࣪˖ ݁Ი𐑼 ⋆ִֶָ་𝓕.𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢 ִֶָ ་༘ ࣪˖ weakness is your messy eyeliner!?
𝟏𝟖+ 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢 ꒰ fem!reader ⋮⋮ "kajal" is used in place of eyeliner ⋮⋮ not desi reader specific but desi reader was in mind when writing this ⋮⋮ oral m. rec ⋮⋮ cum in mouth ꒱
The bedroom is still quiet as morning light breaks into your shared apartment, rays of sunshine filtering through the curtains. You stirred first, from sleep, hair spilled across the pillows and the faint scent of last night's jasmine oil still clinging to your skin.
Toji laid beside you. His massive frame taking up most of the bed. One heavy arm draped lazily over your waist. His breathing deep and even, as you blinked slowly. The familiar weight of sleep still pressed on your lashes.
He woke moments later. Those sharp green eyes cracked open and landed on your face.
Your kajal. Lined so carefully every night before bed. Now smudged in the most sinful way. Dark rings shadowed your pretty eyes, making you look wrecked already. Sultry. Like you had spent the whole night taking him deep and desperate.
Toji's cock twitched hard under the sheets, because he was instantly rock hard at the sight of you like this, actually every single morning, it did something filthy to him. He tried to look away, but his jaw clenched tight, the longer he tried to tell himself, not again. Just one morning he hoped his cock wasn't aching and painful because of you.
And you noticed right away. How could you not? His body language gave him away every time, the slight adjusting or where he'd pull the covers up over himself in an attempt to hide his boner. You shifted closer voice coming out soft and teasing. "What's wrong, Toji? You look like you're in pain."
He let out a low grunt, eyes flickering back to yours. The smudged kajal around them made his thoughts spiral. "Fuck. You look too good like that, Dollface. With your eyes all dark and messy. Makes me think about.. how y'er pretty mouth was taking all of me last night, stuffed ya full didn't I?
He lifted his hand mid sentence, reaching towards your face cupping your cheek as his thumb swiped right under your eye.. right where the kajal was the thickest. "Ruined that pretty liner even more."
Your heart fluttered. Heat pooled low in your belly. You knew exactly what he meant. His eyes always betrayed him. That hungry stare. The way his gaze dropped to your full lips next. He was imagining them stretched wide around his thick cock again.
You didn't say anything at first. Instead your hand roamed down his bare chest. Fingers tracing the hard lines of his abs. Lower, until you reached the heavy tent in his sweatpants. He was leaking already, a damp spot blooming under your palm.
Toji hissed through his teeth. "Shit. Yeah. Just like that."
You freed him with eager fingers. His cock sprang out. Thick, veined. The head flushed dark and shiny with pre-cum. It bobbed heavily against his stomach. You licked your lips. The sight making your mouth water.
Leaning down, you settled between his spread thighs. He opened them wider for you. Gentle and loving were his big hand as it came to rest on the back of your head. Fingers stroking through your hair with surprising tenderness.
You wrapped your plump lips around the tip first. Tongue swirling to lap up every drop of pre-cum. Salty-warm and perfect. Toji let out a guttural groan from deep in his chest. His hips bucking up just a little.
"Fuck, Dollface. Your mouth's... always so good for me."
You took him deeper. Inch by thick inch. Your cheeks hollowed as you sucked. The weight of him on your tongue felt divine. Your fingers teased along his happy trail. Petting the dark hair there. Tracing the muscles that flexed under your touch.
He guided you down slowly. "That's it. All the way, baby. Take every fucking inch f'me. I know you can."
You did. Relaxing your throat. Letting his cock slide in until your nose pressed against his pelvis. Your walls massaged him tight. Wet heat enveloping him completely. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. They spilled over. Smudging the kajal even more, black mixing with your tears, running down your cheeks.
Toji's gaze was locked on you. Hyper focused. He drank in every detail. The beauty marks around your eyes. The cute one right above your upper lip. Your hair framing your face like a halo. You looked so beautiful. So fucking ruined for him.
His thumb brushed your stretched lips. Gathering the drool that slipped out. "God, you're gorgeous. Look at you. Taking me so deep. My pretty girl."
You hummed around him. The vibration made his thighs tremble. You bobbed your head. Sucking harder. Tongue working the underside of his shaft. One hand cupped his heavy balls. Rolling them gently while your other hand stroked what your mouth couldn't reach.
Toji's fingers tightened in your hair. Not pulling. Just holding. Guiding you back and forth on his cock as his breaths came rougher now. "Yeah. Just like that. Gonna make those pretty eyes water more. Love seeing my good girl gag on my cock."
You pushed yourself further. Throat fluttering around him. Tears flowing freely. The kajal was a complete mess now. Dark smudges painting your heated skin. You looked up at him through wet lashes. Eyes glassy and devoted.
That was it. The sight broke him.
Toji came with a fevered moan. Thick ropes of cum flooding your throat. Hot, heavy and endless. You swallowed around him. Milking every drop, throat working rhythmically. Taking it all like the good girl you were.
When he finally eased out, a string of spit and cum connected your swollen lips to his glistening cock. You gasped for air. Lips shiny and wrecked.
Toji pulled you up immediately. His mouth crashed onto yours in a deep kiss. Tasting himself on your tongue. Then softer kisses followed. Across your cheek. Along your jaw. Gentle presses just under your eyes where the kajal was darkest. Kissing away the messy streaks with surprising care.
"You wrecked me, princess," he murmured against your skin. His hand stayed at the back of your head. Massaging your scalp in slow circles. "So fucking pretty in the morning. Thank you. My beautiful girl. My sultry little thing."
You smiled. Curling into his broad chest. His arms wrapped around you tight. The sun climbed higher outside. But neither of you moved. Just tangled together. His cock softening against your thigh. Your smudged kajal marking him now too.
Toji pressed one last kiss to your forehead. "Gonna need you to line those eyes every night. Just so I can wake up to this. Every damn morning."
His voice was low, a little possessive, but full of that lazy affection only you ever got to see. You nestled closer. Already thinking about tonight. How you'd line them even thicker. Just for him.
Tags: post sex (there are mentions of it), lack of aftercare (for a brief moment), arranged marriage
The Septas say that a wife’s duty in the marital bed is to stay still and receive her husband’s seed without complaint. To silently pray to the Mother so that it may take root. They don't tell you how to deal with the aftermath. When you feel your husband's seed sticking to your thighs. When your heart is about to leap out of your chest. When your body shakes with the remaining pleasure. When he moves his body away from you, you feel compelled to grab him and have his body against you again.
Your husband is kind.
He cares about your pleasure.
He makes sure you're prepared before he inserts himself inside you.
You wonder if he feels the same way. The same shudders. The same desire to touch. You don’t dare to ask. It scares you. This union isn't based on love. It's a political union. Only the production of healthy heirs is expected.
Your husband lets out a groan as he removes his cock from your body. Sweat is running down his face. He sighs as he moves away from you. You remain in bed, breathing heavily, and for some reason, you want your husband's body to be against you once more. Not to repeat what you just did, but to feel his warmth and skin.
When you finish coupling, your husband bids you goodnight and leaves the chambers to go to his own. He is about to do that. He had already put his tunic on, and he was about to put his shoes on when you broke the silence with one question you wanted to ask but felt anxious to.
“Can you hold me?”
Baelor Targaryen
He stops when he hears your request. He looked over his shoulder, and your eyes looked away when his found your figure.
You lay in your bed wearing your nightgown, and a sheen of sweat made your body shine in the dark. Your hands tremble as you hold on to your nightgown as if you're a frightened child facing the monster in the dark.
Baelor takes off his tunic and returns to your bed. Your eyes widen as you gaze at him.
Did you think he would say no? Why would he say no? You asked him a simple request, and as your husband, he would gladly comply with it.
He grabs you by the middle and pulls you towards him.
Your cheek rests against his chest, causing your body to tremble pleasantly.
You have no idea what to do with your hands.
He places his hands on your back and uses the tips of his fingers to gently massage your skin.
You move your hands as you gradually feel the tension in your body release.
You raise your body and press your face to his neck.
You hear it just as you're about to nod off. "Would you like me to spend the night here?"
With a drowsy groan, you tuck yourself further into his neck. You respond without hesitation.
“Stay forever.”
The last thing you recall is Baelor kissing your head and laughing.
From then on, after doing your marital duties, Baelor remained in your bed and held you.
Maekar Targaryen
He leaves the room, acting as though he didn't hear you.
He did not want to remarry, but his brother and father insisted. He had to ensure that House Targaryen remained strong. His children required a maternal figure.
Maekar, being the good son he is, swallowed his pride, married the girl they chose for him, and bedded her while the fertility window was still open. He has no complaints about you. You looked after his household and children. You welcomed him into your bed without hesitation.
He wanted to scoff at your request.
This is a political union. They don't need to pretend they were a loving couple. They need to have at least one child to satisfy their families and nothing else.
He was about to return to his chambers when he heard a sob.
He came to a halt right there.
The sob was quickly muffled, and he heard nothing more.
He is overcome with a sense of shame.
You have done nothing wrong.
You didn't ask for gold.
You didn't ask for jewels.
You didn't ask for silk.
You just asked to be held.
Maekar turns his heels and walks back inside.
You are curled in your bed, feeling ashamed to have asked that question. You went stiff when you heard the door open again. You closed your eyes and waited. For what? You didn't know.
He stops next to the bed. His gaze is heavy on you. He’s the one who breaks the silence. “Do you still want me to hold you?”
You opened your eyes and looked at Maekar, baring your red eyes to him.
“Yes.” You whispered.
Maekar removes his tunic and lies behind you.
He puts his arm on your waist and pulls you closer to him.
Goosebumps appear in your body when you feel his warmth.
“Go to sleep, wife.” He orders you, gently.
You feel his breath at the back of your neck and start to fall asleep. The last thing you remember is Maekar kissing your neck.
maybe you should have thought twice before randomly calling your ex-husband to say goodnight but on your discovery that your ex!husband sukuna still has feelings for you, you feel that maybe this could be the chance it could work out.
or
ex-husband sukuna and reader who still pine for each other but are stupid and stubborn
tags: fem!reader, no use of y/n, divorced parents, yuji child of divorce, mutual pining but they both deny, awkward middle aged sukuna, angst, domestic fluff, eventual smut, cw: depression, both sukuna and reader have an attitude, sukuna is an asshole, more tags to be added soon
more headcanons for ex husband sukuna!! angsty por favor
yes but without spoilers for what i want to come up in the future fics...
if we're talking angsty i wanna say it was hard for the reader to get used to sleeping alone (it's not something new) but crawling into bed alone after years of being married to sukuna was something that took getting used to.
it's all fun when yuji climbs into your bed when he's not supposed to either to wake you up with a surprise or because he had nightmares but you do miss the heavy handed cuddles, waking up to a tattooed arm around your waist or the slow morning kisses when you wake up.
*throws at you* you have nightmares sometimes and find yourself looking for sukuna when you're suddenly reminded that oh yeah we divorced.
i wanna also say it was difficult watching sukuna move his things out. he'd let you keep the house obviously and he doesn't mind helping out to pay rent but you told him you could handle it. but all of a sudden the house looks a little emptier and there's still a depressive sludge in your gut that you can't quite get rid of. short term it hurts but for the long term you know its for the better.
also at family and friend events you can't help but notice how light you feel without his hand wrapped around your waist. you feel a bit bare and embarrassed saying aloud that you've divorced. the looks you get from your distance family is sympathetic but also full of judgement, you feel like you've failed at love and become another statistic. people give you unwanted advice on how to raise yuji, how a separated parent household can have psychological effects on a child.
you ignore this bullshit obviously but it still leaves the shadow of guilt weighing over your head.
and if i say reader's worst fear is the idea of sukuna getting remarried-
I really like how both akotsk and hotd touch on the regionality of Westeros both in giving the different regions different cultural characters and in having characters react to these characters. It's especially true for hotd and the Riverlands with Criston referring to Oscar Tully's army as "river scum" and Janos of Rooks Rest saying that he hates "river folk". But there's also akotsk s01e01 "This is the Reach, not the Riverlands". And I would even count Ormund Hightower's and Raymund Fossoway's Anti-Targ rants among it. (The Reach as a region with stronger anti Targaryen sentiment perhaps?)
I'm aware that these are all characters being xenophobic about other regions in Westeros, but as anyone who's ever lived in any place with strong regional differences will surely agree... that's not inaccurate. And really it made Westeros feel more real to me. It makes complete sense that Reachers are rascist about Riverlanders and the show(s) showing this actually makes the world feel more lived in.
That being said, it also makes it all the more insane that, as @tweedstoat recently pointed out, no adaption of asoiaf-related material has ever really touched onto the in-text anti-Dornish rascism. HotD gave us a hint of it in s01 (Alicent's "gods, he's Dornish" after Criston lifts his helmet). But I'm willing to argue it's maybe even akotsk biggest weakness that they do not address the Dornish ancestry of the Targaryens and how it both affects the position and actions of the non-Targaryen-but-Dornish looking characters such as Baelor. The elephant is in the room. Address it.
୨୧ — You knelt gently on the cool stone floor of his temple, your delicate hands arranging a bouquet of colorful blooms in a vase. Your soft melodic humming weaved through the air and turned the usually oppressive temple into something almost… domestic.
