Jacearys Velaryon

[gabrielevelaryon]

MASTERLIST

Tangerine

•Unfortunate Encounter…Or Not?

•Wanting You

•Why do you love me?

Tom Ryder

•Maybe you’re not such an asshole after all

•Addicted to You

Kraven the Hunter

•Distraction

Pietro Maximoff

•Midnight Dessert

Gil Galad

•An Elvish Love

•The Comfort of a High King

•Strong Attraction

Carlisle Cullen

•A Vampire's love

Jacearys Velaryon

•A Twin's love

•Longuing

•The Dragon's Choice

•I'm Here

Updated: 14/08/2026

[gabrielevelaryon]

I'M HERE

Jacearys Velaryon xF!Reader

Warning: 18+ but not too much

The war council had dragged on for hours. Lords bickered over supply lines, maesters droned about raven schedules, and the painted table had become a battlefield of clenched fists and raised voices. Jace had been magnificent, calm and commanding, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade through silk. But you had watched the tension coil in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightened with each petty argument.

When the last lord finally withdrew, grumbling about the chill in the keep, Jace remained standing at the table. His hands were braced against the carved edges, his head bowed. The firelight caught the silver in his hair, the sharp line of his profile, the dark circles beneath his eyes that spoke of too many sleepless nights.

You dismissed the remaining servants with a flick of your wrist. The heavy oak doors groaned shut, sealing the two of you in silence.

"Jace," you said softly, crossing the room.

He didn't turn. "They are children dressed in lords' robes," he said, his voice clipped and weary. "Every one of them. They would rather argue over who sits at whose right hand than see the Greens gathering at our gates. I spent three hours explaining why feeding our men is more important than decorating the great hall for a feast that may never come. Three. Hours."

You came to stand beside him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. His hands were white-knuckled against the table, his breathing controlled, too controlled. He was holding it all in.

"Look at me," you said.

He did. And in his dark Velaryon eyes, you saw the weight of it all. The crown his mother wore. The war he had inherited. The brothers he could not protect. The father who had been taken too soon. Luke's face, pale and still beneath the waves of Shipbreaker Bay. All of it, pressing down on him like a stone.

"Let me help," you said, reaching up to cup his face. Your thumb traced the sharp line of his cheekbone, the tension there. "Tell me what you need."

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch like a man starved for warmth. His hand came up to cover yours, pressing it more firmly against his cheek.

"I need... I need a moment," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just one moment where I am not the heir to the Iron Throne. Where I am not a dragonrider. Where I am not a commander. Where I am just..."

He trailed off, unable to finish.

"Just my husband," you finished for him. "Just Jace."

His eyes opened, and something in them cracked. The careful composure, the regal mask, it all slipped away, and you saw the man beneath. The boy who had lost his father and his brother. The young prince carrying a kingdom on his shoulders, flying from one end of the realm to the other on Vermax's back, begging for allies while the Greens sharpened their blades.

"Yes," he breathed. "That."

You took his hand, lacing your fingers through his, and led him away from the table. Away from the war. Away from the weight.

"Come with me," you said, your voice gentle but firm.

He followed without question. Through the corridor, past the guards who bowed their heads, up the winding staircase to the chamber you shared. Dragonstone's volcanic stone held the cold, but the hearth in your rooms was always kept burning. You pushed open the door, and the warmth embraced you both.

You guided him to the chair by the fire, pressing gently on his shoulders until he sank into it. His head dropped back, his eyes closing again, and you watched the tension slowly, slowly bleed from his features. The firelight caught the silver streaks in his dark hair, the faint lines of worry that had begun to etch themselves around his mouth.

"Stay," you murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

You moved to the table where the wine waited, pouring two goblets of Dornish red. When you returned, his eyes were open again, watching you with something soft and aching.

"Thank you," he said, taking the goblet you offered. His fingers brushed yours, lingering. "I do not know what I would do without you."

"You would manage," you said, settling onto his lap, your legs draping over the arm of the chair. "But you do not have to."

His arm came around your waist, pulling you closer until your head rested against his chest. You could feel his heartbeat, steady but fast, as if it were still racing through the council chamber. You could smell the smoke of the fire, the salt of the sea, the faint scent of leather from his riding gloves.

"I was never meant for this, you know," he said quietly. "The throne. The war. I was meant to be a sailor. A traveler. To see the Free Cities, to feel the wind in my hair, to fall asleep to the sound of waves. Not to bury my brother. Not to beg lords for swords while my mother weeps in her chambers."

"And yet," you said, lifting your head to look at him, "you are the best of them. The best of us. You have a gentle heart, Jace. And that is what makes you strong. Rhaenyra trusted you with the most dangerous mission of this war. She sent you north and east because she knew you could do what no one else could. You brought us the North, the Vale, the Riverlands. You flew Vermax through storm and shadow. You are not just her heir, Jace. You are her hope."

He smiled, a tired, grateful smile. His hand came up to cradle your face, his thumb tracing the line of your lips.

"Stay with me tonight," he said. "Not as my queen. Not as my general. Just... stay with me."

"I am here," you promised. "I am always here."

He kissed you then, soft and deep, a kiss that tasted of relief and longing. When he pulled back, his eyes were darker, warmer, the weight of the crown finally slipping from his shoulders.

"Let me forget," he whispered against your lips. "Just for tonight. Let me forget the war. Let me remember only you."

You rose, taking his hand, and pulled him to his feet. He followed you toward the bed, the firelight dancing across his face, the lines of worry softening in the golden glow.

And in that moment, he was no longer the Prince of Dragonstone. He was just Jace. Your Jace. And you would tend to him, quiet him, worship him, as he had done for you a thousand times before.

"Patience, love," you whispered, echoing his own words back to him as you guided him down onto the pillows, your fingers tracing the silver streaks in his hair. "We're getting there."

His eyes fluttered closed, and for the first time that day, his smile reached them. Outside, the waves of the Narrow Sea crashed against Dragonstone's ancient rocks. Inside, there was only the crackling fire, the warmth of two bodies tangled together, and the promise of a few stolen hours before the dawn brought the war back to their door.

The fire had burned low, a bed of glowing embers casting long, dancing shadows across the chamber. The map table was forgotten, the war and its weight pushed to the edges of the room. There was only the soft rustle of linen, the hitch of breath, and the heat of skin against skin.

Jace lay propped on his elbow beside you, his body a shield against the chill that crept in from the sea. His silver hair fell across his brow, and his dark eyes, usually so sharp with strategy, were now hazy with a different kind of hunger. They traced the curve of your shoulder, the hollow of your throat, the rise and fall of your chest.

"You are so beautiful like this," he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. His fingers trailed from your collarbone, featherlight, down the valley between your breasts, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "Wild and untamed. Mine."

Your breath caught as his hand settled on your hip, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the soft skin there. The calluses from his sword hand were rough against you, a delicious friction that made you arch into his touch.

"Jace," you breathed, his name a plea on your lips.

He leaned down, his mouth hovering just above yours. Not kissing, not yet. Just breathing the same air, his warmth mingling with yours. His eyes searched yours, asking a question he already knew the answer to.

"I know," he whispered, his lips brushing yours with each word. "I know you want to burn. I know you want to ride into battle and set the world aflame."

His hand slid lower, gripping the curve of your thigh, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The heat of him seeped into every inch of your body.

"But right now," he continued, his voice dropping to something darker, more intimate, "right now, you are mine to tend. Mine to quiet. Mine to worship."

He finally kissed you, deep and slow, a kiss that tasted of mulled wine and promises. His tongue swept against yours, and you melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer. He groaned against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you.

He broke the kiss only to trail his lips down your jaw, your throat, pausing at the pulse point that fluttered wildly beneath his mouth. He pressed a kiss there, then another, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.

"Patience," he murmured against your skin, echoing his earlier words, but now they carried a different weight. A lover's command. A husband's devotion. "We're getting there."

His hand traveled upward, cupping your breast, his thumb brushing over the peak until you whimpered. He smiled against your neck, a knowing, wicked smile.

"I love the sounds you make," he said, his voice thick with desire. "The way you say my name. The way you tremble beneath my hands. You are the fiercest creature I have ever known, and yet here, with me, you are soft. Trusting."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze drinking you in. The embers cast a golden glow across your skin, and he reached out to trace the line of your jaw with a reverence that made your heart ache.

"I would give you the world if I could," he said, his voice cracking slightly with the weight of his emotion. "But for now, I give you this. All of me."

He shifted, positioning himself above you, his forearms braced on either side of your head. The muscles in his shoulders tensed as he lowered himself, his forehead pressing against yours.

"Tell me what you need," he breathed. "Tell me, and it is yours."

Your hands slid down his back, feeling the warmth of his skin, the strength coiled beneath. You pulled him closer, your legs wrapping around his hips, drawing him into the cradle of your body.

"You," you whispered, your voice fierce and raw. "Just you."

A shudder ran through him, and he captured your mouth again, this kiss hungrier, more desperate. He moved against you, a slow, torturous rhythm that built the heat between you until it was unbearable.

And when you finally shattered, your cry muffled against his shoulder, he followed, his groan low and reverent against your ear. He held you through it, whispering your name like a prayer, his body trembling against yours.

Afterward, he did not move. He stayed there, wrapped around you, his face buried in your hair. His breathing slowly steadied, matching the rhythm of your own.

"I love you," he said, the words soft and unguarded, meant only for you in the quiet dark. "My fire. My heart. My home."

He pressed a kiss to your temple, his arms tightening around you.

"Rest now, love," he murmured, his voice heavy with exhaustion and contentment. "The war will wait until morning. But I will not. I will be here. Always."

And in the safety of his arms, with the embers glowing and the sea singing its ancient song, you let yourself be still. Patient. His.

[gabrielevelaryon]

The Dragon's Choice

Jacearys Velaryon xF!Reader

The salt spray clings to your skin as yoi stand upon the cliff's edge, watching the grey-green waves crash against Dragonstone's ancient foundations. Behind you, the castle rises like a beast carved from the very rock of the island—your home now, for better or worse.

You hear his footsteps before you see him. Even among the crashing waves and howling wind, you would know that gait anywhere. The confident stride of a prince, softened only when he approaches you.

"You'll catch your death out here, wife." His voice is warm honey over steel, and you feel that familiar shiver that has nothing to do with the cold.

You don't turn. "Then perhaps death would be kinder than this endless grey sky."

A lie. You've grown to love the storm-tossed beauty of Dragonstone, just as you've grown to love the man whose arm now wraps around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. The heat of him seeps through your woolen cloak.

"Look," he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. You follow his gaze to where a break in the clouds allows a single shaft of sunlight to pierce through, illuminating the churning sea like liquid silver. "Even the sky grows weary of your melancholy."

You laugh despite yourself. "I am not melancholy."

"You are." He turns you gently to face him, and yoi finally meet those dark brown eyes—dragon's eyes, they call them, though they hold nothing but tenderness when they rest upon you. "You've been standing here for hours, watching the horizon as if expecting something to appear."

"Perhaps I am."

"Then what do you seek?" His thumb traces your cheekbone, chasing away the cold. "Tell me, and I will find it for you. I would cross the narrow sea, sail to the ends of the known world—"

"You," you whisper. "I seek only you."

