Hi there! I'm Lattae (A pen name hehe), 22 year old, business student, writer, editor and literally obsessed with Jacaerys ever since I discovered HOTD.
I use she/her pronouns however this blog is a safe space for everyone! No hate, just good vibes.
I currently only write for Jace! But I’m open to discussing other characters as well.
My other blog: @strawberryjimin13
Requests: currently CLOSED! 💌✨ (completing pending requests 🥹)
To be added to the taglist, just let me know via comments or inbox messages :)
HIII omg im such a big jace fan (yes im still mourning him #sad) and it’s such a pain to find fics for him :') i fear there's a shortage lately but i just recently discovered ur other fics (i’ve read the one with yn in a really hot dress like weeks ago but never realised it was u) AND U ARE A GODSEND LIKE ACTUALLYYYYY thank u so much for feeding the jace community!!! i hope u are doing sososo good as well <3333
AHHH THANK YOU NONNIE!! 🥹🫶 And I totally get you! Finding Jace fics is SO hard because trust me, even the AO3 tags are practically empty 🥹🥹
There’s that saying, “be the change you want to see in the world,” and trust me, I needed to stand up and start feeding myself AND everyone else with my fics Hehehe 👩🏻🦯
I spend the majority of my free time, when I’m not busy with uni or internships, basically just daydreaming about the weirdest and most random scenarios imaginable. 😭 And honestly, I’m not complaining because that’s where half of my fic ideas come from. 💀
I will continue to keep our perfect prince alive, even if it has to be through modern AUs 🥴
omg i just went tubing and thought of this - okay modern!jace and the family are camping at a camp ground and go swimming. jace and reader have their own camper (the family has their campers all together in a cute little area together) and reader wants jace to put sunscreen all over her body. so they go in the trailer and she take her top off so he can really get it all over and he’s so distracted looking at her boobs and she’s like “eyes up here”😜😭😭 and he just keeps getting distracted. and maybe she’s like fine i’ll just do it! and he’s like no no no, can’t i just admire my girlfriend? i’m sorry this is such a long request but my god is it adorable. also LUKE IS ALIVE HERE. EVERYONE LOVES EACHOTHER 🤧🤧 i love your writing genuinely so bad. you do such an amazing job and i might cry if you write this!!!
This is so swimming pool fic coded-&/!:8,&,&
Now, I know this will be like my second time teasing yall with the suggestive content that edges you but its lowkey fun-&/!,8,&,
I know its shorter than what I usually write but hopefully you like it!! 🫂
There is a scene inspired by this pic in here, do what you will with this info. 🥴🥴
Enjoyy~~
The camper smelled like coconut sunscreen and the coffee you'd forgotten to finish that morning, still sitting in a paper cup by the sink. Outside, someone was laughing, Joffrey probably, that sharp bark he did when Luke got him in the ribs. The screen door rattled every time the wind came off the water.
You climbed the two little steps up into your trailer and let the door slap shut behind you. "Jace. Come here a second."
He was already inside, digging through the cooler for a beer he wasn't going to drink yet. Navy swim trunks, no shirt, hair still damp from the quick dunk he'd taken with Luke twenty minutes ago. A towel hung around his neck. He straightened up when he heard you.
"What's up?"
"Sunscreen." You held up the bottle. Banana Boat, the thick white kind his mom always bought in bulk for these occasions. "I can't reach my back and I don't want to ask Baela again, she got it in my hair last time."
"Yeah. Yeah, okay."
You turned around, then paused. Reached back and untied the string of your bikini top at your neck, then the one across your back. Let it fall onto the little laminate table by the window.
"Full coverage," you said, glancing at him over your shoulder. "I burned so bad last year, remember?"
Jace made a sound that wasn't really a word.
You turned to face him because you needed the front done too, and his eyes went exactly where you knew they were going to go. Straight down. He didn't even pretend.
"Jace."
"Yep."
"Sunscreen."
"Yep. Doing it." He squeezed too much into his palm. It made a wet farting sound and he didn't laugh, which meant he was really out of it. He stepped closer and put his hands on your shoulders first, working the lotion in slow, thumbs moving along your collarbones. That part was fine. Then his hands slid down and he just…stopped and started staring.
"Hey." You snapped your fingers lightly near his chin. "Eyes up here."
"Sorry. Sorry." He dragged his gaze up. His ears were pink. He got another pump of sunscreen and rubbed it across your sternum, careful, and then his eyes dropped again the second his hands got close to anything interesting.
"Jace."
"I'm looking at your face."
"You're looking at my chest."
"IT’S RIGHT THERE. I’m just doing what you asked of me."
You snorted. He was smiling now, that lopsided one where the left side went higher than the right, but his hands had gone still again, cupped around your ribs.
"I'm serious," you said, though there was a flush climbing your own cheeks now. "You can't just stare at my tits all day. We're supposed to be swimming with your family. Remember them?"
"Can I not just admire my girlfriend for a second?" He set the bottle on the counter and put both hands on your waist and looked at you properly, really looked at you, and his face did the thing it did sometimes where all the joking dropped out of it. "Two years in, I still think I'm getting away with something. Let me have this."
"Oh my god."
"I'm serious."
"You're ridiculous."
"Both can be true." He leaned down and kissed the top of your shoulder, then the side of your neck, and you felt him smile against your skin. "I'm gonna finish. I promise. Just- hold on."
You sighed, but your hand had already come up to the back of his head, fingers twisting into the wet curls at his nape. Outside, a car door slammed. Rhaenyra's voice, calling something about hot dogs and did anyone bring the long lighter. Water dripped from Jace's hair onto your collarbone and ran down between your breasts, and he tracked it with his eyes like it was the most important thing that had happened all summer.
