₊˚𓂃 Series Plot: Having just been betrothed to, Prince Jacaerys, you both are just getting used to each other. A new home an ocean away from yours, in the middle of a war between kin and dragons. You wonder if you both could grow together, or die before you get to try.
₊˚𓂃 Warnings: arranged marriage, “slow burn”, strangers to lovers?, angst, hurt/comfort, war themes, heartbreak?, dark themes, suggestive themes, pregnancy, suicidal themes, character death, misunderstanding, both of the characters have walls built, reader being physically/mentally hurt, Threatening themes, this series is both having new events, and mixed with the show! But I am sticking to the show. + plus my own ideas. [Jace doesn’t die. Not in my fics!]
Chapter 1 | Marriageable Duties.
Chapter 2 | A Bed We Must Lie
Chapter 3 | The Weeping Mother
Chapter 4 | Seeds We Sow
Dividers made by @honeyluvsw @mieluno
Taglist: if anyone would like to be added to the taglist please comment on this post!
Yandere dekusquad with a reader who notices their ways and is willing, but doesn’t think they are worth it? Like imagine, them finding their dairy and seeing that the reader knows about their stealing and stuff…They freak out and then read just a bit more and see they like it but think they don’t actually love them or don’t think they are worth it?🩷
Yandere Dekusquad x Aware willing reader!
A/n: TWO POST IN ONE DAY BABY WOO I hope yall enjoy this one!!
Tw!: yandere behavior stalking, yandere behaviors. Please do not do this irl
"A-are you sure you don't wanna come with us, y/n?" You stared at Izuku with a gentle smile that made his heart flutter a bit. "You 6 can have fun without me! I got homework anyway!" You then turned and walked to your next class as the school bell rang. Ochako, Iida, Tsuyu, and Shoto all went to the green-haired boy, all sharing a look of concern
You knew they were in love - no. Obsessed with you; it started in the first week of school. Tsuyu noticed you were sitting alone at lunch, eating your food, so she decided to walk up to you and ask if you wanted to sit with them. You looked over to see the rest of them having warm, welcoming faces, so you couldn't help but join them, and thats how the bond started between you and the group
Izuku was the lovesick puppy type who would follow you everywhere around the school, and if he couldn't, he would spam-text you, knowing your location, which was a bit annoying, but you brushed it off, thinking it was because he was being a caring friend. Whenever you talked to other classmates outside his friend group, he would get a little sassy and pushy with you, wanting to know what you were talking about.
Iida was always the protective one in the group, always shielding you from potential danger even if it wasn't actually dangerous. He felt as if your safety was his main duty. You always thought it was normal since he would be like that towards your classmates, too, even to his friends, but it was like he was extra protective of you; you felt as if his eyes were always on you. Even if he wasn't looking directly at you, he was like a guard dog
Ochako was a delusional, protective type. She's your typical lover girl, you would say, since she'll always drag you and sometimes Tsuyu into her room to vent her feelings to Izuku. You first thought she was obsessed with Izuku because of how much she talked about him until you noticed how she'll hover over you like a bee attracted to a flower, would hide her drawings of you, or... Izuku is doing romantic things with her. You're still confused about who she loves more. When in battle, she's a beast to villains, will lift them up with a tip of her fingers, and set them falling down with a sweet little smile on her face, all cause you told her they left a bruise on you
Shouto and Tsuyu are the blunt and observant ones of the group. They'll always speak their minds with no filter. If they see anyone bothering you, they're always the first ones to know something is off and will report it to the squad before anything escalates
Tsuyu is the kind but blunt type; she'll let you know how she feels if she thinks you're not giving her enough attention, or she'll just straight-up pull you away if she's annoyed enough. If you're talking with someone that she has bad vibes about shes straight up insisting that you shouldn't hang out with them. She's like a koala cub, but more unhinged; she's more possessive of the group
And finally, Shoto, the oblivious but a bit stalker ish type, whenever you looked at him, he was always staring at you. He insisted that you walk with him to make sure nobody tried anything stupid. He'll use his connections to make others back off. If he feels that person is an obstacle, whenever you have a sleepover with your friends, you notice him always staring at you with those intense eyes. He was like an owl looking at its prey; you laughed it off, thinking he couldn't sleep, so you thought he was staring at everyone, but he was looking solely at you only you
As time flew by, you noticed how strangely clingy they were becoming to you. You noticed how Izuku and Ochako would somehow know your favorite interests by heart. If you were to ask them for a snack or a drink, they'd give you the snack you were craving. It was sweet, but it raised suspicion
