#jace headers

[diana-foggy-master]

Rhaena & Baela & Jace & Rhaenyra

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON | 𝐬𝟐𝐞𝟎𝟑

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[surenwren]

the mortal instruments headers

[myriaeden]

Jacaerys Velaryon Layouts

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[junoeditz]

random series & movies w/ taylor swift’s songs twitter headers!

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[chelez]

random harry collet aka jacaerys velaryon icons

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[emmastairs]

THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS, CLACE headers !

• 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗶𝘁

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Metanoia ;

Aemond Targaryen x Transmigrated!Strong!Reader

>> Chapter I : The Beginning.

Summary: "Be careful what you wish for" is what everyone says, you realise that you should've taken them seriously when you find yourself reincarnated as a character in the show who never existed.

WARNINGS: CANON TYPICAL INCEST, CONTAINS SPOILERS OF F&B, S1 AND S2, reader's appearance isn't described, only the fact that she is a strong, you can imagine her however you like, the picture used in the header is only to capture the feel of the story. A/N: divider credits to @cafekitsune

masterlist // next

“Jesus Christ, fuck this show, fuck everything, what the fuck is wrong with the writing?” You exclaim in annoyance after witnessing the scene that was supposed to be heavily impactful be butchered.

“That is the most anticlimactic death scene I've ever witnessed, this has to be a joke.” You furiously ramble. You decided to give House of The Dragon a try after your friend had recommended it, the show currently has released three seasons, with the fourth season in production, you thoroughly enjoyed season one and decided to binge all the seasons.

However, everything started to go downhill from season two, yet you still decided to watch for the sake of your favourite characters, daemon and aemond, only to witness the battle that was supposed to be intense and stressful get finished in the span of two minutes.

You stared at the screen, rolling your eyes in annoyance as you witnessed Aemond falling into the lake along with Vhagar, Daemon was knocked off Caraxes too and fell to his death.

They wrapped up the battle in mere moments, which made you angry as you were so hyped up to see them fight.

“Ugh, I never hated a show more than this, waste of my time, they did season one so well, what happened to rest? I did not expect this.” You sigh in frustration, feeling like you just wasted your time.

“If only… If only I ever get a chance, I'd change entire plot and script because fuck this.” You lay down on your sofa, staring at the ceiling, the show still playing in the background. You recollected the entire plot in your head, thinking of every moment in the show, trying to come up with an easy solution.

“If only they had married Jace to Helaena, it would have been peaceful.. Or at least if they had an older daughter married to Aegon or Aemond.” You mumble, but then shake your head, “What am I saying? Things still would've been complicated anyway.” You wonder in disbelief at your own words.

You yawned loudly, stretching out your limbs and blinking your eyes rapidly, your vision began to get blurry and you sighed in content, finally willingly wanting to sleep after you forced yourself to stay up all night to binge the series.

Your vision darkened slowly as you closed your eyelids, head spinning as you took slow breaths of air, cool breeze brushes past your cheeks and before you know it, you're slowly succumbing into slumber.

You blink your eyes open, realising you fell asleep, you sigh stirring on the soft sheets, entangling them between your legs.

Soft sheets?

Your sofa doesn't have any sheets.

You quickly blink again, taking the note of a translucent veil hanging from above, surrounding the bed you're in, creating a curtain around your bed.

Why were you in bed?

You sit up looking around, taking in your surroundings, your eyes widening in fear as you don't recognize this room at all, ancient tapestries, brown wooden furniture, and the source of light being only from the candle.

Have you been kidnapped?

You look down at your body, noticing you are in a white nightgown instead of the shorts you fell asleep in. Your heart begins to race and you panic, unable to understand where you are or how you got there. You steady your breathing, wondering if someone kidnapped you to play a role in a mediaeval film of theirs? But why would anyone do that?

The sound of metal clanking harshly against the floor and a small scream made your head turn the direction it came from, the liquid in the decanter spilling out rapidly as the person behind the fallen cutlery stood in shock.

“The princess is conscious!” She yells loudly before turning around and running out of the room in a hurry.

Princess?

Is this a prank?

You barely have any moment to think when you hear the sound of multiple footsteps coming from outside to your direction, you could almost feel the ground rumbling, noting that everyone was rushing to this room.

You push the veil to the side and stand up, getting out the bed and examining your surroundings, looking at the sigils and the paintings. All of this looked familiar somehow.

A small gasp echoed through the room, coming from the entrance, which made you turn around to take a look at who was in the room once again. Your eyes widened at the sight.

A lady with platinum blonde hair, blue eyes stood in front of you, someone who resembled Rhaenyra and next to her stood Jace and Luke breathing heavily, looking at you in shock.

Did the house of the dragon cast kidnap you to play a prank on you?

That sounds too unreasonable.

“Oh my sweet daughter!” Rhaenyra rushes over to you, embracing you tightly, tears flow down her cheeks as she peppers you with kisses “I-i i cannot believe this, you finally woke up after many years.” She sobs, you look at her questioningly. “Sister.” Jacaerys speaks up, coming to you and joining the embrace of you and Rhaenyra, Luke joins in as well.

“We missed you.” Jace says and you stare at all of them confused.

This has to be a joke.

They notice the expression on your face and their faces immediately drop, “Your grace, the princess woke up after many years, she might not be able to recognise you.” The maester chimes in, Rhaenyra nods, sniffling yet understanding your condition.

“Emma? Is this a joke?” You question, referring to the actor of Rhaenyra, “I’m not Aemma darling, she is your grandmother.” Rhaenyra corrects you. “I think she must be confusing the names of everyone due to her hazy memory.” The maester tries explaining, you sigh.

Yeah this must be a dream.

You shake your head gently and immediately slap yourself to wake yourself up.

“Ouch!” You yell in pain, cupping the cheek you slapped yourself on, Rhaenyra is mortified and the guards rush in and hold your arms back so you don't further hurt yourself.

This is not a dream.

You can’t feel pain in your dreams and you will wake up right before impact.

You look at Rhaenyra’s face, she is as real as a living person, standing right in front of you.

She looks just like Emma. of course, after all Rhaenyra is indeed played by them.

But this is not them.

She is not Emma

You can feel the vibe, it's very different.

You’ve met Emma before in costume, yet they did not give off the vibes as what Rhaenyra is giving off right now, after all, when you met them; it was just a show, but now it's your reality.

Did you die in your world?

You’ve definitely transmigrated into this show, but as who?

Did Rhaenyra ever have a daughter? You knew she didn't.

“Mirror, get me a mirror.” You ask and they look at you questioningly, your form begins to shake as the realisation is too overwhelming, there are many questions in your mind, “Please!” You cry, and immediately a servant moves and rushes over with a mirror.

Your eyes widen.

It's you.

You had not become someone else, but you remained as yourself. “What is my name?” You ask, “Y/N.” Rhaenyra replies. Your mind begins to spin, you are in another world as yourself, you have not possessed anyone else, which means your body must’ve disappeared from your world.

You try to stay calm in this situation, breathing heavily, “You are?” You ask, wanting to reconfirm, you watch as Rhaenyra's face crumples into that of a sad face, probably feeling hurt that her own daughter doesn't recognise her.

“I'm your mother, you are my eldest daughter, they—” She points at Jace, Luke and Joffrey, “—are your younger siblings.” You turn towards them.

You nod, pretending to play the part while you figure out everything. “I'm sorry, I do not remember.” You apologise and Rhaenyra shakes her head, “It is alright, you have been unconscious since the past six years, this is better than losing my daughter.” She replies.

“Six years… Did I fall unconscious after Aemond lost his eye?” You think out loud and Rhaenyra looks at you in shock, “You remember him?” She asks and you clear your throat, “It's hazy, my memory.” You answer back.

“Your grace, the event was probably traumatic for her, hence why she can remember it in parts.” The maester explains it to Rhaenyra, you mentally thank the maester for covering up for you always.

You noticed how they were all dressed up, looked as if they were about to leave but their plans were cut short, and you recognize this gown of Rhaenyra.

It was the gown she wore when she left for King's Landing, in order to settle the matter of Luke's right to driftmark. “You guys were departing somewhere?” You ask, wanting to really confirm it, “Hm? Huh, Yes, We were about to leave for King's Landing.” Jacaerys answers your question.

“Can I tag along?” You blurt the question.

“.. Tag along?” Lucerys repeats your words in confusion, your language confusing him.

“I mean to say, can I come along?” You ask the question in a proper manner, Rhaenyra shakes her head, “No- you've just woken up, you might still be weak- I cannot risk-”

“Mother! I am perfectly fine!” You cut her off, breaking free from the guards hands and running around the room, doing jumping jacks, showing her that you aren't weak and are perfectly capable of physical activity.

Rhaenyra watches in shock, seeing you move like this but she chuckles, shaking her head in comic disbelief, “I guess she has not changed after all.” The maester comments which makes Jace and Luke smile.

“Very well, Pack the princess’ belongings, and get her ready for departure, we will depart two days later.” Rhaenyra orders the maids and you smile at her.

“But mother, I do not have many dresses—”

“You do, I had them tailored every year, whenever you grew, hoping that you would wake up.” She replies softly and you just then realise how Rhaenyra loves her children.

“The maesters said that you might not ever wake up, and that your body will be stunted from growth, yet… I'm glad their predictions never came true.” She smiles gently at you, you smile back.

The maids come in with a bath as everyone leaves, some of them begin packing your belongings. You notice how your body doesn't look how a person in a coma state should be looking especially in the mediaeval times, but instead you seem to be well taken care of, treated as if you were alive.

The maids quickly finish your bath and dress you up, you have to pretend to get used to this atmosphere and era even though you're highly uncomfortable, the mere thought of having servants made you feel bad.

And with that, the night fell, you couldn't sleep thinking about how you're going to deal with everything, could you really prevent war from happening? It happens due to a misunderstanding in the show right? What if the misunderstanding doesn't occur? Your mind was filled with such thoughts through the whole night.

In King's Landing.

“My queen, Rhaenyra, has sent a letter saying that their arrival will be delayed further.” The master sums up the contents of the letter in the council room, in front of Aemond who had been called by Alicent for an urgent matter.

“Why so?” Alicent asks, furrowing her brows.

“Princess Y/N had woken up from her unconscious state.”

An ear piercing shattering sound of glass is heard through the entire room, when turned to look at the origin, It is known that Aemond had dropped the wine glass he was drinking from.

“Y/N is awake?” Aemond asks the maester.

“Yes my prince.” The maester replies.

Aemond's heart begins to pound in his chest loudly, his mind spiralling at the thought of you finally waking up all these years later.

“Please excuse me.” Aemond gets up from the chair, excusing himself from the council and leaving the room, his brain occupied with the thoughts of you.

There wasn't a day where Aemond hadn't thought of you, he would at least think about you once a day- the news of you waking up from unconsciousness made the adrenaline in his body rush.

He felt like a hungry snake that had been starved for many years who at last found a prey to feast on, he felt like a drought-stricken land finally receiving rainfall, he felt like a garden void of any flowers which started to bloom once again.

He was thrilled.

He reminisces of the fond memories you both shared, he could never ever forget them, smiling at the thought of you.

He wondered if you had changed or remained the same.