"Eyes up," you said again, softer this time.
"In a minute."
"Jacaerys."
"One minute." He picked the bottle back up. "Turn around. I'll do your back. I'll behave."
You turned. His hands were warm and slippery as he started working across your shoulders, slow, thumbs pressing down along either side of your spine, then over each shoulder blade, then lower. He rubbed some into the small of your back and you thought that was it, thought he'd tie your top back on and you'd both go be normal people at a family campground.
Instead his hands slid around your ribs and forward, and he cupped your breasts from behind. Both of them. Held them, gentle, his palms still slick with lotion, covering you completely.
You gasped, caught off guard by how it felt, somehow, even though you'd done far more than this. Something about standing half naked in the middle of the afternoon while his whole family sat thirty feet away eating chips and arguing about tubing. Your heart was suddenly going way too fast.
"Jace-"
"Mm." His mouth found the spot behind your ear. One slow kiss, then another, trailing down toward your jaw. His teeth dragged lightly over your skin and goosebumps rose everywhere, even places he hadn't touched. He squeezed, gently, testing the weight of you in his hands, and your breath hitched into something embarrassingly close to a whimper.
"You said you'd behave," you managed.
"I lied." He pulled you back against him, hips pressing into you, and you could feel exactly how much he'd lied. He rocked into you once, slow, deliberate, his mouth still working down the side of your neck.
That was when you saw the mirror. The little one mounted above the kitchenette, and in it, you. Cheeks flushed, mouth open, eyes half-lidded. Jace's hands full of you, his chin hooked over your shoulder, water still dripping from his curls onto your chest. Smeared sunscreen everywhere. Neither of you caring.
He saw you looking, his eyes met yours in the glass and he grinned, slow, and squeezed again, harder this time, lifting slightly, and your back arched into him before you could stop it, a sound coming out of you that you'd have denied under oath.
"Jace, we can't-"
"Camper door is locked."
"Your entire family is-"
Footsteps. Fast ones, crunching gravel, coming straight for the door.
"JACE. MOM SAID TEN MINUTES AGO. WE'RE GOING BACK IN THE-"
The fist hit the side of the camper like a gunshot and you flew apart. Actually flew, Jace practically vaulted the two feet to the counter, grabbing his towel and holding it in front of himself like that was a normal way to stand, and you snatched your bikini top off the table with shaking hands.
"YEAH," Jace yelled, voice cracking on it. "YEAH. TWO SECONDS."
"THAT'S WHAT YOU SAID BEFORE."
"LUCERYS. GO. AWAY."
"RUDE."
Footsteps thumped back off toward the picnic table. You stood there, top clutched to your chest, both of you red-faced and breathing hard, staring at each other across four feet of laminate flooring.
Then you started laughing. You couldn't help it, one hand pressed over your mouth, shoulders shaking and a second later he broke too, dragging a hand down his face.
"Come here," he said. "Turn around, I'll tie it."
His fingers fumbled with the strings behind your neck, standing so close you could feel the heat still coming off his chest, both of you working fast now. He tied the second string. You grabbed his shirt off the bench and threw it at him. He pulled it over his head while you found your sunglasses on the counter, and by the time he pushed the screen door open you almost looked like two people who had just been applying sunscreen and nothing more.
The heat hit you both at once, pine needles baking in the sun, charcoal from the grill Rhaenyra was working on, the muddy freshwater smell of the lake. Rhaenyra waved from the picnic table. Leanor was doing something complicated with a folding chair. Luke was already halfway to the dock, dragging an inner tube and yelling for Joff to hurry up.
Jace's hand found yours as you came down the steps.
"Later," he said, low, just for you. "When Luke's asleep."
"Deal."
"You missed a spot, by the way," you said, as you hit the grass.
"Where."
"Not telling."
"That's- you can't do that to me."
"Figure it out."
He was still trying to figure it out an hour later, floating next to you on the tubes, squinting at your shoulders like the answer was written there as you weren’t just messing with him.
i decided not to watch the third season of HOTD but, of course i still found out about —nearly— everything that happened on this season... and man, i don’t think i will ever get over the death of jace and now helaena’s death made me feel sad af too 😔
wbu girlie???? have you managed to get over the death of your husband at least a little or does the grief remain? i don’t think all this pain will be easy to manage let me tell you im still SUFFERING. 😭 thank god we have fanfic am i right,, because i don’t like at all how canon is treating us tbh
You and me, friend. 😭 I didn’t watch the last season either (except the first episode💀), but somehow I know every single detail from every episode. 💀 I just hated how much they skipped over or changed from the books that I actually ended up ordering a hard copy because I needed to satisfy my disappointment somehow. 😭 (And so I wouldn’t hunt down Ryan Condal and strangle him. Like, hire me as a writer atp. 👩🏻🦯 I could absolutely do a better job with whatever fanfic they’re trying to write. 😭)
I knew their deaths were inevitable, but I’m STILL sad. 🥹 My coping mechanism has basically been convincing myself that Jace and Helaena are somewhere better now, far away from the war, and hopefully my babies are just resting peacefully and finally free from all that misery. 😭 After two months, I think I’ve finally reached the acceptance stage of grief. (Why am I genuinely mourning this man like he was a real person?? 💀)
And you’re so right!! Fanfics have genuinely got to be one of the only reasons I’ve survived this. 😭 Not just my own nonsense, but seeing everyone else’s interpretations and coping mechanisms is SO much fun. Like damn, we all collectively thought of different ideas and then proceeded to create every possible universe where he does live. To all the other authors: 🫂🫂
I’ve also lowkey developed a HUGE obsession with AKOTSK. I watched it like a week ago and have already scrolled through basically every tag like a complete maniac. 💀 I may or may not have abandoned my pending drafts and requests to work on an Aerion fic instead. 👩🏻🦯
But also, IS THIS HOW BAELA FELT MOVING ON?? 😭😭 Because why am I suddenly over here getting distracted by another Targaryen man?!