"Still cluttering my temple with this worthless garbage?" Sukuna growled, though his eyes never left the gentle sway of your movements. "Must you insist on filling every corner with these weeds?"
"They're not garbage, they're flowers!" You held up a bloom for his inspection, completely unfazed by his scowl, "This one kind of reminds me of you- all thorny on the outside…" you smiled sweetly at the flower, a tint of pink dusting your cheeks, "but the petals are so soft."
The mouth on his stomach let out a derisive snort.
"Comparing the King of Curses to a common weed? Your boldness knows no bounds, does it? I could burn them all to ash with a thought," he threatened, multiple hands clenching, "Turn your precious flowers to nothing but dust."
"Buuut you won't," you sang out, struggling slightly to stand with your swollen belly. Before you could wobble and lose balance, his hands were there, steadying you. The moment he realized what he’d done his gentle touch turned into a somewhat harsh grip, the action of tending to you making him bare his teeth in self-disgust.
"Pathetic," he spat, though his hold remained carefully mindful of your condition, "You're as weak as these weeds you love so much." He clicked his tongue, "Tch, and I don’t believe I gave you permission to move, know your place… woman."
"Hmmm~?" You arched your brow at him, "And where is my place?" You asked playfully, leaning into his touch despite his harsh words. Your hand reaching up to caress the curse marks on his arm.
The mouth on his stomach snapped its teeth, "At my feet, where you belong."
"Funny," you mused, "that's not where you kept me last night~."
His grip tightened, just shy of painful, "Watch your tongue, little lamb.." One hand found your throat, thumb pressing against your pulse point in warning, "That tongue of yours grows bolder by the day," Sukuna snarled, another hand tangling in your hair with barely contained violence. "Perhaps I should I finally rid myself of that mouth of yours..." his nails drags across your neck, "rip it out and feed it to-"
You merely tilted your head, exposing more of your neck to his threatening grip, "rip it out with those hands that hold me so carefully?" You pressed closer, fearlessly touching the mouth on his stomach, which immediately ceased its smirk.
"You're nothing but a temporary amusement. A warm body to entertain me. A vessel for my-"
The mouth on his stomach started to add something undoubtedly vicious, but fell traitorously silent when Sukuna heard the next words that slipped from your lips, "Is that why you check on us every night?" You asked, eyes looking at him knowingly, "To inspect your vess-!"
He cut you off by pulling you roughly against him, four hands positioning you exactly where he wanted you, "You talk too much." A vein pulsed dangerously in his temple before The king of curses releases a sound of frustration, "I'm ensuring what belongs to me remains intact. Nothing more."
"And you pretend too much," you whispered, standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his clenched jaw, "my fearsome lord who also waters his "vessels" wilting flowers as she sleeps soundly with his growing child."
Sukuna's eyes narrowed dangerously, "I do no such thing..."
He should have pulled away. Should have done what he’s done to others and remind you exactly why he earned the title King Of Curses... Instead, he found himself drawing you closer, allowing your warmth to seep into his cold existence.
"Your weeds are still worthless," he muttered against your hair, but all four of his arms continued to cradle you protectively.
Sukuna Ryomen wanted to destroy you. To erase your existence…
This pure, ridiculous woman who dared to mock his threats with smiles and gentle touches. But as you turned back to look at your arrangement of wee- flowers…, humming contentedly in his embrace, he knew with sickening certainty that he would tear apart anyone who tried to harm you and his unborn brat before he ever laid a violent hand on you himself.
Sukuna doesn't handle waking up in an empty bed in the middle of the night very well
Blinking awake into the dim blue-gray haze that fills the bedroom, Sukuna’s mind lingers in a heavy, half-dreaming state, and the first thing he notices is the empty stretch of mattress at his side. Fingers drift across the sheets, searching out of habit, only to find nothing but cold where warmth should be.
For a moment, he just lies there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to shake the fog of sleep that refuses to let go. Only when the red glow of the alarm clock finally catches his eye does he move, brow creasing as the numbers come into focus. 4:03.
It’s the weekend. Both of you had gone to bed together hours ago, so there’s absolutely no reason for you to be anywhere else.
Before the thought can even finish forming, his body jolts upright as adrenaline floods his veins, snapping him awake faster than his mind can catch up. The sharp thud of his heart feels almost ridiculous in the silence, but the apartment is so quiet that it only makes every instinct louder.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he pushes himself up, rakes a hand through his hair, and steps into the hallway, every muscle tense, ears straining for the faintest sound.
Nothing.
Moving down the hallway without hesitation, he checks the bathroom, even though the darkness behind the door already tells him you aren’t there.
The living room is empty, the couch looks exactly the same as earlier that night, with your blanket still tossed carelessly over the armrest where you left it. Maybe you slipped out onto the balcony, but the curtains hang motionless and the glass door is sealed tight. The pressure in his chest ratchets up another notch, and he moves through the flat faster now.
The last remnants of sleep are completely gone when each room confirms the same thing over and over again: you aren’t there. Each feeds the growing, irrational fear that something has happened while he slept, and by the time he reaches the kitchen, his breathing is shallow, his jaw clenches, and his hands ball into tight fists at his sides.
And then he stops.
The kitchen is bathed in dim light, just the gentle glow from the stove clock and a faint spill of streetlight through the window, enough to outline you standing barefoot by the counter. One hand holds a glass of water, the other strokes absently over Mikan’s back as the cat perches on a high chair, leaning into your touch and purring like nothing in the world could ever be wrong.
You look half-asleep yourself, hair a little messy, the hem of his shirt brushing your thighs, eyes soft and unfocused the way they get when you wake just enough to wander to the bathroom before crawling back to bed.
For a long moment, Sukuna stands frozen in the doorway, breath caught somewhere between relief and anger, adrenaline still pulsing through his veins. The sight of you, safe, slams into the fear he’s been carrying, heavy and real as anything.
Your head lifts when you notice him.
“What the hell are you doing?” The words come out sharper than he means, still edged with the panic that hasn’t left his body yet.
Confusion flickers across your face at his tone, and you blink at him, like you’ve only just remembered there’s a world beyond the counter and the purring cat pressed against your palm.
“Drinking water,” you answer quietly, your voice rough with sleep, lifting the glass slightly in explanation, like the answer should be obvious. Then, softer, as the reason for him standing there at four in the morning, staring at you like that, finally clicks, you add, “I didn’t want to wake you.”
Something in his chest finally gives, and the tension snaps all at once. Muttering a curse that barely makes it past his teeth, he walks over and catches your arm before you can get another word out, tugging you into him so abruptly that the water in your glass nearly spills over the rim. Only then does he let out a shaky breath he’s been holding since the moment he woke up.
His voice rumbles low and rough, words muffled by your hair as he pulls you tight against his chest. “You scared the shit outta me.”
His grip tightens for a heartbeat before easing. One hand slides up, fingers threading through the hair at the nape of your neck, while the other stays splayed warm and steady across your lower back. Caught off guard by the sudden intensity, you let your free hand find its way to his side, settling there gently.
“I’m sorry.” It slips out before you can stop it, even though you know you haven’t done anything wrong. Tilting your head back to meet his eyes, you find his stare heavy with something that makes it clear that he doesn’t want you apologizing for this, not ever. Nuzzling your cheek into his chest, you feel the frantic thud of his heartbeat beneath your ear. “I was only gone a minute,” you add softly, a little sheepish.
Sukuna huffs softly, and the short, weary sound carries more relief than frustration, but his arms stay locked around you, unyielding, as if letting go might let the fear slip back in.
“I know,” he mutters eventually, almost to himself, the edge of panic fading away. “I know that.”
For a few seconds, neither of you moves. The kitchen is quiet except for the slow, steady thud of Sukuna’s heartbeat finally calming beneath your cheek, and the impatient purring of Mikan weaving around your ankles, as if he’s been personally wronged by all this drama.
Then, he slips the glass from your hand and sets it on the counter, his other arm settling around your shoulders, steering you gently toward the bedroom, unwilling to let even an inch of distance creep in.
“Come on,” he murmurs, and you don’t argue.
Sleep tugs at you again, heavy and insistent, and as you sink back onto the mattress, your body leans instinctively toward his warmth. Sukuna wraps himself around you, pressing his chest firmly against your back and banding one arm tight across your waist, his hand splayed over your stomach. The other slips beneath your pillow, fingers searching until they find yours and tangle together.
Now that you’re back exactly where you should be, Sukuna lets out a slow, quiet exhale as the last traces of restless adrenaline finally drain from his chest.
SUMMARY - Your tender marriage with Gwayne fractures when your father refuses to bend the knee to Aegon Targaryen.
CONTAINS - angst, hurt/no comfort, readers house is not specified, reader is slightly sansa coded, grief, dark(?) themes
A/N - this has been collecting dust in my docs, impulsive post im legit on a ferris wheel
Gwayne Hightower was a man constructed of straight lines and solemn vows. Raised beneath the skies of Oldtown, he had been taught from the cradle that inclination was a luxury, and duty was the only true currency of a gentleman.
When Otto Hightower handed you to him like a piece of signed parchment, the alliance felt less like a marriage and more like a tactical capture. Your bloodline stood fiercely with Princess Rhaenyra, bound by oaths to the late King's chosen heir.
To you, Gwayne was the very body of the usurpation—the brother to the Queen who coveted the throne, the face of the creeping green shadow slowly overtaking the Red Keep. You were deeply put off by the factional taint of his name, constantly on your guard, waiting for the claws to show beneath his courtly exterior.
Yet weirdly enough, he treated you with a devastatingly polite distance, an immaculate chivalry that left you feeling like a guest in your own life.
He would offer his arm, he would hold doors, he would speak kindly. And yet your heart remained shielded deep inside your chest.
But despite the effort you had put into keeping your walls high, the change from formal to something soft and living occurred without a sudden declaration, almost escaping your notice. It was an accretion of unwritten truths.
It was discovered first in the gradual unraveling of his voice.
That clear instrument he used to command guards and placate lords slowly dropped its courtly register when the armours were cast aside. In the glow of the burning candles, away from the prying eyes, his speech became a gentler, more fragmented thing, meant for your ears alone.
He did not demand your submission, rather, he surrendered his own vigilance. You watched the rigid set of his shoulders slowly relax the moment he crossed the threshold into your chambers. The room ceased to be just a place where he slept, it became a place where he was permitted to bleed off the poison of the court.
There was a profound, unhurried tethering. He would often sit near your window while droplets of rain lashed the stone, his fingers idly tracing the embroidery of your clothes, calmed simply by the sound of your breath across from him.
One evening, he returned from an exhausting meeting with his father, his eyes dark with the weight of Otto’s demands. He sank to the floor beside your chair, burying his face in the fabric of your skirt.
“Gwayne?” you whispered, your fingers threading through his hair. “What did he say?”
“Do not ask me of the world out there,” he grunted, his voice a muffled rasp against your velvet gown. “Let me stay here for an hour. Just an hour where I do not have to be my father’s son. Tell me something ordinary. Tell me about the animals in the garden, or the book you read today. Anything.”
“I saw two lovebirds building a nest on the tree by the wall,” you murmured, your voice instantly soothing the nerves in him. “It reminded me of us.”
He leaned his head back against your knee, looking up at you with burning fondness that made everything else fade into background noise. “Mm, did it now?” he teased, reaching up to press a kiss to the center of your palm. “The gods help me, I am utterly helpless against you.” He let out a sigh.
Then lived those moonlit hours when the pressure of the world dissolved into the linen of your bed.
In the quiet aftermath of your intimacy, when the frantic heat had slowed to a languid warmth, he would hold you in the dark. His hands moved with gentleness across your bare skin, tracing the curve of your collarbone and sweep of your hip as if memorising the boundaries of a world he couldn’t bear to let slip away.
You would be flush against his chest, your head tucked beneath his jaw while his fingers idly brushed strands of your hair. His breathing would slow, heavy with the exhaustion of the days he carried, but his embrace never faltered. He would press his lips softly into the crown of your head, his chest lifting with a content sigh.
In those stolen hours, he belonged entirely to you. There was a night when the two of you refused sleep, consumed in conversation. He laid with his hand resting flat against yours, his eyes fixed on the canopy above as if tracing the map of a life he actually wanted to live.
“When the spring comes, I want to take you away from this place,” he had murmured, “perhaps to your father’s halls. I want to see the cliffs you spoke of, where ‘the wind smells of salt instead of rot,’ if I recall your words correctly?”
A breathless giggle escaped your lips, a spark of incandescent joy warming your chest. You turned in his embrace, your fingers brushing the hair from his eyes, your face alight with excitement.
“Only my father's halls?” you questioned, leaning up on one elbow to look down at him.
“Gwayne, if we manage to escape the jaws of this castle, I am not letting you slip away so easily. We must go to the cliffs, yes, but then you must take me to the Reach. You promised me once that we would walk through the bed of roses in the summer. We can pack nothing but wine and bread, and forget that the city ever existed.”
Gwayne watched you, his gaze tracking the curve of your smile, a look of helpless adoration softening every hard line of his face. A laugh rumbled in his chest as he reached up, wrapping his hand around the nape of your neck to pull you down into a sweet, lingering kiss.