Something flickers in his gaze—surprise, then a deep, aching tenderness that makes my breath catch. Jacearys Velaryon, heir to the Iron Throne, dragonrider, future king of the Seven Kingdoms—and yet in this moment, he looks at you as you have given him the world.

"Foolish woman," he breathes, but his voice cracks on the words. "You have me. You've always had me. From the moment you walked into that hall in King's Landing, your chin held high, refusing to be intimidated by dragons or princes or kings—"

"I was terrified," you admit.

"And magnificent." He presses his forehead to yours. "You were the most magnificent thing I had ever seen. And now here you stand, my wife, on the shores of my ancestral home, freezing yourself to please a husband you've already conquered utterly."

You arch an eyebrow. "Conquered?"

"Utterly," he repeats, and there is no arrogance in it, only wonder. "I am yours, my lady. Heart, soul, and everything between. I am yours as Vermax is mine—chosen and bound for life."

The wind whips his dark curly hair across his face, and you reach up to smooth it back. His eyes flutter closed at your touch, and you feel a surge of power that has nothing to do with thrones or dragons.

"Then warm me," you say softly. "Take me inside, husband, and remind me why I chose to stay."

His eyes snap open, dark with a heat that has nothing to do with dragonfire. "That," he says, sweeping me into his arms as if I weigh nothing, "is a command I am most happy to obey."

You laugh as he carries you toward the castle, the grey sky forgotten, the cold sea forgotten—everything forgotten but the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, and the whispered promises he breathes into your hair.

On Dragonstone, they say the dragons choose their riders. But you know better. Some things—the most important things—are chosen freely, with open eyes and open hearts.

And you have chosen him.

Will you choose me? his eyes seem to ask with every lingering glance.

-Always, you answer, and always you will.

[gabrielevelaryon]

LONGING

Jacearys Velaryon xF!Reader

Warning: none

The salt wind tears at you hair, whipping silver-white strands across you face, but you do not brush them away. Your hands are pressed flat against the cold, rough stone of the parapet, and through your palms you feel the island’s ancient heartbeat—volcanic, restless, alive. Behind you, the Dragonmont smokes against a bruised sky. Before you, the Narrow Sea stretches endless and grey, swallowing the light.

And beside you, him.

Jacearys.

He stands with his back to the wind, as if he can command even the gale to bow. His curly dark brown hair, is pulled back, but stray curls escape to frame his sharp, Valyrian face. His eyes are the colour of summer storms, and right now they are not on the horizon. They are on you.

You feel the weight of that gaze like a hand cupping your cheek. It is not the look of a prince assessing his realm. It is the look of a man who has just woken beside his wife and still cannot believe she is real.

"You’re shivering," he says, his voice low, roughened by the sea air.

"I am not," you lie, though your teeth nearly chatter.

He smiles—that crooked, boyish smile that undoes you every time, the one that belongs to the Jace who used to sneak honeycakes from the kitchens at Winterfell, not the Jacearys Velaryon who will one day sit the Iron Throne. He steps closer, and the warmth of him cuts through the cold like a hearth fire. His leather-and-dragon-smoke scent wraps around you.

He does not touch you. Not yet. He simply stands so close that his chest almost brushes your shoulder, and you can see the faint scar along his jaw—a gift from a training bout with Cregan, your brother, the first time Jace came north.

"You’re thinking of Winterfell," he murmurs. Not a question.

You turn your face toward him, and now you do let your hand leave the stone. You reach up, fingers grazing the line of his jaw, tracing that scar. He leans into your palm like a dragon basking in sun.

"I am thinking," you say softly, "that the North has snows and pines and gods I know. But this place—" you glance at the smoking mountain, the black stone fortress, the endless, hissing sea. "This place is yours. And I am learning to love it because it shaped you."

His eyes darken—not with anger, but with something deeper. Tenderness, yes, but also a quiet fierceness, the kind that makes men follow him into war.

"Then let me shape you," he says, and his hand finally covers yours, pressing it more firmly to his cheek. "Not into a Valyrian. Never that. But into mine. Here, on this rock, with these dragons, with this crown I do not want but will carry for our children."

Our children. The word sends a flush through you, warm and sudden, because your belly is still flat but his seed took root three moons ago—a secret you have not yet spoken, a life growing amidst the ash and salt.

He sees something shift in my face. His brow furrows. "Y/N?"

You do not answer with words. You rise on your toes and kiss him—slow, deep, tasting the sea on his lips. His arms come around you, hauling you against his chest, and for a moment there is no Dragonstone, no throne, no war to come. There is only his heart beating against yours, as wild as the waves below.

When you break apart, his forehead rests against yours.

"Tell me," he whispers.

You smile, and it is the smile of a Stark woman who has tamed a dragon.

"Later," you say. "First, show me the sunrise from the Dragonmont. I want to see the world burning gold—with you."

He laughs, that bright, unguarded laugh he keeps only for you, and takes your hand.

And as he leads you up the winding path, you look back once at the sea—and you know, with a certainty that has nothing to do with prophecy, that you would follow this man into the fire itself.

Because he is not just a prince.

He is yours.

[gabrielevelaryon]

A Twin's Love

Jacearys Velaryon x Sister!Reader

Warning: smut 18+

You’re excited and nervous. After five years away, you finally come home to Dragonstone. You are going to see your family again, even if it is at war time. Your mother sent a letter for you in Dorne, telling you to come back as they need you and your dragon. You were happy while reading the letter. 

After a long flight on your dragon, you land on Dragonstone. You see that your parents are waiting for you with warm smiles. You walk towards them, also smiling warmly.

-Mother, Father, I’m happy to see you again. I’ve missed you both. you say.

Your mother takes you into his arms happy.

-Oh my sweet Y/N, we’ve missed you too. How was Dorne? Did they treat you well? she asks.

-Yes. I’ve been treated as a Targaryen princess. But I admit I was missing home. At least I had Vermithor with me.

-That’s why we called you back. Of course we have missed you, but we are at war with the greens. Every dragon is going to be useful. says your father.

-Daemon, could you let her arrive before speaking of war? says your mother sternly.

-It’s okay mother. I know why I’m here. Tell me more about this conflict.

As you walk into Dragonstone, your parents tell you what happened. You are saddened to learn about Lucerys’s death. You loved him dearly, even if he was only your half-brother. But you become angry when your parents tell you what the greens have done. 

-I will gladly help you get your throne back mother. They will pay for what they did. Especially Aemond for killing Luke. you say determined.

Your father smiles proudly at you. You always had his temperament and courage. You follow them into the council room, where advisors are waiting.You don’t recognize anyone except for Lord Corlys and your half brother, Jacearys. He has really changed. He has grown up. He is definitively more handsome now. You feel something warm inside you at the sight of him. You cannot stop staring at him. He also stares at you but with surprise and joy.You were always close to him growing up. As you look at him now with a smile, you realize you start feeling things you should not feel.

When the meeting is over, your mother tells you where chambers are and that you should get some rest. You agree and leave the room, Jace following you. 

-Y/N wait up! he says.

You turn around and wait for him in the hallway. 

-Jace! I’m so happy to see you again. you say smiling.

-I’m happy to see you too Y/N. I’ve missed you so much. I didn’t know mother would call you back, especially at war time. he says smiling.

-I wasn’t expecting it either, but I’m glad to be back. If I can help the family I will. you say yawning. 

Jace laughs and offers you his arm.

-Let me escort you back to your chambers so you can rest. We’ll catch up tomorrow, I want to know everything about your life in Dorne. he says.

-Good idea. you say linking your arm to his.

You walk with him, enjoying his company in silence. Once you arrive at your chambers though, you realize that even if you are tired, you don’t want Jace to leave yet. You desire him. So you take a bold decision. 

-Jace… do you want to come in? 

-Are you sure? We can talk - he starts saying but you cut him off.

-Yes I’m sure. I actually want you very much right now. you admit blushing.

Jacearys looks at you with surprise before desire takes over. So you are not the only one feeling this attraction. He opens the door to your chambers.

-Oh dear sister… you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say those words. All those years apart and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I want you so much, it will be my pleasure to come in. he says with a smile.

You giggle then rush into your room, with him following behind, unaware that your mother’s maid saw you.

—The next morning—-

You wake up to a pleasurable feeling between your legs. You look down with your eyes half open to see your brother lapping at your folds. You moan softly as you grab his curly hair. He smiles against your cunt. Jace eats you out more vigorously and you feel your climax approaching. When he adds a finger and finds your special spot, your back arch in pleasure. He hits the spot and sucks on your clit and that’s it. You come moaning his name loudly. 

As you breathe heavily, he climbs back up and lays at your side. He kisses you softly and pulls away then looks at you smiling while mindlessy caressing your naked hips.

-Good morning my love. says Jacearys softly.

-Good morning indeed. I love being waking up that way. you say happily cuddling in his arms.

Last night was the best night you ever had. You have given your maidenhood to your brother after you have both confessed your feelings. 5 years apart was very long for you both.

Jace laughs as he holds you close. Then say with a soft tone: 

-How are you feeling? Was I too rough last night?

-Not at all. You were perfect. I’m a bit sore, but it’s good. And with the way you’ve woken me up… I feel wonderful. you say softly.

-I’m happy. It was good for the both of us and now we’re bound together forever. I love you Y/N. says Jacearys.

-I love you too Jace.

He kisses you tenderly and you melt, forgetting everything but him. Warm fills you as you feel him harden against your thigh.

-I want to try something. you say pulling away blushing.

-What is it? ask Jace curious.

-I want to ride you. 

Desire immediately fills his eyes. He clearly seems to like the idea.

-I would also want that very much. Come here. he says pulling you on top of him.

You have never felt this exposed, but under his gaze you feel safe. And desired. You grab his hard length under you, lift your lips and with his guidance you slowly slid down on him. You both moan at the feeling. You feel so full. It’s different but very pleasurable. Jace puts his hands on your hips.

-Here, I’ll guide you don’t worry. 

With his help, you start moving your hips back and forth. Jace throws his head back and moan. The sound he makes and the feeling of his cock inside you is so good that you moan loudly. 

-That’s it sister, keep going. You are doing great my love. says Jace between moans.

You find a rhythm that pleases you both and keep it. In this position he reaches new places and it makes you feel incredibly good. You can already feel your climax coming. You lean down to kiss Jace as you speed up. He holds your head in place with one hand and with the other one he slides it between your bodies to caress your clit.

You whimper against his mouth and clench around him, sign that you are about to come, when the door of your room opens. Your parents enter.

Mortified, all pleasure leaves your body as you let out a squeak and climb off Jace to hide your body under the covers. Your brother’s is pale and hurry to try to cover more of your body. He looks also embarrassed. You didn’t think your parents would catch you. Your mother looks angry and your father is chuckling. He doesn’t seem surprised. 

-I thought my maid was wrong when she saw you both last night. But no, she was right. I can’t believe you two would… she says disappointed and angry.

-My love, let them get dressed, we’ll talk about this at breakfast. says your father shooting you a knowing look. 

-Alright… but hurry up you two. I’m not finished. she says before leaving the room. 

Once they’re gone you look at Jace. He is blushing just like you. That’s definitely not how you wanted to tell your parents about you and your brother. 