(Don’t worry, guys. I’ll never truly move on from Jace. I’m literally JACEFILES. I just… get distracted easily by pretty boys👩🏻🦯💀)
Me and my drafts staring at each other rn as I continue making MORE drafts for AKOTSK ideas. 👩🏻🦯😭
For some odd reason, I suddenly have the urge to write a drug dealer!Aerion fanfic (don’t ask why) and a modern royalty!Valarr one. I genuinely don’t know where any of this is coming from💀
I’m doing a LOT more daydreaming than actually writing at this point. 😭👩🏻🦯
LORD, PLEASE GIVE ME THE MOTIVATION, THE WORDS, AND THE BRAINS TO ACTUALLY MAKE ALL THESE IDEAS WORK😭🙏 AND FINISH MY EXISTING FICS-&/&/&:’djc
| summary: The moment the third arrow struck Prince Jacaerys Velaryon's throat, his life ended. And yet, a second later, the Prince awakens, confused, in his bedroom, as alive as he'd always been, with his only company being the ultimate love of his life: his wife, you. The issue? You died months ago.
burning rage: @lilyloveswriting
| summary: Jacaerys returns home from the battle, but he's not the same, and he wants the greens to burn.
How deep is your love? Is it like the ocean? What devotion are you?: @feral4youu
| summary: Your husband is adamant about the two of you flying to the Gullet, insisting the battle will be over before either of you has the chance to worry. You can't shake the feeling that something is wrong, but Jace promises everything will be fine.
His Dear Princess: @hauntedfictionland
| summary: Jacaerys did not want you, or the vow he was bound to for life. Yet when he makes a big mistake, and potentially loses you for good. He realises just how much you meant to him.
I will crawl home to you: @julez-5
| summary: Not even the Gods could tear Jace from your hands before they were ready for you as well.
Seething, blooming: @chloe-petrichors
| summary: your father has always been something of an opportunist, but trying to marry you off to the blacks while he courts the greens? this is taking playing the game to a whole new level.
Drunk and Seeing Stars: @fluttervoid
| summary: you've had a little too much to drink, and somehow that leads you to make yourself perfectly comfortable on jace's lap for the rest of the night.
Silly Thoughts: @jxerv
| summary: Your husband didn't greet you that morning, it made you really upset.
Go to sleep: @sacrificiallane
| summary: babbling to your husband when he's trying to sleep
Meddle About: @devourride
| summary: being friends with jacaerys meant that there will be endless talks about legitimacy, honor, and the who shall sit on the iron throne as a rightful heir. you were used to it, as you have seen witnessed jacaerys turn from a sweet summer child to someone uptight and tensed in all places- but what happens in a night when he's alone and had too much wine that he lost count?
Does it Hurt?: @rottenbites
| summary: vermax wasn't too kind to jace on his recent ride, leaving his betrothed to remedy the stoic prince
VII Minutes: @rose3heartzzz
| summary: after you die, your brain lives on for seven minutes, replaying its best memories. it is his greatest retribution and salvation to remember you.
Pretty Things: @jacefiles
| summary: He fell from the sky. She rose from the deep. When an unlikely savior pulls a prince back from death's door, neither of them can quite stay away from the shore that brought them together.
Shark Smile: @eldrith
| summary: “i was told sirens drag mean to their deaths.” “we do.”
The sea shall not have me, for I am already yours: @targlocket
| summary: He promised. To you, to himself, right before giving the order. "I will come back to you," Jacaerys whispered, pressing warm lips to wood, as if sealing his silent vow through the door.
The Lost Prince: @mariposium
| summary: while combing the beach for treasures, you stumble upon the unconscious, grievously injured body of a soldier. you decide to help him, but in doing so find love in a that may never be able to return it.
Romeo and Juliet: @finnsbarbie
| summary: jacaerys believes that the only way he can prove himself to his mother is by helping team black win the battle of the gullet. impulsively he makes the decision leaving the love of his life behind in the loving world. but you have other plans.
𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐒 .ᐟ — hi my loves! i haven’t done a fanfic recommendation in a long time, so i thought why not make one for our beloved jacaerys velaryon 🙈 i hope you find joy, comfort, or even some inspiration to write from reading these amazing fics! don’t forget to show these writers some love <33 also! keep a look out for a cregan stark fic rec 👀 heheh
Hiiii, love your work! Could you write something with modern Jace where he and the reader are long distance( study abroad maybe) and reader surprises him? Very fluffy and cutesy plsss. Thank you!
Henloo nonniee!! You have the patience of a saint!! Considering this took me WEEKS but! Here you go!
Enjoy~~
"Distance means so little when someone means so much."
The acceptance letters came on the same afternoon, though neither of you knew that yet when you woke up.
Jace's arrived first, delivered by a courier. The envelope was heavy in his hands, ivory cardstock edged in crimson, sealed with a wax dragon crest that had meant something for centuries before either of you were born. The Grand Lyceum of Volantis. Every Targaryen before him had walked through those gates. Diplomats, historians and even Kings, if the old family stories were to be trusted.
He didn't open it right away. He just held it, turning it over once, like he already knew what it said and wanted one more second before it became real.
"Looks like destiny finally caught up to you," you said, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed, trying not to smile too obviously.
He glanced up, and the grin he'd been fighting broke loose anyway. "I suppose I have to go now."
"Oh, poor you."
"So tragic." He said it lightly, but you caught the flicker underneath, pride and terror tangled together in the same breath.
