#jace velaryon fanfic

[catsteeth]

Cold Steel Hot Skin

Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem Stark Reader 

+:✿ Request ✿:+ : part 2

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. 

[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

[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 ]

[sheismadness]

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 🖤

[welldonebeca]

The Talk

Summary: After Jace's birth, Laenor needs to explain something important to the Velaryons. WC: 2.1k words Warnings: Safewords for children. Fluff. A little bit of angst. Hurt/Comfort. Family fluff. Modern AU with the Targaryens. Talk of sex, but nothing explicit. Breastfeeding.

Keeping Up With the Targaryens - Masterlist 

Rhaenyra gazed upon the sweet little boy in her lap, the dark-haired version of the childhood pictures her parents so proudly showed off so much. Dad said he looked just like her.

Jacaerys, Jacaerys, Jacaerys.

How did someone manage to flip her life so suddenly in seven days that she didn't even remember what fear felt like?

She was sure all babies looked beautiful to their parents, but her baby was so gorgeous. What a beautiful boy.

Rhaenyra barely cared for the time it took for them to have him.

Everyone was pestering them so much since the day after their honeymoon, asking about when they would have a child, and when they would give their parents a grandchild and would combine the bloodline once and for all.

Poor Laenor had suffered so much when they found out he was the one who couldn't have children.

But they had their little Jace now, a gift from Harwin - even though Laenor had lied to his face and said the baby wasn't his son.

Her boyfriend really was giving her everything Daemon once promised her he would give her.

A knock on the door of the nursery made her raise her eyes, finding Rhaenys on the other side.

She had come to help her and Laenor with the baby, considering she didn't know much about having kids around and Alicent was too busy carrying for her own baby now - her third little sibling, Aemond - to even offer help.

But she squeezed her baby closer with how heavy her eyes were on them.

Laenor's mother could see right through her, right through her baby boy.

Corlys and her father had adored him so much since they found out they were having a boy, and even more when he was born, but the moment Rhaenys' eyes fell on Jace, it was as if something had changed.

Something had flipped.

Still, she came to help. Rhaenys set herself in the guest room and taught Rhaenyra and Laenor everything about kids that she could possibly tell. How to bathe him, how to clean him and feed him. She was better than any nanny they had around, she was a mother.

"Laenor sent me to check on you," she told her. "To see if Jace had fallen asleep already."

Rhaenyra looked at her boy, snoozing already, her breast abandoned.

"He has," she caressed his dark hair. "I... I guess I didn't realise it."

Her mother-in-law walked to her, taking the baby from her arms slowly and placing him in the crib, and she tried not to squeeze him close as she did.

This was her baby!

She should be able to hold her baby!

"Corlys and your father are here," Rhaenys told her. "Laenor said he wanted to talk to us about something important."

Rhaenyra swallowed down.

Already?

"Of course," she mumbled, covering herself again.

Rhaenys offered her an arm to stand up slowly and supported her weight as they walked down the stairs. The doctor had recommended that she walked, even though it still ached quite a bit.

She had pushed a human out of her vagina a week ago. Of course it hurt to walk! It hurt to do a lot of things.

The moment he saw them, Laenor rushed to her side, and Rhaenyra was grateful for his hands on her as she walked to him, supporting her on her last steps and onto the couch, and she exchanged a quick nod with Corlys, who was waiting for them.

"Rhaenyra," her father smiled, sitting by them.

"How is Jace?" Laenor asked. "Are you tired? Do you need anything?"

She smiled a bit.

"I'm alright," she assured him. "Jace is sleeping, we have a minute."

He nodded, sitting her on the couch.

"I'll ask the cook for a smoothie for you," he told her.

But Rhaenyra held his hand before he could go.

"Your mother said you wanted to talk," she reminded him. "Our parents are here."

Laenor sat back down, looking nervous and fidgeting on his spot. Her father reached for her, kissing her hand gently, but said nothing.

"Are you sure?"  her husband asked.

But Rhaenyra squeezed his hand.

Whatever he wanted to do, then it was best that they got done with it.

Her husband took a long breath and reached for the table by the side of the couch, pulling a folder.

Oh. It was that folder.

"I can see how you're curious about Jace's appearance," he stated, at last.

Rhaenyra watched his parents, Rhaenys' shoulders falling as Corlys turned to look at her.

So she had said something to him.

Laenor moved his fingers nervously, and she couldn't quite look at her father.

Gods, this was going to be an embarrassing moment.

"We've been trying to have children since our honeymoon," he told them.

All parents frowned a little.

"Well, we can see it in Jace," Corlys pointed out.

"A healthy boy," her father added.

Laenor sighed. Rhaenyra was little more than a watcher now. This was his moment of stating his position.

"Well, we struggled," he told them, his face hard. "And after many months of us trying and nothing happening, we thought it was best to see a doctor."

Rhaenyra reached for him, squeezing his hand and rubbing his arm, and Laenor gave his parents the first paper.

His exams.

Rhaenys ran her eyes over the paper, looking a bit confused, and passed it to her husband.

Corlys seemed much more familiar with them, and when he showed it to her father, he nodded silently.

"They said it's because of... well..." he looked for words.

There was no way of softening the blow. The doctor had blamed inbreeding, which was even more upsetting for Laenor.

Truth be told, Rhaenyra was way more inbred than him. Her parents were cousins, her father's parents were cousins, and his grandparents - the last two direct ancestors she shared with Laenor - were brother and sister!

When she was a kid, they even had her tested to make sure she didn’t have any blood mutation, and she was alright.

By some crazy strike of luck, she had no consequences.

But Laenor did.

"Inbreeding," she told them.

The room stiffened, and Laenor cleared his throat before they could say anything.

"It is very unlikely that I can produce a viable child," he declared at last. "We tried to take some of my few living sperm and do IVF, but they did not recommend that."

She squeezed his hand more, raising it to her face and kissing his knuckles, knowing how much it hurt him.

"And what about Jacaerys?" her father asked.

Rhaenyra looked at him, but he didn't look like he was accusing them of anything. He was curious.

"They worked with donations," Rhaenyra mumbled.

Laenor looked at her and then at them.

"Rhaenyra let me choose who it would be," he told their parents. "He is a doctor in cardiology and a fencing champion. We paid for extra genetic tests, and he doesn't have any mutation or disease… anything that could affect the baby negatively. We made sure the baby would be as healthy as possible."

She looked at them. Everyone was quiet, locked in their own minds, but Rhaenys moved her eyes to her again.

Softer now.

Almost with pity.

"So we got a few embryos," he told them. "And nine or ten months ago, Rhaenyra had two of them inserted."

Her father perked up.

"Two?" he asked.

She squeezed Laenor's hand. Gods, he didn't need to go so far with his lie.

Yes, they had their troubles, and yes, they had looked for a donor, but there were no embryos. There was just Harwin.

In the... conventional way.

"It made pregnancy more likely," she told them. "And we have Jace now."

Laenor exhaled, and she knew that it was taking everything in him not to show how sad he was, how hard everything was on him.

She kissed his cheek softly, caressing the other one with her hand, resting her forehead against his temple and closing her eyes.

Rhaenyra loved him. Not as a lover, but as her dearest friend.

They were closer than ever before, sharing a house, and raising a child together!

He was her best friend and seeing him suffering pained her so much.

"Do you know what he looks like?" his mother asked. "The donor?"

He shook his head, and Rhaenyra pulled away to look at them before doing the same.

"I chose not to," he told her, simply. "We wanted him for his health, not for his appearance."

Laenor squeezed Rhaenyra's hand tightly and sat up straighter.

"I am telling you all of this now because I can see Jace doesn't look like what you expected him to," he told them. "And I don't want anyone to treat him differently if he turns out to look different. He is healthy, and he is our son, that’s all that matters. So now you all know about him, and we can count on all of you."

Her father smiled, and Corlys and Rhaenys nodded sharply.

"Of course," her father-in-law confirmed before anyone else. "He is our grandson."

“How many embryos do you still have?!” she asked Rhaenyra.

She turned to look at Laenor surprised by the question.

“Three of them,” she told her. “We are still going to decide how long to wait between their births.”

Laenor nodded and squeezed her hand.

“What about the donor?” Corlys asked. “What’s their… policy.”

He patted her hand.

“We can meet him if we want to,” he told them. “He allowed us to make contact once we were ready.”

“Why would you?” Rhaenys asked, frowning. “He is just a donor.”

Right. A donor.

Not her bodyguard.

Rhaenyra shrugged.

“If Jace wants to hear about the other side of his ancestry, if the donor finds out he has some disease he wasn’t tested for…” she listed the options the clinic had given them. “Or even just meet him. We can’t stop him if he is old enough to understand our decision.”

But Laenor squeezed her fingers, interrupting them.

“We will cross that bridge once we get to it,” he decided, at last. “Viserys.”

Her father turned to look at him.

