mouth, as he backed you up onto a tree, his hands descending to your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your bodies stating to slowly grind against one another as your tongues battled for dominance, his eventually winning, as he took you in for one last heated kiss before his lips began deciding down your neck.

“Please.” You begged, as you reached down to pull of his jersey, you wore nothing underneath, your bare breasts on show.

He moaned at the sight of them, before taking your nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking as he did. Low moans spilling out of you as he did.  You gripped his hair as he continued his ministrations, before pulling him of your breast and reaching up to undress him. Soon you were both bare, if anyone was to walk by, they would easily you, but neither of you seemed to care as Jace moved to kiss you again his hand reaching down to caress your wet cunt, shuddering as he penetrated your hole.

As he continued to pump his fingers in and out of you, your moans swallowed by his mouth as you felt yourself tighten around his fingers your peak edging closer and closer, before he withdrew his fingers causing a moan of protest as his fingers left you.

“Keep going” you pleaded, but he simply shook his head, before going on his knees, your leg moving o his shoulder as he licked your cunt. He lapped you up like he was dying, and you were his final meal. Licking up all your juices before finally reaching your clit, his fingers hand made there way back to your cunt, as you felt his finger penetrate you once more as he sucked your clit into his mouth.

You moaned loudly as he did so, making no effort to hide your pleasure, as you gripped his hair and started to ride his face until you finally came.

he stood up slowly, before once again pulling you into heated kiss.

“You taste divine” he moaned into your mouth, before groaning as you reached for his cock. “jump” he groaned, and as you allowing him to thrust, into you in one slick movement as you wrapped your legs around his waist, causing you both to moan simultaneously, as your walls wrapped around his length tightly, he didn’t move for a moment, allowing you both to adjust before he started to pump his hips slowly into you, building up a rhyme.

“Gods you moaned,” gripping onto him tightly, as he started to pound into you, you both moaning as his pace picked up.

His face was buried in your neck, leaving kisses you where sure would leave a mark.

He continued to thrust his hips, pounding into you as your peaks grew closer and closer, his cock throbbing inside you as your cunt tightened around his length.

“I’m going to cum” he whined. “Fuck, where?” he asked, reaching down to rub your clit, prompting you closer and closer to Cumming with him.

“Inside…I’m on the pill” you said between moans and before you knew it you felt the warmness of him spreads inside you as you came yourself, gripping tightly on his arms as you did.

You took a moment, leaning against, him and him you.

“Why did we wait so long to do this again?” he asked catching his breath.

“Because you’re an idiot”.

He laughed, “and I will spend every day making it up to you I swear” he kissed you softly, as if sealing his promise in a kiss, a promise you knew he would keep “I should have known, you belong with me”.

taglist

@apollonshootafar @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @dark-night-sky-99 @zillahvathek @leavesmealobe @winter-soldier-101 @bunbunbl0gs @ka1afbr @tesha-i-guess @aemondwhoresworld @RAYNETARGARYEN2 @cloboboo @now-i-have-a-new-obsession

to be added to taglist

[cherryheairt]

Cherryheairt's 2024 Masterlist

Request Characters and rules

Here

HOTD

Cregan stark-

Series-

Dragon Dreamer-

Summary: Daenys, Rhaenyra's eldest daughter, has been labeled as a mad woman by the realm and Queen Alicent. Upon her mother's crown being stolen by Aegon ii, Daenys finds herself being sent to the North to treat with Lord Stark. She finds a lot more than she bargained for with Cregan Stark.

