#jace velaryon fanfic

[catsteeth]

Ivory Gown HEADCANNON

Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem Stark Reader

+:✿ HeadCannon Request ✿:+ :

Request: “So we know that Jacaerys wasn't a fan of the bedding ceremony but how did he initially react when StarkReader mentioned it? Did he even know what it was? You can decide if you want bullet points or paragraphs!” CW: NSFW themes, misogyny, threats of violence, Jace being protective/possessive, fluffy fluff.

I think Jace would know what it is. He is a royal who has probably been to multiple Westeros weddings, where it is commonplace. However, I think his knowledge about such ceremonies would be fairly general. I don’t think they prep the boys for their weddings as they do for women. 

I think his opinion of it is that it is distasteful and generally disrespectful and demeaning towards the bride. Even though some brides look forward to the ceremony. 

If you brought up the ceremony to him he would likely reassure you it wouldn’t happen. He would be stern and determined that it wouldn’t even be up for question, but with you his words would be gentle and honest. Though if someone else were to bring it up be would likely take offense that they would even consider it. 

Like imagine you and he were walking around the Great Hall with the Septon and a handmaiden and planned the wedding:

“Any foods you would request, my Lady?” The septon asked as the handmaiden continued to write down each word spoken. 

You raised your eyebrows not expecting to be spoken to. You shook your head, “I have no opinion.” You said instinctively, not wanting to impose on the house you did not feel was your own yet.

Jace took your hand gently and subtly as he stepped to your side. “She prefers duck in meat and trout in fish, " he told the septon and the handmaiden scribbled away.

The septon nodded, “Very well.” As you three continued to walk across the grand hall, you smiled up at Jace softly. Touched by his attentiveness to you. Jace rubbed your knuckle gently with his thumb as the Septon turned back to Jace, “The Lady’s gown will have to be altered,” He began but you interrupted him before he could finish, “Altered? That was my mother’s gown.” You didn’t wish to sound ungrateful or disrespectful but this dress held great sentiment to not only you but to the North itself. 

The septon turned his attention from Jace to you, he stammered a bit before he could get out his sentence, “A simple alteration is all, the gown’s trail though elegant is far too long. It may cause some difficulty during the bedding ceremony.” 

Jace was not the one interrupting him. “Bedding ceremony? Who decided that?” he asked, letting go of your hand and walking closer to the septon with anger in his voice. 

The handmaiden who had written everything down suddenly looked up from her quill and parchment, looking between the septon and the prince. “It is tradition, my Prince. Without the bedding ceremony, there is no proof that the marriage was consummated.” The Septon said without much confidence. 

“They’ll have their proof when the princess is with child.” Jace had a habit of already acting as though you and he were married. Referring to you as the princess even though that title had not become your own yet. He stepped closer to the Septon looking at him with daggers for eyes, “I’ll not have men’s hands on my bride, and I certainly won’t have them ripping her mother’s gown off of her.” He stared at the Septon, daring him to question him, when he did not Jace stepped back towards you, “Her dress will not be altered, and anyone who wishes for a bedding ceremony will answer to my sword.” He said finally before leading you out of the great hall with him. 

Jace huffed as he walked down the hall. You liked seeing him so angry, it made your blood hot, and wish that you were already wed so you could let him take out his frustration onto you. You smirked at him as he continued to march down the hall, looking forward with angry eyes.

You took a gentle hold of his fingers as he marched, “I am gladdened by your choice.” You said softly.

Jace scoffed and shook his head, “It is a barbaric ceremony.” 

You nodded then shrugged, “There’s worse ceremonies that are performed.” Jace looked at you with a raised brow not knowing what you meant, “The first night ceremony.” You said and he still looked at you with confusion, “You’ve never heard of that one?” Your smirk pulled into a smile and you held back a giggle, you leaned in closer to him as you whispered, “Any man whose name ranked above the grooms could claim the first night of marriage.” 

Jace looked at you in shock, disgusted by what you’d just told him, “You cannot be serious.”

You shook your head, “I have never been one to joke about such things.” you said casually, though Jace’s disgusted demeanor did not go away. “Do not worry, your great-grandmother outlawed it in all her wisdom.” You said attempting to ease his mind.

“I’d kill any man who even jested of it.” He said shaking his head already angry at the thought of it. 

You smirked at him and stifled a laugh, “I did not know I was betrothed to such a protective man.” 

He squeezed your hand that held his own, “I will always protect what I love. Til the end of my days.” He spoke with sternness, but as always was gentle with you.

[eldrith]

˗ˏˋ Dead Men Don't Sing ˎˊ˗ Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x fem!stark!reader words: 9.5k requested: yes synopsis: “it is rather custom to marry within the bloodline,” jacaerys admits, hesitating, “but there are other duties,” he murmurs, “–ones that even the Gods cannot ignore.”  notes: thank you to the anon who requested this, it was months and months ago <3 i found this written and dusty in my drafts and realized how much i liked the concept of it so i finished it up, changed up a lot of plot (sry). peace & love (thinking abt when @softspiderling said that cregan & r had chemistry in this fic. fuck you) warnings: canon-typical marriage betrothals. something something heavy belief in the divine right of kings (cringe!), jace is so in love again guys, fluff and flirting, feelings of anxiety & worry, heavy on politics and the targaryen prophecy. doubts of magic and light religious tones. kissing. requests closed. masterlist.

THE CRYPTS BELOW WINTERFELL ECHO WITH FOOTFALL.

A dripping thing, echoing through low ceiling and sliding over stoned walls; your pace moves slow, measured. 

Aboveground yields a morning snow; it is no harvest season, yet you worry so of the rime which curls its way over the tender shoots of crop; kissing a delicate crust atop glacial lakes in the near distance, lining the roofs across Winter Town. 

Down below such crust of earth, the crypt holds no true warmth, instead boasting a rather eerie silence; though you’ve always felt drawn to such quietude in certain times – moments punctuated only by the rustle of fur cloaks, the steady drip of tallow wax candles that burn beneath the proud visages of ancient stone.

A gentle sigh escapes your lips. 

Your breath, barely visible in the cold, dissipates like a whisper of a cloak around a corner; The man beside you paces with deliberate slowness, though still his long strides force you to quicken your own. 

A familiar rhythm from childhood. 

He broods – or perhaps merely reflects; it is difficult to tell, though his introspection proves an unwelcome distraction and concern alike. 

“You think far too loudly, brother.”

Your voice, a stone dropped onto the serenity of a glassy pond; stirring, your brother beside you lets out a soft huff of amusement, turning to glance at your profile. "Aye, it seems I do,” he acquiesces, though he seems more than content to leave it as such.

And the ensuing quiet – his scrutiny of your features becoming almost unsettling. You purse your lips, folding your arms over the furs that ward off the chill, slowing to a halt – he, in turn, slowing beside you.

“Cregan,” you cast a guarded glance his way, “I appreciate your company, but…” You pause, clearing your throat, “Why did you ask me here?”

You cannot ignore the furrow of his brow, nor the weary sigh that escapes him. “I do not wish to burden you with troubles, sister,” he murmurs, his gaze drifting – mindful of spirits; watching, listening. “But there is something we must discuss.”

You, softly gesturing for him to continue under the flicker of torchlight. 

Yet, he does not speak at once; instead, guiding you further along the shadowed path. You allow him the moment of silence, a foreboding drop stirring unbidden in your chest. Has the time come to prepare for the Wall – will you set the Greybeards alone to fight in the Southern war? Dribbling wax slides over the edge of a wyck - a white tear falling to the frozen earth below. Winter is coming, you know; and so does war. 

You stop before a weathered stone – Cregan, his face so hardened even with young age; you recall in the earliest recess of your memories a more youthful visage – the brother who dangled you by the ankle in the Great Hall; who dragged you along to target practice in the yards, who met your gaze with mirth when you were scolded at the dinner table. Much has changed. 

“A raven came from Dragonstone this morning,” his voice is steady – the mention flares a mild concern in you; your brows furrow. 

“Different from the letter that arrived at my chambers just moments ago?” You wonder – the scroll was penned by Prince Jacaerys; though this is an occasion not extremely uncommon, as you’ve grown to write to him often in the past months of his departure. 

But your brother nods. “Aye.” He affirms, “It was signed by Queen Rhaenyra.” 

You blink up at him, breath bated – palms, growing moist though the cold nips gently at your nose: Never has the Queen herself sent letter by raven. Cregan utters your name, and you meet his gaze. 

“Prince Jacaerys has asked for your hand in marriage.”

Of the many possibilities you’d imagined, this was not one of them; shivers of flattery over your spine, quivering your breast in an icy shock.

And a scroll unread, perched upon your drawing table in your quarters – has Jace written to you to ask you himself? Your lip, plump under the pressure of your teeth. 

Though not wholly unpleasant, it is still a sudden shock to you, and your mouth opens – then closes with a soft click. You find yourself momentarily lost for words.

A breath, warm against the cold, escaping your mouth, fingers restless within your thick gloves. “Did–” You pause, clearing your throat, willing your heart to steady its foolish race. “Have you sent a response?”

A flicker in an otherwise stoic facade, gone in an instant: Some amusement laced into his visage that vexes you in a way only a sibling can.

 Quietly, your brother denies. “It was requested by the Prince for you to send a response yourself. The Queen wishes to be assured this is a marriage that will bring strength to the realm – one that will be strong from the beginning. She does not choose the future queen regent lightly, it seems.” 

A heat that grows twofold; and a sprouting dizziness as the proposal hits you. The future queen regent – Gods be good. 

The proposition is far from traditional. 

As the sister of the Warden of the North, you have always assumed your path would lead to a marriage with one of the High Lords of your own region – though with great war comes change, you understand well – and Cregan has mentioned it satisfactory to find a Targaryen princess among your House; perhaps you and Jacaerys will serve in such a steed. 

 A glance to the stone man before you; an ode, to Torrhen Stark. The King Who Knelt. 

A shiver of reality. Leave Winterfell, as a Targaryen bride – to go to the war brewing in the South – and there grows a flicker, beneath your concern. Hunger, pride. 

You’ve always known what’s expected of you; and Starks do not shy nor cower from responsibility. 

“This is no small task.” Your words, quite blunt as they often are – another nod from Cregan. 

“I remind you,” He assures, “It is no done deal.” 

A flicker of your lashes as your breath clouds before you; above your head, you wonder if the flakes which flutter from the sky have ceased in the wake of the day’s far sun. 

It is indeed a thought to consider; the North, your endless horizon of snow and stone – of moors and fields, of steep slopes and commanding eminences, carved by the hands of gods more ancient than the first of men. 

That cold kiss of wintered forests, of towering pines in snowed shadows; gnarled branches of the Wolfswood, icy rivers of threaded silver untouched by the frills of southern decadence; and the cold less endured than revered, a landscape of beauty drawn within the fierce devotion of its people. 

An unshakeable and profound sense of soul that tugs you towards the frozen earth, to the bodies brought back through turns of Winters, of endurance, of love, of life. 

“I would mislike to leave Winterfell,” You admit; a child once more, tucking toes beneath warmed covers as you hid from shadows upon walls. 

Perhaps he recalls those same nights; when you’d stayed awake against the syrupy droop of eyelids, listening to your Lord father’s tales of hunts and beasts beyond your comprehension. 

“As would I regret to let you leave,” His voice comes after a moment. “Your insight is not to be understated. Perhaps this is why the Queen wishes you to join her council in my stead.” 

Another shock to you – to marry the Prince, yes, but to join the Queen’s council? A flash of pride, conspicuous, licking up your spine – though you’re lost in the trappings of memory; of loss, of life. 

“What is it father said?” You muse quietly, watching shadows flicker over a contoured face of stone. “The South…Where men smile with daggers behind their backs.” 

Some huff from weary lips. “I hold no concern for how you might fare against a dagger, sister.” He reminds you; your fingers, calloused in the grooves of a longbow – you placate a wry huff, mind saturated with thoughts. “A serpent's lair, the Crownlands are.” He gruffs.

It is solemnly that you nod; a wistful memory of your Prince, curls entangled with the sharp wind, embedding pearled snowflakes into tresses. 

“I am not without my own doubts,” Cregan slowly admits, “Leaving the North – in wartime, as well – holds few assurances of safety, even at Dragonstone.” 

Your voice is considerably less steadfast than it’d been an hour past, when you’d directed the letter from the Prince to wait until your duties with Lord Stark were through – “I would not leave my home, my charge, merely for some Prince.” You mutter. 

Yet, the glance from your brother brings a small grin to your lips. 

He perhaps agrees with your stubborn resolve; you two, cut and sewn from the same sturdy cloth, borne with the same pelts upon your back. A tilt in his visage, looking at you. 

“Our father’s word was given. It is our duty to uphold it.” He murmurs; and then, a melting of such a look – as if Lord Stark has retreated, yielding Cregan in his wake: “You’d be queen one day, long after the war.” 

Still reeling, a warmth to your face as you consider the Prince – rosy cheeks, with that smile brighter than snow; he, with a fur cloak gifted to him in his visit to treat with your brother those months ago – a regal face, if you’ve the grace to know what such a thing is. 

The boy with kind words and genuine laughter; a fleeting brush of his hand on yours as he’d greeted you to his ancient beast; The square of his shoulders as he’d solidified Northmen for his Queen mother’s banners. A look, shattered and wet, as he mounted his beast in the wake of his brother’s death. Septa’s voice from the vestiges of adolescence: Heavy is the crown, my dear. 

“It is my duty,” you murmur more to yourself than to your brother, “To Winterfell, to the North. To our Queen… and the realm.” 

Cregan’s hand finds your shoulder in a grasp, “Sister.” Your eyes meet his own. “I would not have you do it if I did not believe it was the right choice. Jace is a good man. He will treat you right.” 

Indeed, a union of your house and the Prince’s would strengthen the North; you could ensure the maintenance of autonomy – and loyalty, a venerable duty long upheld by your house for hundreds of years. A marriage that serves not only your people, but such enduring legacy of kin. 

“Just as well,” He adds, “the prospect of marrying Jacaerys might prove rather agreeable to your sensibilities, would it not?”

He jests. The corner of your eyes narrow as you shoot him a sharp look; a smile emerging despite your efforts to conceal it. The warmth of anticipation creeps across your cheeks, a delicate flush across your face despite your valiant efforts to contain it. 

"You overreach, brother,” you speak, though both you and he can hear the fondness in your voice. 

A quiet moment, in which a memory surfaces – Jacaerys, bidding you farewell months past; a pain in his eyes, ragged with grief and urgency to return – his younger brother, killed by Aemond One-Eye.

A shaky kiss upon your knuckles, the cracking of a voice otherwise proud; the last glance of that massive beast swallowed up by the clouds. Your heart skips a beat at the knowledge of him, as your own. 

“I will marry Prince Jacaerys,” You agree, hoping to conceal the eagerness from your tone, ���...for the good of the realm."