“If you could discuss it with Alicent,” he asked. “So we are all on the same page.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “She sent you a gift, Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra perked up.

A gift?

When was the last time Alicent had gifted her anything? Since she had gotten with her father it was like they had never even been friends before.

Her father stood up, picking up a big bag and taking it to them, and Laenor held it open for her to dig into it.

A towel embroidered with Jace’s name, similar to the ones she had for all of her kids. Baby clothes, little shoes and… a suit?

She pulled it out, confused.

Beige shapewear?

She turned it around, finding a card, and opened it with a frown.

“What’s that supposed to be?” Laenor asked.

‘My secret to bouncing back quickly. My trainer, aesthetician and dietician are waiting for your call’.

Rhaenyra looked down at herself, her belly still big as if her son was in it.

Oh.

She forced herself to smile up at her father.

“Lovely,” she nearly spat out. “It’s… lovely. Thank you.”

Father smiled, near clueless, and Rhaenys pressed her lips together.

They heard a whine upstairs, warning them of Jace’s awakened state.

“I’ll go check on him,” Laenor told them. “Rhaenyra, you should rest.”

“I’ll help her up,” his mother offered quickly. “You need a good nap,”

She didn’t protest. Yes, she was pretty tired.

They walked up to her bedroom, past Laenor as he changed Jace, humming their little song to him in the nursery.

“You don’t need to wear that,”  her mother-in-law said just as she sat on her bed.

Rhaenys knelt, taking her shoes.

“Jacaerys is barely a week old, you should be worried about recovering, not bouncing back.”

Rhaenyra tried not to scoff. That was easy to say, she didn’t have magazines photographing her everywhere she went or photoshoots to attend.

Besides, Rhaenyra was a model. Part-time, yes, but… still.

People expected things of her.

A single cover of Rhaenyra posing cradling her belly two months ago had broken the record of sales for the last decade! Jace was still in her belly, and he already had a huge trustfund waiting for him just from that photoshoot.

The announcement of his birth was on the newspapers!

“I know,” she lied anyway.

Rhaenyra could be a good mother and still be Westeros It-Girl.

She just needed a couple of months to get back to her usual shape.

Her mother-in-law helped her lay down, and sighed before sitting on her bed.

“I’m sorry,” she apologised. “I might have misjudged you.”

Rhaenyra looked at her, a bit confused, though she knew what she was talking about.

“I wish you had told me what you were doing through,”  she noted. “I would be there to help.”

She reached for her, squeezing her hand. Gods, this wasn’t something she wanted to talk about now.

“Laenor was a great partner during it,” she told her. “You raised a good son. He is a good husband, and a good father. Jace is very loved.”

She nodded calmly.

“Yes, he is,” she agreed. “By all of his family.”

At last, Rhaenys stood.

“Rest,” she commanded her. “My grandson is in good hands.”

. . .

. . .

"The Talk" is a story of the "Keeping Up With the Targaryens" series, and was posted in my Patreon in the 18th of February. To read other stories in the series before anyone else, subscribe to my page! It's just $2 a month and I post every day.

. . .

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[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]

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.

[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

────── ☾ ──────

“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.”

[withjinkoo]

I don't want him, I need him!

˗ˏˋ A Golden Crown ˎˊ˗ Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x aunt/targ!fem!reader [part two of a golden cage] words: 11.3k SORRY synopsis: "Princess? Is it true, you can see the entire world on dragonback?” notes: hello im back with the second part to a golden cage! follows a non-canon timeline/events; characters aged-up to 20/21. They are a bit insane for each other in this one <3 oops<3 warnings: canon-typical mentions of war/violence, canon-typical incest, brief mention of blood, angst/grieving, hand kink, less enemies to lovers and more yearning, switch!Jace this time, hair pulling kink, oral (f&m receiving), mentions of virginity/experience, fingering, improper use of High Valyrian again (and obviously idk if its correct nor do i care), they have a bit of a marriage kink i fear feedback is appreciated <3 requests open. masterlist

DAWN HAS BARELY LICKED THE COAST WHEN YOU ARE SUMMONED TO THE QUEEN’S APARTMENTS. 

A concealed yawn, flushed cheeks - sleepily, you exchange whispers with your handmaids as your hair is styled and a dress is laced onto your waking frame. A quiet morrow, spurred by the diminishing dark blanket of night and and the beginnings of chirping birds as you eye the guards that meet you at your chamber doors with confusion. 

They stand tall, their armor glinting in the rising light - you stare, somewhat foolishly, with suspicion - You’ve never had personal guards here at Dragonstone, but as they begin to escort you, a sinking feeling falls into your stomach. 

Last night, your mind whispers, they found out about last night. A foolish anxiety, you realize; there were no guards in the hall between you and Jacaerys’ rooms - you’d delivered a story of sneaking to the kitchens to your handmaidens upon returning, telling them your dinner had been interrupted and you’d amended your hunger. 

You had, in a way - but not down in the kitchens.

The click of soled shoes down the stone hall masks the sharp inhale you let out at such vivid memories - waking up this morning, still syrupy with remnants of your previous night between your thighs and a desire to feel him against you. You wonder, absently, what Jacaerys did once he returned to his quarters last night; the thought burns your cheeks further. 

You do not even consider your own concern until you are crossing halls to the eastern wing of the castle; your brows furrow when you ask softly what the meaning of this early meeting is - silence is your answer. 

The pebble in the pit of your stomach sinks lower when you turn the hall towards the Queen’s council chamber - Baela and Rhaena walk from the Southern quarters, their own confusion upon their faces. “Good morrow,” You greet them, blinking at the absence of guards accompanying them; Baela’s brow furrows in return. “Good morrow,” she responds cautiously. “Why such early summons?”

Rhaena nods in agreement, her eyes scanning the corridor behind you as if searching for answers; a gentle grasp of your forearm before you’re all three leaning together, heads hovering in a conspiratorial whisper. “Did you hear anything? Did something happen last night?”

You feel yourself turn hot rather instantly, innocent as the question is: 

Did something happen last night? You’re reminded rather vividly of what activities you found yourself engaging in last night; Jacaerys, with his smooth hands and scorching stare, lips kiss-bitten, whispering to you in High Valyrian. The muscles of your inner thighs, burning with strain even when you awoke, the memory of his breath against your core and his mouth against yours. 

Instantly you shake your head, a mix of embarrassment and concern knitting your brows; “No, nothing I know of. I thought perhaps you both might know something - my guard hasn’t said a word since he escorted me.” You recover quickly. 

The three of you exchange uneasy glances and relent the odd undercurrent of urgency as you push through the threshold into the council chamber. A burst of air, cooling against your beating heart, brings you flanked with your cousins to face the strategy room. 

The gentle smell of morning tea and fruits welcome your empty stomach with a grumble and you bow at your Queen sister, who stands at the head. 

The long, wooden table is surrounded - your uncle, nodding to his daughters as they take their places standing next to him, Rhaenys and the Maester just across from them; Joffrey and the babies are absent, likely in their playroom with the nannies. You swallow - the air is thick with some anxious energy and you are quick to divert the attention from you as you take place aside Rhaenys. 

No moment after you have just graced your Queen and the others at the council with a good morrow do the large wooden doors creak open once more.

 Jacaerys, freshly shaven and hair still damp from bath, enters. The morning light yawns into the room - redder, more orange than the quiet whispers of eve, the sun off of Dragonstone sends streaks through the obsidian and into the honey of Jacaerys’ eyes. 

The prince is addressed by nods and murmured greetings from the room as he takes his place at the table - a tightness grows in your throat as his eyes, laced with curiosity, search until they land on you. 

His movements do not falter; practically, dutifully, Jacaerys stands before his place, hands falling onto the top of the carved chair. They are long, with slender fingers that curl over the top, veins that split off in deltas before rosy knuckles and two dark signet rings- capable hands. You blink hard, skipping your gaze over his hands and up - to his shoulders, the same ones he’d so dutifully laid your thighs upon as he knelt between your legs just last night- 

You snap your eyes, forcing them to him in a wash of embarrassment over your scandalous thoughts. 

As he comes to find his place, he gives a small nod to you, a gentle dimple poking his cheek in the short shadow of morning. Torturous. 

You look away quickly as you try to cast out all thoughts of him; you cannot bear the smirk you see growing upon his lips in your peripheral vision as you wait for the Queen to take her seat.  

It isn't until she bids you all seated that you notice what lies in front of her, and with it grows a fear deep within your breast. With a dry swallow, you watch as Rhaenyra takes into her hands a raven’s letter.

The broken wax has crumbled, but its seal bears the unmistakable sigil in its dark green wax: the Iron Throne.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice.” She begins, “We received early this morning a message from King’s Landing.” 

You shift in your seat, heart pounding, feeling Jacaerys' presence across from you even without looking at him; The atmosphere is charged with the weight of Queen Rhaenyra’s voice as glances are thrown around. You catch Baela’s eye, the concern of your own mirrored in her expression. 