Whatever it was, he couldn't wait.

He couldn't wait to receive you.

[eldrith]

ғʀᴏᴍ ᴇᴅᴇɴ ; ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ.

ʜᴏɴᴇʏ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ғᴀᴍɪʟɪᴀʀ ; ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴍʏ ᴍɪʀʀᴏʀ ʏᴇᴀʀs ᴀɢᴏ

jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader words: 3.1k synopsis: jacaerys falls for a woman in aegon's garden. notes: happy haunting season! here's part one (more of an introduction or prologue) to my october mini-series! a little horror love-letter from me to youse <3 so many thanks to my beautiful sweet brains @useralba & @dipperscavern ... dippy fetched my header for me & they basically co-wrote this whole concept. chapter warnings: this is The Most Normal™️ part out of the whole series so not much. canon-typical mentions of death/grief, but jace is thugging it out. morally gray jacaerys (& reader) throughout the story, though hes p normal in this. series masterlist. main masterlist.

A SHARP ACHE PIERCES JACAERYS’S MIND. 

It has lingered, ebbing and flowing in the corner of his vision since the news came by raven this afternoon; whispers of fury, nostrils flared around the Painted Table as gasps of shuddered grief echoed in the dusting quiet. A gust of sharp wind blows his curls from his temple, his lips wettened and chilled by the cold of eve. 

Soil turns soft underfoot as Jacaerys stalks down a trail less frequented; the Outer Bailey of Dragonstone Castle is thick with land, and yet rather sparse in people - most of whom are within tubs. Or, more likely, tending to those within the tubs - though tonight, as much as it can be afforded, he wishes not to not remain within those suffocating walls.

Walls which still echo, in the slumbering quiet when candles are all snuffed and guards repose drearily against stone, with laughter and footsteps of his kin; walls which whisper of doves, wings clipped and soiled by blood of innocent, by hatred stale and harbored.

Walls which used to hold his family - which now cage the fragmented remainder of such a thing; of tense jaws and eyes that cannot help but glaze over each other in pursuit of some long predetermined destiny. 

He sniffs against the chill of the evening, rather disturbed by the beauty, raw and wild, of the island - steep cliffs clumped by wildgrass and staggering up into sharp black slates, which yawn high into the sky; the Mont, steeping with heat and nesting ancient beasts within its belly.

And the garden, just ahead - a primordial thing, once shining and primed by the glory of a beautiful empire. When he'd stormed from the council room, he'd been rather dead-set upon the garden - if only in a bout of frustration lingering in the denial of his mother, yet projected as a sharp mind ache that laid somewhere in the bowels of Aegon's Garden. Searching for a figure, one that likely exists in only his imagination - the one he's seen through bleary eyes of his chamber window, dancing through leaves and past faces of stone; their presence a low hum in the back of his mind that pierces and grates against his resolve.

The castle’s hearths burn low now after supper, and the eve falls dreary upon quiet ocean-misted moors. His footsteps drag untenanted, burdened by the weight of some distant crown as he clenches tight to his pommel. 

Those empty feet had indeed carried him all the way down from the tower; past guards and faces familiar, as though his mind was tethered to a memory, a shadow flickered in the distance of his chamber window.

The cliffs are black in the fall of night, the walls of the keep warm but crumbling in the lower Baileys. The Sept - a rather forgotten relic these days - has a soft glow from within; though through the thickening fog, Jacaerys wonders if the figures he sees within are truly there. 

Silent Sisters, his mind whispers, though there is no body reclaimed for them to prepare. She lies with the Red Queen still; a war without bodies, though he fights the thought from festering - no bones to wrap, no flesh to burn. Only names, which will die on the tongues of those who are too agonized, too vengeful to mourn.  

The trail is unkempt; it is not often the inhabitants of the island come to the Garden, less so now that looming war plagues the realms. Death grasps Dragonstone Castle in its implacable grip these days; and anger, that hungry beast that bites at the tail of revenge - it ravages his house. 

He has known since the very first moon they came to Dragonstone, all that time ago - in the earlier years; Luke, Joff, and himself - stumbling over hilts longer than their legs, watching the spiraling towers of Dragonstone become swallowed by thick clouds. And there had been Maester Gerardys, in the first of many lessons to come round the table, tone imbued with something rather distant, gaze fixed upon the window. 

Even now, years later, Jacaerys knows that the ground he walks is tainted - the Dragonmont looms, its acidic breaths falling in years over toppling years, watching Dragon Kings rise and leave for their birthright; and yet still it remains, sprinkling its volcanic acids to leech into the earth below.

The soil the castle was built upon is imbued with the very acid that grows beneath the island’s crust - and from it, the plants in Aegon’s Garden now grow unruly, unbidden; No longer tended to by hands familiarized with their needs. 

The soil is rich, Maester Gerardys had looked out the sharp window in the drum, eyes weathered as the skies. But even when the Conqueror landed, it was unfit for nurturing life. We eat not from the fruit which grows from this side of the island. The blooms stay within their home, and return with each cycle of life back into the ground. 

Evening fog swallows the burst of trees on the other side of the Thorned Dragon; it twists into the sky high enough that Jacaerys can see the horns through the iron gates to the garden. Fresh sprouts crawl out of the earth from under the wall, curled with the kiss of frost which visits each evening and thawed by the island's sun come each morning. Life into death.

The circle turns. 

The gates to the garden are marred with the same rust that crawls up the chains lining the Western Docks; Jacaerys grasps the cold metal and pushes through with surprising ease. 

A creak of groaning metal. Trees are gnarled; they twist and wind down the path that he walks, his mind lingering up in the thick clouds - a faint gust sends the scent of smoke through his nose. 

Dragonfire. 

A clench within his chest; the falling of the Queen Who Never Was echoes in his mind, the fluttering of raven’s wings, the whisper in a chamber much too empty for all the people who occupied it - and a suppression of the stab of loss which threatens to crawl out his throat. 

The garden is bright, despite the falling daylight. It bursts with untamed indigenous flora, thick with the air of blossoms - roses, red and thorned; bark, dampened upon twisted trees older than his mother’s mother, rough under his palms. Stoned statues loom with twisted grins in the half-light, some relic of his ancestors which turn now to mock him in his solitary march.  

Jacaerys’s breath comes out in a puff of fogged chill - the evening brings a cool seabreeze, although his heart has always beat rather warm.

 A gentle caress seems to bring forth a curling smile from a bushel of red anemone blossoms as he passes - a twitch of a grin upon his own lips though the lingering feeling of walking deeper into a shadow looms within his mind. 

Any semblance of peace is disrupted at the slither of fabric around a lingering statue of a melancholy ancestor, a rustled noise - his heart stops. 

Though his mind is muddled with tumult, there is some life breathed back into him when he catches a glimpse of shining tresses around a tall thorny hedge, and the snaking curl of dress skirts around the bottom; and so he begins to stalk after the scent of earth, of some deep turn of late summerfruit. 

Another flicker of movement, a rustle in the vines; and still he follows, heart slamming as the clouds roll over the sunlight. 

In the deeper part of the garden lies the Thorned Dragon - a once-wonderful iron statue which now crawls with thick vines and time-bitten rusted holes; though below sits stoned benches for respite.

And there Jacaerys halts his footsteps, deadening at the sight before him. 

Concealed, only the whisper of skirts near hidden feet, strands of glowing hair, the peek of one timid eye thickened by long wisps - of a brow that arches, peeking only just so from beside the iron Dragon. 

A young woman. 

“Hello.” His voice is schooled with confidence - this is his island, after all. 

The sun glints in a sharp fight against the rolling clouds; the foggy cloud around his feet swirl as he carries himself with curiosity - it is unusual for Housestaff to venture into such a place. At his voice, there is a flicker, a twitch - slither of skirts until his gaze meets the pair of wide eyes. 

You stand on legs doelike and unsure, bent slightly at the hips as if prepared to skitter away at the slightest of movement; and he, with a skip in his heart at the glow of your skin, the flutter of lashes upon sweet cheeks. 

“Hello,” you echo his very essence, voice a mirror of his own tone though syrupy and curling with the warmth of summerfall. 

He is struck at once by your beauty. 

A breeze picks up; the scent of rich earth beneath his boots, the thick blooms even in so chill a climate. Skirts blown back gently, your hair rustles against the wind and he finds the soft beauty upon your visage arresting. 

Your feet are bare. His brows drawn, he moves just slightly, cloak fluttering in the wind; and you, watching with owlish eyes as he nods cordially, struck with the natural compulsion to greet you with proper manners. 

“I am Jacaerys,” he is rather unsure why he omits Prince from his introduction - though with a pang of storm clouds looming in his mind, he dwells not. 

Indeed it matters little, for you offer some sudden beaming smile - a bright thing, a leap from his heart at such a blessing from the Gods as you have been given; and you nod gently, lips glistened and pale. 

A sharp smile, something that would seem coy, unpropitious if not for the small flash of kindness that lingers in your stare. 

“-Jacaerys Velaryon,” you finish, dropping into a curtsey that brings about a slight glide of interest over your form; he chastises himself sharply in his head, bowing back. 

A Houseworker, then, though he’s never seen you in the halls; nor has he seen a maid or cook wear such material of their gowns. He reclines upon a stone bench; you follow after he invites you kindly, your eyes skittering over the fine folds of his tailored clothing, lingering on the line of his jaw, then hooking rather intently on the dragon upon his chest. Your own dress seems to shift with the light - it is white, then gray, then a near muted purple; it fits with the glow of your chest, with the glint in your eyes.  

You tell him your name then and it lodges itself warm and wanting into the cavity of his chest. It drips with the glazed sweetness of blooms left in the care of the sun and preserved in the chill of shade.  

Pines linger tall around you; a sea of green, though the true thing lies far in the distance, its tidal breath a slow roll in the evening air. Your fingers are lithe as they trace over a spiny vine hanging off the Thorned Dragon; and yet, peculiarly, you give no hiss as you press your thumb down against a thorn - in fact, your lips curl into a quick grin, eyes dark in interest when the thorn nearly pierces your flesh.

“-Why are you here?” His question is one rather improper, though he finds himself perturbed and cannot bring himself to feel remarkably bad. Indeed, your dreamy hum silences any doubt that may linger in the back of his mind, “It was my assumption not many come to Aegon's Garden anymore.” He admits. 

And something about his words must be amusing to you; a grin that you hide with a tilt of your head, your hand leaving the thorn on the vine. He can smell the scent of your hair; a honeyed thing, a gentle thing. A sweet thing. 

“I tend to it,” you murmur, voice gentle as a psalm, though your eyes flicker off towards the peak of a twisted treeline upon the far end of the garden, past the murky bog. “-Though sometimes I feel as though it tends to me.” 

Dreamlike, your eyes glaze over - and Jacaerys is left rather uncomfortable against the cooling stone. A foreboding prickles at the edge of his mind; and as fog creeps towards the shore each morning, he has a sudden urge to back away from your curling chill - there is something familiar within your lilt, in the way your eyes shift under dappled sunlight. His aunt had much similar a tone when they were young; with fingers that slid between bars of small cages, prodding creatures which nuzzled back against her, musing words that never quite strung together right. 