“The Reach, the ruins, the edge of the world,” he whispered against your lips, his arms tightening around you as if you were going to disappear if he let go. “Wherever you wish, my love. A hundred different places, if only to keep that look in your eyes.”
You rested your cheek against his chest, listening to the reassuring thud of his heart. You fell asleep weaving those foolish, beautiful dreams into the dark, utterly convinced that the man holding you would sooner slaughter the world before he ever let a single drop of rain fall on your happiness.
Yet the air of King’s Landing grew relentlessly venomous, thickening with the acrid scent of treason.
In those breathless months following Aegon’s coronation, the peace you had inhabited with Gwayne was instantly exposed for what it was. A fragile ornament crushed beneath the heel of his father’s ambitions.
While the capital continued adjusting to the rule of the Greens, your house remained a stubborn holdout. Your father refused to acknowledge the new king, holding fast to his oaths to Rhaenyra. To Otto, your bloodline was no longer an honorable ally, but a defiance blocking the road to the iron throne that could not be suffered to endure.
Then came the ravens from east.
You learned of the coming storm not from a herald, but from the terrifying silence that occupied Gwayne when he returned to your quarters after a council meeting. He stood before the window, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.
“The ultimatums were returned unopened,” he said. His voice lacked its usual warmth. It was a hollow sound that seemed to sap heat from the room. “Your father remains loyal to the princess.”
The blood in your veins went solid. You knew the volatile nature of the men who sat at Aegon's right hand.
You knew that if Criston were unleashed upon your childhood home, there would be no mercy, and if Prince Aemond took to the sky, your heritage would be reduced to ash before the week's end.
“What will they do?” you whispered, crossing the room with frantic steps, your fingers catching his sleeve. “Gwayne, please. Speak to your father, or perhaps your sister. Let me send a rider– let me plead with–”
“It is past the point of letters,” Gwayne interrupted softly, finally turning his gaze to meet yours. He reached out, his palms framing your face with a tenderness that felt terribly final. “Cole demanded the vanguard. He wanted to make an example of your house...”
A muscle leaped in his jaw as he swallowed down whatever pride remained in his throat. “I kneeled before the King in front of the council. I begged for the vanguard myself. I told them a Hightower sword must lead the assault to ensure the territory is secured cleanly. I… I gave them my word.”
You stumbled backward, pulling out of his touch as horror bloomed beneath your ribs.
The man who had spent his nights finding solace in your arms had just bartered for the right to destroy your life. “You asked for the command?” you breathed. “You are marching against my blood?”
“It is better this way,” Gwayne insisted fiercely, closing the distance between you and grasping your shoulders desperately. “Do you not see? If Cole goes, he will put every soul bearing your name to the sword. If Aemond flies, your home becomes a sepulcher. But if I go, I can dictate the terms.”
A harsh, broken laugh escaped your throat, tears of raw fury finally spilling over your lashes. “And I am supposed to thank you for that? I am supposed to welcome you back into this bed with the scent of my home’s burning fields on your skin?”
“I have sacrificed my own honour for this!” his righteousness flared, his grip tightening on your shoulders. “I am doing this to shield you! I am doing this because I love you!”
“How dare you call this love?” you yelled, the words tearing from your lungs. “You do not love me, Gwayne. You loved a political knot that grew compliant in your hands. You loved having a place to crawl into when your father’s weight grew too heavy for your perfect shoulders. But the very moment the world demanded you choose between the Hand’s ambition and my survival…” you shook your head, your lower lip quivering. You couldn’t bring yourself to continue.
Gwayne’s face went pale, his hands dropping to his sides as if you had just stabbed him.
“If I do not hold the torch, the fire consumes us all!” he barked back, his voice laced with desperate pain. His eyes flashed with a devastating wildness you had never seen in him before. “Would you prefer Criston and Aemond? Tell me! Would you rather I let them lead?”
“I would rather a husband who did not look at my family’s ruin and call it an immaculate gift,” you spat, backing away from him until the wood of your vanity pressed against your spine.
You looked into his eyes, searching for your husband. Your Gwayne. But you found only a knight. One trapped in the machinery of his father’s war. He truly believed his compromise was a holy mercy. He believed that by becoming the executioner of your past, he was preserving your future.
Three days later, Gwayne rode out through the King’s Gate at the head of a thousand spears, your favour still braided into the hilt of his blade.
He left you alone with your thoughts, left only to count the heartbeats until the sky turned to smoke.
The weeks did not pass. They accumulated, settling over your shared rooms like the fine grey dust that drifted from the lower yards.
Every midnight, you would collapse onto your knees before the small carved altars in the corner of the castle’s shrine, your skin shivering against the cold stone as you pressed your palms together. But the moment you opened your mouth to plead with the heavens, your throat would lock. You discovered, with a sickening horror, that you no longer knew how to pray.
Did you beg the Smith to strengthen your father's walls, knowing it meant Gwayne would be butchered at the gates? Did you beg the Mother to shield your husband, knowing his survival required the destruction of your childhood home? Your words became choked and useless in the dark—a terrible realization that the gods could not bless one half of your heart without utterly destroying the other.
Then came the day when the bells of the sept did not toll for prayer, but clanged with the triumphant roar of victory.
The heralds in the courtyard shouted of a rebellion quelled, of a defiant house brought to its knees by the righteous hand of the King’s vanguard.
They were cheering for the execution of your blood.
When the doors to your bedchamber finally opened, it revealed a man who looked as though he had been dragged out from the deepest pit of seven hells.
Gwayne stood in the entryway. The knight of Oldtown, the man who had meticulously memorised the curves of your skin in the dark, was long gone.
The silver lines of his armour was caked with layers of soot, the plates dented and covered with dried mud. He carried the suffocating stench of charred timber, along with the sickly sweet metallic tang of blood.
His breathing was frantic, chest heaving beneath the metal as his eyes searched for you. He found you sitting by the cold hearth, a ragged sound escaping his throat. He took a reluctant step toward you, hands reaching out blindly.
“It is finished,” he choked out, “Your sisters are in custody, but they are breathing. They are alive. I secured it.”
You didn’t rise to meet him.
“And the cliffs, Gwayne?” you whispered, your voice dangerously level. A hollow timbre of a woman speaking from inside a grave. “How do they look now? Does the wind still smell of salt? or did you choke it with the debris of my father’s halls?”
Gwayne stilled, his outstretched hands hovering in the empty space between you. “Your father would not bend!” he pleaded, dropping heavily to his knees before you, the metal of his armour striking the floor with a mocking clang.
He reached out, filthy fingers desperately clutching at the fabric of your gown, mimicking the exact posture of surrender he had used weeks ago when begging to take the vanguard.
“He wouldn’t look at the terms. If I hadn't swung the blade clean myself, Cole would have left him tortured! I gave him a clean, honourable death!”
“Do not lie to yourself to make your sleep easier,” you muttered, and for the first time, your eyes shifted down to look at him, cold and unblinking. “You didn’t break your soul to save my family, Gwayne. You found it. It looks eerily like your father’s.”
An agonizing sob tore from his throat. He buried his face in your skirts, his shoulders shaking as he wept, pleading for your love, the fingers combing through his hair, the soothing voice.
But you remained frozen. You did not touch him. You could not.
As the sun set, you were not permitted time for mourning. The maids were sent, their trembling hands forcing you into a gown of emerald silk. They pinned your hair back with golden needles, and paraded you down the stone corridors like a prized trophy of war.
The hall was deafening. Lords and ladies drank from their golden chalices, their laughter bouncing off the walls, while musicians played a spirited tune to celebrate the crushing of the rebellion.
At the high table, you sat motionless. You didn’t touch your wine, didn’t look at the feast before you. You sat perfectly straight, your wide eyes staring vacant into the middle distance.
To your right sat Gwayne, washed clean of the soot and blood. His hand rested flat against the small of your back—a frantic touch that had been there for hours, silently begging for even a flinch, a glance, a single tear to prove you were still alive.
From your left, a shadow fell over your plate.
Otto Hightower stepped slowly toward you. He looked to be unbothered, his face a mask of serene statecraft. He leaned down slightly, placing a cold hand on your shoulder.
“A tragic business, my lady,” Otto murmured, his eyes scanning your blank profile with the curiosity of a master checking on a piece of chess. “Your father was a man of honour, but regretfully, honour without wisdom is a short lived thing in this world. It is a mercy that Gwayne arrived in time to spare your sisters from a traitor’s end.”
Otto’s fingers tightened slightly—a subtle warning disguised as a gesture of comfort.
“The King notices your silence.” His voice dropped into a pragmatic register. “You are a Hightower by law and by blood now. Smile for your King. Speak to your husband. Let the court see that the rebellion is truly dead.”
Otto then paused, waiting for your compliance, waiting for the polite response you had been taught since birth to give.
You gave him nothing. You remained horrifyingly still, an exquisitely dressed corpse sitting in the center of their victory.
Beside you, Gwayne let out a sharp breath, his fingers digging into your waist as he looked up at his father. He wanted Otto to stop. But he merely sighed, a flick of disappointment crossing his features before he pulled his hand away and dissolved back into the crowd of cheers.
Across the hall, a lord raised a goblet, his voice booming over the chatter as he toasted the victory of the Greens, explicitly naming your ancestral home as the nest of traitors that had finally been cleansed by the righteous steel of Ser Gwayne.
The noise that came after shook the very foundation of the castle. Gwayne closed his eyes, his forehead pressing forward as he shattered beside you.
But your eyes were no longer vacant.
Your body had not moved an inch, but your flat gaze had slowly drifted down to the linen table cloth.
Resting just inches from your motionless hand was a small, silver knife, laid out for the final course of the banquet. The torchlight caught the polished steel of the blade, reflecting a tiny glint of fire.
You didn’t care about the roar of the crowd cheering for your father’s execution. The hall faded into a distant, muffled hum as your unblinking eyes locked onto the silver with clarity.
It was a promise of an exit, a way to finally wash yourself clean of their green banners and go home to the salt-swept cliffs where your father was waiting.
You stared at it, your heart rate slowing into a peaceful rhythm, knowing exactly how you were going to get the freedom you longed for.
You've been married to him for years. What you find in the shed makes you question everything.
Pairing: Husband!Sukuna x fem!reader
CW: character death, murder / homicide, gore (blood, injuries), body horror, psychological manipulation / gaslighting, toxic relationship / unhealthy relationship dynamics, captivity / imprisonment, Implied cannibalism, mutual obsession
For my event INTERLACED
Ten years.
A whole decade.
Wasted.
You wear your wedding gift from him, always neatly tied or braided into your hair.
Ivory white and clean as a whistle. You kept it spotless.
A lace bow, with the most delicate trim and floral motifs.
Every day.
You loved Sukuna so much it hurt your heart at times, unable to properly show how much poured from your fingertips after touching his skin. Just a hug or a small kiss would have you flooded with love. All for him.
He was the same, you never knew any hardships when he was around, there to be a strong arm, a word that made you laugh, brightening your day. Never upset you, sure, he might be a bit rough around the edges, but you weren't perfect, either.
The purest kind of love and adoration, care.
Mutual obsession.
So when did it start going wrong?
Truthfully, you hadn't even noticed it. Nothing was amiss. Your mind about him is as spotless as your bow, your husband could do no wrong.
Nothing was wrong in your marriage, nothing had changed in your relationship.
But your surroundings were shifting.
Missing knives, but they were replaced with new, better ones a day or two after you began asking where they had gone. A safe tucked away in the closet, no clue what was inside.
"For our safety, sweetheart, you know how wild animals are."
Having to do more loads of laundry than usual. But Sukuna himself would do it, not letting you glance at his dirty clothes thrown into a pile in the middle of the hamper, reassuring you to leave it to him.
"Go rest, my flower. I'll handle it."
No questions about this odd tint of red around his fingernails that never went away.
Why was the shed locked shut?
The shed.
Just a regular tool shed, your husband kept his power tools and lawnmower there, nothing unusual for the house.
So why was it bolted shut day after day unless Sukuna strolled inside of it?
"Just working on some things in there, don't worry your pretty little head about it, alright, my doll?"
"You should be worrying more about watering the flowers instead of some junk in a rotting shed, my love."
Sweet words, easing your curious heart. He was a good man.
But you couldn't help yourself, could you?
Off at work, at least that's what your husband told you he was up to, not around to fill your ears with light whispers and reassurance of your growing paranoia.
It was starting to get cloudy outside, a storm rolling in from past the canopy of nearby trees. Your first sign not to step outside.
The second one was the lock on the wooden door.
You had the key, right?
Of course you did.
While searching for your slippers in the morning, you had peeked under the bed.
Taped on the underside of your husband's side was… something.
Now it was in your hands, your anxious, shaky hands.
Don't be nervous now, all you have to do is turn the lock.
Click.
You didn't reach for the handle yet, taking a shaky breath and shutting your eyes.
Sukuna wouldn't be mad, right?
No, no, he wouldn't.
The only way he spoke to you was through patience and gentle guidance. He'd just chuckle and show you what's inside himself, yes.
Manipulation and lies, sugarcoated to sound as tender as your flesh.
You didn't know, using that same feeling of safety to calm your nerves, peering at the door once again, your hand on the handle already, key in the lock.