“From the Hand of the King, Ser Otto Hightower,” Rhaenyra begins, her voice steady, laced with an undercurrent of steel, “It has come to our attention that the Dowager Queen Alicent’s eldest daughter has been kidnapped from King’s Landing.”

A breath falls from your lips, eyes widening in surprise. A murmur of concern ripples through the room, but Queen Rhaenyra continues, her voice unwavering.

This is a grave violation: This coerced departure is a grave misstep and betrayal of her responsibilities to the Crown - constituting the highest treason as sister to the King. Immediate return is demanded to rectify this misunderstanding - failure of this will constitute unavoidable consequences.”

Daemon, leaning to pour himself some tea, lets out a dark chuckle. “Treason, they say. More like liberation from their clutches.” 

It is a tone which you cannot afford to laugh at - nobody can. Rhaenyra’s gaze flicks to him briefly, as he gestures to you with the teapot, lifting a brow in question. You nod stiffly, throat dry as you look back to the Queen, who resumes reading:

“The Princess is hereby demanded to be safely returned to King’s Landing. Failure to do so will result in severe repercussions. King Aegon II will not rest until his sister is returned and those responsible are brought to justice.”

The room falls silent as the Queen lowers the letter, her eyes finding your own. 

A third betrayal; like some passage of the new gods, telling of foes coming in three. You grip the side of your chair, eyes swimming with hatred for what they’ve done to your family. “It seems our enemies are eager to paint us as villains,” she says, her voice carrying the weight of authority and indignation. “But we know the truth.”

You cannot find words; floundering, your mouth opens, though nothing but shock, anger, fear courses through your veins. Kidnapped? 

Baela leans forward, “What will we do, your Grace?”

You, plunged in a sea of ice - betrayal, your mother’s eyes and your brother’s cruel tongue, hatred sewn into every look given to you by the King’s court members. And now, they wish for you to return? Spreading the narrative that you were kidnapped? 

“We must respond swiftly,” Jacaerys says, brows drawn, “Show them we do not take to threats kindly.” 

Queen Rhaenyra nods, “There must be a response - but we must also be strategic. We cannot afford to be drawn into open conflict just yet.” 

It is true. After the loss of Lucerys, it is not the time to engage in conflict; strategy must be held over any will of force. Feeling the weight of their eyes on you, you take a deep breath and speak up, your voice steady. “Loyalty is not just about words, but actions. Actions that demonstrate commitment, even in the face of…baseless accusations."

You feel Jacaerys's gaze on you, but you refuse to meet it directly, instead focusing on the others in the room who listen intently.

"I choose to be here because my loyalty lies with Queen Rhaenyra and the realm," you continue, your tone measured but firm.  You do not let your eyes land on the man who sits across from you; the one you’ve had to convince time and time again that you are no traitor. Something like frustration brims at the surface of your tongue, but you mind your manners and bite it back. 

Disdain bites somewhere within you; now, suddenly, Jacaerys has come to your side so quickly? You find yourself bitter at the thought of him suddenly coming to his senses after allowing a small chance of indulgence in such an…improper way. 

His words from the night before sting: Is it true that your taste in fashion matches your taste in allegiances? A bit confused, I presume.

Soon they all echo in your mind - his taunts, jabs, those mutterings from under his breath. You’re nothing but a traitor…A snake in dragon’s clothing. A puppet, dancing on strings pulled by whoever promises you a bit of power.

You refuse to meet his eye, clearing your throat as you tilt your chin, "Anyone who doubts my allegiance has mistaken my intentions for weakness. Perhaps I should deliver the message myself.” 

The room remains silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air. You resist the urge to glance at Jacaerys, knowing that the hurt and frustration still simmer beneath the surface of your calm demeanor, and a spare glance might undo your manner. 

Daemon sits forward with interest, lifting a brow, “You make a suggestion to return to King’s Landing yourself.” He observes, watching your expression for any betrayal of schemes, “To proclaim your allegiance to Queen Rhaenyra.” Several eyes slide to you after this accusation and you close your lips, looking at your queen. 

Jacaerys, unable to keep silent, leans forward in protest. "We cannot allow that," he states firmly, his jaw set as he speaks directly to his mother, "Sending her back to King's Landing would only play into their hands."

He pauses, as if weighing his next words carefully.

"We must show strength and unity here. If we send her away, we not only weaken our position but also risk her safety," Jacaerys asserts, his voice steady but with an underlying intensity; your lips purse, flickering down to your empty plate as a rush of affection pulls at your chest. 

Rhaenyra’s gaze softens slightly with some kind of surprise as she looks at her son, your own expression shocked.

Daemon, ever the provocateur, holds a playful glint in his eye, "If Jacaerys is so concerned about her safety, perhaps he should teach her to wield a sword, like he learned as a squire in his youth." An inkling of jest brings a sigh from Rhaenys and Rhaenyra alike; you look down to the empty plate before you, at the steam that swirls up from the teacup. 

You truly do not have the skills you wish to possess; though you’ve been a dragonrider your whole life, should you ever find yourself on the ground with a weapon in your hands, you’ll be useless. The thought of Jace teaching you lessons sparks some kind of embarrassment through you - to show him your weakness, to admit a flaw in your armor… you swallow down the defensive wall that slides up. 

Jace stiffens at the remark, a faint blush coloring his cheeks and his jaw tightening as he turns towards Daemon with a glare. "This is not a matter of personal sentiment," he retorts sharply, his tone defensive. "It is my duty to ensure the safety and well-being of all within her Grace’s realm. Do you really believe Alicent will let her leave once she’s there?"

Your cheeks seem to be permanently heated; biting your lip, you resist sending a sharp look to your uncle. Rhaenyra, sensing the tension, interjects calmly, "Jacaerys, your concern is noted." She turns her gaze to you, giving you the floor amidst the charged atmosphere of the council chamber - with your name, she asks, “What do you think?” 

It is indeed uncomfortable to be scrutinized by those around you - to return to your family, to face them and expect to be returned unscathed? It’s much more likely your throat is slit in the night by your brother, or being chained up below the keep the moment you touch foot in King’s Landing. 

Taking a breath, you speak carefully, "I… agree with Jacaerys. Sending me back could be seen as a concession." You wring your hands together, a habit you’d picked up from your younger sister Helaena in your youth; at the memory of her, that soft smile and sweet humming, your heart pangs. You shake your head, “They’d never let me leave.” 

Rhaenys nods thoughtfully beside you, "It would weaken our position, especially if we are to fairly assume they would not grant her safe voyage back to Dragonstone.” 

Your sister nods in thought, "Perhaps a different approach is needed," she says, her gaze shifting to you once more. "We will have you write a letter personally in response to your grandsire, clarifying your position. Send it by raven this evening."

“Yes, your grace.” You agree. 

As the council delves into the specifics of the response, the memories of last night come creeping back into your head, try as you do to ignore them; a silent undercurrent, a reminder of the sacrifices necessary to personal desires for the sake of political obligations. 

A reminder, a mutter of last night that replays in your mind: You are quite beautiful like this. You do not dare look over at Jace, palms sweating as a longing desire pumps the blood to your veins. You take a shaky sip of your tea, biting your lip - never before have you thought a woman could experience such…selfish pleasure - taking, taking, taking. It is with a jolt of heat that you realize: you’d likely take anything Jacaerys would give you, and perhaps that is what you fear the most. 

You’re not betrothed, you remind yourself. Last evening was a mistake. 

The drone of a voice is cotton to your ears; Under the table, you suddenly feel Jacaerys’ foot brush against your own - whether by accident or design you can’t be sure, but you jolt slightly, eyes flicking to him.

 The touch sends a shiver down your spine, and despite the gravity of the situation, a small, traitorous part of you enjoys the attention as your eyes flicker back to his own. He watches you, a brow twitching, as if he cannot help himself - with an urge you do not resist, you allow your own foot to brush in return; a slight slide against his calf, scarcely there. An admission of some kind, even as his eyes return to the conversation at hand. 

You’re beginning to believe you choose to do these things just to see the pink blush spread across Jacaerys’ face - you find that you’d be happy to do anything to see that flush again. 

You are very rudely ripped from your thoughts as your uncle clears his throat; with a blink, you turn your attention back to the task at hand at the tail end of a discussion, “-Did they really expect her to return quietly?” Rhaena asks. 

Something prods the back of your mind, and you bite your lip. 

“They waited two weeks to declare this alleged kidnapping,” You say slowly, gathering attention from the attendees, “It must have been for a reason. There can be no mistaking; they saw me leave, it was not easy. I dragged a Whitecloak out to the sea with the mouth of my dragon when I did finally escape.” You admit somewhat bashfully. 