"This is the third time they avoided us im worried," Ochako frowned. "What if they actually fou-? "They couldn't. We're always lying low, so how could they possibly notice? " Shoto spoke up, and his voice remained calm and calculating."As much as I agree with Shoto, Ochako has a point. It's been the third time y/n san haven't hung out with us, kero"
"I tracked their location, but nothing seems to bring any suspicion as to why they have been avoiding us lately. It's unlike them!" Iida raised his brow, trying to form an idea. "Maybe we should sneak into their room and find out!"The group all looked at Izuku as if he'd grown a third eye; his face flushed. "Not like that! I mean, we should sneak in to see any clues on a reason they're avoiding us. It doesn't hurt to try!"
"Oh, we weren't judging deku. We were just surprised that you didn't sneak into their room yet"
So they decided to sneak into your room tonight since you told them you were gonna hang out with Denki and Jirou at an arcade and wouldn't be back until 10:30. They bid you farewell, making sure you were gone enough for their plan to be put into action
They all decided that Iida, Shoto, and Tsuyu were gonna be the lookouts while Izuku and Ochako tried to find anything.
"You see anything?" Izuku called out as the 2 students carefully rummaged through your room without breaking or making a mess. Ochako crawled under your bed slowly to see anything, only to find some clothes and junk. As she was crawling backward to get up, she accidentally bumped her head under the bed, which caused a book-like item to fall on her
"Ow!" Izuku heard her and went over to help her. "Uraraka-San! Are you alright?" Ochako rubbed her head a bit and gave him a thumbs up. "Yeah, I think so. I found this book that fell under their bed it could be a clue!"
"Great work! Uraraka-san! Can I read what it is?" The short-haired girl looked closer at the book to find out...it was your diary. "It's y/n san's diary!" The two teens beamed at this as they opened and read carefully
As they read, their hearts started racing about how you were talking about their feats and abilities, and even small moments they didn't know you'd remember; it was like a dream come true,
Until they read their habits... their blood ran cold when you wrote down how you started noticing how Izuku would secretly write things that are personal when it came to you, or how Ochako would have matching keychains, earrings (or just any item of your choice) without even telling her where it's from, or how Iida acted like you were dying cause a villain graze you on the same stomach
Or how Shoto would act bitter whenever you tease Bakugo, or when Tsuyu clings to you when it's wintertime
Izuku and Ochako's whole bodies turned white as their jaws opened; they looked at each other, then slowly walked back to the group, their diary still in their hands, awaiting the fate they'd have
....
As you returned to the dormitory, everything was strangely quiet. You headed to the common room for a snack. You were about to head towards the common room when you felt a hand touch your shoulder. You squealed and turned to see it was Shoto. He had a more serious expression on his face despite barely showing any emotions usually
"Oh, shoto, shit, you scared me, man," you laughed nervously as you looked up to see Shoto still looking serious. You gulped, feeling a uneasiness slipped in your gut
"Come with me." he grabbed your arm and dragged you into the hallways. You tried to tell him that you could walk yourself; he only ignored you and kept walking towards your dorm room
When you made it there, you saw 4 of your friends sitting on your bed while 2 of them were standing and staring at you. Izuku and Ochako had worried looks on their faces, Iida had a stern look, and Tsuyu had a look of both concern and calmness
"What the fuck are you all doing in my ro-" as you were cut off when you saw your diary open wide in Izuku's arms, "is that my..Give me that!" You snatched the book away from Izuku, leaving him bewildered. "Why were you rummaging in my personal belongings? Didn't anyone tell you to mind your business? "
"We read everything, y/n," you paused for a second, making sure whatever you heard was clear, "you what -" "We know that you've been aware of what we were doing." Izuku looked away when he confronted you, "and we just wanted you to know that it wasn't out of malice or anything; we're just -"
"I know." They all stopped to look at you. "What -" I knew for a long time that something was up with you; it wasn't hard to figure out, especially when your actions were just so painfully obvious. They looked away in embarrassment. "So, are you mad"
"Yeah, for reading my diary and for stealing my stuff! But for your behavior, yeah, no." They were all about to panic until they heard your final answer. What???" They all said in unison. "Yeah, I really appreciate that you all care for me that much, but you gotta stop with stealing my stuff and -"
As you were yapping, continuing to lecture them, they were still lost in their thoughts about how you just accepted their "love" for you, like that it made their heart flutter and, most importantly, lifted a weight off their shoulders, they could finally show you that they're only capable of your love, your safety, just everything!
