#jacaerys fanfic
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❝I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage. I will not be swept aside.❞
[ The Prince Jacaerys Velaryon should have known his wife better— or at least, her ire, for when his trysts with the bastard Snow reached the Spiders and soon, the ears of his Princess Consort, rage and war drummed for Winterfell, demanding heads.
—Maestre Kevan, Volume IV of The Bastard Eater, passage chapter under 'The Flame that Sung for the North'. ]
[ +18 MDNI ] [ 10,062 ] [ series masterlist ]
| jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt!reader (aegon's twin sister), one-sided aegon ii x reader, jace x sara snow
contains— canon divergence - manipulative reader, targcest, smut, angst - post-vizzy t death, rhaenyra is queen - mentions of children, pregnancy, childbirth - allusions to infidelity & character death(s) - targaryen madness, revenge, domestic violence (not jace), unhinge behaviour, intense use of 'bastard', profanity, gaslighting, guilt-tripping - this is basically gone girl, you gone girl jace - dark fic - mentions of depression (aegon ii), allusions to suicide (not reader) - nsfw: oral (f receiving), breeding kink, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.
a/n— i didn't think i was going to do the sara snow thing, but herewe are. also i just wanted an excuse to go absolutely ape shit. reader gets very intense, like thoroughly unhinged. this is literally me supporting women's wrongs. it is also quite insane that this reached 10k and it's still just the first part lmaooo
+ comment, reblog & like at will!
"THAT FUCKING BASTARD! THAT GODSDAMNED, WHORE-FUCKING STRONG HALF BREED!"
Your shrieks echo stone and shadow, interrupted only by the things you pick up and hurl. Anything your hands grab, you throw and spit obscenities against, rage and tears ruin your pretty visage. The fury swept past your cherub features, a dragon breaking through the Hightower seams, upending fire and roar from the pits of your being.
"HOW DARE HE?! I GAVE HIM AN HEIR! I BROUGHT HIM PEACE! I BETRAYED—" you roar, pulling your pearl dagger— a gift from your Strong Bastard of a Husband — and throwing it to your vanity mirror, glass shards exploding. "— MY KIN!"
"DAUGHTER, PLEASE!"
Arms wound across your torso—hardened and chain-mail — as you fight against your bounds before a pain flashes to your cheek. Your rage quiets, hard breaths from your lungs. You turn your tear-stained anger to your mother and her palm, fright and terror on her regale visage.
Death of a spouse becomes the Queen Dowager in her pale blue robe and unbound spirals of auburn hair. Peace had begotten a realm that is balanced on the lineage you had produced for the Queen, her heir, and your own, as the new Princess of Dragonstone. With Otto Hightower for evermore banished to Oldtown, Kings Landing had been brought to a flowering kindness.
Queen Rhaenyra's ascension had been a wondrous affair, fit the for the first crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Not a Queen Consort, not a Queen Regent. An heir who rose for the crown always meant to be hers.
But the calamity that brewed in her ascension... no. You paved the peace. T'was you who wrangled the Great Houses that proved allyship to your twin brother's banner, you who blessed her with tranquility of a rule that will be known for ages that will precede you all.
And now her son... her son dared to destroy everything.
A conversation floats above your head, by your Queen Mother and her sworn shield, the Ser Cole, but you barely hear anything past the ringing in your head.
The Targaryen Madness the sheep so call it, an idle voice, faint and familiar, whispers in the niches of your brain. It has infected you so. It breathes, fuelled by the air wrought by your husband's betrayal. It sings, sweet love. It sings.
"—your grace, I urge to hold her—"
"—she is my daughter, Ser Cole, I am not in danger. Release her."
Justice, the voice shrieks? Screams? But it is so soft in your head, a wail of a memory, a woman or a man? must be had. No dragon falls in such disgrace.
The tight wound over your torso is unleashed but the knight is not far, tensed to cage you, when your mother grasps your elbows as you grab hers, nails digging into the thick fabric of her hem that she still winces, your grip steel-tight.
"My darling, please. I cannot help you if you do not speak what ails you." She brushes her hand desperately across your face, smearing your tears, trying to find the daughter she bore past the savagery and madness that beholds you now. "What has happened?"
You draw a tightened, harsh breath to your lungs, rattling your bones that you quiver in your attempt for sanity.
"I am being shamed, mother," you whisper. Stark, violet eyes meeting the worried round, brown of hers. "The Strong bastard is whoring himself to another, a Northern bastard."
A cackle falls your lips as alarmed gazes are exchanged above your head.
"Y-You cannot say such things aloud, sweet girl," your mother hushes your madness, pulling you close to her chest as she shoots a glance at the door.
Criston checks outside, but only your maids linger. Dyanna presses a finger against her lips, catching the knight's eye, and the rest scatter, surely to make sure that no one that need not know of their mistress' words is within reach. A shiver still runs his spine. He will never get used to the quiet, almost non-verbal way your connection worked and reached. Your Spiders weave webs all around, even as their mistress sunders with rage.
"Mayhaps you are mistaken, for sure the prince is loyal, and he adores you—"
You pull back against her, teeth bared. She flinches and Ser Cole steps forward, wary. "It is the third missive now that I have received. Did you think I would not have confirmed twice— thrice? I didn't believe it the first time! But three people have now confirmed that all this time, in the guise of rallying his mother's cause in the North, he is spending ample time with the Lord Stark's bastard sister. His bastard fucking sister!"
Your mother's horror catches that of Ser Criston's, but your fury is your own, you are a dragon trapped in the ruin of your own making, of the webs you had spun so cleverly to get to this point, and you cannot stop.
"I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage, my blood spilled the birthing bed for it." A cry leaves your lips as your grief and rage pools like ichor from your chest to the floor. Alicent is torn away from you— your nails had gone through her robe and she had cried in pain, a mimick of your own, a mother to a daughter to a mother to a daughter, a cycle, an Ouroboros — and you fall to the floor, grasping at your chest.
"I will not be swept aside. I will not be ignored."
A gasp falls from your lips as your mind moves to a quiet, still place. The tremble fades, your rage and grief whirls, collects, as you push it all back inside your chest.
Your madness must be sharpened for it be used as a sword.
And you cannot let him be happy in another's arms.
If you cannot drag them to the Hells, sweet dragon, the idle voice hums, hisses? Screeches. Your ancestors— all of those who have succumbed to dreamy madness — appears in the corners of your vision like soldiers. Awaiting for you to join them. Awaiting the blood that you will spill.
Then you must raise the Hells unto Winterfell.
"...my daughter?" Alicent calls, hesitant. Cole hovers but does not approach, standing guard in protection of the Dowager. It breaks her heart to see you this way, a young woman still, much older than she was when she married but only because you had always sought your future. You had always had a hardened scale, far stronger than she.
Even when you made your entrance to the world— the unmeasurable pain of bringing not one, but two heirs into the world, her firstborns, all at once — you had never cried. The maestres, maids, they worried for you, as your twin brother had not stopped crying, so alive and red, raw from the wound of being fresh.
But you... you had not made a sound.
The entire weight of your being— your mind, your emotions — even then, you wrangled them close to your very centre, never letting them stray too far from the edges of your fingertips. As if any release must be made with a perused thought. An incentive of reason.
Even then, you plotted every step you took.
Now, Alicent watches as her firstborn daughter suctions all her emotions— that Targaryen madness that plagued the blood of her husband, his ancestors — and made her ploy.
Against the husband that dared make a fool of her.
The silence beckons nightmare. Old fear flickers inside the Queen Dowager.
"Where are my daughters?"
"What?"
"My daughters," you repeat, a hair's breadth louder than the first time you spoke. Your eyes flutter upward. The deadened gaze curled Alicent's heart in fear. "Where are they?"
"In the nursery, with the twins and Maelor. Helaena and Aegon are watching them."
You offer your hand up mutely, and Cole exchanges one last, lingering look with the Dowager, before offering his own. You stand up, thank him softly, and brush and clean up your face to the best of your ability. An utter calmness over your visage.
"Tell no one of what I had told you," you say, fixing your hair and rubbing the red from your cheeks. One minute there is madness, the next there is nothing. There is only a girl. A woman. A princess. "No one knows apart the three of us, and if you ever decide, Ser Criston, that nigh is the glorious time for you to betray my mother or I, know that the last thing thing oyu will fear is the Stranger's hand when I am through with you."
Your mother shouts your name, horrified. "What are you thinking? What are you plotting?"
You cup Alicent's face, smiling ever sweet. "Your innocence will keep you safe, mother. All I ask, for the heart you keep for your children, that you keep this between sealed lips and tilted chin. You know nothing, yes?"
"... Yes. Nothing."
You place a tender kiss on your mother's head. "Keep Daenera and Aemma safe for me. Aegon and I are flying to Dragonstone promptly. Sweet Helaena does ever so get overwhelmed by watching all of the children by herself."
"D-Dragonstone?"
Your sweet smile touched with poison, stretches. "It is high time I take a dragon for myself, don't you think so?"
While an insecure obsession had fraught your younger brother about claiming a dragon, you had met it with indifference.
For how can you not mourn the loss of Aemond's sight, staring in quiet horror the entire time as the maestre did his best to salvage the muck mess of blood and nerve endings, before the old man had shaken his head, and you turned to the small bowl that contained your brother's eye, unable to look at anything else.
Not even when your mother's rage was met with apathy and anger, her demands for justice nothing more than a woman's insanity, a mother's grief that must be swept away, tucked under a chin and a sadness she will never get rid of.
"Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."
Your soft-hearted, darling, baby brother. None of his words had thawed the freezing of your heart, the grief under the swell of your breastbone.
Your own mourning was kept between teeth and tongue, as you had slept with your siblings that night. The four of you, tucked under the wing of the other, Aemond close to your chest as possible, as quiet, hot tears ran down your face. Every moan of pain or whimper he made in his sleep tore at each new vein inside of you.
"Dragons are the symbol of our House's power," Aegon had once said, windswept hair you tried to tame with your fingers, smelling fresh of Sunfyre and winds.
"And yet, there were no eggs in our child beds." He stiffened while you smiled sadly, curling your twin's hair away form his face, making him presentable and dusting the bout of sand that managed to find his leathers. You had been scolded long before by your grandsire of how you coddle Aegon, how you defend him, mother him more than your mother ever could, but you cannot stop. You were meant to care for him, tethered you once were inside your mother's womb together, you hold him steady now.
Whenever he was lost, whenever his sadness overtook him, wrung your brother dry of life, you bat the Stranger's hand and bring him back.
"But we have proved them wrong," he insisted. "All of us, even Aemond with Vhagar— the war queen, Visenya's dragon — we have claimed ours. Daeron all the way Oldtown has Tessarion, even Helaena has Dreamfyre. And yet you insist..."
You wound your arms over his torso, keeping him close in a silly hug where you sway and dance him around. A laugh escaped him while you inhaled the scent of smoke, soot, and that grime stench of beast.
Aegon on his good days lacked the bottle-edge of wine, of cheap salts from the waft of the soiled, Silk Streets.
This was your brother. No one else.
"I fare better without one," you whispered in his ear. "I appear innocent, sweet almost, without a beast in my command. They look at me with nothing but pity and the urge to protect me. Our father likes me like this, his poor, lovely daughter without a dragon of her own, listening so intently to his histories of Old Valyria. Our sister is eased, as one daughter is plagued by dreams and struggles with the real world, while the other cannot even claim a dragon of her own. Poor princess, Hightower blood must have thickened in her veins. She too, is no threat."
You pulled back, smiling at him. "They like me better like this. Pitiful, compliant, nothing but a sweet and pretty flower that sways in the Spring breeze. A beautiful decoration but no more."
He rubbed a thumb on your arm, a worry knot on his forehead. Aegon adored you but he struggled to piece together where your plot lies. You are a web-spinner, forever dancing out of reach, catching prey and lengthening your intricacies. "Is that why you hide your training with Aemond alone? Ser Criston is mother's sworn shield, he would not mind—"
"I will not place my secrecies to a knight with a soiled cloaked," you snorted. "No matter how tall he stands beside our mother. I trust no one but my kin. And I know that no matter how heavy you drink, sweet Aeg of mine, my secrets are your own."
He took your hand, kissing the back of it, stare impregnable. "As your blood is my own, our fire is one flame. I go where you tell me to."
You kissed his cheek, a reward, laughing. He smiles proudly at the sound. At this time, you dangled yourself to your brother as bait as the pressure from your grandsire to make him King started rising. You had been given notice that he had been talking to House Lannister, Wylde, even some Riverland lords.
You did not mind becoming Aegon's second wife. Just as his namesake, he will have his Rhaenys and Visenya. Unlike the Conqueror however, he would adore his Visenya more than a true flower. Helaena would enjoy that far better.
"And if I tell you to jump?" you half-purred.
"I will ask you how high."
Memories and choices break and tide as you scramble for hold on the rocky cliff face. Dragonmont in the dark is a behemoth beast, a screech or two breaking like lightning crackles, or the familiar drum beat of wings before the silence consumes once more. The stench of fire, of beasts and carcasses helps cloak the darkened night.
"Udligon ñuha brōzagon, Answer my call," you hiss into fraudulent emptiness, hands gripping rocky edges until your blood beads, "you fucking lizards."
"Have you gone mad!?"Aegon shouted, trying to pace with your run to the dragonpit.
A rocky laugh broke out from your being, not deigning that with a reply. Aegon huffed angrily.
"Alright, tell me this then. How are you so sure I'm not just about to put you on a bleeding volcano to die? We claim your dragon in the morn, sister. First thing before we break our fast. I'm sure by then, Vermithor or—"
You whipped your head around, pulling halt. "I leave tonight to claim my dragon. Whether it is you and Sunfyre who gets me there, or Aemond and Vhagar, is no matter to me. I will claim one tonight. It is up to you to decide now if we tell Aemond or not."
Aemond, whose anger is wounded tight, the barest excuse for war always at the edge of his hum. The misstep at Storm's End had cost him everything. Had cost your mother everything. Queen still, Alicent Hightower had bent the knee and offered her life in exchange for mercy. Before Rhaenyra passed judgement, Viserys I had passed.
It didn't matter that you had ensured a higher dosage from the Harrenhal witch in his usual milk of the poppy. Your spiders moving with ease through the silent channels you had established long before your own flowering.
The Red Keep had scrambled, the Heir with it. It was enough time for Lucerys to have come out of the red, confirmed to live through the worst of it without as much as a broken bone. Arrax however, had been badly maimed, and would no longer take flight. But he and his rider would live. Aemond would live. Alicent would have her son. Rhaenyea will have hers, and the crown.
Kevan had done his duty unto you while you settled the storms in Dragonstone. You rewarded him handsomely.
Aegon sighed. He too, would like your honour avenged, but not for the sake of war. "As you wish, sister. I hope you know what you're doing and I am not about to send you to your death."
Just like what you did to your mother, you reached forward and cupped his face. If before, your touch stills his heart and floods his cavities with warmth, a flash of fear strikes the twin son at the eerie smile on your face.
"Skoros morghot vestri? What do we say to the god of death?"
Aegon blinked. "Tubī daor. Not today."
You smiled. "Trust me, sweet Aeg. It is not my death the Stranger will take. Not until the fjords of the North are at my mercy."
"Iksan kesīr sir naejot māzigon ñuha sikagon pakto! I am here now to claim my birth right!" Your scream echoes and falls, repeating back to you. There is a hum, like an electric current that sizzles and pops inside your blood and marrow, and you scramble higher and higher on the rock. Your blood does not sing for the dragon lairs, but above. Up and up, jagged edges cut your skin and dress, the wind whipping with sea mist, but nothing, no one, can clamour you as you reach the peak.
At first you see nothing but darkness and hollow sounds. But you let your eyes adjust, a hiss breaking out of your dry lips as you stumble. You look down. What you first thought were rocks and wayward bones of cattle is bigger.
Whale? No.
Dragon. Dragon bone.
You look and will every sense that your eyes do not. The smell that is drowned— iron. Bones bigger than a person. Than cows and whales. Bones of fearsome beasts. Darkness moves, taking form, more than shadow. Scales hewn rough and jagged, as if stone themselves. Midnight black moving with the gentlest of sighs.
As soon as you realise what— or who — is in front of you, the eyes open with an intelligent gleam. Your heart jolts at the emerald irises that gaze back at you, slitting at the appearance of a human.
'The stench of death follows him', the voice of an old keeper hums into your ear. You no longer remember who told this to you, but the words ring true in your memory. 'Scales of midnight, as if hewn from darkness and death. A harbinger, your grace, an omen of the darkest nightmares.'
"Rytsas. Hello." You smile, ever sweet, ever charming.
This is a thread you had never felt before. Not one of your own making, but something older. A golden thread that led the eyes of Daenys the Dreamer. That spun the ties of Aegon the Conqueror. The voices that herded your madness had gone quiet in the mad rush to get here, but now their presence thickens. Words you cannot hear, nor understand, flood the silence as dragon met rider for the first time.
Keepers and historians have called him he, but every bone in your body tells you that the being before you is a she.
And wouldn't that make sense? A cannibalistic being is a woman?
She opens her maw, only ever slightly, smoke and fire crackling out of it. Molten lava in the belly of her insides tease the cool, night air and warms you.
Her version of a smile. Hello, she seem to say.
"Māzīs. Come," you say, giggling. "Dohaerās. Serve."
That night, you took your first flight.
That night, the Cannibal took her first flight with her first— and only — rider as well.
❝ . . . It is said that the formerly named "The Cannibal" had been entranced by the hunger of his new— first and evermore — rider. Prince Aegon the Elder who had escorted his twin sister that very night with Sunfyre, had looked up in alarm and fright to a maddened screech. Excitement and laughter pouring out from the newly bonded Dragon and Rider had soon turned fear into awe.
Gaelithox, she had been named as they had ridden until dawn broke by the rider who loved her 'till the end of their days, was said to have seen a mirror in Her Grace. The fathomless hunger for blood and organ from the same bodies of their kin. For Gaelithox ever hungers and satisfies for the same meat as her, at the height of her grief and ire that fuelled the Queen Consort to climb Dragonmont by hand, she too hungered for the throats of her traitorous blood.
Gaelithox will only have one rider in her whole life, as she found no same twin soul as akin in the Bastard Eater Queen. Their bond moved as if two bodies beheld one soul.
She shied from humans, and oft found too rough with other dragons. Vhagar was an exception, oft seen acting as an elder sister to the Queen's dragon when neither royal rode them and played in the skies. Smaller dragons were forbidden to approach her however, nor was she allowed in the dragonpit after almost devouring the flightless Arrax.
She died two moons after the Queen's death, delivering her final flames for her rider and would never more breathe her infamous green flames akin to Wildfire, ordered by the Crowned Heir, Princess Daenera Velaryon. It is said that the princess attempted to bond with the cannibalistic dragon but it refused.
The dragon spent her last moons in heartbreak, oft seen in Dragonstone and the Red Keep, circling her rider's most favourite places. Her final resting place is at the very top of Dragonmont from whence the Queen claimed her. It is said that the Queen's crown, the one the King Jacaerys had gifted her after the birth of their first sons, the Princes Laenor and Gaemon, is said to be placed there, as well as a portion of her ashes.
It is said that the King and the Queen's twin brother, the Prince Aegon, personally made the trek in remembrance.
It is widely suspected that Aelyx, Princess Daella's dragon, the youngest child of the King and Queen, may have been Gaelithox's only existing hatchling for he too is made of rough, midnight scales. The dragon that bred with her remains to be unknown. ❞
—Maestre Kevan Noratz, Volume X of The Life and Lies of the Emerald Flame, passage chapter under 'The Time of Hunger: Gaelithox'.
You leave Gaelithox to a mournful goodbye on Dragonstone, pressing your forehead against her hard, scaly head, promising to come back, of exchanging her diet for fat, juicy whales, for more wind-whipped rides, before riding back on Sunfyre with Aegon. The younger dragon would not rise from the beaches in fear of the cannibalistic elder, but you made ensuring promises to teach Gaelithox not to chew your dearest brother's dragon.
You had gone most of your life without the feeling of a bond beneath you, warm and alive and wild, and the roar and stench that though new, felt so familiar in your ribcage— you will fly again. And with your brothers beside you. With Helaena and her lovely Dreamfyre.
To think they had taken this from you too, to placate them. To play into their hands like a mewling kitten.
No more.
It is paces before fast is about to break when you both touch back down to Kings Landing. The Keep busying with its occupants, servants and maids bolstering with quickened feet to ensure the lords and royals are awakened with full, poached meals, dresses and coats readied for their lords and ladies, a new, glorious day under the Reign of the Black Queen.
"What now?" Aegon asks, trying to keep with your pace but he is fatigued, failing to stop his yawns. The excitement of last night had come upon him like a fog, and he is missing his bed. Hells, he is missing the bed he stays with his wife if it meant he would get a full night's sleep in the hours of the day.
"Now, we speak nothing of what happened."
He turns to you, frowning. "Just like that?"
"Just like that." You beam, nodding in favour of soldiers and maids who bow in reverence to the Crown Princess. You know you smell of dragon and night, and you need a bath. And to talk to Dyanna before you seek your daughters. "I will need time and people. The board must still be set for me to perfectly execute what I have in store."
"Alright." He yawns again. "I'll be in my quarters, passed out, if you need me. Please do not need me until sup."
You laugh breathlessly, grabbing his hand and giving it a wet kiss. "I will give you your rest, be assured. Kirimvose, dōna lēkia, Thank you, sweet brother."
The words are simple, said in a quiet murmur heavy with love and meaning. Aegon presses a loving kiss to your head, unable to stop himself winding an arm around you.
"Syt ao, va moriot, ñuha prūmia. For you, always, my heart."
As you break to each other's chambers— his, to sleep, you, already meeting Yna and requesting for a bath — you don't notice the lurker that watched the intimate moment between twins, humming in amusement before it moves to follow you.
Back in your quarters— your marriage quarters as Jacaerys had requested that you forgo having your own, not wishing to part with you — the maids are already busying themselves airing the room, moving to follow your usual routine. The only thing breaking it is the tub now in the centre.
"Thank you," you say to Yna as she picks out the pins from your hair, shrugging off your dress in the process as soon as the maids had untangled the lace behind you.
"Call for Dyanna," you tell them as they bow and leave, the door clicking softly behind them. Plans must be made. Bath for now.
With the world stifled for a second, left with only you and your thoughts, you plunge your body under too-hot water, sighing against the aches and pains in your body. Dragon-riding is a new endeavour to your muscles, and though enjoyable, was still too new.
You sigh as tears fall from your eyes, blinking exhaustedly against soft, humming daylight. You had always known that love, as it is, is a maiden's folly. A foolish, hapless play meant to fool young girls into thinking the world is kind; a pretty place.
It was an even farther thought from you, a princess of the realm. At a young age, it has been drilled to you that your womb is a rare commodity. Your body has never been your own, a piece meant to be moved in a bigger game that you are used for, not play.
You weren't stupid.
If there's a few things Otto Hightower had ever granted you, apart from gifting you his keen prowess in moving power beneath your fingertips, in hungering for more, for better— it is understanding what each person is, who they can be, how you can move them. A flatter, a flair, a push. As a man, there is much to be desired about your grandsire; he used people, used family to pursue power, but you can't truly fault him for that as you were the same.
You just took better care of the people under your wing.
And for Jace, you had banished him.
The worst part, you knew there was a good, fat chance you would care for the princeling. He was a kind man, a sweet man, and with a guiding hand, you could forge yourself the best husband for yourself as much as you can mould a great king and a wonderful father. Women's hands are ever carved to mould and prod men. We stand behind, a presence or a hand, an echo of power.
But your Jace had surpassed it all, and in the moons leading up to your present day, to giving him his heirs, two beautiful daughters, the promised full Valyrian colouring in the silver hair in Daenera, your eldest, the wide, violet gaze in Aemma— the name of his mother's mother, a request of him that you had kindly, graciously fucking agreed to — of course there is a part of you, the girlish, tender heart that you long thought you had buried to get here, would fall for the brown-eyed, wondrous man.
You sink deeper into the tub, sighing as you let yourself unravel—
When you feel it. A presence in your room. It's soft. Silent. Not a lot would feel as such, but as paranoid as you are, as you keep your spiders clean and pretty with your dewy-eyed webs— you know better.
Your mind runs with ideas on who it might be, and come to a few people. No true name rises. The Red Keep is flooded with spies and traitors. You test your luck, sitting up on the tub, raising an arm over the lip of it and flicking water with your fingertips.
"If you are here to kill me, I'm afraid it will be a lost cause."
He laughs, sardonic and edged and familiar, jetting a tingle down your spine.
Well. There's getting a calm bath.
"Perceptive as always, niece," he says, heavy footfalls approaching now that he has been caught. "I'm just here to say hello."
You raise your eyes, mouth curled but unsmiling at the man who acts as the biggest thorn to your plots. Daemon Targaryen has never fallen through your webs, on guard against your flatter, your push, or your flair. Of course, taking the position of his daughter might have forever burnt that road, but you would think he'd ease up just a little bit when his wife, the Queen, had warmed to you considerably.
Unlike your mother, you had never been hostile to your bitch of an elder sister. Just like your plots for Aegon and Jacaerys, and nodding along to thread your father had started but abandoned, foolishly thinking the realm would follow without him fully ensuring your sister's claim to the throne— you carefully maintained a polite farce with Rhaenyra.
Ultimately, this became a boon to you, as she had responded positively to your abrupt marriage to her son, even reminding her deranged guard dog of their own marriage. The cream to your lemon cake had been when you birthed Aemma, the Queen's most favourite grandchild thus far. When she was a babe, Rhaenyra was never far; almost, always holding your daughter, cooing at her cheeks, remarking her likeness to her namesake with pure fondness.
But Daemon Targaryen knew, in the deepness of his marrow, that there is something wrong with you.
"Hello," you answer primly. He laughs, leaning against the passage to your open balcony. "We could have had this elating greeting at fast, if you wish to break it with me and my own."
He scoffs, unable to hide his disdain at the thought. It breaks his stare of your naked visage. Men. "I would rather jump to the fighting pits, good daughter."
"How rude. Is that all?" You meet his gaze steadily, tilting your head. "If it is not obvious yet, good father, I am bathing."
An amused smirk. "I can see that." Lecherous fucking geezer. "No matter. I just have a... curious thought, a wonder I suspect you may be able to answer. See. Truly odd it is, for the keepers to alert me this morning that Sunfyre had taken a ride past the Hour of Owl." Your heart thuds in your ribcage and you do your best to keep your expression mildly irritated. "Not with one, drunken rider, but with another. It had taken them hours, only coming back when morning had already presented in the air."
He steps forward, slow, menacing, until he reaches the edge of your tub and crouches. Your gazes are still unmatched in height, defiant as yours might be.