Several faces turn to you in surprise at your candid admission. You had indeed left in a flurry of anger, fueled by determination and perhaps a touch of recklessness.

Your half-sister’s brow furrows slightly, her expression thoughtful. "A deliberate delay," she muses aloud, her gaze sharpening with insight. "They seek to paint your departure as a kidnapping rather than a choice." Her eyes meet yours, a silent understanding passing between queen and subject.

“To make me seem,” You swallow, “Delicate.” 

Jace’s eyes flicker to you, but you promptly ignore the stare once more, his stare burning through you.

Daemon leans back in his chair, nodding slowly. "Crafty, indeed," he remarks, his voice tinged with admiration for their opponents' cunning. "They mean to leverage this against us." 

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, the weight of their scrutiny heavy. Jacaerys, perhaps sensing your unease, clears his throat softly. "We must respond swiftly," he suggests, his voice firm with determination. "To show them that we will not be manipulated. That she is not weak."

Queen Rhaenyra nods in agreement, her resolve firm; "You will draft the letter," she tells you, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Make it clear that your allegiance lies here, and that any attempt to manipulate the truth will not go unanswered." 

You nod, still reeling in shock at the letter sent to you. "Yes, your grace." 

YOU FIND YOURSELF WEARING FITTED ARMOR OVER YOUR CLOTHING THAT VERY EVENING. 

Indeed with a bit of reluctance, you know your uncle’s words are right; after sending a raven to return to your Grandsire’s Maester, Queen Rhaenyra had suggested that, despite her husband’s teasing words, perhaps it would be obliging for you to learn to handle yourself should you ever find yourself in danger. 

The practice yard is surprisingly alive with clashing steel and grunts of exertion; determined to clear your mind and improve what little skills you possess, you seek out Ser Marbrand from across the yard. 

Arms crossed, the Queensguard watches as the men in the yard spar - a flare of anxiety as you spare a glance around, the thick black of your cloak fluttering in the breeze. 

“Ser Marbrand.” You call his attention as you near, hands clasped together. He greets you with a small bow, turning to face you, “My lady.” He nods. 

You purse your lips, “I was hoping I might train with you today?” A flash of something warm in his eyes as he nods easily, "Aye, m'lady. I've been expecting you."

You blink in surprise, letting your head tilt slightly, "Expecting me?" You parrot. The wind off the island whips your hair into your eyes, and you pull it back with a lifted brow. 

He nods, "The King Consort's orders. He thought you might benefit from some training. And," he glances over your shoulder, "His Grace the Prince is to oversee your session."

Oh, gods. 

You follow his gaze behind you to see Jacaerys sparring with another soldier; you blink, face hot with irritation at Daemon. Always one to poke the bee’s nest. 

“I’m sure he is quite busy, Ser,” You say quickly, protesting; the thought of Jace scrutinizing you, teaching you with those hands and his face and- you’ve already begun to sweat. Ser Marbrand shakes his head, "Busy or not, orders are orders. Besides, His Grace surely will be more than willing to make time for you, Princess." He says, chivalrously. Ironic, you think - before yesterday, you could barely get a word in with His Grace Jacaerys before he’d storm the other way or hide in his chambers. 

You remain to follow the man, pursing your lips in irritation as you walk with him towards Jace.  The sun against your eyes, you watch with a silent curiosity - memories of watching he and Luke in your youth, sparring with trainers in the yard of the Red Keep; when Ser Harwin Strong would wield a sword and guide their young fights. 

You must not have seen Jace spar since you were near three and ten - back when you were giddy to be betrothed to such a valiant boy, kind and strong-willed. The memory is bittersweet as you watch him move now, fully grown and confident. 

Jacaerys, mid-swing, notices you approaching beside Ser Marbrand and finishes his bout with a swift, decisive move- in the glint of sun, he steps back, nodding to his sparring partner before turning to you. The sun has kissed him in his practice outside; freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheeks, one just upon the bow of his lip. You blink back the urge to smooth your thumb upon it. 

The prince’s surprise is evident, though he quickly schools his expression into one of polite attentiveness as he greets you with a soft voice and a nod. 

"My Prince," Ser Marbrand begins, "as per the King Consort’s orders, you are to supervise m’lady’s training today."

Jacaerys blinks, clearly taken aback; you feel just as slighted by Daemon’s clear jest, but the Prince quickly recovers with a polite, honorable nod. He glances at you briefly before turning to Ser Marbrand. "I... see. Of course."

The Queensguard raises an eyebrow but nods, handing Jacaerys a training sword and gesturing to an open space. "Very well. I'll leave her in your capable hands."

Capable hands. Your stomach flips, eyes unintentionally falling to Jacaerys’ hands, where they hold the hilt of his sword tight. 

Soon, the man is gone; a silence covers you awkwardly and you bite your lip as Jace looks towards his own boots in the dirt, taking a deep breath. “Right, shall we begin?” He offers.  

You should by now be used to Daemon's meddling - perhaps this was a ploy to foster camaraderie and trust between your formerly betrothed and yourself, yet indeed it feels more like some torture, a tease.

 A curse from the gods, for your sins.

When you give him a tight nod in affirmation, Jacaerys takes up position opposite you. "We should start with the basics," he said briskly, his tone professional. "Grip your sword firmly but not too tight.” You do as he says, but his hands are on yours; palms large, they cover yours easily, unfurling your pointer finger to re-grip it on the leather of the training sword. Blinking at the image of your hand in his, you become dizzy with his proximity. His hands are soft, warm - strong. 

Your face burns when his finger gently traces the inside of your palm,“Your fingers must-"

Panicking, you jump, "-I know how to hold a sword," you cut in, your voice sharper than intended.

He pauses, his jaw tightening briefly as he eyes you; For a moment, you know he can read right through you. "Forgive me," he replies evenly, schooling the twitch of his lips, "Let's begin with a simple parry."

The lesson begins, and it’s immediately clear that Jacaerys is both a skilled fighter and an ardent teacher; standing before you, sword in hand, his expression a mixture of patience and determination. The sun casts a golden hue over his features, highlighting a stray curl across his forehead that begs your fingers to brush away. You don't, though; instead you remain, desperate to feel his body against yours again and terrified of what it means. 

"Keep your stance steady," he instructs, gesturing to your hips, "Balance is crucial."

You mirror his stance, albeit awkwardly, the weight of the sword feeling unfamiliar in your grip. "Like this?" you ask, trying painfully to focus on the task at hand despite the lingering tension between you.

He nods, adjusting your posture gently with respectful hands: A glimpse of the boy you knew in your youth; the graceful nod, gentle instructions, flushed cheeks. You hope he does not feel you shiver when his hand pulls your hip, lingering for a moment longer before he pulls away. "Better. Now, let's try the strike I showed you."

As you attempt the movement, your sword clangs against his, the sound echoing in the quiet courtyard. Frustration bubbles within you, fueled by the reminder of your inexperience, a worry nibbling at the back of your mind, some old insecurity fostered in the ravages of your unloved childhood. Must she always be annoying someone?

"Again," Jacaerys encouraged, his voice calm yet insistent, brow drawn low as his eyes take in your form. You bite your lip, wishing you could have had your peace learning with Ser Marbrand. 

You move to strike; he blocks it with such ease it makes you huff in exasperation. A light tap on your stomach with his own training sword - he shakes his head. 

A memory, flashing in your mind at the action: your fingers, tugging his hair until he looks up at you - gently continuing his ministrations upon your heat, shaking his head as he shushes you. His voice, low against your trembling skin. Gaomagon daor vīlībagon ziry, Sodjisto. Do not fight it. 

You set your jaw, flustered and torn between such emotions - his voice brings you back to the yard. “Again.” He orders. 

Gathering what strength you remain, you lunge at him; He parries easily, his eyes never leaving yours as he nods patiently, “Better. But you’re still too predictable.”

Your jaw ticks once again, regretting ever having agreed to the Queen’s wishes: you’re now stuck with Jacaerys, your desire burning you to the touch each time you so much as grace your fingers against his, and your anxiety whispering in your ear - Must she always be annoying someone?

The lesson remains incredibly torturous. 

He is attentive, correcting your stance, your grip, the angle of your strikes, all with a mixture of patience and intensity. You begin to sweat, though the island boasts a cold seabreeze that blows your hair away from your face. It begins to dawn on you; he’s playing a game.  Jace’s touches begin to linger a moment too long - on your wrist, your arm, your hips; his breath warm on your neck as he adjusts your position. A wry grin when you stumble over your words. Each time he corrects you sparks a flare of anger and something else you’re not willing to name, and it is not long until the prince notices it. 

“You’re holding back,” he says as he blocks another strike. “Why?”

You pause, breathing hard, your eyes locked on his own with a breath of deception. “Maybe I’m afraid of hurting you.” You say, lifting a brow. 

He laughs, a short, sharp sound. “You won’t.” He assures you, regripping the training sword. 