Side story

Drabble

Chapter one-

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Oneshots-

In His Arms - Comfort/fluff

Pearls - Smut

Not Yet Blossomed pt 1- Angst/hurt comfort

Hidden Truths - Angst

Hidden Truths pt. 2 - Angst/open end

If I must -Angst

Jacaerys Velaryon-

WIP

Benjicot Blackwood-

Oneshots-

Dramatic

Gwayne Hightower

Oneshots-

Dance of Black and Green

Lord of the Rings

Legolas-

WIP

Thranduil

Oneshots-

Love and War

Marvel (MCU)

Bucky Barnes

Oneshots-

TLB

GOT

Ned Stark -

Arcane -

Viktor -

The Weight of Us

Vi -

Genshin Impact

You get into a barfight

[annwrites]

⸻ a call to arms. part seven. ⸻

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you alright?" You ask quietly.

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

His eyes meet yours.

"I was mistaken."

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

He nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just the bath. For now.”

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

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

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

He swallows nervously, nodding.

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, moving the warm cloth along his arms.

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

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

You think you understand then.

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

He nods, sighing in relief that you understand.

Jace leans his head back and closes his eyes.

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

“What was he like?” You ask quietly.

His eyes slowly open. “Whom?”

“Lucerys.”

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

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

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

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

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

You think of your sister at his words.

You eagerly await correspondence from she and your mother.

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

Far, far away.

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

He trails off, his chin wobbling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you…to be the first.”

His eyes flit to yours.

You still, staring up at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do,” you whisper.

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

And then he crushes his lips to your own.

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

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

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

You straighten and he reaches up, cupping your breasts.

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

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

He nods. “I want…”

He trails off, slightly embarrassed.

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

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

You shift in unsurety.

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

You smile softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you to tell me…”

He pauses.

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

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

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

He tugs your hips forward, encouraging you to continue.

And so you do.

You rock your hips steadily, growing gradually in fervor.

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

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

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

Jacaerys whimpers quietly, softly nodding his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You click your tongue softly, cupping his cheek.

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

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

Your lip twitches. “Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

His brow twitches.

“Please,” he begs.

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

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

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

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

“Yes, mistress,” he replies.

You fight against your brows raising in surprise at that.

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

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

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

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

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

Your hand stills, and then you remove it entirely.

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

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

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

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

“Are you…you do like—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m close,” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jacaerys can’t stop smiling.

Neither can you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[goodeapple]

dry clean only (modern hotd pwp, jace x sister!oc x luke)

pairing : Jacaerys x Ysilla (sister!OC) x Lucerys

warnings : MDNI. jesus where do i start... this is filthyyyyy. PWP, threesome, sibling incest, rimming, anal, DP, slight coercion, sibling incest, accidental voyeurism, unprotected intercourse, breeding kink (ofc), & did i mention sibling incest?

word count : 4,000+

note : i kind of lost my marbles with this one... brain drove straight to Hornyville and set up camp. in the nicest way, if u don't like, don't read <3

.

.

.

Laundry day. Fucking laundry day.

“Laundry day.” Ysilla had said when Jace stopped her in the hallway, and she shrugged before heading towards her room. So simple, so nonchalant, as if it were normal for her to parade around in nothing but one of his t-shirts. He lasts a solid forty minutes- a new record- before he pauses his game, and yells into the nearly empty house.

“Sil! Get in here!”

She takes her sweet time, minutes passing until she appears in his open doorway, propping her hip up on the jam. “You rang?”

Jace bristles at her nonchalance, bouncing his knee anxiously, still sitting in his gaming chair.  

“You doin’ that on purpose, Silli?” He waves a hand in her direction, a sweep from the tips of her white pedicured toes to the spirals of her midnight curls. 

His sister finishes texting, before at last giving over her attention.

Ysilla bats her feather duster lashes at him, all doe eyes and a pouty pink mouth. “Course not, I told you. Got nothing else that’s clean.” 

“I find that hard to believe…” Jace grumbles. She swipes their mum’s Amex like it’s going out of style. Her wardrobe looks like a Christmastime department store. 

“You don’t like that I’m wearing your clothes?” She asks, plucking at the hem of his shirt, pulling the thin material tight over her tits. The shadows of her areolas become prominent and Jace feels his balls draw up tight. Even so, familial annoyance is stronger than that of a hundred men and he rolls his eyes. 