-At least now they know. And they can’t send you away after the war. We will marry and be forever together. I don’t care if they are against it. I love you so much. says Jacearys.

-Yeah.. I love you too. Altought mother is furious, father will calm her. No one will separate us now. you reply.

-Exactly. You’re mine Y/N. he says before kissing you tenderly. 

You lost your self into the kiss for a second before pulling away.

-We should really get dressed. I do not want to make mother angrier. you say leaving the bed to get dressed. 

Jace nods then also get dressed. As you hold hands with him when you leave your room you know it’s going to be awkward at the table. But you don’t care. You are finally reunited with the man you love and want to spend your life with.

[gabrielevelaryon]

Imagine being reunited with Jacearys after years of being apart

[gabrielevelaryon]

Imagine Jace eating you out

[gabrielevelaryon]

Imagine having a tender reunion with Jacearys and it ends with soft sex in his bedchambers

[gabrielevelaryon]

🩵❤️🧡

[pasukiyo]

A PLACE IN THE SEA OF STARS

anakin skywalker x f!naberrie!reader word count: 10.4k (my longest yet... i'm so sorry) warnings: two idiots pining, pining, reader is padme's younger sister (whether biological or adopted is up to you), first time having sex, soft smut, angst synopsis: a life spent in padmé amidala's shadow and never once did she ever think she'd be envious of her sister. that is, until anakin skywalker walks his way into her life and she finds herself praying that one day, he'd look at her the way he does at padmé, that she'll be given a place in the sea of stars, that her destiny will include him.

read on ao3

 It came as no surprise that Anakin Skywalker would be enamored with her second-to-oldest sister.

 After a life spent behind Padmé Amidala’s shadow, she’d grown accustomed to it— being overlooked. But for once, just this once, she wished history wouldn’t repeat itself, wished the prophecy could be rewritten and for once, let it be her who was chosen, who was noticed. 

 But of course, it’s futile. 

 You can sink to your knees and pray to whatever higher being is in the sky but at the end of the day, there are millions of lost souls just like you doing the same. You can have faith, you can believe that someday you’ll be heard but with each silent day that passes, your voice still falls on deaf ears. 

 She’s done her time playing the fool who sinks to her knees and pleads with the night sky to find her a place in the sea of stars, so that she may fit in a constellation too. She’s been the statue who's been made to wait— and she’s started to crumble. 

 She remembers the day she started to pray like it was yesterday. It was the day she first met Anakin Skywalker, back when he was only a Padawan, still searching for his own place in the world. Her parents were restless then, having heard of the multiple assassination attempts on their dear second oldest daughter. Of course she was worried too, but she still could feel the guilt that settled into the marrow of her bones when she found herself pondering whether her parents would react the same way if it had been her life at stake instead. 

 She remembers helping her eldest sister, Sola, and her mother with dinner in preparation for the arrival of their sister Padmé and her Jedi escort. She’d been tasked with bringing a bowl of fruit to the table and she remembered nearly being trampled over by her nieces, Ryoo and Pooja, as they squeal Padmé’s name, sprinting for the door. 

 She remembers huffing, mumbling a curse in an alien language beneath her breath just as their guests step inside, looking up from where she leaned over the table, dropping the bowl down onto the surface. She remembers her breath catching in her throat when her gaze found a sea of blue that put the Naboo waters to shame. 

 Padmé’s lips curved into a grin as she exclaimed her sister’s name, circling the table to capture her in an embrace. Her sister wrapped her arms around her and her chin found Padmé’s shoulder as the blue that took her breath away crashed into her and she swore everything changed in that moment. 

 She remembers the first time Anakin Skywalker looked at her. It was a brief, friendly locking of the eyes but a fleeting moment for him felt like lightyears for her. His eyes were the blue of the water where the sun’s reflection gently ripples and warps. They were the blue of the sky after it rains and the sun begins to spill through the cracks of the wall of clouds. 

 She’s never understood what it meant to be speechless, for something to literally steal the breath away from her lungs. But from the moment her eyes met his, she began to understand. 

 “Anakin! This is my youngest sister,” Padmé announced, pulling away from their embrace. Her spine stiffened when her sister introduced her and she watched as his full, pink lips moved to form her name. His voice is like nails scraping against the itch she can’t reach on her back, his voice is like velvet she can swallow, deliciously soft and rich against her throat. 

 “It’s nice to meet you,” Anakin dipped his chin in greeting, the silly, little braid falling off his shoulder. She drained the lump that had formed in her throat, bowing her head. Her lips trembled and her breath was shaky as she prepared her salutations but her words fell dead on the tip of her tongue when Padmé’s squeal permeated the room. 

 “And my eldest sister Sola!”

 And just like that, all attention rolled away from her and onto her eldest sisters but she still watched him, heart beating against her chest. 

 And that was the moment she began to pray. 

 She prayed, even though the looks he’d given Padmé didn’t go unnoticed. The way he watched her, even when she wasn’t the one speaking, the way he’d soak in every word, every praise for her that fell past her parents’ mouths. The way he stared longingly at her sister when he was certain nobody was watching— and no one was, for their attentions were on Padmé, save for hers. 

 It was typical. 

 It should come as no surprise that everyone would worship the ground her sister— the former Queen, current Senator of Naboo— walked on. She’s not surprised that someone young and benign like him would fall in love with her sister— she’d only seen it happen more times than she ever really cared to count. 

 And she’d never really cared about all the suitors on their knees at Padmé’s feet before— they were her sister’s problems, not hers. She’d never even really envied her sister, at least in that sense. 

 But everything changed the moment Anakin stepped through the door. Everything changed the moment their eyes met, if only for the most fleeting of seconds. 

 So she prayed. 

 Inside the inner realms of her mind, she sinks to her knees and stares into the void above her, the stars that beamed down at her twinkling, almost as if they taunted her. She swallowed her pride, folding her hands together and raising them to her chin, brow dipping as she pleaded with the higher being in the sky to hear her cry. 

 “Please, hear me, Maker,” she whispered into her mind, externally staring at Anakin, internally losing her gaze amongst the stars as if the Maker himself would appear between them. “Hear my plea. Whatever destiny you’ve pre-written for me, please be sure it includes Anakin Skywalker.”

 She didn’t see Anakin Skywalker again for another year after that. 

 Apparently, being a Jedi means he’s constantly from place to place, but next time they do end up in the same place, it’s even more fleeting than the last. She was beginning to wonder if she would ever see him again, if she was foolish to continue hoping that he might notice her, that he might even love her. But she still remembers the way his eyes flickered in recognition when they caught hers across the courtyard of Theed Royal Palace. His hair was longer and he didn’t have that ridiculous braid or tiny ponytail on the back of his neck anymore. The Chancellor was speaking to him and another Jedi with umber hair and a matching beard, but his attention was on her. 

 He looked… darker. As if the years of war had finally begun taking its toll on him. But he’s still the same man he’s always been, still the same one she’s dreamed about. He even looked better.  

 They don’t get the chance to talk, only share knowing glances, as he was on duty and their paths unfortunately didn’t cross. But that gleaming in his eyes, the one that blazes with knowing is all the kindling in the pit of her belly needs to bloom, to blossom into a raging wildfire. 

 So, she prayed again. 

 “Maker,” she said into that night sky inside of her head. The stars shone brighter, as if to laugh at the foolish girl beneath them. She ignored them of course— because she truly believed that one day, she’d prove them wrong. “Please. Hear my plea. Let Anakin Skywalker see me again. Give me a place in your sea of stars and make sure it is in Anakin Skywalker’s orbit.”

 She doesn’t see him again for another two years. 

 But still, he lingers, just like a phantom weaving through every corner she passes, cloaked in shadow. She sees Anakin Skywalker everywhere she goes— in the lakes of shining waters out in the country, in the rain that falls on a dark, cloudy day, in the litany of stars that idle in the sky. 

 She sees him in her dreams, staring the way he did at Padmé. Only, in her dreams, his gaze finds her. Almost like he had that day in the courtyard, but in her dreams, his eyes would linger longer. 

 His voice calls out to her whenever she’s sleeping and it lingers in gooseflesh on her skin, frosting over her bones. She’ll open her eyes when he calls but she’s never truly awake. Alas, if dreaming is the only way she’ll see Anakin Skywalker again, she’d gladly succumb to her sleep and trick herself into believing it is real. 

 Except tonight, she does not think she can take it much longer. 

 “Anakin,” she whispers one day when she peels her eyelids open after he calls. She says his name like it’ll be the last time she ever will. That look is on his face again— the one she’s seen so many times directed at her in her dreams, she’s nearly forgotten it wasn’t meant for her in the first place. 

 She used to wake and long for sleep to come again, just so she could watch him look at her like that. 

 But three long years of waiting and foolishly praying to beings who do not hear have begun to rust the illusion she’s deluded herself into hopelessly believing in. Three long years of silence and she’s finally cracked. She is broken— she sees it now. She’s grown weary of hoping he’d be the one to fix her. 

 His lips curve to form a smile and for three years, she’s fooled herself into believing it could be for her— truly be for her, outside of her dreams. But to be forthright, she’s tired. She’s grown tired of pretending, tired of clinging onto the dying embers of mere memories of how a man looked at someone that wasn’t her— but rather her sister. She’s grown tired of hoping, waiting, praying that one day, he may wander back into her life and thread his way into the tapestry that her destiny’s been woven into.

 Tonight is the night she forfeits with her palms to the sky, tonight is the night she yields to the stars that have taunted her for far too long and admits her defeat. That they were right all along. Tonight is the night she blows away the ashes she’s desperately held so close to her chest and sealed away in secret urns inside for far too long. 

 Tonight is the night she lets go. 

 When she wakes the following morning, birds chirp outside her window. Sunlight spills into her room as it rises over the mountains across the lake and she yawns, stretching her arms over her head. Today is merry— it is the day her sister, Padmé Amidala, marries. 

 Today is merry but instead, she feels dread seep into the marrow of her bones. She’s happy for her sister, really, she is, but it serves only as a reminder that her time is ticking, and time has turned vexing. It serves as a reminder that she must make haste to find her own purpose, to find someone who will cherish her the way she’s spent many fortnights dreaming about. Sola’s already married and found her purpose, and Padmé’s had her entire life laid out before her since she was only fourteen years of age. 

 Sola, the wife and mother, Padmé, the Queen and then the Senator, and then there’s her. Unsure. Undecided. An ellipsis. 

 She’s envious. How could she not be? She’s envious that she’ll never be the perfect mother like Sola, envious that she’ll never live up to Padmé’s legacy, she’s even grown envious of the stars: they simply idle in the night sky but even their idleness has a purpose because their places have reason, to create constellations that in turn, tell stories. 

 She knows that after today, the pressure of fulfilling whatever destiny’s been written for her will only further suffocate her. She will suffocate beneath the weight of this pressure and she will be expected to continue breathing. She’s tried for so long to keep the air in her lungs but it’s so hard when with each day that passes by, the darkness grows more appealing. 

 She’s tried so hard to find the right path she’s supposed to take, but there are so many roads, so many choices and so many consequences. She’s afraid— and it’s why she’s allowed herself to hide in her sisters’ shadows for so long. But it feels so stifling now. 