Then, as if it was fate, your phone buzzed in your pocket, and for a second you almost ignored it. You pulled it out, and there it was, sitting at the top of your inbox in a font that suddenly felt very loud.
Congratulations! Braavos School of Commerce.
You read it twice before it landed.
"You got in," Jace said, watching your face change.
"I got in."
"You got in!"
Neither of you seemed to know what to do with the size of it, so you did the only thing that made sense: you laughed, loud and disbelieving, and he pulled you into a hug so tight it nearly upended the coffee mug you'd been holding. You felt his heartbeat against your cheek, fast, like his body hadn't caught up to the news either.
"You did it," he murmured into your hair.
"We did."
Because it hadn't been one person's effort. It had been both of you, every late night bent over notes with cold coffee going colder, every mock interview run in his cramped kitchen, every exam that made your stomach twist, every quiet panic attack talked down at two in the morning. Two degrees. Two acceptance letters. One shared exhaustion that had somehow turned into this.
Masters programs. Different universities. Different cities. One future, you'd thought, without ever really knowing what that meant.
Reality didn't arrive until after orientation, when the boxes were unpacked and the excitement had nowhere left to go but into the quiet.
Volantis and Braavos were both in Essos but on the opposite sides of the continent. Flights were expensive enough that "just visiting for the weekend" became a fantasy rather than a plan. Your schedules never lined up, his lectures ran late when yours started early, and both of you had professors who seemed to take personal offense at the concept of free time.
The first month wasn't unbearable. You made it work. Phone calls every night, no matter how late. Attempts at cooking "together," you in your tiny kitchenette and him three thousands of miles away narrating his own disaster in real time. You fell asleep on FaceTime more nights than either of you could count, the blue light of the screen still glowing against your pillow in the morning.
One night he woke at three a.m. to the sound of you snoring softly through the speaker. He took a screenshot. Sent it to you the next morning with no caption, just the photo of your own horrified face when you saw it.
"I hate you," you texted back.
“No you don’t, Love.”
By October, the ease of it had worn thin.
Three essays landed at once. Two presentations. Midterms stacked on top of networking events neither of you had energy for, research proposals that ate whole weekends. You hadn't slept properly in days. Neither had he, judging by the hollows under his eyes on the last call.
The call that night started like any other.
"I'm exhausted," you admitted, rubbing your temple.
"So am I." His voice was flat with fatigue. "My professor assigned another paper."
"I have a dissertation meeting tomorrow."
You managed a weak smile. "We're going to survive this."
"...Yeah."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, exactly. It was just heavy, the kind that sits on your chest without explaining why.
"I miss you," you said quietly.
"I miss you too."
Another pause. Then his voice, careful in the way that made your stomach drop before he even finished the sentence.
"You forgot."
"What?"
"You forgot our anniversary."
You looked at the calendar propped beside your laptop. Your anniversary date. It was circled, you realized, in your own handwriting, from weeks ago, back when you still had the mental space to plan things.
"Oh my God."
"No, it's okay."
"No- Jace- I..."
"I said it's okay." His voice stayed even, almost too even, and somehow that hurt worse than if he'd shouted. "I bought dinner."
You didn't say anything.
"I sat there for forty minutes."
Your chest cracked down the middle. "You didn't tell me."
"I wanted you to remember."
"I would have if..."
"If you weren't busy," he finished for you, and his smile, when it came through the screen, didn't reach his eyes at all. "It's okay. You have enough going on."
"So do you."
Neither of you raised your voice. Neither of you said anything cruel. But the calm was its own kind of wound, quiet and precise.
"You know what," he said eventually, exhaling. "I think we should sleep."
"...Jace."
"I'm tired."
"You sound upset."
"I am." A beat. "But I'm more tired than I am angry."
The call ended without the words that usually closed every conversation between you. No "I love you." For the first time in almost three years.
You cried yourself to sleep that night, curled around a pillow that didn't smell like anything.
So did he, miles away, staring at a ceiling that suddenly felt too far from home.
The next evening your phone rang before you'd even finished bracing yourself for the silence to continue. Jace's face filled the screen, and he looked wrecked, dark circles bruised under his eyes, hair disheveled like he'd been running his hands through it for hours, wearing the same hoodie from the day before.
"I'm sorry," you both said at the exact same moment, and then, absurdly, you laughed through the tears already gathering.
"I shouldn't have expected you to remember while you're drowning in work," he said.
"I shouldn't have forgotten at all."
"I know you didn't do it on purpose."
"I know."
A pause, softer this time. "I was just," his voice cracked slightly, "really excited."
You wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand. "I know."
"I had plans even from afar." He let out a short, humorless laugh. "I even bought flowers to show you."
That undid you completely. "You idiot."
"I know."
"I love you."
"I love you too." He leaned closer to his camera, like he wanted the distance to feel smaller than it was. "No more keeping things to ourselves."
"No more."
"We tell each other when we're hurting."
"Deal."
"Because," he said, quieter now, "we're supposed to be on the same team."
You nodded, throat tight. "Always."
Weeks later, on a Tuesday that felt unremarkable until it wasn't, you were on FaceTime while Jace attempted something resembling dinner in his tiny kitchen.
"You're burning something."
"I'm sautéing."
"It smells burnt through my phone."
"It does not."
A voice drifted in from somewhere off screen, his roommate wandering past the doorway. "Dude, are you seriously cooking with your wife again?"
You blinked. "...Wife?"
Jace froze mid stir. His roommate froze in the doorway. Slowly, the roommate's eyes moved between the phone and Jace's face.
"...Oops."
"You have five seconds," Jace said, deadly calm.
"I'm leaving." His roommate said quickly.
"You'd better."
The door slammed. Silence settled into the kitchen, and you stared at him through the screen, arms crossed now.
"...Wife?"