Cregan huffs, pulling you into a brief embrace, your eyes both stuck on the statue before you. "Aye, and perhaps a bit of warmth for your heart, too.” He jests; a rare occurrence, and certainly in these days of war and the eve of winter. 

“Is that not what you’d wish for your sister?” You jest in return, hiding the fluster of your cheeks. 

His expression sobers minutely. “You bring honor to our house.”

The long, stone face of Torrhen Stark watches your breath rise and fall from your lips. 

Hesitance melts away, leaving a giddiness, a sense of duty softened by an affection in your heart. “A wolf in the South,” you murmur. 

And a dragon at her side.

VERMAX IS RATHER DISPLEASED TO FLY NORTH AGAIN. 

Huffs and whining screeches; saged scales that melt tiny flakes of snow around the saddle - Jacaerys consoles his steed with a huff of amusement. “Se iōrves kessa daor umbagon syt mirre, Vermax.” He insists; The cold will not last forever. 

It is not until the sloping valleys and rolling mountains give way to dusting of snowcaps and frozen-earth that his stomach begins to burn with that odd feeling; excitement. 

Trees that reach up towards the heavens – ever green in their life, barely stirred by the beating of Vermax’s wings high above. 

Otherworldly, the North is; and Winterfell, with towering walls, sprawling courtyards, the frosted roofs that glint even through the thick of cloud – pure earth, that ancient knowledge within the ground, held for thousands of years past. Wisdom, sewn into rings upon rings within trees – depths of icy pools, glistening cold as glacier’s tears even in the dead of summer. 

Something, an aching feeling returns; not an ache for home, but for you. 

Eyes, amber and anticipatory, searching the grounds so far below – a wall, dark and thick in the sprawl of the low cirque. Vermax breaks through the clouds with a call, the whipping Northern wind blowing icy shards into Jacaerys’ inhale. Still, he looks with a fire, an intent – battlements, courtyards, all bustling and brimming.

The familiar banner of black and red, raised by the men sent weeks ahead in anticipation of the Prince’s arrival – and the Stark banner, hanging large enough to just see from the outskirts of Winter Town. 

The East Gate opens; a company awaits his arrival, bustling in the yard of the Great Keep – squinting against sharp air as Vermax circles in agitated descent. It is an odd thing, to see the expressions of men, women, and children become clearer in descent – to see the fear, the astonishment, the reverence in the ancient being in the sky. But he searches each visage turned up towards him; and then, there – with a grin and a flip in Jacaerys’ stomach, he finds you. 

Piled, swathed in thick furs that bring out your hair; standing straight beside your mass of a brother; a warmth that blossoms into heat as your head tilts, tracking Vermax in the sky.  

A heavy thud against the muddy ground encrusted with a fresh layer of crisp rime; the rich shades of green across the North have been kissed by some fae of frost that barely cowers under the heat of his ancient creature – and though it retreats in his molten wake, Vermax huffs at the feeling of frost and snow. 

Jace dismounts Vermax; pressing his forehead to the dragon’s thick neck, the warmth a final solace before he faces the unforgiving weather of the North – a mutter to his steed, running his palm over the scales, “Sȳz, vermax.  Ao ipradtis; ao gōntan sōvegon sȳrī.” 

Good, Vermax. You must eat; you flew well. 

He is accompanied, then; two dragonhandlers bowing to him, draped in borrowed furs as they tend to his weary beast. It is rather comfortable, to hand him off to them; a luxury, he supposes, when they are here to tend to the Valyrian rituals that will come in just over a week’s time. A skip in his heart as he thinks of the night to come: You and he, bound for life. 

His title is announced in the quiet of the Keepyard; he enters, feeling rather foolish as just one man faced with such a company – his eyes, unable to unstick themselves from you. The young Lady Stark; the Northern Star, some have called you; He finds himself agreeing. 

Head high, he walks as the prince he is, nodding to Lord Cregan; Formal proceedings that are blinked away in moments with a very present preoccupation of trying to keep his stare off your face. 

And then, after a lingering moment, ravens circling the sky, wind howling down the slopes of distant mountains, Cregan steps forward, arm extended – Jacaerys returns his grin, a camaraderie returning in his chest. 

In the grasp of his forearm, in the rough hug he shares with his friend, Lord Stark murmurs. “I see now why you were so reluctant to leave the first time, my Prince.” Cregan’s voice, rich with mirth; a sheepish grin that grows upon Jacaerys’ expression. Laughter between them, as easy as it ever was, the weariness that’d built in Jace’s flight northward dissipating. “I’ve been told a wise man knows when he’s found something worth returning to, Lord Stark,” Jace quips in response, the heat on his face deepening when his gaze darts in a glance towards you. Your brow, lifted at his words; full of grace but with a smattering of warmth across your cheeks, a small smile. 

The cold air seems to have brought a flush to you – dipping into a graceful curtsey, the wolf clasp of your cloak catches in the cloudy light of afternoon. His heart flips as you greet him: “My Prince,” and gods, your voice – “I hope you and Vermax found no undue hardship enduring such a journey.” 

It’s all Jacaerys can afford to bow deeply in return, eyes remaining on your own gaze; a gesture of respect and courteousness, but a strike of something far more personal lingering behind his stare. Your palm is bare, he’s shocked to see; and lifted within his own, his lips brush over your knuckles. 

Your cheeks darken, and he feels his heart race. “The purpose is far worth the journey, my Lady.” His voice, earnest, polite. 

Your smile widens just so. 

THE GREAT HALL IS DOUSED WITH LIT HEARTHS. 

The celebration is a swell feast – Jacaerys sits, having dined on a hearty meal and several goblets of wine: Roasted game, honeyed bread, mulled wine. At the high table he sits, and the din of the hall rumbles around him, drifting slowly into the high-beamed ceiling. 

A lingering storm has momentarily lifted in the warmth of familiar faces, of the unrelenting bite of cold that still yet lingers in bones weary from flight. There is a dread that has stayed within Jacaerys for many turns of moon now – a mourning thing, one that has left him with less and less smiles to divulge with each passing day. 

The horizon brews; a clouded thing, one dark and full of smoke and whispers – and yet here he sits, warmed by furs, by hearth, by ale – and by you, aside him. 

A girl no older than himself – a friendship kindled merely in the beginnings of formality, of happenstance; polite smiles and high chins, eyes lingering as he followed your brother into the study. 

A peculiar thing it is now, to sit beside you, to feel that string pull between you so inevitably; and though he is turned away from your warmth, well engrossed in a discussion with Lord Stark, he feels that tension – that tautness that soon will be severed with unseen shears, which will seal a dream conjured years before your birth. 

And throughout the evening, his gaze has more than often wandered to your own visage, carved in those same harsh winds of beauty – a smile warm and true, a depth sinking into his stomach; for as Jacaerys has dined heartily, his appetite for food has given way to an appetite for conversation. 

The hall boasts cheer, laughter; an odd thing, in the tide of coming war, in coming strife even this far North; the Lord returns to the Wall not even a fortnight after the wedding, and with him goes half the rations of crops saved through the Northern harvest. 

With Jacaerys will go his new wife – and with you, a secret untold to any but those who sit the throne. 

The fire in the hearth is great, and it swallows Jacaerys’ eyes as he sips from his cup; licks of flames, screams unheard through halls – the final breath of many, the staggering gasp of death. 

Outside, snow blows harsh and cold against the walls – a breath of winter, howling and iced. 

It is a song that lingers in Jacaerys’ mind, even as the music inside the hall crescendos and the ale flows; and finally, he is torn from his trance with the departure of a lord from White Harbor from before you, leaving you finally by your lonesome. 

Jacaerys turns to you – and at his stirring, you glance to his hoping gaze; your cheeks warmed in the same breath as his own, you glow in the firelight. 

He gestures gently before you, towards the hall brimming with people, “A celebration in our honor, yet it seems finding a moment alone has proven rather difficult.” His voice remains as warm as he’d hoped, though evergreen and mantled by duties, by composure. And you, a flower of grace and stoicism, nod kindly - he's always found the dance of formalities to be amusing.

“It seems the whole land has anticipated your arrival once more, Prince Jacaerys.” Your voice is tinged with that same warmth he remembers from those moons ago.

He ought to accept your kindness with compliment; or perhaps ask how the owl that’d nested in the rook outside your chambers during his last visit fares – but indeed he is met with that insistence of passing time, of his mother’s words fallen onto his shoulders; of a whispered dream of years to pass and years still to come.

When he looks at your visage, honeyed by the glow of firelight, some warmth mixes shockingly with an icy knowledge of what is to come. 

“It has been too long since we last met,” He says - and, perhaps in a moment of insecurity, his lip is bitten and pulled from pearled teeth. “I have missed your company.”

He does not miss the soft growth of affection that blossoms upon your countenance, nor the shift in your hips as you turn to face him more, your fingers absently tracing the rim of your goblet in a mirror of his own nervous habit. 

“And I have missed yours,” your voice is equally quiet to his own, in some conspiratorial hope to remain private while remaining in a room full of guests. Your lip is caught between your teeth just as his was – he wishes to unfurl it with the soft of his thumb. “Though, I confess, it is strange to know that soon we will no longer need ravens to speak to one another.”

A soft chuckle from his lips – a thought indeed that crossed his mind after sending his last raven Northward; and in the shadow of looming war, what a relief it may be to have you beside him. 

If he were any more a fool, Jacaerys might worry indeed for your safety in the coming times – and though that thought lingers still in the stoop of his mind, he is no more ignorant to your abilities than he is admiring them. 

A memory, one of fresh falling snow and the youthful innocence of only half-year ago; before the shift of tides, before the moonlit jaws of Death found his brother – before the death of the young one in the Red Keep, and the fall of Rhaenys and Meleys just days ago at Rooks Rest; before it all, when still the horizon brimmed with a more peaceful hope for settled war, there was time of laughter. Of a hunt drawn about for a Royal Guest in Winterfell, when he came with wishes of an alliance, of oaths sworn in blood and brotherhood. The hunt brought anticipation - and, in his foolish Southern ways, Jacaerys had wondered if you’d see he and your brother off in the courtyard of Winterfell – perhaps with a favour of yours to gift him, and a kiss upon his cheek for well-hunting. 

It was not such delicate smiles and whispers he was met with; no, instead he found another horse, saddled with your frame and a bright grin upon your face, your hair plaited away from your peripherals and a longbow strewn across your back. 

A fond memory, those days watching you traipse across snowstruck Wolfswood – and the snap of a string, the fall of a buck into the earth below. Your grin, your appearance; so unlike your kin, and yet so shared in hardiness with your brother – a warmth now so foreign in a world laced by such ominous ideas as fate. 

Jacaerys chuckles at the memory, and also at your words, sobering as they are light. “Strange,” He repeats, tilting his head to you. “-But welcome, I’d hope?” 

And though it is a tease sent with the efforts of putting the thick tension of betrothal at ease, there still lingers a fear of the answer; and a leak of hesitance in his words. 

When you hold his gaze for a moment, he nearly doubts the flicker of affection that still drips from your rosy cheeks. But your expression softens, and your earnesty is undeniable. “Of course,” You beam and it sends his heart into a flutter, “It will be quite welcome.” 

And it is in this moment, a quiet one, that Jacaerys nearly cracks; a split that would leak out the foreboding world of prophecies, of danger and fear and worry – if only in search of some comfort, of some assurance that the truths he lives are merely the whisperings of a bloodline destined to rule. 

Though he loses the moment when you turn to the revelry before you; and Cregan rises from his seat beside Jacaerys, drawing his attention away from blistering flames and flurries of chill that strike through his heart. 

YOU FIND A MOMENT TO CATCH YOUR BREATH IN THE MORNING.

The sun is high in the sky for such an early hour; perhaps a reflection through of the sheet of thin gray which stretches from one horizon to the other. A sweet light over the rather empty training grounds – and your skirts drag along snow as you brush hair from your cheek, nocking another arrow. 

The target, more than plenty paces away, is riddled with arrows from your work – the bow in your hands, warm and smelted to the form of your grip, carries that same woody scent from youth. You draw back with an inhale. 

Though you know very soon of a presence in the morning courtyard; You can feel the gaze upon you as soon as he enters. And with a small tremble, it occurs to you – no matter where the Prince goes, it seems you can always feel him near. 

You resist a small grin, exhaling as you release the arrow; it embeds itself into the center of the target, a light thud that presses your heart against your ribs. 

Jacaerys watches you; this, you know – and you nock yet another arrow. 

The prince leans rather casually against a post just a few paces to your right, though there is little casual about the heat of his stare upon you – your glance is merely through the side of your lashes, a short thing in effort to pretend you are less effected by his presence. 

Though, you cannot deny the burning in your cheeks, a determination in your throat as you draw the bowstring once more. 

A murder of ravens scatter across the sky to the South – you let the arrow fly; It notches just to the right of your previous shot. A smile, tugging the corner of your lips once more before you drop your arms, glancing to your audience. 

“Impressive as ever, my lady,” Jacaerys muses; his gaze is imbued by lashes and the sun, though there is some esteem within his stare that brings a flutter to your stomach. 

Impressive. 

A heat on your cheeks – as if you’re a blushing little maiden, complimented for the very first time. Though, you remind yourself, he’s spent his life in the highest courts of the land; he himself squired for many years, acquiring fair skill in such trades – and you hum, mind filled with visions of men from all stretches of the realm and beyond – jousts, tourneys, all to show at the King’s court. 

 “Well,” You brush the hair from your cheek once more against the faint wind, nocking and drawing a fresh arrow, much less focused this time, aware of his gaze burning through your frame. “I’m sure Southern men like you have seen feats far more impressive.” You tease, eyes locked down the line of the arrow.

Jacaerys huffs a small laugh at your jest, stepping further into the training yard. The wind blows, and you wonder if you should have taken another fur; but his voice is warm and you are put at ease.

“Perhaps,” He agrees, voice nearing your focus, “But some Southern men certainly know to appreciate what we cannot find back home.” 

You’re lucky you’ve released the arrow just as he finishes his sentence; your stomach flips, butterflies sprouting within your chest at his gentle flattery. He is quite the charmer - and though you find amusement in his attempt, still grows your warmth at the attention.

It is still in the courtyard, and Jacaerys nods toward the target, where your arrow has hit the mark. An approving hum, brows lifted to underscore some coming point: “Like a woman who can outshoot any knight in the realm.” 

A blatant praise – and you lower your bow, hoping to suppress the blush creeping up your cheeks. “Why don’t you try your hand?” you suggest, your tone teasing in attempt to flit such fluster upon the Prince instead. 

He grins in a way that brings to mind a time less full of strife – always one for a friendly back-and-forth; Hands upon the hilt of his sword, Jacaerys shakes his head. “I’m not foolish enough to challenge you, my lady. I’ve learned to respect northern steel – be it by sword or arrow.”