Nothing to be uneasy about, it's just a shed with gardening tools and maybe some car parts. Stop feeling like you might get your neck snapped just by having a little look.
The door creaked open, louder than you would have liked. The treeline went silent after the uncomfortable noise. A third warning.
What you saw wasn't all that odd… the lawnmower in the corner, a grass trimmer, and a few shovels in a dark corner.
You stepped inside, leaving the door ajar.
The lamp in the middle of the shabby thing flicked awake after tugging on the string dangling down.
There was this faint smell of dread hiding behind the organization.
Your eyes flicked around, landing on the workbench at the far side. Your feet carrying you there before your brain.
A small jar of pulled teeth fell into your gaze.
Teeth?
The more you looked around, the items didn't seem so innocent anymore.
Thick rope and a few rusty saws tucked under the table.
Not rust.
Maybe the worst thing was a splotch of thick blood on the edge of a bucket filled with that same stench of impending doom.
It wasn't blood… just paint.
Your fingers reached out, you had to prove to yourself that it was nothing.
But the deep crimson stained your hand, the smell of iron hit your nose, and you couldn't keep the fantasy stable anymore.
Thunderclouds had hidden the sky completely outside, making the space darker than before.
The loud thuds of heavy raindrops hitting the tin roof of the shed rang through your ears, overwhelming your senses, hands trembling while looking at the glossy blood seeping into your nail beds.
You should not have left the door open.
"My flower, what are you doing in here?"
Sukuna had returned.
You snapped out of your trance, blinking and looking in his direction, hand reaching up to your head in search of the comfort of your lace bow, fiddling with it while watching your husband approach.
Rough hands cradled your face, gently checking if you had hurt yourself. Red irises did a horrible job of hiding his displeasure with you.
"You didn't harm yourself, did you? Oh my sweet girl… come here."
A hug, face smushed into the comfort of his chest. A steady heartbeat against your ear.
So he wasn't mad… good.
Your trembling hands clung to his back.
You couldn't see the way Sukuna's jaw clenched, nails itching to claw into your sides and squeeze you tight enough to have you pop.
"You shouldn't be in here. How about we go back inside and have dinner, hm?"
No questions about the key or your findings.
False safety.
Sukuna had taken you back in the house, sat you down, and helped heat up some food. It was silent while you ate, your fork barely able to cut through a soft vegetable, as the thought of the odd findings popped back into your mind.
"Sweetheart, why is your bow filthy? Messy girl."
Your fingers had stained a corner of it with the Incarnadine shade.
Scrubbing. Scratching, desperately washing both your hands and the lace, couldn't get rid of it.
You cried in his arms that night, gathered up in his chest, head lying against his.
Sukuna caressed your back, caressed your hair, and shushed you to sleep.
It was just a bow.
The truth was cracking from the seams everywhere you looked now. The house was lacking color, the dullness and real darkness creeping in from unlit corners. The ingredients in the pantry and the shelves in the fridge seemed to be rotten, tasteless.
Sukuna's face looked different, touching it made your skin tingle- as if it refused to connect with his.
Maybe it was because the romanticized image of him was losing its shape.
And maybe the fact that he refused to let you go outside.
No more garden work, too harsh for your puzzled mind.
The sun was too hot, even on a cloudy day.
You needed to relax, even after sleeping all day.
It was getting unbearable.
The front door was locked, the back door too. Sukuna was working in the study.
Trapped in your own safe haven, you needed to do something, so why not go down to the basement?
Your husband never said anything about the cold concrete box below the floorboards, knowing you were too scared to go there.
With nothing better to do, his logic was being proved false with every step you took down the squeaky stairs.
You found the light switch, getting a yellow, old hue illuminating the space.
Oh yeah, the freezers were down here.
Two, to be exact. Sukuna liked smoking meat and fish on sunny days, so you knew he used them to keep them frozen.
A little peek wouldn't do you any harm.
So what if your last gander took away your freedom to leave these walls? This was different.
As if.
The sound of the creaking steps had alerted him, no matter how slow you had gone.
Your tainted hands lifted the large hinged lid of the chest.
Just some plastic bags of red meat, parts of a pig, and venison. A large salmon head stared up at you from the side.
The eyes of the dead fish were gouged out.
The lid went back down, now wanting to see if the same contents were in the second one.
You should have stopped with the first one.
At first the same plastic bags stared up at you, what looked like minced meat and animal body parts.
Not that human hand though.
Sawed off from the bicep, a fleshy limb wrapped in the same plastic bag, but oozing crimson from the palm made eye contact with you.
The color drained from your face, doubling over and pulling the dismembered part out, your own arms shaking while looking at the frozen appendage.
Bile churned around in your stomach, a sour, watery taste taking over your mouth.
The stairs were still squeaky, making sound as heavy footsteps rushed down.
"Flower, what are you up to now?"
Once Sukuna's head went low enough from the upper floor, seeing the sight of you holding something you never were supposed to see.
Your hands dropped the bag immediately, clattering to the basement floor, a part of the bag opening, the smell of decayed flesh hit your nose once again.
"My angel, are you trying to get yourself in trouble again. It hurts me to keep you locked away, but if you keep fooling around, i might just keep you in one room and tend to you."
His voice was gruff, trying to sound smooth and caring, but it was clearly impossible to do so.
He tried to reach out to you, blunt nails touching your hair, easing you to step into his embrace. Just like any other time to have you calm down and trap you in his arms till he felt you'd deserve freedom.
His palm crushed your skull into his chest, Sukuna acting like he wanted to infuse you inside of his ribcage.
"Silly thing, must you keep poking your nose in my things?" He cooed into your hair, but you swore you could feel his canines trying to bite into the top of your head.
"We will go upstairs, watch a movie, and forget all about this-"
"No!"
You never spoke against him, so the sudden outburst had Sukuna's grip faltering, you shoved yourself off of him, looking more panicked than ever, not letting him worm his way into your logical thinking.
"Come back, you little…!"
You stumbled back, tripping over the same arm, trying to grab onto the freezer but it did nothing, crashing backwards with a thud.
Thankfully it only gave you a faint dizziness, scrambling up right after.
A tattooed arm wrapped around you, holding you tighter than before. He wouldn't let go now.
"You hit your head, my dear. It's bleeding. Maybe you shook your little brain back into place. I told you, we are forgetting about this and watching a fucking movie."
He dragged you back up the stair by your middle, not caring about you tripping over your own feet, not caring that you were looking at the melting limb on the ground and the image of pooling blood and peeling skin underneath a plastic sheen was the last thing engraved in your mind before the lights got switched off.
He sat you down, giving you a stern glare before disappearing into the bathroom to grab a first aid kit for your bleeding scalp.
The gash was above your bow, it still neatly wrapped into your hair, the thick red seeped into the middle of the ivory lace. Stained worse than before, just a few spots keeping the previous ivory color safe.
His fingers were gentle, parting your hair and cleaning the wound with stinging spirit. Your eyes blankly watched the subtitles flow as some old western movie played on the television.
You didn't dare look up, not wanting to see the cold glaze in his irises, knowing Sukuna wanted nothing but to take away your air and put you to sleep.
You weren't the one slumbering.
The only way you could end this nightmare was to snuff out the source.
It was past midnight, a large, full moon shining trough the tightly shut windows. Your bow hanging on by a few messy locks of hair, a bandaged wrapped around your skull with a red splotch on the back.
A knife, your favourite one to cut up fruit. The one with a pretty handle, engraved with both you and your sleeping husbands initials.
You stood over him, eyes almost bleary while watching Sukuna's peaceful expression. Like the day he asked for your hand, for the day he said he wanted to be yours. The day you bought a house together in the middle of nowhere.
If only you were strong enough, your breathing had turned shaky and bordering on gasping as your hand shook, unable to even process what you were about to do.
The last thing to give away your actions was a droplet, a salty and large teardrop rolling down your cheek and right on to Sukuna's lips.
His eyes shot open as if his senses were on high alert, an arm already reaching out to grab at you.
You didn't know what else to do besides listen to your mind- stumbling back and running as fast as you could.
Almost falling out of the bedroom after shoving the door open.
Sukuna didn't yell for you to get back. He was already chasing after you.
You couldn't hear a single thing, heart too loud in your ears- wanting to leap out of your mouth.
Glass shattered, sharp pain in your palms and legs while climbing trough the kitchen window.
Damp grass padding against your bare soles as you ran for the treeline, unable to breathe.
You don't know how far you ran.
Didn't know how long.
He caught up, he always did.
Why would such a silly girl like you think he had just let you go?
"My petal, where have you gone now? I can hear you."
It felt like he was right behind the tree you had hid, blunt nails digging into the handle of the knife you thankfully hadn't dropped.
You shut your eyes, holding your breath. But that was no use.
"My angel, come out."
Heavy footsteps approached, with no care stepping right past the thick bark of the tree.
A stab to the chest, your hands weak from fear but driven enough to push the blade right to his beating heart, ripping trough muscle.
Too shocked by your own action, the pain from the same type of sharpness slicing trough the side of your throat.
Maybe it was a bit romantic, the last time spent together, in each others arms, spluttering and struggling to breathe, buried in moss with a pale moon not even giving you the ability to see one another bleed out.
Sukuna had never kissed the top of your head as tenderly as right before his last breath.
"I love you."
Not like you could reply, blood filling your lungs and vocal chords sliced.
Already fading out together with the last beat of his heart.
The bow, the lacy thing no longer white, barely even recognizable by how much blood had been spilt.
Yoon's notes: hi guys sorry for the lame ass horror fic
♯ best friend!megumi who loves the taste of your sweet cunt, especially when he knows he could treat you sooo much better than your pathetic excuse for a boyfriend. and who are you to resist an offer like that from your needy sweet best friend? twt link
the air in megumi’s dorm room was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the only light coming from a dim desk lamp that cast long, flickering shadows across the walls. for nearly an hour, megumi had been buried between your thighs, his face pressed firmly against your soaking wet heat. he was obsessed, completely consumed by the taste of you, a flavor he craved far more than he ever let on when you were just "best friends”.
you, on the other hand, were a shaking, whiny mess beneath him. your hips ever so often arched high off the bed at the overstimulation, your breath coming in ragged, desperate hitches. one of your hands clutched the dark blue bedsheets beneath you, while the other disappeared into his dark hair, fingers tangled in the soft, spiky strands. beneath the firm press of his palm against your chest, your heartbeat pounded wildly, each frantic beat impossible for either of you to ignore.
"g— gumi— you’re so mean— i can't.. nnggh! g— give me a break!" you wailed, your voice cracking. you were already sensitive, your nerves fried from the relentless attention he’d paid to your cunt for the last forty five minutes.
did megumi hear your pathetic whining? yeah. did he listen, though? nope. he continued flicking his tongue rapidly against your nub, sucking the swollen flesh into his mouth with a wet, slurping sound. as he worked, he began to hum, a low, vibrating rumble deep in his throat that echoed directly into your cunt. the sensation sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core, making your toes curl violently and your thighs tremble.
“megumi!—” you cried out.
he lifted his head just enough to eye your expression. he watched your face, the way your eyes were rolled back, your lips parted in a silent scream, and the sheer desperation written across your features. a small, smug smirk touched his lips before he fluttered his eyes shut once more, his lips pursing tightly against your cunt, creating a vacuum-like suction that pulled your clit deep into his mouth.
“you can handle it,” he muttered.
"nnngh!— oh god, gumi!" you sobbed, your voice high and needy.
he ignored your whimpers, continuing to swirl and lap at your juices. he loved how you sounded. the way you whined and begged, the way you fell apart under his touch. he knew exactly how to push you over the edge. he bet your boyfriend couldn’t break you like he could.
as the tension peaked, you let out a loud, strangled cry, your back arching off the mattress. you walls clamped down hard on his face as you erupted, a spray of fluid squirting directly onto his cheeks and chin. you shuddered, your body racking with the force of the orgasm, your fingers tightening in his hair.
as the waves slowly subsided, you gasped for air, your voice a whiny whisper. you gave his hair a firm tug, pulling his face away from your dripping cunt. "hey— gumi! g— give your mouth a break! cmooon," you whined, your chest heaving.
megumi pulled back slowly, a string of saliva connecting his lip to your pussy. he didn't look tired at all, despite it being 1:47 in the morning. okay. maybe he was tired. but for your pussy? nah. he looked at your swollen, glistening folds and then looked you in the eyes, pressing a gentle peck on your clit.
“what? don’t tell me you’re tired already.”
without wasting time, he gathered a thick glob of saliva in his mouth and spat directly onto your clit, the warm wetness sliding over your sensitive skin.
"i’m not done yet," he murmured.
you let out a soft, indignant whine, your legs falling open wider despite your words. "you’re evil. you've been down there for almost an hour.."
megumi scoffed. he leaned back in, his breath hot against your wet skin. "can’t blame a guy for wanting to eat some good pussy," he paused, his tongue darting out to lick away the spit he'd just landed on you, "does he even know how to make you sound like this? or do you have to pretend to enjoy it when he's inside you?"
you let out a pathetic, high-pitched whimper at the feeling of his warm tongue against your overstimulated cunt, your head tossing back against the pillow. "megumi.. stop.. don't say that!”