"The distinct smell wafts them, a Keeper said, and one suspects that though one dragon left last night, two might have come back this morning for he had seen another fly away." His fingers dips into the water, swirling the steam without breaking eye contact. "I wonder if you know anything about it, darling niece of mine."
The mocking emphasis is not lost on you. If the Queen is the Realm's Delight, you were Darling of the Realm. A sweet, merry girl, the secondborn daughter of Viserys I who frequently fought for the plight of the small folk, who gathered friends of all kinds of lords and ladies no matter the standing of their houses to her own, visiting far lands and charming every person in any room. Who made any feast brighter, always sparkling, always the darling.
Less of a dragon, more of a fairytale.
You sit up, leaning, baring your breasts completely to him as you pull yourself up on the ledge he is crouched from. He leans back, only slightly, as you smile demurely. Sweet. Tart. On the edge of pulling his head and hitting it against the copper tub.
"I am unsure of what you suspect, or is accusing me of, kepus, uncle," you purr and there's a twitch in his mouth, a widen in his irises— men are so fucking simple — "I had been feeling down last night, as my husband, as you know, is beyond my reach at the moment as he rallies alliances for the good of the realm. My brother had simply offered to take me out riding, trying to quell my loneliness with an excitable flight I had never been afforded."
You tilt your head. "Even if there had been a dragon binded to my own, why why would I not regale the realm with news of my success? I have longed for a dragon of my own, but alas, I have not quite succeeded where most of the family have." You pout. His eyes flicker. "Mayhaps I am more Hightower than I am Targaryen."
A huff leaves his lips, the amusement in his smile arching to his dark, dark gaze. Before you can react, his hand had comes forward to hold your chin in a tight grip, your jaw aching soon enough at the fingers that dig against your skin, wanting to bruise, to break.
Though a tremble passes your body, you keep his stare, gritting your teeth as the pad of his thumb brushes your lips. Moments and desires thrum between a charged hatred.
The lust is twisted from wanting to fuck you to wanting to kill you. The line is not simple. Maybe that is your fate together.
But he can't. You are well too ingrained in his family now, loved by the people he cared about. You are untouchable. For now. This is a warning, waiting for you to stutter, to show your hand. Any show of your true intentions... he is more than happy to swing Dark Sister across your throat.
He releases you without another word, standing up and leaving through the front door, the door clicking shut.
You sink back into the bath, letting the water engulf you.
Your daughters are moons apart in birth, and there are only a few differences between them that people oft remarked they could be twins. Daenera is taller, spindly. Built like Aemond when he was younger. Her hair is spun moon and eyes of mullish blue. It reminds you of Daeron's eyes. You had named Daenera yourself, a gruelling birth that took the entire night. You promised Jacaerys he could name the second. He had chosen Aemma for a girl, Laenor for a boy.
Not a few moons later, you were with child again. Your husband pinked at the cheeks at the chiding from his family. When she cried into the afternoon sun—Aemma was born mid day, during a council meeting — he pain did not stop the laugh that came out of your mouth from the horrified expression from the Master of Coin as your water broke.
Aemma had a sweetheart face, cheeks much fatter than her older sister's, with a yellowish tinge to her hair, curlier too, reminding you of Aegon. And Aemma laughed more, her deep, violet eyes always half closed as she exploded in giggles and bright, sunshine happiness.
Sons they might not be, but you had given heirs for the throne. And for them, you would do anything to keep their futures intact. Bond with a dragon, face the Rogue Prince, upheave Winterfell. Anything.
You flounce to the nursery where you know the two would be, smiling sweetly at every person you pass as they bow in reverence. Most wore sights of confusion, their greedy eyes and wagging tongues drinking in the deep, emerald glisten of your gown.
It's an old dress, one you keep in the corner of your collection. It isn't as if you had forgo the colours of your mother's house, but playing court meant every movement, even the clothes you wear, can be meaningful. And since your marriage, your Jace liked you in Velaryon colours.
"A goddess come to bless," he gasped against your collarbone, keeping your legs high on his waist as he rutted into you before his teeth sunk on your skin. As newlyweds go, there is not a lot of teasing to be had for your husband to curl against you in a darkened alcove. Merely wearing his favourite colour on your skin has him panting like a dog. His favourite dress is a seafoam blue that dragged longer against the ground in a soft, almost-gossamer material with a silver belt.
Enticing him never took long, but you enjoyed the dance presented. You enjoyed the dark hunger that filled him until he grabbed you to take you because he just had to take you.
The fresh wound slices deeper as you imagine all the things Jacaerys is doing to the so called Sara Snow. The emerald green of your gown shimmers with your anger.
"Fucking bastards," you can't help but say aloud, nodding at the guards posted on the nursery as you hear the squeals of your daughter and the calm, even voice of your brother.
"Muña! Mother!" Aemma squeals, untangling herself from being pressed against Aegon's side as the children— Daenera and Jaehaera — cuddle around him, before running to you. Helaena is on the floor, entertaining baby Maelor. Your mother, hands twisting against her own, stands vigil by the window, staring far ahead.
You catch your secondborn, giggling as you pressed kiss after kiss on her face.
"I see everyone has started without me. Where is Jaehaerys?"
"You were late, sodjisto, aunt," Jaehaera grins gummily. Jahaera is only a year older than Daenera. Your daughters, five and a half and five respectively. "Jaehaerys is with kepus, uncle. They are training."
"Smart girl." You meet your brother's gaze, whose eyes had notably been staring at your dress, mouth turned down. "Why don't you three play with Helaena? I shall speak about Name Day gifts for your Uncle Joffrey for a bit, hm?"
As Aemma shrieks something about cakes, and Daenera dutifully kissing your cheek in greeting before she takes Jaehaera's hand, you turn to your brother and mother.
"Aemond?" you ask softly, keeping your voice out of earshot. Alicent shakes her head. You nod. "Good. We don't want him inciting a war before I have mine properly planned."
As the Dowager draws in a sharp inhale, Aegon grabs your hands, the worry pulled taunt in his eyebrows. "Are you seriously contemplating war, sister? Isn't there a better way to punish them?"
"What punishment does a man regale in?" you hiss, stepping close to him. "Or the Queen's heir for the bloody matter? When Aemond nearly killed Lucerys, and he confronted me as if I had ordered Vhagar to tear through his brother, I thought I had put to bed any doubts in our marriage. It seems that men stray, regardless. My daughters may be his heir now, but what is to say that bastard wildling he's found himself cock deep in produces a son? Will he shame me with a mistress? Or will he shame me with a second wife?"
Your mother's lips tightens, her fingers paling at how tight she is gripping her nerves.
"Bastard or not, if he takes her to wife, I will be nothing. Make that babe a son, and the realm will rally for it. Daenera is his heir. My daughters will not be forgone. I will not be pushed aside. This is mercy, brother," you say softly, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. "My last one. It requires time, moons, to unfurl. It requires seeding doubt and unfathomable inadequacy. Better if Aemond is none the wiser, Helaena the same. But I will need both of you for this to work. It is the only time I will ever ask. For me. For my daughters."
"And you will punish Winterfell with a war?" your mother asks, frown pulled deep. "That is the plan?"
"I will not. I won't do such a thing so blatant, mother, you know me better than that. But this is my last mercy, and it will be the last. For the next time he offends me so, I do not care if Rhaenyra feeds me to Syrax. I will put a dagger through his heart, heir or not."
The Prince Jacaerys comes back not a week later. Though he comes back to the same castle with the same occupants— your shiny new threads gleam. The stage has been set, a play ready to act. You had sent more spiders in the North, keeping a close eye to every blasphemy your husband has been enjoying in the absence of his duties, and as the rage in you quietly grew with each new whisper, your determination hardens.
You mark each indescretion. You keep a tally.
You count for each fall your blow will land on him.
Vermax lands with a screech and a heavy thump, your husband leaping off him with a grin on his face, matching the one you own, waving your arm joyously with Aemma in your arm and Daenera beside you, holding to your skirt as she grinned at her father.
Aemma wiggles under your hold, and you let Jace get close enough before you set her down, laughing, "Okay, okay!" Her laughter carries through as she scrambles like a bull to her father. A squeal peals out of her as Jace picks her up just in time and tosses her in the air.
"Want to meet kepa, father, sweet girl?" you whisper to Daenera, running a hand down her hair before she nods, breaking out into her own sprint, hugging her father as he greets them with laughter and kisses.
You let them have their time, and this, at least, eases your heart truthfully. A kind reminder that Jace adores his daughters.
You stay at the edge of the entrance, your too-wide grin softens into a smile. You were dramatic, nothing new about that, but even in the pale, pearl blue of your dress in silky, Myrish lace, the emeralds in your heavy, golden belt winks. Green ribbons twisted in your hair alongside fresh flowers. When the trio of your family treks toward you, silver-haired babes clinging to your dark haired prince, you serve a wink at the girls and they untangle themselves from their father while you stepped forward.
A choreographed dance, not giving him time to think. To pause.
Every step is calculated, every item on your body— the silk, the small seahorse that locks your dress behind you, the tint on your lips to the oil in your hair and body — is made to perform. You engulf him in you as if you want to suffocate his senses, your arms wrapping around him with sweet kisses pressing on his face, his neck.
Most in the dragonpit looked away, others, scandalously amazed and enchanted, watch as the princess is undeniably enthralled with her lord husband.
His laughter rumbles across his body, infecting your own, smelling of dragonback and crisp winds. You wonder if your nose is more heightened, you would be able to smell his whore in him, but you don't. It's just him. Your Jace.
Your body moulds against his as his arms tightens around you. When you lean back, you sweetly press a chaste kiss on his lips, grinning.
"What is this?" he huffs a laugh, meeting your doeful gaze. Your fingers curl around his chin, his cheek, idly tapping and touching as if you are committing so much newness to memory.
"Kostagon iā ābrazȳrys daor jaelagon zirȳla valzȳrys? Can a wife not want her husband?" you ask softly, pressing a few more kisses before sucking the last one just under his ear. His body shudders. You hide your smirk. "Skori ēza issare qrīdrughagon tolī bōsa? When he has been away too long?"
A yearning look tints your gaze from under your lashes, and you have to stifle the winning smirk as guilt pinches his face.
"My apologies, my wife. I did not mean to be away from you for long. From the girls." As his eyes flick to his daughters, your mask momentarily sharpens into clear distaste. The urge to dig your fingers into his eyes until he is bleeding and screaming under you is one you tamper with great distress.
Did not mean...
Did not mean to have a dalliance with another woman?
Did not mean to fall into bed with a fucking bastard, you insidious cunt, while I await here with your heirs?
Your anger thrums, nestled deep in your heart, it breathes. You school your face the moment he turns back to you, bringing your hands to his lips, kissing each finger with reverent tenderness. His brown eyes smoulder, rubbing your bare— irises widening — back.
"If you wish it, I can be on my knees for my apologies, my princess."
Your mouth curls. "I'm afraid that might have to be quite later, my prince."
"Huh?"
"The Dowager Queen hoped to congratulate you on your successful campaigning. Reaching as far as the North so frequently, we planned a feast for your return." Eyes shinning, you cup his face. You hope the guilt eats him raw from the inside out. Like worms. Like termites. Hungry, hungry, hungry. "We have never been more proud of you, I have never been more proud of you."
You laugh brightly, ignoring the way he squeezed you just a bit harder that mere second the same time his eyes tightened. "The moment I told the girls of it, they had begged to dance with you." Then you bit your lip, frowning slightly. "I... I understand if you are tired, 'tis a long journey after all, I did try to tell them you might want to rest, we can sneak you—"
"No, no, my heart, of course I would be happy to, I— I want nothing more." He brings you close, face disappearing into your neck. "Thank you. I love you."
You hum, carding your fingers through his hair. "As I love you."
For the rest of the feast, you dance just at the edges of his fingertips, ensuring that you permeated his sights and senses despite it. A game. A dance. When he thanks revelries who congratulate him, who ask him of his adventures, you proudly stand beside him, dutiful as the wife that you are, spearing him with compliments as much as you can. Hands squeezing his arm, your oils swallowing him with your smell.
When dinner came, you take chances massaging his thigh, sliding a salacious grin that had him blushing, ever so sweet, green— making you wonder what kind of fucking bastards do that he finds your attention so swallowing.
You don't let up.
Whenever he, in turn made a move, you sidestep, flutter a smirk, a wink; always escaping, letting him grow frustrated as the night went on.
Your one respite from taunting him had been when he danced with his daughters, making a gallant show of asking them, even Jaehaera. Giggles and spins, the ladies of the court fawn and coo.
Even now, you're making him to be the perfect man. The endearing husband, the wondrous father, the brilliant prince, the perfect lord.
To execute your plan, it must be made with a surgical precision. A slice that guts him to his knees, that breaks his spirit and quenches the whispering, wicked madness nestling with your ire. On another cheek, he must remain upright and upstanding, as to keep your daughters' future in perfect order.
You catch the domineering gaze of Daemon Targaryen, idle as he is, on the side of his distracted Queen, talking to a highborn lady. You don't look away as you toast him your cup of Arbour Red before you pucker your lips for a taste. Your eyes move to where your husband is already looking, flushed red and sweaty from all the dancing, your girls, preening and giggling around him.
You tilt your chin at him, a challenge in your gaze, before you slowly pull your lips away from your wine, stained red.
His throat bobs.
It will be a long, arduous game. Full of pitfalls and tightened webbing. One trip can kill you. But once the machinations are in order, once everything and everyone is in their proper places... oh, you cannot wait for the dance the dragons will make.
A flutter, a simpered footstep. Then a rustle of a dress as one bows.
"My lady," Dyanna greets behind you.
"Hm?"
"The spiders in the ice have met the pup in the snow."
"And?"
"The pup is not suspicious, in fact, they might go as far as to say that the pup is lonely. Though others largely understand her existence... no one likes a bastard."
You snort. "No, they don't, do they?"
"The wolf cares for the pup though, and is largely protective of his only sister."
"Hm. Complicated, but not impossible. Have Meera change the tone of my missive. A softer edge. Sweet but not overtly. Ensure the prerogative of politeness. Then have it sent to the Rookery. The proper channels."
You sigh, taking the edge of your braid and twisting through the ribbons your maid tangled between them. Tonight, you had elected Targaryen colours. A black dress akin to scales and a low, exposed back and dipping front, held together in red ribbons and silver chains. One that might be too on the nose, but the constant, feverish stares from your husband made it worth it.
"We have to ensure a good relationship with the Warden of the North, don't you think so?" You have not looked away from your husband since your maid came, and as he whispered something in Daenera's ear, nodding off to her grandmother with Aemma towed, he turned towards you, one stride after another.
"Precisely what I thought, milady."
"Go," you order her for the last time, giving her your cup, just before Jacaerys reaches you.
Game, set.
Worshipping you has always been something Jace excelled at. At the least, his cock was much larger than most, and without the preparation of his tongue and mouth, it burned. At most, he oft found himself holding your shaking thighs, your head and shoulders left on the bed as he feasted on you like a man starved, hungered for your nectar, the sounds you make, and the shaking of your body as you reached your peak on his tongue.
"J-Jace, please, I—" Your breath stutters, a hiccup escaping your mouth, but he is not letting up. On his knees as only a lordling can with his back straight, he is holding your thighs, your lower back, eating your cunny for the third time of the night.
As soon as he had reached you, he grasped your waist, whispering against your hair in a rumbled groan, "You are torturing me so, my wife. We leave. Now."
"Now?" you echoed, amused. "This is a feast in your honour."
"My honour is already hanging by a thread. The revelry will go on without us. I want to have my fill of you."
And fill he had. He didn't even wait to get you out of your dress before he had pushed your skirt upward, gone on his knees, and got his tongue inside of you.
Now, you are overwhelmed, overstimulated as you are hazy, gripping the wrecked sheets as your peak reached you once more. A strangled, breathy cry of his name falls between your lips as your back arched impossibly so, and instead of letting up, this seemed to fuel him harder, the muscle of his mouth working harder inside of your cunt, hands digging into your flesh to keep you steady.
It builds with a stimulation unending, and just as you're on the throes of your last high, it builds again, quick and fast this time, shuddering gasps of, "o-oh gods, g-gods, Jace!" is the last thing you are able to shout before your fourth peak breaks against the shudders of your last one, your wetness exploding, and you start crying before he lets up.
Your blubber becomes laughter, and he is soft as he lies you down, massaging your thighs as you twitched. He hovers above you, running gentle hands across your arms, kneading through skin, before he reaches your face. He's still in most of his clothes, his long white shirt and breeches, but his mouth is covered in your wetness before he wipes it, obscene in the prettiness of his face and messy locks from where you had tugged and grabbed.
He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, so close to your body, all too tangled in your soul, and can feel his hard cock upright and wanting against your belly, but he pays it no mind. Concern mars his features as he brushes down your hair.
"Are you alright, my love? Too much?"
You shake your head, brushing your hand down his chest. "N-no, I am well. I just never did that before."
He smiles, kissing your closed eyelids before he brings you close to his chest, cuddling you deep. "You deserve all the pleasure I can give you," he says against your hair. "I have been gone far too long. Consider it my apology."
You hum, eyes open. "Apology for what? You were doing your duty, nothing more, ñuha zaldrīzes, my dragon." You feel him stiffen as you keep your voice soft, caring. "I understand duty far better than you. It is what I love most about you."
You look up, taking his chin between your fingertips as you stared at those warm, brown eyes. "You, who carries your honour like a shield and your duty like a sword. I feel as if the gods had blessed me a husband far better than I should have had for I know I do not deserve you."
"H-how can you say that? You are—" He swallows. "— You are the most excellent woman. The mother of my children. You... You are the one I do not deserve."
Your head falls back against his chest, gripping his shirt. Only by your teeth had you stop yourself from screaming.
You curdle, you keep, you poise.
"My love?"
But you pay him no mind, pushing him on his back as you straddle him, your hands working quick to unlace his breeches until his cock slaps against his stomach, end red and swollen. A sharp hiss falls from his lips as your hand tugs on it once. Twice.
He calls your name, spits it really, eyes blown with lust as he holds your waist, unsure if he should lift you off him or grind you against his aching cock.
"I want you inside me," you whimper, plead, feeling his cock twitch at your words, your false, yearning gaze. He mistakes the burned tears of anger in your eyes as unbridled want. "I have gone so long without your warmth, your cock, swelling inside me, your seed nestling deep, taking root—"
"Yes," he gasps, fingers digging into your doughy sides, pulling you up, moving you around whilst you grabbed his length and directed inside your wet, hot cunt inch by inch, filling you so thickly you can feel him in your throat. It takes time, patience and grit, but you're wet enough and you're determined. Once he's fully inside of you through a choked moan of your own, his neck arches, head thrown back. "Fuck! Yes, y-yes, there you are, my g-good fucking girl."
You move slow at first, taking him, bracing one hand on his knee, almost testing the feel him of back in the familiar contours of your cunt. Veins pop between each groan and choke that shudders through him whilst praise, your name, the possessive titles— my love, my wife, my princess — is spit in between.
When the heat tightens in your belly, you shift positions, placing both palms on his chest, and riding him without abandon, bouncing up and down as you watch with a sharp eye as his release builds. His hips move on their own, fucking up in you as you meet his thrusts with equal vigour, and it's delicious. It's heated. You grind your swollen folds against his mon and your cries make him thrust up harder into you, calling your name, denting your doughy hips.
You don't stop, your pleasure at the back of your mind, wanting him to unravel, to break— a final cry of your name dissolving into a choked moan, spilling his seed deep inside, the continuous snap of his hips digging it deeper into your womb.
But your last peak is still tightening, so you press a quick kiss on his chest, a bite really, before you continue to chase your own high, a hiss slipping his lips but moving your hips with his iron-grip, stutters of, "d-do it, reach your high, f-fuck! fuck!"— Your head throws back, nails digging his skin as your cunt clenches his cock in a vice grip, forcing his hips to snap up once more, twice, until you fall, slumping against him.
When he kisses the top of your head, murmuring words you ignore, you close your eyes.
Your plan is in motion. The missive will be sent to the Lord Stark, in pursuit of an innocent friendship. The spiders you have placed on the Northern bastard are set, and a dragon flies in Dragonstone with your bond in its blood.
Your Jace is home. He will fall in love with you all over again. His wonderful daughters and darling princess, he will regret the events that have transpired in the cold. In his head, he will make promises to do better, to be better, that whatever happened is a blip. A mistake that will not happen again. but you know, he will trip. He will wander once more.
But you will make sure that the next time he does so, he will regret it for the rest of his days.
Because it is not you who will burn Winterfell to the ground.
It will be him.
Your plan moves, your web is perfect.
Now, the spider waits for the idiot fucking flies to feed on.
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{seducing the prince }
Jacaerys x F!Lannister!Reader
Summary: Jacaerys knew he would have to marry for duty, he didn’t know his duty would be to you.
Trigger warnings:‼️Coitus and jacaerys a whipped man playing hard to get 😘😘😘😘
Special thanks to my babe/beta reader @luckytoucan 💗💗💗💗
Jacaerys always hated you. Hated how close you were to the Aegon and aemond in his childhood. How you always preferred their company over his. He tried so hard to make you notice him, to make you perhaps feel and inch of what he felt for you. Each time those dreams get shattered by the sound of your laugh with helaena and daeron over him. He didn’t fail to see how Aegon and aemond had indoctrinated you with hatred against him and his brothers. He had to hate you, hate your pride and pettiness, the snobby Lannister attitude you held. He saw you as one of the Queen’s party hoping for Aegon the elder to ascend the throne over his mother and him.
But sure enough that did not happen. Queen Rhaenyra ascended the throne and when jacaerys turned sixteen named his heir to the crown infront of all the lords and ladies of the court. He would forget you, forget how you looked walking through the gardens with his aunt, he would forget the way you danced, the way you haunted his very soul. Jacaerys felt himself grow mad with the constant thoughts of you blurring his mind turning it into a slurry. He needed to get away from you and the clasp you had of him. He needed you gone from his sight and away so he could just lose memory of you entirely. Over the years your cruel teasing did not weaken, often throwing him a flirty smile knowing damn well that nothing on this earth would ever get you to marry a bastard, crown prince or not, you took pleasure in complimenting as to how strong he had grown. Every ‘compliment’ you threw was an insult in disguise.
You can only imagine the shock he felt when his mother there queen Rhaenyra betrothed him to you years later, his stomach flipped upside down, in excitement? Fear? Annoyance? He looked over to you and there you were smiling at him as though you held the upper hand.
“You are not upset by this? Not even in the slightest?” He asked surprised as he grew more frustrated at the fact you seemed so alright with this.
“If i marry you I will be queen someday, surely you are just an addition that comes with the arrangement” you said sipping from your wine, amused by his reactions. Of course, he should have expected this from a Lannister, no matter how pretty they come you cannot change their nature. Always so smug, he wanted to make you feel the way he did. He was so helplessly in love with you but deemed your lannister self incapable of love, too smug to even care to feel a thing. Now as your betrothed he found himself at an advantage..
You on the other side always tried to to revert back to the past and change the way you behaved towards him. You quite literally tried to charm your way into his heart but all your actions seemed to be of no avail. He always shut down every smile with a polite nod, every kind word you said was met with his disdain, he quite literally at this point assumed your whole existence as a mockery towards him. You believed your betrothal would soften his heart up but instead it hardened it. The man could not seem to bear your presence, always growing agitated.
You attempted to win him over with gifts, with kisses which he averted from, with physical affection holding his hand and batting your pretty eyes at him, he showed no reaction to these. You often attempted to flirt with him in high valyrian which he had perfected, instead of appreciating your effort, he took the time to correct your pronunciation and grammatical errors.
You embroidered for him. You attempted to melt his heart by talking of the future where the two of you would have little children. Nothing worked, the most infuriating part was that with all the time you spent swaying him you felt yourself grow more fond of him yourself.
Whenever jacaerys sparred with Nettles, a supposed dragon seed brought to court because of her fierce skills in combat, you felt your heart feel the pang of anger and sadness. He seemed more fond of his uncles over you at this point and you felt absolutely helpless. You wanted to leave the past behind and win his affection. Perhaps that is not what fate wanted for the two of you. You walked away from the sparring ground and jacaerys noticed your absence in his mind.
The whole court was not blind to this tug of war game between the two of you, the jealousy that lingered between other possible lovers the two of you had. His brothers teased him incessantly over how he kept your embroidery in a special box in the cupboard and how he blew up if anyone attempted to touch what you gave him. Jacaerys loved the attempts you made towards him to make up for your past behaviour, he loved every moment of it. Every smile of yours would replay over and over in his mind once it was over. Thoughts of future children with you sent his blood rush to his nether regions, to see you carry his children.
He would often dress up far better than he usually did for sparring lessons in case you’d visit..or rather he’d dress down, discarding his sweaty shirt only if you were in the vicinity.
Nothing bothered Jacaerys more than seeing you with his uncles, at princess helaena’s name day party. His angered expression not was one he attempted to hide. you could feel his glare towards his uncle Daeron, a man of the same age as him. Daeron was mischievous and cheeky who also like everyone enjoyed annoying jacaerys as the two of them always saw each other as rivals even though they shared a wet nurse. Jacaerys could take it no longer dragging you away from dinner, his hand lingered on your arm, holding you firmly but not enough to hurt you.
“How many times must you repeat this song and dance?” He hissed pushing your back into the cold pillar “why can’t you leave me be?” He asked, his hands holding yours as you struggled in his hold, his hands had covered the entirety of your wrist as though it was nothing.
“Can you not see? How blind can you be?” You asked in an angry tone. His grasp did not leave your hands as he suddenly turned you around pressing you against the rough pillar wall pinning your hands to your lower back as you felt his figure croon over you. “Why do the gods have to make me put up with you” you felt his hot breath on your ear and the heat of his body radiating your own. You were glad he could not see your flustered face.
“I’ve only ever tried to get your attention” you voiced out, on hearing your voice he pressed you further into the bricks. You could hear him chuckle.
“So you throw yourself at my uncle?” jacaerys answered his grip tightening around your wrists. He felt conflicted a part of him died to believe your words, that you wanted his attention, the other ran his imagination wild seeing you with Daeron in uncompromising positions. “ah yes, they’re true born and i am..” he trailed off his hands abruptly let your wrist go. “And what do they tell you that it is a pity that your beauty is being wasted on me, a strong prince as you once said” his voice echoed in the empty corridors, he had lost all awareness of his surrounding.
“No! I did not say that! I have played very trick in the book, I have used every tactic anything to get you to like me and the only time you seem to ever even look at me is if I am with another. You think I like parading myself in this tight gown for no reason? Have you even seen my dress or have you been too caught up in your hobby of making me your enemy”
“Yes I have seen the way you look!” He answered angrily. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked at you.