The tips of his ears went pink, visible even through the grainy video. "It," he started, scratching the back of his neck, "sort of became easier."
"What became easier?"
"Saying I have a girlfriend invites questions. Setups. Introductions. So I started saying I had a wife." He shrugged, like this explained everything.
You burst out laughing. "Oh my God."
"It worked. No one's tried setting me up since."
"How many people exactly have tried?"
"..."
"Jace."
"...Seven."
"Seven?"
"They're persistent."
"And every single time, your answer was?"
"I said I already had a wife."
He looked at you then, like really looked, in the way he had where the joking fell away all at once and left something quieter underneath. His smile softened into something unbearably gentle.
"I mean," he said, voice dropping, "you will be."
Your breath caught somewhere in your chest.
He shrugged, a little awkward now, like he'd surprised even himself. "I can't really picture my life with anyone else."
You sat with that for a second. "You weren't just... proposing?"
"No."
"...Good."
"...Good?"
"Because I'd have said yes."
His whole face went red, and for once he had nothing clever to say back.
By December, the distance had stopped being something you managed and started being something you simply endured. Finals swallowed every waking hour on both ends, and the only thing keeping either of you upright was the countdown to winter break scrawled on sticky notes in two different cities.
So you made a plan. An early flight. A cooperative roommate who agreed to keep his mouth shut for once. A spare key sent to you weeks in advance. His favorite coffee order, held carefully in one hand as you stood outside his building at seven in the morning, suitcase by your feet, breath fogging in the cold.
You called him.
"There you are," he sighed when he picked up, voice thick with sleep. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten me."
"I could never."
You let the signal crackle, feigned confusion. "Oh, that's weird. I think my Wi-Fi's acting up."
"I can hear you fine."
"Can you?"
"Yes."
"Huh." You winced theatrically at the screen. "Wait, Jace?"
"I'm literally right-"
"Hold on, I think someone rang your doorbell."
He frowned, confused. "Doorbell?"
"Ohhh! I sent you a little finals care package. The courier just texted me saying they're outside. Can you go grab it before they leave?"
He sighed, long suffering. "If I must."
You bit down on a grin. "I'll stay right here."
He propped the phone against a bookshelf and walked out of frame toward the door. The moment he was out of sight, you ended the call before he could ask another question.
Then you knocked.
You heard his footsteps first, unhurried, then the click of the lock, then the door swinging open with him already looking down, expecting a package.
Instead, he found you.
Suitcase at your feet. His coffee order warm in your hand. Standing exactly where a stranger should have been.
For three full seconds, nothing happened. His brain seemed to simply stop working. He blinked. Looked past you into the hallway, as if the real explanation might be standing somewhere behind you. Looked back. Looked at the coffee. Looked back again.
"...You're..."
You smiled, suddenly nervous under the weight of his stare. "Surprise??"
"You were just," he started, "on FaceTime?"
You nodded.
He stared a moment longer, like reality needed formal permission to arrive. Then, almost to himself, barely audible, "No way."
The coffee hit the floor. He didn't even register it happening (Thank God the lid was tight). In the next breath he'd crossed the space between you in two strides and pulled you off your feet entirely, arms wrapped so tightly around you that it knocked the air clean out of your lungs.
"You came!" he said against your shoulder, voice already breaking. "You actually came!”
"I missed you."
He pressed his face into your neck, and you felt him shaking, just slightly. "I thought I was dreaming."
"You're crying."
"I'm not crying."
"You are."
"I don't care." His grip only tightened. "I don't care if my roommate laughs."
As if summoned, the roommate peeked around the corner, taking in the scene, the abandoned coffee cooling on the floor. "...I'm not laughing." He bent to retrieve the cup. "Actually, this might be the cutest thing I've ever seen."
Without lifting his head from your shoulder, Jace simply raised a hand behind him. "Out."
"...Fair enough."
The roommate disappeared down the hall, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "Told you his wife was real."
Jace groaned into your hair. "I'm never living that down."
You smiled against him, fingers finding the back of his neck. "No."
You pulled back just enough to cradle his face in both hands, brushing a tear from his cheek with your thumb.
"But I think," you said softly, "I quite like the title."
Ahhhhh I'm sobbing this wrecked me with it's cuteness! Gosh this was adorable to read. And a bit sad at that one point with her forgetting the anniversary. I felt for the both of them, for Jace disappointment and her guilt after realising it. Especially at her feeling bad for forgetting because I am truly horrible with dates and anniversaries and all so I feel this on a personal level too.
But then I also totally gasped with shock: WIFE?! And I laughed outright at it too. Of course darling Jace would say he was married to stop getting set up and introduced to other girls haha. It's actually kinda smart and I love how she just went with it (even teasing him a little bit). And that confession she would have said yes??? And the open end with the hint of them getting married in the future?? YES PLS
This was so so so good!! Once again I absolutely LOVED the dialogue. It was so real and smooth and so very very jace. I keep hearing his dialogue in my head with the actors voice.
oh gods please no. no. please I need more or I'll die and yes I AM being dramatic when I say I NEED A PART TWO OF THE LINGERIE FIC WITH MODERN JACE OR I'LL FADE INTO EXISTANCE FOREVER, I NEEDDDD TO KNOW WHAT HE DOES I'M BITING MY OWN FISTS
Lets just say they had a GREAT night heheheheheh 😈
Mayhaps if I’m feeling generous, I’ll do a continuation👀 But currently, I’m suffering from a severe case of writer’s block, hence the silence🥹😭
Also, I finally found myself watching AKOTSK and guess who caught my attention? Yep. Valarr 😭 Apparently, I have a thing for doomed, brown-haired Targaryen men🥹 So I’ve been doing a lot more fanfic reading then writing 👩🏻🦯
I have a playlist dedicated to Jace on Spotify where I add ANY and every song that reminds me of him lmao- but the playlist looks so funny cuz its a mix of sad and pop songs 🥹😭
Since my stewpid ass accidentally posted it and then panic-deleted it instead of just saving it as a draft… 👩🏻🦯😭
It does get a little spicy toward the end 😏 And fair warning, my lingerie descriptions are absolute garbage, so I included some links to help with the visuals in case my rambling doesn’t make any sense 🥹💀
Once more, enjoy?? 😭
Jace had been in a good mood since breakfast.