"why, baby? does it make you feel guilty?" he shifted upward, his tongue darting out to trace the seam of your swollen folds, tasting the cocktail of your arousal and the remnants of your orgasm. "or does it just make you realize how mid he is compared to me?"
he looked up at you again, his eyes scanning your flushed face, savoring the conflict and the lust warring in your expression. he loved the power he had over you in this moment. the fact that while you belonged to someone else, your body was reacting only to him.
"you’re a little slut for your best friend, aren't you?"
“gumiiii—“
“tell me you want me to fuck you dumb until you forget his stupid fucking name."
the art of the near touch ( taste of ambrosia ) part three
jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader
summary — you and your brother jacaerys have always shared something stronger than blood. after the announcement of your betrothal, you both find it impossible to resist the temptation you have already given into once before.
content warnings — targcest, way too many pet names, kissing, dirty talk, praise kink, kinda brat/brat tamer dynamic, cunnilingus, very messy ( lots of spit and cum ), reader is so fucking horny all the time, cocky jacaerys velaryon, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, blow jobs, public sex
word count — 4.5k
note — wrote this over the space of 4 hours on my day off and genuinely went insane. enjoy part three 😛
part one part two
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Marriage was something you always knew would define your future.
Despite your mother sitting comfortably on the Iron Throne for the past year after the death of your grandsire, you always knew that you were worth little without a ring on your finger.
A Princess was something to be dressed in silk and ribbons, displayed before the small folk while the Princes sat in on council meetings. Learned to wield swords and ride to battle.
You had never minded much, you never had an affliction for fighting, and you despised the sight of blood. But things had changed now that you were to marry Jacaerys.
You would not only be a princess, you were to be his queen.
The change was slow, no one said anything out right, but bows before you lasted longer. Eyes lingered and lips curved into sugared smiles whenever you glanced their way.
You had also noticed a shift in your dress. Handmaids take longer weaving your hair into intricate braids, dotted with pearls and gems. Your dresses were tighter at the bust, the curves of your breasts spilling over silk and the skirts flared out, highlighting the slope of your waist.
You knew what had been expected of you before, but it felt different now.
Jacaerys had always been destined to wear the crown, it was his birthright. But he had chosen you to be his queen. Of all the girls in the realm, off all the marriage proposals laid before him over the years. He had waited for you.
Now it was your turn to do your part.
The library was always quiet after dusk. You often found yourself the only soul left wandering through the shelves, books piled heavy in your arms.
There had once been a time where you would have abandoned your studies in favour of spending your evening in the skies. Or tucked in your chamber with Jace and Luke, a bottle of Dornish red fizzling through your veins until you were all giggly and loose limbed.
But these days you would tuck yourself into a corner of the library, pouring over history books in hopes that you could inspire half the admiration that those who came before you had.
It was there that Jacaerys found you, only a few weeks after your betrothal had been declared before the court.
He had been glowing since the words left your mothers lips, all sunshine smiles and gentle touches. Nothing of the man he had been that night in his chamber.
He had been pure fire.
Pillaged by his own filthy desires and you had taken everything he had given you.
But that craving had not been settled, if anything, that single taste had set you alight. You found yourself lost in the memories of his touch every night. Nightgown riding high on your hips and fingers tucked between your legs.
You had tried to sneak to his room a few times, but it seems your guards had smartened after too many mornings of your handmaidens finding your bed empty.
So you tried to stay content with lingering eyes and soft kisses in the halls.
“What are you doing in here, my heart?” Jace said, swooping down to press a delicate kiss to your brow. You looked up at him, heart fluttering at the sight of his wind mused hair and the slight flush on his cheeks. “I was hoping to see you in the Dragon Pit.”
“Not tonight, I’m trying to catch up on my reading.” You confessed, gesturing to the piles of books before you. Each one was thick and heavy and speckled with dust. The exact opposite of what you would usually read.
And Jacaerys knew that.
“The History of Valeriya? The Great King Jaehaerys? Aegon the Conqueror?" He read some of the titles aloud, slipping down onto the chair beside you. “Brushing up on your history? I can assure you, mother is not planning to quiz us anytime soon.” He laughed, reaching out and taking your hand in his.
“I know.” You reply primly, “Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t know these things.”
“Of course, sister, I was only jesting.” Jace said, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. “I apologise.”
You felt an irrational sense of annoyance at his kind words and gentle touch. As much as you adored how sweet he was, how well he treated you, you longed for the person he had been that night.
A dragon.
A man undone by desire.
“Of course,” You scowled, snatching your hand from his grip and using it to open one of the books. “I’m busy, Jacaerys.”
“I… have I done something to upset you, sister?” Jacaerys asked, you could feel his gaze on your face, but you kept your eyes set on the book in front of you, the words swimming across the page.
“No, you’ve done nothing, Jace. Everything’s fine.” You said, venom dripping from your tongue. You went to stand, only for Jace to grab your arm and hold you in place. His other hand grasping your face, forcing you to look at him.
“Watch your tone, my sweet.” He said, voice dangerously soft.
“Let go of me, Jacaerys.” You hissed, trying to pull away, only for Jace’s grip to tighten. He pinched your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. Fire dancing behind his eyes.
Warmth swelled in your stomach.
“Tell me why you are acting like such a brat and maybe I’ll let you go, but I don’t think that’s what you want though is it, sister. I think this is exactly what you needed.” He shifted, standing so he could tower over you. Dark hair falling across his face, eyes impossible to read.
“I’m not a brat.” You argued, but the fight was flooding from you.
“Liar.” Jace laughed, “Such a desperate girl, you think I don’t notice the flush on your cheeks. The way you are clenching your thighs together.” Your eyes fell to your lap.
“I…”
“Sh, don’t talk.” He crooned, slowly releasing your face. Running his hand down your cheeks, across your lips and down the side of your neck. “Is my girl feeling needy, your pretty cunt empty?” A gasp rose in your throat.
“Sh, sweet girl. I should have known not to give in all those weeks ago, it’s made you greedy. Desperate for pleasure.” His hand continued to glide down your chest, across your breast and towards your stomach. “Tell me, sister, how many nights have you spent with your hand between your thighs, imagining it was me in its place?” He asked with a wicked smirk
You shook your head, biting down on your lip as Jace drifted from your covered belly button to your thighs. Layers of fabric separated you, but you could feel his touch like fire.
“Tell me.” Jacaerys snarled.
“Every night!” You cried, “Every night I have waited, longing for you. I can hardly sleep, you have bewitched my soul. I ache for you, Jace.” You should feel more shameful for how easily you had given in, how quick you were to beg for what you wanted. But you couldn’t, not when Jacaerys was looking at you like that.
“Needy fucking girl.” He scoffed, “Stand up.” You blinked up at him but complied, unsteady as you did so, eyes never leaving him. You were only inches apart now, your breasts brushing against his tunic, hot breath fanning across his neck.
You waited.
Watching.
“Such a good girl when you want to be.” Jace said, shaking his head, “Is this what you wanted sister? To be put in your place? To be reminded who owns you, not just your body, but your pleasure too?” He asked, voice so soft it could be mistaken as sweet nothings by anyone lingering, but to you, it was pure poison seeping into your veins and rendering you tame and pliable.
“All I want is you.” You whispered, and Jace grinned.
“I know, my heart.” He cooed, leaning in and pressing a delicate kiss to your forehead. “Climb up onto the table for me, angel.”
You were dizzy as you turned, backing your body up onto the table and pushing up, arms trembling in anticipation as you landed on the firm wood, legs spread. Jace had followed your movements, twisting so he was facing you. Eyes trailing over the mess he had made you with only a few words.
Your silvery curls were braided prettily away from your face, but the heat beneath your skin had damped the fine hairs framing your face. Lilac eyes were masked by blown pupils.
Your chest heaved in anticipation.
“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, sweet girl.” He said, leaning in and kissing you. He tasted of salt and sky. You tried to draw him deeper, but he pulled away, a small smirk lingering on his plush pink lips.
“Sorry, angel, but I’m looking to taste something else tonight.”
You could only stare as Jace grasped the bottom of your dress, pushing it up until it laid over your hips. Your legs bare to him, he followed with your small clothes. Easily undoing the tie around the front of them and tugging them down so you were exposed to him.
The cold air of the library hit you. A shudder running up your spine as Jace stared at your cunt.
The sound he made was guttural.
“Jace…” You whispered, shifting slightly on the desk, accidentally widening your legs. Beneath the silvery curls you blossomed like a flower. Folds parting and revealing the plush pink flesh of your clit. Arousal pooling in your core and slowly dripping onto your cunt.
“By the Gods…” Jace said, before dropping to his knees.
Your heart stuttered in your chest.
Jacaerys Velaryon, first born of the Queen and heir to the Iron Throne, was on his knees for you.
“Oh!” You spluttered, aghast as Jace looked up at you from between your legs. A future king, kneeling for his queen.
“You were truly made for me, every inch of you made to torture me.” He whispered, brushing his lips along your inner thigh. “So fucking perfect, sister, I can’t believe you are mine. Mine to kiss, to touch, to taste.” He was grinning as he drew closer, hot breath fanning against your clit.
“Beg for it.” He said, lips so close you could practically feel them. “Beg for me to kiss this pretty cunt until you cum. Be a good girl, and tell me what you want.”
You could hardly breathe, Jace’s words were rolling around your head. He wanted to… you didn’t even know this was possible, an act that could bring pleasure, but Jacaerys seemed to know.
You moaned, hot and wanting, hands gripping the edge of the table.
“Come on, my heart, just say the words and I’ll take you apart.”
“Please, Jace, I need you to… to kiss my… my… my cunt.” You breathed out, stumbling over the filthy words, “Need you to make me cum, wanna cum for you, brother. It’s been so long. I need you so bad.” Tears were welling in your water line. Desperation flooding as you fought against the urge to grab his head and push it between your legs and take what you wanted.
“Jace, please.”
Jace moaned as he leaned in, burying his face into your cunt. The feeling was indescribable, while Jace’s cock against your folds had been silken and slick. His mouth was like a live wire, blisteringly hot and you could feel him everywhere.
He didn’t waste time teasing you, instead he fucking devoured you.
Tongue gliding between your lips, lapping at the slick that dripped from your sensitive hole. Prodding his tongue in and sucking, drinking your in like a man starved.
The cries that fell from your lips were hellish, almost screeching as Jace wrapped his lips around your clit and suckled, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud until you were bucking your hips off of the table.
He pulled back, just barely.
His lips were shiny and flushed. Eyes black.
“Hush, sister.” Jacaerys hummed, kissing your inner thigh, trailing his tongue along the supple flesh. “You don’t want anyone to catch us do you? Perfect little princess with her legs spread for her older brother in the library.” He laughed, giving you no time to think before he was pressing back in.
Jace ate you out like he had something to prove, the slick sounds of your cunt echoing through the room.
“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” He groaned, the vibrations fluttering up your spine and drawing a sob for your lips. You slapped your hand over your mouth, trying to subdue the desperate sounds that escaped you. “Could stay here for hours.”
His fingers slipped through your heat, slick and sticky as one played with your clit while his tongue lapped at you. Diving deeper into you.
“Jace, Jace, Jace.” You chanted, voice muffled. “Feels so good.”
Jacaerys continued to suckle on your lips, capturing them in his mouth and covering your cunt in long fat licks. You were floating somewhere, brain fuzzy as Jace dragged you deeper into pleasure than you had ever felt.
Every flick of his tongue dragged you closer to the earth shattering relief that you knew was brewing in the depths of your stomach.
So fucking close.
Your hands flew to Jace’s head, fingers twining in his dark curls, pulling him closer or drawing him away you couldn’t quite tell. But you knew he liked it, the heavy groans that escaped him with each tug had you hurtling closer to that all eclipsing feeling that was beginning to tingle in the tips of your toes.
“Jace!” You all but screamed as he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, fingers teasing at your entrance. You knew you should have kept your mouth covered, but your entire body was numb. You couldn’t do anything but lay there and take it. “I’m so… I’m gonna…”
“You gonna cum, sweet girl?” Jace asked, releasing your clit with a sharp pop, “Come on, angel, soak my face.”
It was so fucking messy, slick and saliva dripping down your thighs.
Your high caught you off guard, with just one well timed thrust of Jace’s finger just breaching your entrance along with a harsh suck on your clit, you were sent soaring.
White scorched your vision, and for a moment you were free falling. When you came to, Jace was still there. Lapping up your release, with frantic strokes of his tongue.
“Jace!” You sobbed, tears spilling down your cheeks, soaking your face as you tried to drag Jacaerys away from you, but he pushed your hands away. Grabbing your thighs and dragging you closer.
You couldn’t squirm away, all you could do was cry and beg and whimper as Jace gave you what you had begged for.
“Jacaerys, please, it’s too much.” You whined, but he only laughed.
“You can take it, sweet girl. Just give me one more.” He murmured, pussy drunk as he lapped at your sodden folds, his finger now embedded in your spongy walls, twisting and curling against the spot hidden just past your entrance that had your core tightening with each stroke.
“Taste like fucking ambrosia.” He said, as you collapsed down onto the table, unable to hold yourself up as Jace pushed you into another orgasm. Overstimulation rippled up your spine as he thrust his fingers into you and suckled on your clit.