“And you?” You add now, fingers cupped within your lap. His brows draw as you murmur again, “What brings you here, my Prince?” 

Behind your shoulder is the long path narrowed by closing hedges, by twisted trees and creeping vines untamed and wild with life; with life, a part of him rejoices silently, life, though so much death looms over Dragonstone these days. 

His hesitation lingers in the quiet thick fog that creeps through the grass. “I’m…” His brows furrow, a sudden cloud of amnesia confusing weighing his tongue. He feels almost blank, save for the sweet scent of you beside him. 

“...I don’t know.” 

A flicker of your visage in his peripheral, as if you’ve moved - though when he turns to your countenance once more, he wonders if the sharp, darkly unnerving smile that had flashed onto your face was only in his mind. It unsettles him deeply within his stomach as your eyes remain upon his, muscles lax, as though the smile you’d given earlier was the first in years. 

His mind is too clouded - Rooks Rest has weighed heavy on the tongues of the council today, though it seems it weighs even heavier so on the mind. He must be rather exhausted. 

 “I…” He struggles once more, unsettled by the false image of that hungry grin, gaze focused upon the soil, fresh and puffy below his boots. “I thought I was…looking for something.” It is said absently, straining to recall his initial intentions - and it feels only slightly incorrect. 

You do not say anything to this, and for the sake of his nerves, he pretends to ignore the growing smile slow over your countenance in the corner of his vision.

In a breeze cooler than expected, his unnerved eyes rise to the Castle - up, to the window of his own chambers high within the spire of the Stone Drum with such direct view of the garden, of this very statue. 

Gulls cry in the distance; the blooms overgrown above your head seem to droop, as if bowing towards your companionship. A beauty Jacaerys has never once fathomed; though he is momentarily distracted by the movement of your hands, once so still within your lap. 

It is with surprise when he finds your fingers delicately peeling away at some foreign fruit, revealing the glistening flesh within - and your lips, wettened with your tongue as you pluck at the tissue of its skin. 

A heaviness in his throat, muddled bewilderment leaking through the cracks of his mind; though any true alarm melts away as you slowly bring the fruit to your gentle, awaiting lips, its crimson juice staining your fingers. 

Slow bites, teeth sinking into tender flesh in the stillness of the bright garden; and Jacaerys, transfixed upon the glow of your skin, the gentle sigh from your chest at the taste. It is bizarre he has never once seen you here - perhaps you are new to the island; with the influx of residents within the castle, it has provided ample new jobs for the smallfolk around. He is certain he’d have remembered such arresting eyes. 

It is a sight so innocent, yet so incredibly salacious in its sudden intensity - he finds it a battle to cast away his gaze; his toes drag through the dirt upon the earth, watching the sprouts bounce back upwards once the pressure of his presence is relieved. 

“Have you ever had one?” Your voice curls through fog, some sweet melody that startles him. His cheeks are flushing red, though you are much too enraptured with the fruit, lips stained dark as wine. “-A fig,” you mend, an afterthought as your eyes rise once more to the larger of the trees deep in the gardens; and a buzzing haze that creeps through Jace’s mind as the empty shell falls from your fingers onto the ripe dirt below. 

He watches it lie to rest, bespeckled with the damp dark of soil. 

The circle turns. 

His mouth is dry, and he struggles to swallow; “No,” he admits, clouded by déjà vu and a sudden, mild perplexity. “I haven’t.” 

Your lips curve into that slow, knowing smile once more - less unsettling when it is fixed upon his gaze this time. Your fingers trace the smooth skin of another fig before your palm extends, offering it with a slight tilt of your head. “They are divine,” your words lilt, syllables sung out into the garden’s thick air. Divine. 

And gods, you are divine - an arresting thought, one that jolts him out of the trance he’d so unwittingly tumbled into - and with a blink, he hesitates. 

A half-remembered tale told in the dim light of hearths drawn moons, years ago - and he shakes his head, the thought of food at a time like this rather sickening. “Where did you get them?” he wonders instead of accepting, though your palm remains outstretched, enticing. There is a thrumming in his ears, though he realizes with a start that his headache has ceased. 

“They come from me,” you reply coyishly; though there is some glint in your eyes, some shift of the breath you take - and he looks away just before that smile reclaims your face.

A strange girl, he decides. A strange girl, yet quite endearing. 

He cannot help the smile he returns to you, a short chuckle, mostly out of nerves from him which is echoed rather enthusiastically, nearly unsettling in its fervor, by you.

His heart beats faster, though he cannot say why - his lips are wettened by the prod of his tongue, and he pretends not to notice the flush upon your hollowed cheeks, nor the way your head seems to dip lower to observe his countenance. 

“No, thank you,” he declines, voice barely a whisper; and his eyes search yours, your name echoing heavy in his mind - so familiar a name. 

Your smile returns, though this time it is sharper; and with darkened eyes, the corners of your lips twitching as if you already knew what his answer would be. When you respond, it is not what he expects. “As you wish, my Prince.” 

And then you bring the last fig to your chest, fingers delicate even when they tear at the little flesh as though you've been starved; his stomach rolls, entranced as a drip of juice rolls down your chin, crimson against your muted skin. 

Night falls. Council will be called soon, he knows - and the bells will be rung though they are barely heard from outside the inner bailey. Jacaerys is hesitant to leave, yet there is a chill that has begun to seep through his bones; a pit that grows within his stomach. Each pulse of his blood through his heart, a bite of your teeth into the fruit of the fig - but he waits until you’ve finished your repast to clear his throat. 

“I must return,” he decides, a strike of hesitance at your look, that kind stare that flickers in the death of sunlight.

You hesitate as he rises, just for a moment - and then, leaning forward as crimson fingers grasp the stone bench, your smile drops. A fleeting thing, a sparrow upon a windowsill, a hummingbird through the morning air.

 “Thank you, Prince Jacaerys.” 

His brows furrow; and you, staring up at him with a gaze so unalloyed, so pure - a lingering darkness in his chest that grows each day of unrest cooped up in his coddled little nest within the island. 

Though he smiles only gently back at you - a twist of soft pity that bleeds into an odd affection for such a sweet stranger; a much needed respite from the faces much too familiar and suffocating in the choking smoke of war and duty. 

“I suppose I find myself rather lonely,” you confess, eyes dropping to stare at the figs that now rest in your lap - a blink from Jacaerys at the sight of them, once more bewildered at their presence. “Not many come to the garden anymore. I worry I tend to it only for myself these days.” 

Jacaerys finds himself rather uneasy - there is that guilt that coils familiar, a serpent squeezing his stomach. The circle turns, he thinks.  

“I will have to return then, my lady.” He feels rather uneven on his feet, “This garden is quite beautiful.” 

And if you bristle at his assumption of your title, you do not show it; an absent look has plagued your seraphic features, leaving you with shallow breaths and a plumped lower lip. “I would hope so, Jacaerys.”

For a dreadful moment, he fears you might begin to cry; a stoke of regret and pity through him. Though it is quelled rather abruptly as you snap up, eyes staring down the row of hedges behind him before returning to his own, much more warm than before.  

You hold his gaze for a horrible few breaths - and he knows not what to do, as you sit faraway and dreamlike, your hair moving in a breeze he cannot feel.

“Are you turning in soon?” He wonders, unable to quell his curiosity - he cannot imagine your duties much require you to extend your services into the dark of night, though he admittedly has paid less than staunch attention to the Housestaff as of late.

Your eyes remain distant, though a soft wisp of a smile grows as you rise to your height, standing oddly against the vines which creep down towards you. 

You look back beyond his shoulder, a glint of firelight in your eyes though the sun still whispers its last stretches of breath across the indigo sky.

“Not so soon, I'm afraid. The roses need pruning,” you sigh. “I detest thorns.”

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[presidenthades]

The Golds Fanbinding ✅

My Golds Fanbinding is done! 😮‍💨 My second ever typeset and third ever binding.

With a title like “The Golds,” I was basically required to go hard on a gold design. So we have gold book cloth, gold painted edges, and gold foiling on the inside pages. With it being a HOTD fic, the cover was inspired by fancy medieval manuscripts but toned down just a bit to suit my modern aesthetic sensibilities.

The embroidered dragons on the cover represent Sunfyre and Vermax. Lots of pearls for…story reasons. 😳 Flowers/roses are another common motif because Jace loves roses. The little gold mermaid tail on the bookmark is also a nod to her Velaryon heritage.

The High Valyrian glyphs on the back say “Ñuha litse riña ilza,” which, if I got the translation right, means “There’s my pretty girl.” 🤭

The chapter titles in the fic are lyrics from the in-universe lullaby “The Song of the Seven,” so the chapter headers are decorated with medieval-esque musical notes.

Artwork inside by @debustee @/necrotica @mariascorzelliart @buben-ustal and all are credited in the table of contents ❤️

[sapphire-writes]

Money Shot

Part 4 of The Campaign

modern!Aemond x Reader

summary: Tensions rise between you and Aemond at the arrival of Floris Baratheon.

word count: 6.3k

rating: explicit/18+/MDNI

warnings: kissing, fingering, oral (f receiving), degradation, slight praise, semi-public, finger sucking, gagging, hair pulling, begging, infidelity, reader serving cunt (listen, our reader is not a girl's girl and you know what we're just rolling with it for this one rip), angst, alcohol consumption, smoking, language

note: oh hey there! it's my monthly series update whatcha know! how's everyone doing? surviving? thriving? slay! thanks for reading lovelies I hope you enjoy it!

dividers & headers by me (i know, we've come so far)

if you'd like to be notified when I post please follow and turn on notifications for @sapphire-writes-updates in lieu of a taglist!

like this story? check out more of my work HERE 🖤

Floris Baratheon is annoyingly pretty.

Even more so now that she’s this close; seated across from you at brunch. Floris and her sisters went to school with you when you were younger; you’d been in the same grade as her older sister Maris. You were never close. When it became clear her family was supporting Aegon over Rhaenyra, you made it your mission to find out everything worth knowing about them. 

Floris motherfucking Baratheon. 

She bats her lashes at Aemond as he holds his brother’s attention in polite quiet conversation. Easily the prettiest of her sisters so it is wasn’t surprising that Aemond had chosen her as his prize. Though to be frank, you’d never thought of Aemond as shallow. He hardly dated at all. 

Aegon had arrived late the previous night, setting off the alarms of Summerhall as he fell into the swimming pool. A fabulous start to the day. 

Floris had arrived the evening after you and Aemond’s most recent rendezvous. She’d squealed like an excited teenager, throwing her arms around Aemond, her heels lifting off of the ground as she peppered light kisses across his face. Her presence had been a thorn in your side ever since. 

A family outing had been Alicent’s idea. The restaurant was Rhaenyra’s choosing; an intimate little rooftop brunch spot. You’d all gotten there early to avoid the sweltering midday sun. 

You glance over your shoulder at the table behind you where Rhaenyra is seated, flanked by Daemon and Joffrey. Alicent and her father sit across from them, both tight lipped. Daemon is lost in his menu, the corner of his mouth curling into a sneer as he murmurs something to Rhaenyra. The table appears quiet, with no polite conversation. Though Joffrey is seated beside his mother, it feels very much as though you’d been seated at the kid’s table. 