It’s true; your moves are slow, ungraceful; next to him, you look like a stumbling little lamb. You grit your teeth, resisting a glare as he smirks gently in the light. 

With a huff of frustration, you attack again, putting all your strength into it. This time, he doesn’t hold back either - He disarms you after two short moves, his sword pressing against your throat; Then you’re both breathing hard, faces inches apart.

Oh. 

Hunger crawls its way up your throat. It burns- a real desire, as his breath hits your forehead, to feel his lips against you again. No, you school yourself, you mustn’t give in to temptation. 

“You need to keep your guard up,” Jacaerys says, his voice low as his eyes search yours, “Or you’ll leave yourself vulnerable.”

You glare at him, the frustration from the council meeting bubbling up as you sigh, "I'm trying, not all of us are born swordsmen. This isn't exactly my forte."

You watch his head dip down, close to your face - hair glinting in the sun as he shakes his head subtly. Your stomach flips, a slip of arousal as you smell that same cologne oil that curled you into his bedsheets the night before. 

A slight trickle of irritation leaks through his otherwise chivalrous, patient disposition as lifts his head again, leveling you with a look, "No, it really isn't."

The comment pricks at your pride; setting your jaw, you tear your eyes away from his plush lips, downturned in a frustrated pout. 

You can see the regret at his words as he sighs sharply. He breathes your name, "It takes practice. Even I had to learn."

"Easy for you to say," you shoot back, your voice tinged with sarcasm. "You were trained from childhood.” You state, taking a step back - his sword moves away from your throat, the pressure of the wood removed as you shake your head, “I can’t believe I have to do this,” Your voice, exhausted and petty with the humiliation of performing so poorly in front of Jacaerys, “Just because you wished to see me flail around with a sword.”

Jacaerys sighs, his patience clearly fraying, “I never suggested you take a blade in your hand.” he replies, his tone defensive.

“-Wouldn’t be the first time I did, would it?” You counter. At this, his eyes flicker down to your palm, bearing the nearly healed, puckered scars along the fulcrum of your fingers from where you’d taken his sword in your hand in this very courtyard. His voice, echoing through the empty stone walls those weeks ago. You think you can just waltz here, switch sides, and everything will be forgiven? That you can replace my brother? 

It seems he, too, recalls the words spit to each other that evening; with a sigh, he nods. "Perhaps it does not feel like it, but you've improved," he remarks, his voice softening, “Even in just a few hours.” 

A flash of guilt in your stomach as you avoid his gaze, nodding curtly as you hand him your sword from the ground. “Thank you, my Prince."

Your words must give him pause; with a hesitation that sends your heart stuttering, he looks down at you, squinting against the reflection of the sun on the shields beside you. 

His tone is cautious - you’re stuck counting the splatter of freckles which grace the strong slope of his nose, that speckle up his cheeks and lead you to his gentle eyes, usually so sharp with fire. He says your name so softly it sounds foreign. "Last night," he breathes - but it makes you tense. 

Fear, panic. Must she always be annoying someone? You cut him off, shaking your head quickly,  "Let's not talk about it." You saw weakly, sending him a close-lipped smile. 

You cannot talk about it, not now - if you do, the words will spill out; I am worried you hate me, how could you not hate me? My brothers called you a bastard. My brother took the throne from your mother. My own brother killed yours. I am too consumed with the desire to be loved by someone that I do not believe it is possible anymore. 

All you can do is look away, heartbeat in your throat. You know what I want, he’d said. Do you?

Jacaerys sighs, running a hand through his hair. His voice is gentle once again as it comes from his plush lips. "As you wish."

You glance around the training yard, noticing the curious glances from the soldiers and servants - several of whom avert their eyes when you look their way. You can’t help but to feel like a snake, come to nest in the dragonpit. "I should go," you decide, palms sweating as you turn away.

"Wait," Jacaerys calls out, his voice urgent. Heads turn, not just yours - he seems to register the panic in your eyes, and he shifts on his feet as he looks around at the others before returning his gaze. "Nyke jāhor daor ȳzaldrīzes hen ziry.” He calls; a warmth floods through you at his use of the language, knowing nobody else in the yard will understand what he says to you, “Ivestragī issa geron ao arlī." His eyes are kind, if not desperate; I will not speak of it. Let me walk you back.

You wish you didn’t immediately nod; barely a hesitation before you agree with a small, “Sȳrje.” 

IT SEEMS THAT WHEN YOU WALK WITH JACAERYS, YOUR HANDS CANNOT HELP BUT BRUSH AGAINST EACH OTHER. 

It happens once and you pull your hand away slightly, taking a step sideways to avoid his warmth. It’s quiet, as he leads you up the path from the sparring yard and to the crossroads - your hands and shoulders brush once again as you take a small step towards the pathway to the cliffs; he, one to the castle. 

Jacaerys tilts his head towards the castle with a questioning look, but does not say a thing. A clear of your throat before you whisper, “I wasn’t planning on going to my quarters. I’d like to watch the sun set.” 

The slope of his shoulders catches your eye as he turns to you, clearing his throat with a nod that is so similar to how he once carried himself in your youth that you nearly forget where you are. 

His doublet is black, matching the cloak that flutters behind you in the gentle breeze; pinned with the sigil of his bloodline, he looks all the Prince he’s been raised to be. You look down, wondering what he might see when he looks at you, wearing black and red, your House’s dragon sigil on your chest. Perhaps, in another world, you and Jacaerys would be Lord and Lady of this very castle you look at. 

The thought strikes a deep melancholy through you, and as he begins to walk away, you gasp out a rush. “I wouldn’t mind some company.” 

He levies you with that look; indescribable, his lips pink and eyes burning with something - inhaling through his nose, he nods. 

You walk towards the cliffs in silence; the path winds rugged terrain with jagged rocks and ancient obsidian underfoot, and Jacaerys offers a hand to you as you climb down one boulder to settle into the small bedding of grass that watches the sea. You pretend the touch does not send sparks through your hand. 

The wind whips your hair as the breathtaking beauty of Dragonstone unfurls before you. The sky ablaze with the streaks of purple bled from the blue of daytime; releasing pink and gold, the sun sinks slowly into the vast expanse of the ocean. The waves crash against the rocks below, sending sprays of saltwater into the air, carrying the scent of the sea. 

When you lower yourselves to rest against the grass, it is quite pleasant. 

You know, however, what you’re both thinking: you came from that sea, bleeding and wheezing, just over the horizon - only weeks ago. And somewhere, in that very distance, your grandsire is likely reading your letter swearing to Queen Rhaenyra. 

The breeze dies slowly with the falling of the sun; your hair settles, Jace’s curls blowing just so in the breath of the ocean. It suits him, this island; it’s somewhere laced within that blood, the same blood you share. Your blood. 

After a moment, he speaks. 

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” He starts, “But I’d be remiss if I didn’t say this.” His voice, so sincere; you cannot help but nod, giving the grace for him to speak, knowing at some point it will have to happen. 

“I was blinded by grief, when you returned.” He says quietly, thumb picking at the skin of his nail - a habit you’ve noticed he’s picked up in recent weeks. His younger brother Joffrey does it, too. “I didn’t want to let myself feel relieved when you came to us.” He shakes his head, clearing his throat. “Even though I was. It never quite felt like you belonged with…them.” 

You cannot speak; tears, welling but unshed in your eyes as you watch the set of the sun. He lets his words become swallowed by the wind for a few moments and gives you the grace of peace to gather your tears before they fall. 

After another minute of quiet, he shifts beside you. 

“Did you really drag a Whitecloak out to the bay in King’s Landing?” His voice is curious, soft; jesting. You let out a small laugh, feeling some kind of tension melt from your shoulders. 

“I’m afraid so,” You admit, recalling the day with a tight throat. You glance at the scar on your arm from where the guard’s sword had struck you; how your dragon had listened to your scream of pain, pierced him with its teeth, and thrown him down into the depths once you found your way out of the City. 

You take a deep breath; be it the sun warping the reflection upon the sea, or the heat of the man sitting beside you, the words you’ve been holding back for so long finally find their way to the surface. “I heard you,” you say quietly, “the night you left the Red Keep. I heard you talking to your mother and Daemon about your…” You feel a pang of vulnerability, “...concerns about marrying me.”

Jacaerys's expression softens, and he shifts uncomfortably, his voice tinged with regret. “I didn’t realize you were there,” he admits quietly. “I was foolish back then,” he begins, his voice tinged with self-reflection. “It was after that last dinner, when..” 

He trails off, and does not need to finish his words; you remember all too well Aemond’s antagonistic words against his parentage, Aegon’s tease over you and Jace’s betrothal - all of it, that night. 

You nod slowly; it feels like ages ago.  