They'll make sure you'll never regret your choice~
Jacaerys Velaryon x wife!reader - House of the Dragon
Summary: It starts as something almost laughable: a dragon who prefers his rider’s wife to his rider. But when a dragon decides something is his to guard, the world learns to step carefully around what he has chosen.
Warnings: 16+ morning after, brief nudity, possessive/protective Jace, pregnancy, control/protection, scary dragon and his rider who are both secretly softies, innuendo, non-graphic childbirth, huge time jumps
A/N: This got a lil out of hand, I admit. It was meant to be a short blurb, and yet here we are. Ik people wanted smut, so I added some morning after here, and I plan to write another smut-heavy fic next so dw.
MASTERLIST - REQUESTS (open) - WC: 4.7k
The storm had burned itself out sometime before dawn.
Now all that remained was the steady drip of rain from Dragonstone's black stone walls and the distant crash of waves below the cliffs. Pale morning light slipped through the narrow windows in soft ribbons, washing the chamber in silver.
You wake slowly.
Not necessarily because you're rested, but because you're warm. Far warmer than you ought to be beneath a blanket that had long since been kicked to the foot of the bed.
Jace is wrapped around you as though sometime during the night he'd decided that simply sleeping beside you wasn't close enough. One arm is draped securely across your waist, his face buried against the back of your shoulder, his breathing slow and even. His dark curls are a complete mess, and one bare leg has somehow become tangled with yours beneath the sheets.
You smile to yourself.
"You'll complain about your shoulder later," you murmur.
A sleepy sound, somewhere between a hum and a groan, vibrates against your skin.
"I'll survive." His voice is thick with sleep and his grip tightens just enough to pull you impossibly closer. There's something almost boyish about the way he says it, as though it's a victory in itself.
You turn carefully within the circle of his arms until you're facing him. The movement earns another sleepy complaint, though he makes no effort to let go.
Up close, you can still see the faint flush lingering across his cheeks from the warmth of the room. A thin scratch is visible beneath his collarbone, your own fault no doubt.
You remeber is so clearly, how the rain had battered against the windows, how the candles had guttered low, how his forehead was resting against yours while the storm rolled over Dragonstone. But inside your bed chamber, you'd barely noticed.
"You look terribly pleased with yourself," you say.
One eye opens. "Well, I married you, didn't I?"
"Your point being?"
"It happens to be something I am very pleased about." He studies you for a long moment. "I was thinking..." He continues, thumb brushing lazily over your bare waist. "That I should arrange for more storms."
"Oh?"
"They appear to encourage you to stay in bed."
Outside, somewhere beyond the window, comes the deep, familiar rumble of a dragon.
Jace sighs dramatically without lifting his head. "He's awake."
He presses a kiss to your forehead before finally, reluctantly, releasing you. "If Vermax has flown all the way here simply to interrupt my morning," he declares, "I shall have to remind him who hatched him."
You grin as you reach for the discarded shift lying somewhere beside the bed.
By the time you're both dressed the castle has begun to wake around you.