You tilt your head, unable to school such a playful glint in your eyes. “So you’ve come all this way just to be bested by a woman?”

A provocation; perhaps testing the waters. And it shows in his expression, the stark divergence between your brother’s personality and your own; you suspect he is pleased with the opportunity. 

His grin, as you’d hoped, only widens – cheeks reddened by the morning chill, eyes bright against the sun. “I’d consider it quite an honor.” A flick of his gaze to the target and back. 

A roll of your eyes – highly inappropriate for a lady, especially to the Prince - but he only seems to find it more amusing. The smile tugs at your lips; you tamper it with your teeth, “I don’t believe flattery helps your aim, Jace.”

At his nickname, his cheeks seem to glow – a name he’d insisted you’d call him in the dark solitude of the Godswood during his initial visit to Winterfell those many moons ago. 

He shakes his head, ever the charming Prince: “My aim is of no consequence. I am more than content to watch you hit the mark every time.”

The space between you has begun to narrow, and you can just make out the freckles which kiss the bridge of his nose. You hold the bow to him, “Come now, my prince.” You insist – and he acquiesces, stepping forward with a growing smirk. 

You, in effort to see the blush upon his cheeks again, send him a smile. “Aim for the center, and you might impress me.” 

The look he gives you is mildly amused; his shoulders, proud and brushing against yours as he handles your weapon. Deft fingers wrap around the bow as he tries to mimic your stance; and it is rather clear, as it’s been the handful of times you’ve seen him in the yard sparring, that he is far more comfortable with a sword in his hand than a bow. 

And your smile grows at this; the heir to the Iron Throne, trying to impress you with a weapon that is not his own. 

Your amusement is not so concealed; in a moment, he glances to you and huffs, arms still stretched to aim for the target. “I see your confidence growing, my lady,” he chides, and you lift a brow – he grins boyishly, eyes returning to the target, “Perhaps you mean to humble me.”

A feigned thoughtfulness as you tilt your head, tresses of silken hair glinting against your furs, “Humble you, Jace?” You feign surprise, blossoming at the growing smile upon his countenance, “That seems an impossible task.” 

There's a warmth lying low beneath your jest – and whatever sharpness delivers with your wit is softened by the candid affection you hold for your newly betrothed. He laughs, and it is a song you wish to remember for the rest of your years.  

His cheeks are that same very pink you’ve cherished for many moons - and he lets the arrow fly; though it strikes the target, it lands fingers shy of the center, and you conceal a laugh. 

Your prince sends you a look, and though his mouth opens with some likely sharp words of humility, he is interjected by another voice in the yard. 

“–Impressive,” Cregan’s voice cuts through the morning wind, startling you and Jacaerys alike. Jacaerys turns, hands lowering the bow as he nods almost sheepishly; Cregan steps closer – an expression only mildly imbued with amusement. 

He regards you first, then your betrothed. “I see our prince has found a new skill.” 

Flustered as though caught stealing wine from the feast table, you busy yourself adjusting the bowstring; and though Jacaerys chuckles, the sound is tight. 

“It seems I’ll need more practice,” He says easily, eyes flickering to your own warm gaze and leaping away when heat creeps onto your cheeks. Cregan merely claps him on the shoulder, a grin small and amused upon his visage, “Come with me, then. You’d best not distract my sister.”

A sheepish glance with hot cheeks between you and Jacaerys before you bow to him, sending a sharp glance to your brother.

The two leave you to your practice in search of a hearth in which to discuss before; and you nod to them, cheeks alight and eyes trailing over the silver dragon holding together the Prince’s furs. 

THE DAY JACAERYS TELLS YOU IS A DAY BROUGHT ON BY A SQUALL OF ICE AND SNOW.

Since his arrival, days have fallen in succession of clear skies and silent winds; and with the weather has brought a change in your betrothed. You have spent most days watching frost curl over begging pines from your chamber windows with growing unease - though your warmth is still shared well and kind between you, Jacaerys grows agitated in his time away from the war; a thing you understand too well, and wish to ease in the coming days. 

And, unlike the days of his arrival, there is too much to do now to any longer relish in the still-present small moments – the times which bring in the smell of holly and pine, of clove and spiced wine, of wide smiles and the steaming scales of your betrothed’s ancient accompaniment. 

The wedding has been planned – and in only a few more days, you and Jacaerys will become one; you will whisper words long thought and wondered, you will bind your palms, you will share your blood. 

Though in no way unsure of the union, still lingers the presence of something unspoken – in the growingly distant amber eyes, in the insecure stuttering of words, in the shaky palm which soothes over your own underneath leathered gloves. It seems Jacaerys furrows his brow in riddles more and more these days – and a darkness follows, some weight that brings his lips to drop and his voice to taper in the ends of sentences. 

You have begun to wonder once more why indeed a union between you and Jacaerys was so suddenly proposed by the Queen. 

Your breath shows against the casement; The day has brought with it more than a chill – and in search of an excuse, you wonder if the Prince has drawn a large enough hearth, if he has found furs thick enough to stave the chill. Yourself, a girl sewn and grown from Northern soils, still finds a strike of shiver from your veins when you rise from your own hearth; and so, with a small flash of worry and a gathering of pelts from your own bed, you set off to the guest quarters. 

JACAERYS SITS BEFORE HIS HEARTH. 

He welcomes you with a nod and a gesture to join him upon the settee; you deposit the armful of furs upon his bed with a gentle breath and murmured words – and though it is well into the morning by now, Jacaerys looks as though sleep evaded him in the night previous – teeth-bitten lips, mussed curls, a heavy gaze that lingers upon the melting flakes of snow in your hair. 

It is only moments of gentle conversation; a tale of the nesting owl above your chambers that brings a gleaming smile to Jace's eyes, a wonder of the turned crops coming from the Neck; mere half-hour passes before he, ever mindful, shifts towards your visage. 

“What troubles you?” he wonders – a stare that leaks with some unknown vulnerability, that stiffness that has still pervaded the pair of you despite your comfortability. 

And perhaps that very observation is it; you swallow down the rising resistance - a melting of icy hesitance, a heavy weight shared between shoulders so different yet destined.

Jacaerys watches unblinking – you notice for perhaps the first time the signet ring that perches upon his smallfinger, glinting black and ruby in the daylight. Your own ring – a wolf, dark and proud, sits upon your middle; and you wonder how indeed a wolf will fare in a den of dragons. 

You’ve spent enough time with Jacaerys – though this has been swaddled in the nest of the North; your own comfort of life, of family and that sweet soul-binding heritage. Perhaps what troubles you is this – of the impending binding of your life to his own by duty and blood: To know him and be known for the rest and beyond; of fighting a war not of your own making but of your own fate – and yet, with your love and devotion for him fostered and growing, leaking from your very core, it still feels foreign.

“I do not know,” you admit in a surge of emotion, glancing into the open pit of emotion within his gaze. “I cannot help but wonder…why,” you utter slowly, eyes shifting under the uncomfortable embrace of vulnerability. 

And his own vulnerability shows upon his sleeve as he turns to face you fully, drawn in silhouette from the glowing embers that warm the chill in your heart. “Why?” He repeats, eyes searching your own. 

You do not fear your betrothed; you know nothing but faith and conviction laced between your hand and his own. Jacaerys is of good blood; not in the sense perhaps that his ancestors might boast, but that of the same very blood your Northern people acclaim – honorable.

He, even in the unlikely instance of a lack of a lasting affection or love, will always hold you honorably as his wife, and in time his Queen – and this, indeed, you hold in common.

You will perhaps always hold flame for Jacaerys, even if time passes in your marriage and he does not hold such equal affections – and this is some comfort in itself, to know that he will protect you no matter where you lie within his heart. 

 Your words come easier in the passing moment, as Jacaerys awaits your gospel with the veneration of a knelt pilgrim – and you come to understand that somewhere within his breast is a flame alight; an affection returned, with your name burning there. 

Your lips part, and his eyes track the motion. 

“Our union. It is…” You swallow, “Unusual.” 

Your heart aches only in the flickered trace of sorrow that paints his gaze; he leans back to the settee, an expression clouded by unnamed emotions. It is not any absence of affection, then, from either of you – a coupling not lacking in love, then, but instead marked by a trace of fate that drags your heart into worry. 

After some time, your prince speaks. “It is rather custom to marry within the bloodline,” Jacaerys admits, hesitating. Amber eyes, flickering deep into the hearth, as if trying to light the embers that die down with just his stare; you wonder, faintly, if he could. His words are an echo of many nights swirling in doubt above your bedposts – and to hear them, a warmth of relief in your breast.

 “But there are other duties,” He murmurs, “–ones that even the Gods cannot ignore.” 

His tone has reduced to a rather trance-like state; your eyes, roaming the rich of his furs before focusing in the distance; a ring of clouds, circling the light of the sun just out of view. 

Beams of heavenly breath, breaking through the cold sky; a break in the squall, some gasp of mercy from the Old Gods – and a ring of light, sprouting from Jacaerys’s head. It is some ancient song, an echoing you’ve only truly felt in the silence of the crypts low below your feet – you blink twice at the sight of such a reverent sight, his grace outlined in the slope of his nose, the pout of his lips. 

His voice is lower than a whisper when it comes once more. 

“Aegon.” 

Rather struck by the light of heaven’s breath breaking around Jacaerys, your brows furrow; you tilt your head, rising to follow as your betrothed leaves the settee. His eyes are stuck on the flutter of snowflakes from the heavens, his back aflame with the fire of the hearth – and he stops before the window, blinking away frost. 

An odd, ancient feeling stirs in your mind – your shoulder brushes the fine tailoring of his cloak as you join him at the casement overlooking the Godswood; Your voice is clear against the blanket of quiet. 

“The Usurper?” 

His lips are pursed for a moment before a gentle shake of his head. “The Conqueror.” 

It is once again awakened – this seed of uncertainty, the knowledge of the trickling poison which drips from the old blood of Valyria and poisons the minds of those men upon their Stone – but you tilt your head to your Prince, considering his words. 

A breath that plumes against the crawling chill of snow, and Jacaerys’ voice is distant once more. 

 “I’ve heard his song.” 

Perhaps Jacaerys has been kept inside too long: In that way the cold can take a man’s mind – curl around it with frost, trickle ice into veins so sewn with fire; turn him mad. 

You take a small step closer; cold air upon your face, the warmth of his arm brushed against the peak of your shoulder.

It is an attempt, youthful and unsure, at comfort – though he accepts it as he turns to look at you. A gentle gaze, the kind he���s always saved for you, warming the side of your visage; you’re much too gone in thought, eyes stuck at the peek of red bleeding through the pines in the distance. 

The leaves are frosted, though they remain ever crimson, ever watching. You whisper to Jacaerys, eyes upon the godswood. 

“Dead men don’t sing, my prince.”

YOU FIND YOURSELF REFRESHED IN THE BREAK OF WINTERSNOW THAT AFTERNOON.

The Godswood; a sheltered overhang provided by the sprawling branches of the Weirwood – your knees floated within the chasmous snow pelted fresh-fallen and sweet onto the frozen earth.

Jacaerys rests near you – perched on what below lies a boulder, he watches the flakes fall gentle onto the surface of the pooled spring behind you, your quiet words deadened in the blanket of snow. 

The wind is forgiving today – and you can only hope, as you rise from your knelt position before the tree, that it will extend its mercy unto the ceremony in three day’s time. 

There is only the plume of your breath and the muffled compaction of your boots against the settled snow that accompany the short distance to your betrothed. 

Steam rises in tendrils from the warmth of the pond’s depths; a simmering fate from the icy flakes which flutter onto its surface, giving the last breath of their life in sacrifice for its own. 

“How fares Vermax?” 

Your voice carries with it that sullen evergreen repose – Jace looks up at you from where he sits, a small smile gracing his countenance. “He has found a cave to the West.” 

You nod with a knowing smile, lowering yourself to perch beside your betrothed upon the soft snowed earth, your furs dark against the bright kiss of the Gods. “I wondered if he might,” You murmur, recalling the natural springs not unlike the one you sit before; their warmth a relief to any who are graced by their presence within the caves of the slopes. “It would do him well to return home soon.” You murmur, eyes roving over the hands, ungloved and calloused with cold and fight, which rest in Jacaerys’ lap. 

Perhaps in resistance to the weather or from the heat of your attention, he flexes his lithe fingers; and with the breath he takes, he looks to you. “He’s never quite agreed with the North.” He admits with a soft smile. You nod thoughtfully, wondering indeed how such a being of fire could fare against the land of ice. 

“And his rider?” You wonder then, eyes hinged on a swaying pine in the distance, its needles shed of snow as a pile falls to the ground. 

Jacaerys looks at you with that expression once more – a warm one, but one hesitant by nature. “I’d say he is learning to weather it,” Jacaerys answers with a lingering smile, though his gaze shifts momentarily to the horizon, where the faintest sliver of dusk begins to creep through the flurry of snowflakes. “He's come to learn that it grows on a man, much like its people.”

Your lips curve in a bout of shy flattery, and you shake your head. 

A loss for words stretches on into more; the water is calm in its reflection, and you watch snowflakes flutter from the stretch of gray, kissing your hair and tangling in your lashes. The clearing is large, though still so very intimate – it is not long before your thoughts meander to the days ahead, to the many preparations still to be done despite your moment of respite. 

After a beat, you speak into the blanket of quiet. 

“Three days.” You muse, blinking away flurries of white and turning to your betrothed. “Does it not feel strange to you, that in so little time, we are to be bound?”

Jace exhales, his breath clouding the air which swirls before you, and you look up to him in wait. He tilts his head just so, blinking away flakes as they come to kiss his flushed skin. You watch them melt to his lips with some faint lick of envy. 

His voice is hardened by the deadened air of winter, though you know there is nothing but kindness laced within. “There is no hesitation in me, if that is what you ask.”

A warmth pools within you at his chosen words, at the thought of he and you, under the very tree which you now sit, joint in hands and bound by blood. 

Perhaps it is that small yearning that festers unsaid in your heart – or it is the residual worry of his words of songs and men long-dead this morning in his chambers; but you press on gently. “And why is that, my Prince?” 

He looks into your eyes, then – and you see some search for verity amidst the downfall of snow; your fingers are cold, and they itch to hold his own. “Do you hold your own reservations?” In his tone holds no such judgement; merely the curiosity of a boy no older than one and twenty – and you, in the same turn of years, shake your head. 

“No, I–” Your lip is bitten once more, and his eyes remain upon them despite the flush on your cheeks. “I suppose I just wish to know,” You whisper, swallowing thickly, “If it is all… for strategy.” 

Jacaerys takes a moment; you allow it, watching as the flakes fall into the curls, as his eyes skim over the Northern edge of Winterfell, falling somewhere far, far beyond. “It is not simply a duty for me,” He chooses, tracing your visage with the care befitting of one who’s known you for life. “I believe you know this.” 