You could tell because he kept humming under his breath in the car, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your thigh, thumb moving in slow absent circles over the seam of your jeans. He'd asked, somewhere between the second and third traffic light, if you wanted to go anywhere in particular. You'd said yes. He'd said okay and that’s how you found yourself at the mall.
The first stop was a skincare counter on the ground floor of the department store, all white marble and lights so bright they made the sales associate's eyeliner pop. You picked up a small glass bottle of serum, turned it over, tried to read the price sticker on the bottom but Jace slid it out of your hand before your eyes could focus.
"Do you want it," he said. Not a question the way most people ask questions. Flat, already halfway to yes.
"I was just looking."
"Do you want it."
You made a face at him. He put it on the counter next to the moisturizer he'd already added, and a cleanser, and a little tub of something you'd sniffed and put back that had apparently offended him by being returned to the shelf. The card came out of his wallet before the woman at the register had finished totaling. Matte black, his name etched in silver, that dumb little dragon sigil embossed in the corner. He handed it over without looking at the screen.
"Sir, would you like the receipt in the bag or-"
"Bag's fine. Thanks."
He tucked the card back into his wallet, took the paper handles from her, and looped them over his wrist. You had opened your mouth to say something about the total and he was already walking, herding you gently toward the escalator with a hand at the small of your back shushing you.
By the second store he had four bags. By the fourth he had eight, plus a coffee for you balanced improbably in his free hand, along with your jacket over his forearm because you'd said you were warm and he'd taken it off you without comment. He looked ridiculous and yet he looked pleased about it. Every time you turned to him with something new to consider, some sweater or a pair of earrings, his face did the same thing: a small twitch at the corner of the mouth, one eyebrow going up, the head tilt that meant and?
"You don't have to buy everything I touch."
"Mhm."
"Jace."
"Mm."
"I'm serious."
"I heard you."
He was scrolling through something on his phone by then, screen tilted away from you, the pad of his thumb dragging along the glass in that lazy way he had when he was half-reading and half-waiting. Some email, probably from his mother. The bags rustled at his hip. You slipped a matte lipstick from a display into his hand and he put it in the pile without looking up.
You had, at that point, developed a small idea.
The next storefront was tucked between a shoe boutique and a place that sold overpriced candles. Blush pink signage in a curling script, a mannequin in the window wearing something that was mostly ribbon and lace. The name above the door read Realms Delight in soft gold lettering, and beneath it, in smaller print, the tagline the marketing team had apparently gotten paid actual money to write: for every princess in the seven kingdoms, and the one who spoils her. (Consider this kings landing version of Victoria’s Secret🥴)
Truly, whoever came up with that deserved to be fired and hired again on the spot. You steered him inside and Jace followed without checking, thumb still moving across the screen.
Then he looked up.
The color that appeared on his face happened in stages. First a blink, slow, the kind you do when your brain refuses the visual for a half-second. Then a stiffening at the shoulders. Then heat rolling up his throat from beneath his collar, past the line of his jaw, into his cheeks and the tops of his ears. He looked at the pink walls, looked at the pale wood display tables piled with folded silk and then at a mannequin wearing a black harness of some description over a lace bralette and finally looked at you.
"Sweets."
"Yes?"
"Where are we."
"Shopping."
He inhaled through his nose. The bags in his hands crinkled as his grip tightened.
"I'll wait outside," the words leaving his mouth quickly. "Like a normal person. I'll wait outside. That's what boyfriends and Husbands- Whoever- That's the convention. That's the accepted-"
"Jace."
"There's a bench. I saw a bench."
"Jaceeee." You caught his sleeve. "The shop's empty. Look."
He looked. It was, aside from a woman in a silk blouse folding thongs at the back counter and another arranging robes on a rack near the fitting rooms. Neither of them had glanced up. You could hear the hum of the overhead speakers playing something soft and instrumental, and past that, faint traffic from the street outside, and somewhere in the ceiling a vent breathing cool air onto the back of your neck.
"I need your opinion," you said.
His jaw worked. He glanced at the floor once more, then he looked at you and away again, because looking at you here apparently constituted a moral hazard.
"Please."
He exhaled the exhale of a man who had, over the course of two years, learned that this particular please was not one he was equipped to refuse.
"Fine."
You pointed him toward the little seating area outside the dressing rooms. He walked over there with the stiff dignified gait of a hostage being escorted to a photo op, arranged himself on the velvet sofa, set the bags neatly beside his feet, put his hands on his knees, and fixed his gaze on a tile of the floor about three feet in front of him. He looked like a man attending a funeral for his own reputation.
You bit the inside of your cheek and went to browse.
The first set you picked up was practical. A cotton T-shirt bra in nude, with matching briefs, something you'd actually come in for and would actually wear beneath every other piece of clothing in your life. You carried it to the fitting room, gave Jace a small pat on the shoulder as you passed, and disappeared behind the curtain.
Inside the little booth the light was warmer than out on the shop floor. There was a mirror on each wall and a small hook and a padded stool, and the faint smell of clean fabric and lavender from whatever sachet the store hung in the vents. You changed. You looked at yourself. You looked fine. Bra fit. Briefs fit. You could have walked back out and shown him and been done in ninety seconds.