“Then tell me how do I look!” You yelled back you felt tears if frustration bubble at the rims of your eyes, you looked away quickly would this how the entirety of the marriage would go? With you begging for him to notice you? You needed him to notice you at this point, want was no longer sufficient.
“Beautiful” jacaerys said the words he had held in his mouth for so long “So beautiful that if I take one glance it’ll never be enough, if I get one taste that too would not suffice, my greed, my lust is insatiable for you” you knew you had him then, he was yours and yours to keep. Your efforts weren’t in vain.
“You do not hate me then?” You asked surprised as his eyes watched you intently at your every move, what were you planning now..
“Oh make no mistake I do, I’ve always hated you. You’ve always played me as though I was a game. I am not my lady I would have remember that I am the crown prince of the seven kingdoms, my parentage does not matter because I am a Targaryen” he said he turned to leave one more.
You walked towards him and grabbed his face in yours, he admitted that he thought you beautiful and in your eyes that was a victory in itself, this was your chance to seduce your brunette prince as you closed the distance between your faces by planting a gentle kiss on his lips, in hopes it would sway his feelings about you. He gasped against your mouth feeling your lips press against his so perfectly. His hands instantly wrapped around your waist feeling the fabric of your gown crumbling it in his hands, “you shouldn’t hate me, sweet prince” you teased him, habits die hard. As his lips fought your own for dominance, his right hand reaching up to hold your face as he drank you in, the moment your lips parted for a gasp his hot tongue found its way into yours, your mouths in total sync, it was hard to keep your mind sharp now, just as he did you grace into your senses.
That’s how you found yourself with your dress ripped to shreds and your leg propped on his shoulders as he thrusted into you sharply, he made no attempt to stop any time soon, you gasped and moaned and claws at his chest anything to make you feel as though you had control over your betrothed. He drove you mad stopping just when you were about to peak, he denied you of cumming over and over leaving you teary eyed moaning as he brought you such pleasure and pain. If he denied you once more you felt as though you would collapse from the sheer need.
This was your punishment for everything you had ever done to him, every smirk, every mocking word, you felt yourself bend in ways you never thought possible. Jacaerys felt up the fat of your thighs as he leaned in the two of you in to fetch a passion filled kiss. You felt his heavy length press into your sensitive spot and he smirked on seeing you squirm under him as so, release was a mirage so close yet so far. “I should not let you cum, you do not deserve it” he said kissing the leg that sat on his shoulder.
“Tell me how I can win your forgiveness my prince” You moaned out feeling him hitting that one spot that made your head go hazy as you looked to at him with lust drunken eyes.
Jacaerys smirked “there’s nothing you can do” he grunted out letting moans of his escape as his eyes shut from the intensity of the pleasure, perhaps he was being too cruel to you..
“You are right I do not want your forgiveness, I want more— I need you to be mine” you whined out, the pure euphoria of having you in his arms, under him, needing him just like he prayed to the gods you would. His feelings perhaps were not entirely one sided.
“You already have me, do you not see?” He said truthfully holding your hand to his heart “it beats for you lioness” He whispered in your ear and you gasped from the sheer intimacy and lewdness of your hips moving into each other, the soft wet sounds emulating in the wide halls but now all you could focus was on the man before you, his fingers reached down to your nub rubbing a calloused finger over it, the right little circles along with the snapping of his hips made you throw your head back and moan in tears as you felt your release build up for the fourth time since jacaerys had edged you, your eyes filled with tears as you looked to your betrothed with pleasing eyes to let you cum.
Jacaerys could not find it in himself to deny you of your pleasure anymore as he felt you come hard with a shrill cry of his name. All over his tunic. He felt his own release build up seeing your fucked out look with a few more sloppy hard thrusts he gave you all his cum, strings of his seed trailed down your shaky legs. He swore this was the hardest he had orgasmed ever in his life, his breath lost as he plopped himself over you his head resting in the crook of your neck as you rolled his silky brown hair between your fingers.
“You mean it? You love me?” You asked feeling him hum on your neck placing soft kisses on it as the two of you sunk to your feet using the pillar as support as jacaerys peppered you with kisses.
“Lying has never been in my nature” he said “I have loved you since the moment you I laid my eyes on you, princess” he smiled pulling himself from your neck to gaze upon your afterglow, messy lip tint smeared all over your face from the bruising kisses he gave you. You gasped and playfully punched at his side. “Your little tactics to get me to love you were quite entertaining, I admit” he smirked kissing you once more” as the two of you embraced in the cold of the night you felt so warm with his arms over you.
“You’re telling me all my seduction tactics were never necessary?!” You asked bewildered at your betrothed, you saw jacaerys crack up laughing as though if your realisation was the funniest thing to him. He would have to make up for this he knew, he was always ready to turn the tables around and win your forgiveness with his own seduction tactics.
#jacaerys x reader#jacaerys Targaryen x reader#jacaerys strong x reader#jacaerys velaryon x reader#jacaerys x oc#jacaerys x you#jacaerys x y/n#jacaerys Targaryen#jacaerys velaryon#jacaerys strong#house of the dragon#asoiaf#hotd#hotd fanfiction#jacaerys fanfic#jacaerys x female oc
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The Prince and His Corpse Bride (part ii)
part i
pronouns: she/her
warnings: eventual infidelity? (he and Baela have no romantic connection)
summary: The good news is that Jacaerys has found his grandmother’s ring. One problem. He may have accidentally gotten married to the wrong person? As he traipses through a strange new world to get it back, his not-wife isn't what she seems...
disclaimers: of course i do not own the original corpse bride nor asoiaf however this is my own work and story, i do not give permission for my work to be transferred onto other platforms or translated
dividers by: firefly-graphics
wordcount: 3,818
“Wha-Who are you?” Jacaerys splutters, scrambling his back against the weirwood tree. The dark shadow of nightfall begins to overcast and he can distantly hear Cregan shouting for him. Your lips fold of their own accord as you snicker, you kneel down to his height. “I told you, silly,” You giggle and brush a strand of fallen hair behind his ear in a manner akin to affection. He recoils but you take no notice, smiling just as sweetly at him as if he had gifted you a thousand poetries. You lift your veil to flow down your back rather than over your face. “I’m your wife.” If Jacaerys wasn’t sure this was a dream then he certainly is now. He flinches at the words and slaps a hand to his mouth. “N-No.” He protests, breath stuttering as a nervous chuckle breaks past his dead cold–No!--just cold lips. His palms raise as if in surrender though he intends to do the opposite. “There must be some mistake for I am already betrothed to another.” Your eyes narrow, the flesh of your cheek–the half still present–flows between your teeth. His heart batters hard against his ribs. Your head tilts now, inspecting him and suddenly he feels like a little boy presented to the court again, lacking the snow white hair he is eager to possess.
You sigh at his frazzled appearance and horrified expression. “Indeed.” Your voice bellows and he sighs himself but in relief. “Send your former betrothed my regards.” You turn your back on him and even though it would be so easy for him to run away; he finds himself chasing after you. For the ring, he assures himself, for the ring. A torturous wind ensues but you don’t seem phased, your hair barely even ruffles. “No, I–” He huffs and outstretches her palm. He raises his head high. You’re a Targaryen. He reminds himself. Remember what Daemon told you. Princes do not need permission. He winces at the phrase but still pierces her eyes with his own. “I need that ring.” He demands. Again, you tilt your head but this time condescendingly. You square your shoulders and attempt to match his height. Both your and the prince’s eyes narrow. “No.” You state coolly. “You don’t.” He opens his mouth but you wag a single index finger in his face. “You don’t.” You repeat like scolding a puppy. “This is a vow of one’s devotion toward one’s wife, correct?” You ask, quick and almost as though you had thrown this out before. He nods stiffly. “And a symbol of cherished love and protection?” Again he nods, brow furrowing. “So it belongs to your wife?” He sighs but before he can speak, you interrupt his impending thoughts by wagging your finger again. He seals his lip tightly. He nods.
“Yes.” He finally speaks. You nod and he has the gall to be proud of himself for once. You stop walking and spin around to face him, clapping your hands together shortly.
“Then we have no problem.” His eyes widen.
“Really?”
“Yes. Your wife is wearing it.” Jacaerys shuts his eyes and curses himself.
“You are not my wife.” He states, trying to stay calm even as you start walking off again. He grimaces and glances behind him at the First Keep. He wrestles with himself a moment before scurrying after you again. Jacaerys Velaryon has run before and he does not like it. He hates it rather. He hates that he left for Dragonstone as a child, he hates that he left his life in King’s Landing, leaving him as a stranger in what is supposed to be his own home. He hates his brown hair but he hates the stares cursed onto him most of all. Because they’re all thinking the same thing. You do not run unless you have something to hide from. And he is done hiding. He will accept his responsibilities, marry Baela and he will get back that ring. The winds of Winterfell become all consuming, pressing against his face as if in an attempt to stop him. The roots of so many Northern trees coil before his foot, curling in attempts to trap him. The mixed messages surge through the prince’s mind. Even the Gods’ nature do not know which youngling they side with. The prince or the corpse. He is not fond of his odds and this does not cast him in the confidence he prays for.
He follows, pleading with the woman like a beggar which he supposes he is now. A shiver jolts through Jacaerys like a warning. “Whatever it is that pleases you I will consider so long as you return my ring. You will be rewarded handsomely.”
“There is no need! I am quite satisfied, lord husband.” You quip, the words slithering from your tongue like a trained snake. Jacaerys calls out, trying to track your figure as you twist through the various trees when suddenly she falls. He gasps, eyes widening as he scrambles to find her, was there a bottomless pit he hadn’t heard of?
“Lady?” He calls out, peering over the edge but he frowns at the mere blanket of snow and fallen leaves. A single shaking hand of his reaches out to pad it gently and he gasps when it pushes through into emptiness. He frowns as he investigates, blinking furiously. Jacaerys continues prodding at it, how perfectly it looks encased around his forearm. When he pulls it out again, he finds that it is not wet. It is as though he had never touched the snow at all but instead of further questioning it, he sighs out in relief. It must be a dream. And then he falls, or more accurately; is pulled.
Jacaerys shrieks as he plummets down below but again the snow hasn’t shifted. It appears like a tightly enclosed tunnel of moths and darkness. His breath quickens madly, A dream, this is a dream, a dream, a dream. The air whips around him, unnatural wind tosses his hair in his eyes and moths flutter to press into his clothing. His hands swat at them to no avail, squinting at the force of the wind. His nose wrinkles at a newfound smell, it is like laying in damp fabric. He hears a squeal and snaps his eyes open, head rising to see your excited form clapping. You rush to help him stand and he begrudgingly accepts it, eyes roaming the strange room. “I knew you would come,” You gush, intertwining your fingers with his reluctant and rigid ones. You take no notice. “I knew you would come for me and you would follow me down and you were absolutely wonderful! Oh you were perfect, everything that I have ever dreamed of–!”
“You pulled me!” He realises and narrows his eyes. You shrug and smirk mischievously.
“Would you not have come, anyway?” You tease which manages to snap his mouth shut because he would have, he knows he would have and you know he would have. He is an honourable prince and while he may not particularly care much for you right now, he was not willing to let you fall to your die over his pettiness.
He huffs as you hum sweetly and lead him through a long, night-dark passage, taking the time to glance at the various dark blue paintings surrounding you; portraits. All of them and there must be over five thousand at least. You twirl with his hand and sing sweet songs. He softens at the endearing display though disease eats at his stomach. “What are these?” He asks, pointing to one of the oil paintings. You halt and glance before grinning and skipping up to it, tugging Jacaerys as you go and making him stumble. “That,” You beam. “is her grace Princess Alyssa.” His eyes widen like those of a bird and he gapes. “My great-grandmother?” He asks and you freeze. Your brows knit. “You’re a…Targaryen?” You ask slowly, breath hitched and holding. The young prince takes in the potion of anxiety and nerves splashed upon your expression by his words. Still, Jacaerys stands proud of his ancestry and nods sharply. “Yes. I am the blood of Targaryen and Velaryon, a dragonrider and your prince. What is it you know of my line?” He musters all the strength of his blood to wrap around his bones. To firm them. Solidify his confidence and raise his chin high. He doesn’t like how you’re hesitating, how you bite your lip and nibble it like a frightened animal.
“I did not realise.” You mutter quietly, almost disappointed. He deflates. Impulsively, your hand reaches out and ruffles through his brown hair and you visibly brighten again. “I thought you had been a Stark with hair so wonderful.” Suddenly, a flush creeps along his face and he almost purrs at the praise. “But no matter, you are my husband all the same.” And like that you’re walking again, leaving him to scamper after you with questions burning at you. “I am not, though I appreciate such niceties.” You ignore him.
“Silly,” You chastise, voice reminiscent of scolding a young kitten. He huffs again, on the verge of snapping but then your words soothe him again with curiosity. “She was a kind madame, guided most of us here.”
“Guided you?” Jacaerys asks with an uneasy tilt, tentative. “Where do you mea–?” He’s interrupted by the resounding music, of harps, vielle, lutes all bashing strangely and out of time. Jacaerys’ orbs skim across the large room, at the intensity and swarming bodies all eager to gasp and greet him. He shivers and bats them away, close to falling. You hold him up and grin, giggling at who he assumes to be your friends, he doesn’t know what to think anymore. “Husband,” You beam. “I would like you to meet my family.” They all squeal and prod at him experimentally. “Don’t scare him!” You warn them but still smile brightly. Jacaerys stares, wild-eyed around him and clings to you like a frightened kitten. Both his arms loop around your waist but he straightens his back, still attempting to appear the regal prince of his name. A significantly older woman approaches and squishes your cheeks. “He’s cute.” She coos and winks at the both of you. Jacaerys bursts red and looks down. A man this time takes it upon himself to bump his hip and rake three fingers through his hair, only three,one on his left and two on his right. Jacaerys shudders and cringes back but the man takes no notice. You squeeze his hand and begin pointing out the various people around him but he can only find it in himself to remember four of them. “A…big family.” He chokes out and glances around. “Where are your mother and father?” Perhaps you will listen to reason if he can convince your parents that this was a mistake, your marriage is unconsummated of course. You only giggle at him.
“They are not here,” You respond in cadence. “They are still living.” Silence. Shock. Horror. Those are the only things rushing through his ears but you seem unaffected as his jaw drops and his lips stutter and stumble. “Wha-what do you mean?” He asks, moving to grasp your forearms tightly. Your brows rise. “You did not know?” You ask, swallowing around the nerves. It is not bashfulness that consumes his face in crimson this time.
“Still living? You are dead?” He repeats, roaring. A few of your ‘family’ members gasp and grumble to themselves. He tenses and shoves himself away from you. You frown.
“You came for me, you-you came to save–!”
“I did no such thing!” His voice is boisterous. “You have taken me on a wild goose chase to follow my ring which you have stolen from me!” Your mouth opens to protest but he stretches a finger in your face. “No! You will not talk, you are a childish, naive girl who cannot accept her own death and is now dragging me through Seven Hells just to reclaim my own belonging–” “One that is sacred and worth more than some Northern girl that I have met mere minutes ago.”
“Husband, are you not pleased?” You ask, suddenly your snark is gone and left in its place is a fragile teenager. He ignores you and keeps rambling. “I have a betrothed, I have a life, I have a throne to claim one day, I have–” He stops, his arms stop waving about and he looks at you again, really looks at you. He stops. He is not the only one frightened.
Your eyes fill with water, your lip trembles and your arms are wrapped so tightly around yourself. Breath lodges in his throat. He made you cry. Jacaerys waits a moment and then two more before turning gentle and softening his own eyes. He reaches out to you. “Lady, I am sorry, I–” You sniffle and bolt but as he’s about to chase after you, not for the first time, the stout woman from earlier grabs his arm stiffly, upturning her nose. “Leave her. You are lucky her heart is not as hard as her bone.” She glances up and down at him and he can tell what she’s thinking. He sighs and looks down, letting her too slip away.
“He may have the bloodline but he doesn’t have the brains does he?” Jacaerys hears distantly and clenches his jaw before turning to find a resting place aways from them. He sighs as he sits at a stool, he thinks the room is very strange indeed with its various skeletal portraits and strangely human furnishing, a bar is even behind him right now. He hears a clink of glass on the said table but ignores as he feels an oncoming presence. “Hello,” A voice grunts beside him before he feels a slap across his shoulders. “A Targaryen, eh?” Jacaerys nods, already prepared to hear scepticism.
“Not Rhaenyra’s kid are ye?” He frowns and finally looks up at the man with speckled face and thin hair. Jacaerys thins his own lips and glances over him. “Perhaps.” he settles on, unsure where it will land him to either confirm or deny. The man smiles.
“Ah,” He nodded. “I knew I could see her in your eyes.” Jacaerys frowns and looks down, shame wrapping him like an old blanket. Old, worn and damp. You wish it would bring you the same comfort as it did when you were a child but something is wrong now. It isn’t with innocence in your ears, it is with speculation and longing. He swallows. “My eyes are brown, my Lord.” He rebuts with careful grace. The man leans forward to catch his eye.
“Yes but the mischief is there,” The man grins like omniscient himself. He reaches a hand out and ruffles the boy’s hair.
“I do not suppose you remember me.” The man withers with the ghost of a smile and a sigh peeks from his lips. “A shame but not insulting.” he murmurs. Jacaerys softens, he’s disappointed someone again. The young prince looks down and sighs. “I cared for you as a child, when your mother was in council meetings and your fa-Ser Harwin was at his duties.” There’s a knowing glint in his gaze and Jacaerys looks at him again, more carefully this time before gasping and jumping to embrace him. “Ser Lorn!” He exclaims and suddenly he doesn’t feel like a scolded child, he feels like a free one. Ser Lorn chuckles and pats his back, throaty laugh more familiar than the clothes Jace wears. The man tugs away from him and motions to the bartender. He thanks him and grasps a glass full of strange yellow liquid. He slams it on the table with the roughness of a soldier. “Take a drink, dear boy, you’ll need it with these lot.” He glances around at the various peering eyes. “I’m sure this comes as a shock to ye, our Bridey tends to be a bit impulsive.” He nudges him as slushes the drink before handing it to the boy. Jacaerys looks sceptically down on it before hesitantly bringing to his lips and he gags at the strong smell, Lorn bursts into laughs, slapping his back again as Jacaerys takes a reluctant sip. It’s strange, burning and the glass is as hefty as the bar itself. He coughs as he puts it back down on the wood. He wipes his mouth. “Atta boy,” He winces and scrunches his nose at the taste.
“I want answers.” He blurts and turns, gentle-eyed, at his old friend. The man sighs and swallows, looking away.
“What do you want to know?” Lorn asks. Jacaerys sits upright.
“Everything!” He splurts. “Who is she? Why am I here? What’s happening, what’s going to happen? What is she?” Lorn squeezes his shoulder.
“She’s our corpse bride.” He answers then drives a finger into the boy’s chest. “And how I understand it, you have wed her.” Jacaerys’ brow crinkles and he shakes his head.
“That’s not true, I never, I didn’t!” He huffs in frustration. “I never would have said those vows had I known her body were there. Had I known this was even a possibility!” Lorn tightens his lips. Jacaerys looks off to were his ‘bride’ had fled away. “I didn’t mean to.” He looks like a sad puppy left out in the rain. “How did she get like this?”
“It’s a long story…”
“I have time.” Jacaerys’ eyes harden and suddenly his prince persona has returned full force.
“It was many years ago, you yourself must have been but sixteen.” Jacaerys frowns. He had expected her to be a lot older. “A Lady in her own right and a beautiful one, many suitors and even more vying for her attention.” Jacaerys hesitates as he takes in the information.
“Is…Is she…?”
“Is she what, dear boy?”
“Is she the Lady Y/n?” Silence takes over and then slowly Lorn nods.
“A mysterious man too well known for his own good came and visited Winterfell. A man said as brutal as the hand of the Gods but as beautiful as she and our poor baby, she fell hard in fast. Her father denied the man her hand but she swore to him that she would elope. Our lovers made a promise but when it came time, when she snuck to the Godswood with only her mother’s wedding gown and as many jewels as would fit in her satchel…” Lorn pauses, sorrow making him wince. Jacaerys waits. “She was ready but she waited and waited for him to show until finally she heard rustling, turned around and–” Jacaerys leans forward, more enthralled than he could ever have imagined. “Then everything went black and when she opened her eyes? She was dead as dust.” Lorn takes a swig of his ale.
“But…” Jacaerys slowly processes the dreary tale and bites his lip. “But what about the man?”
“She never told us. What she did tell us is that she made a vow lying under that tree, she’d wait for her true love to come set her free and vow in the way that was supposed to be and cloak her in his protection for all eternity. Protection.” Jacaerys sags his shoulders. “And now he has come.” Jacaerys rise in alarm with wide eyes and shakes his head, standing.
“That’s-that’s not me!” He protests. “I have a betrothed!”
“You made a vow, dear boy,”
“No! Not to her, to Baela! It was an accident! I was practicing!”
“She’s a lovely girl.” Lorn utters softly, softer than anything he’s ever heard. “She is kind and graceful, dutiful, she is–”
“She is dead! Her vows shouldn’t matter!” The boy snaps and Lorn hardens.
“Watch your tongue. Vows of the dead are a very serious business.”
“What?”
“There are seven rules,” He states calmly. “One, once a vow is made it must be fulfilled otherwise the participant dies,” Jacaerys’ eyes grow impossibly rounded. “Two, someone living can bring a deceased person back to life if they seal them with fated promise and help them fulfil their vow. Three, If someone undead makes a vow to someone living, it does not take any effect, neither participants must take it. Four, If someone makes a vow before they pass, they must spend their undead existence attempting to fulfil it, they may only pass to the afterlife once it is fulfilled, or forever live undead in the inbetween of realms. Five, the vow must be satisfied once begun within two moons time or the undead will be forced live forever in a state of unrest.” He hesitates now. “Six, the vow does not have to be completed to be satisfied by someone living and seven, it must be completed within seventy-two hours.” Jacaerys sighs in relief.
“Then I am free!”
“You know that would not be right.”
“It was not right that I was tricked into this.” Jacaerys argues.
“No but it is not her fault.”
“Then whose is it?”
“Sometimes there is no one,” Lorn answers, shaking his head.
“I’m supposed to marry Baela, it is my duty,” Lorn rolls his eyes, tired of the same repeated words.
“Well are you in love with her?” Jacaerys tenses at the words and twitches his face.
“She is my cousin, I have known her all my life, of course I love her!”
“But are you in love with her?” Jacaerys grunts in frustration and stands.
“No but that matters not, I swore an oath, I swore to honour her, to-to–!”
“What good is a marriage without being in love?” Lorn asks, warmth threading through his words. “Your mother was miserable.” Jacaerys snaps his sights on him. Lorn waits.
“This isn’t the first time that she has seen you, if you were wondering.” Lorn mentions slowly. Jacaerys knits his brows together for the hundredth time that eve. “She used to follow you around like a puppy everytime she visited King’s Landing, she used to hide behind trees and peek as you trained with your brother and uncles.” Lorn chuckles.
“I didn’t know…” Jacaerys whispers and looks away.
“You used to watch her too.” Silence lingers in the cold, decayed air.
“I know.” The prince speaks, looking down. “She was beautiful.”
“Is beautiful.”
“That does not matter! She is not meant to be mine…What if…” He swallows, an idea shooting through his mind. “What if I find the man? The man she was supposed to marry? Will the vow stay true?” Lorn stays quiet in conflicting thought.
“I suppose but–”
“Then I will find him!” Jacaerys splutters with relief. “I will speak with my Lady, apologise and find her true love!”
“You must be warned of the time limit. Do not forget, young man.” Jacaerys nods quickly and begins scrambling away again.
“I won’t!”
The Prince and His Corpse Bride Taglist: (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings)
@chompchompluke
@its-actually-minicika
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HOTD Taglist: (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings)
@wrendermedone
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#the prince and his corpse bride ff#corpse bride au#jacaerys corpse bride au#jacaerys x you#jacaerys velaryon x you#jacaerys velaryon#jacaerys x reader#jacaerys velaryon x reader#jacaerys targaryen x reader#jacaerys targaryen#hotd jacaerys#hotd#jacaerys velaryon fic#jacaerys fanfic#jacaerys imagine#jacaerys velaryon imagine#hotd x reader#hotd x you#hotd x y/n#au#thea's fics
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Jacaerys (Jace) Verlaryon MasterList
I promise I will keep up with it!
My Lord Verlayon - Smut
The Snow - Sweet
The Snow P2 - Sweet
Sparing Sword - Flirty
Heat of The Water - Smut
Heat Of The Water P2 - Smut
Heat Of The Water P3 - Smut
Dragon Ride - Smut
Say You Want Me Too - Flirty
Little Bump - Sweet AF
(last updated 01/05/24)
#house targaryen#house of the dragon#house velaryon#house valeryon#house strong#house of targaryen#house of velaryon#house of the dragon x reader#house of the dragon fanfic#house of the dragon imagine#jace x reader#jace#jace velaryon#jacevelaryon#jacaerysvelaryon#jacaerystargaryen#prince jacaerys#jacaerys targaryen#jacaerys velaryon#hotd jacaerys#jacaerys x reader#jacaeysxreader#jacaerys imagine#jacaerys fanfic#jacaerys fic#hotd smut#hotd fanfiction#hotd fandom#hotd fanfic#hotd
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Werewolf Jace x Witch Reader: Date A Witch They Said
Summary: Just a cute little series that I am working on with werewolf Jace and A witch reader.
Warning: None just fluff
Inspiration Credit: @valeskafics
Author Note: Jace is aged up in this fic. Jace and you are in college.
Masterlist
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Date A Witch They Said:
Date a witch they said.
It would be fun, they said.
Jace loves living with you, he loves the fact he can fall asleep next to you and wake up the next morning with you in his arms. The two of you learned about each other's quirks and habits while living together. Some of them are cute, and of course there are some that do drive the both of you crazy. Luckily you and Jace learned to communicate and compromise with each other.
One of the things that Jace loves seeing you do, is you practicing magic. Something about his mate practicing their abilities he just finds so attractive. It was night time, Jace was wearing black basketball shorts and he was shirtless, since Jace is a werewolf he gets hot easily. You were wearing a spaghetti strap tank top and black short shorts pajamas set. Jace was laying on the bed and on his laptop, writing his essay for one of his classes. You were in the middle of the room practicing one of your spells. Jace couldn’t help but to look up from his laptop and sees you levitating from the floor, a circle glowing a light purple around you. Your eyes are close and your hands are open, you were speaking the spell in a language Jace doesn’t even know.