And perhaps you do; you smile under his accusation, tilting your head. “I suppose so, though I should like to hear you say it,” You admit, looking towards the very horizon he’d worried over. A murder of ravens, cutting dark through the gray blur of afternoon. “You speak too much in riddles these days.” 

It seems as though your words penetrate whatever foggy worries swirl within his sharp mind; and he nods solemnly. 

“You’re right,” and his voice is quieter now, guarded; unsure whether to reveal what such odd whisperings might mean. “I must have you know,” he starts, glancing to you, “that my care for you goes beyond duty.” 

His words are a balm to the brunt of fate that now befalls you; his cheeks as pink as your own, and he whispers kindly. “I have long held an affection for you in my heart, and hoped you might feel the same.” 

Any words of agreement are halted upon your lips when Jacaerys takes another breath, one laced with the weight of a realm divided: “But after Lucerys…” He clears his throat once more and you are struck with his pain.

Your palm finds his knee in some hope of comfort provided; his own falls atop it. “Princess Rhaenys and Meleys fell at Rooks Rest while I travelled North; a war wages still - and yet I had to come. I know you wonder why, and you deserve to know.” 

And you wait with breath bated, as you have for many days in wonder of why indeed now seemed fit for the Prince to come to the North for you. 

“My mother… shared something,” he begins once more, his tone low, “Passed down through our blood, through King and King – from long before Viserys, to my mother, and now me... A prophecy.” 

Your stomach has grown a pit of anticipation, some dreadful cloud gathering above you. Your Prince blinks to you shortly, brows drawn in consternation - as though it is a far crime and violation, what he is to tell you. 

And then he begins: words strung with the cloudiness of destiny, of doubt lingering in a stream of worry – and you sway where you repose, in a blinking dread when mentions come of a common enemy, of a terrible winter long to come.

And you, then, are struck with thoughts – of the long nights at Castle Black; of the men who patrol the wild lands, who speak in hushed voices and train with hard hands – of the old memory of Death, which lingers in the dreams of Northern children and on the tongues of Septas sat before hearths. 

You turn your gaze from the Weirwood’s branches above to Jacaerys, who looks out over the horizon to the breath of twilight leaking through.

A song – a dead man’s dream; of the ice of the north, he explains, and the fire of Valyria. 

It is a cold many minutes in which you breathe, a dread lingering between you and your beloved prince, hands clasped together and hearts beating as one. It does not do well to play on a foolish man’s beliefs – though your prince is no foolish man, and the hands of fate are too tightly bound. 

“You speak of fire and blood,” you whisper finally, “Of dreams that burn through the night?” 

The eve that falls is quiet, and the wind forgives your trespassing. He nods solemnly, your prince; and his absence of further response lets your mind wander.

Swirls of snow dance along the footprints left in your previous wake; the wind blows strands of hair across your vision.

Jacaerys’ eyes are amber pools and you drown in them, in the heat that has grown in the knowledge of words dreamt by a long dead man, in the legacy which leaks through each new crowned Targaryen. You drown in the knowledge that perhaps, in some way, a truth rings within this so-believed prophecy; secret as the lands which lie far to the North.

Your lips are wetted gently, shaking your head as you continue your thought. “But magic does not only run hot,” you murmur, “It does not only belong to the South.” 

His expression turns – and a weight which indeed shrouds him finds you too, cocooning you and your betrothed, binding you with threads of fate long ago tied and drawn. The woods whistle with the breath of winter, and you hear their song. 

“It is in the roots of the tree, in the bones of this land,” You admit, “My ancestors prayed to the Old Gods, and in return they whispered in the wind, spoke in the silence. And they, too, endure.”

Jacaerys shifts beside you and your palm is taken into the cradle of both his own. “I do not wish to burden you with such things.” He murmurs - and a memory of your brother's same words the day this very betrothal became so; it is forever, then, that the men of your life will wish to protect you from harm.

In the moment’s breath, you speak quietly: “–But such things are ours now, are they not?” You wonder aloud; and in the relief of a smile, he nods smally.

“There are threats to face sooner; I know it is no small ask to bring you into the throes of conflict. But perhaps our blood,” He murmurs, cheeks tinged pink, “might one day save the Realm.” 

An odd thought – but still one that does not change the truth: You go into the heart of the fire in three days’ time; but you will go with Jacaerys, and you will not be alone. A wolf in the South – and a dragon by her side. 

In the lingering peace of companionship, Jacaerys huffs gently. “I wish I could have done more,” He murmurs, “Ensured a proper betrothal.” His cheeks remain stained in that crimson colour against the fading light of the sky, and you resist the longing feeling to feel his lips against your own. 

You laugh, a short thing in the muffled quiet, “It matters not, Jace,” You promise, a smile small and kind upon your visage. In his shift, you slide gently between his knees – and your palms squeeze his own. 

“I’d have courted you,” He insists in that boyish nature you remember from those moons ago – and the air that’d frozen your lungs in the moments fallen behind has thawed into a budding giddiness. You smile at his tone, tilting your head. “Is that right, my Prince?” You tease, lifting your brow, “Taken me for strolls in the gardens, picked me flowers?” 

His smile is so boyish and hopeful; your heart skips as he nods. “Of course.” His grin grows softer as you shift. 

It is when the space between you narrows in a moment that you purse your lips gently, eyes tracing the curve of his own cherried lips. “Though my duty is to the North, it is also to the Queen,” You begin. His eyes fall to your own lips. “And to you. I hold love for you in my heart, Jacaerys,” You admit, cheeks warm, “And I am quite pleased to be your wife.” 

His hand leaves your own – and in its ascent, you see a slight tremor; when your face is cradled by his palm, you let your eyes flutter shut. 

It is only a momentary shock when lips, cold and light, press to your eyelid; a brushing so gentle, you wonder if it will not melt into the snow itself. 

Jacaerys’ breath lingers, a quiet warmth as he moves to your other eye, kissing away the flakes of snow which cling to you in reverence. A stirring in your breast as your hands find his cloaked arms, strong beneath your grasp; a whisper into the earth around you as snow falls. 

He pulls away only in a plume of warm breath that you feel against your visage; your eyes open to find his own, warm and wanting. A fire burns in you, and it calls his name – somewhere in the distance, Vermax roars. The edges of the pond lap over a small crust of ice, and your touch warms against your betrothed. 

“I was made for you,” He murmurs, lips chilled against your warm cheek; and you believe it. He says your name, and it falls from bitten lips with a desperation that sets your nerves ablaze; "I will love you with everything I am," He promises; and fingers trace the curve of your jaw, a gentle thing – a lingering of breath with your own, a hitch to your lungs as desire claws at your throat. Your smile is small and melts under the weight of heat.

In a moment, you cannot bear the space which lingers, small and unforgiving, between you; Without hesitation, your palms slide over his furs, kissed with snow – and soon, you card your hands through the curls at the nape of your betrothed’s neck. 

It is a pull towards your awaiting lips, and soon Jacaerys kisses you soundly. 

Hands slide to your waist, dropping from your jaw to cradle you between his legs, flush in the heat of shared life; and you, a blossoming flutter of affection and anticipation for nights to come. Hands tremble – yours, around his neck, his, curved around your waist. 

The snow falls heavier still – and a howl of wind that blows you closer to Jace, a short share of giggles between you, giddy and alight with some small kernel of hope. The Godswood is quiet, and your lips slide together in a shy, lingering sweetness; he pulls away from you only to press small kisses upon each exposed breath of skin you offer, and you laugh into the quiet, heart beating as one. 

“I am yours.” 

And for some time, a soft exploration of affections beneath the sprawling limbs of the tree – and the words fall from lips taking and giving, smiling and sighing, pursuing and pressing. 

The woods sing with the bells when supper is called; and so with hair tangled, cheeks warm, you rise together. 

Arm in arm, your betrothed and you retrace footprints kissed with the gift of fresh-fallen snow; words quiet and half-burdened with the weight of the future – but still remains the lingering of hope, the promise of love even in the dreary eve of fate. 

The Godswood of Winterfell echo softly with footfall; The warmth of the Great Hall awaits you both. Jacaerys presses a kiss to your knuckles, and you push open the doors together.

taglist & mutuals <3 ; @dipperscavern @oldtowrs @systraes @lukehughes43 @rhea-ripley @jottositto @earth4angels @mattnott @divinesolas @hxtd @housetargaryenloyalist @bucksplum @v3lary0ns @princessvelaryon @princessbellecerise @vee-mage @bitchydragonparadisee @elaena-aerrin @kenna-the-cosmic @xxselenite @smurfelle @alyssa-dayne @uhnanix @still-jon-snow @astrxq @cregan-starks

[starogeorgina]

𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

Paring: Jacaerys Targaryen x reader

Warnings: Swearing, smut

1.01

“His heart beats for blood. Blood and fire.”

Jacaerys stares at his betrothed from across the room, watching as she mumbles to herself while flicking through the same book he’s seen her read many times, her heavy-looking eyes often fixated on the same page for a long period of time. He was informed the library and Sept were the only places she would visit outside her private chambers since Aemond killed his brother.

The last time Jace’s family were all together, in King’s landing, King Viserys declared his youngest daughter and eldest grandson were to be wed, with the intention of mending the rift between House Targaryen once and for all.

But that wasn’t what happened.

His betrothed was visibly happy and very vocal about how excited she was to start planning the wedding with his mother. Then his grandsire died, his mother’s throne was usurped, and his unborn sister died. Since returning from Winterfell Jacaerys, the princess hasn’t even glanced in his direction; she was avoiding him, which stung. Jace had never felt so alone; he always had Lucerys by his side before. Perhaps the princess was hiding herself away out of fear of being treated badly for what her brothers, mother, and grandsire had done to his family.

Not that he thought of her any differently; if anything, the young prince pitted her.

Jacaerys watches her for a few moments longer then decides it’s best to leave the princess be; no point in disturbing someone who is seeking isolation.

—

You stop making alterations to the tunic you were embroidering when you hear the door to the chambers you were currently occupying being opened; without looking back, you know who it is. When the footsteps don’t go any further than the doorway, you start threading the needle again.

Every corner you turn, you feel dark eyes burning a hole into you. Nothing that you could say would undo the pain inflicted already. Your mind begins to wonder again, and you don’t notice Jace moving until he’s sitting next to you at the wooden desk. He was looking directly at you, but you avoided meeting his gaze.

“My Prince.”

He takes a sharp intake of breath, “I hold no ill will towards you.”

The funeral for Lucerys was held earlier that day, just before the sun began to set. You watched from afar as Rhaenyra crumpled to pieces, and the rest of her family sobbed, mourning the loss of such a sweet boy. It would have been wrong for you to join them when someone you cared for dearly caused them so much pain.

“How can you not? My twin is the reason you won’t get to see Luke again.”

Jacaerys says nothing to your response. What could he say? You sit in silence, watching Jace’s finger trace over the outline of a dragon on the tunic. “It’s unfinished; it was meant to be a gift for after the wedding.”

A small smile pulls on his lips. “It’s Vermax.”

Regardless of the awful things that had happened, you wanted to remain on Dragonstone but doubted you’d be able to stay long. You were nothing but a reminder of what Aemond had done.

“What’s on your mind?”

You finally looked up and met his eyes, which are glossy from holding back tears. In comparison, your own issues seem minuscule, but you share what’s bothering you anyway. “I don’t want to go back home.”

“This is your home.”

“I’m afraid.”

Giving you a sympathetic look, Jace uses the pad of his thumb to rub circles on the back of your hand. Comforting touches weren’t something you were familiar with, but you liked the warmth coming from his hand.

“You’re safe inside these walls. I won’t let anybody come in here and hurt you.”

“I’m afraid of Dae—”

You’re cut off when there’s a knock at the door and Rhaenyra’s handmaiden, Elinda, walks into the room. You expected Jace to remove his thumb, but instead he squeezed your hand.

Elinda greets you both, “Princess, the queen wishes to speak with you.”

—

Staring into Rhaenyra's eyes was like staring down a dragon. Her fury was evident the moment you entered her quarters; you had seen Daemon storming in the opposite direction and presumed he had something to do with the queen's foul mood. You were thankful when she went to stand by the window.

“I believe my son was in your bedchamber when I sent for you. Is that correct?”

“No, I mean—“ you begin to stumble over your words. “Yes, he was there, Prince Jacaerys came to speak with me.”

“Nothing that could have waited until the morrow, I’m sure.”

Her expression was hard to read. Although she didn’t say anything else, you felt the need to explain further. “I told him I didn’t want to go back to King's Landing, and he told me this was my home. He said, I'm safe here.”

“Why would you believe any differently?”

“Nowhere is safe.”

Rhaenyra uncrosses her arms, her expression softening. “Nobody under my rule will harm you, but I must share this with you.”

Elinda hands you a scroll. Confused, you take it from her, “I don’t understand why someone would write to me.”

You open it nervously and read it. Your lips parted slightly; Rhaenyra asks what it says, but you’re unable to answer her. Elinda looks at it and lets out a small gasp, “It’s from Aegon. He’s demanding the princess return to King’s Landing at once.”

You take the scroll and toss it into the fireplace. “It may have my brother’s signature, but that is my grandsire and mother talking.”

“Elinda, leave us for a moment.” Rhaenyra lets out a frustrated sigh. When it’s just the two of you, she asks, “Do you wish to stay here, on Dragonstone?”

“Yes,” you say, taking a step towards her. “I understand if you want me to leave, but please don’t make me go back to them.”

Seeing the desperation in your eyes, she nods. “We may not be close, but you are my youngest sister. I know you are innocent.”

“I miss Helaena and her sweet children.” You begin to sob, “I was so quick to leave with you for Dragonstone that I never went and saw father before I left. I never said goodbye to him.”

“Neither of us knew what would happen.” Rhaenyra caresses your cheek in a motherly manner. “Jacaerys is right, you are safe here.”

—

Dragonstone was much darker and colder than what you were used to; your hair always feels damp even when it’s dry. You found the sounds of waves crashing around the island comforting.

But not as comforting as being held by Jacaerys.

You expected the prince to have returned to his own quarters, but he was waiting on you to return. You were sitting on the edge of the table with your legs dangling over the edge, Jacaerys forehead pressed against your own while he held you close.

The both of you were lonely, hurt, and scared.

“Won’t you get in trouble for being here so late?”

“We will be married soon,” Jacaerys says, stepping back. “Will we share a room when we are married?”

“I was told that women only lay with their husbands for a couple of nights a month, but everyone who I know who does it seems unhappy. Would you want us to always share a bedchamber?”

“Yes.”

Smiling, you peck him on the lips. “Sorry, that was inappropriate of me.”

“It’s okay.” He closes his eyes. “I hope the war ends soon so my mother can sit on her throne, and you can be my wife.”

You chuckle slightly. “As happy as I am to be your wife, I’m scared for our wedding night. My mother told me sex is painful for a woman.”

“It’s not always.”