“Weren’t you supposed to bring someone?” Helaena asks, glancing at Aegon out of the corner of her eye as she pours over the menu. “I thought you were seeing that Lannister girl.”

You turn away from the grown-ups' table, reaching for your wine. You declined the complimentary mimosas, as did Aegon. He swirls his glass of scotch in his hand, the ice cube clinking against the sides. Nothing like hard liquor at 11 am. 

“She’s not coming,” Aegon answers.

“Not coming?” 

Aegon merely shrugs, tapping his finger against the glass, “We had a fight.”

Helaena quirks a brow at that, pursing her lips as she sets her menu on the table.

“A fight?”

“Yes. A disagreement.”

“About what?”

Aegon groans, leaning back in his chair as a waitress walks by. His eyes rake over her figure so quickly you almost miss it. Aegon’s been perving for years and he’s mastered his technique. Your stomach sours and you roll your eyes. Jace reaches over to you, placing his hand on top of yours giving it a comforting squeeze. 

“Loyalties. I kissed someone else and she wasn’t happy.” Aegon tells his sister. His playful frown suggests he’s unbothered by her reaction to his infidelity.  

Of all the Targaryens, you think you hate Aegon the most.You glance at Aemond and find him already looking at you.

Well, maybe not the most. 

“How dreadful. You’ll cause a scandal, I’m sure,” Helaena muses. 

“No one’s paying much attention to me. Nothing to worry about,” Aegon says, plucking a piece of bread from the basket in front of him, “Everyone’s more concerned about Maegor With Tits.” He holds the bread against his chest for crude emphasis. 

“Hush,” Helaena snaps, always the quickest of her siblings to defend her half-sister. 

Helaena and Aegon quarrel like lovers. It’s unsettling. 

Aemond is still watching you, even though you’ve looked away. You’re trying to control the small smirk that plays on your lips. You know why he’s staring. 

It wasn’t as though you were trying to get him to look at you, but you had opted for a more revealing dress than you usually would for a family outing. Jace’s eyes had widened considerably as you’d smoothed the small scrap of silk into place that morning.

“You look incredible,” he’d said, hand on your hip, eyes following the fabric that stopped just below the curve of your ass, leaving no amount of leg to the imagination.

You glance at Aemond, meeting his hungry gaze. He’s awfully fun to play with. It’s been so boring the past few days ever since Floris’ arrival. She’d been stuck to Aemond’s side like a pretty little leech the entire time. 

“So, Floris,” you say, placing your wine glass on the table, “We’ve been living in the same house for three days now and I feel like I don’t know anything about you. Tell me about yourself.” It’s a command more than a request.

Aemond keeps his eye focused on you, the heat of his glare burning into your face. Helaena raises a brow as Jace and Aegon begin talking to one another, oblivious. Helaena has always been the most observant. Floris smiles kindly, not sensing the tension that rolls off your shoulders. It’s the first time you’ve attempted to speak to her. 

“Oh ... .well…,” she glances at Aemond though he says nothing, “What would you like to know?”

A smile dances across your lips. This should be fun.

“I can’t remember for the life of me where you studied. Which university did you graduate from again?” you ask, cocking your head to the side, “Was it Harvard or Yale? I always confuse the East Coast ivies.” You laugh breathlessly, shaking your head. 

Floris’ eyelashes flutter; a nervous tell. She smiles with a sigh, clearly not used to the spotlight directed at her. 

“Oh well I think you’re thinking of my sister Maris,” she answers, cheeks turning a rosy hue of pink. You knew that, obviously. If Aemond wanted intellectually stimulating conversation, he’d have chosen her as his arm candy. “But I’m planning on going back and getting my degree at some point. I’m really interested in botany—”

“Botany! Ha! That was my minor in university,” Helaena chimes in. Floris’ eyes light up, thankful Helaena has joined the conversation. “That’s rather—”

“Flowers?” you interrupt and Floris’ smile falters ever so slightly as her blue eyes return to you.

Unlucky for her, you’ve never been one to give up easily. You reach for your glass, holding it lazily between your fingers. Smiling tightly and tilting your head to the side, you continue your advances. 

“Yeah,” Floris shakily answers, “I mean…I don’t know. I haven’t really made up my mi—”

“Have you read any good books recently?” you ask, taking a sip of wine. You watch Aemond begin to tap his fingers against the table out of the corner of your eye.

“Oh um, not really,” Floris answers, “I’m not much of a reader.”

You flick an eyebrow up at that, glancing at Aemond. His pale blue eye holds your gaze, nostrils flaring. Interesting. Aegon and Jace have paused their side conversation.

“Oh?”

The table is silent. It’s like watching a cat play with a mouse. Aemond’s knuckles blanche as he curls his fingers in toward his palm. A waitress walks by, absentmindedly refilling the sweating glasses of water that line the table. Aemond says nothing; he doesn’t jump to his girlfriend’s defense.

Doesn’t look away from you. 

Floris wets her lips, smiling politely up at the waitress as she refills her cup. She pauses for a moment, nervously sipping her water. She’s about three mimosas in; you’re sure the alcohol is working in your favor. A layer of nervous sweat covers her brow. 

“I mean, I haven’t really—”

“What about current events?” you continue to steamroll her, “Aemond loves staying up to date he must be driving you crazy with all that. Especially with what's been going on recently in the Riverlands.”

“Oh, well I’m not really sure—”

“Oh you aren’t?” you ask in mock confusion, over dramatically pouting, “Hmph. I assumed you’d be interested in his work. I mean as Aemond’s girlfriend and all—”

“Oh well, that’s actually a great segway,” Floris interrupts, her voice shriller than before, as if she’s trying to regain control of the conversation.

You take another sip from your glass, allowing her interruption. You’re enjoying her distressed state. A smile curves at the edge of your lips and you attempt to hide it behind your glass. 

“We’ve just been having the loveliest time together, haven’t we?” Floris says, pressing her hand against Aemond’s shoulder.

He makes a soft noise of approval and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. You catch his gaze again, the conversation fading into white noise. 

Does Floris know she’s been sleeping on the bed he ruined you on? Your cheeks grow hot. Just a few nights ago you’d been tied to the rails of their headboard. Guilt stabs you in the gut but you choose to ignore the uncomfortable feeling. Floris Baratheon means nothing to you. She’d do the same to you in a heartbeat. There’s no playing fair in these circles. 

“—you see we decided to get engaged!”

You choke on your wine, sputtering, and coughing. Droplets of wine stain the white tablecloth like little pink raindrops. Jace rubs a comforting hand on your back. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“Sloppy girl you got there, Jacey,” Aegon snickers. 

“I’m fine,” you manage in a hoarse voice, “Just went down the wrong way, that’s all.” You can feel droplets of wine running down your chin, onto your neck, and down between your breasts.

Aegon raises his eyebrows, an amused smile on his face as his eyes shamelessly follow the river flowing down your chest. You wipe your chin as you stand from your chair, the legs scraping harshly against the wooden floor.

“I’ll just go freshen up,” you tell everyone. Your throat tightens uncomfortably. 

“D’you want me to come with you?” Jace asks, rising halfway from his chair, his brown eyes wide.

“No, I’m fine,” you insist, pressing your hand against his shoulder until he sits back down, “I’ll be right back.”

You don’t look at Aemond, nor anyone else as you hurry past Rhaenyra’s table and between other patrons towards the restroom. Hurrying down the hallway and slamming the door shut behind you, you take a deep breath gazing at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes are wide and bloodshot from your coughing fit, and your chest is shiny and sticky from the wine. 

“Seven fucking hells,” you grumble, grabbing one of the provided towels and wetting it in the sink. Cleaning yourself up, you try to stop your hands from shaking. 

Engaged. 

You shake your head, fixing your hair, trying to rid yourself of the thought.

He’s fucking engaged.

Sleeping with Aemond Targaryen when he has a “girlfriend” is one thing. But fiancee? The thought makes your stomach tighten. Well, it shouldn’t mean anything. You didn’t care then. You shouldn’t care now. You meet your eyes in the mirror, your stomach flipping unpleasantly. You shouldn’t care. Your lower lip trembles, nails digging into the soft flesh of your palms.

Seven hells.

“What are you doing?” you whisper.

What have you been doing? You have a boyfriend. He has a fiancee. You press your hand against your forehead, breathing deeply as your heart thrums against your ribs. A wife practically. Gods if this got out. You don’t even want to think about it. Rhaenyra’s campaign would be jeopardized. Everything you’ve worked for. You’ve been so incredibly reckless. 

This has to end. 

The door opens and you’re torn from your thoughts as Aemond enters the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Of course, he followed you. You glare at him through the mirror.

“Out.”

“Let me explain—”

“Get out Aemond,” you demand, drying your hands, not turning to face him.

“I meant what I said,” he continues, taking a step forward, “It’s an arrangement that’s all, a publicity stunt—”

“A publicity stunt? You’re getting married,” you hiss, throwing the towel against the counter, meeting his eyes through the mirror once more. It feels hauntingly familiar, looking at him like this; the last time he was buried to the hilt inside of you. “Get. Out.”

“It doesn’t change anything,” he insists.

You laugh bitterly, finally turning to face him. He’s standing inches away from you, so close you can smell the intoxicating scent of his cologne. It makes your head spin. Shit. Stay focused.

“Doesn’t change anything?” you repeat, “She’s going to be your wife.”

“Don’t be such a child,” he snaps, causing you to flinch, “You know how this works. People are paired off together all the time.” He takes a step forward and you back up, your ass nudging against the edge of the sink. “What did you think was going to happen, hm?” He steps even closer, his body completely caging you against the counter.

Aemond places his hands on either side of you. He’s not wrong. You know how this world works. Families align with each other all the time through relationships and marriages. It’s as if they’re frozen in time using betrothals for political gain. 

Just look at Rhaenyra and Laenor Velaryon. Their marriage was anything but a loving one. Her children are proof of that, clearly fathered by someone else. You remembered watching them arrive when you were in grade school; exiting the black limousine and not realizing who they were. Their father was rumored to be the head of the Secret Service at the time, Harwin Strong, though this was never confirmed. 

“It’s not like Jace is going to let you go,” he murmurs, hands inching closer to your waist, “Or have you not thought that far ahead?”

His hands come to rest on your hips and he chuckles softly at the sound this elicits from you.

“You’re in too deep,” he says, nose brushing against your cheek. His minty breath wafts over your face. One hand remains on your waist, the other trailing up the side of your ribs. Goosebumps bloom on your arms as he reaches your face.

“It’s for the election,” you whisper.

“The water’s over your head,” he murmurs, his hand caressing your cheek, “If you think it’ll end there, you’re not as smart as I thought you were. You’re drowning.”

You swallow, lips parting to give him another snide remark, but he doesn’t let you; the hand that cradles the side of your face pulls you forward and presses your lips to his. You push against his firm chest, disconnecting your lips with a wet pop. Your hand reaches toward your face, your fingertips pressing against your tingling lips.

“You’re getting married—”

“And you’re fucking jealous,” he snarls, bringing his face inches away from yours. You suck in a surprised breath, cheeks warming as his lips curl into that familiar smug smirk, “Worried Floris is getting what you’ve been missing?”