You trail a step behind Jace, fingers loosely hooked around his sleeve more out of habit than necessity. To be honest, it is a habit you've only recently allowed yourself.
When you first arrived as his wife, you had been painfully conscious of every eye that followed you through the castle.
The princess, the prince's bride. Too young, some had whispered when they thought you were out of earshot. Too sheltered or too soft for Dragonstone.
You had smiled through every greeting, learned every name you could remember, and prayed no one noticed how often you got lost in the twisting corridors of black stone.
Jace had noticed.
Three days after your wedding, he'd quietly taken your hand before supper and walked every hallway, pointing out hidden staircases, quicker routes, which doors stuck in damp weather and which windows gave the best view of Blackwater Bay.
"I cannot believe you've spent an entire afternoon making sure I know my way around the castle." You'd said that evening in your chambers.
"Why can't you believe it?"
"You drew me a map."
"It was an excellent map."
"It had little dragons."
"So you wouldn't get bored."
You laugh. "You named one after Lord Celtigar."
"That one looked particularly grumpy." He grins, a quick flash of satisfaction that softens his usually princely composure, and reaches for your hand.
In your mind, the heir to the Iron Throne ought to be careful, composed, forever aware of watching eyes. But Jace rarely seems to remember, or perhaps he simply doesn't care.
A pair of servants step into the corridor ahead.
The moment they see the two of you, they bow hurriedly. "My prince. Princess."
You smile in greeting, Jace nods once, polite but distracted.
Only after they've passed do you realize he never let go of your hand.
Not even for a moment.
"You know," you tease quietly, "there are people who might think you're terribly devoted."
"They'd be right." He looks at you then with a familiar softness, so unguarded it almost steals your breath.
His thumb brushes absentmindedly across your knuckles. "And I'm not inclined to stop simply because people are looking."
Before you can answer, a deep, resonant rumble rolls across the courtyard outside.
Jace exhales through his nose.
"There he is."
You cross toward one of the narrow windows overlooking the inner yard. Far below, Vermax has landed.
The young dragon stands with his wings half-folded, emerald scales still glistening from the night's rain. A pair of dragonkeepers are speaking to him from what they clearly believe is a safe distance.
Vermax is paying them absolutely no attention. Instead, his great head is tilted upward.
Toward this very window.
You laugh. "I think he's looking for you Jace."
Jace joins you at the window. "No."
He follows the dragon's gaze for a moment before the corners of his mouth twitch. "I think," he says with theatrical resignation, "he's looking for you."
As though to prove his point, Vermax lets out another low, expectant chirr, quieter than his earlier call.
You blink. "Surely not."
Down in the courtyard, Vermax chirrs again.
It becomes impossible to deny by the end of the week. Vermax has decided you belong to him.
"No," Jace says flatly one afternoon, watching the dragon nudge your shoulder with surprising delicacy. "Absolutely not."
You laugh, scratching beneath the smooth ridge of emerald scales where you've discovered he likes it best. "What has he done now?"
"He is stealing my wife."
As if personally offended by the accusation, Vermax lowers his head another inch until the broad curve of his snout is pressed insistently against your side.
Jace stares. "You see?"
"He wants attention."
"I gave him an entire sheep this morning."
You can't help the laugh that escapes you, and it echoes across the training yard, bright enough that even a pair of dragonkeepers glance over with amused smiles.
You and Jace turn to go back inside, but only make it perhaps ten paces before heavy footsteps thud softly behind you.
The dragon has stood and started following.
"Vermax."
He stops, tilting his head.
"You can't come into the castle."
It doesn't stop there.
If you choose to read beneath the old weirwood overlooking the sea, Vermax appears within the hour.
If you wander the beach collecting shells after supper, a shadow passes lazily overhead before circling back toward shore. When you look up, the dragon is gliding against the afternoon sky.
The dragon dips lower, just enough that the rush of displaced air sends your skirts fluttering.
You laugh and wave. High above, Vermax answers with a delighted trill.
One morning you step into the gardens alone, intending only to cut fresh lavender for your chambers. You have barely even filled half the basket when a familiar shadow rolls across the flowers.