You peeked through the curtain instead.
Jace hadn't moved. His posture was so straight it looked painful. His hands were still on his knees, eyes were still on the floor. Occasionally his throat moved when he swallowed. He looked like a very handsome garden statue.
Something wicked settled behind your ribs.
You pulled the curtain closed, put your own clothes back on over the plain set, and slipped out of the fitting room past him.
"Stay right there," you said.
"Where are you going."
"Shopping. Stay."
He made a noise but you were already gone.
Gods, what did I do in a past life, he thought, watching you disappear between the racks. Which of my ancestors did what, and to whom.
The rack you found first was the good rack. The pieces you had never in your life purchased for yourself because you had never had a reason to justify the cost. You ran your fingers over silk and lace. You found a slip in a deep crimson that looked, on the hanger, like something out of a painting, and you carried it back to the dressing room over your arm along with two other things and a small mischief you were not going to explain to anyone.
Jace looked up as you passed. His eyes tracked what you were carrying. His face did a very small, very telling thing.
You winked.
He looked back at the floor with renewed intensity.
Behind the curtain you shed everything and pulled the slip on carefully, one strap and then the other, feeding the delicate lace up over your thighs. The satin was cool against your skin at first and warmed quickly. The bodice cupped you close, structured seams running up along your ribs, sheer mesh panels between them so that the shape of you underneath became a suggestion the fabric only half-kept. The neckline sat low, gathered lace framing the top of your chest, tiny rosettes stitched at the center. Below the corseted bodice the chiffon skirt fell in weightless folds to the middle of your thighs, its scalloped hem brushing your skin every time you shifted your weight. Ribbon ties trailed at each hip. The crimson caught the light and looked, in the fitting room mirror, like something you'd stolen.
You turned to check the back and remembered, conveniently, that the clasp needed help.
"Jace."
Silence.
"Jaceeee."
A cough. "Yes."
"I need help with the back."
"You can't reach it?"
"No."
"There's no-" A pause. You could practically hear him rubbing his face. "There's no attendant?"
“Do you see anyone around here?"
Another silence. Then the soft sound of him standing, and his footsteps coming across the tile, the pause outside the curtain during which you knew he was doing whatever calming breathing his father had taught him for board meetings.
He pushed the curtain open just enough that his head and shoulders and one arm came through. The rest of him stayed firmly on the other side, as though the threshold were a legal boundary.
"Where's the-"
He saw you in the mirror.
The sound that came out of him was small and mostly involuntary, a soft catch of breath that he tried to swallow and could not quite manage. His eyes moved without his permission. Down the sheer panels at your ribs, across the shadow of your nipples where they poked through the fabric, over the curve of your waist, down the chiffon to the strip of thigh below the hem. His Adam's apple moved once and he looked at your face in the reflection and then, when your eyes met his there, he looked at the ceiling like a man being tested by his gods.
"The clasp," you said sweetly.
His fingers came up to the small of your back. They were warm. Slightly unsteady. He hooked the clasp on the first try, which honestly was disappointing of him, and his knuckles brushed your spine as he let his hand fall.
"What do you think?"
He looked back at the mirror because you asked him to. He wet his lower lip. When he spoke his voice had gone low and slightly rough, the way it did when he'd just woken up.
"You look breathtaking, love."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
His eyes flickered again, down the length of you and back up.
"What's this about, though."
You shrugged one shoulder. The strap slid a little. His gaze followed it.
"I want to look pretty for you like this sometimes. That's all."
He was quiet for a beat. Then he leaned in through the gap in the curtain, his hand coming up to cradle the side of your neck, and pressed his mouth just under your ear. Not a kiss you could call innocent but not a kiss you could label anything else, either. Warm lips, the faintest edge of teeth, then his voice against your skin.
"You're always pretty for me, love."
He then pulled back. His hand lingered on your jaw a second longer than it needed to as he stepped out through the curtain and let it fall closed behind him.
You stood there in the crimson for a long moment listening to him settle back onto the velvet sofa. You could hear his exhale from here.
You smiled at yourself in the mirror.
Oh, you thought. No. We're doing this.
The second piece you tried came out of the box with the reverence of an heirloom. Ivory lace, so pale it looked almost like unbleached linen against your skin. The balconette cups sat low, lightly structured, embroidered all over with tiny flowers that you could feel more than see, scalloped edges tracing along the neckline. A row of pearl buttons ran down the center between the cups, sitting on a panel of sheer lace. Shoulder straps so thin they almost disappeared. The matching high-waisted briefs came up to sit at your natural waist, the same floral lace, scalloped edges at the leg openings, and small cutouts at each hip that showed off the curve of the bone underneath.
The pearl strand was a piece that came with the set. You draped it low around your hips, letting it settle over the waistband like jewelry someone's grandmother might have worn to be scandalous.
Everything about it looked delicate. Everything about you in it did not.
"Jace."
He came without being asked twice this time. His face appeared in the gap of the curtain, and this time he didn't pretend to look for the clasp. His eyes went to the pearls first, then up to your face and slowly, back down.
You hooked one finger under the waistband of the briefs and let it snap softly back against your skin. You watched his jaw tense.
"What do you think?"
"I think-" he started.
You turned around, slowly. Let him see the back. The lace over your ass. The strand of pearls around your hips. You looked at him over your shoulder.
"Hm?"
You caught it in the mirror. The line of his trousers where they should have been flat and where they very much were not. The way his weight shifted, and the way one of his hands drifted from the curtain down to adjust himself before he caught himself doing it and put the hand back on the fabric.
"Oh," you said. "Oho. Did Jace Jr. decide to join us."
"Love- please."
"He looks excited."
"You are going to get us kicked out."