Jace bit his lower lip a little bit, seeing that your tank top is lifting up a little bit. Showing a little bit of your skin and your belly button. Times like this Jace still can’t believe that you are his.
“God you’re fucking hot.” Jace says out loud, with no shame.
You chuckled, and your feet landed on the ground. You open your eyes, and you see your boyfriend smirking at you. You just rolled your eyes, and shook your head, not surprised that Jace finds whatever you do attractive.
“Jace, you think everything I do is hot.” You pointed out, walking to the bed. Jace shrugs, of course he thinks everything you do is hot. You're his girlfriend, his mate. You're attractive as hell to him.
Jace moves his arm so you can crawl next to him and cuddle with him. One of the things you learned about werewolves is that they love physical affection. If a werewolf has found their mate, any type of touch keeps them grounded. You crawl up to Jace, having your face into his bare chest as he does his homework.
As Jace types, you were slowly drifting to sleep. Feeling the warmth from Jace's natural body heat always gave you some sort of comfort and security. Just being near Jace just gave you comfort.
Jace noticed you were falling asleep, he chuckled. He finished typing and closed his laptop and put it away. Luckily for you two, you casted a spell to turn off the lights by command; just in case one of you fell asleep on the other and can't move.
"Lights off." Jace whispered, trying not to wake you. The lights slowly went down, and Jace pulled the covers over the both of you.
He pulls you closer, having your head under his chin. Jace kisses on top of your head and whispers. "Good night my love. Sweet dreams."
The two of you fell asleep in each other's arms, and slept soundly and wonderfully. Knowing the next day, you'll wake up in each other's arms.
#modern hotd#modern au#jacaerys velaryon#jacaerys targaryen#werewolf jacaerys#werewolf jacaerys au#supernatural au hotd#jacaerys velaryon x reader#jacaerys velaryon x you#jacaerys velaryon x y/n#jacaerys x reader#jacaerys x you#jacaerys x y/n#jacaerys velaryon imagine#jacaerys velaryon fanfiction#jacaerys velaryon fanfic#jacaerys velaryon fic#jacaerys imagine#jacaerys fanfiction#jacaerys fanfic#jacaerys fic#house of the dragon#house of the dragon imagine#house of the dragon fanfiction#house of the dragon fic#house of the dragon fanfic#hotd imagine#hotd fanfic#hotd fic#modern hotd au
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today i am here with a little something for @fkevin073 who is writing so beautifully a Jacaerys x OC fanfic called bury my heart next to yours on AO3 ❤️❤️❤️ (which is kind of an AU based on another amazing work of hers that you guys should really check out!) and honestly,, it's only four chapter now but it has taken over my mind and i just HAD to do something alright
this is entirely based on my 4 a.m. speculation but if anything i am right that aemond's jealousy will NOT be as cute when he grows up
#in honor of those amazing hotd season 2 posters#house of the dragon#hotdedit#gotedit#game of thrones#jacaerys velaryon#jacaerys x oc#aemond x oc#hotd fanfic#jacaerys fanfic#alicent hightower#rhaenyra targaryen#rhaenicent#fic: bury my heart next to yours#oc: valaena targaryen#anya taylor joy my beloved <333#it's about the uncle/aunt and niece/nephew incest 🤌#I MEAN THAT ONLY IN THE FICTION WORLD YOU SICKOS#leave me alone#it's the targaryens so its fine............. anyway
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Would I be the asshole if... (1)
Summary: When she has a dilemma she needs to solve, Helaena decides to follow her mother's footsteps and ask Reddit for help.
"Would I be the asshole if I revealed during Christmas I'm dating the son of my mum's former best friend?"
x x x x x x
by u/AutisticQueen0017
I (F20) gotta start this by saying that our families have a really, really long history together and I can't tell everything because it's too personal.
My parents are divorced, and I lived with my mother, but I moved out last year to study with my brother (M19) and a couple of friends, and it is the first time I've lived away from my parents.
I've always known the people I'm living with, aside from my brother, one is my best friend (F20) and the other is my now boyfriend (M19). We've been together since his birthday, and it's been almost a year, but we didn't tell anyone yet because of our mothers. When they were teens they were best friends, the best of them, but something happened, and they slowly distanced from one another.
Before, they weren't hostile. My mum just hated her from afar, and I think his mum was okay with us because she just gave us her old house to live in while we studied before we were even dating.
An accident happened a while ago when we were about to tell our parents we were together, involving both our brothers, and my mum is still furious about it (even though it was my boyfriend's brother who got the worst of it). They didn't have any ill intentions, it was just an accident among friends. I tried defending the boys, because I saw what had happened, but my mum was pissed. She didn't like what I said, and now she is giving me the silent treatment, cause she is too upset.
Read it not on AO3.
#jacaerys velaryon#helaena targaryen#jacaerys x helaena#helaena x jacaerys#jacaerys targaryen#hotd jacaerys#jacaerys fanfic#helaena fanfiction#hotd fanfic#reddit post fic
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Favorite Mistake || Jacaerys X OC
note: i will be posting this on my main acc @pansyparkinsonsworld later. this will also be posted on AO3 and wattpad !!
CHAPTER ONE: lost composure
Jacaerys looked at the young lady in front of him; she looked like the most beautiful Lady of all of the Seven Kingdoms. "Good day, my Prince," The young Targaryen lady bowed, before Jacaerys. "I am the Lady Rhaella Alyssa of House Targaryen, daughter of Daemon and Laena Targaryen."
"Lady Rhaella, how did the tourney treat you?" He replied warmly. "I had the great honour to meet your father, he seemed to be a good person. How is he, your father?" He said this while taking a sip of his wine.
He put her hand out and gestured for her to sit down. "He seems alright." She nodded, sitting down. "We are sister and brother now, my father married your mother."
"Oh, I know that," he said. "We'll be brother and sister for the rest of our lives no doubt and I take great pride in that."
He took another sip of the wine and sighs. This one was more sour but it grew on him after a while. "My lady, what do you think of a strong union between our houses and the Velaryons? I will be ruling for a long time if the Seven are kind enough and so, I hope, would you. The more allies, the better."
"It will be rather.. bittersweet, I'd say. Too many Targaryen-Velaryon marriages, in my eyes." Rhaella scoffed.
"And you would be right. We've been betrothing ourselves to each other for some time and it is high time that we make some new friends", He told with a grin.
"What houses would you rather us to ally with than Velaryons?" He asked with a curious tone. "Personally, I would love to see the Redwynes or the Hightowers. However, the Redwynes are too poor and the Hightowers lack the naval capabilities and the prestige to be considered. Perhaps a northern marriage?"
"Is this your way of asking that I am single and not betrothed to Lord Cregan Stark?" She sipped some wine. "All the gossip in court are.. sadly false." She knew that to be false, for her Father scared away every suitor meant for Rhaella.
"I never assumed that you had a betrothal." He paused, thinking of his next words. "But now that you mention it… What would your father say?" He asked, my tone now curious as a cat. "My lady, would you be interested in a potential betrothal to me?" He asked, somewhat excited. He’s never been to the North, but the tales he has heard are intriguing at best, and terrifying at worst.
"Hmm," She hummed. "Perhaps, if I'd say so myself. Are you willing to, my Prince?" She smirked, as she took some wine. "And.. are you betrothed?"
"Of course I am willing. I would be stupid to miss a chance at a bride as beautiful and as clever as you are", He said with the utmost honesty. "However, your father is not the easiest man to sway. What are your thoughts on the potential match?" He asked, leaning forward in his seat.
"It would be with utmost joy if you were to marry me," She smiled, as she looked at him leaning forward. "My father is of no matter to me, I'd like to see his face when you were to marry me."
"Ah, so we are of the same mind!" He grinned. "I can already imagine his face! He would be pissed, wouldn't he?" He laughed a little. "Well, you have my word. As soon as you are ready to marry, I will propose to you." He said, as his grin turned into a smile.
"My dear Prince," She stated, as she caressed his arm. "Why would you wait for me? I'd like nothing but more than to marry you now. I am impatient, I am well in my child-bearing years, so why wait?"
His cheeks turn red. It was not something he had anticipated. She paused for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. Then it came to him… "Why wait, indeed?" He says with a smirk and he slowly brings her hand to her lips and kisses it.
She blushed, as he kissed her hand. "My Prince," She stated, as she sat on his lap. "I'd hate for a long betrothal. Let us be married now. Please." She said, as she grabbed his hand and placed it on her thigh.
His heart starts beating faster as he took in her words. Is she actually proposing we marry at this very moment? He lets her hand remain where she puts it, waiting for her to say something. "Are you sure about this?" He asked softly, gently caressing her leg with my hand.
She nodded, as he caressed her leg. "My Prince," She stated. "I am positive, I like nothing more than to be married to you." She said, as she grabbed his hand and placed it on her thigh.
He could feel his face turning red. He had imagined such a scenario but never in this way. If we marry now… our children would be true Targaryens and true Velaryons. How could I say no to such an offer? "We shall make our marriage this night," He said slowly and gently, keeping his eyes on hers.
"This night?" She smirked, as she placed a hand on his chest. She knew what she was doing. "Why not now? My body has been aching for yours, and I am a rather impatient Princess, my love." She purred in his ear.
His cheeks turned completely red as his body moved closer to hers without his will. This was not the response he was expecting. "Then now," He nodded, as he placed both of my hands on her waist, looking straight into her eyes full of passion.
She leaned her face towards him, and smirked. "I want you" She whispered, and whimpered in his ear. "I'm well in my child-bearing years, so do it. Do it."
His heart was completely racing, his breath was getting hotter and faster as he moved towards her and embraced her. His lips met hers and he started kissing her neck as he moved his hand up, down to her hips. "As you wish, my Princess," He gasped between the kisses. "After all… I am your Prince and you are my Lady… so what is a Prince to deny his Lady's command?" He smiled.
She moaned in his ear, and leaned her head back. "My P-Prince," She stammered, as she placed her hand on his chest. "You are mine, and I'm yours," She stammered. She got her hands all over his chest, and she's gasping. "I am yours, and you are mine. You got that, Jacaerys?"
"I am yours and you are mine. Is that clear enough, love?" He said as he continued kissing her neck, slowly moving to her lips again.
"Yes, my love." She whispered. "Perfectly clear," She gasped, as she took his lips in once more.
"I love you." He whispered into her ear again. "I love you and you are now my wife. I shall tell the whole realm about our marriage, I promise." He kissed her softly once again, his hands caressing her body and her hips, pulling her close to him.
"You shall," She whispered. "The grandest of grand weddings. And if we were to ever marry, I shall bear your children, and I will be the most devoted wife to you, Jacaerys. I promise you that, oh how I will.."
"The most devoted wife?" He says with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. "What happened to the impatient Princess that couldn't wait until tonight?" He asked once again, this time with a laugh.
"I am impatient, yes it is true." She started. She leaned into his chest, and smiled, as she listened to his heartbeat. "But oh, how I can be patient for you, my love."
"You will?" He asked, as he smiled and pulled her closer to me. If she said she could be patient for me… then so would I be for her. He kissed her on the lips again and said with a smirk. "Then show me how patient can you truly be, love." He said with a wink, looking at her and expecting the next move.
"Hmmm," She pondered for a while. "I could always just.. marry Aemond, if you'd wish for us to be married tomorrow night." She teased. "Or perhaps even Aegon."
"Is that how you will test my patience? By threatening to marry others?" He said with a laugh. "Is that really the best you can do?" He asked, grabbing her hand and moving it closer to his thigh.
"Not quite sure, my love." She teased. "You tell me," She whispered in her ear, as he placed her hand on his thigh.
"If you want to play games, you'll have to try harder than that," He said with a smirk. He started kissing her neck as he moved his caresses up to her back and arms. "I am sure of one thing, however. And that is that I will make you the happiest woman alive and I'll prove it to you," He said with conviction in his voice.
"You are already making it happy right now, Jace." She muttered, as she kissed him. She kissed him gently and softly; and she let go. "And I am sure that you and I will have a happy marriage."
"That we will," He said, as his kisses started getting harsher and more passionate. "I'll make sure you get all the love and attention a Princess such as you deserves". He smiled, still kissing her passionately. "And you will prove that you are the most perfect wife a Prince could wish for. My dear beloved wife."
She blushed at his words. "Your dear beloved wife?" She smirked at that. "I'd like that. Rhaella Alyssa and Jacaerys of House Targaryen and Velaryon. Rhaella Velaryon." She hummed.
"I like that name… Rhaella Velaryon", He smiled at his soon-to-be wife. "My lady, I don't think there are many other things to do for now. How about we spend the rest of the day together, alone? We do not need to inform the realm, you know." He smirked at her.
"What shall we do, then, my love?" She asked, as she laid her head on his chest and drew little heart figures there. "Dragon riding? Horse riding?" She lingered on..
"Or we could just stay here at our solar", He whispered in a soft, whispering tone. "No dragons, no horses. Just the two of us." He kissed her, placing his hand at her thigh once again. "Just the two of us, spending the rest of the day in each other's arms, as the husband and wife we are." He smiled and kissed her neck with more passion than before.
She gasped, as he kissed her neck with more passion. "I—," She gasped. "Jace—."
"Yes, my love?" He said with a smirking look on his face, kissing her neck once again, this time, with even more passion. He moved his head and looked her in the eyes. "What is it?"
She pressed her hand on his chest, and kissed him. "Continue what you are doing, consume my mind with all of you. You own all of me, and I.. I own all of you," She whispered as she laid her head on his chest.
For those moments, the rest of the world seemed to stop existing. His only focus was her, her lips, her body, her every single aspect. He placed both of my hands on her waists and pulled her even closer to me. "You have my full attention, my dear wife," He smiled. Once again, He kissed her lips, this time even more passionately.
"I love you so, Jacaerys." She whispered, as she placed her hands to his hair. "I love you so much," She said, as she looked into his eyes. "My love."
"I love you too, Rhaella." He whispered to her, continuing to kiss her deeply. "I could even say that you belong to me now, as I belong to you, as your love and your husband." He placed his head on hers, as if trying to absorb every single aspect of her. "I love you more than anything else in this whole wide world, my love." He whispered, with such sincerity in his tone.
She leaned in, and smiled. "You belong to me? This is such a dream, and I do not want to leave this dream ever. Gods, if I am dreaming, do not wake me." She laughed at the end. "I am in paradise with my beloved, and he is that of Prince Jacaerys Targaryen."
"This is no dream, Rhaella. You are my wife now, and you are all I could have asked for and more." He said, looking down at her as she laid her head on his chest. "And I love you and I will do anything to make you as happy and as loved as you deserve, my love. I will be your paradise, my love. Every single day. For the rest of our lives."
"Gods, this isn't a dream then," She smiled. She looked at him as she laid her head on his chest. She loved affection, and showed it. "What will our children be.. once we do have?" She asked. "Will they receive my Valyrian hair or yours? Will they get my eyes or yours?"
"They will be our children", He smiled with the most sincere smile he could give. "It doesn't matter their hair or their eyes, for all that matters they will have us, they will have love. They will be the most loved children in the Kingdom and we will be their most loving parents. That's all that matters, is it not?" He asked, still looking at her with the most tender eyes imaginable.
She hummed, and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath, and exhaled. "My love.." She started. "Would you.. Would you marry me, if I were not Daemon and Laena's daughter? Would you still marry me, even if I was born to a lesser born House?"
That question took me by surprise. I was not expecting that, and by the way she said… it seemed it was an important question to her. He thought about it for a moment, trying to give her the best answer possible. "Yes, Rhaella, I would still marry you and I would love you no matter what." He nodded, with confidence. "A wise man once said: 'You don't love something because it is perfect. You love it despite its many flaws.' and I love you, Rhaella. Every part of you."
She smiled at his response, and kissed him deeply and full of passion. "You love every part of me? Even the perfect imperfections?" She asked, hope in her eyes.
"Even the perfect imperfections", He repeated after her, and he kissed her again with passion. "I could always talk of how perfect you are but the truth is… I love every part of you, both good and bad. That's love isn't it? To love each other, for what they are and what they'll become together." He asked, hoping his words make sense and that he answered her question properly.
She nodded, and smiled. "I love you, my love."
"I love you too, Rhaella," He smiled with such genuine emotions, caressing her hair gently. "Tell me… are you happy? Is this your desire… to spend the day inside, with no one else around us?" He asked softly, once again bringing her as close to him as possible. "Just the two of us?"
"Yes," She giggled. "I dislike it when there are a lot of people present, it gives me discomfort so much. And I greatly dislike it, when an older Lord tries to converse with me."
"That's my wife," He said with a smile, as an idea crossed his mind. "I thought we could spend the evening at my chambers, like this. The whole night even, doing whatever we wish. Is that up your alley?" he asked teasingly to her. "Just the two of us. Alone. No lords, no people, nothing but us."
"Yes, take me to your chambers." She smirked, as she stood. She tidied up herself, and patted down her dress. "How many hours have we been here? Gods, it must've been hours.."
"I think it's been more than half a day by now," He chuckled, still caressing her hair gently. "Shall I take you now or would you like a small break?" His eyes meet hers with a teasing and seductive look as his hands slowly start moving towards her hips.
"Whatever are you doing, my love?" She asked, as his hands moved to her hips. She smiled, as she cupped his face. "Do I need to have a reason to touch my wife?" He smirked. "If so, my only reason is love." He said, kissing her once again softly and with passion, waiting for a response.
"But we are still not married, right now. Only.." She paused. "Only what?" He asked, smiling at how she got lost in her words. "I am still your to-be husband, am I not?" he asked, putting his hands on her face once more and kissing her in the lips once again. "Now say it once again: 'My Prince' ", He whispered in a teasing tone.
"My Prince." She teased, as she kissed him on the lips. "Shall we?"
"It looks like we are more than ready," He says with a warm smile. "Shall we go to my chambers then and finish what we started?" He asked, with the same teasing tone.
"Yes, my prince," She whispered in her seductive tone. After all, what were they going to do? "Then follow me, Princess." He whispered with the same seductiveness as her. He gave her a little wink and a smile before walking away, expecting her to follow him.
#jacaerys velaryon#hotd#hotd jacaerys#jacaerys fanfic#jacaerys fluff#jacaerys fic#fanfic#fluff#hotd fic#hotd fanfict
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how they hold you x HoTD men
i saw these photosets and could NOT refuse! so here are the HoTD men and how (i imagine) they would hold you
included: aemond, daemon, jacaerys, aegon, criston cole, harwin strong
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
+bonus
#jacaerys x reader#jacaerys velaryon#hotd smut#jacaerys smut#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd x reader#jacaerys targaryen#prince jacaerys#hotd fanfic#game of thrones#game of thrones smut#asoif#asoif/got#fanfic#smut#fluff smut#hotd jacaerys#jacaerys fanfiction#hotd fluff#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon targaryen#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen#daemon targeryen x reader#ser harwin x reader#harwin strong#ser criston cole#cregan stark
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❝I am going to make him bow to me, brother. Mark my words.❞
[ Jace does not yearn for you. Does not wish for you. Does not want you. But oh, lies are bitter and brittle under a tongue that yearns to taste. ]
[ +18 MDNI ] [ 4,753 ] [ series masterlist ]
| jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt!reader (aegon's twin sister), might be small aegon ii x reader but it's one sided on aeg's behalf, sorry.
contains— manipulative reader, targarcest, mild nsfw, angsty - CANON DIVERGENCE - use of bastard, mentions of alcohol and slight phys. abuse (otto's a dick) - sort of non canon compliant, timeline is loosey goosey; in the books, rhae & dae visit kings landing frequently even after moving to dragonstone, so im going by that - nsfw: male masturbation, strong allusions to sex but no actual woohoo, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas. unedited.
a/n— for my boy jace, the prettiest dark haired prince there is. simp!jace you will always be loved by me. comments, reblogs & like at will!
+ dividers by @danowh0re
+ accompanied song: SWEAT— HAYZ.
Aegon, under the guise of weighty cups and half-mast eyes, slides beside you, following your gaze as you appraised the entrance of the Strong bastards into the courtyard.
"Are you sure about this, sister?"
"Does wine taste like heaven under grandsire's scolding, brother?"
Aegon snorts. As your twin, the difference between the two of you are more stark than people might think. Though you share the childish, almost babe like features that usually got women to bow down to Aegon— with your doe eyes, the soft cheeks, and the curled pout — where people think Aegon is a horrible mess of a git, your shared grandsire the forefront of this slander, you are quite the opposite. Beloved, dutiful, and innocent in the eyes of many.
It didn't matter that you wore green as prettily as your mother, or that your twin is a mess of wine and women— you were different. You were kind, pretty, and enticing.
A precious flower among green thorns, the smallfolk whispered.
People had even commiserated how, despite the typical Valyrian looks of silver-gold hair and lilac eyes, your Hightower lineage softened your edges. Your looks.
Your personality.
Snort.
"You know Aemond would rather see you insult the little bastard in half, than whatever it is that you are thinking of doing."
You hum as you don't remove your gaze from the dark haired prince, making jokes with his younger brother, Lucerys. From the corner of the courtyard, you and your twin could see Aemond sparring with Ser Criston with more vigour than he usually did, especially at the time of day. Occasionally, he spared the younger Strong bastard a glance that spoke of trying to unearth his insides from his body, no doubt imagining the very same as he swung his blade.
Aegon and you shared a look, stifling laughter, before you focused back on your prey. Jacaerys Velaryon. A name he uses like a shield despite having not a single drop of the sea in his blood. All you had to do was look at the dark hair, the skin and the nose of the First of Men before him.
How your half-sister Rhaenyra can say he was a Velaryon with a straight face is beyond you.
Your gaze might be searing as Jace looks up at the balcony from where you had been idly staring at him for the better half of the time, and you give him a wry sort of smile. A soft sort of smile. An acknowledgement. Just as he makes a nod of hesitant acknowledgement— unlike your brothers, you had not join in on the hostility and mean-spirited comments — you had already turned fully to Aegon as if you are enraptured by conversation.
"It's a contingency plan, my darling Aeg," you say softly as you brush the back of your hand to his face. You are aware of Jace's gaze now focused on you and your twin and you make it good for him. You make a performance. You follow the steps you've practiced so eagerly.
And eager for your soft touch, Aegon's eyes flutter in response. Ever since you were young, and seeing how harsh everyone is of Aegon and his failures, you decided you would be the kindness to him.
Though you do like him, another contingency plan for him wouldn't be so bad, would it? After all, you can bet on a lot of things, but your grandsire's award-winning thirst for power and your mother's malady to anxieties are good tidings to see them planting Aegon on the throne and usurping everything from your dearest, oldest sister.
Aeg didn't need to know that, of course.
What he can know and what he can help with, is making sure Jacaerys was looking as you smiled softly at your brother, your gold and silver spun hair bathed in morning light, and in one of your favourite dresses— a white silver dress lined with black lace and green embroidery of dragons — you were angelic personified. The Maiden come to gather and soothe your dearest brother.
You capture Aegon's face in your hands, ever soft, ever sweet, as you smile at him. He's so deprived of physical touch that doesn't harm him that he sighs against your palms. You do feel a little bad, but you need this plan to work.
"I am going to make him bow to me, brother," you whisper, giving him a soft kiss to his temple. He shudders, hands placing them on your waist, enunciating the kind curves you sport. "Mark my words, that boy king will stifle under my hand and foot. Mother's fears will not come to fruition. All will be well."
"I am older than you," he says softly, half smiling.
A gaze sears at the side of your face, as strong as the concussive heat radiating off a dragon's maw as your thumb brushes across your twin's cheek.
There is that, you think amusedly. No one can deny the little heir is his mother's child. Bastard he maybe.
"And I am better," you whisper, snickering.
"That you are." But his gaze is past you, back at the courtyard, at the reason for the heat in your skin. A spark of jealousy is quick in his mulish blue eyes but you only laugh. Light but loud, echoing.
"Come," you say with finality, taking a step back and offering your hand as you make the conscious choice of not daring even a peripheral glance, and heading back inside the keep. "We shall see them at dinner. The king's orders."
Your brother makes a sound crossbred from a huff and a groan, and you are already making plans to ensure his wine is controlled for the night, lest he makes a fool of himself in front of the King— or gods forbid, your grandsire — and mayhaps ensure the seating arrangement once again with your mother.
But everthing else is background noise; your schemes and your plots, your facades and faces, because a faux Velaryon has made it known that he cannot keep his gaze away from you.
Everything else is moot.
Jacaerys Velaryon, firstborn son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, soon to be Heir to the Iron Throne and Prince of Dragonstone, does not understand himself.
Perhaps you are just eye-catching. Your hair is more gold than silver, but it shifts like a mirage against sunlight. You yourself seem to change under shadows and light, as if you're casting a new spell again and again. Your eyes, your lips, the slivers of presented skin (have you really shown this much skin, all this time?), and your hips.
They sway, like a panther's.
Like a dragon's.
Jace has always known you to be pretty; Helaena has always been his favourite aunt with the fact that she's quiet and doesn't antagonise him like your brothers. Because Helaena simply cared little for him not because he was Rhaenyra's son, or that he didn't look like his father, or because he was a prince of the realm set to become heir once his mother was crowned.
Helaena simply just didn't care about him as a human not as hisn ame or his blood, her thoughts lingering more in her bugs and the fat babes she had with her brother, humming nonsensical under her breath. Not insults.
You were different. You looked. Jace knew you looked but he had never caught you before. It's a dance, he later realises come dawn he is awoken and there is a weight on top of him in rings of gold and silver, breathing softly— alive and so very warm, and from that moment, his — but for now he doesn't know.
Doesn't understand.
Your gaze is weighty, leaving searing imprints like a dragon marking it's favourite horde. But it's so hard to catch.
It started at the training grounds. As if his Uncle Aemond's wasn't enough, there was yours. He knew but could only see once, and even that felt like it was deliberate, a mere nod. As if you controlled how he worked around your sphere, and by gods, were you beautiful. Then you had turned to your twin brother as if he was nothing to you— really, he was, in the scheme of things, you were the secondborn daughter of the Queen, no matter how pretty your visage or blood is, you are a woman and a third child (right after the firstborn daughter and son), and in the other end, Jacaerys was the first son and heir of the Princess of Dragonstone, soon to be Queen. In fact, you should be nothing to him.
He was to become King, and you to be offered to a lord. To be someone's wife, to relinquish your surname and become someone's mother. Rear your new lord husband countless of babes and live your life having fulfilled your sole duty.
It is a fact that tasted brittle and bitter in his tongue, like soot and ash, and he doesn't understand it. You had crossed his mind, idle as it maybe, from time to time, but nothing concrete. You are pretty, you are kind, mischievous at times, playful, and you purposefully don't keep him long in your orbit.
You were just another aunt. Aegon's Twin Flame.
Misbegotten to not even marry your brother.