Humiliation makes your skin prickle; the hair on the back of your neck stands on end. Your fingers fall from your lips.

“Fuck you,” you hiss from between clenched teeth, “I don’t care.”

You try to push by him but his hands plant themselves on your middle, holding you firmly in front of him. His hands slide down your waist, cupping the globes of your ass. A disapproving whine leaves your lips as he squeezes the soft flesh harshly, lifting you onto the counter. Your fists beat against his chest and he grabs your wrists.

“You care,” he insists, pressing a kiss against the side of your neck as you twist an arm from his grip to shove him, “Otherwise you wouldn’t be behaving like a spoiled brat in front of everyone.” His lips press against your throat with every word he speaks. 

One of his large hands moves up your back winding in your hair and tugging your head backwards. Your forearm presses against his shoulder attempting to push him away. Aemond hums appreciatively against your throat, pressing another soft kiss against it. Your breathing hitches as he continues to kiss your neck, warm desire pooling in your belly. You stop pushing, curling your hand into the fabric of his shirt instead, pulling him closer. 

“It’s been three days,” he murmurs, continuing his exploration up your neck with his lips, nipping and sucking at the smooth skin, “Three days without this cock is driving you crazy, huh?”

“Aemond,” you try to snap at him but it’s dangerously close to a moan, “They’ll be waiting for us—” You’re silenced by his fingers thrusting through your parted lips, pressing down against your tongue. 

“Shhh,” he hushes in a condescending tone, “I think that pretty mouth has said enough, don’t you agree?” You watch him with wide eyes as he presses further down your throat until the tips of his fingers reach the rough surface of the back of your tongue causing you to gag. He moves his fingers back.

“C’mon, you can do better than that,” he scolds, tapping your cheek with his other hand. His eyes narrow as he presses his fingers further down your throat once more. Your throat constricts and you claw at his bicep, fighting the urge to gag again. You hollow your cheeks, sucking his three fingers in your mouth. “There she is. That’s much better— there’s a good girl, that’s it.”

He removes his soaked fingers, a line of saliva still connected to your lips. Gasping for breath you feel him part your legs, his hand sneaking under your dress. You can feel his cool, wet fingers against your inner thighs. 

“Aem—”

“What did I say?” His words are clipped and irritated. His fingers graze against your clothed center, pressing lightly against your soaked center. You can feel how much you want him. How right he was about the jealousy that burns in your belly. You’re sure he can feel it too.

A muffled whine leaves your lips as his fingers pull your panties to the side, parting your silky wet folds. You’re embarrassingly wet already. Aemond chuckles darkly, fingers dipping against your entrance and gathering some of your arousal before circling your clit.

“You’re begging to get fucked, you know that?” he asks, his voice husky and strained, “Walking around here looking like this.” The hand in your hair tightens and pinpricks of pleasure sting your scalp. “Needy. Little. Slut.” His fingers pinch your clit on the last word and you cry out.

Aemond slams his lips against yours to silence your cry and you hook a leg around his slim waist, heel digging into his lower back pulling him closer. He kisses you feverishly like he means to devour you. It’s sloppy and his teeth scrape against your lip but you don’t care. It’s been days without him speaking to you, let alone touching you. You’ve felt like you were going crazy.

Not that you were about to admit that to him.

Your breathing is turning to pants as he continues to kiss you, fingers circling your bud with determined precision. Your eyebrows scrunch together as the current of pleasure in your abdomen winds tighter, and your toes begin to curl. You whine against his mouth and he shushes you once more.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls through an open-mouthed kiss, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. 

You accept it greedily and your limbs turn to jelly when he licks at the roof of your mouth. One hand clings to his bicep, nails digging into the hardened muscle while the other winds around his neck and tangles in his hair. His hand dips lower, two fingers stretching inside of your warm waiting pussy. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs as you shudder at the stretch, “Fucking c’mon then—” his fingers crook upwards pressing against the spongy section of your walls that has your back arching, and black spots dancing across your vision.

“Gods—” you whine, clenching around his digits as his thumb presses against your clit. His fingers are longer and thicker than your own; you’d indulged yourself several times the past few days but masturbation was nothing compared to the pleasure Aemond is able to give you. 

“This is all you needed, huh?” he asks, steadily beginning to finger you, focusing all his attention on caressing your sweet spot. “Oh yeah. You’re so much happier with my fingers buried inside this tight little cunt, huh?” Your face flushes as he speaks to you. Every stroke of his fingers sends waves of pleasure washing over you. Your jaw slacks, eyes squeezing shut. Every nerve ending in your body is singing as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. 

“You want my mouth on this sweet little pussy?” he asks gruffly, his face pressed against yours, “Tell me how badly you want it. C’mon. Tell me.” The squelching sound of his fingers is borderline pornographic in the small space.

“Yes!” you wail.

“Beg me,” his voice is rough, the commanding tone causing your walls to spasm around his lengthy digits. 

“Please,” you whine, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. He knows your body so well. Too damn well. Every curl of his fingers incessantly bullies against your sweet spot. You can feel your walls pulsating around his fingers, squeezing him tighter and tighter and tighter. 

“Please what, baby?”

Your teeth are clenched together, and a whimper gets caught in your throat. Your eyes roll back in your skull as he slows his pace stroking just right. Your head tilts back gently tapping against the mirror, mouth hanging open in bliss as you try to find the words. 

“Please—please I need your mouth—”

“Yeah?” he says, an amused, open-mouthed grin slashed across his face, “Where?”

Seven hells he’s relentless. You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, your heel presses against his buttock, your back arching off the counter desperately grinding against his hand for more friction. Gods you’re practically fucking yourself on his hand your hips rutting against his palm.

“Please! Please on my pus—” Your sentence dies as Aemond kneels in front of you. “Aemond—oh god,” you moan as he presses his face against you, one hand holding your panties to the side, as his tongue slides over your aching clit.

“Since you begged,” he murmurs, suckling your clit between his lips and sucking; tongue lavishing the sensitive button with even strokes.

His tongue is deliciously warm and firm, tracing little circles around your clit and making your mind go blank, the last few moments forgotten. His fingers stroke the rough patch at the front of your sensitive walls and he presses against it with brutal determination. 

Your thighs shake around his head, fingers tangling in his hair as the pressure in your belly builds, winding tighter and tighter until at last white-hot pleasure bursts through you; your muscles go taut and you cry out, slamming the back of your hand against your mouth to stifle the noise as you release barrels through you. 

He fucks you through it, a low rumble of appreciation bursting through his chest as the wet, sucking sound of his fingers grows louder with your release. The pleasure is almost too much; it ignites you completely. 

A rush of air enters the small space and your head snaps up. Aemond is quick to stand, mouth falling away from you and your release fizzles out. 

Daemon leans against the doorframe, a knowing smirk on his face as he purses his lips. His eyes follow the length of Aemond’s arm down to where it disappears still beneath your dress. Aemond’s fingers slip out of your pussy, the soaked digits dragging a wet path down against your inner thighs leaving you despairingly empty.

“Carry on,” Daemon murmurs, letting the door close behind him as he exits.

Blood rushes in your ears and the room begins to spin. It’s like Daemon took all the air in the room with him. Black spots appear in your vision. 

“Fuck,” you’re nearly panting, “Oh gods—” Your mind is beginning to spiral, the high of pleasure leaving your limbs. “Shit,” you breathe, fixing your panties, hopping off of the counter, “—fuck.”

Aemond reaches for the sink, and he turns it on calmly, beginning to wash his hands. 

“Relax.”

“Relax?”

He shuts off the faucet, drying his hands as he faces you.

“He’s not going to say—”

“Aemond,” you stop him, holding your hand up, “Just don’t.”

Fixing yourself quickly, Aemond stands in stony silence as you open the door and flee the bathroom. You return to the table, not looking at anyone. Sitting beside Jace you reach for your wine, downing the rest of it, trying to ignore the ache between your legs. 

Aemond rejoins a moment later, reclaiming his seat next to Floris. She holds out the menu, pointing at something trying to show him. It takes him a moment to get back into character. You watch him blink before slinging an arm over the back of her chair and leaning into her, seemingly very interested in what she’s showing him. 

You place your glass on the table, your leg bouncing uncontrollably. Helaena watches you, lilac eyes narrowed. Turning away from her scrutinizing gaze you subtly glance at Rhaenyra’s table.

Daemon meets your eyes, raising his glass to salute you.

Fuck.

You forgo dinner later that day, claiming the sun has gone to your head. Hiding beneath the silk sheets of you and Jace’s bed seems like a much better way to spend the evening. You try to busy yourself on your phone but your thoughts keep going back to Daemon. The smirk he wore, the look in his eyes.

Caught you.

Your stomach turns and suddenly the blue light is making you feel nauseous and you throw your phone across the room. The sun bleeds orange tendrils of light across the floor as it lowers over the horizon, the hours ticking by as you lay in silence. 

The door creaks open when the room is shrouded in darkness. The mattress dips as Jace sits, placing a comforting hand on your back.

“Hey,” he says softly, rubbing slow circles over the covers, “How’re you feeling?”

“Miserable,” you answer truthfully.

“I’m sorry baby,” he murmurs, “Do you want me to stay?”

“No,” you tell him, “I’m sure there’s something planned, you should join them.”

“It’s just a movie,” he tells you, “Joffrey picked it. Some crazy action film.”

“Charming,” you grumble as he places a kiss on the top of your head.

“Can I bring you something later?” he asks, and you don’t answer, “Get some rest.”

He gently closes the door as he leaves and the nausea comes back. You don’t deserve him. Jace knows, you’re sure of it. He knows there’s someone else. He’s just too nice to say anything. 

Whether he knows it’s Aemond you’ve been sleeping with is a different story.

It should make you feel worse than it does. 

You sit up, throwing off the covers suddenly very hot. You can’t sit in this room anymore, can’t lie down and sulk. It’s driving you up a wall, making you want to crawl out of your skin. You need fresh air. Rising from the bed, you throw on a pair of shorts and a simple t-shirt along with some flip-flops. 

The hallway is quiet when you enter; everyone must still be in the theater room or have gone to bed. You quickly pad down the stairs, the sound of your flip-flops echoing through the grand entryway as they slap against the marble staircase. Heading through the spacious kitchen you open the sliding glass doors and head out the back towards the pool. 

You see him as soon as you step onto the patio. He’s standing at the far end of the pool, a lit cigarette dangling from his perfect mouth. He glances at you, the cherry red tip pointed in your direction. He’s taken his hair down, the silver waves ripple over his shoulders. 

The pool is filled with lights dancing on the blue surface; little lotus flowers holding candles. A basket of beach towels sits next to the door and you grab one. Aemond watches your movements as you walk along the side of the pool coming closer to him.

“What are you doing?” you ask, watching him crush the cigarette under his shoe.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Didn’t know you smoked.”

“Only during times of stress.”

You nod, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth. You don’t ask him to follow you, but he does all the same as you continue to walk the edge of the pool until you reach the beginning of the yard. You walk on the grass until you reach the dimly lit cobblestone path you’d seen during the tour of Summerhall house Alicent had given the day you’d arrived. Fairy lights have been strung along the railing that leads down to a small private beach giving the path a feeling of perpetual summer. Aemond’s footsteps echo behind you sounding heavier than your own. 