Your eyes were squeezed shut as you rode the last of your high, body going completely lax. You only opened them again when you felt Jace dragging himself over your body.
His face was a mess of slick and sweat and spit, but you didn’t care as he drew you into a dirty kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, salt and spice, intoxicating as you licked into his mouth.
“You did so good, angel. So perfect for me.” Jacaerys said once you parted.
“I missed you.” You said, looking up at him with big doe eyes and he melted.
“I’m sorry, sister. I have missed you too, do not think I do not want you as desperately as you do. If I had it my way, you would spend every day in my chambers, bare and open for me.” He said, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead.
“Maybe when we are wed.” You grinned, and Jace chuckled, shaking his head.
“Come, my heart, we should get you cleaned up. Preferably before someone comes in here and catches us like this.” You giggled but complied, allowing Jace to haul you to your feet.
None of the guards said anything as Jace brought you into his chambers, allowing you to spend the night in your betrothed's arms. Happy, warm and sated.
.・。.・゜✭・.
The following few days you found yourself thinking of that night in the library with Jacaerys often.
The morning after you had awoken in his bed, his head buried back between your legs. He had kissed and sucked at your clit until you had come twice in his mouth and then shuffled up the bed, grinding his hard cock against your thigh until he too reached his peak.
You had been practically dizzy at the intimacy, the way it felt to wake up beside him, but you couldn’t help but shake the feeling of wanting to know more.
Jacaerys had the privilege of being a man, of learning what sexual pleasure is, what it can mean, while you were wandering blind. Somewhere between fantasy and longing you were beginning to understand what was possible.
And now you have set your sights on something.
Jace had pleasured you with his mouth, tearing you apart with a few flicks of his tongue, so, you could only assume that you could do the same to him. Only the task seemed a lot more daunting.
You hadn’t seen Jace’s cock since that first night, but you did remember it was long and thick and hard. Was it possible to fit that in your mouth? If you did, what would you do with it? Suck it? Lick it? Would it hurt?
But, the longer you thought about it, the more you found yourself intrigued by the idea. Your thighs clenching as you pictured dropping to your knees before Jace, mouth open and waiting for his cock.
You began to prepare yourself, laying in bed at night you would press your fingers in your mouth. Pushing as far as they could go, you would gag and splutter, tears running down your cheeks as you began to thrust them in and out as Jace had done to your cunt, and soon you could take them. But you knew that they were far from the formidable length of Jace’s cock.
You cornered him late one night, you had both been in the Dragonpit, soaring through the sky together on Vermax and Silverwing, laughing as the evening breeze hit your faces. Once inside Jace had taken your hand, you had walked through the Red Keep, passing the gardens when you grabbed Jace’s hand and pulled.
Dragging him into the twilight stained grounds, finger pressed to your lips.
The guards had informed your mother of yours and Jacaerys late night endeavors, leading to a very serious conversation with her about your actions. If anyone were to find out about it outside of the few trusted staff, you would be ruined, with or without your betrothal to Jace, people would remember you as less. As a girl with loose morals and raised skirts.
But, you were your mothers daughter after all.
Jace had followed you without question until you were both tucked into a corner in the garden unseen by the rest of the Keep, surrounded by bushes. It was your own personal haven.
“My heart…” Jace didn’t get to finish speaking before you pounced. Slotting your lips with his and kissing him breathless.
His arms laced around your hips, holding you against him, while your hands encircled his neck. Keeping him in place so that you could kiss him as you pleased.
It was a little sloppy, your movements erratic as you tried to drink all of him in. Your tongues messily meet in slick strokes, spit dripping down your chins. But you loved it.
You wanted Jace to make you filthy. To ruin every inch of you. Soak you in his sweat, spit, cum and blood until your entire body was no longer your own. Until you couldn’t move without thinking of him.
You sank to your knees unceremoniously. The plush grass tickling your legs as you looked up through your lashes at Jace, raising your arms to unfasted his trousers.
He gasped, eyes blowing wide.
“Angel, what are you doing?” He said, trying to push your hands away but you batted him away. Tugging the buttons open and drawing his trousers down. His cock was already half hard, curving towards his stomach. Your mouth watered at the sight.
“Seven Hells.” He spluttered, “Sweet girl, are you… how do you… fuck.”
You grinned, pleased that you had rendered him speechless.
“I wanna taste you, Jace, like you do for me.” You said, grasping his length in your hand, it was warm and pulsing. You could hardly fit your hand around it. Jace almost doubled over at the touch, eyes fluttering and hands twitching.
“You wanna suck my dick, pretty?” He asked, voice all breath.
“So bad, I've been thinking about it for days.” You whined, “Wanna make you feel good, Jace. Can I?”
“Fuck, you are insane you know that, right?” Jace asked, grabbing the end of your braid and wrapping it around his fist, he pulled your head closer to his cock. It was now nearly fully hard, flushed red and dripping with a milky stream of precum.
“You think you can take it, angel? Your little virgin throat is probably gonna make you choke on it.” He said, but you nodded eagerly.
“I can take it, brother,” You said, leaning in and giving the head a delicate lick. Precum smeared across your tongue. It was slightly salty but it wasn’t off putting so you opened your mouth, wrapping it around just the tip and suckling.
Jace hissed, hips bucking slightly.
You didn’t really know what to do, so you sucked in a deep breath and ducked further. Lips stretching around the girth of him. You bobbed your head once, then twice, his cockhead tickling against the back of your throat.
Your jaw felt funny, and your eyes were already watering. You cast a glance up at Jace who was staring down at you. His eyes black and jaw clenched.
He looked beautiful, rosy pink twilight softening his features. It was almost romantic the way he looked while you were on your knees suckling on his cock.
“Am I doing it right?” You asked, pulling off of him. Spit dribbling down your chin.
“So good, sweet girl.” Jace cooed, stroking your cheek, “So pretty kneeling for me, like a fucking vision.” You preened at his words, running your hand up and down his shaft. It was soft and velvety, your hand gliding with ease, helped by the lubrication of your spit.
“Tell me how you like it,” You said, licking at the tip. “I wanna make you cum.”
“You want me to show you how to do it, sweet girl?” He asked, running his thumb over your bottom lip.
“Yes, please.” You said, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue.
Jacaerys groaned, cock weeping as he tugged you back to him. Feeding his cock into your greedy mouth.
“I’m gonna fuck your mouth, pretty.” He murmured, “I want you to wrap your lips around me like before,” You followed his instructions, “Good girl, that's perfect. Now, I want you to breathe through your nose, okay. If it gets too much, tap my thigh.” You nodded, lips suctioned around his cock and Jace grinned, always so endeared by you.
He slowly began to thrust into your mouth, small shallow thrusts that slowly nudged the tip of his cock against the back of your throat.
You gagged slightly, gasping around his cock.
“Good girl, you got it.” Jace cooed, gentle as he slid his cock deeper into your throat.
He was heavy on your tongue, the salty tang intoxicating. Your lips were stinging, but you loved this. Loved how warm you felt with Jace buried in your esophagus, precum dripping into your waiting mouth.
“Feels so good,” Jace moaned. “Love your mouth, angel.”
He began to thrust faster, sinking deeper and deeper. You remembered to breathe through your nose, the wet sticky sounds of his cock hitting the back of your throat echoing through the garden, followed by the occasional gag as you took him further.
You were almost at the hilt when Jace pulled back. Spit and come dripping from your mouth, tears flowing down your cheeks.
“I’m gonna cum soon, pretty, do you want me to pull out or…” He didn’t need to finish talking before you were shaking your head.
“No! Cum in my mouth, Jace, please. I need you to come in my mouth.” You begged before taking him back into your mouth, bobbing your head enthusiastically until Jace began to guide you once again.
You scalp ached deliciously, the repetitive push and pull of his hands in your silvery hair.
“My desperate girl. How did I get so lucky with you, angel?” He asked, quickening his thrusts.
You gagged loudly, coughing and spluttering around his cock. Pulling back for only a second before pushing back in. It wasn’t long before Jace’s hips started to stutter, his thrusts becoming shallower. You could listen to the breathy moans falling from his lips forever.
“I’m gonna cum, angel, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He gasped, you suctioned your lips around his tip, swallowing his release as it flooded in your mouth. It was warm and salty and a little heady. Thick hot spurts coating the back of your throat as you tried to swallow all of it.
Jace above you was gasping, you wished you could have watched him as he came. But you were too focused on taking all he was giving you, pulling back only when your throat began to constrict.
“That was…” Jacaerys cheeks were flushed, “You did such a good job, angel. Took it so well.” He praised, leaning down and lifting you from your armpits so you were back on your feet. Your legs felt numb, pins and needles shooting up your calves but you smiled anyway. Face still covered in spit and cum.
“Most noble ladies would never imagine doing something like that,” He laughed, “You really are something else, my love.”
“I cannot wait until we are wed.” You said as Jace did his breeches up.
“It will be the greatest day of my life.” He agreed, using his sleeve to wipe your chin.
“Now come on, my heart, let's get you to bed.” You nodded, giggling when he swept you into his arms and carried you into the castle.
You may have been worried about what it meant to be Queen, but being Jace’s wife was something you would choose in every lifetime.
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this probably isn’t well edited but it’s 2am and i’m tired. also i know the blowjob sucked but i hate them so idc 😛
In the Red Keep, you are a Targaryen princess caught between duty and desire, a living sacrifice to political alliances. Since childhood, you've harbored a forbidden love for Jacerys Velaryon, a love he's always returned. But when your father arranges your betrothal to your own brother, Aegon, everything you've hoped for comes crashing down.
A story of forbidden love, political intrigue, and the impossible choice between the duty you were born to and the life you were meant to have.
genre/warnings: suggestive content, 18+ minors do not interact! childhood friends to lovers, forbidden love, yearning and longing and all the things that make something desirable to read. // familial sexual relationships, its GOT universe you know the vibe.
chapter 7 word count: 4132
notes: I very much enjoyed just writing a cute couple scene for them, they've really only had one or two at this point. Also I would like to preface, if you all haven't noticed by now, the story does follow the show BUT the timing is slightly off to flow easily for my version and I also dont feel comfortable relating sex to minors so I had to age them up... obviously.
The wind whipped through your hair as your mare galloped across the open meadow, the tall grass bending beneath her hooves in rippling waves of green. Behind you, you could hear the thunder of Jace's stallion keeping pace, the powerful animal's breathing steady despite the speed. The Red Keep had grown small in the distance, its golden stone towers reduced to mere points on the horizon. Out here, with nothing but rolling hills and endless sky surrounding you, it felt as though you had escaped into another world entirely.
You urged your mare faster, leaning low over her neck as the landscape blurred past. The afternoon sun warmed your back through your riding leather. You've always much preferred the practical garments that allowed you the freedom of movement your court gowns never permitted. Your heart raced with exhilaration, with the pure joy of speed and hooves hitting the hard ground and the knowledge that Jace rode beside you.
Though nothing beat dragon back.
His stallion eventually drew level with yours, the black destrier's powerful strides eating up the ground with ease. His long mane taken from its plait, flowing freely in the wind. It was almost as beautiful as Jace's curly locks of sultry chocolate. Jace sat his mount with natural grace, his face alight with the same wild happiness you felt coursing through your very own veins. He caught your eye and grinned, that boyish expression that never failed to make your chest tighten with affection.
"Trying to lose me?" he called over the pounding of hooves.
"Merely testing whether you can keep up," you shouted back, laughing as you guided your mare around a gentle slope.
The horses began to slow as you approached a line of ancient oaks that marked the edge of the meadow. Beyond them, the land rode into gentle hills dotted with wildflowers, their colors vivid again the green grass. You pulled to a walk as you navigated the large trees, the mares sides heaving slightly from exertion, her coat gleaming with a light sheen of sweat. Jace's stallion fell into step next to yours, flitting his head as the white mare beneath you excited him. Two animals moving companionably together as their riders had done for years.
"You were telling me about Septa Marlow," Jace said once he had caught his breath, his tone deliberately casual though his eyes danced with amusement. "Something about embroidery stitches being the key to feminine virtue?"
You groaned, the memory of that interminable lecture flooding back. "She spent two hours explaining the moral superiority of the cross-stith over the running stitch. Two hours, Jace. I thought I might very well expire from boredom right there in the solar."
"Two hours seems excessive even for Septa Marlow." He guided his stallion closer until your legs nearly touched, the iron of your stirrups clinking as he did. "What did you do to deserve such punishment?"
"I may have suggested that my time would be better spent in the library studying the histories of the Conquest, or riding Starfyre, rather than stitching another cushion cover that no one will ever use."
Jace laughed, eyes meeting yours as he did, the sound was rich and warm in the open air. "I can imagine how well that was received."
"She told me that a proper princess concerns herself with womanly arts, not dusty old books about battles and dragons." You wrinkled your nose at the memory, your voice taking on a mocking imitation of the septa's pious tone. "As if our entire house was not built on the backs of dragons and the Targaryens that rode them."
"There it is," Jace said softly, something in his voice made you turn back to look at him.
"There is what?" You asked almost incredulously.
"That expression." His gaze had grown intent, focused on your face with an air that made heat bloom in your cheeks. "The way your nose wrinkles when you are particularly vexed. The way your mouth curves when you are trying not to smile at your own irreverence."