“Like I said yesterday,” he continues, his expression shifting, “I... I didn’t know what I wanted then.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning; what could have been feels awfully close as your knee touches his own, your eyes over the ocean. His sword lies in the grass beside him, the silver metal reflecting the dying sun. You revel quietly in the kindness his voice can carry when he is not laced with mistrust or disdain. 

“It is a shame,” He starts again, hand roving through his curls,  “You will be a wonderful wife to whomever you marry."

Your heart catches in your throat - his candor catches you off guard, your chest soaring. His curls dance around his jaw.

“I’ll likely wish I were him for the rest of my life.” 

Jacaerys' words hang in the air - longing, a deep sadness that swirls within you for what could have been. You cannot find the words to respond as you stare into his eyes - they search you, open and dripping with honesty. His vulnerability has opened a door you've both tiptoed around for so long; you’re afraid to go through it, to admit what you’re telling yourself cannot be true. What you’ve told yourself your whole life. 

“Jace, I...” Your voice catches, nerves tingling with the weight of your own feelings; you look down in embarrassment. “...I’ve spent so much of my life trying to prove myself, to show people why I’m worthy of…” you trail off softly, eyes tracing the horizon where the sun dips closer to the edge of the world.

Now, if ever, you know you can be honest. You clear your throat, “If it were up to me, you would be that man.” You admit, not daring to look at him. 

Your heart beats hard in your throat; Jacaerys reaches out, his hand finding yours tentatively. You nearly jolt at the warm touch of his fingers, but you curl yours around his as you look down.

“You’ll make a fine King one day, Jacaerys,” You say with a small half smile, rising your eyes to watch him wistfully. His chin tilts down, eyes flickering from your own to your lips and back, laced with that same melancholia you feel. “And even after all this time, I still wish…” 

The unspoken wish is palpable between you when Jacaerys meets your gaze, his forehead resting on yours. 

“As do I.” He whispers. 

IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO FIND SLUMBER THAT EVENING. 

You try. 

The handmaidens bathe you; you ask them quietly of their childhoods, dazy and staring over the rim of the bath, watching the swirls of heat escape the milky water. They tell you of their homes, families, parents, brothers, sisters, lovers. When you ask them to continue, they whisper of the smallfolk on the island, sharing laughter and gossip. Usually, you indulge them in the more lively stories - ask more of the people, question whether any of them have taken a husband; they are unlike your old handmaids in the Red Keep, who whispered only when you were not there, more oft than not to your own mother. 

Here, they are kind, quiet. They are just girls. 

Tonight, you cannot help but wish you were one of them. 

A foolish, senseless thing to say - you, indeed, have had a better life than any of the smallfolk, a truth which has always rubbed the wrong way as velvet on cracked skin; you sigh nonetheless and move silently as they dress you for slumber. 

You ask them of their lovers - few of them have one, but they flush and giggle and whisper their names; you, ecstatic for them but confined in your little cage of gold, smiling wistfully and yearning. To love who you could, to marry who you could. 

“Princess,” One of them asks as she prepares your hair for sleep, “Is it true, you can see the entire world on dragonback?” 

A sweet question, one that would usually make you grin. Yet the words stirred a deep melancholy in you and all you could do is murmur a small affirmation. 

The memories come in the dark. 

As you lie restless in your bed, tossing every moment, your desire for Jacaerys consumes you. 

Breath, hot and willing, against the skin of your neck. Fingers, nimble and intent, sliding up your thigh, dragging the skirt of your dress. A groan, melting into your mouth as your lips find his. 

Sinner, your mother’s voice in your head. You sin. 

One candle, faint and flickering as it weeps white wax, mocks you in the corner of your room. You tire of counting the cracks in the stone of the ceiling; turning, the empty space of your mattress is cold and uninviting.

You were not cold when you were warming the sheets of Jacaerys Velaryon last evening. 

Writhing in pleasure in his room, the hearth still drawn and hot, his sharp jaw against your thighs as he mouthed over you. A small grin, face between your legs, fingers reaching the most secret part of you. 

Gods. 

You try to ignore the ache, the desire; but when the witching hour is far gone, you drop your bare toes onto the stone floor with a sigh. 

Just to see him, you tell yourself. There is no ache so insatiable that you cannot ignore it for the evening. For the rest of your life, your mind chides, he is not yours to have. 

Just to see him, you promise yourself. You tug over a robe; it is red, it drips off you like blood. Just to see him. 

When you open the doors to your chamber, mouth opening to instruct your guards to allow you to leave, you stop short. 

The hallway is not empty.

His tunic tousled and lips puffy as if he could not sleep - in the midnight hours, his hair is a black mass, his eyes sharp and dark. It is an honest Jacaerys in front of you with his eyes wide, insistent: no uniform, nor sword, nor duties, nor titles; clad in a tunic and trousers. Simply Jace. 

"-I must speak with you.” His voice is near desperate. 

You take a sharp breath, eyes falling aside to the guards who stay vigil at your doors. “Leave us.” You command; the guards move to stand sentinel in the hallway, giving you a moment of privacy with the prince.

 You close the door behind Jacaerys after he enters your chambers, the sound echoing in the quiet room. You light several of the candles near your resting table, smoothing over your nightgown as it dawns on you how inappropriately you are dressed to hold company of your Prince.

He remains, standing ever-respectful, eyes roving over your personal belongings, scarce as they may be as you fled the Keep those weeks ago. Seashells along the windows; flowers, picked by you and Baela the other day before breaking fast. A needlepoint hangs beside your bed - the web of a spider and a small butterfly, the wings singed at the ends as it flies away from a dragon - A gift from your younger sister for your last nameday. Mere days before you escaped. 

When your eyes meet his finally, your hands wringing together, you whisper to him. “Jace.” 

"I can't bear this," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper; his eyes are sharp, near pain. Your teeth clench; a fire burning in your stomach, desire coiling once again. 

“Jacaerys,” You repeat, eyes fluttering, unable to stop yourself as you take steps towards him, feeling his warmth as he steps to close the gap. 

"Think of it,” He begs, “You, sister of the Usurper; I, the son of the Queen.”

Your brows, furrowed as they were before, begin to untangle at the realization of his words, his intention. Heat douses you, stomach flipping. 

“-To show them where your loyalties lie. It would unite our cause with a single banner.” He adds, shaking his head as he takes yet another step towards you. The smell of him; it catches upon your nose and you inhale, stuttering as you swallow thick cotton down your throat. You can imagine the horror on your mother’s face when the news came to King’s Landing; you, married to him. 

“As we were meant to.” You nearly whimper it - and it is true; you indeed spent childhood with Septas and Maesters, sitting under tutelage and furiously studying for your future roles. To rule one day; Prince and Princess of Dragonstone, King and Queen of the Seven Realms. What could have been, may still be. He is right; too many things have been lost to time and circumstance. 

There is a delicious, angry possessiveness that takes over you, burning in your abdomen, sliding through your stomach, infiltrating your lungs as you stare at the man before you. You were promised to each other. 

Jacaerys's eyes are dark, intense, and filled with a longing that mirrors your own. He steps closer until there's barely any space between you, his breath warm on your face. "Please,” His lips brush your own, “Do not make me beg for you.” 

You curb your gasp, legs nearly weak as he huffs against your lips, “-Because I will. Until my last breath,” He insists, and you press up onto your toes, lips grazing his own, “You mustn’t.” You soothe. Fingers find purchase on your waist as he lets out a shaky breath. 

 "I crave you,” He confesses, his voice trembling, “To have, as a husband may have his wife."

Your heart races, the heat of his words igniting something deep within you. It is all you can do to lay your hands on his chest; his heart, beating strong and true beneath your fingers that tremble with desire. Your lips brush his cheek as you pull him to you; down, bending his neck so your lips can meet flush with his ear. 

 “Pār emagon nyke, valzȳrys.” You whisper into his ear, biting at the soft skin of his lobe. Then have me, husband.

A deep growl; fingers flexing around your hips before gripping tight, Jace groans into you, face burying in your neck as you kiss along his jaw. He is far too impatient for such teasing; his lips find yours with a heat you’ve never felt - soft lips with urgent fervor, pulling and tugging and giving, taking, giving, taking. 

You are delirious with the scent of him in your own chambers, the curls that wind themselves through your fingers when you tug him by the nape of his neck. He tastes of peppermint tea; he nips at your lips like a balm to a cut as you sigh his name. 

You take a gasp as his lips travel; they roam your neck, first - teeth sharp when he leaves a bite against your pulse, as if reminding himself of your humanity. Hands, still trembling, slide around until he drags a palm up your stomach; cascades of arousal follow in his wake, your skin perking at such light touch. 

His grasp finds your breast; you both stutter an inhale. Your sleeping gown is thin enough - your nipples, pert and aching with need, are pinched gently as he explores you, leaning back with attentive eyes as if to see what you like.  

But he cannot resist; your head tips back, hair cascading down your back as his lips follow his hands - over the hemline of your dress, his lips press the plush skin of your breasts, his breath hot against your skin. 