As you arrive at the end of the steps you remove your shoes. Your feet sink into the sand, cooler now with the blazing summer sun not hanging overhead. 

“You shouldn’t swim at night,” Aemond comments.

“I’m not going to swim,” you tell him, placing your shoes on the last step, “Are you coming?”

Aemond hums, hesitating for a moment as he holds your gaze. He truly looks ethereal with the moonlight casting shadows along the angles of his face. That chiseled jaw, those striking cheekbones. His prominent long nose. He could have gone into modeling if not politics, that you’re sure of. 

You walk side by side further down the beach before you spread the towel and sit on top of it. You pat the spot beside you and he accepts the silent invitation to sit. For a moment neither of you speak, staring out at the waves that gently lap against the shore. The lights of the city are visible from here, just shiny little stars sparkling against the horizon. 

You can feel his gaze shift as he looks at you. What was it he said to you a few days ago?

You can’t fool me.

“I can speak to Daemon,” Aemond says softly, “Make sure he doesn’t…”

“Don’t bother,” you cut him off, “You and I are a ticking time bomb. It could have been anyone walking in on us.”

At least it was Daemon. If he releases it, he’ll spin it to make Aemond look like the sleaze; cheating on poor, doe-eyed Floris Baratheon. You don’t even want to think about the possibility of Otto or Alicent walking in on you. 

It’s always easier to scandalize women. 

If Daemon spoke to Rhaenyra, she’d make him leave your name out of it. Nameless, faceless. Just some girl. Curiosity gnaws at you. 

“Why wouldn’t you say something?” you ask him suddenly, “You could get on top of this before Daemon goes to the press. He’ll ruin you with this.”

“I’m not worried,” Aemond responds coolly, “I’m not scared of a little scandal.”

You think back to the stories you’d heard about him. The dutiful son with his sprinkle of bad decisions. Aemond cleans up his messes, unlike his elder. 

“I suppose your family is very protective of your reputation,” you agree, tucking your knees against your chest.

“You don’t have that sort of protection,” he says softly.

It’s true. The Targaryen and Hightower names are like royalty compared to everyone else. Sucking your lower lip between your teeth, you slowly shake your head. 

“No,” you agree, “I don’t.”

“I’m not going to say anything,” he clarifies, “I expect Aegon to win this campaign without the additional nonsense.”

You snort out a laugh. Even now he can’t help but try and push your buttons. It’s inevitable, the two of you. Always trying to one-up one another. 

“Yeah okay. Well, we’ll see about that. Besides, Rhaenyra’s numbers have increased steadily since the debate,” you tell him, bumping your shoulder against his. The small contact leaves a burning feeling where your skin meets his. 

“Don’t count your eggs before they hatch,” he softly teases.

“I know my chickens.”

Aemond frowns, giving you a quizzical look. “That’s not a saying.”

“Says who?” you ask, arching a brow at him. 

This is easy, this is good. Just banter. Just Aemond versus you. It’s much more simple when you’re on opposite sides of the playing field. 

“Surely someone,” he says leaning back against his hands.

The waves crash loudly against the rocks and seafoam sizzles against the sand. The moonlight reflects off of the top of the surf sending a silver trail down the middle of the water, splitting it neatly in two. 

“Why?” you softly ask, tapping your fingers against your calves.

“Why what?” Aemond asks.

“Why aren’t you going to say anything?”

Aemond stares at you, his gaze burning into the side of your face until you can’t stand it. Turning your head, you meet his heated gaze. 

“You know why.”

Your head tilts to the side, eyes not leaving his. “That’s a problem.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Aemond insists, “If we’re careful.” Aemond wets his lips, “What do you want?”

Your heart is beating so fast against your ribs it's almost painful. You place your palms against the towel, pushing against it trying to ground yourself. 

“This…” you struggle to find the words, opting for another shake of your head, “This will never work. You and I; we hate each other.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees, his hand moving on top of yours.

“And you’re engaged,” you continue as his fingers lace through yours. Oh gods. There it is. That ache deep inside of you; a bottomless pit of want that threatens to swallow you whole. 

“I’m engaged,” he agrees, reaching over to stroke your cheek, “And you’re with Jace.”

His thumb strokes your cheekbone, hand cradling your jaw. The action is affectionate and caring. It’s so tender, so endearing you almost burst into tears. 

“I’m with Jace,” it’s barely a whisper, “I’m with—” You don’t get a chance to finish. His mouth is on yours before Jace’s name leaves your lips. There’s only Aemond.

You fall into the familiar rhythm quickly as he climbs on top of you, kissing you all the while. The sounds of the waves are deafening, matching the beating of your heart, of blood rushing in your ears. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. You want to lose yourself in the sound, in the feeling of him on top of you, pressing against you. He’s everything. He’s all-consuming. 

It’s too late for anything else. 

You’ve already been devoured. 

The heat of the morning sun wakes you, a light sheen of sweat covering you. The side of your face itches and you bring a hand to it, brushing away some sand. Sand sticks to your legs and arms. Aemond lays beside you on his back, an arm thrown over his eye to block the sun. 

“We fell asleep,” you tell him, squinting at the rising sunlight.

Whirl. Click!

A noise startles you. Must be the birds. Pushing yourself into a seated position, you brush some sand from your arm. Aemond turns onto his side, throwing an arm lazily over your outstretched legs. His hand curls against the meat of your thigh causing you to chuckle.

“Someone’s needy,” you tease, combing some hair from his face. 

He growls his eye remaining shut, but the corner of his mouth quirks in a smile.

Whirl. Click! Whirl.

Craning your neck, you raise your arms above your head, yawning as you stretch. A sliver of flesh is exposed as you do so, and Aemond reaches his hand to grasp your waist, tugging you closer. You definitely shouldn’t have fallen asleep. Jace is probably worried sick. You pat your shorts. Shit. You’d left your phone as well.

“They’ll be looking for us,” you tell him, attempting to escape his grasp.

“Let them look,” he says, voice rough with sleep, as he pulls you close, pressing a sloppy kiss to your lips.

Click!

You turn. There’s that noise again. As your ears adjust, you’re less sure that it’s simply the sounds of the birds rustling in their nests. The waves crash against the rocks, and you look over the dunes as the sea breeze rustles through them.

There it is. 

A photographer, laying on his belly in the dunes, camera held at the ready. Whirl. Click! Your heart drops into your stomach. You’re going to be sick, for real this time. 

You should have known.

Pushing away from Aemond, you pull your shirt down, dusting off the remaining sand.

“You’re a real fucking asshole,” you hiss, pulling the towel out from under him. 

Aemond frowns at the sudden change, watching as you shake the towel out before chucking it in his direction. He catches it, leaning back slightly, surprised at the force of your throw.

“What?” Aemond says, face a mask of confusion.

“Shame I wasn’t in some skimpy suit, bet the press would have a field day putting those photos side by side with you and Floris,” you tell him scoffing, “I should’ve fucking known better.”

He calls your name. You don’t turn back, shielding your face as you hear the click of the camera once more attempting to save whatever dignity you have left. You can hear Aemond struggle to sand as you move toward the stairs, slipping on your shoes. His hand wraps around your forearm as you begin to climb them, halting your steps. 

“This was not me,” he insists, “Look, Storm’s End yes, I did that but I had nothing to do with this—”

“I am such a fucking idiot,” you snap, ignoring him.

“I swear it-” You tug your arm away from his grasp, his expression crestfallen.

“I don’t even know why I’m surprised,” you tell him, laughing bitterly, “Like I didn’t know who I was dealing with.”

Aemond’s lips part, but he says nothing. You open your mouth to speak again.

Click! Whirl. Click!

“Fucking hells,” you mumble, turning away and running up the steps back towards the main house. 

Tears stream down your face, hot and wet as you continue to climb. They’ve already got their money shot. You won’t give them one of you crying as well.

[lya-dustin]

The Cruel

a much darker sequel to Kinslayer, Kingslayer, King where the reader gets revenge on Rhaenyra and Daemon for killing her son, Jaehaerys. Sadly it results in more kinslaying

ignore the white hands, didn't notice there were hands until i uploaded the header just now

Aemond x Velaryon!Reader

cw: murder, technically necrophilia, madness and i guess violation of the guest right

There is a perverse delight this gives you.

All the wrongs you suffered avenged tenfold as the pile of bodies grows underneath your throne.

Alicent for refusing to see you as anything but a snake in her garden even when you were the naïve child wed to her idiot son, Otto and his council for orchestrating the war your maidenhead made thoroughly unnecessary, and all those loyal to them.

Lady Mysaria had been more than eager to cement your status as the first Queen Regnant. You wore Queen Visenya’s crown, wore Blackfyre on your hip even if you didn’t even care to learn to wield a sword and dressed in red as the blood you spilled.

“It is merely our nature.” You caress the skull of the boy you once loved as you prepare to wed a third time. “One should not expect anyone to take all that abuse, all that pain and humiliation and still think to find forgiveness from their victim. I loved you once, fucked you well and gave you my heart and look at how you repaid me, my love.”

And you prepare to marry your younger brother and kill your mother and those who refuse to let you kill Daemon to avenge your poor innocent baby boy once and for all.

Jace will have to die your sweet younger brothers too. Your rule cannot be solidified if a male heir exists to supplant you, and no one in this land deserved to crown more than you. Besides, he had taken your claim and made himself Prince of Dragonstone while ruling for mother after Luke’s death. He sealed his fate when he brazenly stole your place in the succession.

You braved a court of snakes, an indifferent husband whose lickspittles and own mother enabled him into thus never learning to measure his capacity for cruelty. You cannot ever remember a time where his mother was not furiously covering up everything he did, especially all those times she burned your letters to your mother where you spoke of what he did to you and your maids.

The first thing you did as Aegon’s widow was remove all those who refused to curb the worst of his habits, starting with his household and darling mother.

She had yet to leave when she was forced to see you light Aemond’s pyre as if you hadn’t been the one to kill him. You played the grieving widow so well you fooled everyone into believing you hadn’t been the one to hold his knife to his fair throat.

Lady Misery had really out done herself; she had given you every justifiable reason to kill everyone who ever hurt you or were a threat to your reign and have the smallfolk eat your lies out of your hand.

They remembered you as the loving princess who gave them what they needed, who opened schools and orphanages and made sure everyone had food to eat and a place to sleep in. You had cared so much for their well-being even after your marriage destroyed the girl you had been.

So, when Queen Alicent’s carriage was beset by robbers in her attempt to escape her fate, they saw it as divine punishment for her sins.

It had not been difficult. When you were six and ten, you convinced everyone Helaena had jumped off her own accord due to her barrenness, and they all believed you. Even those who knew little Jaehaerys was her husband’s bastard couldn’t believe you would kill your aunt and goodsister to ensure your affair was never discovered.

She was your first.

“You never forget your first.” you say with a sigh as you continue to speak to the skull with the sapphire eye he got to replace the one Lucerys took. “If only she hadn’t been your wife, poor Helaena would’ve lived. I had to protect our boy, he and I would have been killed if your bitch of a mother ever knew. But now our sweet baby boy is dead because of you and her and everyone who conspired against me."