The air between you seem to thicken, charged with the familiar tension that always sparked to life whenever you were alone together. Your mare shifted, tucking her neck in and moving her hindquarters to bump into the black stallion beside her.
"Jacaerys Valeryon," you said, aiming for reproach though your voice came out breathless. "Are you telling me you were not listening?"
"I confess, Princess, I was not paying much attention to your complaints about embroidery. I find you far more captivating than any tale of septas and their moral stitchery." He reached across the small space between your horses, his gloved hand finding yours where it rested on your thigh.
Your throat tightened and a small smile lifted your cheeks. "You are insufferable."
"You love me anyway."
"Unfortunately." The word escaped as barely more than a whisper. "The most unfortunate thing that ever happened to either of us."
His hand tightened on yours. "Yet I cannot bring myself to regret a single moment. Even knowing how it would end, even knowing the price we would pay had we be discovered. I would choose you again and again."
You blinked against the sudden sting that cursed your eyes for the thousandth time. "As would I."
He dismounted in a fluid motion once you reached the wildflower field that you so desired and moved to you to help you down from your mount. His hand settled on your waist, strong and sure. You let yourself slide from the saddle into his arms. For a moment, you simply stood there, your bodies pressed close. The horses wandered a few paces away to crop at the sweet grass, their reins trailing, forgotten.
Jace cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones with infinite tenderness. Then he kissed you, slow and deep, pouring everything he could not say into the stroke of his lips against yours. You melted into him, your fingers trailing up his torso feeling the ridges of his body until they landed safely around his neck.
When you pulled apart Jace nuzzled his nose against yours, his eyes honey colored in the lowering sun.
"I brought you something," he said after a moment, his voice warm with barely contained excitement.
"Oh?" You pulled back slightly to look at him, curiosity sparking through the haze of desire. "What manner of contraband are you smuggling on our ride today?"
He grinned, reaching into the inner pocket of his coat to produce a small cloth-wrapped bundle. "I know I promised you a horse one day, but you already have this beauty." He patted your mare's flank affectionately. "So, I thought perhaps something else might do instead."
You took the package carefully, inside lay a delicate silver chain, suspended from it was a pendant wrought in exquisite detail. A dragon, its wings spread in flight, its scales so finely crafted you could make out each individual one. Tiny garnets served as its eyes, catching the light like glowing dragonfire."
Your mouth hung ajar in awe. "Jace, it is beautiful."
"It is Vermax," he explained, taking the necklace from your hands with careful reverence. "I wanted you to have something of mine. Something you could keep close."
You touched the pendant with trembling fingers, feeling the careful detail of scales and wings, the weight of it both physical and symbolic. "I shall treasure it always, my Prince."
He moved behind you and fastened the chain around your neck. The pendant settled just above your heart, the metal still warm from being pressed against his chest during your ride. You turned to face him, catching his hand and pressing it flat against your chest so he could feel the pendant between you and his hand.
"Close to my heart, where you have always been," you murmured.
He pulled you close once more, his arms wrapping around you as you held him just as tightly, breathing in the scent of him. Around you, the meadow stretched endlessly, the wildflowers swaying in the breeze, the distant call of birds the only sound beyond your mingled breathing and the rustle of your horses.
The sun had begun its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and amber. The light caught in Jace's dark hair, turning it a light bronze, and illuminated the planes of his face with a warmth that made your chest tighten at just the look of him. Truly a Prince. You walked together in the fading afternoon, wrapped in each other, joking and talking in this small moment shared together.
The training yard rang with the clash of steel on steel, the sound echoing off the high walls of the training yard. Dust hung in the air, kicked up by boots and the occasional stumble. The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly, turning the packed earth into a furnace that radiated heat in the shimmering waves.
Jace circled Aegon warily, his practice sword held in a defensive position. Your husband moved with the lazy confidence of someone who had been drinking since midday, his movements sloppy despite his natural skill. They had been at this for the better part of an hour, a supposedly friendly sparring session that had grown increasingly tense as time wore on.
Luke stood off to the side with several other squires, watching his brother with poorly concealed anxiety for his well being. His hands kept clenching and unclenching at his sides, his young face tight with worry. aemond leaned against the weapons rack, his single eye tracking every movement with predatory focus. He had been making comments for the past twenty minutes, little barbs and observations that seemed designed to needle Jace into losing his composure.
"You favor your left side nephew," Aemond called out, his voice carrying clearly across the yard. "Any opponent worth his salt would have exploited that weakness three times over by now."
Jace ignored him, focusing on Aegon's next move. Your husband lunged forward with a clumsy overhead strike that Jace easily parried, the wooden swords cracking together with enough force to send vibrations up both their arms.
"Look at him," Aemond continued, pushing off from the weapons rack and sauntering closer to the sparring circle, his gaze deliberately sweeping over Jace with theatrical disdain. "One might almost forget he claims the blood of Old Valyria at all."
The observation hung in the air like a blade. Several of the watching squires shifted uncomfortably, exchanging glances laden with understanding. Luke took a step forward, his face flushing with anger, though one of the older squires caught his arm to stop him.
Jace's jaw tightened, his grip on his practice sword adjusting slightly. He did not respond, instead pressing his advantage against Aegon with a series of quick strikes that forced your husband back several steps.
"An observation," Aemond said, his tone deceptively silk as he circled the sparring circle. "It is curious, is it not, how the realm whispers about such things? How they wonder at the peculiar fortune that blessed your mother with sons who bear no resemblance whatsoever to their supposed father. One might almost think the gods themselves were commenting upon her... discretions."
The implication was unmistakable, a venomous suggestion that hung between them like poison. Aegon's eyes narrowed, his drunken haze burning away in the face of tension. He lowered his practice sword slightly, glancing between his brother and nephew.
"Aemond," he said, a note of warning in his voice.
"What?" Aemond spread his hand in a gesture of false innocence. "I speak only of what ever courtier in the Red Keep already knows. Their mother's reputation is hardly a secret, brother. The realm has long memories regarding such matters of... questionable paternity."
Jace's next strike came harder than necessary, catching Aegon across the ribs with enough force to make him grunt and stagger. Aegon's expression darkened, his grip tightening on his sword.
"Careful, nephew," Aegon said, his voice low and dangerous. "This is supposed to be friendly."
"My apologies, uncle." Jace's tone was perfectly controlled, perfectly courteous. "I thought you wanted a proper challenge."
"Oh, he cannot give you a proper challenge," Aemond interjected, moving to stand next to his brother now. "Aegon has been deep in his cups since breakfast. Perhaps you would prefer a real opponent?"
Every person in the training yard had gone still, watching to see how Jace would respond. The moment stretched taut as a bowstring, the air itself seeming to hold its breath. Jace moved suddenly, quick and fluid he pivoted his sword, pressing the blunted edge against Aemonds throat with enough force to make clear the intent. His jaw clenched, eyes burning with a fury so raw and consuming that it seemed to set the very air ablaze around him.
"I so badly wanted to ignore your cry for attention," Jace began, his voice carrying the weight of a threat that needed no shouting to be understood. "But speak of my mother again and I will forget this is a practice sword."
Aemond's smile was sharp as a dagger. "I simply state what everyone in this keep already knows. I did not know that your question to legitimacy and your mother's honor troubles you so... Proof of her shame, I fear."
Jace moved before anyone could react, dropping his practice sword and launching himself at Aemond with his bare hands. They collided with brutal force, Jace's fist connecting with Aemond's jaw hard enough to snap his head back. Aemond returned a push to Jace's chest before they went down in a tangle of limbs, rolling across the compacted earth as they grappled for advantage.
"Jace!" Luke's shout was lost in the sudden chaos as squires rushed forward, some trying to separate them, while others simply tried getting out of the way.
Aemond got his knee up into Jace's stomach, forcing him back long enough to land a vicious punch to his temple. Jace's head snapped to the side, blood spraying from a split above his eyebrows. He barely seemed to notice, driving his elbow into Aemond's ribs with enough force to crack bone.
Aegon had stumbled back, his practice sword forgotten as he watched his brother and nephew tear into each other. Luke tried to push through the gathered crowd desperate to reach Jace, though the press of bodies was too thick.
Aemond managed to get on top now, raining down blows on Jace's face and chest with methodical brutality. Years of resentment poured from his fists, every strike punctuated by ragged breathing and incoherent words. Jace got his arms up to protect his face, taking the hits on his forearms, waiting for an opening.
When it came, he took it. Jace twisted his hips and drove his knee upward with devastating force, catching Aemond in the side, hard enough to force air out of his lungs in a strangled gasp. As Aemond doubled over, Jace rolled them both, using his momentum to pin his uncle beneath him. He grabbed Aemond's wrist and wrenched it backward, drawing a howl of pain as the joint threatened to dislocate.
Jace rose to his feet, and landed a swift kick to the same painful side of Aemonds.
"Do not speak of my mother that way again," Jace answered viciously, staring down at Aemond with power as blood ran down his own face. "I am a dragon, same as you."
Jace drew back his foot for another strike, just to get the message across, he was no longer the small boy Aemond could once push around with ease. Two of the larger squires had managed to get hold of him, dragging him away before he could land another.
Aemond lay crumpled in the dirt. His face was a landscape of devastation, both eyes swollen nearly shut, his nose clearly broken and bleeding profusely, his lip split in multiple places. He coughed weakly, spitting blood onto the ground. His breathing came in shallow, pained gasps, each one clearly agony.
Luke was there immediately, his younger brother's hand finding his arm. "Jace, we have to go."
For a moment, Jace stood motionless, his gaze fixed on Aemond's broken form in the dirt. The rage still burned in his dark eyes, a living thing that demanded satisfaction. Then Luke pulled harder, his voice urgent and desperate.
"Jace! Please."
Something in his brother's plea seemed to reach him. Jace turned away from Aemond, from the ruined training yard with its scattered weapons and blood darkened earth, from the watching squires who had begun to back away in fear. He and Luke walked toward the gate, their footsteps heavy with the weight of what had transpired. Behind them, a testament to years of festering resentment finally unleashed.
You found him in his chambers an hour later.
The door was unlocked, which surprised you until you pushed it open and saw him sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. He looked up at the sound of the door, and your breath caught at the sight of his face.
His left eye was swollen nearly shut, the skin around it already turning a deep purple that would darken to black by morning. The cut above his eyebrow had stopped bleeding though it needed cleaning, the edges ragged and angry. His lip was split, and there were bruises blooming along his jaw and cheekbone like dark flowers. His knuckles were raw and bloody, the skin torn from repeated impact.
"Jace," you breathed, closing the door quickly behind you and crossing to him.
"You should not be here." His voice was rough, strained.
"I do not care." You knelt in front of him, your hands hovering over his face, afraid to touch him for fear of causing more pain. "What happened? I heard there was a fight in the training yard, though no one would tell me details."
Before he could find words, you stood and moved to the washbasin in the corner, finding a clean cloth and dampening it with water. When you returned to kneel before him again, you began gently cleaning the blood from his face with meticulous care, your movements tender and deliberate. He winced as you dabbed at the cut above his eyebrow, his hands wringing at themselves.
"I am sorry," you murmured, working as carefully as you could. "I know it hurts."
"It is nothing." His fingers tightened, knuckles turning pale white. "I have had worse."
"That does not make it better." You rinsed the cloth and continued your work, cleaning away the dried blood to reveal the full extent of the damage. The cut would likely scar, a thin line bisecting his eyebrow. The thought made your chest ache. "A maester will need to stitch that."
You moved to clean the blood from his knuckles, your touch reverent and protective as you worked each split skin with gentle precision. His hands were strong, calloused from years of sword work, and seeing them damaged like this made something twist painfully in your chest.
"Aemond said things," Jace began quietly, his voice hollow. "About my mother, about..." He trailed off, his jaw clenching. "About what I am."
Your hands stilled and you looked up at him, searching his face. What you saw there made your blood run cold, doubt and uncertainty clouded his eyes. The poison of Aemond's words taking root in the mind of the man you loved.
Fury ignited in your chest, swift and consuming and protective.
"No." The word came out sharp as a blade. You set the cloth aside and rose to your feet, your eyes blazing. "No, Jace. You will not do this. You will not let him plant his venom in your mind and take root there like some festering wound."
He looked up at you, startled by the intensity of your anger.
"Do you hear me?" Your voice trembled with the force of your protective rage, directed not at him but at the cruelty that had been inflicted upon him. "Aemond is a bitter, jealous man who cannot bear that you are everything he will never be. He cannot bear your mother's love, your brothers' loyalty, your own honor. So he strikes at the only weapon he has, words, lies, poison meant to make you doubt yourself."
You moved closer, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. "You are the son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the heir to the Iron Throne. You are a dragon rider, a man of courage and integrity. Your legitimacy is not questioned by those who matter, it is questioned only by those too small and bitter to acknowledge your worth."
Your voice dropped, frustration bleeding through. "What you did today in that training yard was exactly what Aemond wanted. Can you not see that? You show the people that his words have power over you, that there is something to hide, something to defend so desperately that you would break a man's face over it."