It was at dinner that night, amongst clinking goblets and fat foods spilling the edges of the table, his grandsire having arrived, even Aegon, rumpled hair and sunken eyes but dressed and suspiciously sober— and you, your mother's favourite, her most affectionate daughter, late.
"Where is she?" Jacaerys heard the Lord Hand asked, but the Queen had no reply, as confused.
And then you arrive, not ten more minutes later, and Jace's entire body had locked.
Though he did not know why or what, he knew you were up to something. You arrived in a new dress from this afternoon— close to it's style, nothing like the Queen's or Helaena's, conservative high necks and pious ever green— no, you came as a surprise with a flutter of a silken hand and an embarrassed laugh, tipping to your father a kiss on the side of his good face.
Even as you sat, it took a good, long while before the chatter would arose again (from your gracious laugh at your father's compliment no less), before everyone's eyes— even Criston Cole's, ever loyal rat — would lift from your visage.
You were ethereal, simply put, in a dress that is not of pious ever green or high collar trim; but in a flutter of what Jacaerys remembers as his mother's gown when she was pregnant with Aegon, and the days got too hot. When the babe inside her, made of pure dragon, had made her a furnace burning from the inside out.
It was the same lightweight material draped over your skins, a thin material bunched up several times so it is not too sheer. Not too inappropriate. Jace doesn't know what the fabric is, doesn't care to, but it looks like flowing water against your body. It moulds to your movements. Your shape is obvious, so are the expose arms, collarbones, your chest dipping low, too low sometimes when you lean over and laugh, eyes alight— Jace's eyes cannot stay away, they are glued to your necklace, to the top of your smooth breasts — and the dress is held together in links of golden dragons, your hair made up in braids, in pearls and small emeralds, with curled strays framing your cheeks and smile, your exposed neck.
It was meant to garner looks, compliments.
But it was the colour that Jacaerys knew it was meant for him.
At the centre of your chest— your bosom that dips, two mounds, so soft looking and the urge to reach over and press his fingers down, see how soft and pliant you really are, hear the kind of noises you make, in pain or pleasure, his thoughts make him hiss, tightening his hold on his wine, pinching nails to skin to ground himself — it starts off a darken green, shifting, blending to a winter green, a bluer green, a seafoam that he is more than familiar with, before escaping the edges in deep water blue.
The colour of his father's house had never looked so good, so charming, so sinful before.
He tears his eyes away from you because it is improper to be staring so, to be looking at you and feel like he is feasting when he is rooted in his chair and still so hungry, especially with the plans of betrothal with Baela, his mother had already asked him if she is ever in his thoughts.
Baela who sits beside him, ramrod straight and keen-eyed, respectable Targaryen lady, a confidant and a good friend. She would make a good queen in the future, he had thought so before. Respectable and fearsome, the best parts of his stepfather and the late Lady Laena.
He shakes his head, swallowing down his slice of veal before he kicks Luke's leg under the table.
His brother yelps, a mournful irritated sound for his eyes had ogled far longer (just like he, but would never admit) on you than was proper, reminding him, and yet when you look up at the sound, your eyes— have they ever been so violet? — lands on him. Again.
When your gazes meet, he is enraptured, but he clears his throat and nods. "You look good, aunt." And because he cannot step, because his thoughts are cloudy and you are looking at him as if you know he can't stop looking at you, as if you can read each filthy thought he tries to stifle, as if you like it, he continues, "The sea green is a nice colour on you."
He can feel eyes on him, even the Lord Hand's. Even Aegon, goblet pressed against his lips, hiding a smirk. He burns, but he doesn't burn as bright when your smile stretches, your lids lower, and he burns so bright he fears he might be on fire.
The flames are licking him and he does not mind, so long as you keep your gaze.
"Thank you, nephew," you hum. "That is so very sweet of you to say."
And Jacaerys blushes, coughing once when he notices his lady mother giving him a look. Knowing. Curious but not probing, not yet. What he doesn't notice is the Queen's perceptive frown as she gazes at her daughter, the Lord Hand's raised eyebrow, or Aegon trying so very hard to stifle his laughter, turning to Helaena as if he is saying something to her.
But what Jacaerys does see is Aemond's intense glare, sharpened and rekindled and suspicious, and Daemon... The Rogue Prince is eyeing you differently. No longer just another Targaryen bleeding Hightower green, no longer just another offspring of the Hightower cunt.
No, Jace can almost see inside his stepfather's brain and see the Valyrian looks. The body of a woman freshly sloughed off the body of a child.
You are pretty and young and Daemon Targaryen is looking at you.
It shocks Jace how much he despises it.
It is for my mother, his thought persists even as he looks at you again and his insides whirl. I am upset for my mother.
Daemon Targaryen can see plainly what you are doing.
You've always hated that about men with good insight, who do not care for what is between your legs, only for your actions. For what it might do for what he cares about.
And Daemon cares for Rhaenyra, for Viserys, for the Targaryen legacy, pure and untainted.
(As if the blood of the First Men is okay to bastardise his bloodline but gods forbid the oldest and greatest of the Great Houses).
And he is now looking at you as if he has noticed the steps and webs you have spun around for his stepson, the direct legacy, and he is amused.
The dinner comes to a conclusion to a small dancing, and your twin, dutiful to you and your orders you had told him as you cleaned and prepared him for dinner; stood up, brushed himself off, and politely asked Baela for a dance— the latter looking so surprised he was fully sober, much less asking for her hand — that she found no excuse, and reluctantly accepted as they pivoted to the centre.
As Daemon continues to look at you, to unravel you as if you are an enemy in a battle map, you stand up quickly and turn to Aemond, smile wide and fake.
Jacaerys won't ask you to dance. He had drawn looks with his compliment, suspicion. Grandsire was right, they are planning to marry him off to Baela to strengthen their cause. Jace will not entertain anything anymore publicly.
Duty bound, honour bound.
But, but, but.
you are not a fool, you know men and their pissing contests. You are a daydream hiding a nightmare.
For the past few minutes, he had noticed Daemon's inquisitive, amused appraisal of you, and his brown eyes (pretty for a bastard's; Ser Harwin's lashes must have been long) had burned a different fire and it gives you an idea, an exhale of relief.
Jealousy can salvage anything.
You just need to push him.
And Aemond is beautiful, a true Valyrian King in visage, the Warrior come alive. You look so much softer when you are beside him.
"Sister?" Aemond looks up at you, curious, confused since the beginning of the night. There is a plot he isn't privy to, and he has been spearing glances at you, at Aegon, at his grandsire just in case he knew anything.
You were unmarried while Aegon had married Helaena. Your time is coming, and he loathes the idea of a betrothal to the Strong Bastard. He had made his complaints known when the missive came from your sister, asking sweet Helaena's hand for your son thinking your mother would have surely betrothed you to your twin.
Neither side knowing you had almost sent back your name, offering your hand.
"It has been a while since you had asked me to dance, little brother," you say, hands behind your back, framing yourself soft and playful. There are so many gazes on you, you play with it well.
"I was ten and one then, mandia sister, a boy."
"Too long," you tease. "Kessa ao daor lilagon lēda aōha mandia, valonqar? Will you not dance with your sister, little brother?"
He hums, acquiescing easily, and standing up. You peel a laughter that attracts a chuckle from the king. This is how you dance around the palm of Viserys I. Men like it when you play a part. Not to cost trouble, not to step over the line.
You aren't the elder sister, the firstborn child. You are means to further a line, not to have any important position. Rhaenyra is the exception only from the womb that bore her. You, like Helaena, are likened to fall in line and act like you like it. Like being a fat, old lord's wife has always been your dream. Bear his babes and suffer the trauma of hanging your life in the balance to produce them into the world.
It makes you burn with rage most days.
"What are you doing, mandia sister?" Aemond whispers against your cheek after having brought you close, dancing through the steps swiftly, keenly. It truly is a shame that Aemond doesn't dance oft.
"Won't you just believe and put your faith in the sister that you adore?" you snipe playfully. It's easy to use Aemond's hair to hide the glance you drop Jacaerys and see the seething glare he burns through your baby brother's head. Lust, yearn, jealousy— they dance and cook in his gaze. You giggle despite yourself.
"Grandsire will not allow you to marry that bastard," Aemond hums, unable to hide his irritation. You roll your eyes. Clever little brothers.
"As much love as I can grasp from my heart for our grandsire, valonqar, I am a dragon. I will take what I want. A tower is nothing to dragonfire. Grandsire oft forgets I am a princess of the realm and he is only a lord." You step back and bow as the song ends, as your father tires and wishes to go to bed. He only stays this long, or even leaves his chambers, when Rhaenyra decides to deign Kings Landing with her presence.
Always more for the heir. More effort, more love, more care.
And what is left for the other daughters of Viserys I?
He remembers Helaena's existence less, and if you do not make it a point to visit him everyday— to entertain him, read to him, laugh at being mistaken for Rhaenyra — you are sure you will be nothing more than a faint dream to him.
Your anger licked dark and green. Inside, it rages.
You watch as Jacaerys Velaryon says something to his mother, a rushed farewell, an excuse— a press of your fingers against your lips as you catch his breeches are tight, that his jaw is clenched — you step closer to Aemond once more, Aegon now drifting away from Baela and back into your orbit.
"Don't worry, little brother, I do not actually desire the Strong bastard. I want his crown."
Aegon giggles breathlessly, eyeing as Aemond's eye widen a fraction before he composes himself. "And what do you need now, sister, to accomplish such a beguilingly easy task?" Aegon snorts softly. There is only a faint scent of alcohol on him. You take it as win. "He's like a green boy from a quick flash of your chest. What more your tits in full display?" He leans close, mean and adorable. "You do not want a husband who is too quick for your own pleasure."
You swat his arm, pinching the soft flesh of his stomach before Aemond fully throttles him.
"Watch your tongue," Aemond hisses, fists clenching.
"It is okay. I take no offense, he is just being silly to rile you up," you placate him, pulling your twin closer to you just as Helaena approaches, shuffling close to your other side, burying her head against your collarbone. You hum, letting her quietly choose which physical affection she can take from you.
The four Green children, missing one. Scales of the dragon they may have, green fire burning from their maws. The four Green children, miss one. Sons and daughters of Viserys I. Nothing more than wombs and seeds for his legacy.
You finally turn to Daemon's probing stare and you keep it. "Keep his family away from him," you whisper to your siblings. You do not care if he understands. At this point, even your grandsire may have an idea for your plots.
And for the crown, for his lineage, no ambition is too small.
If he can send your mother to an old, grieving man after he had butchered his first wife, what ease it is to send a granddaughter willing to dance a scandal?
"I need him alone tonight."
You do not come to him immediately, more than knowing what he is doing. Maegor's Holdfast is a fun little place, with its secrets and tunnels. You had already studied the path to his apartments beforehand, and you are there, against the hidden way, hearing him fuck his fist to the vision of you, your name dripping and spitting from his pretty red lips.
You catching him after the high, chest up and down breathing hard. There is a self-loath, a disgust. You can just read his thoughts. When you enter, he is alarmed, a sword in his hand, guarded replaced to shock at the sight of you.
"Aunt," he whispers, appalled. Lustful. Righteous.
You tilt your head, unsmiling. You guard your thoughts as you approach, hands behind your back, voice soft. "Do you always reach to completion with my name in your tongue, nephew, or is today an exception?"
Jacaerys Velaryon flinches, sword hand dipping. "I—"
You are close, a hair's breadth away. Amusingly, he is struggling with himself. His honour in one hand, his desire in another. He wants to leap away from you and pull you close.
His choice is still open.
You answer for him.
"Would you like to know whose name falls from my lips when I reach completion?" you whisper against his lips. So close but still so far. Your fists are clenched behind your back, nails drawing blood. You cannot fail now. The Rogue Prince might be wandering now, ready to yank you or kill you.
You are a viper in a vipper's nest, and Daemon Targaryen is too late to realise you only want one true victim.
Jacaerys is drawn, the shock of your words melting to make way for the flutter of his eyes and the full shudder of his body as you lick a strip across his bottom lip, staining him.
Break yourself for me, Strong Boy, you think as he opens his eyes and stares at your lips. Break your oaths, your promises.
"Whose?" he asks, voice hoarse.
The surrender is at the hands he has brought first to your hips before he rose it slowly up and up, until his warm palms cupped your jaw, your face, swallowed in his hold. It is a delight to know his hands are bigger than your face, that he is told to tower over you. A boy king grown.
"Yours."
He groans but does not let you go. "I am betrothed."
You still. Such a Good, Strong Boy, resisting until the very fucking end. "I have not heard of such announcements, nephew."
"Mother will announce soon."
"Is that what you want then?" You grip his hands and stride forward until your are chest to chest. Until he can feel every outline of your body against his, until you can feel the hard line of his manhood against your stomach. Until he feels his own body breaking his oath.
"Please, Jace," you whisper, you beg. Your eyes begin to water. "I want you to take me... Only you. I have longed for you for so long. Your mother— my sister betrothed you to me first." He leans back, surprise flitting. "Yes, my love. But my mother had refused. I— I thought you would see it nevertheless. The affection in my gaze, the smile I give only to you. That I am offering my heart, my soul, my body to you. Only to you, Jacaerys."
Your tears are running down now, your voice so soft and so desperate. Where lust had clouded him, it is now tinged with a flattered adoration.
Men are so simple. Boys far simpler.
"I thought you knew," you say at last in a voice as broken as your heart. You take his hands away and step back. He grasps but you turn away, a sob wracks from your chest as fake as when you were a child, trying not to get in trouble with your mother so she can fire the septa that you hated. She had sneered at Aegon's drunken folly and was disgusted by Aemond's fresh wound.
You wanted her gone.
"Aunt, I—"
"It is alright," you cut him off. You turn back slightly, your smile watery, your gaze to the floor. "Aegon did not choose me either, unlovable as I am. Men only want me for my body and nothing more. I-I'll leave you be. Good night—"
You never finish your spiel because he had yanked you, hard, against him, his lips moving against yours— clumsily, not enough practice but aggressive in its desire — pressing you against him as if he is trying to swallow you whole.
Jacaerys is not bowing, not yet. But that night with his seed warm and full inside your womb, his body encased against your own, tightening whenever you made a movement, as if in fear any step you take away from him would slip you so freely from his fingers— his mouth, his lips, bruised by your own making, pressing featherlight soft against the side of your head, your hair — it is not too soon to think the boy king will bend the knee to you and only you.
And maybe the babe you bear him, but there is no need to rush. These steps are delicate but sure.
After all, he has only just cemented the thought that he will whisk you both to Dragonstone at first light, a traditional Old Valyrian wedding.
He will bow soon enough.
For now, you will enjoy your glowing win.
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Sneaking around
r.q: Hii I was wondering if you could do a Jacerys x twin!reader. Where they have been betrothed since they were young, and as the grow up they start slightly falling for each other. And one night she sneaks into his room and they explore themselves 👀can it be smut aswell. 💕🙏
w.c: 3.2k
c.w: porn with plot, misunderstandings, oral (f), p in v, very inaccurate first time, loss of virginity, jacaerys is an idiot, not proofread, supportive daemon, happy ending, avoids use of y/n, talks of baela/jacaerys
part two
You and jacaerys were inseparable ever since you were born. You two did practically everything together. You ate together, you sat and watched him train while he would sit with you and watch you stich. It was hard to separate the two of you. Your mother even told you when you were very young you would cry if you even lost sight of him and they had to bring him to you to comfort you.
You had thought nothing of it, not until you had reached the age of three and ten when your mother announced you were to marry him. You could not even process this news as seemingly right after came the news of lady laena’s death and funeral then very soon after the marriage between your mother and daemon.
When you could finally have a moment to breathe back at dragonstone you tried to turn to jacaerys but he seems to be avoiding you at all costs. More interested in spending his day with baela and lucerys. You couldn't even get along with him let alone speak a word to him without him dodging you and mumbling something about being busy before walking away and most of the time he would be spotted talking with baela and it broke you.
You began spending more time with Rhaena and Joffrey instead. Joffrey was far too young to even understand why you were upset but rhaena did and did her best to try and cheer you up.
It was hard to move past it but It got easier as the years went on and he still refused to even glance at you.
“Do you think she will call off the betrothal if I ask her too?” you were now eight and one after your recent name day and dread filled you as you realized you were getting closer and closer to marrying jacaerys. You two still did not talk, you had given up trying to speak to him a long time ago.
Daemon who was casualing sitting next to you takes a sip out of his goblet, “why ever would you ask her to?”
You do not lift your head to look at him with his curious stare and continued to stare at the game board in front of you, picking up one of the pieces before answering,
“He does not like me, it would be better for both of us if he married someone else,” you place the piece down before answering him, “like baela.”
He laughs, he laughs so hard he has to clutch his stomach, “it is not funny.”
He wipes a tear from his face as he manages to calm down. “You're right it is hilarious.”
You scoff and cross your arms, “i knew i shouldn't have brought it up-”
“No no, please continue why do you think he likes baela?” He seemingly picks up a random piece from the board and moves it before leaning back on his chair and looking at you expectantly.
“Why should I not? When we had been betrothed the first thing he did was decide he wanted nothing to do with me since. Even on our shared name day he says nothing to me except simply wishing me well. He spends every waking moment with her, and when he is not with her he is with my brothers and simply acts like i do not exist he does not even extend me a good morning or a good night for gods sake!” one of your hands slam down on the table in front of you, the board pieces moving but not falling over and you only grow more and more annoyed at the amused look on his face.
“You are in love with him.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You do not deny it.” you angrily move another piece of yours on the board and lean back on your chair as he does.
“It doesn't matter he does not like me. I shall bring it up to mother anyway since you are of no help.”
He chuckles to himself as a servant enters the room to inform him rhaenyra requests his presence. He shakes his head as he stands moving one of his pieces before turning back to you.
“Give it time Issa dōna.”
It is the last thing he says before he is led out the room. You glance down at the board and throw your head back with a sigh.
He had won.
—
“She plans to ask your mother to cancel the betrothal.”
Jacaerys freezes his head whipping around to look at daemon who was standing closely behind him.
“Whatever do you mean?”
Daemon laughs, “you sister. She plans to have your betrothal called off.”
“Why?”
“Gods you really are foolish boy.”
Jacaerys always believed you to be his better half. While he was more temperamental and hot headed you always seemed to be so rational and so kind. When he heard of your betrothal the first thing he felt was excitement, but it soon turned into fear as he began to worry he would not be a well suited husband to you. He began to spend more time with baela and his mother who taught him how to be a kind and honorable young man and in turn he had begun to ignore you out of fear of ruining your relationship. He had never thought you would turn around and ask for the engagement to be dissolved.
“You should act quick, she seems rather determined to be rid of you.”
Daemon could barely finish his sentence as he watches jacaerys march out of the room and a smile falls on his face.
–
You almost jump out of your seat as the doors of the room you resided in busted open. You moved to a balcony and had been reading. You clutch your book to your chest as you lock eyes with a seemingly out of breath jacaerys who lets out a sigh of relief upon seeing you.
“Jacaerys?”
“Sister, good day.”
You have no clue what to say. This is the first to who knows how long he had come up and approached you himself. All you could do is nod your head as you went back to reading your book.
“Could I sit with you?”
You hum and he takes that as a que to take a seat right next to you. You attempt to focus on the words in the book in front of you but you feel his stare burning into the side of your face you can't help but to feel flustered and the words are nothing but a blur.
“Would you not rather be hanging out with others?”
After a few moments of silence you cut through it like a knife without looking up at him you continue to feel him stare at you.
“Who ever could you mean?”
You scoff, aggressively turning the page despite the fact you had not read a single word on the previous one.
“Oh I don't know, baela perhaps.”
“Baela? I believe she's busy today. But what does she have to do with-”
“Oh so you are finally spending time with me because your precious baela is busy?”
“Where is this coming from?”
You stand and take the book under your arm as he stands up as well looking at you alarmed, “y/n..”
Gods, you missed him. You missed the way he said your name.
“I must go i have a meeting with mother i must attend to,”
He looks alarmed and grabs your arm before you can rush past him, “you must not speak with her.”
He grabs your other arm and pulls you close to him so you are forced to lock eyes with him as you feel your breath leave you. He has a desperate look about him, a wash of guilt and sadness over his eyes.
“I do not deserve it such as i do not deserve you but i must beg for your forgiveness for my transgressions. I have been a bad brother and in part a bad partner but I must beg you to give me another chance. I know I shall never deserve you and I should not have stayed away from you for so long but I was worried you would begin to resent me so I sought out to become a man you would grow to l- grow to enjoy spending your life with. I am sorry. I shall work everyday to earn back your favor and to earn back your trust but I must beg you to not dissolve what has been written in stone between us.”
A tear must have found its way out of your eye as he brings one of his hands to wipe it away, his eyes never straying from yours.
“Jace..”
He smiles and leans his forehead against your and takes a deep breath. “I beg of you. Allow me to fall and grovel at your feet for your forgiveness.”
“You're not just going to ask me for it?”
“I do not deserve such an easy fate. You must do me the honor of earning it.”
You laugh and your smile grows as he also begins to smile.
–
A switch from never seeing jacaerys to practically seeing him all waking hours of your day was a dramatic change. When you awoke he would be waiting for you by the door to walk you to breakfast where he would sit next to you and he would request you come and watch him practice with lucerys and you would try and not laugh as he practically threw the younger boy around like a rag.
The more and more time you spent with jacaerys the more brave he would become. When the two of you would walk he would place his hand on your back and slide it down almost low enough to be scandalous oh he would pull you into a empty corridor of the keep before dinner and just run his hands up and down your sides as he nudges his head into your neck, seeming content with simply just touching you as such.
Despite the fact he seemed content, you grew more restless. You wanted him. No, you needed him at this point. Finally having him in your grasp after many years you could barely keep control of yourself when you were around him, wanting nothing more than to jump in his lap and let him have you.
One night you're restless in your bed, turning side to side unable to ignore the ache that resided between your legs and groan as you run your hands along your face.
You decided to fuck it and just go visit him. Throwing on a cloak and don't even bother to tie it, keeping a firm grip on his with one hand as you walk out of your room and as quietly as you can begin to make your way down the hall down the very familiar path to jacaerys room.
You begin to rethink your choice as you stare down his door, your bare feet cold on the harsh flooring of the keep. You could see light peeking out from under his door telling you he was still up despite the later hour and against your better judgment you raise your hand and lightly knock on his door.
You hear a chair scrap and feet paddling towards the door until the door opens and you're met with his shocked face.
“y/n? What are you doing here?” He quickly peeks his head out and looks around the hallway before grabbing your arm and pulling you into the room.
“I just wanted to see you.”
“In the middle of the night?!? Where you could have been seen, what would mother think?”
“I'm sorry..”
You hang your head and jacaerys sighs and rubs his hand over his face, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get angry. I am just worried about your reputation.”
He walks over to you and places his hands on your shoulders and you look up at him. You finally notice something, he’s shirtless. You should have noticed that sooner, of course he would be shirtless. You know most men sleep shirtless. Why would he be any different?
He takes notice of your gaze and flushes, you take notice of the red beginning to shine on his ears and on his cheeks.
“I am so sorry allow me to go cover myself-”
You grab his cheeks and he freezes. In your rush for him not to leave your side you forget about your cloak and it falls to the ground.
You gasp and move closer to him as a chill washes over you.
“y/n…”
His hands grip your waist and pull you right up against him and he drops his head into your neck and leaves a kiss there.
“Tell me to stop at once.” he continues to kiss your neck over and over as he runs his hands up and down your sides and you shudder.
“I demand you ask me to stop.”
His lips trail their way up your jaw and his hands rest against your cheek, “why must i?”
“For your honor you must push me away for I fear I desire you far too much, it is improper.”
“Jace.”
He groans and stops himself from kissing your lips, leaning his forehead against yours and breathing heavily.
“You must push me away.”
You decide to be bold and push your lips against his and he grips your face with his hands, kissing you frivolously.
Your hands find their way onto his chest and slide down under the band of his pants and he groans, his lips sliding off of yours, a trail of saliva falls between you as his head falls into your neck.
“Please, my love please.” he whines as his hips thrust against your hands. You had snuck away and read many a book about what a man and woman do in bed, especially after reconciling with jacaerys, and you wrap your hands around his dick and take your rub to rub around to the tip of it. He groans into your ear and suckles your neck. You use the seemingly constant flowing precum to pump up and down, taking pleasure in the way he whines and moans in your ear.
“You are too kind to me.” he slurs in your ear as you smile and work faster, “i only wish to please you, would you rather me get on my knees?”
You squeal as he rips your hands off him and lifts you up and carries you over the bed, “as thrilling as that view would be, I would much rather be pleasing you my love.”
He lays you down on the bed and gets on his knees pulling you closer to the edge, once he gets closer he lays his head against your thigh and admires you. “You did not come wearing anything under your gown?”
You cover your face with embarrassment, “do you think me desperate?”
He shakes his head as he moves closer, “no, i am much worse.”
He licks a long strip up your core and grips your hips down with his hands as he eats as if he had never eaten anything before.
Your hands grip his long curly hair and you can barely contain your moans as you try to push him even closer to you.
“How are you so good at this?”
He hums against you sending chills down your spine, “I imagined this more than I would like to admit.” His words are muffled as he continues to assault on your clit but you can understand him clearly and moan even louder. He does not care, if anything he seems to encourage you by not faltering even for a second, if you could have any coherent thoughts you would wonder how he could breathe.
Your grip grows tighter in his hair and your hips fight against his hands as you grow closer and you feel him smile against you. “Come for me, I wish to taste it.”
And you do and he takes his time licking up each and every single drop before kissing his way up and climbs on top of you and smiles at you. His hands fondle your breasts on top of your nightgown, “could you take it off me?”
Once the two of you are sat up he bunches up the bottom of your gown, “lift your hips for me.” he easily slides the gown up and off of you. His eyes glow as they rack over your body, “you are the most beautiful women in the whole world. I shall never deserve you.”
He kisses you before standing up and sliding his bottoms off, you do not get any time to admire his form before he is already climbing over you once more and kissing you again.
“Please jace do not tease me.”
“I should prep you more-”
“I dont care”
“It will hurt-”
“All I want is you, please.”
He looks worried but gives in as you feel his dick slap against you and you moan as you grip his shoulders.
“Please tell me if it hurts too much.”
It does hurt. It hurts like hell. A part of you almost tells him to stop pushing into you but you power through until you feel him bottom out. You two sit there for a while, the only sounds being your gasping breaths and his strained groans as he seems to be holding himself back.
Once the pain seems to subside you test with a move of your hips causing him to moan out. “Do not do that.”
“You can move.”
“Are you sure?”
“Please do.”