“Wait, have you...” You don’t finish the question; the thought of him bedding someone else made you feel sick.

“No, but my stepfather is Daemon Targaryen,” he chuckles. “He always told me it was important for everyone involved to feel pleasure.”

“I was just told to grip the sheets while waiting for it to be over and that only men feel good.”

Jace’s lips ghost your own, his breath warm on your face. “Have you ever felt pleasure before?”

“Yes… kind of, have you.”

Jacaerys cheeks flush red as he nods.

“I touched myself once, but I didn’t put my fingers inside.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a sin for a woman to touch themselves for desire. I went to the sept immediately afterwards and didn’t do it again.”

“Sweet girl,” Jace kisses your cheek. “I’ll never touch you anymore than you want me to.”

You hug again, but this time Jace’s head is pressed against the side of your neck. You still like that in a comfortable silence until you feel him lightly kissing your neck. He pauses waiting for your reaction; a moan slips from your mouth, and you tighten your grip, going around Jace’s back, encouraging him. “Do it again, please.”

Jacaerys starts kissing up your neck until he reaches your jawline. Lifting his head, your noses brush together, “Can I make you feel good now?”

You take Jacaerys hand and guide it underneath your skirts, helping him find the sensitive spot that brings you such pleasure.

“Oh fuck!”

Jace shushes you with a kiss, “We need to be quiet.”

You hold onto his shoulders tightly as he rubs circles on your clit until you climax.

Smiling Jacaerys kisses you again, “It’s late; we should get some rest; the morrow will come soon enough.”

“Can you stay a little longer?”

He takes your hand and helps you off the table. “Yes, but I’ll need to go before the handmaidens come in the morning.”

[coryosbaby]

loser!jace velaryon with a slight older and dommy reader. she loves teasing him in public settings till he begs and then overstimming him to tears. maybe a mommy kink in there sometime. god i love jace.

18+, MDNI !!

LOSER! JACE VELARYON, to start off, has had a crush on his betrothed since he was a child. He thought he could never have a chance with such a beautiful and alluring woman, a goddess in disguise as a human being. But when it was time for him to find a wife, boy was he surprised. She had fucked him stupid before the two of them were even wed.

LOSER! JACE VELARYON had never been experienced. He had heard about the acts of sex from the men around him because of the prostitutes they took to bed. But he was raised better than that and he didn’t see a point in those sort of indulgences.

Until he met her. Then he became the neediest and most infatuated man. He even grew out the locks of his hair so she could yank on it more when he enjoyed his meal— the one between her thighs, of course.

LOSER! JACE VELARYON starts calling his wife mommy. Mummy, to be exact, because of his accent, but for the sake of the word let’s just say mommy. He doesn’t know exactly where the satisfaction from the word derived from. He thinks it may be because she’s a tad bit older than him and makes him feel nurtured and loved.

And Gods, does he sound so beautiful and sweet when he says it. It slips off his tongue in pretty, whiny words. “Mommy, can I touch you here?” “Mommy, I need you.” “Mommy, you’re so warm.” It’d be a shame if no one got to experience the desperate sound of his cracking voice when he’s just on the cusp of release.

Which is why his wife decides to tease him. LOSER! JACE VELARYON is at a wedding celebration when her palm skims over his most perfect spot. She notices the way his thighs tense up and he tries to keep composure— he’s in a seat at the dinner table, but that doesn’t mean the others around him aren’t at risk of noticing.

LOSER! JACE VELARYON tries not to sound so whiny when the men of the court ask him questions. He grabs ahold of her hand that’s squeezing him— a beg to stop this now, because this is important, mommy, because we can’t do that— but he can’t resist her for long. No, it’s a mere five minutes before he’s excusing him and his wife for a leave to one of the mostly empty corridors, his eyes on her corseted back and imagining the way she looks spread open on his fat cock. Gods, he can’t wait.

LOSER! JACE VELARYON is pushed against the stone wall of the corridor, eyes rolling and mouth falling open when his wife drops to her knees. She looks beautiful, a true Targaryen beauty. He’s never seen someone so perfect. His hand finds its way into her hair— it isn’t done up like usual. She must’ve been expecting this.

Her fingers deftly undo his trousers, smiling when his girthy length slaps up against his stomach. He’s all flushed pink and wet, aching for a hole to fill, and she knows it.

“What a naughty boy you are,” she teases, in that angelic lilt of hers. She trails a finger up his length, and he lets out a groan. “Getting all worked up in front of all those people. Tell me, husband. What do you think they’d do if they knew their little Velaryon prince was whining like a girl for his beloved’s mouth?”

He bites his lip, eyes scrunching closed.

“They would think…” he breathes out a sigh when her tongue laps at him teasingly. “They would think im a whore, mommy.”

“That’s right, sweet one. Because that’s what you are, isn’t it?”

He nods, because he knows it’s the truth. Her hand wraps around him and lightly tugs. His hips move against the sensation, and his wrist moves up to be bitten by his teeth. She notices, and grabs his elbow. His arm is back at his side in a second, clutching onto the cool surface of the stone wall.

“No,” she says. “Let them all hear you, little prince. Let them hear you when I taste this sweet cock.”

He lets out a whine, watching as she takes his glittering, pink head into your soft mouth. She suckles him gently, playfully, and hums like a kitten at the taste of his precum. He’s delicious. She could eat him up for hours.

LOSER! JACE VELARYON is soon crying, tears streaming down his cheeks as she works her hand over him still, her fingers dripping with his first—second?— release. He can still hear the ongoing party as he shakes against the wall. He doesn’t know how long it’s been.

“Mommy. Mommy, it’s too much, please..”

“Don’t be difficult, Jace. Don’t you want to make me proud?”

Fuck, he wants it so bad he can’t breathe. He nods, plump lip quivering. He wonders when the party will be over…

LOSER! JACE VELARYON lets out a tiny whimper of fear when he hears the sounds of footsteps moving down the corridor. He comes to his senses for a mere moment, regardless of the fact that his wife’s hand is still pumping his cock. But she’s clever and she’s calm— she presses her hand to his shoulder and uses the leverage to push him against the corner of the corridor, a corner that has an extra wall built onto it and makes a tiny nook of secrecy and disretion. Jace hears the voices of his relative Alicent Hightower and her traitor knight, Sir Criston. Vastly approaching still, while his beloved’s hand works his dick, she speaks in a hushed whisper.

“Filthy, naughty boy. Cock out and covered in cum. You just couldn’t wait, could you?”

He can’t help it. LOSER! JACE VELARYON cries out his wife’s name, face twisted into carnal pleasure, and cums. Creamy white squirting all over her wrist and dress, balls drawn up tighter than a rubber band. He thinks she might’ve put a spell on him, this woman.

She smiles, listening to the awkward and rushed sound of Alicent and Sir Criston leaving the corridor when they realize the adultery occurring. Jace’s wife brings her fingers up to her mouth and gently sucks the spend off her thumb.

“You’re doing so good for mommy. I think you can handle one more. Don’t you think, little prince?”

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi @kaithoughs @jamespotterismydaddy @wildgirllz

[myownevils]

jacaerys velaryon favorites

house of the dragon

one shots

Conspriracy of Hearts - @astrxq

Black and Purple - @simpingland

prisons & prophets - @curseofaphrodite

Solace - @myladysapphire

Your Reflection - @jacaerysgf

On Sunny Days I Go Out Walking - @eldrith

Silken Streets - @eldrith

picture of you in an invisible locket - @softspiderling

intrusion - @gracexthoughts

i'd go blind (just to see you) - @eldrith

can i go (where you go?) - @softspiderling

First Impressions - @princessbellecerise

Rotten Soil, Rotten Fruit - @princessbellecerise

Reunions - @ireneispunk

series

a call to arms. - @annwrites

DRAGONSPEAR - @rennalaqotfm

SPOILS OF WAR - @luvrottt

Flowers - @jacaerysgf

A Golden Cage - @eldrith

WHAT HONOR DEMANDS. - @swordgrace

knuckles bruised (like violets) - @drgnmnts

[h4lfaheart]

The Great Hope for a Dynasty, a House of the Dragon fanfiction

“Let it be known that Aella of House Targaryen and Jacaerys of Houses Velaryon and Targaryen are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”

ao3 // wattpad

{jace velaryon/oc}

{oc edits made by @/ccarmyy on tiktok}

[sunnyie-eve]

2 | Bastards

Series: Calamity Within | House of the Dragon

Pairing: (Jacaerys Velaryon x Cousin! OFC Targaryen!) (Aegon II Targaryen x Cousin! OFC Targaryen!)

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: slight bullying

| MASTERLIST |

-

Once again it was time the King wanted Lilibet to come for a visit. After her last visit, she stayed for a good four months before going back home. This time Damon didn't mind as much since he was planning to go out and make deals.

Arriving this time, Ser Cole was going to help her to the Queens chambers but luckily Ser Strong approaches them saying Rhaenyra wanted to see her.

"I have direct orders from the Queen."

"I have direct orders from the Princess, who the King gave her permission." Harwin mentions so Lilibet steps closer to him.

Since the last time she was there Rhaenyra told Harwin everything that Lilibet said she heard before running away and that she knew the truth too. And for the remaining time she was there last time she avoided Criston Cole every second in hopes not to bring up him seeing her.

Lilibet quickly follows Harwin to Rhaenyra's chambers leaving Criston Cole alone, "Does the Princess really want to see me?" She asks him.

"The Princess doesn't know that you were coming to visit." He looks back at her.

"Thank you." She lets him know so he nods his head.

Entering the room before he could announce her arrival, Rhaenyra says her name excited since it's been two years since she was here last. "You're finally back. Come meet your new cousin. She smiles.

"What's his name?" Lilibet asks with a smile.

"Joffrey." Rhaenyra tells her.

"Laena is pregnant and is expecting soon." Lilibet tells the news.

"Really? What are you wanting a brother or another sister?" Rhaenyra asks her as she lets her hold the baby.

"I want a baby brother. Laena don't care what the babe will be. I think father would love a boy though." Lilibeth laughs, "I say such a thing because my father me training. I have a bow down very well but I'm working on the sword."

"Your father, my dear uncle, has you practicing with weapons for what?"

"To be able to protect myself. Which I'm fine with because there will be a time when I'll need to." Lilibet explains to her.

"Why don't you go find the King? I'm sure he'll want to see you. Giving the time he's probably watch the boys practice." Rhaenyra takes Joffrey back so Lilibet leaves the room going to find them.

The King was happy to see Lilibet arrived before talking to her and the hand about the boys practicing. Lilibet automatically could see Ser Cole was being biased towards the white hair boys compared to the dark hair boys.

When Harwin started talking to Cole it started a big tiff so Lilibet leaves her uncles side rushing down the steps as Ageon was overpowering Jace.

"Lilibet?" Aemond was surprised to see her as she took the wooden sword out of his hands going over to Aegon hitting the sword out of his hands as she swung hers taking them all by surprise.

Harwin then grabs Aegon moving him away from Jace and Lilibet as she helps him up, "You okay?" She asks him before Harwin and Cole start to fight because he pushes his buttons.

The kids are told to go off and Aegon grabs Lilibet's arm, "Are you insane? Striking your Prince?"

"You were going too far out there. Jace was down crawling away from you. You weren't going to stop so I stopped you." She explains to him as the two stood alone.

"Still striking your Prince. What when the time is right in the future you'll do the same to stop me from taking the throne."

Lilibet can't help but laugh at him, "What is this suddenly? You wanting the throne? Since I can remember, when we were closest, you hated the idea of it. You hated the thought of responsibilities. Now you want to be king?"

"I'm the first born son,"

She cuts him off, "Why does it have to be the son? Where is it written in the rules? Women can rule the seven kingdoms just as well. I stuck you in the yard so women can do anything." She leaves him alone.

When she rejoins Jace and Luke, Jace questions her about why she was so good at disarming Aegon. She tells him the same thing she told his mother about her father wanting her to know how to protect herself.

Lilibet has been staying in her chambers after hearing the Queen and King talking the other day after leaving a council meeting.

Alicent went on about how she would never marry her daughter off to one of Rhaenyra's plain featured sons. Then at least Lilibet had the Targaryen features and if any of her child were to marry, she'd gladly take her for either of her sons.

As she was reading, Jace enters her room alone, "Am I needed?" She puts her book down.

"I'm a bastard. Ser Harwin Strong is my real father." He tells her.

"Jace, I know." She tells him and he just stares at her, "I promised your mother I would never say a thing."

"You knew I was a bastard this whole time?"

Lilibet nods her head, "Did you know I'm also a bastard? Unlike you, I fortunately got my Targaryen genes from my father." She lets him know, "My mother and Father were had an affair. My father didn't even know I existed until my mother died and the King told him about me."

"You don't see me differently for being a bastard?"

"Of course not, Jacaerys. So what your father is Harwin Strong? He's well known and you get his strong features. I had to I'm sorry but I prefer you this way and no other way." She gives him a hug and he hugs her back.

Rhaenyra brings news to her children and Lilibet about how they were leaving for Dragonstone and she could join them or stay with the King. Lilibet of course decides to accompany them not wanting to stay in Kings Landing alone.

By the time they arrived they got a letter telling them of Laena's passing. Laenor was heartbroken by the news and Lilibet was as well. After all she saw her as a mother and she felt worst not being there with her sisters when their mother passed. She couldn't wait till she rejoins them to comfort them since she knew her father wouldn't be much help.

[queers-gambit]

I LOVE the Black Dread. It's soooo good. She'd be stubbornly undecided. I think she'd find Jacaerys irritating and even more annoying than Aemond. It might add insult to injury that even though he doesn't look like a Targaryen he's (for the most part) been given everything she should have been given despite sharing the same reasons she was not (if that makes sense). Also, how will Vermax ever entice Balerion into friendship or romance? Vermax, though cute, is a measly offer of companionship. However, she may be team Rhaenyra. Aemond on the other hand is a handsome prospect. He's a dragon rider who might acknowledge her as a Targaryen because she is a legitimate child like the Velaryons and he'd be enamoured that she claimed Balerion of all dragons. he'd be intrigued, probably into her and slightly jealous. Vhagar and Balerion have history as well. That could sway Balerion and in turn sway her. Daemon would probably admire her as well...but she seems like she'd be DONE with all of their shit. Before she picks a side she seems like she'd need payback for not being acknowledged or included before.

love this take. love this message. love the thought and consideration, the analysis. love that you picked up on a lot of the foreshadowing soon to come!

i'm working on part two which is gonna finish setting up a lot of the plot and details, and THEN we'll get into the more specified bonding moments between her and Aemond / Jace.

really excited to see what you guys think! keep the messages coming! all my love 🖤

[venusbyline]

hii weird and super off topic but did you follow or know annwrites?