 She sighs and blinks up to the terracotta ceiling. And then of course, dread wears her bones for an entirely different reason. Because it’s inevitable that she’s going to see Anakin Skywalker today. And things will be different. 

 It’s been lingering like an annoying, little insect since Padmé announced she’d invited her Jedi friends to the wedding, ever since she heard Anakin’s name being read off the list. Things were certain to change because he is but a mere guest, and not the groom. 

 It may have come as no surprise that Anakin would fall for her, but it certainly came as a shock that Padmé wouldn’t fall for him. 

 It makes her flesh blaze with a strange anger she’s not quite sure how to describe. How could her sister have something she so desperately wanted but not pursue it? How could she reject Anakin when he would willingly break and bend to her every whim? Why must her sister take his infatuation for granted— why could it not be given to her instead?

 She thinks it must be some cruel trick the Maker is playing on her, dangling Anakin in front of her like that, cursing him with an unrequited love when she was right there. She thinks it must be the Maker’s— damn him— cruel way of taunting her, as if the sneering stars had eyes, his eyes. Even if part of her is relieved Anakin is not marrying her sister, it still feels like a blaster wound to her chest, puncturing her skin and searing her insides. 

 She hears her name called from outside her room’s door and groans. 

 “What do you want?” She replies in displeasure as the door slides open. Her eldest sister, Sola, steps into the room and glowers at her youngest sister’s tone. 

 “Well, good morning sunshine,” Sola remarks and she rolls her eyes. Sola makes her way towards the bed, dropping a dress the color of fire onto the mattress. “Is there a reason for your ill-temper today?”

 She pushes herself to sit upright, wrinkling her nose at the dress as she takes a fistful of it in her hand. “Orange?” She scoffs, tossing it back down onto the bed. “I thought we were wearing blue?”

 Sola shrugs, plopping down onto the mattress. “Padmé changed her mind last minute,” she says. “I suppose if we wore blue, we’d mesh with the background, don’t you think?”

 She sighs and flops back down against her pillows, one arm folded over her stomach, the other folded behind her head. Sola pokes her forefinger against her knee and she grumbles, narrowing her eyes at the ceiling. 

 “Now, answer the question,” her oldest sister insists. “What’s the matter with you?”

 Her eyelids flutter closed and she wishes more than anything that she could simply wink out of existence. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be here for Padmé, she does, but she’s uncertain how she could possibly explain how she feels to Sola in a way she could understand. It’s exactly this that’s made her feel so alone all these years. 

 She’s never had someone who could understand her, really get her. She’s always been different from her sisters, even before marriage and coronations and political promotions. It’s something she’s certain her sisters have known, that even her parents must’ve known. She’s never been jovial and nurturing like Sola, or clever and independent like Padmé. She’s always preferred silence and privacy, and maybe that’s been her problem. But it’s all she knows, being alone. 

 Sola’s never spent years yearning for a boy who yearns for another, so she couldn’t possibly understand. She doesn’t think she could even make her understand. 

 She sighs, lolling her head to the side until her gaze finds Sola’s. 

 “Not looking forward to wearing that dress for the entire evening,” she says instead. Sola’s eyes roll and she leans over to pinch her calf beneath the covers. She hisses and swats her sister’s hand away as she clicks her tongue, moving out of the way. 

 “Oh come on, it’s not that bad,” Sola tries to reason. 

 “It’s hideous,” she deadpans. 

 Sola deflates with the acceptance of her defeat. She grabs her sister’s knee, giving it a shake. She glares at her older sister. 

 “Come on, that can’t be the only reason why you’re in such a foul mood,” Sola insists, her bottom lip rolling in a pout and she swears it’s almost comical how her eldest sister can act like such a child. It’s a wonder how she has children of her own. 

 She blinks at Sola as a sort of realization creeps onto her eldest sister’s face and she blinks, internally grimacing. For she knows that whatever is bound to come out of her sister’s mouth next is going to be completely and utterly wrong. 

 “I think I get it now,” Sola’s tone is softer, her face falling to match it. “You’re upset you’ll be the last of us to be married.”

 And there it is. 

 She internally cringes at just how wrong Sola is but she says nothing, further prompting her sister to lean forward, reaching for the hand that rests on her stomach. Her muscles stiffen when she takes it and she wills herself to stay still. It was better to let Sola say whatever she had to say than recoil and deny it— it’s not like she had any better excuse anyways. 

 “I know it can be tough,” she begins. “Feeling like you’re left out. Believe me, I had my fair share of it. I was so jealous of yours and Padmé’s relationship when you were younger because I was so much older, I felt like I just didn’t quite fit in with you two.”

 Her eyes finally meet Sola’s and she begins to see her eldest sister in a different light. All this time, she’s believed she’s the only one who’s felt this way— lost, left behind. While this isn’t quite the same context, she still feels her heart tremble in her chest for her sister, still feels like something’s shifted. It’s at least one thing they can understand each other on. 

 “But then, I found my husband. And then I had Ryoo and Pooja,” Sola continues. “And it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve never been so happy in my life.”

 Sola’s grip tightens around her hand and she leans forward to place her other one on top. “I know it must seem hard, seeing as both Padmé and I are married— well, almost anyway.” Her lips curve into a soft, reassuring grin. “But you’ll find that same happiness one day. I just know it. So don’t fret, little sister.”

And there, she fears, is where her sister misses the plot. 

 She almost wants to laugh at how ridiculous this all sounds. She remains silent, however, and Sola gives the back of her hand one last reassuring pat before she lets go, sliding off of the mattress. 

 “Anyways, I’m going to breakfast. You should come too before all the blue waffles are gone.”

 She watches as her eldest sister slips out of the room, the door sliding closed behind her and she sighs, digging her knuckles into her closed eyelids until the galaxy shimmers before her. How could Sola have come so close to understanding her one minute only to read her so wrong the next?

 She doesn’t make any effort to get out of bed and in all honesty, she wishes she could simply stay here forever, or at least for the rest of the night. At least long enough that she doesn’t have to face Anakin Skywalker. 

 Because even though she’s already promised herself that she’d let him go, she wasn’t entirely certain she could hold true to her own word when she sees him again.

 The day goes by in a blur. In the blink of an eye, she’s wearing a satin dress in that deep orange she finds hideous beside Sola who stands beside Padmé. Padmé stands facing her husband-to-be, fingertips delicately placed in his palms as they recite their vows. 

 The sun paints the villa’s terrace with an orange glow and she watches it sink beneath the mountains across the lake from the corner of her eye. The sunlight looks like fire rippling in the gentle waves of the water below and she has to look away because she thinks of Anakin, how his eyes glimmer just the same. 

 She’s determined to keep her gaze away from the audience, however, because she knows he’s there, the incarnation of all she’s ever wanted, of all her bad ideas, of everything she cannot trust herself with in one. She searches the ground below, watches the way her dress ruffles with the breeze, like fire askew in the wind. 

 Padmé says something that makes the audience erupt in laughter and it startles her, so much that the hair on the back of her neck erects. When she flinches, she makes the mistake of blinking up— right into the eyes she’d been bound to avoid all night. 

 The world around Anakin Skywalker seems to stir until it’s all wet, blurry hues of orange, green, and white. Anakin is the only one she sees in high resolution— she can see every lock of wavy, dark blonde hair, every rippling wave in his irises, the scarlet line that slices just beside his right eye. She’d never seen this scar before— it must be new. 

 But what’s the most peculiar of all is that she meets his eyes— she meets his eyes. She’d blinked up to find he’d already been staring, already transfixed on her by the time their gazes met and his eyes had illuminated with that same knowing gleam she’d seen in them that day in the royal courtyard. 

 Anakin Skywalker is looking at her and she is not in a dream. It’s both momentous and utterly devastating all the same.

 She isn’t quite sure whether to look away or not. This is what she's mooned over more times than her pride will allow her to admit. She’s dreamed this many nights, for Anakin Skywalker to simply look at her and now he is. Anakin Skywalker is looking at her and she should feel elated but instead she feels… conflicted. 

 Does her heart flutter in her chest? Sure. 

 Does her stomach twist itself into knots? Certainly. 

 She felt so confident just the night before when she threw her hands up in surrender to the black sky, admitting her defeat to the stars who spent many moons mocking her that she was done. She felt so confident that she was ready to move on, to let go of this desire she’s harbored for Anakin for so long. 

 With the simplest of looks, Anakin Skywalker has proven capable of crumpling the paper walls she’d placed around herself. She was left feeling feeble, exposed and any sense of courage she thought she had was now lost. 

 Because three years of waiting and praying to higher entities who did not hear her pleas could not cease overnight. Her attraction to Anakin Skywalker could not cease in hours. She thought she’d extinguished the last flames of her withering hope but, as it turns out, a single dying ember remained. It means a part of her still yearned for him. A part of her still burned for him. 

 She wonders now, that he’s still looking at her, what possibly goes on inside his head. Why does he look at her now? Why does he stare, why do his lips twitch before curving in a smile when their eyes meet, why do they irradiate the longer her gaze lingers on his? Why does he not look sad at the wedding of the woman he loves? Why does he not even look at Padmé?

 Her mind swirls like a tempest— churning with unhinged, vicious anguish. She has to look away before the acid that bubbles in her throat can come to fruition but she can’t, and Anakin seemingly can’t tear his gaze away from her either. It’s all the more sickening and earth-shattering nonetheless. Her heart swells and pounds in her chest, the border of her vision beginning to blur with the familiar sting of tears. Her head is aching and it’s all just too much— she needs an escape. 

 “I now pronounce you, husband and wife.”

 She blinks away her emotion to the best of her ability, using the end of the ceremony as an excuse to look away as the crowd around her thunders with applause. Her mind is reeling and she feels like her head is spinning as she subconsciously claps her palms together, the sound muffled like water in her ears.  The watercolor around her stirs until it’s clear again and the entire world suddenly seems to move again— it’s her, this time, that’s in slow motion. 

 The cheering sounds like thunder, the applause like rain pelting against a window, and her mind begins to crumple, just like metal. She longs for escape, to flee and to be beside herself for the rest of the night. Padmé and her husband begin walking back down the aisle as their guests congratulate them, tossing flower petals into the air above them. She thinks that this is her chance to escape, she thinks everyone is distracted enough that no one will notice her leaving. 

 They never cared to notice her before anyways. 

 She begins to shuffle away but she doesn’t make it very far before her stomach lurches when someone clasps a hand around her wrist, tugging her forward. She snaps her head to the source to find her eldest sister, Sola, with her face illuminated by a grin. 

 “Come on!” Sola exclaims, dragging her down the aisle and back inside the villa. “It’s time to party!”

 Dread drains the blood from her cheeks but she’s given no time to protest before she’s being dragged down the aisle, right past Anakin Skywalker. She doesn’t dare look up but she feels him when she passes by, a mere brush of the arms, the feeling of his elbow brushing going just as fast as it came. 

 And it’s still enough to make liquid of her insides. 

 She drowns in a sea of people as she and Sola find Padmé, wrapped in their mother’s arms. She can hear her heart drum in her ears as Sola releases her hand to draw Padmé into an embrace, tears streaming down the apples of her cheeks. Everyone around her is so happy and she should be too— but she still feels like she’s beside the altar, caught in the trap Anakin has seemingly laid out for her. 