Then comes the gentle, unmistakable whuff of warm dragon breath.
You don't even look up.
"Good morning, Vermax." The dragon answers with a contented rumble.
He settles himself just beyond the garden wall, folding his forelegs neatly beneath him.
And there he remains.
When Jace finds you nearly an hour later, basket overflowing with lavender, he stops dead.
"You've got to be joking."
"What?"
He points.
Vermax, his great head rests on crossed forelegs, one eye lazily cracked open just enough to keep you in sight.
You walk over, unable to resist stroking the smooth scales along Vermax's jaw.
Jace follows, and you shake your head, laughing, and slip your free hand into his. Immediately, Vermax opens both eyes.
He watches the joined hands for a long, silent moment. Then, with another deep, satisfied rumble, he closes them again.
A couple weeks later, Dragonstone is hosting a small gathering of sworn lords from the Crownlands. Nothing particularly grand, just an awful lot of petitions, trade disputes, and endless discussions that leave Jace rubbing his temples by supper.
You escape the hall as politely as you can.
"I shall only be a moment," you promise him.
His hand lingers around yours before he lets go. "I know."
"You'll survive without me, Jace, I promise."
The sea air is cooler outside. Rain still clings to the black stone, leaving everything smelling of salt and earth. You breathe deeply, grateful for the quiet after hours of smiling at strangers.
You don't notice the shadow until it passes overhead.
A heartbeat later, Vermax lands beyond the outer wall with enough force to make loose gravel dance across the ground.
"You again?" you laugh.
His answer is a soft chirr as he lowers his head, inviting the familiar scratch beneath his jaw.
You indulge him. "You know," you murmur, "your rider insists you're abandoning him."
You continue scratching him anyway.
The interruption comes quietly. "My princess."
You turn. One of the visiting lords, a pleasant enough man whose name escapes you, has stepped into the courtyard. He offers a courteous bow.
"I hoped I might thank you for your kindness at supper."
"You are very kind, my lord."
He smiles. "I confess Dragonstone is rather less… welcoming than I imagined."
You glance at the dragon. "I imagine it has nothing to do with the fire-breathing beats circling at all times."
The lord laughs and takes a step closer.
Vermax's head lifts. The movement is slow enough that, for a moment, no one notices. Until the rumbling begins. It vibrates through the stone beneath your feet and the lord stops mid-sentence.
His smile falters.
Vermax does not bare his teeth, he does not spread his wings, he simply fixes the man with one unblinking emerald eye.
The rumble deepens.
"My lady," the lord corrects takes an instinctive step backward.
The sound stops.
You blink.
"…That was odd."
The lord laughs a little too loudly. "I believe… I shall return inside."
You think little of it.
Until it happens again, and again, and again. Not only with strangers, but with servants and guards. Even dragonkeepers he has known since hatching.
If someone approaches you too quickly, Vermax appears.
If voices grow heated nearby, he materialises as though summoned by instinct alone. He has become a living wall of green scales between you and the rest of the world.
A fortnight passes.
The castle settles into its familiar rhythm, though Vermax never quite returns to his old habits.
If anything, he grows bolder.
By now, even the servants have stopped remarking upon it.
"Your shadow awaits you, Princess," one maid says one morning with a knowing smile.
You peer from the window. Sure enough, a pair of emerald eyes are already fixed expectantly on the tower.
You laugh. "I do believe I've been adopted."
That afternoon, the weather is fair.
Jace has escaped the council chambers looking thoroughly exhausted, finding you exactly where he expected, beneath the old windswept tree overlooking the cliffs, a book forgotten in your lap while Vermax dozes nearby.
Or appears to.
His eyes are closed.
One wing lies stretched lazily across the grass, shimmering green beneath the sun.
Jace watches while walking towards you, finally bending to kiss the top of your head. Then, without thinking, he reaches a hand toward you.
Vermax's eyes snap open.
The dragon rises in one smooth motion, slipping between you and Jace with astonishing precision. His great neck curves across the narrow space, not striking, not threatening, but blocking.