She (I think, sorry) was trying to find an anon that was harassing her a LOT about the Jace stuff and yesterday dropped off the face of the earth 😭 Trying to search up the account to see what happened with the 'reveal' but it was all gone I don't know if I'm going crazy or what

sorry you're getting so much shit about your Jace stuff. Your work is AMAZING and I hope you never lose that drive ✨️

omg yes, i did. i follow her and i always read her fics. btw i'm almost sure that it was precisely with her that i talked to about i'm also receiving harassment/hate about my Jace fics in October. but now her account no longer appears to me, it's as if it had been deactivated or something like that

i'm gonna post about her situation on my blog, trying to find her or someone who knows what happened. if you find out sooner, pls let me know :(

and tysm for the compliment and your support, i'm really happy and grateful about that <3 <3 <3

unfortunately, being a ficwriter is getting more complicated every day with so much anon harassing, but we shouldn't give up <3

[vqltairstears]

i have an old oc x jace fanfic that i started writing a few months back but then dropped, kinda thinking of finishing and posting it because that man has been serving face and sass all season!!

[catsteeth]

Cold Steel Hot Skin

Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem Stark Reader 

+:✿ Request ✿:+ : part 2 - part 3

Request: “Jacaerys and FemStark!Reader have been betrothed during the whole war. Team Black wins the war and Rhaenyra is crowned queen. After Jace and the Reader are married, the night is filled with celebration. Reader pulls Jace away and gives him head while he's sitting on the throne. Sub!Jace with lots of praise and reassurance.”  CW: MDNI, SMUT, oral sex (m rec), afab reader, arranged marriage, NSFW themes, misogyny, mention of death, praise, sub jace, dom reader, mention of parental death.

Word Count: 5k

You were prepared to marry a high-born son, you were prepared for it all your life. You were taught how to make a man happy. Watch your tongue, speak little, and never your mind. Do whatever your husband commands of you, give no resistance. Smile and stay amenable. Only you were not your mother's idea of a perfect wife by nature. 

No, you were raised alongside your brothers. You favored horse riding to sewing, archery to singing, and hunting to practicing your courtesies. 

However as the threat of war drew closer, the need for the North’s strength grew more desperate. The house of the dragon did not know whose head ruled it. Aegon the drunken prince or Rhaenyra the king's firstborn. Both the greens and the blacks came to your brother, Cregan Stark who now ruled as warden of the north. They wanted the North's strength to earn their power. 

Cregan only bent his knee to Rhaenyra after he spoke with Prince Jacaerys. The men were similar in age and he felt the Prince would be better suited to the throne than his uncle. 

Though armies and power are not handed to anyone for free, in return for the North’s support, Cregan asked that his sisters be considered for one of the Queen's sons to wed, or perhaps one of his brothers for one of her nieces. 

You hoped desperately that you would be spared from this fate. You never had any interest in men or marriage. Your septa’s always told you to obey your husband. That if you didn’t perhaps he would hit you, or take you by force. Honestly, you feared a husband, they sounded like horrid creatures.

It took time to hear back, but soon a raven arrived. It said what you feared it might. The crowned prince himself would take the north’s eldest daughter to wed. 

You practiced holding your tongue and putting on a smile. You found it easy not to speak, speaking would do you no good anyway. But forcing a smile was a difficulty. 

You fidgeted with the beaded embellishments of the embroidery on your dress. Biting your cheek you stood by the door of your house's great hall. Listening to your brother and the prince speaking. “My prince, my sister Lady Stark.”

You looked at the prince cautiously. Though he was not as frightful as you thought he might be. He was quite handsome. But that did not mean he was kind. You curtseyed as you were taught to do hundreds of times. “I hope I do not disappoint you, my prince.” You spoke in a higher and softer tone than you did naturally. 

Jace took your hand, kissing your knuckles gently, “You could never, my Lady.”

He seemed gentle, and kind. 

Your fears did not rest, however. He was kind in front of you brother, a large and imposing man. That did not mean he would be kind when away from peering eyes. 

The ride in the carriage felt uncomfortable. You were frightened by him in honesty. You knew that you would wed a high-born man but never did you think you’d marry a prince, and never did you think you would become a queen.

You were unsure of him, unsure of what he was like. Would he hit you? Would he yell? He was to be the king, surely he could do whatever he liked. 

Your unease only worsened when your eyes fell back onto him, noticing that he was still looking at you. 

As soon as he noticed your uneasy gaze, he smiled to himself and looked down “I apologize I am staring.” he said shaking his head. 

You shrugged, “That’s alright. I am to be yours by law, you may stare at me if you wish to.” You were trained for this moment, this was your first willing submission.

Jace’s eyes looked up at you, his gaze narrowed at you in confusion, “I do not own you, my Lady.” He leaned forward towards you, “If I do something to displease you I wish to know.”

You felt surprised, not only was this man willing for you to be your own person but he encouraged it. He wanted you to be a participant in his life and this marriage. 

You took a breath, then dropped your doe-like expression. Replacing it with your natural stern demeanor, common in the North. “Why are you staring at me?” You asked plainly now in your natural tone. It made Jace smile. “If I do truly disappoint I have other sisters-” 

“You do not. I did not lie.” Jace interrupted you, it almost made you flinch. Perhaps you were too bold with your words. Though his eyes softened towards you, letting you relax in the warmth of his gaze. “I do not want your sisters or any other woman.” Once again he surprised you. How could he say such a thing when he did not know you? Even if he believed you to be the most beautiful woman in the world, for all he knew you could have been the most cruel woman alive. “I am staring because I am taken by you.” He finished with a soft grin.

You blushed slightly. Feeling a grin beginning to tug at the corners of your mouth, you looked away from him. “You do not know me.” You said, shaking your head.

Jace chuckled to himself, “You are skeptical. I know that now.” 

You smiled slightly at his amusement, “People should be.” you said with a raised brow. 

He smiled as he bit his lip, “And now I know you are intelligent.” he said with a nod. 

You could not hide your smile this time. You scoffed a laugh as you looked outside your carriage, noticing the large green beast in the sky flying above you. “I thought you would be on your dragon.” You said looking towards Vermax in the sky. 

“I wanted time to speak plainly with you, and Vermax is not yet big enough for two,” Jace said earnestly. You felt yourself beginning to relax in his presence. 

You looked back to Jace, “Not sure how I would fare on a dragon's back.” you said with a stifled laugh. 

“I think you’ll do fine considering you’re a skilled horse rider,” Jace said with a smirk as your eyes widened. 

Once again this prince had surprised you. You narrowed your eyes at him and leaned in forward, “You do know about me.” 

Jace smiled, stifling a laugh as he looked down, “I confess I might have read quite a bit about your family before coming here.” He looked back at you, “And then I found that I was reading quite a bit about you.” He said as if he were admitting a great secret. 

He was not lying either. When prompted with the offer of marriage, Jace was hesitant. He even suggested wedding his little brother Joffrey to one of your younger sisters. But once he began to read of your family, he found himself wanting to know more and more about you. He found himself fascinated by you, and once there was nothing left to read about you he decided he’d rather marry you. 

You felt heat dash across your cheeks as your blush revealed how much he’d flattered you. “A dull read for a Prince, I am sure.” 

He shook his head, “Far from it.” He said earnestly, his eyes looking at you as if you were a beautiful and extravagant painting. 

You and he talked the entire ride to the ship to Dragonstone. He continued to ask you questions about yourself throughout the ride. You did not ask him any in return. You did not know what to ask, what could you ever have in common with a prince? 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Once at Dragonstone, most of your days were spent completing errands for the queen, or if you were lucky, sharing a thought or opinion at the small council. She thought it was important for you to participate as you were to be queen one day.

You also spent much of your time avoiding the prince. You caught him staring at you many times, and his gaze lingered on you as you walked through a room. 

But you hardly had a moment alone to yourself. You had nary a moment to ride a horse, practice your swordplay, or even read. So once you were able to be alone, you decided to practice your archery. Although you did not know that the prince also shared that desire. 

At The top of a tall hill, was a training field. It had tall wooden targets made specifically for practicing your arrow's aim. As you made your way up the steep path to the top, you were caught off guard by the sound of an arrow hitting a wooden target that stood mere inches from where the path ended. 

You continued up the path, peering behind the wooden target to see Jace pointing his crossbow at that same target. “My prince.” You said calmly despite his aim. 

“My Lady!” Jace said surprised, and pointing the crossbow away from you, “My apologies.”

“No need.” You shrugged, “I am not maimed.”

He stifled a laugh, “I should hope not.”

You approached the wooden target, looking at the arrow that had pierced it with clear ferocity as the wood splintered and broke from the impact, “That’s quite the shot.” You said as your fingers trailed along the arrow.

“Thank you-”

You leaned against the wooden target, “Whom did you imagine it to be?” you asked looking back toward Jace.

Jace hesitated unsure if he should say, “A green.” You could tell by his tone he was holding back the truth.

“Liar.” You said with a grin. Jace looked at you surprised, never had anyone dared question him other than his family. It was refreshing to have you challenge him, “I am sure it was a green but it was more personal than that.” You said pushing yourself off of the wooden target and walking towards Jace.

“Aemond Targaryen.” He said almost immediately. You stopped your steps, feeling somewhat guilty you forced him to divulge such a personal matter. You knew of what happened to his brother. 

You looked at him gently, “Aemond should be frightened.” You said earnestly. 

“They all should be.” He said, attempting to direct his attention towards anything else, “My mother's armies are fierce and unrelenting.” 

“As are you.” You said softly as you continued to walk closer toward him, “Grief is a powerful thing, the want for vengeance even more so.”

Jace felt emotion getting the better of him. But seeing as he was to marry you, he might as well feel able to confide in you, “I miss him.” Jace said weakly.

You were silent for a moment. Unsure of how you could comfort him. But soon you spoke, “I lost mine own sister.” Jace looked at you, “She too was younger than I.” You said with a nod stepping towards him, “I am sure you read about it. It was the cold that took her. The cold wind brings sickness. It makes us northerners stronger, we suffer each sickness so that we never suffer them again.” You stopped speaking for a moment, unsure of how you could continue your story, “But for those who are too weak, too small, too fragile… The cold wind kills them.” You looked at Jace with understanding, another name for love, “I spent years angry at any gust of cold air I felt. I cannot imagine how you feel. To have a face and a name to place that anger.” Jace only looked at you, he never had someone who could understand him so well. He didn’t have the words. But you didn’t need them. You approached him, getting close to his side as you adjusted his grip on his crossbow. “You should hold the stock closer to your shoulder.” you said pushing it to the correct position for him. 

Jace looked over his shoulder to you, “I think I am in love with you.” He spoke earnestly, and softly. 

You looked back at him, “I know you are.” you spoke as earnestly as he did. 

Jace dropped his crossbow. He put your face into his hands, cupping your jaw gently. He looked at you for just a moment. He was going to ask for your permission to kiss you but you pressed your lips to his before he could. “I don’t know how I was ever frightened by you.” You smiled as he stifled a laugh and kissed you again.

You and he from that moment forth, were nearly inseparable. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

After the war was fought and over, the Blacks were victorious in their goal to retake Rhaeynra’s rightful throne. Blood was shed of course, but now that it was done with it was time for celebration. And what better way to celebrate than for a royal wedding? 

Your gown was heavy, and although you had little regard for fashions even you could appreciate how beautiful it was. 

You never thought you’d feel so proud to wear another man's cloak, adorned with the symbol and colors of his house. But you wore the black and red three-headed dragon on your shoulders with great pride and honor. 

Your pride did not subside the whole evening. After your vows and kiss were performed, you and your now husband danced in the great hall as the rest of the guests ate, sang, and danced about the room.

Jace held you closely as you danced slowly. Your eyes locked onto his, and both of you were simply dazed with happiness and love. “My husband, the dragon.” You said sweetly with your forehead pressed against his. 

Jace’s hand ran over your hair gently, careful not to disturb your intricately braided hair, “My wife, the wolf.” He said with a proud and love-drunk smile. 

Your eyes roamed the room, you could see each high-born girl looking at you with jealous eyes. It made you grin, “I think I have made every girl in the seven kingdoms green with envy.” you said leaning into Jace, your eyes still scanning the room. 

“And I have driven every man to a jealous rage.” He said with an amused smile as his eyes roamed the room as well.

“Because you’ll be king over them all.” You said gently as you closed your eyes, laying your head against his shoulder. 

He leaned in closer to your ear, “Because I’ve married the most beautiful, intelligent, and fierce woman in the known world.” He said sweetly. 

You raised your head from his shoulder, looking into his eyes. You could see the love he had for you just by his look. You did not care if it would be considered polite or not, your lips pressed against his own. He did not care either. His hand held you at the nape of your neck. 

“Daughter,” A voice called out, it startled you slightly. Daughter was a title you had not been called in years now with your parent’s cold in the crypt. You looked over to see the Queen herself. Rhaenyra looked towards her son, still holding tightly onto you. “Might I have a moment, Jace?” Jace nodded and gave you a small kiss on your temple before leaving you and your mother to speak. 

Rhaenyra took you by the arm, walking around the ballroom. “Well, I know your mother could not be here today and I suppose I wanted to give you a word of motherly advice. Political marriage can be a difficult thing to adjust to.” She said with a sigh, “Though it seems my son has had no difficulty in that regard, nor you.” She finished as she looked at you with a warm smile.

You smile back at her, though feeling somewhat embarrassed, “Your son is an honorable man, and I am honored to be his wife.” You said with a nod.

She rubbed your arm gently with her hand, “I have no doubts you will serve our house well.”

“I can only hope so. Your house has been most gracious-”

“Your house.” She corrected you, “It is your house now, my dear.” 

You did not know what to say, you’d not felt a motherly touch in so long. “Thank you, your grace.” You said with a smile and respectful nod.

“Seven blessings to you, my dear.” She said smiling, before leaving you. 

Afterward, you tried your best to reunite with your new husband, only he was nowhere to be found. As you walked around the great hall you were approached by many guests, all high-born lords and ladies who never paid you any mind before today. They all congratulated you with great respect and spoke oh so highly of you and your family. No doubt attempting to gain favor in the eyes of their future queen. Between this sudden overbearing attention, you now could not help but notice how grand this wedding was. It was far more extravagant than any wedding in the north had ever been. 

You drowned your nerves with wine. But you wouldn’t feel any better until you found Jace again. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─

Once the party was dying out like an exhausted candle, you were determined to find Jace once again.

Somewhat angry and somewhat concerned you attempted to hunt down the prince without causing concern. Soon you were pushing open the large heavy doors to the throne room.

Pushing the door open just enough to look in, you signed as you saw your husband standing in the room staring at the throne.

“I thought you ran away.” You said pushing the doors to the Throne room open. 

Jace looked over his shoulder at you and held out his hand towards you, “From the festivities. Not from you.” 

You grabbed hold of his hand, “I was quite miserable without you.” You said in annoyance with a pout as he pulled you into his side. 