 A tear that’s been painfully dormant in her eye falls and she’s certain her distress shows on her face but it must be easily mistaken for tears of joy, because Padmé pulls away from Sola to turn to her, drawing her in for a hug. Her sister’s arms wrap around her body, a palm on her back, the other cupping the back of her head. Even Sola reaches forward to give her upper arm a reassuring squeeze, undoubtedly thinking back to the conversation they’d had earlier. 

 “Don’t cry for me, baby sister,” Padmé laughs tearfully beside her ear. She can feel Padmé’s smile against her shoulder. She pulls away and rubs her palms up and down the length of her arms. “I’m still the same Padmé I’ve always been.”

 She’s unable to reply— again, she’s misunderstood. But it’s her sister’s wedding day, she won’t burden her with her own confliction. So she swallows the boulder-sized lump in her throat, curving her lips just enough to form a tight-lipped smile. 

 “I’m just… happy for you,” she manages. Padmé cups her cheek and soothes the pad of her thumb over her skin before Ryoo and Pooja draw her attention away. Padmé’s hands fall from her arms and finally, she can breathe. 

 But even that is momentary. 

 “You make a perfectly fine bride if I do say so myself, Senator.”

 Her spine stiffens. She knows that voice. And she knows exactly who is near when she hears it. 

 Padmé laughs and tosses her hands. “Obi-Wan,” she greets him just like an old friend would, pulling him in for an embrace. “And little Ani.”

 How is it that she’s already seen him more tonight than she has in the past three years? She sees Anakin’s dark boots from the top of her vision, not daring to tear her gaze from the ground. 

 “Padmé,” Anakin’s deep, enriching voice sounds and rumbles deep in her belly. She shifts uncomfortably where she stands, desperate to flee. She thinks she can manage it now— Obi-Wan and Anakin are engrossed with Padmé now, right? 

 She begins to make her first attempt of escape, taking slow, careful steps to the side until her second effort crumbles when Anakin speaks her name. 

 Ice frosts over her spine and she’s no choice but to acknowledge the man she was so intent on avoiding the entire evening. Padmé and Obi-Wan are engrossed in their own conversation but Anakin’s gaze remains on her, eyes even sparkling when she finally meets them. 

 Her mouth is a desiccated oasis and her throat feels like a desert as it constricts painfully when she swallows. Still, she manages to breathe out, “Anakin.”

 It’s the first time she can ever recall having a true, proper conversation with him. The last time being when they said their goodbyes that very first time before he and Padmé left for the Lake Country. It’s confusing how this is everything she’s ever wanted yet, she feels an urge to push it all away. 

 Anakin clears his throat and his eyes flicker to his feet for a moment as if he could possibly be nervous before they find hers again. “You look good,” he says and her heart stops beating in her chest. “That dress is beautiful on you.”

 She thinks she could punch him. 

 Or kiss him. 

 She has to look away, or she may very well do the latter. 

 She wonders if this is some cruel, senseless joke the Maker is playing on her. She wonders if she’d upset him by unlatching herself from his hook and this is his way of reeling her back in. She hates that it has the potential to work. 

 “I…” she stammers and closes her lids frustratedly, willing air back into her lungs. She shakes her head— she cannot be here any longer. She may very well explode if she has to succumb to this torture for even a second more. “…thanks. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

 And then, she bolts. 

 She’s lost track of how long she’s been locked in her room, sitting in the window, staring at the moonlight that ripples in the water below. It was long enough for the chatter downstairs to quiet to murmurs until it finally ceased altogether. The villa is now quiet and suddenly, her room feels suffocating. 

 With a sigh, her feet meet the floor and she pushes away from the window seat, cupping her neck to roll it around her shoulders as she pads towards the door. It slides open and she slips through, making her way down the hallway leading towards the main foyer. Her dress flows behind her like flames in the wind, the satin cool against her legs as she walks. Fresh, night air greets her and she inhales, letting it flood her lungs as she saunters to the wide terrace ahead. 

 She stops at the stone arches of the railing and exhales, feeling the wind sift its fingers through her hair, breathing on her skin like a lover in the throes of passion. It caresses her neck and rolls down her back, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. 

 She’d spent many nights just like this one. Staring at the moon rippling through the water, at the stars that twinkle overhead, the sky that blackens behind them. She’d spent many nights praying, releasing her pleas into the air and letting it drift away with the breeze. 

 She does not pray this time. When she lifts her head to brave the dark that faces her, she merely asks why. 

 “Why, Maker,” she whispers beneath her breath. There’s an edge, a strain to her voice that stings her throat, that feels like daggers to her chest. “Why must you be so cruel? I have done everything, I have given you everything. Why wasn’t it enough? Why do you mock me now?”

 The stars overhead gleam as they cackle, sneering at the misfit below. “You’ll never have a place among us,” they seem to say. Tears well in her eyes and she drops her head, fingernails scraping the stone edge of the railing. She leans back on her heels and wills herself to breathe before a sob could wrack her body. 

 She feels lost and utterly alone, and she truly begins to feel like the weight of this prolonged pain has started to fall on top of her. She’s lost and alone and her entire world has started to crumble around her. And then she hears her name. 

 It’s like the call that haunts her every time she closes her eyes, the same velvety voice that caresses her ear every night when she lies down in bed. But it is not a ghostly whisper this time, because it is real. 

 Footsteps sound behind her and she further scratches her nails against the railing. 

 “I was wondering where you wandered off to,” Anakin remarks as he approaches and she can feel him beside her, like a whisper of shadow creeping along her skin. She rolls back onto the balls of her feet and stands straight, sniffing. 

 “Anakin,” she says, steadily, methodically. As if it took great effort to say it without stammering. She can see him out of her peripheral, dark blonde curls falling when he leans an elbow against the railing, tilting his head in an attempt to meet her eye. 

 She does not move. 

 “I was looking for you, you know,” he continues. “You must’ve found a good hiding spot.”

 She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth. “I was in my room,” she replies simply, a steely, monotone in her voice.

 Anakin inhales and hums. “Then it makes sense why I could not find you. I would never barge into a lady’s room.”

 It’s an attempt at humor but she feels anything but. She’s stuck between a rock and a hard place with seemingly no clear solution in sight. She could walk away. She should walk away. She shouldn't spend a single second more in Anakin Skywalker’s presence— she simply couldn’t trust herself to not betray her own vow. 

 Or she could stay. She could stay and once again succumb to the fool’s game she’s been playing. She could stay and let Anakin Skywalker tie another noose around her neck, allowing him to drag her along for another three years. 

 She knows what is right. She knows what she should do. 

 But she’s frozen. 

 She cannot move, cannot even bring her lips to move so she can speak. She instead wilts, like a rose who once stood beautifully now losing its color, shriveling in on herself until she inevitably withers away. 

 She can feel Anakin draw himself just an inch closer beside her, and he’s like a single drop of rain that’s enough to somewhat salvage the husk of who she once was. 

 “Why do you avoid me?” He asks and it’s a question so simply but so damn infuriating all the while. She’s been a volcano in dormancy up until this point, but there’s a rumbling deep within her, threatening to erupt. 

 “Why are you doing this?” She questions, snapping her head towards him, brows dipped and drawn. Anakin blinks and draws back, a dent forming between his own brows. 

 “Doing what?” He asks and that feeling of wanting to ram her fist into his face comes back. She turns to fully face him and he pushes off the railing, uncertainty warping his features. 

 “This,” she gestures between them. “Staring at me. Talking to me. As if we’ve spoken more than hellos and goodbyes to each other.”

 Anakin raises a brow, the one his scar pierces, and it warps with the movement. 

 She continues. “And then you have the audacity to tell me I look beautiful in this gods-awful dress just to spite me.” She is a volcano, no longer dormant, no longer overlooked. She is exploding and Anakin is unfortunate enough to be in her wake. 

 He shakes his head. “Spite you?” He repeats. She begins to pace, a hand on her hip, the other rubbing her chin. Anakin follows, exactly like a lost puppy. “I wasn’t— I would never—“

 “Don’t say you’d never,” she turns on him, sticking an accusatory finger in his face. He blinks from it back to her, that ocean in the irises of his eyes raging, lightning cracking in the sinkhole at its center. She drops her hand and it curls at her side, her fists two shaking balls of fury. Blood bites her cheeks and she thinks of all the times she’s imagined speaking with Anakin Skywalker, of being alone with him. 

 This certainly was not how she’d ever imagined the scenario playing out. 

 She inhales. “Don’t say you’d never do anything to spite me while you are actively using me to get over Padmé,” she exhales, braving the stormy sea in his eyes. The tide shifts and his manner does too and she believes she’s already cracked him. She thinks she’s already shattered the illusion he was trying to create, that she’s lifted the wool he’s tried to veil over her eyes.

 She thinks that he believes whatever game he was trying to play was over. 

 Anakin straightens. “You have no idea what you are talking about,” he says and she scoffs, backing away. 

 “Don’t I?” She retorts. “You don’t think I’ve noticed how you’ve always looked at her? How you’ve always loved her?” 

 It brings her great pain to merely mention it. Her palms wipe at her face as tears begin welling in her eyes again, her cheeks warm as she desperately tries to quell the beginnings of a sob that stutters through her chest. She realizes now that by keeping all of these emotions, these feelings she’s harbored for Anakin for so long bottled has made her restless, has made her tick like a time bomb. 

 And her time to detonate has come. 

 He says her name again and tries to step forward, reeling back when she steps away from him. His hand wrapped in a leather glove hovers in the air between them and he drops it with an exasperated sigh. 

 “Your sister means a great deal to me, yes,” he begins. “But it is not—“

 “My sister is the sole reason why you torment me!” She snaps. “And you have no right to use how I feel against me just because she does not love you back.”

 Her words are an arrow meant to strike, to pierce through his chest, his heart her target. Her words are meant to cut deep, to draw blood, to make him bleed just like she has everyday since they met. She thinks they will, she thinks her blows will etch deep, will even leave scars in their wake. Part of her longs to see that pained expression upon his face, just like the one she wears now. 

 But her arrow merely grazes, soaring past until it sinks in the shining waters below. 

 Anakin’s face shifts but it is not in the way she thought it would, not in the way she hoped it would. His brows dip and his eyes swarm with a pained sort of desperation she’s never seen before in someone. She certainly never expected to see it in someone like him. His chest rises and falls with his breaths as he steps forward again. She stands still, unable to move. She is stunned— Anakin Skywalker has surprised her. 

 “Padmé does not love me,” he admits. “I met her when I was only a child. The only girl I’d ever seen before her was my own mother. So, of course, I felt drawn to her.” Her jaw tightens and her lips fall together in a firm, thin line. Anakin’s brows knit closer together and there’s a flicker in his eyes that she swears looks like the predecessor to tears. 

 She doesn’t quite want to believe it. He could not cry. 

 “And I spent a decade pining, a decade praying that I’d one day see her again, a decade hoping she’d been counting down the days until she saw me again, just like I was.”

 She doesn’t believe what she’s hearing. It’s a reflection of her own story, her own foolish pining, her own foolish praying but not hers, but Anakin’s. Her heart stutters in her chest and she forgets to breathe, having to gasp to gather air back into her lungs. 