“It’s mine. Don’t take my shit without asking, brat.” 

It’s a tepid delivery at best, but it has a fire lighting in her that makes her amethyst orbs glow.

“Fine.” Without any preamble, Ysilla strolls into his room until she arrives in front of him and pulls his shirt off and over her head. Tossing it in his face, she crosses her arms under her breasts, her rosy mocha nipples pebbling in the artificially cool air. “Happy?” He misses her smirk but he can hear it in her voice. 

“Not on purpose my ass.” Jace growls, ripping the shirt off of him. Springing to his feet, his fist finds its way into her hair and he yanks her to his mouth. She tastes like matcha and spearmint, and the strawberry gloss thick on her lips.

She melts into his chest, putty in his devout hands. Her own hands rise to cradle his face, still lost in their kiss as she strokes her thumb over the defined edge of his jaw. Jace unwinds his fist, unclenching it to lay his palm flat at the nape of her neck. Too soon, she pulls away, smiling triumphantly as he tries to chase her lips. 

“You’re so easy to tease, little brother.” 

“Nothing little about what I’m about to give you.” Jace goads, running his hands down her bare back, tracing the twin dimples dotting the bloom of her backside. He pulls her forward until there’s not even a whisper left between them. The new stance does wonders for them both, Jace sliding his thigh between Ysilla’s. She’s not wearing any panties. And she’s already wet. He rocks his knee along her clit, the pearl perked and pronounced, and Jace knows if he keeps it up she’ll cream all over his leg. 

“Bed. M’not bouncing on your lap in your game chair.” She whines, tugging off his hoodie and shimmying down his basketball shorts, a woman on a mission. 

“Not like you haven’t done it before.” He bites but concedes, ushering her backwards into his bed. He gets her underneath him for a brief, blissful moment before he’s maneuvered onto his back. She likes to be on top- a throne fit for a princess, as she said once before. Plus, I like to see the face you make when you cum. 

He spits into his palm, stroking himself quickly. A little extra slide is never a bad thing. “Sissy, spread your legs.” 

Ysilla does what she’s told (for once) and goes gooey as Jace slips the head of himself into her opening. He gets a handful of her hips, thumbing at her hip bones as he eases her down, letting her slide onto every rigid inch. She whimpers, wiggling on his lap as she bottoms out on his dick. Gods above. Targaryen men and their horse cocks will be the absolute death of her. 

“Jaceyyyyyy,” she whines, the pressure in her lower belly a heaviness she can’t shake. 

“If you wanted dick, all you had to do was say so.” Jace chuckles but it’s labored. She’s so fucking tight- he doesn’t know if it’s the pilates she does or good genetics, but it’s like being in a turtleneck in July. 

Within a second, his door squeaks open and the two tangled Targaryens would jump apart if they didn’t know exactly who would be getting home at 4PM on a Wednesday. 

“Ooohhhh, what are you two gettin’ up to, eh?” Luke’s hand smacks down a greeting on Ysilla’s backside, and she jumps from the sting. He sprawls out in the previously occupied chair, giving himself a front row seat to his brother and sister’s debauchery. 

Luke is sprouting, taller than even their dad. He tugs down his trackies, of course a stereotypical grey that hugs him just right, and his cock springs up, bobbing back and forth like a metronome. He’s not super thick around his shaft, but the kids got length that you feel knocking in your stomach. 

Ysilla stares, shamelessly, her throat awfully lonely. He notices and lets her attention go straight to his head (both of them).

“See something you like, babe?” Luke winks at her, a cheeky grin plucking up his lips. He pumps himself once, a bead of precum crowning his pretty cock. 

“Lukey,” he whines at Ysilla’s croon. His sister is so fucking stunning- gorgeous, breathtaking. He’d do anything for her. She’s the voice in his head, the drive in his passion, the star in his fantasies. She’s been there for everything- it’s hard for him not to be a little bit sprung. 