He is slow at first, so slow you can feel every vein up against your walls and you tighten around him and he hisses. As he continues to move your moans seemingly motivate him to begin to move faster and faster until he is rutting into you like he cannot control himself any longer.
You sloppily leave kisses on his neck as your hands grip his back, you are so overwhelmed, all the feelings you hold towards your twin rushing towards you at full force.
“I love you.”
He stops, out of breath he grips your face with his hands, “what?”
Tears flood your face as you stare at him, you thought he never looked so beautiful. “I love you.”
He leans down and kisses away your tears as he begins to move once again, “I love you so much so so so much my sweet.”
In your rush of emotions you came yet he continues to kiss all over your face and your neck until as he did earlier his head slumps into your neck.
“Where do you want me to-”
“In me please I beg of you. I need to feel it.”
And so he does. The two of you stay like that for a while, completely out of breath and covered in sweat. One of his hands comes to your cheek once more and caresses it as he lays a gentle kiss on your lips.
“I love you so much.”
“And i love you.”
#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd imagine#jacaerys targaryen x reader#jacaerys velaryon x reader#jacaerys strong#prince jacaerys#jacaerys targaryen#jacaerys velaryon#hotd jacaerys#jacaerys x reader#jace x you#jace velaryon#jace targaryen#jace x reader#hotd fanfic#hotd x reader#hotd x y/n#house of the dragon fanfiction#house of the dragon fanfic#house targaryen#jacaerys
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Hi! Could I please request another threesome with Cregan, reader and Jace. Maybe they get jealous when they see reader with another men and want to teach her a lesson? Thank you and love your blog!
i get drunk on jealousy.
Modern!AU — After they've ignored you for a week, you were desperate to have their attention back. Flirting with a random guy might not be the best idea.
MASTERLIST
PAIRING — Cregan Stark x Fem!Reader x Jacaerys Velaryon.
TAGS — polyrelationship/polyamorous, m/m/f, smut (p in v, clit play, handjob, oral sex, creampie, spitting, cum eating, male on male action), jace x cregan, use of alcohol and drugs, kind of drunk sex, dom!cregan, switch!jace, sub!reader, jealousy, cursing. If something is missing let me know!!
AUTHOR'S NOTE — Don't expect so much of this fic, I saw this picture, I saw a vision, and basically my horniness wrote this by itself. Not my best work, but fuck it, this is just for fun. Also, this made me realize that I'm unable to write dom!Jace if Cregan is there too, oops??? I guess??? NO BETA, WE DIE LIKE MEN.
I took this request as an excuse to write this fic so... thank you for sending it and hope you enjoy this!🤍
WORD COUNT — 3.1k
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤenglish is not my first language.
Most people on Campus knew about your strange relationship with Cregan and Jacaerys. Some guys would often call you a whore behind your back, while some girls would prefer the term ‘lucky bitch’; it was no secret that the both of them were quite known for being handsome and gallant, almost acting like real life prince-charmings. Every girl would drool for them, acknowledging their chivalry and politeness. Of course, they already knew about the attention that they received from the opposite sex, they knew about how many girls would love to be in your position. Which is why they didn't understand why you were so eager to act like a brat.
Jace tapped Cregan's shoulder as he saw you chatting with some random guy that suddenly appeared next to you on the couch. Neither of them had seen him before, he was probably a freshman or someone that sneaked into the party without invitation. Both pairs of eyes were intently staring at you, watching every move you make. They knew you weren't oblivious enough to not see it; he was obviously flirting with you, and you were clearly enjoying every moment of it. Jacaerys, being the most jealous out of the three of you, tightened his grip around his bottle of beer, his fingertips turning white as Cregan turned to look at him.
“Don't do anything stupid,” he warned him. “She'll deal with us later.”
“But look at her!” Jace snapped, his breathing ragged.
“She's doing it to piss us off,” Cregan attempted to calm him down. “She won't do anything with that guy. Just wait until the party's over and we'll take care of it, okay?”
He looked at him, obediently nodding as he took a long sil out of his beer to calm down a bit. Jace forbade himself to turn your way, ignoring your desperate attempt to make them jealous. Cregan, being a lot less hotheaded than Jace, acted nonchalantly toward your attitude, pretending you were doing nothing wrong, even when he wanted to grab your arm and take you right in that couch just to clarify that you belong to them.
Cregan knew your purpose, you both had spoken about it earlier that day after one of your classes together. They both have been ignoring you, neglecting your needs and spending more time alone — without you. At first you didn't mind it, thinking that they were busy with the final exams and their final projects of the semester; however, when you knew they were using all that time to plan this stupid party you got pissed, almost screaming at him in the middle of the campus, frustrated. Now here you were, sitting with a freshman trying to get in your pants, all while they were still ignoring you.
Both guys spent the rest of the night drinking, playing some games with other members of the fraternity and having a blast while you were standing in a corner, alone and bored; your two lovers out of your sight. Perhaps that was why you couldn't see Jace searching for you everytime he could, unable to control the jealousy that had grown within him. He couldn't find you anywhere around, which made his mind overthink about where you were, and with whom. Cregan would try to calm him down, offering him his blunt which Jace would accept in order to relax.
Hours passed, it was 4am when the music stopped and everyone passed out in random parts of the fraternity house. Cregan and Jace were stumbling their way up to their dorm, the effects of the alcohol still lingering in their bodies as they struggled to reach for their room. They both were holding onto each other until they opened the door and saw you standing in front of the mirror, wiping off your make up and getting ready to sleep. They noticed you had moved their beds together, making a bigger one as you usually do whenever you stayed with them.
They entered the room in silence, and while Cregan was closing the door and turning the lock, Jace stood closer to you almost drooling once he saw you were wearing one of his shirts. He wrapped his arms around your waist and hid his face on the crock of your neck, leaving wet kisses all over your skin and completely forgetting about the fact that he was supposed to be ignoring you.
“You're so fucking weak, Jace,” Cregan scolded him, removing his shoes and shirt, getting ready to bed.
You turned to look at the eldest guy, who just ignored your intense gaze.
“You're mad?” you dared to ask.
“We both are, actually,” Jacaerys murmured against your skin.
“And why would you be mad? I should be the angry one!”
“Oh, really?” Cregan finally turned, stepping closer to you. “Why is that?”
“You know why! We talked about this and you decided to keep ignoring me!”
Stark laughed dryly, his gray eyes getting darker as he narrowed them. “Is that why you've been acting like a fucking whore tonight? Trying to get into a freshman's pants to get our attention. Fucking pathetic.” He took a step close enough to grab your jaw and force you to look at him. You tried to squirm away from him, but Jace's arms tightened their grip around your body, and you had no escape. “Jace couldn't even enjoy the fucking party because he thought you were sucking another guy's cock. You think that's fair? To make him feel like shit the entire night because you were just needy of attention?”
“I- I didn't-”
“You broke my heart tonight, sweetheart,” Jace whispered in your ear as his fingers reached the hem of your shirt. “You need to pay for what you've done…”
“I'm- I'm sorry, I never meant to-”
“It seems like you need a lesson,” Cregan interrupted you, tightening his grip on your face and making you whine. “Something to remind you that you belong to us.”
Jacaerys' hand cupping your core with one of his hands, burying his fingers between your folds and covering them with your growing slick. He giggled, “she's not wearing panties…” he informed, smiling up at Cregan who clenched his jaw.
“Get her on her knees,” he commanded, and the youngest obeyed immediately, letting you go from his firm grip.
You fell to your knees, scratching them with the raspy carpet beneath you. Jace removed his shirt as Cregan started to unbutton his pants until they pooled around his ankles along with his underwear. You whimpered once you saw his cock starting to get hard under your haze, your mouth watering as you leaned towards his side.
“Get on the bed,” he pointed at Jace. You tried to stand up and follow the instructions too, yet he stopped you by gripping the front of your head and pulling it back. “Not you,” he sternly said. “Open up.”
Obediently, you did as you were told, opening your mouth and letting him press his tip on your tongue. He gave it a few taps, teasing before ge finally decided to start fucking your mouth. Cregan grabbed the sides of your head to keep you still in your position, and his hips started to snap against your throat without further warning. You found stability when you placed your cold hands on his thighs, grasping onto them so you wouldn't lose balance as he had no mercy with you.
You looked up teary eyed, gagging and gulping loudly as you heard his moans slipping out of his plump lips. The small eye contact suddenly became too much for him, so he leaned his head back as he closed his eyes. “Such a delicious mouth,” he praised you, “taking my cock so fucking well.”
His grip around your head started to hurt a bit, his fingertips burying in you as he fastened his pace. It wasn't hard for you to become a mess; your own drool was falling down the corners of your lips as you cried out, your whines being muffled by him inside your mouth, and your slick already starting to leak out of you. Your arousal only grew once he buried himself completely in your mouth, grabbed the back of your head and forced you to stay there for a few seconds, with his length fully sheathed in your throat. Your nose brushed against his pelvis as the air started to escape from your lungs.
“Come on now, baby,” he murmured with a strained voice, feeling his cock pulsing inside your mouth. “Take it… take it all…”
He chuckled softly as you started to tap on his thigh, and he quickly let you go. You gasped once he pulled out of your mouth, gasping for the air your lungs desperately needed. He moaned softly once he saw you; tears on your face, drool falling down your swollen lips — you looked so pretty he even thought about letting you go unpunished and just please you, but then he turned to see Jace; his cock was achingly hard, his ruddy tip leaking as he desperately fucked his fist; he had been so good to you, and you made him feel so bad throughout the night; he deserved a reward, and you deserved a punishment.
Before you could react, Cregan grabbed your body with ease, lifting you up from the ground and carelessly carrying you towards the bed. You moaned with his touch, so needy of him that even his roughness made you squirm out of pleasure. He moved your body around as if you were a ragdoll, shifting your position in bed until you were sitting on top of Jace's pelvis, his cock right between your legs. For a second you thought it was finally the time for them to fuck you, but you were so wrong.
“Grab her hips,” he commanded, using that mandatory tone that drove you and Jace insane. “Don't let her move.”
He positioned himself between the boy's legs, leaving you more confused than before. “What- what are you-?”
“I'm teaching you a lesson,” he stopped you before you could finish your question. “You'll see what happens when you behave and when you don't.”
You saw him leaning down, his plump lips wrapping the tip of Jace's cock and making him squirm beneath your body. Your mouth dropped as you looked at Cregan taking him entirely, his haze fixed in you as the frustration in your body grew even more. The youngest had his nails buried in the flesh of your hips, you heard him moan so prettily that you could even feel the slick oozing out of you, even when you were untouched. It was such a sinful image to witness, especially when Cregan's eyes became teary once he gagged around Jace.
“Oh, fuck…” you mumbled, tears of despair gathering in your eyes as your breathing became ragged. “P-please touch me…”
Jace's hand attempted to reach for your throbbing clit, but the older grabbed his hand and pushed it away. “I'll stop if you touch her,” he warned him. All you could do was cry out.
Cregan's ragged breathing would reach your folds, causing shivers all over your spine. You would try to move your hips to at least rub yourself against Jace's skin, but he didn't allow it, holding you down so tightly that you were certain it would leave a bruise.
The moans turned into whines as Jace started to quickly feel the orgasm coming. His skin was burning as Cregan fervently sucked on his tip, using his tongue to clean up the precum spilling from his slit. Whenever you would cry out or move on top of him he would feel closer to the edge, his body burning inside. “I'm so fucking close, baby,” he whimpered, “keep sucking my cock, I'm- I'm gonna fucking cum… f-fuuck.”
You saw Cregan hollowing his cheeks, milking Jace dry as he came inside his mouth. Drops of the pearly seed escaped from his lips and you felt the need to lick them both clean. You needed a taste, anything that would make you feel some kind of relief.
He sat back up, and as soon as he laid his hazy eyes on you, he grabbed your neck pulling you closer towards him. As if it was a reflex, you opened your mouth while you stared at him through your glossy eyes. He let his spit fall onto your mouth, to then pull you close and fervently kiss you. The salty taste of Jace's release lingered in your mouths as you devoured each other, you would whine against his lips, still sobbing as your pussy was already aching for the lack of attention.
That's when the boy beneath you wrapped you between his arms, forcing you to lay on top of his chest. He didn't even let you catch a break before you felt his cock slowly making his way inside of you, and you gasped out of relief. He stretched you out, providing you with that sweet sting of pain that drove you insane. His hands grabbed your thighs, folding you in half as he started to thrust upwards.
“Don't ever forget who you belong to,” he grunted against your ear as you struggled to keep it quiet. Probably the whole house knew what you were doing, and maybe that was their purpose all along. “You're fucking ours, baby. This tight pussy belongs to us, do you hear me?”
Cregan's hand fell hard on your throbbing clit as you remained silent. A whine left your lips as Jace kept bullying your gummy, wet walls with his girth.
“Answer him,” he demanded, getting closer to you and placing his leaking cock on top of your swollen pearl. You felt the room spinning.
“Yes! Yes! I'm- fuck… I'm fucking yours,” you sobbed.
The whole situation became overwhelming, while one was burying himself in the deepest part of you, the other was rubbing himself on your sensitive flesh, searching for his own release as he wrapped his hand around your throat.
“Fuck, you're fucking squeezing me so tight, baby,” Jace moaned, breathlessly as he felt the mixture of your slick falling down his sack. The lewd sounds of your folds getting stretched by his thickness almost making him cum again. “So fuckin delicious…”
“We've just started and we already fucked her silly,” Cregan chuckled. “She's a fucking mess for us…”
A layer of sweat covered your body; you felt the blood burning inside your veins, the orgasm approaching you embarrassingly fast as they were stimulating your senses. Your eyes rolled back, the desperate pleads slipping out of your lips as you were begging them to make you cum. You were shaking, your face covered in tears as the moans were ripped out of your throat.
“So loud,” the older teased you, “gonna wake up the whole fucking house…”
“I- I need to… please, I need to cum!”
Cregan leaned towards you, and Jace instinctively fastened his pace, burying himself deeper and harder; you had a hard time thinking straight as the older’s hands tightened around your neck. “Ow, poor girl, wants to cum. I don't think you deserve it.”
“P-please, Cregan…”
“Work for it,” he demanded. “Make Jace cum and then you're free to do it too.”
Almost as if it was an instinct, you started to move your hips up and down Jace's cock, making the thrusts more intense and deeper. The younger moaned loudly, already feeling overstimulated by your movements and feeling his sack heavy with a new load of his release. He thought about how pretty you would look with your legs spreaded and his seed falling from your weeping hole; that image alone almost made him peak right in the spot.
“Jacey, please!” you whined, already growing tired. “Please, please, cum in me!”
“Want me to fill your pretty cunny, baby? Mhm? Want my cum inside of you?” he teased, and you rolled your eyes as your walls clenched with his filthy words.
“Yes… yes, please… give it to me, please…”
As a spectator, Cregan groaned loudly, quickly rubbing his hands around his shaft with his eyes fixed in the way Jace was filling you up, bewitched by that bulge in your belly that grew each time that he would bury himself deep inside of you, touching your sweet spot over and over until your head feel dizzy and all that left your mouth were incoherent mumbling.
“I can't… I can't hold it…” you sobbed.
“Come on, baby, I'm so fucking close, just wait for me,” Jace whimpered, his movements getting more desperate and sloppier.
“I can't! I can't! F-fuck…”
Everything came to a breaking point once your release gushed out of you, spurring all over them and making a complete mess. Neither of them could hold back after such an obscene view in front of them, and they were quick to follow. Jacaerys finally spilled himself in you, his seed painting your walls and filling you to the brim. Lastly, Cregan stained your shirt and flesh with his pearly drops, moaning so beautifully that it made you feel butterflies in your belly.
You hissed when Jace pulled out of you, feeling your legs shake while Cregan struggled to stand up from the bed and looking for something to clean you up while you laid against the younger’s body, who softly wiped the tears out of your face.
“Shh… it's okay, you did so good for us, my love,” he cooes, so gently. “So, so good.”
“I'm- I'm sorry,” you mumbled while Cregan returned to your side with a towel in his hand. With soft brushes he started to clean your thighs, your belly and the raw flesh between your legs. “I- I never meant to make you two feel bad… I was- I was being so selfish-”
“Hey,” Cregan stopped you, holding your face with gentleness; so different from his previous touch. “It's already behind us, okay?”
Once he finished cleaning you up, your body fell into Jace's embrace as he wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you closer to him and cuddling with you. He hid his face on the crook of your neck and softly hummed when the remains of your sweet perfume reached his nose.
“We love you so much,” he whispered, “please, don't ever do that to us again…”
You grabbed your face only to see his puppy, brown eyes. A gentle, soft kiss was shared as you felt Cregan laying down behind you and fondling your body, soon you three had your limbs tangled as you kissed and caressed each other without shame. Loving touches that relaxed all of you.
“I'm sorry,” you whispered again to the both of them. “I'll never do that again.”
“Do you promise?” Cregan asked.
“I promise,” you softly nodded.
The Northern boy leaned to leave a soft kiss on your cheek, you both shared a gentle smile which let you know that the anger that was once within him was now fully gone.
follow @by-fairysluna for updates!!
GENERAL TAG LIST — @islandfantasydream @arcielee @bucknastysbabe @zaldritzosrose @rafeism @valeskafics
CREGAN TAG LIST — @purplequxxn @iloveharbingers @jeongiegram @koobratzy @foxyanon
JACAERYS TAG LIST — @iloveharbingers @alynna-m @katharina1111 @simp-aholic
#house of the dragon#hotd#cregan stark smut#cregan stark x reader#cregan stark#jacaerys velaryon smut#jacaerys velaryon x reader#cregan stark x jacaerys velaryon#jaceagan#hotd smut#hotd fanfic#cregan stark x you#jacaerys velaryon#jacaerys velaryon x you
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LITTLE DRAGON
Aegon II Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader
Summary - Your elder brother, Jace, attempts to teach you how to wield a sword. Aegon, your new betrothed, interrupts.
Warnings - slight Jace x Reader but you can ignore that alright
Word Count - 3.8k
// masterlist // send me your thoughts //
“You aren’t tucking your elbows!”
Jacaerys shouted from across the training yard, sparing your horrid fighting stance a half-moment’s glance before shifting his focus back to the weapons table laid before him, enamored by all the fresh steel he had to choose from.
Sweat dripped from your hairline, trickling down your temples and giving your reddened cheeks a glossy sheen. The sun’s rays felt particularly relentless today, blistering down upon the yard and reminding you of just how much you hated summers spent in King’s Landing, already dreading the thought of being stuck here.
You had grown accustomed to the cool, dampness of the island you had called home for the last several years. Dragonstone was almost always engulfed in a cover of clouds, and the soft breeze rolling-in from the Blackwater ensured that the warmer months were never quite as stifling as they were in King’s Landing.
“I am tucking my elbows!” You howled at him, gritting your teeth against the growing pain in your biceps.
The two of you had been out in the yard since sunrise, going over the basics of swordplay over and over and over again. By this point it felt like your brother’s instructions had been all but carved into your mind—plant your feet, square your shoulders, bend your knees, and tuck your elbows.
Remembering the steps hadn’t been the hard part, however. The hard part was actually doing them—and doing them right.
“No,” Jace grinned as he plucked a delicately forged rapier from the table. “You’re not.”
You blew out a breath, frustrated as you dropped the faulty form all together and let your arms hang limp at your sides. The training sword hung heavy from your hand, the tip of its blunt blade digging into the dirt.
“This is ridiculous,” you huffed, watching as your brother drew closer to you, admiring the nimble blade in his hand. “I’ve bent my elbows a thousand different ways—and none of them have been right!”
“That’s the issue! You’re bending your elbows, not tucking them!” Jace reprimanded, though his voice remained gentle, as it oft was when speaking to you.
Your patience was wearing thin as your frustration grew, aggravated by not only the sweltering heat and swordplay, but also yourself. Your brothers had mastered the basics of fighting when they were less than half your age—and yet you couldn’t even manage a half-decent defensive stance.
Exasperated and nearly at the end of your rope, you knew that you probably looked as miserable as you sounded. “Are bending and tucking not the same thing?”
“Bending your elbows is a subtle movement,” Jace started to explain, “it helps you maintain some degree of flexibility. But tucking your elbows is more rigid, making for a better defense mechanism. By keeping your elbows close to your body, you’re tightening your posture and making it harder for your enemies to land a blow.”
Adjusting your grip on the training sword, you brought it back up into a ready position, both hands now clutching the hilt. “So all I need to do is pull my elbows in closer?”
“Exactly!”
Focusing on each of the movements, you slid one foot slightly ahead of the other, balancing yourself as he’d instructed earlier. You took care to keep your knees bent, just enough to ensure that you could easily dodge or leap out of the way of an incoming strike.
Once you were confident that you had done those steps correctly, watching as Jace nodded along in silent approval, you lifted the sword so that the pommel fell just a few inches below your breastbone, the point rising high above your head.
Then, finally, you tried tucking your elbows as close to your sides as you could, attempting to block as much of your torso as possible from incoming attacks.
“Like this?” You asked him, gritting your teeth against the throbbing in your arms, still so unused to the weight of the weapon.
Jace cocked his head, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Well…”
“Seven Hells, Jace!” You howled at him, trying to hold the position, “There are only so many ways to move your elbows!”
“Yes, but now it’s not your elbows causing the problem!” He retaliated, extending his arm and using the tip of his rapier to point to your legs. “Standing like you are now, if you had to dodge your legs would probably lock up and slow you down. You need to drive your knees further apart!”
You did as you were told, albeit a bit begrudgingly.
“Better?” You hissed through your teeth, ignoring the way your legs trembled beneath you.
Jace studied you, eyes narrowing as he scanned every inch of your form. “Push your shoulders further back,” he instructed, “and straighten your back out a little bit.”
Again, you shifted into the new movements, adjusting and tweaking the positions to his liking. Your fingers hurt now, too, and painful blisters had already begun to form on your palms.
“Straighter,” Jace snapped, still finding your posture to be sub-par. “And try to keep your toes pointed towards-”
Your frustration finally peaked as you fell out of the intricate form, nearly doubling over as an exhausted groan ripped from your throat. Jace’s eyes widened at the sound, doubling back slightly.
“And what next?!” You cried loudly, letting your sword fall to the ground. Throwing your aching arms out to the side in a dramatic display, you sneered at him, “Shall I hop on one-fucking-leg and shake my ass?”
A sigh escaped your brother's parted lips, shaking his head as he leaned down to pick up your discarded weapon. Regret already seeped into your mind and dulled your anger as you began to prepare for the lecture that was surely about to leave his mouth—one that was no doubt about the level of discipline required for swordsmanship, and how you needed to maintain a level head.
But, before he had the chance, another voice broke through.
“Well, it certainly couldn’t hurt to try,” Aegon quipped from somewhere behind you, sounding far too amused with himself. “Go on,” he urged, “give it a shot. I for one would love to watch.”
With clenched fists you spun around to face him, glaring into his lilac eyes, resenting the way they sparkled with something like delight. It wasn’t until his gaze traveled south that you lost your cool, however, noticing how he eyed the low neckline of your tunic, watching as sweat slipped between your breasts.
But as soon as you took a step towards him, fully prepared to strike the arrogant Prince, Jace snatched your wrist and held you back. Level-headed enough to think for the both of you, he refused to let you do anything that would give Queen Alicent further reason to despise you—even if he would have loved to watch his sister beat Aegon’s ass.
“You’re interrupting our training,” Jace told him, keeping his voice respectful despite the undeniable edge of frustration.
“Am I?” Aegon pursed his lips, staring at the training sword that was still discarded on the ground, abandoned when Jace realized he would have to hold you back from your uncle. “Doesn’t seem like you’re doing a very good job, then. It’s easier to fight when the sword is in your hand-”
Jace interrupted, “We should really get back to work,”
“No need,” your uncle swiftly retorted, flashing a cocky smirk that only served to make your rage grow further. “I actually came here hoping for a moment alone with my niece,” he continued, pinning your brother with a stare, “you wouldn’t mind, would you?”
You recognized the trap that he had set for your brother. If it were anyone other than Aegon, Jace would have wasted little time in telling them off, but this was different. Rejecting Aegon would create conflict—the one thing your mother had asked you and your siblings to avoid, if only to avoid upsetting the beast that was your step-grandmother, the Queen Alicent.
“Now isn’t a good time,” Jace tried to protest, searching for some peaceful way to turn Aegon away. “You saw her just now, didn’t you? She’s clearly in need of more practice.”
You were silent, primarily because you could feel Jace’s fingernails digging into your skin, a warning to stay silent. When it came to you, Jace wasn’t violent by any means, but he was more than willing to be assertive if it meant keeping you safe.
Aegon drew a breath, still wearing that sly smile that made your skin crawl. “Very well,” he said, and you felt Jace’s grip on your wrist loosen at his assumed victory. “Then I’ll teach her myself.”
Jace’s eyes grew wide, a muscle in his jaw feathering. Refusing to back down, his mouth fell open to speak, trying to form some other nonsense excuse to keep you from being alone with Aegon—but you stopped him.
“It’s fine, Jace,” you told him, slipping your wrist from his grasp. “If Aegon believes himself capable of teaching me, then let him.”
The look on Jace’s face stubbornly pleaded with you to take it back— to say that you were done with training for the day, to say anything that would keep you from being stuck with him.
But you refused, steeling yourself and meeting his gaze with an equally unrelenting stubbornness. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to avoid Aegon forever, and you refused to let your uncle think that he had enough of an effect on you that you would resort to cowardly excuses to get out of being alone with him.
Jace leaned closer to you and asked in a low voice, “Are you sure?”
You grimaced at the question. “Yes,” you snapped, not wanting to appear as the image of a helpless little girl in front of your uncle. But then you saw the hurt flash in your brother’s dark, doe eyes and immediately felt guilty for it. “I’ll come and find you when I’m done,” you reached for his hand, squeezing it in yours, “I promise.”
His brows furrowed, still unconvinced that it was a good idea to leave you alone with Aegon, but aware that he wouldn’t be able to change your mind. You smiled, a sweet and gentle kind of smile that was reserved only for your older brother.
“You heard the woman, Jacaerys,” Aegon waved an impatient hand, sneering at Jace. “Leave me and my betrothed.”
The word betrothed seemed to drip from his tongue like tar—a nasty and vile sort of sound that was used only to further antagonize Jace.
Jace went rigid beside you, his cheeks growing red with anger. But his hand was still clasped in yours, and so you gave it another squeeze. “Go,” you told him, having switched roles with him and now being the one to counsel him in restraint. “I’ll be fine.”
You knew that Jace didn’t fully believe you—not because he didn’t trust you, but because he didn’t trust Aegon. And while you were surrounded by a plethora of weapons that could be used in self-defense should Aegon try something, Jace also knew just how lousy you were at properly using them.