Jace's expression shifted, confusion giving way to a flash of anger. "You would have me stand there and let him speak of my mother that way? Let him call my brother-"
"I would have you be smarter than this." You cut him off, your tone sharp with worry rather than condemnation. "Aemond does not care about truth. He cares about getting under your skin, about making you lose control. Today you gave him exactly what he wanted, you gave the entire castle a spectacle, proof that the whispers about your legitimacy cut deep enough to make you violent."
He stood abruptly, his jaw clenched tight. "So I should simply endure it? Let him spread his poison unchallenged?"
"I am not saying that." You stepped closer, your hands reaching for his shoulders though he remained rigid beneath your touch. "I am saying that every time you react like this, you paint a target on your back. You make yourself vulnerable. Aemond knows precisely which words will make you lose your composure and he will use that knowledge again and again until it destroys you."
Silence fell between you, heavy and charged. Jace's face was twisted with emotions you could not describe, his hands still clenched into fists at his sides. The afternoon light slanted through the window, illuminating the bruises already darkening across his face, the split in his lip, the raw evidence of his loss of control.
"You do not understand," he said finally, his voice thick with emotion. "You cannot understand what it is like to have your very existence questioned, to have people look at you and see only doubt, only suspicion. Those words are not just insults. They are daggers aimed at everything I am, everything my brothers are."
"I know." Your voice softened, though the frustration remained. "I know it is unbearable but that is precisely why Aemond uses those words. He knows they will make you reckless, make you forget caution and strategy in favor of immediate satisfaction. He is counting on your pride to be your downfall."
Jace turned away from you, his shoulders tense. "So I am supposed to swallow my pride?"
You moved to sit beside him, placing a finger beneath his chin, forcing him to meet your eyes. "Every bruise on your face is a victory for Aemond. Every witness who saw you lose control is another person who will remember that the heir to the Iron Throne cannot master his own temper. That is what I am trying to make you see."
He stared at you for a long moment, conflict warring across his battered features. Slowly, the tension began to drain from his shoulders. His hands unclenched, reaching instead to cup your face with a gentleness that belied the violence still evident on his knuckles.
"I am sorry," he said quietly. "You are right, I let my anger cloud my judgment."
You leaned into his touch, your own hands coming up to cover his. "I am frightened for you. Do not give them reason to see you as unstable, as unworthy, you make it easier for them to justify taking everything from you."
He pulled you close, his battered lips pressing a sweet kiss to the top of your head. "Thank you my love, I will be more careful."
You held him there in the fading light, the tension between you slowly dissolving into something softer, more fragile. Outside, the Red Keep continued its daily rhythms, oblivious to the small reconciliation playing out in this chamber. Eventually you would have to leave, to return to your own rooms before your absence was noted.
For now, you simply held him and let him hold you, offering what comfort you could in a world that seemed determined to tear him apart.
summary: Reader is Jacaery's younger sister, born a year after him. The only exception is that you were born with typical Targaryen features. Now, that you're finally old enough your mother decided to marry you off to your uncle - Aemond Targaryen. Except, your sweet older brother is not pleased with this decision.
taglist: @claerysa
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"So, that's your brilliant idea? To give away your only daughter to this absolute monster?" Jacaery's angry voice echoed the walls of Dragonstone. The rain pelted against the windows, it was already late at night and Rhanerya was still working behind her desk. Until her oldest son interrupted her.
"That's what the king wishes to happen, Jace. He believes the marriage will reunite our families." She said simply, already tired of this conversation.
"With the cost of her own happiness?" Jace started walking towards her, the candle light catches his face.
"It's marriage, Jace." Rhanerya snapped. "A political duty to strengthen our house. I didn't have a choice either, a lot of people don't have a say in this matter."
"Well, you quickly find your way out of your marriage." He said with a scoff.
Rhaenyra's breath hitched at this sudden strike. "Jace, don't start this conversation again." She said in a low, steady voice.
"Aemond thinks we're bastards. He even thinks this about her, even though she inherited the Valyrian look. He's been teasing us about this since we were kids, and this never stopped. You think now this will change?"
"And you think we can prevent war, just like that?" She stood up, her jaw and fists were clenched.
He didn't say a word, just shook his head and looked at his feet with disbelief. How could she do this? Marry his sweet girl off to the Greens? She belonged to him. Her body, her soul. They were destined to be with each other.
Rhaenyra like she was reading his mind walked up to her first born and grabbed his shoulders. "I know you thought I would marry her off to you... but she's your sister, maybe it's better to keep your relationship this way?"
He didn't look at her. He couldn't. "Your grace" he said before bowing slightly and leaving this goddamn room.
Rhaenyra had no idea that your relationship now was far from 'being only siblings'. Only Daemon knew, but he knew everything. He saw when you two showed up late for dinner. Hair still messy and lips swollen from making out somewhere in the corner of Dragonstone. But he didn't say a word, only smirked like he always did. He saw when Jace sneaked out to your chambers late at night, and then he heard muffled moans and gasps filling your bedroom. But he never said a word to his wife.
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The next evening Jace wanted to visit you. He made a signal during breakfast. He tapped your foot under the table and gave you the look: I'll come visit you today. After fulfilling his duties he didn't make his way to his chambers, but to yours. It was already late and the moon started shining across the dark sky.
Jacaerys knocked on the door 3 times. This way you knew it was him. It was always three times. Three squeezes of your hand during council, meaning three words 'i love you'. Three kisses on your face: Two on your eyelids and one peck on your lips. Like you were something sacred.
That was how he had always treated you. To him, you were someone truly extraordinary. The fact that, out of all your siblings, only you possessed the unmistakable features of House Targaryen only reinforced his belief. He always said he thought you had been blessed by the gods themselves.
Since childhood, Jacaerys had always been fiercely protective and possessive of you. He never allowed other boys to touch you or even speak to you without his watchful eye. To him, you were someone to be cherished—he practically worshipped the very ground you walked on.
He constantly admired your grace, your spirit, and the way you carried yourself with quiet confidence. What he loved most was that you always knew your worth. You understood that Targaryens were not like other people. They set themselves apart not only through their striking appearance, but also through the dragons they rode.
And now? His mother expected him to simply accept giving you away to another man? He had always believed the two of you were destined to be together. Two siblings, meant to rule the realm side by side. The future King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
In his mind, the Targaryen line was always meant to continue through you and the children you would have together.
You opened the door, only a few inches for him to walk in. You looked past him to see if the hall was clear, if nobody was watching. He closed the door with his back and looked at you. His eyes shining with darkness and urgency.
"I spoke to mother. Her decision is final."
"I didn't expect her to change her mind anyway.." His lips crashed against yours with quite urgency. He wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you closer, so now there's no space between the two of you.
"If she refuses to change her decision..." he murmured, breaking the kiss just long enough to brush his thumb gently across your lower lip. "Then I will."
You had no idea what he meant—or what he was planning to do. For the first time, you found yourself at a loss for words.
He simply looked at you, his gaze lingering as though he were committing every detail of your face to memory. Then, without another word, he leaned in and kissed you again, deeper than before. "Lay on the bed." He murmured.
You obeyed, settling comfortably against the pillows. He lowered himself over you, supporting his weight on his elbows so he wouldn't crush you beneath him.
"You're mine," he murmured, his lips brushing against the soft skin of your neck before he nipped at it gently, drawing a quiet, breathy moan from your lips. His fingers moved to the laces of your gown, slowly loosening them. "And no one is going to change that."
He removed your garment first, taking his time as though he wanted to savor every moment. His gaze lingered over every inch of your skin—a sight he had admired countless times before.
Then you helped him out of his own tunic and underclothes, sharing lingering kisses after each piece of clothing was discarded. Soon, your garments lay scattered across the floor, and your eyes were drawn to his hard, already leaking length.
"Be a good sister and lie on your stomach," he whispered against your ear after you had wrapped your hand around him and given him a few slow strokes.
Without hesitation, you did exactly as he asked, settling onto your stomach.
"Jace—" The word dissolved into the pillow as his fingers found their way inside you, slow and deliberate. Your breath caught. "Gods, already so wet for me." His lips brushed the curve of your ear.
His chest was solid against your back, his weight anchoring you to the mattress as his fingers began to move. "Are you alright?" He asked, his voice strained.
"Mhmm" That's the only muffled sound you were able to make. You didn't trust your voice to speak full sentences.
"Lift your hips for me, my love." You obeyed with a loud groan, this angle making his fingers slide into you even deeper. "That's right, so perfect."
You felt his thumb circling your clit. This spot was so sensitive, that even a slight brush of his fingers made you twitch with need.
"Jacaerys I-" Your words were caught in your throat when he applied even more pressure, his movements quicker.
"It's alright. Are you close, sister?" His fingers curved right back into the deepest part of you.
"Yes, Gods." You heard your voice trembling. He diabolically removed his fingers out of you and stopped his movements.
"Jacaerys... please, please don't stop," you whimpered, turning your head to look at him. His chest glistened with sweat, rising and falling with every breath. His eyes were fixed on you, filled with unmistakable admiration, yet beneath that tenderness lurked something darker—an insatiable hunger that refused to be hidden.
"Shh, don't worry, my sweet girl." He began to stroke himself, slowly moving his hand.
Suddenly, you felt the tip of his cock at your entrance. You wanted to sink him deep inside you in one swift move. "You ready?" He asked, his chest pressed against you, no space left.
You only nodded, and that was enough for him. He watched himself disappearing into your welcoming heat. Inch by inch, slowly memorizing this moment.
When he was fully inside you, you let a strangled moan, louder than before.
"Shh, be quiet. You don't want anyone else to hear you, hm?" He whispered against your ear, his hot breath making your head dizzy.
You groaned against the pillow. With this muffled sound, he started thrusting, trying to create a pace that would satisfy both of you.
"Gods, you're clenching around me so hard." He grunted between deep and slow thrusts.
You could only let out a soft moan as the overwhelming pleasure washed over your entire body. He gently squeezed your hand, trying to ground and comfort you, but you were already too lost in the moment to notice anything beyond the sensations consuming you.
His movements grew increasingly unsteady, the bed creaking beneath the two of you with each deliberate motion. Every shift of his body sent another quiet protest through the wooden frame, matching the frantic rhythm between you.
That was love. That was a kind of intimacy only the two of you could share. It was nothing like a bedding ceremony, something you knew would happen soon at your wedding night—a hollow ritual meant to prove the consummation of a marriage, stripped of tenderness and reduced to obligation. This was different. This was something deeper, something real. Something that truly meant everything.
With only a few more movements, you cried out into the pillow, your fingers clutching the sheets as waves of emotion and sensation swept through you. For a fleeting moment, everything else faded away, leaving only the overwhelming intensity of the moment you shared.
Jacaerys was not far behind. Sitting up, he pulled you closer, his hands resting firmly against your waist. "Fuck, you feel so good- I'm gonna-"
After a few final thrusts, he collapsed against your back once more, pressing his cheek to yours as a deep, ragged groan escaped his lips. His warm breath fanned across your skin while he lingered there, reluctant to let go.
The two of you remained like that for a long while, your breathing gradually slowing as the silence settled around you. After a moment, he carefully turned you onto your back, one gentle hand guiding you while the other steadied you. Your hand came to rest on his shoulder as he leaned over you, his dark curls brushing against your forehead in a soft, ticklish touch.
"I love you," he whispered.
In the darkness of your chambers, you felt the warmth of his breath against your skin. He brushed a tender kiss across each of your eyelids before stealing a quick, gentle peck from your lips. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his gaze soft and full of quiet devotion.
"I love you too," you whispered, your fingertips gently tracing the freckles scattered across his cheek. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you held his gaze. "So much that, sometimes, it almost hurts."
He swallowed, as if trying to convince himself that you were truly there—that you were real. That somehow, the gods themselves had blessed him with you, with a love so rare and precious it felt almost impossible to believe.
For a moment, he simply looked at you, overwhelmed by the warmth of your affection and the quiet miracle of being loved so completely.
"I won't let them take you from me." He said with a stern voice.
"Jace, you know there's nothing we can do to prevent this-"
"We can stop this," he interrupted, his voice carrying a mixture of hope and determination.
When something needed fixing, Jacaerys had always been the first to search for a solution. He was the kind of person who faced every problem head-on, refusing to stand by when something—or someone—he cared about was at risk.
"You know the story of Queen Alysanne and King Jaehaerys? Our own ancestors." He asked and you only nodded looking into his eyes.
"They were brother and sister, just like us. But they married in secret. On Dragonstone," he continued. "The very same place we're living in now."
A slow smile spread across his face as the vision took shape in his mind. To defy everyone, to choose your own path, and to finally set things right. For the first time, it seemed as though he could see a future where everything fell into place.
"If we are bound by blood, then no one has the right to tear us apart," he said, his voice steady with conviction.
"And then?" he continued, his voice filled with a quiet certainty. "We will become the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. We will rule together—just as they once did."
The thought seemed to ignite something within you, a vision of a future where you stood side by side, united against the world that had tried to keep you apart.
"We will have an empire unassailable..." You said with a sly smile.
"And our children will rule it forever and a day." He added, stroking your shoulders.
"What do you say, my sweet sister?" he asked, noticing the smirk slowly forming on your lips.
It was the same smirk he knew so well—the one that appeared whenever a dangerous idea began taking shape in your mind.