No one ever apologizes for what they made of you, not even the dead boy whose skull you cherish like the last gift your father gave to you.

Only Lady Mysaria understands why you are this way, why you need to avenge yourself just as she needs to avenge the babe Daemon’s stunt killed in her womb. Viserys was killed by her spies, condemned to rot because he ordered her to be sent away to the land that enslaved her, and now Rhaenyra would pay for being the mouthpiece for her father.

Lady Misery would get her revenge just as you will tonight.

The two of you would make sure they do not survive the feast tonight. The first dose of the poison eaten in the salt and bread you offered, and the last dose would come in the wine you will not drink for you are with child.

It is another son; you feel it exactly as you did when you were six and ten three years ago. Not Jaehaerys, not Aegon or Aemon or Viserys. Maegor was too remembered, the others too used. Aerion after the Conqueror’s father or Laenor, after the only man who didn’t disappoint you.

Or Baelon for the babe Viserys butchered your grandmother for.

Yes, Baelon Aemmasbane.

He would rule after you, be the perfect monarch because you will stop at nothing to make it so. He would be everything you should have been before this court and your own fucking family made a monster out of you.

You will burn in the seventh hells for it all, for all the blood you spill to avenge yourself and your dead son.

A shame your brothers and stepsisters must die with them too, but they cannot be allowed to live either. Your sisters would seek revenge for their father and your brothers for your mother, this way was better. This way they would never know it was you who killed them and it was Mother’s and Daemon’s fault you had to kill them too.

“But is alright, the seventh hell has always been my prize since I first laid with you.” You kiss the dead boy’s mouth as if it were skin and not bone and teeth. “Perhaps in our next life we can have the happy ending I deserved.”

[ser-zoras]

also saw the basketball post about team black vs team green and I’m sorry if they’re facing off in any sport it’s soccer. And team black is winning, because their main brand sponsor is Red Bull and they all act like it.

Daemon is a talent at headers. He will do a header even if there is no real reason to do a header. this is quite possibly his only skill, aside from pounding a bottle of something in a brown bag at halftime. Jace isn’t a very good player but he’s definitely someone you want on your team. Has never scored in his life but always passes the ball to Rhaenys or Rhaenyra or Baela. Rhaenyra is lowkey shit at the sport because her main goal is to distract as many green players as possible, particularly Alicent, but if someone tries to get the ball away from her, they will be on the ground in roughly ten seconds. Baela will charge whoever has the ball with a vengeance but the second she gets it away from them she will be so high on her own pride that Criston steals it from her so fast. Rhaena fantastic defender. Moves in silence but you will NOT be getting past her today, no sir, but always immediately passes to her sister, who, as I said, in her single-minded fury, will let defenders get the jump on her. Corlys is the goalie. No longer at the top of his game but does a fair job. Rhaenys is probably the striker. Yet again no longer at the top of her game but very fast and still quite good up until the point where Aemond slidetackles her and she blows out her knee again.

in the same way daemon is gifted with headers, Aemond is gifted with slidetackles. It is his go-to move, menace that he is. Somehow never gets carded. A fair player but slidetackles are really the only thing he can do. Aegon has the attitude of Jamie Tartt from Ted Lasso with none of the skill. Is incredibly jealous of daemon’s header abilities and will sabotage his brother at any moment in order to look like the better player. Criston definitely best player on their team. Boys a jock. Absolutely no strategy but all goals up on the board are there because of him. Very much restricted by the fact that none of the other offensive players are good except Gwayne who’s okay. Alicent is a defender in a similar situation. She knows they are not winning and keeps trying to force a tie. It does not work because Otto (another defender) will slam her into the ground each time she refuses to pass to an offensive player, knowing this will allow Baela to get the ball again. Will eventually storm off the field in tears of frustration, yelling at everyone. Helaena is goalie, and she’s terrible at it. The strategy is to sic Alicent on anyone who gets near Helaena because she is NOT saving that, which works until Otto pops up again. He is the player no one wants on their team, because he is screaming at everyone all the time, particularly his daughter, but cannot play for shit.

When I picture this in my head everyone is wearing the clothes they got in the show btw.

[alexagirlie]

In Another Life

A/N: Just a little something I have been cooking up in preparation for season 2. If you would like to be tagged when I start posting please let me know! Header by me. Divider by @zaldritzosrose

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Jacaerys Valeryon

Rating: E

CWs: omegaverse, heat, rut, all sort of m/m smut staples.

Chapter One: Aemond is caught sneaking Aegon out of Kings Landing following the death of King Viserys.

Chapter Two: Jace finds an unexpected prisoner in the Red Keep.

Chapter Three: Jace and Aemond have to deal with the consequences of their clandestine meeting.

[legitalicat]

Out of Time

Chapter 3 - "Dinner and Dessert"

AN: Chapter 3 my loves! I hope you enjoy this one :) Also I'm sorry if this is bad I've only ever written smut like 2x before this. If you're looking for better smut, I always always always recommend @lovelykhaleesiii

If you love this header go check out zaldritzosrose for more amazing work! She is tagged on the series masterlist and on my welcome post!

If anyone is interested in me starting a tag list, please feel free to let me know!!

Find the series Master list here!

Summary: As the day comes to a close, she can only think of what has happened. With having less than a full day to understand the situation, her thoughts are all consuming. Her beloved twin, Jacaerys, shows he has only ever cared for her.

18+ every one

TW: SMUT SMUT SMUT!!!! P in V, Targcest (is it Targcest if their last names are Velaryon?), profanity, dirty talk, unprotected sex (please practice safe sex guys), Jace has a monster in his pants, Jace being kinda dom

Pairings: Jacaerys Velaryon x twin!Reader, mentions of Aemond Targaryen x Reader, mentions of Alys Rivers x Aemond Targaryen

Word count: 3.6 k

Aemond had accompanied me to the Dragon Pit, as was my original intention. And it was time well spent in all honesty. He spoke to me about the time that I was gone. Just as Mother said, he had gone around the entire realm to attempt to find me. Apparently, he had spent a long time in Harrenhal, the seat of my blood father’s family.

What I hadn’t expected, though, was him telling me of this woman he had met there named Alys Rivers. According to him he had grown fond of her and even attempted to be with her. He claimed it was to try to get over me, as all logic pointed to me being dead. I stopped listening.

When I was back in my chambers, with nothing to do but think as I waited for dinner, I could only sit in the window seat overlooking Blackwater Bay. My finding didn’t make sense to me.

If I were taken by pirates like seemed to be a popular theory, why was I not in Essos? I would probably fetch a fair price if they sold me into slavery. Or why had they not demanded ransom? As a princess of the realm, my identity was not a secret, even if I didn’t have the signature Targaryen hair. I had done as much as possible to help the citizens of King’s Landing. I had done a tour of the Seven Kingdoms to meet with several Lords and their sons to consider for marriage. There was not a time in which I was ever hidden away.

“Your brain is going to break if you continue to think so hard,” Jace said from beside me. My gaze snapped to him, trying to steady my heart from the shock. “It is just me, issa dāria.”

“Must you sneak in here like that?” I scolded him yet I was certain the only thing stern about me was my tone. I was too happy to see him to control the smile that crept onto my face.

He was carrying a tray with two plates piled high with food and two cups. He set it on a nearby table before coming back to stand by my side.

“I wanted to have time with you. We have not seen each other since the afternoon,” he explained to me.

He gave me a soft smile. Everything about him was soft. His hair laid in loose curls that bounced with every motion. His lips were plump, eyes round and a deep brown, and even his sharp jawline was offset by full cheeks. Hell, even down to what he wore was soft. A loose fitting, long sleeved white linen shirt with strings crossing over the space between his collarbones tucked into the waistband of his brown cotton pants. Unlike most, he didn’t often wear shoes around the castle unless he had to go before the council or maybe a formal dinner.

No matter how much I loved Aemond, Jace was a part of me. I loved him in nearly every way a person could. He and I were two pieces of the same soul. We could spend all day together and never need a break. He listened to me rant about every subject I ever read about, learned High Valyrian for me. He was good and kind and sweet.

“And the food?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I thought perhaps dinner with all of us at once may prove to be too much tonight, so you and I could eat in here. I’ve already spoken to Mother and told her,” he said.

I chuckled and stood from my seat. Without any hesitation, he took my hand in one of his hands and pulled me closer by my waist with the other. Standing here, chest to chest with him, the world felt quiet.

“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly. He was sure not to hold me too tightly.

“Physically I hurt,” I whispered. It was best if I were honest with him. “Otherwise, I’m just confused. None of it makes sense. And to think of missing five years with you causes an unbearable ache in my chest.”

He pressed his lips to my forehead. It was how he comforted me when he had no idea what to say. Always handling me with great care like it was his life’s mission. There was no amount of affection too small to him.

He said nothing else before helping me into a chair at the table. The silence felt nice if I were honest. With him, I didn’t feel like I had missed anything.

“Luke is happy you’re back,” he told me after he had sat down. “So is Joffrey. They missed you greatly.”

“I cannot wait to see them. As well as Little Aegon and Viserys. They all have grown so much,” I responded, tears welling up in my eyes.

My plate had a venison roast with potatoes and carrots. A simple meal but one of my favorites. Dragonstone had the largest deer I had seen which was an impressive feat considering how many dragons roamed free on the island. But with such an abundance of the meat, we had it frequently when we lived there.

“I love you,” he said. He spoke it in such a way nobody could question his sincerity. He had always been honest to a fault.

“I love you,” I said before taking a bite of food. It was perfect and heavenly.

“So then why did you go to Aemond? Why spend the afternoon without me?” His voice was pained and his lip quivered a little.

Did he not know that it was not that way? It wasn’t like I chose Aemond over Jacaerys. He had merely been the one to come to my room.

“My moon, I had been on my way to see Vhaela and he approached me. I did not go seek him out,” I nearly pleaded with him. I reached across the table to take his hand in mine and squeeze it.

“I am not oblivious to the fact you were with him in the year you spent here with grandsire. But you and I are meant to be husband and wife. Formally so, now,” he whispered. His eyes moved to look at his plate.

My heart ached at the thought of hurting him. He was everything to me. My best friend, the moon and stars in my night sky, my fire on a cold night. When I spoke of him being my other half, it was not an exaggeration. Without him there was no me.

Even so, I could not pretend that everything was fine and as it was before I woke on the beach. While I had been stuck in place, everyone around me continued to grow and thrive and change. Pretending they hadn’t was like ignoring the rain as it washes away the earth. I would be fine as long as it was raining and I could use the water to maneuver. But once the flood subsided, I would be stranded without knowing where I was.

“But should we be? It has been five years, Jacaerys. Hell, I wasn’t even with you for a year before I disappeared. What if the person you are now does not love the person I am?”

“I could give you everything you could ever wish for when I am King. I will give you every child your heart could desire, I will love you until my final breath. Why is that not enough?” he asked before looking back up at me. The way he said it made me question if he was more hurt or angry. “Or is this back to the ridiculous notion that since Aegon the Conqueror had two wives you could have two husbands?”