Even so, he didn’t argue, biting his tongue and stifling his rage in favor of the peace your mother so desperately wanted.
But even the prospect of peace wasn’t enough to stop him from pulling his hand from your grip and replacing it with the rapier he had chosen earlier, his lips brushing against your ear as he leaned in, “If he tries something,” he whispered, “then shove the pointy end through his throat.”
You held in a laugh, gripping the hilt tightly. “Got it.”
With that, Jace stepped back and turned to take his leave, roughly knocking into your uncle’s shoulder as he pushed past him. Aegon cut his eyes, but you found it hard to tell whether it was because of Jace’s insolence or if it was because of how close you were with your brother.
You didn’t care enough to ask.
“Was there a need to provoke him?” You scoffed as soon as Jace was out of sight.
Aegon feigned innocence. “Well, it’s not my fault that your brother is so easily provoked,” he said with a roguish grin. “He’s the one that’s so greedy with your time. I wouldn’t have to interrupt your pathetic sparring sessions if there was ever a time where Jace wasn’t stuck up your ass.”
“Our betrothal was proposed five years ago,” you told him plainly, narrowing your eyes, “if you were that desperate to spend time with me, then I’m sure there were plenty of opportunities.”
“You’ve been on Dragonstone.”
“And you have a dragon,” you reminded him, fully aware that the flight to the island was quite short from King’s Landing.
Aegon lifted one of his shoulders in a lazy gesture. “And you have a Jace. If I had been foolish enough to venture to Dragonstone these last few years, then I likely wouldn’t have left with my head.”
A scowl etched onto your face at that, fully aware that he wasn’t entirely wrong for assuming that.
While it had been five years since your betrothal to Aegon had been proposed by your mother, hoping that it might bridge the chasm that divided your family, it hadn’t been until this past month that the Queen Alicent had finally given way and consented to the match. And, if the rumors could be believed, then you had heard that her sudden change in heart was in part due to Aegon’s insistence.
But regardless of any hearsay, you did know one thing for certain—Jace had always held onto the hope that the Queen would reject the proposal. You often told yourself that it was because he didn’t wish to see his little sister wed to your vile uncle, but many others—Aegon included, it seemed—believed that it was because your brother wished to have you for himself, as was the Targaryen way.
You knew that there was merit to those claims, even if you sometimes didn’t want to admit it.
“He wouldn’t have killed you,” you finally settled on an answer, your frustration mounting with each word. “Maimed, maybe, but Jace is no kinslayer.”
Eyeing the rapier in your hand, Aegon asked, “And what about you?”
You paused, glancing at the nimble blade of your weapon.
It was thinner than the training sword you were using—and a lot sharper—but it was awkward to hold, all its weight concentrated towards the hilt rather than distributed throughout. Even if you did want to use it against Aegon, you were probably more likely to hurt yourself than him with how little experience you had and how poorly training with Jace had gone.
After a moment, the corners of your mouth tilted upwards in a twisted imitation of a smile, flashing your teeth at him. “Let’s just say that I’m not my brother,” you answered, purposely vague.
Aegon’s stare narrowed slightly, but he didn’t look intimidated by your declaration. “Then go ahead,” he responded coolly, spreading his arms out wide. “Give it your best shot.”
Your eyes flickered around the yard, realizing for the first time that there were no guards around right now to witness your interaction. If you wanted to kill him, now would be as good a time as any—you could call it an accident, even if Queen Alicent would try to deny it. But due to your poor swordsmanship, it was a believable enough lie that you knew most would believe it; knew that your grandsire, King Viserys, would believe it.
If you killed Aegon now, then you wouldn’t be forced to marry him.
If you killed him, then you knew your mother would sooner betroth you to Jace before ever even considering Aegon’s savage little brother, Aemond.
And that would be a good thing, wouldn’t it? Jace was kind and pleasant and the heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Your brother would make you a Queen—a beloved Queen, at that.
And yet…
Aegon snorted a laugh, letting his hands fall when he saw your brow crease, your body unmoving as you refused to lunge for him. “You’re right, you’re not your brother. I might have little good to say about Jacaerys, but he’s undeniably Strong,” he quipped, the mischievous glint in his tone causing your blood to boil, “but not you—you’re just a coward.”
Your heart thrummed wildly in your chest, knuckles turning white as you gripped the hilt of the rapier tighter. Then, without Jace here to hold you back, a primal scream of frustration ripped from your throat as you launched yourself at Aegon.
The rapier’s blade led the way, your movements fueled by a rush of adrenaline. But your arms were weak and your footwork clumsy and predictable, and Aegon easily side-stepped your attack with a smirk.
Breathing heavily, you went to swing the awkward blade again, but Aegon had already made his next move—taking advantage of your lack of speed and coming up beside you, snatching the hilt from your inexperienced grip and disarming you, tossing the weapon a few feet away so that you couldn’t try and get it back from him.
But with your nerves still lit by frustration and a refusal to accept defeat, you curled your fists and aimed for his jaw.
Aegon caught you by the wrists before your knuckles collided with his face. He held fast even as you struggled against his grip—firm but not rough.
“Your brother was right,” he taunted with a laugh when you finally wore yourself out, “you do need practice.”
“Shut up-” you snarled, your breaths coming in ragged gasps.
You weren’t used to this.
You weren’t used to fighting, you weren’t used to the heat, and you weren’t used to Aegon—or, at least, you weren’t used to being this close to Aegon.
It suddenly hit you just how intimate the position seemed. Your heaving chest bumped against his as he held you close, his grip on your wrists never loosening, even once you had stopped fighting and he had been able to lower your arms to your sides.
You weren’t sure that you had ever been this close to Aegon—close enough that you could smell the faint trace of mulled wine on his breath—and you felt your pulse skip at the realization, fear settling deep within your bones.
You weren’t afraid of him, you realized, but of the fact that you didn’t quite mind being held by Aegon—not as much as you should have minded it, at least.
“I could help you, you know.” He offered, his lilac eyes flashing with some distant emotion that you couldn’t recognize. “I wasn’t just trying to get rid of your brother when I said that I would teach you how to fight.”
Still pressed close to his chest, you tilted your head back to look up at him, his jaw tightening when you asked, “What do you know about swordplay?”
“I was trained by the Kingsguard,” Aegon reminded you sharply, his offense evident by the sharp crease in his brow.
You gave a dry laugh, thinking back on your childhood prior to moving to Dragonstone. “If memory serves me, you spent more time parading around with courtesan’s than training.”
Your laughter was cut short, breath catching in your throat when you felt Aegon release his hold on your wrists just before one of his hands snapped upwards, his fingers curling around your jaw. His thumb brushed gently against your cheek, and you couldn’t pretend that there wasn’t something intoxicating about the way he held you—his lilac eyes seeming to admire every contour of your face.
“Even so,” he began, his voice hardly a whisper as he ignored your claim, “I still know more than enough about swordplay to teach my helpless little dragon how to defend herself.”
A rush of heat flooded your cheeks as the pet name slipped his lips. It stirred a hunger within you that you hadn’t known existed, and certainly didn’t expect. Your muscles went slack, relaxing in his grip as your lips parted ever so slightly, your body suddenly urging you to lean in and taste the honey that seemed to drip from his tongue.
But even as you began to oblige with your body’s urges, rising on your toes to meet Aegon’s sweet, wine-stained lips, you heard some familiar voice chime in the back of your mind—urging caution, reminding you of who was holding you right now.
Your deviant uncle—the son of Queen Alicent, who was all but your sweet mother’s sworn enemy. She might have asked you to wed Aegon out of duty, but she certainly hadn’t expected or wanted you to like your uncle, did she? In some twisted way, it felt like a betrayal to her and your true family to allow yourself to find pleasure in this—and yet you couldn’t quite deny the warmth flooding in the pit of your stomach at the feel of his touch against your face.
But, taking advantage of that swift moment of clarity, you forced yourself to take a step back and reclaim some sort of control over yourself. As his hand fell, Aegon stood frozen in the agony of his own perceived rejection as he watched you turn on your heel, walking away from him without so much as a single word.
But to his surprise, instead of exiting the yard altogether, you leaned down and plucked the blunt training sword off the ground where it had been abandoned far earlier. You left the rapier where Aegon had tossed it when he disarmed you, thinking you had no use for a blade that could cause actual injury.
“Alright,” you took a deep breath as you turned back around to face him, offering a weak smile as you swallowed your nerves and said, “If you’re so confident in your skill, then teach me.”
It was Aegon’s turn to pause now, a flicker of doubt dancing in his lilac eyes as his own insecurities continued to bear down on him. While he hadn’t wanted you to walk away, he also hadn’t expected you to say yes.
But here you were—standing in front of him, not rejecting him, and allowing him to help, regardless of how wrong it might have felt.
He's to be my husband, you thought to yourself, biting back against your feelings and trying to rationalize your desire to spend a bit of time with him, I should at least learn to tolerate him.
“Okay,” Aegon eventually said, his voice more uncertain than you’d ever heard it sound before; but hopeful too, wearing the faintest hints of a smile. “Show me your form.”
As you did as he instructed, clumsily moving through each of the movements that Jace had shown you and listening to him laugh and correct your failures, you couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty as you started to think that being stuck in King’s Landing wouldn’t be so bad after all.
And that, maybe, Aegon wasn’t so bad either.
a/n - had this sitting in my drafts for a bit cause i wasn't totally happy with it, but decided to polish it up and post it anyways cause why not lmao
#aegon targaryen imagine#aegon targaryen x reader#hotd imagine#hotd aegon imagine#house of the dragon imagine#aegon targaryen ii imagine#aegon targaryen angst#aegon targaryen x you#aegon targaryen#hotd fanfic#hotd#house of the dragon fanfic#aegon x reader#aegon ii targaryen imagine#aegon ii targaryen#hotd aegon#aegon ii#house of the dragon#jace velaryon#jacaerys velaryon#hotd x reader#hotd x you#aegon targaryen fanfic
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The Prince and His Corpse Bride (part i)
pronouns: she/her
warnings: infidelity? (he and baela have no romantic connection)
summary: Jacaerys went to Winterfell for one reason and one reason only–the support of the only true friend he has ever had but now he needs to return regardless of his desires, and amongst his presence he must also bestow the ring of Valyrian steel so carefully curated to his betrothed.
dividers: firefly-graphics
disclaimers: of course do not own the original corpse bride nor asoiaf however this is my own work and story, i do not give permission for my work to be transferred onto other platforms or translated
a/n: this chapter is very jace heavy
wordcount: 3,529
The steel ring glimmers in the moonlight upon Jacaerys fingers as he waves goodbye within the Godswood as he prepares to take flight, Cregan and sweet young Sara reciprocating the hand gesture eagerly. Vermax grumbles beneath him, stretching his wings as if for the first time for years. A forced smile tightens on Jacaerys’ face as his lips part to take in a deep breath. It wasn’t often that Jacaerys left Dragonstone but he was to be wed in a moon’s time and he needed his best friend. No matter how hard, nor what, he tries, however, he cannot dispel his brother’s face from the front of his mind. Even Cregan saw it when the Velaryon’s irises linger too long on the brunet siblings. A sickly chartreuse dagger wedges in Jacaerys’ throat every time he tries to push the thoughts back. He didn’t think of anything once his satchel was restocked and he climbed aboard Vermax, finally mounting his dragon after ten and four nights–each more painful and lonely than the last. He was only meant to stay a mere three and yet that green dagger poked everytime he approached his companion’s scales. He doesn’t want to go back, not truly, because when he does? His own and dearest brother will not be there to toast his union. He will not be there at all. And for some reason that hurts more than any other harrowing kill he has witnessed. The Targaryen dynasty is no longer at war but that does not soothe all ills. Not his own. And for a while it was alright to drink and curse at his friend’s side but even when he couldn’t remember his own name, he could remember Lucerys. He could remember that he wasn't there.
Jacaerys closes his eyes as Vermax makes a low sound reminiscent of whining and bites his lip until he can feel a cut beginning to blossom beneath his sharp teeth. No more late night talking, mourning and horse rides until both he and Cregan reek of the night air. Bile squirms in his mouth but he buries it before Vermax finally takes off, dragging his begrudging rider with him. Jacaerys refrains from commanding because if he does, he knows he’ll tell him to turn back and he cannot do that to Baela. He cannot embarrass her like that, cannot cast shame on his family at all. He will do his duty and return to Dragonstone and marry her before The Seven. It doesn’t matter that he thinks the Sept’s altar makes him heave, that the candles never feel right in his hand, that the ring he will slip onto her finger will feel as though a condemnation. He may never love her, and she him, but he can try and create a painless union–one that is good for the family, one that will strengthen a family worthy of the Iron Throne, Baela at his side. He breathes in. He can do it. His stomach churns at the thought. His mother did it, he can too–he will. He will perform what is expected of him, he will be crowned and he will form a legacy worthy of The Seven Kingdoms. He has to and he will. His mother told him that she will create a new order and he intends to assist in any way he can to replenish it for her. The wind brushes over him in thick waves, watering his narrowed eyes. His nose twitches against the cold. He scrunches it in an attempt to warm his freezing face. The Kingdom needs their Queen and one day they will need their King too. Baela is brave, smart and holds a power within her gaze he has rarely seen before, she will make an excellent Queen. He gave her a promise worth a throne and he will keep it even if it kills him. He knows she is far more than he has yet amounted to.
Vermax shrieks, screaming the emotions that Jacaerys refuses to outlet. His rider chokes out an exhale and digs the heels of his hands into the saddle reins. Jagged pains dig through him and burn as hot as the fires of his House. He thinks of Valyrian ceremonies, of the one he will never have in case it displeases the people. They will think him a fraudulent prince until he seats the chair of iron and corruption. He curses the damned thing and its pretentious swords. He curses that he is not trueborn. He curses that his mother made him so. Did she know how this would occur? Laenor was his father but not in blood. Did the Lord truly hate him so much that he would leave them so quickly? Abandon he and his brothers to a life of condemnation without him. He curses that he would leave them but not Laenor, never him. A sob begs to claw up his throat but he buries it, slashing until he tastes the metallic blood that sears his burning veins. He curses his hair, his Strong hair. His dark eyes devoid of the enchanting lilac his mother bears. Why, oh Gods, why would they curse him so? Had he been a meandering fool in a previous life? Were such things real? He hopes that in the next life he will be curated in a life of simplicity and his parents of common blood. Jacaerys curses himself. He told his mother to send him to the Vale and Winterfell. It should have been Lucerys. His sweet brother, the one worth more than himself. He had thought the shorter journey would ensure Lucerys’ safety yet it had not. What kind of brother was he? What kind of King would he be if that golden crown lay upon his head. Jacaerys is sure he would abdicate if he had not been betrothed to Baela. If she did not deserve the throne far more than he. Cloud encircles him and he snaps back his gaze upon the familiar castle finally. He sniffles and curses the cold.
He curses.
Landing came slow and rough, Vermax had never been swift at the act though nor did he really care. Not for the first time, Jacaerys envied him. A raucous clapping sounded from the soiled ground. Jacaerys leaned over Vermax’s shimmering neck to catch the sight of Baela wearing a sly smirk. He returns to her a suitable smile and attempts to unlatch the sweltering furs adorning his neck, coursing down the length of his back and arms. His feet hesitate before bounding over one side, his left. The prince lowers himself despite Vermax’s grunts. He glides a firm hand along his scales in penance. “Cousin,” Baela greets warmly. He tries not to wince. She is as beautiful as ever; her lengthy snow coils wrap together in a collection of braids–no doubt his mother’s doing–and descend her back, her iridescent eyes glimmer in the beam of sunlight and she bears the Targaryen colours like the personification of dragon blood herself. His eyes catch the golden clasps latching her hair into neatness but stray strands still peak from behind her ears. It was unabashedly Baela Targaryen. He nods, but even he can tell it is forced, then lowers to his knee and presses a quick chaste peck to the roof of her hand. Jacaerys’ eyes look up to her and attempt to soften in the way his mother’s do at Daemon. It doesn’t work. It never works. His chapped lips part. “Beloved.” The words taste sour when pressed upon his tongue. She doesn’t comment on this if she notices his tensity. She nods and allows him to stand again but her own movements are hard. A gentle breeze embraces them but still a sizable space repels their contact. The prince swallows. “Perhaps you shall join me for a stroll next morrow?” Vermax grumbles but Baela breathes out in relief, eyes briefly shutting before she smiles. “Yes. Yes, I would be delighted.” Her brows pinch in a gentle knit, hopefully grateful for the proposal. Proposal. His stomach churns again. His heartbeat rattles through the cage enclosing his ribs, a round ball expands in his throat.
She turns her back and all but runs back to the Keep, or more likely, his mother, Queen Rhaenyra of whom has been assisting her knowledge in their rich history and the order she wishes to maintain. Jacaerys sighs and guides Vermax through the Dragon Pit. The suffocating heat smothers his skin but the comfort it bestows is something he drinks easily. He may not possess the salt of Driftmark but at least the blood of the dragon roars its presence eagerly. \he sucks it into his nose and swallows the burning warmth. His eyes linger on the familiar stone surrounding him, he reaches to press his padded fingertips to his dragon’s scales who huffs. That was something he appreciates–his companion was never angry at him for long. Never doubted their bond. His true and unquestionable friend. Through battle and Kingship he’s certain. Vermax almost purrs, unpleased with his lack of flight. Jacaerys nods. “I know, I apologise.” Jacaerys speaks through a sigh. “I will be better, I swear it to you, my friend.” Vermax hums deeply and rests his snout against Jacaerys’ palm. He almost purrs, preening at the attention as always. The prince bites back a snicker but the corners of his lips unwillingly upturn. He parts and grins. “Three times a day, I shall burn all contact in my thighs for you.” He teases to which Vermax tilts his head and squints his eyes. Jacaerys chuckles. “Fine, four.” Vermax relaxes and juts his chin in discerned triumph. Jacaerys runs a hand over his dragon’s smooth cheek before reluctantly stepping back and leaving the fiery comfort.
That night, he seats himself beside Joffrey, sending a stern expression when the boy attempts to launch his greens at young Aegon. Older Aegon groans and shoots him an absurd glance himself. He flails a flamboyant arm across the back of Helaena’s chair who makes sillious faces at their young babe. Maelor giggles. “Finally come to join us, nephew?” Aegon asks, propping a high brow and lips pulled taut. “I am afraid so.” Jace returns and then cranes his neck to smile at Baela beside him. “You look exquisite this evening.” He tells her politely before raising a fork to twirl in his grasp. “You were in Winterfell long, darling.” Rhaenyra frowns, lips sewn together as she casts concern his way. Jacaerys flushes and shrugs gently. “We lost time.” He replies in rolling lies. “I was helping Cregan assemble his swords and a few found themselves in unwanted hands.” The only sound breathes clattering silvery. Little Viserys dropped to the floor immediately in record speed to return the fallen cutlery to Princess Rhaena with pink cheeks. He has grown a crush on the older girl quite quickly although she clearly does not return the sentiment. She smiles quickly at him and tries to hide the growing frustration that teases her lips. Baela nudged Jacaerys gently and snickers. He returned the act and scooped a helping of potato upon his fork. He dips the food between the seam of his lips and lets the taste lay on his tongue. The betrothed prince and princess could at least enjoy one another’s company which is more than most had been bestowed. Still it hardly soothes his clenched heart. Alicent smiles at them from his mother’s side. “You will see him again soon for your nuptials.” She reminds him, arm entangling with Rhaenyra’s. Daemon groans. “Yes, a pack of wolves are to be invited, I hear.” It is no secret that Jacaerys’ stepfather cared deeply for a Valyrian ceremony in place of the one chosen, he does not hide it.
The remainder of night is spent with tossing and distressing thoughts. He cannot find it in him to sleep. No matter how many sweet lullabies he threads, no matter how many direwolves he recounts, no matter anything because all he can remember is the night his brother left…How they were never told why. Jacaerys sits up, a huff dropping from between his lips. He rolls them between his teeth and groans, smacking his hands to clasp behind his head. The prince weaves his fingers between strands of his hair, grasping them roughly as he huffs. He clicks his jaw and gently faces the window. What’s wrong with him? It must be the early hours of daylight and yet he stays here unable to sleep with wicked thoughts snatching at which part of his brain they wish to feast upon. He remembers a time where he slept easily and it was his brother who needed comforting. Jacaerys swallows around the cotton in his throat. He closes his eyes and leans back onto his pillow. “Jace?” The quiet voice called across the room. A yelp escaped the elder prince’s lips. His eyes shot open and shot to search for the cause. Long dark locks blocked his vision and he jumped, his hands reaching to cup his own cheeks, greeting him with familiar baby weight. He swallowed and took in a deep breath before he responded. “Yes?” He croaked, scrubbing the golden dust from his eyes. Jacaerys’ breath stopped suddenly. A six year old trembling Lucerys wobbled in on unsteady sleepy legs and sniffled. A large candle sat in his hand. Jace’s eyes widened and he bolted upright. “Hey, what are you doing? Put that down, you’ll hurt yourself. Luke just barely dodges the spilling wax, his lip trembles. “I-I-I–” He stutters. “Shh, shh.” Jace soothed and beckoned him closer as tears enraptured his little brother’s eyes. “It’s okay, take your time.” Jace whispered, tugging his head to his own chest. “It’s okay.” He ruffled his hair and let Luke’s tears flood his nightshirt.
“I didn’t mean to!” Lucerys wailed, salt burning his throat.
“I know,” Jace soothed, “I know. It’s not your fault.”
Screaming is the first thing Jacaerys hears when he awakens–he just doesn’t realise that it is his own until he feels the tight embrace and exotic perfumes of his mother. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” Rhaenyra hums, kissing the top of his head. Jace feels the pressure of burning tears spill past his eyelashes. “I didn’t mean to!” He cries. “I thought he was safe!” Rhaenyra nods and runs threading patterns through his coarse hair. “It’s okay, take your time.” She murmurs.
The morning comes and passes, Jacaerys’ eyes swollen and red as he reluctantly makes his way toward the palace gardens. Baela is standing with antsy hands, fingers playing with one another. Jacaerys bites his lip and smiles the best he can at her. She visibly sighs in relief and approaches, arms outstretched. He frowns and says nothing, merely returning the gesture and patting her back awkwardly. He extends his arm as expectation demands once they pull away and she reluctantly accepts it, her hand sliding down his arm before settling atop his own hand and weaving their fingers together. “A shame that so long has passed since we last met.” Baela comments and he hums despite his mind being elsewhere entirely. They pass a collection of candytufts to which she plucks one into her fingers. He bites back a sharp quip. Her eyes curiously float across his features and she sighs. “You do not care for me, I take it.” It’s not a question. His head snaps to her with wide eyes. Their movements turn fluid as he takes both her hands in his now. “Of course I care for you!” He rebuts but she only chuckles at him–her laughter the sound of a bird’s song and yet still his heart does nothing but sink in panic.
“But not in the way we want it to.” Baela’s sharp voice casts through his unwilling ears. He sighs.
“No.” Jace concedes. His eyes lift to hers again. “But I wish them to.” She nods, a grief-inducing tilt to her lips. “I know. We will give it time and perform our duty.” She squeezes his hands.
“But we must not lie to one another. After we are wed I do not plan to take a lover and I presume neither do you. If this changes, however, we must speak of it with one another.” Jace sighs and smiles. “Yes. Yes, I couldn’t agree more but I do have one more term.” Baela nods. “No child is to be born of another union, I–” His voice cracks, his tongue darting out to lick his chapped lips. “I could not bear it.” Jace clears his throat and his dear cousin rubs a soothing pattern on his hand. Gods, he wished he loved her. “Of course.” She assures. A loud sigh of relief draws from between his plush lips. She wished she cared about them. “Good.” He clears his throat and then chuckles and he kneels before her. “I suppose this would be a good time to finally present this to you then.” He rummages through his left pocket within his breeches. Baela tilts her head. “Present what?” She asks. Jacaerys knits his brows and sighs in frustration as he tries the opposite but no matter how far he digs, his hands come up empty. Paleness pours through his face, draining the blood like a leech. In a quick haste, his hand snaps to his forehead, his fingers wrap roughly in his hair. “Oh dear…” He murmurs. Baela furrows her brows.
“What is it?” She asks, worry dripping from her like the snow in Winterfell. The snow he would have to return to. Slowly he meets her gaze and groans against tight lips.
“The ring.”
Jacaerys Velaryon had never travelled so many times within the same year. He can see Cregan waving him down as he draws upon a patch of land, Vermax following his direction effortlessly. He drops from the saddle and greets the man quickly. “Have you seen a ring?” Cregan frowns and freezes before shaking his head. “I have not.” Jacaerys groans and tosses his head back. He guides his hand along his face, cupping it around his mouth and chin, rubbing his jaw. “Perhaps it fell in the Godswood? You were overhead it when I saw it last.” Jace nods slowly.
“How large is it?” He asks to which his friend snorts and folds his arms. He slaps a hand across his back. “Come, my friend, we will find it.”
Walking has never been harder as he russells leaves and the earth’s soil in desperation. He would not be quite so worried if it did not belong to his fiery grandmother but alas it had. And he had been so careful. He curses himself, how had he been so reckless? It had barely left his pocket the whole time and yet when it came to leaving he had let it fall so easily? Curses. He huffs before a sudden glimmer flashes on a tree branch. A gasp pierces the seam of his lips and it is with a lengthy sprint that he launches himself at it, the branch tipping to drop it onto a log. Jacaerys’ eyes widen and he clasps it between his fingers, eyes shutting in exhaustion. He breathes out in relief after carefully peeling them back open again. He breaks out in a grin and kisses the dirtied steel. “Thank the Gods, you have not yet forsaken me!” He rolls onto the ground so that his back rests against the dark bark of the tree. “Now all that is left are the vows.” He grumbles to himself. He chuckles gently and raises the ring so that it might gleam in the sun. The exercise heats his tired body. “I suppose there is no harm.” He murmurs to himself dubiously. He carefully sets slips the rings past the break of a fallen branch and unlatches the clasp of his cloak, one with the Velaryon emblem clearly patterned across the back. “With this kiss I pledge my love,” Jacaerys hums to himself. He drapes the cloak to rest atop a strange bump in the soil. He admires the ring before him and takes a deep breath. He glances about him before taking the oddly shaped bark in hand. “and take you for my lady and wife.” He presses his warm lips to the bark slowly and soft like he practised. He smiles gently, voice melting into a low thrum of noise. “We are now one flesh, one heart, one soul–” Jace doesn’t get to finish the faithless vow.