His hand trailed up and down over your back soothingly, “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have left you, I won’t again, I swear it to you.” He said as his hand then snaked around your waist holding you even closer.

You nodded in agreement, “The celebration was generous, far more generous than I am used to.” You said trying not to sound ungrateful. Your fingers trailed over the lavish embroidery of dragons and fire on Jace’s overcoat. “I was happy to hear there would be no bedding ceremony,” you said casually just to tease him, your eyes still following your finger as it traced the intricate stitching of his coat.

Jace’s eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed, “You think that I would allow that?” He said with a slightly aggressive tone as he held you by your chin forcing you to look at him, “Allowing men to paw at you?” 

You couldn’t keep up your facade and your grin gave away your intentions. Jace let your chin go as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Such a protective husband you are proving to be.” You said as you kissed the corner of his mouth, “Still even if there is no ceremony-” You kissed the sensitive bit between his jawline and his neck, making him hiss, “I was rather excited for what comes after the wedding.” you said with a luscious gaze.

Jace couldn’t help but widely grin as he stifled a chuckle, “No one is more eager than I am.” He said caressing your cheek, “I just,” He sighed, “I find myself overwhelmed.”

“The war is over, and won.” You said softly, “You should be happy.” 

“I am happy.” He said assertively, not wanting you to think otherwise. Then he sighed as he looked towards the throne, “The burden is a heavy one.”

You looked towards the throne as well, “The crown was never meant to be light.” Your eyes then went back to Jace, “Those who are best fit for it proceed it in caution, not enthusiasm.” You already spoke with the wisdom of a queen.

“Are you so comfortable to assume the position of queen?” Jace asked defensively, he did not always like being proven wrong.

You were not upset by his question, “No. Quite the opposite.” You said with a shake of your head, “I always valued my privacy. Never liked having eyes on me, never liked people talking about me.” 

“Perhaps you would have been happier to marry a different man.” He sulked.

You narrowed your brows, “Is that how you feel?” You questioned him assertively, sick of his self-pity. 

His demeanor changed, becoming softer, “No.” He said holding your jaw gently, “I do not want anyone else.” 

You placed a hand on his that held your face, “I know this marriage was arranged but I am happier for it. You are an honorable man, who will make a great king.” You spoke gently.

Jace shook his head, “I have no doubt you will be a beloved queen. You are wise and caring. Born of a noble house.” He said looking at you with admiration.

“As are you.“ You said, wanting him to see himself worthy of his inheritance. 

Jace shook his head and looked down as if he were ashamed, “You know what I am.”

You rolled your eyes, “I care not for such trivial matters. You are the son of the rightful queen.” 

“And a bastard.” He said frustrated  

“And I thank the gods for it.” You said stoically, “I have a taste for men with dark hair.” Your hand combed through his dark curls.

“Funny.” He said without amusement, “But what will people think of a bastard as their king? What will they think of our children-”

“When you take the throne you will no longer be a Velaryon. You will be a Targaryen. That is not a lie. Our children will be Targaryens, that is not a lie.” You interrupted him, already defensive over your future children, “You are a dragon rider, a brave and… handsome man.” You said, trailing off in the end as your eyes admired his features, “I think you just need to get adjusted to the role is all.” You said as you took Jace’s hand, pulling him towards the Throne. “Sit.” You commanded, and be obeyed, 

Jace sat on the throne, and you were overcome with desire. He looked so powerful, and he fit in it so perfectly. There was no one else better suited to it. 

Jace however did not share your feelings, “This is foolish-” He began about to push himself out of the throne.

“Wait,” You said, placing a hand on his chest, pushing him back onto the throne. You smirked at him as you stepped closer towards him, now standing between his legs, “I quite like the look of you in this chair.” You said as you ran your hand through his hair somewhat roughly, making him look up to you. 

Jace grinned, “I quite like the look of you in this gown.” He said as his eyes trailed over your body in the ivory gown.

“Do you like it like this?” You asked as your fingers pulled at the laces of your gown, making it loosen around your shoulders, “Or like this?” You asked as your bare shoulders became exposed and you hiked up your skirts and straddled Jace’s lap.

Overcome by desire, Jace’s hands roamed your body with an untamable want, and his lips found yours with a deep hunger. Since your time in the training yard, you and Jace had kissed many, many, many times. But this was desperate, this was longing. His tongue found your own, and you never knew the warmth that would come with it. This kind of kiss was new. 

You moved your mouth to his neck, kissing down until you were unbuttoning his shirt desperate for more skin to kiss. 

He could not help but lean into your affections. His hands grasped harder onto your sides, his lips found your exposed skin. The pleasure sent a chill through your spine. You felt a candle light between your legs. Desperate for more, you began to grind your clothed cunt against his mounting excitement.

You smirked as you heard Jace gasp at your bold movements, “We can’t, not in here-” He said breathlessly.

“Why not? You’re the king.” You said softly with a gentle kiss to his neck, “My king.” You smirked at him as you opened his overcoat and blouse, admiring his body that was new to you. “You’ve kissed me before have you not? You are to fuck me tonight are you not? Why can I not sample you?” You asked sweetly, but darkly as you kissed down his chest, over his stomach, until you were kneeling in front of him between his knees as he sat on the throne. 

As your hand gently grazed over his thighs, he cupped your cheek gently. “You make me weak. I can’t contain my urges.” He said with a weak smile, too love-drunk to think.

You shook your head, “I don’t want them contained.” You said as you kissed the bulge his throbbing cock was creating beneath his constricting trousers. 

Jace tried but failed to conceal his moan of pleasure, “I’ll do whatever my queen commands of me.” he spoke breathlessly, his eyes already begging to roll back in ecstasy though he tried to maintain his composure. 

You rested your head against his thigh, teasingly close to his cock. Your eyes were that of a siren of the sea as you looked up at him, “I only wish to serve…” Your hand began to trail over toward the silk laces of his trousers, “My king.” you said as you began to free him from the confines of his clothing.

He gasped again as he watched you, “Gods be good.” 

You pulled the expensive fabric of his wedding attire down and his cock eagerly sprung out. You smirked as you looked at it, “Fit for a king.” You said with a smirk, reaching for his length, but stopping just inches before you could touch him, “Can I?” You wanted to be certain before you did it, and he eagerly and desperately nodded. As you took him in your hand he groaned in pleasure. You stroked it slowly, almost painfully slow. With each stroke, you were fixated on the noises you were drawing out of him. Desperate for more, You licked up his shaft before taking him in your mouth, or as much of him as you could take. Sucking slowly and gently, his moans and the lewd sounds from your mouth echoed throughout the empty throne room. As you released him from your mouth desperate for air, you continued to stroke him, “You taste so good.” You said breathlessly. 

Jace mewled, and took a deep breath, trying his best not to finish right then and there, “You feel so good, your mouth feels so so good.” He whined beautifully, throwing his head back against the cold steel of the throne.

You began to kiss the tip of his cock, savoring the taste of his precum as it leaked from him, “You like it?” You asked teasingly innocent. 

“Y-yes.” He stammered as he groaned

You suddenly stopped your movements, ceasing all attention you were giving him, it was enough to drive him mad as he groaned in agony, “Have you ever had a woman touch you like this?” You asked leaning your head against his thigh, as if you were completely unaware of the torture you were putting him through. 

He shook his head eagerly, “N-no, only you.”

You smirked as you took him back in your hand, “You truly are an honorable man.” You gave his cock a final kiss before you turned your attention towards his balls, taking one in your mouth. You were unfamiliar with what you were doing but somehow it came naturally. Your desire drove you in the right direction. Sucking on him as you stroked his cock.

This sensation was all too new for Jace, he threw his head back and moaned erratically, “F-f-f” he stammered

You released him, followed by a lewd noise, “You can curse.” You told him, knowing what he wanted to do. 

“Fuck…” He said as if he had resurfaced after being drowned, He looked down at you longingly, “Can I touch you?” He asked desperately. 

You couldn’t help but smile at his sweetness, “Of course, my king.” you said with a nod, taking him back in your mouth again.

His hands went to your head, petting your hair sweetly, being sure to keep your hair out of your face. His moaning only got louder, “Awh, thank you- thank you.” He whined, “You’re so beautiful.” He said as he watched you lovingly stroke and suck on his throbbing length. You squeezed him in a particular way that made his muscles twitch, “Awh! I love you-” He said, his mind empty, but meaning every word. 

You released him for just a moment to breathe, “Say it again.” you commanded before taking in your mouth again. 

You could feel his grip on your hair tightening, “I love-” He nodded, and you began to stroke fast, suck harder, “Awh!” he moaned out in pleasure as your moments picked up, “I love you, with everything I have.” He spoke breathlessly, “My wife, my queen.” 

You could feel his body tensing underneath your touch, you could feel his cock throbbing when harder, his breath and moans more erratic. You knew what was coming, so you did what he hoped to all the Gods that you wouldn’t do, and you stopped. You released him from your mouth and your touch. “Uh-uh.” You said standing up, and pulling your gown back up around your shoulders.

Jace looked at you with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows, “You tease me?” he asked desperately, attempting to catch his breath. 

You smirked at the sight in front of you, he sprawled out on the throne nearly fully exposed, “I want you to spill inside me. How else am I to give you children?” You said in a teasing tone. 

Jace huffed but smirked, knowing his release was going to be something he earned. He pushed himself back into his trousers and stood. 

He smirked at you as he began to rush you out of the throne room, no doubt towards your now shared chambers. Stopping for a moment to push you against the throne room doors to kiss you, tasting himself on your tongue. 

As your kiss was released you smiled at him, “I love you, you know?” you spoke gently.

He stifled a laugh and nodded, “I know you do.” he said before kissing you once more before pushing you out of the room and chasing you toward your chambers. 

[eldrith]

How about a sneak peak of the request ''escaped from the greens, reader..." pls🥹

anything for you darling! sneak peek (0.6k) below the cut <3 [also this is angsty bc it is a slow burn fic, but not all of it will be haha. this is the best i can give without giving too much away]

YOU ARE NOT ALONE THE NEXT TIME YOU RETURN TO THE ALCOVE OVERLOOKING THE SEA.

The moon casts a peculiar glassy reflection upon the deep; lit by torches along the ramparts, you walk with your mind in the clouds, still stuck up where you’d just been, flying with your shadow. 

You do not anticipate encountering anyone this late; A wry smile tugs at your lips as you stow the leather gloves you'd been given, their purpose fulfilled.

The Cannibal remains ever wild and unyielding - for safety’s sake, the dragon handlers have entrusted you with his tending, leaving you weary yet resolute.

As you make the final ascent to the overlook, you nearly collide with a figure seated upon the banister—a figure you had not anticipated.

“Gods!” you exclaim, your hand rising instinctively in a half-hearted gesture of defense. The figure swivels sharply at the sound, and you take an instinctive step back, the suddenness of the encounter leaving your heart racing.

Your eyes widen in recognition as you find Jacaerys, perched upon the banister, his gaze ensnared by yours.

“Prince Jacaerys,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath. His nod is stiff, and the faintest signs of sorrow reveal themselves—a reddened rim around his eyes, the tip of his nose touched with pink. The melancholy seems to hang upon him as you shift uncomfortably on your feet.

When he speaks your name, a subtle tremor betrays his composure. “I did not expect you here.”

You blink, concern stirring within you. “I was merely…” You swallow, “I often come up here for solace,” you reply, feeling the awkwardness settle between you like a heavy cloak. Jacaerys and you do not often find yourselves alone together. “I did not mean to intrude-”

“It’s alright,” he interrupts, his tone curt but not unkind as takes a step towards the stairway down. “I was just- leaving.” he discreetly wipes at his eyes, and you avert your gaze as the last vestiges of his sadness are hidden from view.

In the ensuing silence, memories of youthful nights emerge unbidden - the cruelty of your brothers, the growing disdain in Jacaerys’ gaze when he’d see your family within the Red Keep, his chilliness despite your earnest attempts at childish friendship. You wonder if he too recalls these days, as the weight of those shared shadows lingers between you. 

Sometimes, it seems to be the solitary thread that binds your past to his.

He’s been crying - those large eyes, glossy with the remnants of sorrow. A pang hits your stomach - Jacaerys, who stands in front of you in his traditional Targaryen clothes, yet was just perched upon the banister like a young boy; Jacaerys, who cannot afford to let his head dip down because one day he must bear a very heavy crown.

You almost say something; there are hundreds of words you could say to Jace, but it is not your place. Your shoulder is not the one he chooses to lean on, to cry on. You are not his betrothed. 

“You don’t have to leave, my Prince-” You say, but he shakes his head suddenly.

“-I’d rather you call me Jacaerys when we are not at court.” His voice softens slightly, though his eyes struggle to stay on yours. “I find it’s too formal.” He adds, fingers toying with the dark band that lies around his finger.

When you were young, Helaena often played with her rings similarly when anxious. The memory makes your chest ache.

"Jacaerys," you start tentatively, “It’s... alright,” you murmur, struggling to find the right words. “To take a moment. To breathe and... reflect.”

Though you need not utter his brother’s name, Jacaerys understands you speak of him; of the war’s relentless shadow.

You can only feign ignorance as he bites back his anguish, jaw tightening and breath hitching in a suppressed sob. A tear is wiped away from his cheek expeditiously; your eyes find the black waters along the horizon. With an effort of courtesy, Jacaerys excuses himself in a whispered tone.

His final nod is but a swift and false gesture—an empty formality, yet a small, tentative bridge over the chasm that has long kept you apart.

You do not let your own tears come until his figure has well disappeared within the depths of the castle below.

[ taglist: @chloe-petrichors @jottositto @bitchydragonparadisee @lukehughes43 @rhea-ripley ]

[starogeorgina]

𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞

Paring: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen reader , Aegon II Targaryen × Targaryen reader

Warnings: Swearing, smut

1.03

“If you come to Dragonstone with me, I promise I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

Your lower lip wobbles. You wanted to leave with him, but realistically, it wasn’t plausible. “And what happens once we arrive at Dragonstone? Your mother and Prince Daemon just accept me with open arms?”

Jacaerys looks down at his feet. He knew they wouldn’t trust you, nor would they likely wish for you to be in their home. “No, they wouldn’t at first,” he gulps down. “But we could make them see you played no part in the plan of usurping my mother's throne.”

“I didn’t even know my father had died until servants were sent to help me get dressed for Aegon’s coronation. How can I prove that?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“Whatever road I take, I’ll end up in the same situation.” Feeling uncomfortable, you unconsciously pick at the skin surrounding your finger nail until it bleeds. “If I return home without Stark’s backing Aegon, I will need to face the wrath of being a failure and disappointment to my family. If I go with you to Dragonstone, and I bend my knee to Rhaenyra I’m leaving my sister and her children with the vipers.”

Suddenly your hands are pried apart. “Stop hurting yourself.”

The authority in Jacaerys tone takes you by surprise. Like most dragons, he had a fiery temper, but this was different. It was as if he was putting all his built-up rage aside to protect you. Meekly, you say, “habit.”