 She’s never once felt like she could be understood. She’s never once felt like anyone else could experience the inner turmoil she has, the seemingly fruitless yearning she has. 

 But she’s realizing now that that's not true. Not anymore, at least. Everything is changing right before her eyes. 

 “And then I did,” Anakin shakes his head, a humorless laugh leaving his lips. “And I felt nothing. But I tried. I tried to convince myself I loved her. But I just… didn’t.”

 Her brow furrows and Anakin’s gaze darkens as it finds hers. 

 “I spent a decade obsessing over someone I didn’t really know, and how could I? I was a child.” His eyes search hers, searching for something unbeknownst to her. But she lets him. “I didn’t know what love was. All I knew was infatuation. I didn’t know what it meant to truly feel seen, to truly feel drawn to someone.”

 Anakin pauses and she gets the feeling that whatever he says next will be calamitous. 

 “Until I saw you again, that day outside the palace.”

 Her lips tremble and her breath shudders, an icy chill frosting over her skin. To think he’s thought about her everyday since their eyes briefly met in the midst of a crowded courtyard was hard to believe yet, when she looks at Anakin Skywalker now, she sees the softening of his brow, the quiver in his lips, the honesty in his eyes. 

 She’s only ever imagined one look in his eyes. Desire. 

 But she looks at him now and finds an entire galaxy— there’s longing, there’s earnest, there’s optimism, there’s burning. As it turns out, living creatures are not black and white like she initially thought them to be. Anakin Skywalker is a complex creature, made of flesh and blood and of an intricacy she’d never stopped to consider before. 

 He’s even better than she’s imagined he’d be. 

 Every moment spent under the stars, praying that she’d one day have a place among them, that she one day would sit among them with purpose rather than in an ellipsis suddenly begins to feel like it wasn’t all for nothing after all. Every prayer she’s whispered into the night breeze with Anakin Skywalker’s name in it suddenly feels like they begin to matter, like they begin to come true. 

 Still, she is wary, and Anakin seems to recognize this caution. 

 He takes a step closer and he steals the breath from her chest, just like he had the first moment she saw him. Her fingers twitch, itching to find his, her palms tingling with the desire to feel his skin, her lips buzzing with yearning. She does not touch him, she does not kiss him, she does not do anything. She simply waits for the rest of his story to unfold and her brain aches with the hope that it will unravel into hers. 

 “I saw you that day at the palace to find you were already looking at me. That you were already seeing me,” he mutters, a little breathlessly. “It may have been for… for only a moment but when you looked at me, I felt…” he trails off, a furrow in his brow as he searches for the correct word. “…I felt… like something shifted.”

 She watches as he rolls his lips together, watches as the moonlight catches how they glisten with spittle. Her breath catches a little bit, her gaze lingering there, her desire to lap it all up flaring. 

 “It felt like there was a string there between us I’d never noticed before,” he continues. “There was a connection I’d never realized until the moment our eyes met. I felt you, and I felt you see me. There hasn’t been a day that’s passed by since where I didn’t feel you, where I didn’t feel like we were connected, like we were two stars written in the same constellation.”

 Her chest rises and falls to the erratic beating of her heart as Anakin draws nearer, the hand with his glove meeting her cheek with a tenderness she’d felt from no one before. She’d never realized how starved of touch she’s been until now and it feels so invigorating. Her stare drops to his lips and she feels that string Anakin must’ve been talking about, feels it drawing her closer into his mouth. 

 “Padmé does not love me back, and I do not care,” he says in just above a whisper, his voice rising and falling in a way that jellifies her knees, that makes liquid of her insides. “Because I am burning– foolishly, maybe, yes– for you.”

 She inhales sharply and it truly feels like all her prayers are finally being answered, like she’s being inducted into her rightful place in the sea of stars. And in her constellation, Anakin Skywalker resides too. 

 She reaches up with a hand to hold the crook of his elbow that’s strung between them as he brings his other, ungloved hand to rest on her other cheek. She feels his skin on her cheek as the pad of his thumb soothes over the warmth of her flesh and her body quakes with shivers that roll down her spine all the way to her toes. He begins to lean in, his breath hot where it fans against her skin but she tilts backwards, just enough for him to halt, a quirk in one of his brows. 

 “I will not let you settle for me, Anakin Skywalker,” she whispers, admitting that insecurity still lingers, despite his words. Anakin’s eyes narrow as he uses his hands on either sides of her face to draw her in, his lips but a mere whisper away from hers when he murmurs, “settle? This is not settling. This is binding.”

 Then, his lips are on hers in an electrifying bind that shatters her spine with cracks of lightning and she falls into him, her hands on either of his forearms to keep herself steady. 

 Anakin kisses her with an ardor she could never even dream up in all of her wildest of fantasies. He kisses her and she feels like she finally fits in her dress, as it is the color of fire and she’s engulfed in flames. He kisses her and he is the flame that lights her candle, the flame that melts her from the center, that makes heat course through her that washes all the way down to her toes. He kisses her and she is melting, right into him. 

 His tongue pirouettes over hers and she hums into his mouth, feeling his fingers thread through her hair. Her heart is pounding and her lips are buzzing but all she feels is Anakin, she feels the muscles in his arms, the warmth that radiates off his body and spills into her. She feels the push and pull of the passion, the yearning he’s kept inside all this time. She feels her own longing and fervor pour into him and they are floating, two clouds that collide into one another to become one. 

 Anakin steps forward and steps backwards until she hits a wall. When they pull away for breath, she realizes he’s backed her into one of the pillars, a vine caught in the hair on the back of her head. Their chests heave with the weight of their breaths and she watches as Anakin’s hand, not the gloved one, but the one with skin rises, following it as it reaches for her neck. She shudders when he touches her collarbone, exposed from the side of the fiery satin of her dress. His fingertips sear her skin as it drags to the neck of her dress, following the satin where it wraps around her throat, all the way to the back of her neck where the lace falls. 

 Her breath catches when his fingers find the small strings keeping her dress together. Her gaze finds his again to find he’s already staring, a narrow, earnest look upon his face that darkens his eyes and hardens his features. There is a silent question that hangs in the air between them: “do you want to stop?”

 Maybe they’re moving too fast. Maybe this is crazy, maybe they’re simply caught up in the moment, high off the feeling of burning for someone who burns for them too. But after years of pining, of waiting, of praying, it only feels right. 

 But still, she asks, “what if someone sees? Someone like Obi-Wan who can get you in trouble?”

 Anakin shakes his head, “they won’t. Now, I don’t want to talk about Obi-Wan. Do you want to stop?”

 The shake of her head is all Anakin needs to see before he unlaces the strings holding her dress together, the satin falling like a spark blazing down the frayed edges of a rope until it pools at her elbows. Her breasts spill from the dress and the night’s ghostly whisper chills her skin, peaking her nipples. 

 Anakin’s eyes devour and she is prey. 

 His stare pierces through her skin to the marrow of her bones that catch a chill and she quakes. He meets her eyes again as his hands drift lower, dipping until they finally find her chest. A sharp gasp escapes when his palms cup either of her breasts and she arches into his touch, already aching for more. 

 “Anakin!” She gasps in a breathy exclaim when he dips his chin to press a kiss over the top of one of her breasts, heat blossoming in his lips’ wake. His eyes catch her again, a little warily. “Is this okay?” He asks, his voice low and gravely, scratching the itch in her brain she didn’t even know she had. It makes her knees feel weak and if it hadn’t been for his body pressed up against hers, she would’ve crumpled straight to the ground. 

 “Yes,” she breathes, chest heaving into his palms. “I’m sorry, I’ve just… never…”

 Anakin’s lips curve and she can see a flash of white peek between them. He shakes his head. “Me neither,” he admits with a breathy laugh and she titters too, grateful for the fact that she’s not the only one who’s a little green. 

 “Can I keep going?” He questions and his voice is liquid desire, melting straight down to her core. She swallows the lump that’s formed in her throat, nodding. “Please,” she adds, feeling her heart beat straight into his palm. 

 Anakin’s head dips again and she watches, cheeks warm as he places an open-mouthed kiss just above her nipple. His palm kneads the other breast as his lips venture just an inch lower, finding the peaked bud that awaits, suckling it into his mouth. 

 It’s like electricity flooding through her veins. 

 She throws her head back, lips falling agape as her eyelids snap closed, soaking in the pleasure of Anakin’s lips on her nipple. He cautiously flicks his tongue against the bud, watching through his lids as a moan falls from her lips, encouraging him to do it again. He flattens his tongue against her nipple and licks a long, fat stripe from the underside of it up, feeling her tremble in his arms. He lets go of her breast with a wet pop, trailing kisses through the valley between them to make his way to the other. 

 Touching him, feeling him, kissing him is somehow even better than she’d ever imagined, even after all those years of dreaming for moments like this. She can’t believe she’s gone so long without feeling him like this, she doesn’t think she can ever stop touching him. 

 Anakin suckles on her breast, flicking his tongue against her nipple as his hand not wrapped in a glove ventures down her body, past her waist, down her hip. He pulls the satin material of her dress up until his arm can sneak his way beneath it and she shivers when his fingers find her center over her underwear. Her nails dig into his sleeves above his shoulders, holding her breath as he finds the wet spot in her underwear, gently pressing against it. 

 Her hands tighten on his shoulders and ceases all movement, peering up at her. “You’re wet,” he says rather matter-of-factly because of course she is, how could she not be? She nods down at him, swallowing thick layers of saliva down her throat. “Can I touch you here?” He asks and his voice drops to that silky, velvety tone that makes her core ache. She presses her lips together to stifle her groan, head vigorously nodding up and down. 

 “Gods yes, Anakin,” she moans, slowly rocking her hips against his finger. “Please.”

 She feels filthy in a way for asking, for needing friction so desperately. She’s only ever taken her own fingers when she’s too lost in pleasure at night to sleep, never been touched by anyone else but it’s all she craves now, for Anakin’s fingers to touch her, for him— whatever part it may be— to be inside her. 

 A flame had been ignited in the pit of her belly long ago, back when Anakin first stepped through the door the day they met. It’s sat stagnant for too long, waiting for its moment to further bloom and now it has. It blossomed when her eyes met Anakin’s that day in the courtyard but it’s now in full bloom, now that they burn together, now that his kisses have seared her skin, now that his fingers are pulling her underwear down her thighs, just enough that he can reach her center. 

 When his fingertips brush her clit, she bursts. 

 Anakin’s arm wraps around her waist as she practically collapses into him, his middle finger drawing circles against her clit, his breath hot as his lips rest on her brow. 

 “Is this good?” He asks against her forehead. “Do you feel good?” He questions again as he adds his forefinger to the mix, applying just a little more pressure and it makes her eyes roll. 

 “Yes, just… just don’t stop,” she exhales, feeling her stomach twist itself into a knot, his fingers against her clit threatening to pull it undone any moment. 

 So he doesn’t. 

 He’s unrelenting in the way his fingers press to the aching bud in her center, tracing tight circles until her eyes squeeze closed so hard, milky-ways shimmer behind her lids. He dares venture lower, gathering her slick on the pads of his fingers as he teases near her entrance. It’s a foreign and strange feeling, it’s a pattern she’s traced many times with her own fingers but never been touched by someone else. Even in spite of how many nights she spent trekking that path wishing it was Anakin’s fingers instead, but it’s still strange feeling him there now. 