“You forget about me, love?” Jace places a wet kiss at the cradle of her jaw. Ysilla smiles, tangling her fingers in his tight curls. 

They have curly hair, all three of them. Ysilla knows Harwin isn’t her dad- her sperm donor, she means. Harwin has been there for all the things that mattered and those that didn’t, he’s her fucking dad. Blood doesn’t get to take that away from her. And in pictures, it’s easy to believe they’re all from the same vine. Until you account for Viz and Aeg and their momma, and then every family photo is a whole motley crew snapshot.

“Don’t be jealous, Jace.” She coos, in a mellow mocking voice. 

He rolls his eyes, a pink blush prickling at his freckled cheeks. He steals a proper kiss this time, a wet peck that has Ysilla coming back for more, opening her mouth in a slow, sensual lick. Jace grinds into her, basking in her gasps that he drinks down drunkenly.

A particularly pitiful moan from the foot of the bed reminds her to be generous with her attention. Jace lets go of her mouth, head dipping down just so that he catches her swinging breast in his mouth. He widens his jaw, tongue lapping lewdley at her flesh, looking as if he’s trying to swallow it whole. Ysilla strokes his cheek fondly. He gets so needy like this- needs his big sister to keep him grounded. She lets her head loll back, pinning Luke with a simmering stare that is reminiscent of predator and prey. It shouldn’t twist up his belly like it does but he’s long passed caring about what gets him off. As long as she’ll let him taste her. 

“Wanna join us, bud?” 

Luke nods, all boyish enthusiasm, eager to please. “Wherever you want me, sis.” 

Ooooh, that’s a fun thought. Her mouth floods with saliva, her taste buds perking up at the thought of Luke’s salty spunk. She gives a good handy, she could jerk him off until he busts. Or, she could flip onto her back, ride Jace in reverse and let Luke straddle her chest and maul her tits until he’d gift her a pearl necklace. Decisions, decisions. Ysilla rocks faster on Jace’s cock, dragging him in and out of her in a way that has her clit fluttering like butterfly wings. 

Absently, she rubs down her left cheek, still stinging from Luke’s slap, and lets her fingertips dip into her cleft. She’s wet there too- fuck, more like soaked. She was riding her vibrator until Jace had finally called her to him. She’d been dripping since she stole his shirt from his dresser, going absolutely mental at the soft cotton caressing her nipples, his cologne soaked into the fabric. She huffed it like an addict, brought it up to her nose while she rode the vibe until her hand cramped.

Luke’s eyes follow her wandering hand, and his brows scrunch in agonized pleasure as she slips a finger over her tight, clenched hole. Decision made. 

“Want you right here, Lucerys.” Ysilla murmurs, knocking her knees further apart, bringing her stomach to stomach with Jace as a result. “Want you both, at the same time.”

Luke’s eyes go gumball wide. “You forreal?” 

She bites at her lip, moaning as Jace thrusts hard. He’s as excited by the idea as she is. She nods fervently, arching her back more invitingly and Luke fucking moans, tightening his grip on the base of his cock. 

“Fuck, you two are so hot.” He grinds into his fist, his other hand drifting beneath him and rolling his balls between strong fingers. He kicks his sweats the rest of the way off, unable to stop himself as he jerks off faster, his sack tightening in a tantalizing threat.

Jace notices, releasing Ysilla’s breast from his famished mouth. “Don’t blow yet, bro. Wait ‘til you’re inside her.” 

Ysilla smirks, turning her sights back to the man buried in her cunt. 

“Yeah? Wanna wait until he’s inside me? Want you both to fill me up with your cum ‘till it leaks out of my holes?” She whispers at Jace’s throat, dropping an open mouthed kiss over his Adam’s apple. 