“I wish to know where my heart truly lies. I wish to know if I marry you it is purely for love and not anything to do with duty. Why can you not give me that?”

He was silent for a moment longer than I would have liked. Was it truly an unreasonable request? All I ever wanted was a life of love. I knew Jace would love me for as long as we lived, and I would love him. But if it weren’t an equal love, if it were a love that was weighed down by a sense of duty, where was the honor in that? How could I subject both of us to that?

“So you wish to replace me?” he asked me. He yanked his hand away from me as he pushed up from the table. “I can only assume with Aemond.”

“I am not replacing you!” I said firmly. “You are my twin, my other half, there is no replacing you.”

I quickly stood up too, trying to be on his level, to prove I was on his side. But it was too quickly and I cried out in pain. The Maesters figured it had only been a month at most since they were cracked. As such, they warned me of the potential for severe pain, making it difficult to move or breathe without risking it. At first I thought they were full of shit, but with my ribs feeling like they’re on fire and my breathing causing agonizing pain, I realized I had just been stubborn.

No matter his anger, he rushed to close the distance between us and hold me steady. Even when he was angry or hurt, it was never enough to take over his compassion. Jace truly was too good for this world.

I couldn’t help but nuzzle him as he held me. Never was it my intention to hurt him. I just didn’t want to rob something from him that he above all people deserved. A happy, love filled life.

“How could you do this to me?” he whispered while holding me close. “I have lived without you for over six years. I alone waited for you.”

“It is not something I’ve done to you, Jace,” I insisted. “I do not wish to exclude you. I just want to explore my heart.”

He sighed softly and set me back down in my chair. Kneeling in front of me, he pushed my hair back from my face. I loved him so much. I could only hope he still understood that.

“I have dreamt of you every night since you left my side,” he whispered. “Even so, I cannot make you unhappy. If you are sure, then I will not object. But do not make me stay away from you.”

It was never easy to stay away from him. The first time I ever tried to was when I became aware of how desperately I wanted to cross the lines of what was proper. Being around him had been overwhelming, so I elected to just stay away. But eventually he became frustrated with me and came to my room in the middle of the night to demand answers. That was the night he took my maidenhead. To this day I wouldn’t change a thing about it.

“Then you cannot ask me to stay away from him. I want this to be true and fair, issa dārys,” I whispered to him.

He said nothing, instead moving forward and pushing his lips to mine. His movements were cautious as to avoid causing me more pain in my busted lip, but I could feel a hunger behind it. All thoughts but him left me.

Jace pulled away far too soon, standing from his position in front of me. Within a moment he had me in his arms, holding me off the floor. I couldn’t help but giggle wildly at this. The sound made him smile and then he carried me to my bed.

In truth, for the longest time this was our bed. No matter how often our parents tried, we always found our way back into the same bed. It is why the room is decorated equally in our favorite colors. Once we had painted the wall behind the bed to look like a sunset, mixing stunning oranges and purples that felt like home. Warm and wonderful just like Jace.

“I love you,” he whispered in my ear as he began desperately pulling at the laces along my back that held my dress to me.

“I love you,” I whispered, pulling at his shirt. He pulled back just enough to allow me to pull it over his head and toss it aside before he put his lips to my neck.

My dress fell from my shoulders and chest, leaving my breasts exposed to him. The way Jace stared with nothing short of an animalistic hunger made me whimper in pleasure. Within a matter of moments he was massaging the left one and attaching his lips to the right. He sucked little red marks into the flesh, so insignificant that they would disappear by the morning, but leaving a stinging sensation wherever he touched that reminded me this was real.

When he took my hardened nipple in between his lips, grazing it with his teeth, I gasped in pleasure. It had been far too long since I had felt his touch. He made sure I was aware of it, too. He sucked eagerly, never once stopping the massaging movements he made with his hand. Moans of his name fell from my lips as though he were the god I worshipped.

He pulled away from me with a loud pop. “Always been so perfect for me,” he whispered to me. “Made for me, weren’t you, issa dāria?”

I was rendered speechless as Jace pulled my dress from me completely, followed quickly by his pants. In his naked form he was everything a girl could ask for. His muscles were firm and well defined, biceps large enough so that I could not wrap a hand around them. Any baby fat on his stomach had melted into six individually defined muscles. Somehow there was no hair along his chest, but a small line of hair connected his navel to the curly brown hair at the base of his cock.

Every time I saw his cock, my jaw dropped slightly. He was easily ten inches in length and thick enough so that I could barely touch my thumb and middle finger together when holding it. It was monstrous in size but he was so loving and sweet it never caused excessive pain. His cock was hard, red at the tip with pre-cum beading on it. I glanced up to his face to find him blushing as I looked him over.

“Still so shy after all the nights we spent together?” I asked him quietly.

“You must remember that while it has not been so long for you, it has been damn near seven years for me. So shut up,” he said, blushing even more at my teasing. I couldn’t help but giggle.

“No passage of time could ever change the love I have for you, or how perfect I find you,” I whispered before taking one of his hands in mine.

He moved to hover over me, a knee on either side of my own, his cock resting against my thighs. His eyes were easy to follow as he dragged his gaze along my body, starting at my face and working his way down. Every cut or scar, no matter how small, earned a kiss against the skin. Taking extra care with the bruise on my ribs, he pressed small kisses along the edges of it where it did not cause any pain. The pure intimacy of it was enough to cause a heat to build as my pussy became increasingly wet.

Just as he was about to continue leaving kisses down the rest of my body, I reached down to grab his chin. The touch was enough to get him to connect his gaze with me.

“Love me, Jace,” I whispered, pleading with him. I couldn’t take the sweet torture that was his foreplay.

“You are not ready for me yet, love,” he said.

“I am plenty wet for you. The rest I do not care about,” I told him.

“I do not wish to cause you more pain,” he insisted, but I leaned up and kissed him, my eyes fluttering shut.

This time it was I who kissed him hungrily. Being like this with him, I felt like I had been starving and all that I wanted was right in front of me. My sweet twin, one who had always put me above anyone else. Even now when I can feel how needy he is as his cock leaked pre-cum onto my thigh, he needed to put me above him.

Carefully I slid down some, so that his cock was now resting on my hip. Reaching between us I grabbed it, giving a few lazy strokes. He groaned against my lips when I aligned the tip to my waiting cunt.

He pulled back just enough to separate our lips. My eyes opened quickly so that I could look at him. His eyes were soft, waiting for me to tell him to go.

I nodded ever so slightly. That was all he needed to push forward into me. Already he was moaning my name as he sunk inch after inch into me. It ached quite a lot after not having him inside me for so long. But still, I couldn’t ask him to stop. The ache was pleasurable and needed.

He got nearly three quarters of his cock inside me before he stilled. He was breathing heavily, obviously struggling with restraint but giving me time to adjust. I pressed kisses over every part of his face before laying back so that I could admire him. Jacaerys was a god among men, that I was certain of.

“I’m okay, love,” I whispered to him. One look in my eyes was all he needed to be sure.

He hooked my right leg behind my knee and pulled it to lay against his chest. A cry of both pleasure and pain came out of my lips at the way this caused him to reach further in me than he ever had. There was a small smirk on his face. The cheeky fucker knew exactly what he did.

Setting a near torturous pace, he pulled out of me slowly and pushed back in. The pain I felt was indistinguishable from pleasure. Every twitch and every throb of his cock, I could feel entirely. Then Jace pressed his thumb to my clit, rubbing in tandem with each movement of his hips. When his cock was buried inside me, he rubbed against it eagerly, like he was trying to make me cum right then and there. And then every time my body started tightening up and I began to see stars, he pulled out to just his tip and all but stopped touching my clit.

I glared at him the sixth time he did it while feeling my approaching orgasm back off. It made him chuckle as he bent down, pressing my knee to my shoulder, with only the tip of his cock nestled inside me.

“You feel so good, you know that, love?” he whispered to me. “Feels like your cunt was designed with my cock in mind. Bet I would fit perfectly if I went all the way to my balls, don’t you?” With widened eyes I nodded eagerly. “Have I fucked you stupid already, pretty girl?”

This was a side to him I hadn’t seen before. Normally he was whispering praises to me, thanking the gods for me, and I gave him the same. But it was not unwelcome. In fact, I could feel myself clench around him as a whine built up in my throat.

“That’s okay, baby, don’t need you to say anything. Can feel how much you love this,” he whispered before driving his hips forward.

I wrapped my left leg around his waist so that I could pull him closer into me. Each powerful thrust had me moaning out his name. The sounds of my moans and his heavy balls slapping against my ass was all that could be heard echoing around the room. A wave started building inside me, the intensity of it increasing while he stroked my clit again. This time he never let up.

“Cum around my cock, pretty girl,” he said to me. “Fuck, Y/N, so fucking tight. So perfect for me.” His breathing became more labored as he punctuated each word with a moan.

“Gods, Jace!” I cried out when the orgasmic wave crashed over me. He looked to where his cock sank into me. The evidence of my orgasm soaked his stomach, sliding down his skin and dripping onto the bed.

Jace’s thrusts became erratic as my cunt squeezed around him. Within seconds, he was crying out my name and his hips stuttered to a stop. I could feel every inch of his cock throb and twitch as his cum poured into me.

He was very careful as he pulled out. Both of us whined at the loss of contact, but his turned quickly into a moan when he saw a string of my juices mixed with his between his cock and my body. With a goofy little smile he laid beside me and pulled the blanket up over the both of us.

“You have had my heart for our entire lives,” he whispered to me. “I am not giving yours up without a fight.”

With one last kiss to my forehead, he held me close to him before we both went to sleep.

[jaceganism]

Every time I see your header and read “winter is coming” I immediately see Jace wiping the corner of his mouth, licking his lips and saying “Winter already came twice this morning” 🫠 Jacegan brainrot is real - after a whole of 3 minutes of screen time… showrunners are blind and don’t see how much power they hold in their hands…

We all know what "winter is coming" is code for. I was so disappointed with the screen time they got. Considering how much the show focuses on the prophecy, it's odd we didn't get to see Jace/Cregan pact. Imo, just from the storytelling perspective, it would've added so much. That's where we gotta rely on fan works x

[billy-hargrooves]

Url change

jacerys-velaryon -> billy-hargrooves

Changing my url back to billy-hargrooves cause I can 😉 and I think it fits me better. Right? Right 😏.

Also, it'll take forever until the next season of Hotd will be out and until then I don't want to worry about what possibly is going to happen to Jace (yes, I know what will happen to him to be honest! If they will keep it that way?)

And cause Stranger Things is my fave series for yeaaaars now. So, here we go.

And who knows if I will change my url to some of Anto's new characters 😏.

Also, changed my mobile header to a Charlie x Jody one from Cenrer Stage. @violaobanion choose the one on the boot, like the cropping and scenery a bit better than the red one.

Tagging a few of you:

@violaobanion @springsteens @basilone @marinad3lrey @harritudur @tisdae @emziess @beverlycrushr @letthefairyinyoufly @jakeperalta @sweetoothgirl @rosies-riveters @frodo-sam @jesperfahxey @rogue-coyote @cristinasea @isitandwonder @elena-gilbert @rhaenyradaemons @olympain @the-bensolos

Thank you so much ❤️❤️!