You swallow your heartbeat, gasping sharply as he suddenly grabs your arse. “gaomagon daor henujagon ēnka, mandia trēsy,” You moan as his hand squeezes you, lifting until you’re coaxed on to the tips of your toes. Do not leave marks, nephew.

 He groans against your skin, lips just barely pulling away from your heaving chest; a pinch of your pert nipple has you biting back a moan as you ache for him. He shakes his head, mouth brushing over your skin as he whispers lowly, “Kesan tepagon ñuha ābrazȳrys hae nyke jaelagon.” Shivers rove over you as you pull his hair; desire too much for you as you crash your lips once more with his own. I will mark my wife as I wish. 

He moans a sweet thing; one you wish to hear every day for the rest of your breaths. With desiring hands, he pulls you until the lines of your bodies are flush, stumbling as he begins to take staggering, heady steps broken by kisses. You stumble backwards, unwilling to let him go as his hungry palms slide up your spine. “I need you,” You whisper, “I must have you, Jace, please.” You beg yourself, eyes finding his own with a spark; his hands, warm, curl over your shoulders just as they did the back of the chair yesterday. 

And then a light nudge until you fall to the seat with a gasp. 

Your hands slide out of his grasp as you slide into the chair; he bends his neck to watch you in the candlelight. Tall, standing above you - your hands tug at his tunic, unable to voice your desire but staring up into those dark eyes, pleading. 

A smirk in the faint light; flickered flamelight against his dimpled cheeks as a slender hand cups your jaw, thumb gracing your cheek. You thrum with desire. “I have not ceased to think about you,” Jace rumbles, “And how you taste against my tongue.” 

You let out a gasp as he once again brings himself to his knees - his face, right in front of you. Breath hitting his lips, you hum, “I have not ceased to think about it either,” You admit. 

A smile, eyes teasing:  "And here I was, believing I was the only one losing sleep over it," he murmurs. You smirk, near a retort until his strong hands grasp your legs, tugging you towards the edge of your chair; a yelp as he begins, then, to drag your thin gown up your thighs. Toes curling in anticipation, you let out a shaky breath. 

He lets out a deep groan as you are once again exposed to him; eyes flickering up to you before returning to your glistening cunt. A thumb, curious and feather-light, swipes up your center, collecting your arousal and sending you jolting. He hums lowly as his hand raises; in the low light of the chambers, your desire glints on his thumb and you flush, watching him with a gasp as he brings the digit towards your lips. 

Your tongue swirls around his finger - a moan at the sweet, earthy taste of yourself with him. He presses curiously against your pliant tongue, eyes fixated on your glossy lips. “Please,” You gasp when he pulls his thumb away, sinking lower to pull your thighs over his shoulders once more. 

He gives you no more than a caress on your inner thigh before his tongue delves into your soft folds; eager, impatient to taste you.

A gasp that tapers into a low whine escapes your lips as his find your pearl, tongue swirling and hands holding you to the chair. 

It is all you can do to prevent the swear words from tumbling from you; his low hum at the taste of you sends tremors of pleasure through your body. Your hands find their home once again in his hair, clenching against his curls as you gasp. 

“Jace,” You whisper breathlessly, “D-don’t stop-” 

You are full of pleasure; his tongue moves lower, nose pressing against your sensitive nub as his tongue slides into your entrance. A moan of his name, your back arches as he moves; pulling you impossibly close by his arms, your eyes fall shut in bliss. 

You begin to near your high incredibly soon; eager, your prince does not cease - teasing, groaning, whispering broken phrases in High Valyrian into you. 

A few moments until your head is thrown back over the top of the chair; gasping with stutters, you whimper as a hand once again finds your breast, squeezing and pinching as his tongue continues to drive you towards the edge. 

Your chest stutters, littered with love bites and marks - nearing the edge of bliss quick, your legs clench around his head. Groaning into your center, he pulls you tighter, tongue swirling over your pearl as he drags one hand, slow and wanton, to your cunt.

There is a moment where the waves crash in tandem with your shudders; as if you and the ocean are one, Jacaerys taming your storm with a groan and hands splayed over your hips. Soon a finger slides, teasing your entrance; your spine bends as you let out a gasp, shifting to stare down at him.  

“Jace, I’d-” You gasp, “I’d like to-to feel you.” 

He hums softly against your folds, sending shivers over your chest. “You do not feel me now, Sodjisto?” 

You flush, your breaths ragged as he resumes, slipping his middle and ring finger within you - the stretch makes you groan, desire dripping from his glance as he watches you. A lifted brow, some cocky glance of pride from the prince - You nearly smack atop his curls for the look, but you’re near writhing, the wood of your chair creaking, his hum a low grumble that sends sensations through you. 

He knows what you’d meant - but as he begins to work a rhythm against you with his fingers, sweat beading at the skin of your chest, he does not seem keen to stop. “I am close,” It comes out as a gasp, eyes rolling back momentarily as some fire strikes in your abdomen. He gives no response yet continues to curl his fingers, exploring you, tongue swirling around your sensitive spot and pulling you closer and closer to release. 

His name is the sole thing which passes your lips when you hit your pleasure; shaking legs, your fingers tug hard enough on his hair to elicit his own moan. He watches you, chin tilted up as he slows his fingers, riding you through your ecstasy as you release his curls. 

“Gods,” He whispers, eyes searching yours as you catch your breath. Your legs slide off his shoulders; he, with a deft hand, catches an ankle and presses a chaste kiss before lowering. The grin you share is shockingly bashful, for the misbehavior you’ve just found yourselves in once more.

You sit up slowly, heart pounding as you grab his face, pressing a heated kiss to his lips. You taste your essence, rising gently as he does, your hands rising to his tunic.

A fervor you’d not known you possess takes you - tugging him harshly, he grunts your name as he stumbles with you, hands falling to your hips. A smile in the candlelight, a soft chuckle as he tilts his head, “You’re quite eager,” He mutters lowly, lips catching your jaw. You tilt your neck, humming as your hands begin their descent, trembling with desire and the unknown. 

You hum - indeed, you’re eager. Your fingers graze the waist of his trousers before he pulls back, staring at you, “My love,” He whispers; it sends warmth through your veins, heart rushing with affection. 

You shrug, “Might I return the favor, nephew?” You ask, schooling your face as innocently as possible, though you yearn to climb atop him this very moment. He is once again red, swallowing thickly, his eyes widening slightly. “You... you don’t need to,” he stammers, trying to maintain his composure as you bite your lip, “We shouldn’t—”

You place a finger on his lips, silencing his protest; they press against your hand in a silent kiss as you shake your head, “Jace, please,” you whisper, your voice soft and enticing. “It is all I can think of, even this morning, at the table-” 

He coughs, eyes widening in desire before he grasps your cheeks tight, pressing his lips to yours. He pulls away, with eyes darkened. “You drive me mad,” he confesses, his voice trembling.

You smile, your heart pounding in your chest. “You’ve said as much before,” you whisper, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. His eyes have left yours to trail over the marks that litter your chest; a possession that flickers within his gaze. 

You grasp his jaw tighter - tugging him until he looks at you with a small smirk, “Do not make me beg for you, Jacaerys.”

His eyes nearly roll as he registers his own words used against him; “I wouldn’t say no to you,” he breathes, his lips brushing against your neck, "Never." You shiver at his touch, a thrill running through you. “Good,” you reply, your voice low and urgent. “Because I cannot wait any longer.”

You tilt his head up, your lips meeting his in a searing kiss that he returns with equal fervor, his hands roaming your body as if trying to memorize every curve, each contour.

Breaking the kiss, you look into his eyes, your own filled with determination. “Lie back,” you instruct softly, guiding him down towards your bed as he’d done to you just last night. His brows raise slightly and you kiss the freckle above his cupid’s bow.  “Let me take care of you.” You whisper against his lips. 

He obeys, his gaze never leaving yours, filled with a mix of anticipation and need. As you straddle him, you feel his hands on your hips, steadying you.

Upon his elbows, his eyes watch as you unlace his trousers - his arousal hard and lying just above where you straddle him, you feel a deep ache to fill yourself with him. His hand slides up your hip, dragging your nightdress upwards in the action, until his thumb graces below your breast. “Beautiful,” He whispers, eyes true. You smile, tugging his tunic until he leans forward; you pull the fabric from his frame, eager to feel his warm skin against your own. 

When his chest is bare, you splay your hands over him; pale skin, glowing with the hue of night, planes of muscle and lithe hips. A shiver of desire - a hunger more possessive than you’ve ever known. You trace the lines of his body, marveling at the strength and grace he possesses.

“My Prince,” you murmur, your voice filled with awe and affection. “You are… exceedingly handsome.”