Jace can give as good as he gets. “What if I do? What if I want to see my cum drip out of your tight cunny, and plug you up with something so it sticks? Could get you barefoot and pregnant, could get you bouncing on my cock all day long while your belly grows with my babe.” He rubs at her tits, pinching and plucking at her spit slick nipple with a tenderness he means wholeheartedly as he whispers his depraved fancy into her ear. 

Ysilla clenches around him, tight enough that his vision whites out for a moment. She can’t help it, bouncing up and down on his fat cock, his words liquid lust in her tummy. 

“Oh, Jace. Jacey Jacey, fuck, little brother.” She pants, taking every inch of his shaft over and over again, hissing at the stretch of it burning up her insides. Gods, she never tires of it- his cock is such a treat, one she only indulges in when she has the time to truly savor it. 

“You got one more little brother right behind ya, pretty girl.” Luke whispers at her ear, kissing her pulse point with delicate lips.

Jace reaches into his bedside drawer, pulling out a bottle and tossing it on the duvet. “Lube, man.” 

The eldest brother busies his hands, grabbing ahold of his sister’s plush backside, a cheek in each palm, and pulls her apart to expose her to their little brother’s lecherous gaze. Dropping to his knees, Luke spits a glob of saliva into her puckered hole, enjoying how her sensitive skin quivers under his attention. He coats his fingers generously with the thick gel, and he’s gentle as he presses one past the thick muscle of her entrance. She squeals sharply before Jace occupies her mouth, shoving in two fingers for her to suck on. Ysilla has an oral fixation- a dick, chewing gum, popsicles, all her go-to’s when she’s stressed. 

Luke takes advantage of Jace’s help, gliding in another finger that makes her cry out even louder. Shit, she’s got to gut up if she wants to take his dick. He scissors them back and forth, methodical in working her open. He’s only ever done this to himself, but he’s got the basics down: preparation, lube, going slow, more lube, etcetera. He keeps it up until her whimpers have died down, and when he starts to feel her rock back against him.

Satisfied, he pulls out his fingers and coats his shaft with the lube, hissing at the cool sting on his sensitive skin. He spreads it over his head with a loose grip. He’s already worked up enough, the last thing he wants to do is let his big sister down by cumming on her ass instead of inside of it. 

He edges up onto his hands, ready to push upwards onto the bed so that he can take his place behind Ysilla but he’s stopped by something straight out of a wet dream. Luke whistles low. That’s a million dollar shot right there: Jace’s thick veiny cock pulling out before pumping back into Ysilla’s hot pink center, the shine coating their thighs glistening in the late afternoon sun. He wonders if he could convince either of his siblings to let him film them. He knows the answer is most likely a hard no, but a boy can dream. 

The carpet beneath his knees is starting to give him rug burn but he's so transfixed, it's like he's been hypnotized. A simple, sinful thought comes unbidden into his mind and he grins. While he's down here, he might as well sightsee. Luke ducks down, and sucks one of Jace’s balls into his mouth, just to hear his brother curse him in Valyrian. He rolls it around his tongue, before releasing it with a satisfied pop! and takes a lick of the cream seeping from Silli’s hole. 

Ysilla flinches away, kicking out her foot to shove at his shoulder. He chuckles and relents, adrenaline tight in his muscles as he wraps his arms around her dainty waist and lines up behind her.

"Here goes nothin', gang." Luke shudders out a breath as he maneuvers into position, and edges forward painfully slow as Ysilla's pretty ass swallows his dick. It takes forever and a day, but finally, thankfully, he's all the way in, flush with the back of her thighs and mind melting out of his ears.

“Good Gods above, Lukey.” Ysilla has to remind herself to breathe. 

“You okay sissy?” Luke pecks her temple, tucking her bangs back behind her ear. She blushes, cheeks burning hot- he’s such a good boy. 

“I’m fine, dude. It’s just… neither of you are small. I can feel you tickling my tonsils.” 