Jacaerys inspects your fingertips, frowning as he takes in the older cuts along with the newer ones. He turns your left hand over and runs his thumb over your palm. “I remember playing outside in the gardens when you fell and cut your hand. I’m surprised it didn’t scar.”

“I remember…” Despite your eyes becoming glossy, a chuckle escapes your lips. “My mother somehow blamed you for my falling, and you hid in your quarters for days.”

“I hid in my quarters because Ser Harwin saw me attempt to kiss your hand; I thought my mother and father would be mad when he told them.”

You smile; this was the first time you heard his version; all you remember clearly was your mother yelling in the privacy of her apartments that the ‘eldest bastard’ was to blame. “I’m guessing they weren’t?”

“Once I explained that I wanted to comfort you, she went to visit King Viserys and proposed our betrothal.” He lets go of your hands and moves his own up to gently cup your face.

“Things could have been so different if my grandsire hadn’t gotten into my mother's head. Do you think we would have been happy?”

“We still could be.”

You feel as if the air has been sucked from your lungs, making it hard to breathe. “Wh-what do you mean?” Jacaerys couldn’t possibly be implying what you thought he did. “What do you mean we still could be?”

“Marry me, here in Winterfell.”

“You have more courage than any knight I know for even suggesting such a thing.”

A smile curls on his lips. “It’s not a jest. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember; if you say no, I will respect that. But if you agree, for the rest of my life, I will spend every day loving you and keeping you safe. Nobody will ever be able to hurt you again.”

His eyes follow your movement as you bring his fingers to your mouth and plant a gentle kiss on them. “My sweet prince, we cannot. Aegon told me, If I betray him, then it’s your life he will take.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

—

Since Northern wedding vows were shared in front of a weirwood tree in the presence of the old god that they believed in, you wanted to be careful not to offend them with your Old Valyrian custom, so Jacaerys purposed you did the ceremony yourselves, outside, surrounded by nothing but the moonlight and your dragons flying above.

You cut each other's lips with a blade made of dragonglass. Jacaerys cuts his hand and rubs a mark on each of your foreheads to signify the continuation of your bloodline. You pledge to each other, “one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

“I’ve va moriot jorrāelatan ao.”

“My sweet Jacaerys, I feel the same way.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and saying everything you wish becomes difficult. Jace leans down, pressing his cold lips against your own. An electric spark you’ve never felt passes through you; it was strong enough to make the snow nipping at your skin momentarily disappear. You wanted this; you wanted him. Jacaerys finally being yours felt surreal—a dream you didn’t want to wake up from.

He pulls back slightly and mumbles against your lips, “We should go back inside. I don’t want my bride to catch a cold.”

—

Nervously, you walk towards the bed covered in layers of fur and find yourself almost digging at your nails again, but when you feel a gentle kiss pressed to the back of your neck, the tension you're holding eases slightly, but the butterflies in your stomach aren’t completely gone.

“We don’t need to do anything,” Jacaerys says quietly. “We are married now; there is no rush.”

You did want to be intimate with Jace, but now that you were standing here, you felt unworthy of him. Bruises from Aegon holding you tightly still lingers on your skin, and it made you feel disgusting.

“I do, but... I’m afraid of what comes next,” you admit. “The repercussion of—”

He cuts you off with a kiss and says, “Whatever happens next, I’ll protect you.”

For once you hold your tongue, not wanting to loudly question how impossible that would be, You sigh, “I wish I could turn all the thoughts in my brain off, even for a short time, so I could revel in my husband's warmth.”

“I could help with that.”

Curious, you lock eyes with him. “What do you mean?”

“I could make you feel good without having sex, but only if you wish it.”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you nod. You weren’t entirely sure what his plan was, but you trusted Jace enough to follow through with his words. Taking your hand, he guides you to lay back on the bed. He kisses down your neck. “Promise me, you’ll tell me if you want me to stop.”

“I promise.”

Jacaerys kisses down your clothed body until he reaches your thighs. He pushes your skirts up to your waist, then slowly pulls your small cloth down. You await the stinging stretch of Jace pushing his cock into you at any second, but instead you feel his hot breath on your core. “Wh—what are you doing?”

“I’m going to taste the sweetest thing the gods ever made.”

“Do you mean—oh fuck!”

Jace spreads your folds open with his fingers, then dips his tongue inside of you.

“Gods, that feels good!”

One of your trusted ladies in waiting once told you that a gold cloak had ‘eaten her cunny’ and shared how good it felt. Ever since you had been curious about the act, this was far better than anything you could have imagined. Jace hooks his arms around your thighs, holding you in place while turning his attention to your clit and flicking over it with his tongue.

Lewd moans fall from your mouth as the coil in your stomach snaps, and you reach the first climax a man has ever given you.

Jace wipes his glistening lips and chin with his sleeve before moving up the bed and laying beside you. He presses a soft kiss to your lips, then gently caresses the soft flesh of your thigh. “We don’t need to go any further.“

“I want you, Jace; I want this.”

Hearing those words fall from your lips, he quickly lowers his breeches until his hard cock springs free. Jace rolls over, lines himself up with you, and slowly begins to push inside you. His thrusts are gentle as his touch is soft, making you feel cared for, almost safe. Jace peppers your neck in kisses while bringing his thumb to your clit and starts to rub it, taking great pleasure in how tightly you squeeze him. “Gods,” he moans. “You’re so perfect, my love; I think you were made for me.”

Tears threaten to fall from your eyes, but you fight to hold them back, not wanting to ruin the moment. Jace notices and immediately stops his movements. “Am I hurting you? Do you want me to stop?”

“No, keep going, please, please!”

Slowly he starts to thrust into you again; he seems unsure until you wrap your legs around his waist, which encourages him to go faster again. It doesn’t take long for you to reach your peak for the second time, and Jacaerys isn’t far behind.

—

Your fingers glide over Jacaerys bare back as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. The both of you were sticky with sweat, but you’d stopped caring hours ago.

While being so caught up in making love, Jacaerys hadn’t noticed the bruises on your body until he collapsed, panting and gasping beside you. If it wasn’t for exhaustion overtaking him, he would still be expressing his fury.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, his voice laced with sleep.

“How the sun is rising.”

Looking out the window, you can see the orange and pink hues of the sky, and the snowfall is becoming heavier. You take a deep breath, feeling the cool morning air fill your lungs.

Whatever happens next, you must remember that you’re the blood of the dragon, and you must be strong.

I’ve always loved you — I’ve va moriot jorrāelatan ao

[brokenmenswhore]

release | jacaerys velaryon

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader

summary: jace is on the brink of snapping and lashing out toward his mother and her council for their lack of action against the greens, so you give him another outlet for his frustration

warnings: smut (MDNI 18+), rough sex, jace is a lil rough & feral in this one, threats (reader consents but may appear as noncon/dubcon)

────── ☾ ──────

“And what of those who sent him?” Jacaerys snapped, questioning his mother as they buried yet another body.

He was angry. He couldn’t help but lose people. Everyone around him kept fleeing or dying, and he tried desperately to hold his tongue, but his patience was slipping. War was inevitable, and he was frustrated at his mother’s lack of action toward the opposing force. He wanted revenge, retaliation, and most of all, he wanted to be the one to give it.

As the eldest son, however, he tried not to cause a scene, knowing he played an important role in this war, and hoping that his silence and unwavering support of his mother’s decisions would breed the proper trust that was needed to allow him more involvement and access in the war.

He was evidently tense at council meetings. His tongue was becoming sharper with each sentence related to the war. He couldn’t help it. He pushed through the doors to your chambers, angry and frustrated from the events of the day.

He stopped short when he saw you turn in your chair to face him. Taking a deep breath, the tension in his body dropped. “I need a hug.”

You smiled, standing and approaching him, wrapping your arms around his waist. You remained a step lower than him in the entrance. He rested his chin on the top of your head.

“I just don’t understand why she won’t do anything,” he began, “I know she doesn’t want this war. I don’t want this war, but it’s happening. We have all lost so much, and it will not stop. Why won’t she do something?”

“Perhaps she believes it can still be avoided,” you responded.

“How much blood from my family must be split before she realizes it can’t?”

Your heart ached for him. You wanted to hold him in the hug forever, curing all his pain and never letting him out of the room.

“I’m sorry, Jacaerys.”

“It is not a fault of yours,” he replied, “it is just exhausting. I wish for a break from all of this, even if just momentary. I feel as if any moment, I may break, and I do not wish to take these frustrations out on my mother or her council. It would only cause the situation to worsen.”

You looked up at him, “then take it out on me.”

“What?”

“Take your frustrations out on me, Jace.”

“You do not deserve such treatment.”

You sighed, “but I am asking for it. Allow yourself to have an outlet. Why else am I here?”

Jacaerys was bewildered, “you are not here for me to take my anger out on. I would not do such a thing.”

“I wish for you to relax. I would not speak the offer if I did not mean it. Please, Jace.”

Jace leaned down to kiss you, initiating a sweet, intimate kiss before his frustrations took over and he deepened the kiss, gripping your thighs, causing you to jump and wrap your legs around his waist. He continued to kiss you as you clung to his shoulders, his steps towards the bed shaking you and causing you to nearly fall.

The Velaryon prince was usually quite nice to you, making sure to take things slow and constantly checking in on your comfort and pleasure. He would typically slowly drop your back onto the mattress, but tonight, he quite literally pushed you down, keeping your legs wrapped around his waist as he kissed you into the mattress.

You moaned at the eagerness of it all, Jace’s hands running up and down your side, gripping your waist and pushing your hips down, until your legs were no longer wrapped around his body. Never breaking the kiss, he lifted up your nightdress, his fingers finding their way under your small clothes, not giving you time to ease into it as he began roughly rubbing circles on your clit.

You squealed into the kiss. Jace moved to begin sucking bruises into your neck, his hair falling in front of his face, as he continued to rub you. You couldn’t help but moan, trying your hardest to remain as quiet as possible, since his little brother’s chambers were just a wall away.

“He’s not here,” Jace groaned.

You could barely speak. “What?”

“He’s not in his chambers. He’s out with Arrax. Stop holding back,” Jace demanded, “wanna hear what I’m doing to you.”

This controlling nature was a change, but you didn’t mind it at all. You stopped trying to quiet yourself, a moan of his name leaving your lips as he pushed a finger into you.

“That’s it,” he cooed, “you sound so pretty.”

“T-thank you,” you responded.

Jacaerys didn’t stop curling his finger inside of you, but giggled, “did you just thank me?”

“Mhm,” you moaned.

“You’re too cute,” he said, breaking his frustrated and controlling demeanor for a second, the compliment making your heart swell as he continued to fuck you with his fingers.

He felt you start to squeeze, and he immediately pulled his hand away from you. You sighed in disappointment.

He lifted you from under your arms, shifting you so you were sitting up, as he began to undo his breeches.

“I just wish I could go to King’s Landing,” he started, pushing his small clothes down and allowing his cock to be free, “I’d kill every last one of them.”

He gripped your hair, pushing your face down until it was level with his cock. “Open.”

You did as he told you, opening your mouth as he pushed his cock into your mouth, immediately hitting the back of your throat. He was big, too big to fit completely in your mouth, but you were getting better and better at breathing through your nose to avoid gagging around his cock.

“Not today,” he sighed, “stop holding back or I’ll fuck it out of your throat.”

You listened to him, forgetting everything you know about avoiding gagging, and allowing him to direct your head up and down, his cock hitting the back of your throat with every single thrust. You gagged and choked around him, but he didn’t let up.

“They think they’re so big and bad,” he said, breathy from the pleasure of your mouth around him, “if only they were around me. I could take all of them. I could end their whole fucking line.”

He began to thrust his hips at a vicious pace. You had no choice but to take it, trying your best to continue sucking and swirling your tongue around the head of his cock as he fucked your mouth mercilessly.

“I’d end their whole. fucking. line,” he said again, speaking through each thrust and throwing his head back in pleasure.

“Fuck, get up, I’m not done with you yet,” he commanded, pulling you off of him to stop himself from coming before he wanted to.

You didn’t dare adjust your position without his say so. You sat there waiting for him to put you where he wanted you. He flipped your body over, pressing your face into the pillow as he pulled your hips up to meet his. He took both of your wrists in one hand, locking them behind your back as his other hand guided his cock into your entrance and then moved to your waist as he started rocking into you, pushing you further and further into the mattress.

Your body folded and became weak, as much of you falling into the bed as was possible, the only thing keeping your hips upward was the rough grip Jacaerys had on them. You whined and moaned, your entire body rocking forward with each snap of his hips.

“Seven hells,” he breathed out, his pace never relenting, “are you still okay?”

“Mhm,” you moaned out, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Shit, I hate not being able to hear you,” he said, pulling out of you and flipping your body so you were flat on the mattress, facing him. “That’s better,” he smiled, immediately fucking back into you with no warning.

You cried out, grabbing his face and kissing him through the intensity. He grunted into the kiss, having never fucked you, or anyone for that matter, this hard before. All of his pent up rage and frustration was being taken out on your cunt.

Your back arched off the mattress, Jace taking the opportunity to wrap an arm around your waist, holding you even closer to him.

He spoke with every thrust, “I. Want. Revenge.”

“I k-know,” you moaned out.

“I. Want. Fucking. Revenge.”

It was overwhelming, and the intensity with which he was fucking you started to make your head cloudy. “J- Jace, it’s too m-“

Jacaerys cut you off by kissing you, doing everything he can to stop your words. “You can take it, baby.”

“I c-“ the pressure was so intense. You could feel your walls start to squeeze around his cock, and his pace was relentless.

“You can,” he said, looking directly into your eyes, “and you will.”

You nodded and let him continue splitting you open on his cock, dropping your waist down to the mattress again as he fucked into you, hands rough on your waist as they pushed you down.

Your eyes filled with tears. Jacaerys had never seen you like this, crying from the intensity, sweat sticking your hair to your forehead as you writhed under him. He didn’t know he was capable of making you feel like this, and he didn’t know you would look so fucking pretty as a result.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled, “I’m close.”

You couldn’t even respond, you just continued to whine and moan under him, watching his face contort as he released inside of you. The final few thrusts of his hips were cruel, his large length hitting that spongy spot inside of you that made you see stars. Through his high, he could feel you close, and he forced himself to continue pushing in and out of you until you met your climax.

Your legs shook as a wave of pleasure washed over you, your entire body eventually melting into the bed with weakness. Jace waited a moment before pulling out of you, kissing you as he did so.

You tried hard to catch your breath, but it took you longer than you anticipated. Jace, ever so attentive, looked down at you and asked, “you okay?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “I should start making you mad.”

[dreammfyre]

the heir's favorite ⋆ jacaerys velaryon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That didn't sit well with your brother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Looks like I'll be staying."

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

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

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

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

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

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