"How? We're just shopping."
"You are shopping."
"That's what I said."
"Come on, sweets. Let's just go home."
You pouted at him in the mirror. You watched his eyes drop to your mouth and back up.
"Patience. I have one more."
He shook his head slowly. Not a no. More like a man trying to physically dislodge his own thoughts. He backed out of the curtain, and you heard him make his way back to the sofa, and you heard, very faintly, the sound of him adjusting his trousers before he sat down.
You waited until you were sure he was seated before you started laughing quietly into your hand.
The third piece was the one you had been saving to be absolutely mean.
It came off the hanger heavier than it looked. A bodysuit, corset-inspired, the mesh so sheer it wasn't really mesh so much as a suggestion of fabric held together by embroidery. Pale blush pink, embroidered from bust to hip with clusters of pink blossoms and thin green vines that climbed the boning channels in soft curling lines. Satin piping ran along every seam. The cups were sweetheart-shaped, softly padded but not enough to hide anything, and above them the embroidery gave way to a straight line of sheer mesh that stopped just below your collarbones. Satin ribbons tied at each shoulder in loose bows. Larger ribbons bloomed at each hip like something out of a doll's dress. The bottom half was cut high on the thigh, mesh framed by satin trim, and the mesh at the front hid absolutely nothing.
You could see yourself through it. Every inch. The intimate spot between your thighs. The shape of your nipples pressed against the embroidery. The faint pink flush that had started somewhere at the base of your throat and was creeping down.
You tied the shoulder ribbons yourself and took a small breathe before-
"Jace."
You expected the shuffle and the sigh and the head-through-the-curtain routine.
What you got instead was silence for a beat too long, and then the soft controlled sound of him standing up, and then his footsteps, and then the curtain being pushed aside just enough for him to look at you fully.
Whatever you had planned to say slid backwards down your throat and died there.
He wasn't avoiding your gaze anymore.
His eyes moved down your body once, slowly, like he was cataloguing every inch of the embroidery and every inch of what it wasn't covering. When he reached your feet he came back up just as slowly. When his eyes met yours in the mirror they were dark, pupils blown wide, and his tongue was poking against the inside of his cheek, his chest was moving with a slow deliberate rhythm that meant he was counting his own breaths.
You tried to smile.
"Jace-"
He glanced backwards. Over his shoulder, out through the shop, at the empty aisles and the woman at the counter still on her phone and the other associate who had wandered into the back room. He measured the space with a look. Then he stepped forward, into the fitting room, and let the curtain fall closed behind him.
The space was small. He filled it.
"Jace, what are you-"
His mouth was on yours before you finished. Not soft, his hands came up and caught your wrists and pinned them to the wall on either side of your head as he pressed his whole body flush against yours and kissed you like he'd been holding it in for the past 20 minutes or so, all tongue and heat, wet at the corners, teeth catching your lower lip once and letting go. Your back hit the wall. The mirror was cool against your shoulder blade where the mesh didn't cover. He tasted like the coffee he’d bought mixed with the mint gum he'd chewed after.
He rolled his hips against yours. Slowly and deliberately and you could feel him through his trousers, hard against your hip, the friction of the satin between your legs pressed against you in a way that made your knees almost give out.
He pulled back an inch. Just enough to look at you.
His eyes dropped between your bodies. He looked at the front of the bodysuit. He looked at the small dark patch that had bloomed on the satin gusset in the last thirty seconds, wet enough to shine faintly under the fitting room lights.
He groaned, quiet but Deep, the noise coming from somewhere deep.
“Fuck," he says quietly. Then, closer to your ear, "Listen, love. Listen to me. The absolute last thing I want is to end up in some tabloid, drag the family name through the mud like my uncle Aegon. So here's what you're going to do."
His thumb traces your bottom lip. Your wrists are still above your head. You couldn't move them if you tried.
"You're going to change, quickly. And I'm going to buy every single thing you tried on today. And when we get home I am going to tear each of them off you. Okay?"
Your head is buzzing. Your knees are somewhere on the floor, metaphorically. You nod.
"Say it, sweets."
"Okay."
He kisses you once more, softer this time, almost apologetic. Releases your wrists and steps back. Adjusts himself with a wince and pushes his hair off his forehead, and by the time he sweeps the curtain aside and walks out toward the register he looks like a functional adult human being again.
You slide down the mirror until you're sitting on the little bench, still in the blush mesh, cheeks hot, thighs pressed together, one bow already coming untied at your shoulder.
You distantly heard his voice at the counter, and the polite murmur of the associate, and the beep of the card reader.
You looked at yourself in the mirror, the lipstick was almost gone, hair loose from where he'd pinned your head to the wall and your legs were shaking. The wet patch at the front of the bodysuit had gotten worse.
You reached back for the ribbon on your shoulder with fingers that wouldn't quite cooperate, and started, very slowly, to change.
Hiii Jacaerys's wife how have you been recently <333
I’ve been doing great!! 🥹 I just got super busy out of nowhere, and it’s honestly pissing me off a little that I haven’t had the time to edit anything or get stuff posted😭🥹
I was transferring it from my Word doc over here and was supposed to save it as a draft… but I was also lowkey high on sleep meds and didn’t realize I hit post instead😭💀
I’m so sorry, my love! 🥹 It’s in the final stages of editing, and I’ll post the finished version as soon as it’s ready 🥹
where are you attt ??? come backkk !!! ,, hope you're doing ok 🩵
Yes yes! Lattae is absolutely fine! 🫂 I just got extremely caught up with stuff. 😭
(Also, I’m laughing because I disappeared for like 3 days and didn’t drop anything, and somehow all my readers got worried. 🥹😭 Like… y’all missed me that much?? 🥹💕)