“Fucking hell. I can feel him, mercy, I can feel him through you, Silli.” Jace sobs wetly, hands shaking where he has a hold of her hips. Mother, Father and fucking Crone, this is infuckingsane. He can’t last like this, he isn’t superhuman for Gods’ sake. 

“Don’t you fucking dare, Jacaerys. If I’m taking both of your cocks, I’ll get time to enjoy it. You’ll cum when I tell you to.” She commands, all eldest child superiority, even with a strained voice. 

“Yes, sissy.” He croaks out, his irises misty like a spring rain. She hums approvingly, withholding her praise until he can deliver on his promise.

“Same goes for you, kiddo.” She aims over her shoulder.

“Anything you say, Silli.” Luke draws out, letting her agonize over every long inch before fucking himself back into her ass. 

The brothers start to build a gentle push-pull rhythm, one in one out, trying to get her adjusted to having two dicks inside of her- as if that’s something that someone can get used to after five fucking minutes. But as the pain and discomfort fade into a fullness that she feels up to her throat, little jabs of pleasure have Ysilla pushing herself back and forth against her boys. 

“This is crazy, holy shit this is crazy.” She gasps, hands wildly clutching at anything she can.

“Never felt something this tight. Squeezing the fuckin’ life out of me, bloody hell.” Luke gasps into her shoulder, eyes screwed shut in concentration, dragging his hips back and forth.

Jace can't talk- all of his focus on not blowing his top and facing his sister's wrath. Sparing a glance at her, he can't help but sigh out:

“You're so fucking pretty, Sil.”

The look of love that accompanies Jace’s hushed praise has the tightening snapping loose in Ysilla's belly, vainly getting off from his attention. Well that, and the fact that she's double stuffed like an Oreo.

Her orgasm slices through her, a hot knife through butter, and a violent shiver racks up her spine. She bows upward in some type of silly attempt to get away from Jace’s plundering cock, but all she succeeds in doing is arching into Luke’s greedy hands and greenlighting him into slamming into her hole even harder. 

“Oh, oh! I can’t take it. It’s too much, stop!” Ysilla pleads, pushing and pulling at all of the naked skin surrounding her, overwhelmed and overfucked.

“Do you think she really means that, Lukey?” Jace asks and it’s too sugar sweet to be anything but condescending. 

“No fuckin’ way, mate. This ass wouldn’t let me go for anything.” Luke slurs, half fucking stupid, his smarts being squeezed out by way of his prick. 

“I’m not a unnhhhh. Not just a hole for you two to fuck.” Her words would land a better mark if there wasn’t a thin line of drool dripping off of her bottom lip, her eyes gone glossy. Her pussy throbs, her heartbeat pulsing there as well as violently in her ears. 

Luke fish hooks her, pulling her into his lips by the meat of her cheek. “Shut the fuck up, Ysi.” He says it so adoringly before releasing her, only to keep her quiet as he slides his tongue into her mouth. It does the job, Ysilla suckling at it like it’s a lolli. 

Jace lets his hands wander, worshiping the beautiful bodies laid out for his ravenous gaze. His fingers tickle over the dip of Luke’s slight waist, his thumb strokes the flare of Ysilla’s ribcage- his hands discovering and mapping a route of impassioned fealty that he will never forget. They're both his. It's an absolutely mental thought, one he should have no business entertaining but here, in his bed, none of them are to think of anything else but each other. 

Jace grabs Ysilla tight by her jaw, ripping her away from Luke’s tongue. He brings her in close, forcing her to stare into his sweet chocolate eyes. “I’m gonna nut in your pussy, sissy, and Luke’s gonna fill that ass up. And you’re gonna take it, like the good girl you are, or I’ll put you on your knees and have you suck my cock until dinnertime.”

Ysilla giggles, delighting in the way Jace’s smirk turns down into a sneer. Humbling her brothers is an A1 skill, one she’s perfected over the years with a constant dedication to her craft.

“Promise?”