 She clutches his arm tighter and he slows, beginning to retract his hand. She stops him, lifting her head until their eyes meet again. 

 “No,” she pants, shaking her head. “Don’t stop, just… just take it slow.”

 He nods, his finger a little unsure as it circles her entrance, unintentionally teasing until she begins to crack. She’s panting, trying to wiggle her hips so that she can draw his fingers in, seeking that feeling of being full. Anakin dips his forefinger into her hole and she tosses her head back, her lips parting for an “oh” to emit. 

 He watches her face, even if she can’t see it, she can feel his gaze behind her closed lids. He is testing the waters, learning what makes her moan, what makes her squirm, what makes her come. Slowly, he sinks his finger further in and she feels every single millimeter that drags along her walls until he’s knuckle deep. Her legs feel like jelly and her knees begin to wobble, nails clinging to his sleeves like they were her lifeline. 

 Pressure builds in the pit of her belly as Anakin carefully retracts his finger, just to sink it back in again, a slow, cautious rhythm that leaves her mind spinning. His fingers are so much bigger than hers and she already feels so stuffed despite it only being one finger. Somehow, it’s too much and not enough at the same time. 

 “Ana… Anakin,” she gasps, peeling open her lids to find he’s already looking. His finger slows but picks up its pace again when he realizes she’s not in any pain. “Another.”

 His brow dips and his head tilts in confusion, uncertain what she means. She gathers moisture on her lips, trying to speak through the pleasure-driven haze in her mind. 

 “Another finger. Please.”

 Their eyes lock and there’s a flicker in his, a hint of doubt. 

 “Are you su—“

 “Please.”

 So, Anakin gathers her lips with his and she mewls into his mouth when he presses his middle against his pointer, sinking them into her cunt until they reach as far as they can. She’s trembling against him but he keeps her upright, with his arm and with his lips. 

 Just one of Anakin’s fingers had made her feel stuffed but two of his fingers made her feel full to the brim. Her walls clench around his fingers and she gasps his name like the beginning of a prayer, pleading for more. 

 It’s a twist on the prayers she recites to the Maker every night. It’s rewriting her every broken hymn, transforming it into something entirely new. She moans Anakin’s name and his fingers turn it into a song so that she cries like a dove into the night. The Maker may have left her feeling broken, wasted, unimportant but Anakin has found her, patched her up, polished her until she’s brand new. 

 The tangle in her belly begins to rupture, slowly unraveling and so she pushes his arm away, his fingers sliding out of her cunt, her walls pulsing with the loss. They both pant and Anakin’s face hardens in question as his chest heaves. 

 “What is it?” He asks, searching her face. 

 She gathers air deep in her chest. “I want…” She trails off, her embarrassment washing over her cheeks in blood. Her gaze drops and Anakin tilts his head to find it again, their eyes locked. He says nothing, only the nod of his head encourages her to continue. “…I want more. I want… I want you to…”

 She purses her lips in frustration. For heaven’s sake, she’s talking to the man who just had his fingers inside of her mere moments ago. Why does she feel embarrassed now?

 She takes another deep breath, mustering the courage to tell what she truly wants. “…I want you to feel good too.”

 Something shifts in Anakin’s eyes. It could be easily mistaken as a trick of the light but she sees it, she feels it. Anakin is burning just the same as her, his pupils becoming a backdrop behind the fires of desire, and she burns within it. 

 She watches as Anakin’s hand sinks below the belt around his middle, all the way down to the waistband of his trousers beneath his dark tunic. She watches with her breath lodged at the base of her throat as he pulls down his pants, just enough for his cock to be set free and oh, it is just like her dreams but even better. 

 Nothing could have ever prepared her for the sight of Anakin Skywalker’s cock. Not even the wildest of her dreams could ever capture the essence of the art of Anakin Skywalker. He is handcrafted by the gods themselves— he is the physical embodiment of masterpiece. 

 He steps forward and towers over her, his breath like smoke rolling over her face. She peers up at him, her chest heaving with the effort of breathing. His hands find either side of her face and she stops breathing altogether, wondering what he will do next. 

 Then, “put your arms here,” he whispers, guiding her arms over his shoulder. “And hold on.”

 She squeals when he drops his hands to the undersides of her thighs, lifting her off the ground so that her ankles lock behind his back. Her arms tighten around his neck as he presses her back against the pillar, his chest pressed into hers. She can feel his length as it’s squeezed between either of their bodies and her walls clench around nothing, practically sobbing to feel him inside. 

 For a moment, the world stills around them and it’s like when she sees him in the audience during Padmé’s wedding. The night stirs and blurs until it’s dark watercolor, but Anakin is what she sees in high resolution. It’s the perfect mirage— she and Anakin feel like two stars in the middle of the black abyss above, forming their own little constellation. 

 And when Anakin finally slides himself inside of her, she feels like her place in the sea of stars has been cemented. She finally feels like she’s where she belongs.

a/n; SO! MY LONGEST IMAGINE YET.... may or may not have gotten a bit carried away (more like a little too wordy...) BUT! i really hope some of you enjoy and i truly appreciate anyone who reads this all the way through. i know 10k words is a lot 😭 also i hope this doesn’t seem too insta-lovey… this idea just came to me in a dream so i wrote what I dreamt lol

💫 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it means the world to me 🫶

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@your-nanas-house

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[happilyhertale]

Tempting the Dragon - Baelor Targaryen x niece!reader

Summary: Baelor Targaryen is a man of order, propriety, and measured words. You, unfortunately, are not. Baelor prides himself on discipline. On honor. On never giving the realm cause to whisper. But you are young, alive with mischief, forever coaxing your husband toward dangers far sweeter than any battlefield.

But in his own study, beneath the fading light, he discovers that temptation wears your smile — and that what he calls impropriety is something he secretly aches to surrender to.

So, Dragons may face war and temptation without flinching — but they are far less equipped for impeccable brotherly timing.

Pairing: Baelor Targaryen x niece!reader

Warnings: NSFW, Fingering, Sex (p in v)

Author’s note: As requested, this is pure smut fic – I hope you enjoy it! English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 2.6 k

Other stories of mine

The parchment beneath you crumples, sliding under his hand as he steadies you, one arm braced beside you, the other at your waist. The candles tremble in their holders from the hard movements, their light flickering across his face.

Your fingers curl into the fabric at his shoulders, holding him as much as he holds you. The hand badge presses lightly into your palm, but you ignore it as you try to slide closer to him. He grabs your hips, his palm flat against your lower back, not even needing to guide you as you move, because you know exactly what to do — you know how to roll your hips against him in agonising circles to please you both.

The study smells of wax, ink, old paper, and sex, almost familiar and almost orderly — everything he is. Books lie open beside you, a half-written letter abandoned where his quill rests across it. He must have been working only moments ago, but you don’t care.

Your moans echo through his study as he thrusts particularly deeply, punching the air from your lungs. You feel your walls flutter and a whimper follows. He growls, his hands slide up your thighs, digging into your flesh and leaving small crescent shaped marks, as firm as his grip on you. You take him deep, over and over again, and he moans with pleasure — taking him out, only to swallow him up and get his cock sucked right back in.

With every roll of your hips, you meet his thrusts and elicit broken sounds from him now — not a moan, it sounds more like a growl. Rough and unrestrained. His cock twitches violently inside you every time you roll your hips.

His hands tightens low at your back, grabbing you and suddenly you can’t move. A squeal escapes you as he holds you tight and just pounds into you.

His name leaves you, but whatever words were meant to follow vanish when he kisses you. You just cling to him for dear life.

It is not the gentle affection he offers in quiet corridors or behind watchful eyes. A battle for dominance breaks out — a battle you're happy to lose as your tongues dance wildly. His grip firms at your bottom, pulling you flush against him.

The ink bottles clink together due to the roughness of his violent thrusts, causing the desk to rattle. Somewhere behind you a book slips and falls shut with a dull sound. He does not seem to hear it.

For once, Baelor Targaryen is not thinking. He is fucking.

Your legs tremble uselessly around his waist, but your feet still dig into the flesh of his arse every time he's balls deep inside you.

Baelor growls, his hips won't stop, he only moves more violently to feel you fluttering around him. His thick cockhead kisses your cervix every time he slams into you — the slight sting it causes makes you whimper, but you want more.

"Look at you... taking every inch like the good wife you are," he growls in your ear and you moan. Your arms around his neck tighten, pulling him closer to you. Your fingers slide into his short dark hair and you grab hold of it. Your body trembles, your cunt so wet around his shaft that slick noises fill the room, along with the sound of skin slapping against skin. You feel the desk move beneath you with every powerful thrust.

"Baelor... Baelor... I... I am..." you begin, but it ends in a scream as he pounds deeper inside you. And that’s it. You feel that pressure in your lower abdomen and suddenly it snaps. Your walls clench hard around his length, milking him as you drench his cock with your wetness. You press your face into the crook of his neck to stifle your moans. Baelor groans as he feels your walls massage his already throbbing cock.

"Gods," he groans, following you right after. He spills his seed deep inside you, painting your walls white. Flooding you with his seed, so much that it leaks out around his base, even while he’s still pulsing inside you. His slow grinding movements push every drop of his seed deeper, ensuring it stays where it belongs.

“You should visit my study more often,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice still unsteady. The admission draws a quiet laugh from you.

For a moment he simply keeps his arms around you, reluctant to move, as though breaking the stillness might also break whatever fragile peace has settled over him. Your breath is warm at his throat, slower now but not yet calm while your walls still fluttering around him. He presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head before, with visible reluctance, letting you go. Slowly, he pulls his cock out of you, causing you to whimper softly as he grunts slightly at the sudden loss.

Baelor sits back down into his chair and leans back, exhaling deeply, one hand lingering at his temple as he tries to collect himself.

You watch him with an unabashed smile, bracing yourself on your hands as you catch your own breath. There is something endearingly human in the sight as he slowly tucks his cock back into his trousers —  the composed prince momentarily gone, replaced by a man flushed and disarmed. His dark beard… a few strands of silver catching the light, and for once he looks entirely unsure what to do next.

But you already have an idea.

Baelor remains where he is for a moment, elbows on his knees now, trying to gather something resembling composure. The chamber feels warmer than it has any right to, and somehow he likes that very much.

He hears soft footsteps across the rushes. When he looks up, you have already crossed the room, fingers trailing lightly along the edge of his writing table as though you are inspecting it for flaws. There is a certain brightness in your expression that immediately reignites his desires.

“My lady,” Baelor says gently, rising at once, “I believe we have tested impropriety sufficiently for one evening.” But a smile twitches at his lips.

You turn toward the window rather than him, pushing the shutters open just enough to let in the evening air. Moonlight slips into the room, catching the silver in your hair, and you glance back over your shoulder with unmistakable mischief.

“It is only air, husband,” you say lightly.

Baelor stops a few steps behind you. “It is a window,” he corrects, already lowering his voice despite the corridor beyond being empty. The dark growl in his voice makes your cunt clench around nothing.  “Windows imply visibility. Visibility invites witnesses.”