“Now and forever.” A feminine voice sings back. His eyes snap open and he shrieks at the sight before him. His back slaps against the back of a weirwood tree, hands grasping behind him and around it. His jaw drops like a fish out of water as he stares upward. Before him now stands a beautiful maiden draped in white fabrics, torn furs and his very own Velaryon cloak. Congealed blood seeps through from her side to the opposite hip but her smile is as bright as the sun. A knowing smirk spreads across his pale lips. She tilts her head.
“Hello, husband.”
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#the prince and his corpse bride ff#corpse bride au#jacaerys corpse bride au#jacaerys x you#jacaerys velaryon x you#jacaerys velaryon#jacaerys x reader#jacaerys velaryon x reader#jacaerys targaryen x reader#jacaerys targaryen#hotd jacaerys#hotd#jacaerys velaryon fic#jacaerys fanfic#jacaerys imagine#jacaerys velaryon imagine#hotd x reader#hotd x you#hotd x y/n#au
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Do you think you could do a Jacaerys x reader where they are childhood enemies but get betrothed and when things are going well in their marriage Jace misinterprets a moment with reader and someone else and accuses the reader to be pregnant with a bastard until it’s born looking exactly like him and he must reconcile and win reader back.
Sworn Enemies || j.v
Pairing : Jacaerys Velaryon x reader
Warning : none
You weren’t surprised. When your mother mentioned it and your sister ran into your room to check on you a few moments after your talked with your mother.
You were a noble and you had known since the very first that you would be bethrothed with another noble. Unfortunately, your family was being too close to the Targaryens that the first person they chose for you to marry was the last person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.
The marriage was rocky and was filled with arguments — even about the smallest things. Your marriage was built by loath instead of love. You couldn’t stand his arrogance and he couldn’t stand your stubborness. Your hatred towards each other was so deep in your blood that it became the reason you ended up with his child.
Just like any other night, there you stood in different sides of your shared chambers. The bed seperating you as you had argued since the past hour.
“Don’t you dare lie to me!” Jace’s voice roared, filling the room with his anger.
“How dare you accuse me of something I didn’t do?!” You matched his tone, firm and loud.
“I am not accusing you of anything!” His jaw clenched slightly. “That baby is a bastard and you know I’m right.”
You bit back your tongue once you processed his words. He called your son a bastard. He called his own son a bastard.
“You are insane.” You spat through gritted teeth. “You have no proof on what you believe in, however I do and you’re too terrified that I might be right.”
“Nonsense!” He shook his head. “I’m not terrified of anything because I know I’m right.”
“Then take a look at your own son!” You pointed at the crib which was placed beside your side of the bed. “You have refused to even take a peak of him since he was born. Do you despise him that much?”
“He is not my son!” His voice boomed through the room.
A sudden cry broke from the baby, stealing both your attentions. You rushed towards the crib and took the baby gently before rocking him in your arms. Whispers of sweet nothings followed by a humming of the first song which came to your mind, eventually died down the cries. It only took a while before the baby went back to his slumber.
Disgust written on Jace’s face as he watched the two of you. “We need to get rid of him as soon as possible.”
Your face fell in surprise at his suggestion. There was a long moment of a pause before you moved to place the baby back on his crib. A long sigh left your lips in disbelief.
You were tired of convincing him. If you had to be honest, it hurt you every time. You wouldn’t care if he was mocking you nor he was treating you as if you had betrayed his family, but it was his son he was hating. His own flesh and blood he planned to banish.
“Are you really that insisting?” Your voice broke. Your heart aching. But you forced yourself to keep a fierce look on your face and your posture straight.
Jace let out a scoff. “You were the one who betrayed this marriage.”
“I would never!” Your voice heightened, but it wasn’t anger. You were exhausted. “I may despise you with every inch of my body, but I would never do such. I love my family and I would do anything to keep our names clean, so don’t you ever start a rumor just because you got tired of me.”
“Got tired of you?” Jace taunted. “I had wished for your death since forever, but I have never started such rumours.”
“Then whoever did!” Your chest moved up and down. Your eyes were filled with desperation, silently pleading for him to believe you. “You may hate me for the rest of your life, but that is your son, Jacaerys! Just for this once, I am asking you to second your beliefs.”
“He is not my son!”
“Take a look for yourself!”
That was the last thing you said before you exit the room. It was starting to become too much for you. Your chest hurt from holding back tears. You didn’t want to seem weak in front of him, or else he would’ve thought he won the argument.
Once you found yourself in the middle of the empty hallway, you broke down. A hand covering your mouth to silent the cries as you fell down to your knees.
On the other side of the door, stood a hesitant Jacaerys. If he had to be honest, a part of him wanted to believe you, but he had to big of an ego and a habit of always wanting to be better than you, so he was persistance of his opinion.
His eyes stared at the crib for a long minute. He was arguing with his mind whether he should just leave the room or do as you ask. His hands were fisting the material of his coat.
“Fuck this.” He said before walking up towards the crib.
His angry expression was soon replaced by a soft one once his eyes caught a glimpse of the baby. His mouth fell open slightly. The baby was a carbon copy of him — brunette hair, brown eyes, his nose, his lips. Shame masked his face the longer he looked at the baby.
He stumbled back in surprise. His hands were holding at the crib to steady himself. Guilt rushed through him like a wave of tsunami. You weren’t lying. The baby was his heir, his firstborn, his own flesh and blood.
#jacaerys x reader#jacaerys velaryon x reader#jacaerys velaryon imagine#jacaerys x you#jacaerys fic#jacaerys velaryon#jacaerys imagine#jacaerys x oc#jacaerys velaryon x you#hotd x y/n#hotd jacaerys#hotd#hotd x reader#hotd imagine#hotd fanfic
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THE HIGHEST TOWER (1/2)
Summary: As a Princess of the Realm the chance to escape political marriage and abscond with your Promised was beyond anything you could wish for. When the time is right, your dragon will lead you to them and your mother will support your union. In return, you must do all you can to protect her claim, even if you must do so from within the very heart of the Greens.
Soulmate AU: Your animal familiar leads you to your soulmate.
Pairing: Cregan Stark x Reader (eventual), Aemond Targaryen x Reader (mentioned)
Word Count: 4296
Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, just general character awfulness, some espionage, canon divergence, my first time writing for hotd.
Masterlist
You had lived the better part of eight and ten years in the Red Keep. The daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen handed off to the Queen like some paltry trinket. The King’s first and final word on the matter of his granddaughter. Thrust carelessly into Alicent’s care at the fresh age of ten, a peace offering and a trade for Lucerys’ life. You scarcely remembered life beyond the borders of the castle. Only that one moment your brother's life had been under threat and the next yours was all but forfeit.
Your mother had clasped the back of your neck, pulled you toward her and begged her father for mercy. You who had not even been in the room when Aemond had lost his eye, lost to your own midnight flight atop dragon back. And then the curtain of Rhaneyra’s hair parted, and from over her shoulder Daemon met your eyes. For a single poignant moment, he stared and then a smirk broke across his face as if he knew.
Knew that you were not the innocent that your mother would have the King believe you to be. Knew that your midnight rendezvous with your dragon at the exact moment of Vhagar’s claiming was not mere coincidence. Your intentions had been innocent at first. A trip to the kitchen for a cup of milk which you would warm on the stove – a feat the late Sir Harwin Strong had taught you. Past your brothers’ room, your mother’s room, the servants' quarters and a balcony overlooking the beach. And then you had seen him. Aemond scaling your cousin’s dragon. And that just wouldn’t do.
Targaryens – true Targaryens who did not cower under the cover of darkness – needed their dragons if they had any hope of finding their Promised. Your cousin, Baela who always shared her sweets and let you borrow her wooden sword, deserved the chance to meet her Promised in the wake of her mother’s death. The man or woman that Vhagar would lead her to when the Old Gods saw fit. In the game of thrones when Targearyens already found so few chances for happiness, how could Aemond strip his cousin of her chance at true love? True, as an eldest daughter Baela’s future husband was most certainly decided – likely one of your brothers. But you were certain that Jacaerys or Lucerys would be understanding and gracious when the time came for Baela to claim her Promised, as she would be when the time came for her Lord-Husband. Such was the way of things. At least for the lucky.
Imagining your dragon, Laesuvion, claimed by another and leaving you with no guide to your Gods-given Promised made you feel ill. And so, you set out on bare, hurried feet to find and mount Laesuvion. You were a Targaryen born of the blood of dragons, of true Valyrian features. Vhagar was your cousin’s dragon by right and it was your duty to protect that claim. She was a formidable, indomitable beast but shackled with a new rider on his first flight. If you had one chance to disrupt the yet fragile bond being formed by dragon and rider, it was to dislodge the green boy and send him toppling toward the sea.
Laesuvion had hatched for you in your cradle. He was much younger and smaller than Vhagar but all the faster. It would be no trouble to fell your traitorous cousin. The difficulty became disguising the shock of white scales along the elongated arch of Laesuvion’s neck whilst searching for Vhagar’s camouflaged breadth.
“Aderī Laesuvion. Dokimarvose.” (Quickly Laesuvion. Focus.) You urged him.
Despite your efforts, you only caught sight of them twice. Once among the clouds, though you were sure Aemond got a greater view of you than you did him. And again, as Vhagar was returning to land Driftmark. Your hunt had been unsuccessful. But you had been sure no one would suspect you of such vengeful intent toward your uncle. Except perhaps Daemon.
“It is a fair price, Rhaenyra,” Daemon’s smirk was cunning, “They will not harm her.”
The betrayal on your mother's face heated your blood. How dare he tell her what to do? Your mother, Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the iron throne. This man who was no one, husband of no one, Prince of nowhere, heir of nothing. Who was he to command your mother? And now, to step toward you and attempt to pry you away from her. So close you could almost-
Almost hear the two of them whispering. To each other. To you.
“Think.” Daemon hissed, “They will demand her for Aemond sooner or later.”
“She is my only daughter.”
“She will still be your daughter in the Red Keep.” He kept up the pretence of fighting your mother, despite her arms having gone lax around you. “Not a bastard. Not a bargaining chip. Your daughter. At the heart of the greens.”
“She is a child.”
“A Targaryen child.”
“She is my child.”
“Then let her prove it.”
“Mother,” You warbled. “I don’t want to go.”
“Tala.” Daemon shifted, and his eyes met yours again as if you should know this word. You did not. “You will go. Make your mother proud. Learn at court. Find those who support her claim and those who will side with the Hightowers. You are weak and a girl, they will not suspect you. When the time comes you will be our most valuable weapon.”
“But I want to go home, Kepa.” (Father or paternal uncle)
“Oh, my sweet girl.” Rhaenyra held your face and brushed away your tears. “You will.”
“’Nyra.” Daemon warned.
“But not today.” She kissed each of your cheeks. “Today you must be strong for me. You must be strong for your brothers. You must do as Daemon says, we must keep them happy.”
And then your mother pulled you toward her firmly, pressed her lips to your ear and whispered a promise. A reward should you embark on this mission. Beyond sweets and silk dresses and extra time on Laesuvion. Beyond anything you had ever been promised or ever dreamed of asking for. Do this for your mother and she would exempt you from the chains of political marriage that would shackle each of your brothers. There was no guarantee you would be lucky like your brothers, married to one who would understand. But do this and you could have your Promised under the eyes of the Seven, the Old Gods, and the traditions of old Valyria itself. Even at 10, you knew that for a Princess and a second-born, there was no greater boon.
So, you did what you had to do for your one shot to truly be with your Promised. You squared your shoulders, kissed your mother's cheek, and stumbled toward Queen Alicent. She gripped you by the shoulder, tucked you into the folds of her skirt, and stared cruelly down her nose at your mother.
“Now I will have no more fighting.” Said the King and having satisfied his wife for the first time in their long marriage, he ambled off to bed.
As the crowd dispersed, Sir Criston Cole flanked the Queen and as a unit, the three of you marched from the room. Your mother, scarcely held together in Daemon’s embrace, gave one last warbling cry as you passed the threshold and disappeared, not to be seen again for nine long years.
You were kept that night in the Queen’s own quarters to thwart rescue or escape. Behind a bolted door and no less than three kings’ guards. And yet, that morning, upon waking with puffy eyes from silent tears and aching limbs from the harsh sitting room sofa, you found something that had not been there before.
A gift from Daemond, most assuredly, tucked under the pillow you had slept on. The handle was perhaps an inch too long for your small age, but the blade was curved and wicked sharp and would require little finesse to cause harm. Inlaid in the pommel was a single ruby, the size of your thumb and wonderfully smooth. Carved into the cross-guard flowing Valyrian script read valar morghūlis. (All men must die.)
You would call the dagger gaomilaksir, duty. You would carry it as a reminder of the promises you and your mother had made one another. One day, as Daemon had said, you would become her greatest weapon.
There had been few bright spots in your life as the Queen’s ward. So, few in fact, that you could count them on one hand.
One.
You could not fly. Such a thing would only encourage escape back to Dragonstone and your mother. But you could visit Laesuvion and watch him sweep through the clouds. He had grown much in your teenage years. Still lithe in build and elegant in frame, but more angular like an arrow strung tight. He did not take to Kings Landing, not in all your years trapped there. So used to the comfort of Dragonstone and your family’s own dragons, he often abandoned the Dragonpit entirely. Kept tethered to the Keep by your presence alone.
“Where is Laesuvion?” You were just shy of ten and two when you approached the Dragonkeeper Acolyte.
“Hunting, my lady.” He knocked his quarterstaff against the ground. “He flew north not three hours ago.”
“Do you not offer him food?”
The keeper lowered his head, “He refuses it, my lady.”
“Offer him better.”
“We give him our very best, lady. He is a magnificent but stubborn creature.”
“He is a dragon, not a creature.” You conjured up a playful grin. “And I am a princess, not a lady.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” The Acolyte blustered, “Shall I inform you upon his return?”
“That won’t be necessary,” You strode to his side and plunked yourself down to lean against the stone entrance. “I shall wait for his return here.”
And so, you did. Silently, for the better part of twenty minutes as the Acolyte threw furtive glances your way.
Until finally, “Truly, my lady. Your Highness. He could be hours still.”
Wonderful. You thought and cast a dazzling grin up at him. “Perhaps you ought to keep me better company then.”
And so, you began your mission. You charm the Dragonkeepers – Acolyte and Elder, all seventy-seven of them – who knew the princes and their dragons, their strengths and weaknesses. You befriend the maids, the scullery, the wet nurses, and the servants they bunk with. Piece by piece, inch by inch, you win back your mother's share of Kings Landing.
Two.
Strange though she was, your Aunt Heleana always welcomed you into her chambers. In your shared youth, she always had a critter clutched between her hands as if it were the most precious thing she owned. You are four and ten, a year younger than your aunt when she is forced to split her time between her menagerie of insects and the chubby masses of her twin babes.
“The young prince has lungs,” You smiled at Heleana as the wet nurse rocked a wailing Jaehaerys. “He will make glorious speeches when he is grown.”
“Only one.” She examined the creature in her hands. Today she favoured a centipede, passing Jaehaera onto you.
You had long since learned to ignore her ramblings, “The sweet Princess must be the wordsmith, then.”
“The fourth in an age.” Heleana startled as if only just noticing your presence. “Apologies, Hāedar. You wished to speak?” (Younger female sibling or cousin)
“No apologies necessary, Mandia.” (Older female sibling or cousin). The Valyrian word tasted foul. You had your own siblings on Dragonstone, those whom you had been stolen from and those whom you had yet to meet. But Heleana liked it when you pretended that you were not a prisoner, that you were her mother’s daughter and not her forcibly attained ward. And so you swallowed it with a smile, “Might we talk privately?”
Heleana startled again as she turned to the wet nurse. “Take the children to the nursery, Bria.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” Bria gave an awkward curtsy, shuffled the still-wailing Jaehaerys to one side and received Jaehaera from your arms. Heleana turned to you expectantly as the trio disappeared through a side door.
“It is a sensitive matter I am afraid,” You eyed the centipede as it escaped her hands and crawled across her skirts. “I do not wish to cause offence.”
Heleana’s eyes pinched at the corners, “It is not such a terrible burden – to be a wife. Mostly he ignores you.”
“You misunderstand me,” You hurried. “I only wished to speak of your grandfather.”
“Not my brother?”
“Do you wish to speak of your husband?”
“No,” Heleana gave you a quizzical look. “I speak of Aemond, who will be your husband.”
“Aemond?” Your uncle who’s selfishness had trapped you here. One of Alicent’s precious children married to her living doll. The thought would have been hysterical were it not so frightening. Surely not.
“It is the natural progression of things. I was given to Aegon and now you to Aemond.” Heleana’s attention returned to the centipede. “One pairing to strengthen our house, another to mend its bonds. So says grandfather.”
“Oh Mandia. I am entrusted to your mother. There need be no marriage to bring me into the fold. We are family.”
“Yes. So says mother.” Heleana stared. Not so blind as she seemed. “But grandfather always gets what he wants.”
And so, you are four years into your mission, having sat patiently by the Queen's side. Having listened and learned and noted those your mother can count on. Four years in and the time to begin quietly making moves had arrived with a head start from your oblivious Aunt.
But then you see the centipede crawl from her hands again and writhe across her skirt. And you think maybe Heleana’s warnings have more to do with where the critter is trying to lead her than it has to do with you.
Three.
It took you longer than you would like to admit to worm your way into Otto Hightower’s confidences – if there were such a thing.
You had quickly learned in your first year at the Keep that Alicent feared her father, distrustful of his greed and power lust. Not much unlike yourself, she had been sent into the greedy hands of a different house in pursuit of the Iron Throne. Were Otto not so blinded by his ambitions you might have begun to worry that Daemon’s strategy might ring familiar. But Lord Hightower’s strength was also his greatest weakness. So careful in his scheming, gently coaxing his will unto others, moving his pawns about the board, sacrificing all but himself, he could not see his tactics turned against him. Beyond your connection to Rhaenyra, you barely registered as a piece in the game.
Daemon had been right. Weak and a girl and not a threat. Not yet.
So, you worked tirelessly to endear yourself to Alicent. Just as you learned from her, you began to teach in turn. When you are in the room Otto Hightower dares not spin his lies about succession. When you appear around corners in search of your Queen-mother talk of hastening the king's condition ceases. When you are near, Alicent is safe. She begins to wear you like the expensive accessory you are, a decorative shield.
Hours trailing your Queen-mother to and from meetings of the small council, waiting patiently at her side as she sat in place of the King. Serving wine to fat and foolish lords.
And then finally, on the eve of your ten and fifth nameday, the Queen brings you along to the Hand's Tower.
“Father.” She greets.
“Alicent,” Otto brings you to his office, where a tea set for two lays steaming. “I see you have brought your shadow.”
The Queen barely glances your way as you serve her tea and then her father’s, before retreating to stand at her shoulder. She glares across her father’s desk, “This does concern her.”
“She is approaching her fifteenth year, two since her first blood. Time has well arrived for her to marry,” He stares directly at you then, “Have you any fondness for your uncle, Princess?”
“My lord, the Princes and I are often kept busy by our duties.” Your friends among the servants have divulged their schedules. You stay firmly away from drunken Aegon and selfish Aemond, remaining civil only with young Daeron.
“You must see reason.” Alicent implores her father. “They hold no affection for one another. Aegon and Heleana have already wed in the name of strengthening our family. To marry her would serve only to anger Rhaenyra.”
“And to bind her eldest daughter to us.” Interesting that he would say so openly in front of you. Perhaps you have been more effective in playing a Green than you had thought. “Aemond will be a good husband to her.”
“I have no doubt,” Alicent says and as silence stretches you suspect she is losing conviction; you have not saved her this time.
You clear your throat delicately, “If I may?”
“Of course, sweet pet.” Alicent reaches out to fuss with your hair. She likes it long and keeps its length to your hip despite how cumbersome it can be. Short hair is unbecoming, she claims.
You look to Otto in false deference, “My lord?”
“Very well.”
“I think,” You begin carefully. “Aemond and I may be of better use to you.”
“And how might that be?” He is condescending but you have his attention.
“When the time comes that grandsire passes on, I suspect the lords of the realm will need cause to back a claim to the Iron Throne. My Septa says that peace such as we have seen under his rule may bring unrest. I do not doubt that Aemond will make a fine and just husband. All I mean is that mayhaps it would be wise to keep us unwed until we may serve a greater purpose.”
No mention of your mother nor their ill-begotten plan for Aegon. Hightower's methods played against him.
“And when the time comes you will do this?” He demands.
“It is my duty to my house.”
He tilts his head as a predatory bird might. “You must swear it, to myself and to your Queen, upon your young brothers.”
To pause would mislay your ruse. To hesitate would be to sign your life away to Aemond Targaryen.
“I swear it, upon the lives of my brothers.”
He considered you for a moment, and then his daughter.
“You have done well with her, Alicent.” Your Queen-mother sighs as Otto Hightower stands. “Enjoy your tea, I have matters to attend to elsewhere. Perhaps you will be of more use than we originally suspected, Princess.”
Your first true victory. You will not be shackled to the Keep; you will be kept safe until your mother comes for you. Until such a time that you and Laesuvion can seek out your Promised.
Four.
The Queen held a strange fondness for you. Platinum-haired and purple-eyed, the spitting image of the Realm’s delight and perhaps the only trueborn among your siblings. She took pains to brush and braid your hair, dress you in green and flout you at court. Her perfect tamed Targaryen. Who would eat from her hand, take tea by her side, sit prim and silent as her Queen-mother decorated her. You were her walking-talking glimmering triumph over Rhaenyra.
At ten, Alicent’s obsession stole you from your mother. At ten and four, it protected you from a hasty marriage. And now, at ten and eight, it was your path to freedom.
“Mother?”
Oh, how Alicent loved it when you called her that. One more thing ripped from Rhaenyra’s thieving hands. Alicent pushed into your room with a tired facsimile of a smile and took the seat across from you by the roaring hearth.
“My sweet pet.” She was dressed head to toe in full regalia. “I am so sorry to have missed you today.”
You tucked a piece of scrap paper into the book you had been reading, buying yourself time to school your features into innocent confusion. “As am I. My door has been locked. I am sorry I could not come to you.”
“A precaution – one that I fought.” Alicent reached for your hair, running her fingers through its length. “But we cannot trust you to betray your mother. Regardless of the years you have spent in our care.”
“I do not understand, mother.” But you do.
“Your grandsire is dead.”
You close your eyes, “Aegon is king.”
“Yes.”
“You did not wish for this.”
“I wish Viserys were still a living corpse. That he would outlive us all so that none could claim his cursed throne. Not Aegon. Not Rhaenyra. Not my father.”
“That is not a solution.”
She tugs at your hair harshly, “Foolish pet, there is none.”
You blink harshly. Your eyes scarcely holding back tears. For the first time since you left your mother's embrace, you are truly scared. No longer are you the meek girl who walks in the Queen’s shadow. Given liberties and protection in a twisted echo of her love for Rhaenyra. You are a living embodiment of what House Targaryen will be to House Hightower. A pretty little puppet kept from your dragon, cloistered away like some trophy, scrambling for a scrap of power to delude yourself that you have some control.
“What is to become of our house?” You whisper.
“Your mother and Prince Daemon remain on Dragonstone. No blood has yet been shed.” Alicent brushed your hair softly behind one ear. “We have sent Aemond to Storm’s End to do as you once suggested. To offer himself to one of the Baratheon girls, that Lord Borros might see reason and acknowledge Aegon as rightful King.”
Good, there were those beyond the Keep who remained steadfast and loyal. It was time to return to your mother, then. To tell her all you had learned these last eight years. To name her allies and set Daemon loose upon her foes. Now was the time.
“What of my brothers?”
Alicent leant back, “Scouts have spotted Vermax flying north likely as an envoy to rally support among the lords.”
“How could they have mobilized so quickly? Was Aegon not crowned mere hours ago?”
“He was, indeed.” Alicent’s gazed into the fire. “The Lady Rhaenys was not so welcoming of solitude as you have been.”
“She has gone to Dragonstone?”
“She has.”
“And no one has come for me?”
“They have not.”
For a moment you each stared listlessly into the hearth. When Alicent shifts back to face you, she has a letter clutched in her hand. It is crisp and of fine quality but most strikingly, stamped with the King’s seal.
“I am under no delusions,” Alicent says softly, mournfully. “You can no more contest your mother's claim than I can Aegon’s. We are matching pieces in this game, I think.”
Your fear swells, “Mother.”
“Please, my sweet girl.” She smooths the hair atop your head. “You must do me one last favour as my ward.”
“I don’t understand.”
She presses the letter into your hands. “Jacaerys will fly first to the Vale, to treat with House Arryn and then to Winterfell. You will take this and beat him there. You will do as you swore to do those years ago.”
“I ca–”
“Listen!” She jerked you by your shoulders. “You must listen. You will wed Lord Stark. He is as fine a match as any. The north is loyal to Rhaenyra and will remain steadfast, you will be well treated. You must go, with this missive from the King, his final wish to send you north to snow and safety. In return for your hand, they will take no part in the fighting, they will protect you as their own, until such a time that the victor is crowned. Do you understand me, pet?”
“The King never cared for me.” You said foolishly.
“And yet, with his dying breath, he spoke of you and of Aegon. That you would carry his legacy, that you would see out his dream to the North. That Prince Aegon was Promised to this kingdom. You must believe me. You must do this for your grandsire.”
“I do believe you mother.” She was deluded. “I will do what must be done.”
Alicent has offered you one gilded cage for another. You will not be fool enough to fall into this one. You will find Laesuvion and be gone in the dead of night. You tuck the King’s missive into your book and smile at the Queen.
“Shall we call for tea, mother? You have much to tell me. I hear I have missed a coronation.”
Five.
You shape your fifth and final joy as the Queen Alicent’s Ward whilst escaping her clutches. You take three sharp detours on your path to the Dragonpit. First, to the chamber of the small council where you snatch the King's ball of quartz, you will make a gift of this to your mother. Then to the creche where the Keeper’s turned a blind eye as you pilfered three precious Dragon eggs. Finally, you find yourself ascending the steps of the Lord Hand’s Tower. To take the Dowager Queen from the Greens would be the greatest gift to your mother and her cause. But Alicent, despite her many faults, had been as kind to you as one might be toward a favourite pet. And so you do as a pet would – you do not bite the hand that fed you. Instead, you do both your Queen-mother and the woman that birthed you, a favour. You find Otto Hightower asleep in his study and you pass onto him your final gift from Daemon Targaryen.
You leave gaomilaksir in the heart of Hightower as you flee north, your duty complete.
(Part 2 : The Winter Keep)
#cregan stark x reader#cregan stark#cregan x reader#cregan x you#cregan fanfiction#jacaerys velaryon#prince jacaerys#lucerys velaryon#aemond targaryen#aegon ii targaryen#queen alicent#alicent hightower#hotd#house of the dragon#hotd fanfic#otto hightower#rhaenyra targaryen#daemon targaryen
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