It takes no longer that the blush rises to his cheeks than you’ve found your way to crawl between his thighs, releasing him from his trousers; his cock, hard and weeping of precum. An exhale from his full lips as your hand grazes him - lying long against his lower stomach, you run your fingers over the base of him, watching as his hands grasp your bedsheets. Perhaps, you hope, your sheets will smell of him on the morrow. 

You’ve touched men before; in the days of boredom, in the shadow of your family, sneaking off behind walls or hiding in the Keep. Yet none of them, like this - none of them, how you want to touch Jace. 

“Jacaerys, what you did…” Your eyes flicker to the chair, “kissing me, there…” You sound foolish - but his eyes are wide, always listening. “I want to do that, too.” You say earnestly.

At your words his head falls back on the pillow. “Gods be damned,” He mutters to himself, a hand pushing his curls back from his face as you lower yourself, spitting gently - a string of saliva, falling onto the head of his cock, your eyes wide at the deep scent of his bath oils and him. 

You grasp him in your palm - thicker than you’ve known, and it makes you ache in an indescribable way as you slowly move your wrist, staring up at him. “Fuck,” He whispers, biting his lower lip and sitting up slightly, “My L-” 

Whatever he planned to say is forgotten; flown from his brain the moment you wrap your lips around his warm cock, tasting the beads that leak from him. Jacaerys lets out a moan so lustrous it makes you keen yourself - spurred on by his reaction, you suckle, sliding your tongue lower, to meet where your palm moves up his cock and back down. 

“G-Gods-” He stutters, a hand threading through your own hair, guiding you quite gently as you begin to bob your head with the motions of your palm. He is heavy against your throat, thick - large, you cannot fit him all but you try as he lets out a short gasp, tucking a strand of hair from your eyes. 

It is only a few more moments before you become more confident; the man beneath you writhes with restraint, one hand fisting the sheets and the other tangled in your hair, guiding you upon his length. 

Your desire for him aches - to see him in his own state of bliss, as he has so unfairly seen you in twice by now. You breathe through your nostrils, slowing your fist and taking him deeper into your throat, relishing in the gasping grunt you pull from his flustered lips.

It is nearly too much - you gag slightly, moaning at the feeling as you feel your own arousal drip onto the mattress below you. His own hand tightens in your hair; he is holding back, you think. 

“Love,” He mutters, voice sewn with heady desire. You do not listen to his call, instead bobbing your head, feeling him tighten, knowing he too is close to the bliss you just felt minutes ago. “L-laesi,” He stutters, using the incorrect word, eyes. You continue moving upon his cock until he hisses, tugging your hair gently, “Jurnegon rȳ nyke.” He commands, voice full of pleasure with a steel edge to it. Look at me.

You do. 

Eyes full of lust, the muscles of his abdomen tight with desire, sweat upon his chest. You nearly lose your mind in his beauty for a moment, before he groans, “Where- I’m close.” He is unable to speak full sentences; a part of you rings with pride, the same pride he likely feels reducing you to such a similar state. “Where shall I-” 

You hum, pulling your lips from his cock and replacing your movements with your hand, tilting your head, “I told you,” you say, “I’d like to taste you, My Prince.”��

His head throws back at this, muttering a string of swears and High Valyrian - and when he hits his own high, you slow your movements, lips wrapped back around his head, stroking his pulsing cock as he lets out a groan. He comes inside your mouth, his seed coating your tongue as you moan. He is warm, salty; Kin of the Sea, after all. 

You collapse against his clothed thigh once he is through his clouded bliss, breathing heavy. Your throat has begun to ache; with shaky legs, you crawl up to where Jace tugs you, his eyes warm and spilling with honey. 

You were once told by a handmaid that men often fall asleep after such release; Jacaerys seems none more keen to stay awake, his hands sliding over your figure, eyes stuck on your frame. It sets a fire back within you as he hums, hand sliding over where your dress rides up, grasping your arse once again. You let out a choked moan, eyes finding him with heat, “Jacaerys?” You ask, voice hoarse, quiet. 

His brows furrow only slightly; you kiss the wrinkle away gently. “I want you to take my maidenhood,” You whisper, cheeks hot as your lips brush his forehead. His swallow is thick, the desire coursing through your veins as his hand trails your spine delicately - His eyes darken with desire, lips falling to nip gently at your throat, “You mustn’t say these things when I have you in bed.” He nearly growls against your skin. 

You hum, hands sliding over his naked torso, traveling the contours and planes. “I mean it.” You whisper - he groans your name, head falling back - but there is a flicker of something else; resolve. 

“We must wait,” he says softly but firmly, his hands gently but insistently pushing you back. You let him, knowing he is right but wishing for once you could ignore such obligations. “-Until we are married. For your honor, and…” His eyes fall away from yours and you must duck your own to keep sight of him, “...and for ours.” He adds quietly, thumb stroking your hip. 

And there, in the soft candlelight, your heart strikes; You can see the internal struggle in his eyes, the memories of whispered accusations and doubts about his own parentage surfacing. He has lived a life of whispers, many of your own family’s doing - one he does not wish upon another.

Your heart aching with him, you nod, hand cupping his cheek, “Jace,” you say gently, “You are the very embodiment of duty - and an honor to your lineage.” He looks away, but your hold on his jaw remains as you kiss his temple, “We will wait.” You agree softly. 

“I WISH YOU COULD STAY,” YOU WHISPER. 

Jace presses a kiss to your forehead, pulling his tunic back on as you hover by the doors. 

His eyes soften as he takes in your frame,  “I’ll speak to my mother in the morrow.” He says gently, nodding, "And we can make arrangements for our betrothal."

You hide a grin with a ducked head, feeling giddy like the child you were the first time you were promised to each other.

When you open your chamber door to bid him farewell, you are once more met with a shock; Ser Marbrand stands, about to knock on your quarter doors.

You must mirror his own look of surprise; you at him, he at the sight of you and Jacaerys together. Your own throat runs dry, blood rushing from your face as you clear your throat, knowing how very indecent it all must look. 

“Princess…" He greets, eyes flicking from you to Jace, "Prince.” His eyes flick then to the guards standing vigil outside your door; A brief moment of tension, palpable in the air, before he clears his throat and speaks firmly, "Apologies for the disruption. There's an urgent matter - An incoming ship has been sighted in Dragonstone bay, wishing to hold court with our Queen."

Your mouth opens in shock - the middle of the night? You share a sharp look with Jace - Your letter. You open your mouth to speak, but Jacaerys takes a step forward, “How many ships? Who leads them?” he asks sharply, his mind already calculating the implications. You turn to gather your robe as Jace asks once more, “Where is my mother?” 

“In the council’s chambers. You have both been requested.” Ser Marbrand meets Jace's gaze evenly, "A single ship, my Prince - bearing a green, three-headed dragon.”

requests open.

[luvsfics]

GETTING CAUGHT — jacaerys velaryon x twin!reader

[ incest, sex content, unprotected sex, mentions of arranged marriages ]

The sounds of panting and skin slapping together filled the prince’s rooms. The light of the fire reflected off their sweat glistened bodies as they were consumed with each other.

“Fuck-“ he gasped as he ducked his head into the crook of her neck, holding onto her hips for dear life as she rode him with such determination.

Her fingers laced themselves into his dark curls, tugging onto them lightly as she moaned into his hair.

“Jace- gods!” She groaned, removing herself from his hair and holding his face into her hands, pressing their foreheads together.

She pressed delicate kisses onto his lips. Something so innocent during an act as erotic as this. Their love for each other flowed through the room.

“My love..” He whispered against her soft lips, to which she smiled. His cock throbbed inside of her, earning himself a moan from his sweet sister.

He began kissing down her neck, his lips hot against her skin. Her reached her chest, and then her nipples. She moaned as his wet mouth engulfed her breast, her hands finding their way back to his curls.

“You are mine- we were made for each other..” she breathed into his ear, a smile plastered onto her face as she began to reach her high, the pleasure consuming them both.

That was before his chamber door opened, halting them both in their tracks. Both of their heads whip towards the door to see their step-father, daemon smirking at the two.

“It’s not what-“ Jace started before daemon stoped him, “don’t think of me as a fool, boy.” He laughed.

“Carry on,” he said before shutting the door. His laughter was heard down the halls of the castle.

Jace’s head nestled into her chest, she caressed his head as their hearts raced. The embarrassment of getting caught running through their veins.

“Your daughter is of age to be wed, my queen. Perhaps we should begin finding her a match.” One of the council men said around the table, the queen silently agreeing.

“Jace is always a good option.” Daemon suggested with a smirk.

“Jace? Her twin? There are several good candidates from good houses that-“ another began, but the queen looked towards her husband, urging him to go on.

“We should betroth them, they’d be the next Alysanne and Jahaerys. Perhaps, even Aegon and Rhaenys.” Daemon said.

“What of his betrothal to Baela?” Rhaenyra asked.

“Aegon had two wives, Rhaenys and Visenya.” He smiled.