Jace chuckles, because he’s sick like she is. Still holding her close, his grip slips down to wrap around her throat. He pushes up, palm tight to her windpipe and forces her flush to Luke’s sweaty chest. He presses his feet into his mattress, praying for leverage, and plows every inch of his thick dick into her cunt. 

Luke’s lungs shrivel up, the friction of his brother’s thrusting cock through the thin skin separating Ysilla’s holes too much for him to take. He hunches over her, slinging his arm around her hips. He yanks her into an arch, his forearm digging tightly into where her lower belly meets her mound, and humps desperately at the curve of her backside. 

Jace chases them, fucking his hips up into his siblings wildly, the wet smack of his thighs against Ysilla’s fucking nasty. He wraps his legs around all of them, crossing his ankles above Luke’s tight, thrusting ass, keeping them all nice and close. 

“Fuckkkk yeah, take that dick. Both of you.” 

Gods bless football, the muscles threaded through his chicken legs all due to his practicing and playing. Fuck, he should make Sil wear his jersey after his next game. Maybe even convince Luke to give him a mouthful of his junk, make him stretch out his throat while Silli rides his lap. Do it in the car park after the match. His tint is dark enough- he could have them together, anyway he wants while the rest of his team would pile into their own cars, none the wiser to sinful shit their star striker gets up to with his own flesh and blood. 

Jace knows he doesn’t have much left in his tank; he was ready to bust as soon as Luke slid home alongside him. He doesn’t want to finish yet- somewhat pridefully, not before his little brother. One thing is on his side though- he has a big fucking mouth. 

“So pretty, both of my fucking sluts. Gonna knock you two up, breed you until you’re fucking sick of it.”

Ysilla and Luke’s eyes roll back, mirror images of lust, and Jace doesn’t know if he imagines it but he swears he can feel it as Luke breaks, his cum molten hot through the partition of Silli’s walls as he spills deep into her guts.

“Fuckkk yes, cum inside of her Luke. Make it messy, shit, I’m cumming, I’m cumming.” Jace spits through clenched teeth, digging his heels cruelly into Luke’s soft thighs. As if on cue, both brothers’ trembling fingers dive between Ysilla’s legs, and rub furiously at her clit. She chokes, her nails rooting into each one of them, keeping them close as she breaks the fuck apart. One of them shouts as she clamps down in a vice grip, but it's all static in her ears, her orgasm washing anything away that's not white hot heat. It lasts so long her toes go numb and her knees shake tremors throughout her thighs.

Luke and Ysilla topple like a house of cards, landing in a jumbled pile of limbs and other sweat soaked appendages. Jace’s bed is a King but even so, the trio chooses to remain wrapped up in each other, gasping for breath and stretching out sore legs. 

The peek of sky through the blinds gets dimmer the longer they all lie there, the glow from the TV glaring brighter and brighter as the room dips into darkness. Jace searches for his remote, doing his best not to jostle his bedmates, until he finds it under his pillow. Going for the red power button, his thumb hovers over it until a flashing icon in the corner of the screen pitches his stomach like he’s on a rollercoaster. 

“Oh, fuck me.”

“I don’t think I have the energy to do that.” Luke groans, face buried in his sister’s back. 

“Me either.” Ysilla chuckles wearily, already well on her way to unconsciousness, snuggled between her favorite boys. Jace winces, letting them enjoy the last few seconds of afterglow before he ruins the rest of their lives.

“Okay… neither of you can hit me for what I’m about to tell you.”

Ysilla blinks at him, suddenly wide awake at the tense tone he’s taken on.

“Jace… what is it?”

He stares at the F1 pause screen, Aegon T. connected via headset still lit up in green in the top right corner. His own headset rests innocently atop his desk, the mic almost pointing accusingly towards the bed. And there’s no way in any of the Seven Hells that their uncle didn’t just get an earful of his niece and nephews railing each other into oblivion. 

“I think we may have a huge fucking problem.”

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