Your smile widens.

Before he can decide whether dignity requires retreat or intervention, you settle casually against the sill, entirely too at ease with a risk he can already feel unfolding.

“So you believe this is wise?” he asks, his voice low, almost too calm for the question.

You do not answer at once. He comes closer, step by step, and you feel your resolve falter long before he actually reaches you. Your thighs press together slightly, almost involuntarily... You manage a small nod, unable to look anywhere but at him.

"The heir to the throne, fucking his wife at the window?" he growls, and the vulgarity of his words only makes the throbbing between your thighs worse.

When he stands before you, he lifts your chin lightly with one finger, not enough to force, only enough that you cannot lower your gaze.

“Yes?” he asks again, softer now.

You start to rise, wanting to kiss him, but he gives the faintest shake of his head — a quiet refusal rather than a command.

“No,” he murmurs. “You wished to be bold a moment ago.”

His hands settle carefully at your waist, steady and certain. With unhurried patience he turns you toward the window, guiding rather than pushing.

You brace yourself against the windowsill as you feel him press up against you from behind. His hands are still on your hips, pulling your skirt up slightly. You can't help it, but a soft moan escapes you as you press yourself against him and feel his already hard arousal again, followed by an almost immediate growl from him as his fingers slide along the inside of your thighs.

This sign is understood immediately by him, without any need for further words, as soon as you press the soft curves of you bottom against his fingers. Your folds are explored by his fingers, who hesitate not. You moan — the sight in front of you is suddenly completely forgotten.

Baelor moves his fingers up and down, spreading your wetness and the remains of his seed along your folds. Your legs spread further as he teases your sensitive pearl, coaxing out even more of your sweet juice.

"Baelor," you whimper, and he just chuckles in your ear before nibbling lightly on your earlobe. The faint rasp of his beard against your neck sends a shiver down your spine, leaving a warmth low between your thighs that makes you long for the feeling of his beard there.

His fingers slide upwards until they tease your opening. Your walls literally suck him in as he slowly presses his fingers against your entrance, and the resulting squelching sound is obscene… so obscene… but you can't help but moan again.

His fingers slide deeper, slowly sliding in and out, while he teases, "Sssh, sweet wife… someone might hear you”. You whimper as his fingers move faster while his palm slaps against your folds.

You want to say something back, something cheeky. But every word feels like it's stuck in your throat as he adds another finger. The following stretch feels incredible, making you forget everything else. At this moment, nothing could surpass the feeling you are experiencing… except for the feeling you would get if his cock were deep inside you. Then, you sense movement behind you. Other movements, unrelated to his fingers deep inside you.

With his free hand, he pulls his trousers back down, almost with the same urgency as before when you sat down on his desk.

His cock is already semi erect again, but as soon as he slides the tip of his cock through your folds, that quickly changes. He pulls his fingers out, causing you to whimper in protest. Your wetness soaks his shaft as he slides it up and down, and he growls repeatedly. His hand grabs your hips, draws you back until your soft curves are pressed firmly against him, his already hard and throbbing cock slides once, twice between your cheecks, smearing precum before it nudges your entrance.

As he looks down and sees your folds spreading around his cockhead, he briefly holds his breath. Slowly, he pushes his hips forward, and you moan as he spreads you further, inch by inch. This pleasurable stretching that you can't get enough of.

Initially, he progresses at a leisurely pace, relishing the way your walls tighten around him before gradually easing back. Moans and growls are uttered by him — during your intimate moments, not much is said by him, but his grunts and growls are never ambiguous.

His fingers dig into your hips as he begins to thrust harder and faster, moving you with his hands. You cry out, not caring who might hear you. Baelor looks up, his labored breathing brushing your neck as his hand suddenly slides up and gently grips your throat. Your throat bobs against his palm and you gasp slightly, but you can't deny that your walls are now clenching even more tightly around his length.

He pants into your neck as he feeds you more and more, his body trembling with exertion. Each time his hips thrust forward, your cunt makes sticky sounds, and you can feel the drag of every vein against your inner walls. Your walls flutter as if you're trying to spit him out, but at the same time it pulls him deeper inside you. A slight cry follows as his hips thrust faster and his voice rumbles.

"You wanted to enjoy the view, didn't you? Well, how do you like it, my sweet wife?", he taunts breathlessly in your ear. Your hand reaches up and clings to his forearm — not because you want him to let go of your throat, but because you're seeking something to hold on to.

"Baelor," you whimper, unable to form coherent sentences as he thrusts deep inside you — your cunt pulses around him as you drip onto the hairy base of his cock. He utters a soft curse as your walls milk him, and he buries his face in your neck, his teeth sinking into the soft skin there — without breaking it, just to mark his wife — as he grinds deeply, circling his hips so that his balls grind against your clit as you press back against him.

You feel the pressure in your abdomen again — only more intense than before. You're close. So close. Your vision blurs at the edges, and each breath becomes shallow, as if his hand on your throat is controlling it. Slick gushes out with every pull back, coating his balls, dripping down your thighs in sticky rivulets. The squelching grows louder; your cunt begins to twitch as if it wants to suck him in for good.

Another growl sounds behind you as Baelor feels your walls begin to flutter uncontrollably. He doesn't let up, his hips thrusting forward and thrusting deeper into you as you desperately try to keep your balance. His free hand slides around your body to support you and tease your sensitive pearl with maddening circles while his cock punishes your walls.

You cry out again, the pressure becoming unbearable — until it becomes too much to bear and your head simply falls back against his shoulder. Your walls flutter and your juices soak his cock again as he growls into your neck.

But then the door to his study suddenly opens.

Before you can react, you hear your father's voice and a gasp escapes you, while you freeze. You glance over Baelor's shoulder and see your father standing there, your eyes wide in shock.

"Baelor, I've been thinking about it and..." he mutters but pauses when he takes in the ‘situation’. You and Baelor... at the window? Until he sees his brother's arse.

"Oh, seven fucking hells, will I never be spared anything?!" he suddenly exclaims. Baelor pulls you close at once, covering you with protective instinct rather than thought. Only then does he look back himself.

"Father..." you begin in a breathless and fragile voice, but Baelor's voice is louder.

"Maekar, I’ll talk to you later," says Baelor, also breathless. But Maekar has already turned away and is making his escape. After your father leaves Baelor’s study, there is silence... until you let out a breathless laugh. Baelor can’t quite suppress a grin but shakes his head.

"The things you always tempt me to do," he whispers, kissing your neck. Slowly, he pulls his still hard cock out of you and you gasp for air.

"What are you doing? You didn't come?" you whisper breathlessly. Baelor stands there, gently stroking his cock up and down, with precum dripping slowly from its tip, as he pants lightly.

"Yes, I don't think that's going to happen now," he murmurs. Before he has finished speaking, you turn to him and pull your skirt down. Looking up at him, you see his dark eyes meet yours. You just smile, which makes him raise his eyebrows slightly.

"Well, as a good wife, I can't let that happen," you say in your teasing tone before kneeling down. He looks down at you and the half smile you love so much graces his lips. You don't hesitate and wrap your fingers around his entire length before your lips follow and envelop his cockhead, while his hand slides into your silver hair. The precum tastes salty on your tongue as you take him deeper into your mouth, moaning as you try to take him all the way in.

Likes, comments, and reblogs are very welcome and support your fanfic writers 🖤

[gabrielevelaryon]

Imagine having make up sex with Thorin

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Hate, Love or Desire?

Draco Malfoy x F!Reader

Warning: smut 18+

You hate him. He is the hottest guy you have ever seen, but you hate him. He has been bullying your friends since first year. He is arrogant and always run to his dad when he is angry.

Draco Lucius Malfoy. Curiously though, he has never once been mean to you. Only to the golden trio. You've always wonder why, but you still dislike him.

You are now in 6th year. Almost finish with school. Then you won't see Draco ever again. Thinking about it makes you feel conflicted.

Boarding the train to go to Hogwart, you find an empty cabin and step inside. You put your stuff over the seat then sit down. You don't want to see your friend yet, you are thinking too much about a certain slytherin boy.

You are a bit embarassed to admit thah you dream of him a lot since last year. And they are not innocent dreams. Your friends can't know about it. These fantasies are your darkest secret.

It get worse when you see Draco in the train. He has grown up very well and the black suit he wears makes him look hot. You need to control yourself. You hide into your cabin when he turns around and makes eye contact with you.

You lock the door with a spell and close the curtain. Once you're sure to be alone, you lay down on the seat and slide a hand between your legs under your skirt.

You blush as you feel how wet you are just by seeing Draco. You start playing with yourself, moaning softly. You imagine it's Draco's hand instead of yours. Anothe moan leaves your mouth and you feel your climax approaching.

You move your hand faster against your clit sighing Draco's name as you come hard. White pleasure blind your vision as your back arch. You are breathing fast, slowly coming back to reality. That's when you hear someone clearing their troat.

Your eyes opens in panic and when you see who the person is, you wish to disappear in another country.

-How did you get in there Draco? I locked the door. you say hurrying to sit up and put your clothes back in place.

-I was passing by when I heard my name. I was curious when I saw the curtain closed. A simple aloomora and the door is unlocked. I never thought I would see such a beautiful sight. says Draco locking the door again behind him.

He sits down on the seat in front of you and you can clearly see that he is hard. You blush. Now how can you pretend to still hate him?

-You know I don't hate you right? In fact, I find you very beautiful and didn't know how to catch your attention other than by mean to your friends. admits Draco.

You are surprise. So he was mean to Harry because he likes you? That's a bit fucked up, but at least you know your attraction is not one sided. You feel less bad about not really hating him now.

-So what do we do now? you ask.

-Well right now I really want to fuck you here. Especially because of what I just saw...

Your thighs clench together at his darken tone and darker eyes.

-I...I would like that too. But what if someone comes in? You were able to enter even if I had locked the door. you say a bit worried.

-Don't worry darling. I know a much stronger spell. We're not going to be disturbed until we arrive at school. replies Draco with a smirk.

You believe him. After all, he was always good in Charm's classes. You were indeed not disturbed and by the time you arrive at school, you both are a mess. It was so much better than your imagination.

You both get dressed.

-So...what happens now? you ask shyly.

-Well...if you want, you can be my girlfriend. I don't think I can spend another year without being close to you. replies Draco with a small blush.

-I would love that Draco, but only if you promise that you will not bully Harry and his friends again. you say wrapping your arms around his neck.

-I promise. Although don't ask me to be friend with them. It's too much for me. he says with his arms around you.

You laugh and kiss him. When you leave the train with your hand in his hand, everyone stares at the both of you. Especially Harry, Ron and Hermione. They look shocked.

You wave at them and follow Draco. It's going to be a long and interesting year.

A/N: hello sorry for the long absence of posting story I wasn't feeling creative and didn't had the time :( but for now I had this idea with my favorite Harry Potter character :) I love Draco and I hope you guys will love this xx

[gabrielevelaryon]

My race winner 🩵

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I'm so in love with these (the girl is me) and wish they were real 😭♥️

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Imagine riding Optimus's face

[gabrielevelaryon]

George looks so good in a suit in general but in this one in particular he looks hot 😍🔥