Jace freezes.
For one suspended heartbeat, neither moves.
The dragon's head turns slightly, one brilliant green eye fixed on his rider, Jace stares back.
"...Vermax."
The dragon lets out a low sound, as though asking something only he understands. Then, just as suddenly, he steps aside.
You blink. "What on earth was that?"
Jace doesn't answer, he is still looking at Vermax.
"I've never..." he murmurs.
"What?"
"He has never stood between us."
By evening, Jace has sought out the dragonkeepers; he wants an explanation.
The oldest among them is already waiting when Jace reaches the caverns.
He bows deeply.
"My prince."
"You've noticed." It is not a question.
The old man is silent for a long moment. "...Yes."
"Then tell me."
Another pause.
"There are tales." The dragonkeeper folds weathered hands before him. "And the tales are all I have."
Jace says nothing, but his jaw tightens.
The old man continues carefully. "Dragons know certain things before men do, sometimes."
"What things?"
"Danger." Jace nods once. "Weather." Another nod. "And..." The man hesitates. "Life."
Jace blinks. "...What do you mean?"
"There are old records. Rare ones. A dragon becoming unusually protective of a rider's wife. Of a queen. Of a princess."
"Protective?"
"They guard." The dragonkeeper's gaze drifts toward the mouth of the cavern, where Vermax sleeps beyond the fading light.
Jace remembers every strange moment of the past weeks and his heartbeat quickens.
"No."
"It is only a possibility."
"No."
"Has the princess been unwell?"
"...No."
"Has she been unusually tired?"
Jace opens his mouth. Closes it again.
"And..." the dragonkeeper says gently, "when did the dragon's behavior begin?"
Jace's mind races backwards until he finally remembers the storm. How Vermax had refused to leave the castle, had hovered outside their chambers, nudging him toward the tower when he'd intended to return to his studies.
He'd laughed. "Apparently, he has plans for us."
Three months, almost exactly.
The dragonkeeper watches the realisation settle over his prince's face. Quietly, he says, "I believe... it may be time to send for the maester."
Jace finds you in your solar not five minutes later. You look up from the embroidery in your lap, smiling the moment he steps through the door, but the smile falters almost immediately.
"Jace?"
His hair is windblown from crossing the castle at nearly a run, his expression unreadable in a way you've never quite seen before. He closes the door behind him without a word and simply looks at you, searching your face as though expecting to find something different.
"What is it?"
He crosses the room in three long strides and kneels before your chair, taking both your hands in his. "Have you felt unwell?"
You blink. "...No."
"Not at all?"
"A little tired, perhaps, but you've been working me through every feast and council dinner on Dragonstone." You smile faintly. "I assumed being a princess was simply quite exhausting."
His thumb traces absent circles across your knuckles. "And nothing else?"
"I've slept later than usual."
"You've always liked sleeping late."
You grin, leaning forward to whisper, "I do when my husband keeps me awake half the night."
The corner of his mouth twitches despite himself, though the smile never quite reaches his eyes. "When was your last moon's blood?"
You stare at him. "What?"
He doesn't repeat himself, and slowly, your own amusement fades. You set the embroidery aside. "I..." You pause, thinking. "I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"I've never had reason to count the days so carefully, Jace."
Silence settles between you. You begin counting backwards in your head, tracing feasts, journeys, the passing weeks. Your brows knit together. "A couple of weeks, maybe," you murmur. "I'm not sure."
His expression answers before he speaks. "The dragonkeepers believe Vermax sensed it."
You let out a disbelieving laugh. "Jace."
"They've seen it before."
"Surely they haven't."
"They swear they have."
You shake your head, trying to make sense of it. "So... because Vermax has decided to follow me everywhere..."
"And because he stood between us."
"...he thinks I'm carrying a child?"
"Yes."
You both fall quiet.
"Oh."
It is the only word you can manage, and Jace squeezes your hands.
"I've sent for the maester."
"You've... already?"
"He'll be here shortly."
The maester, when he finally arrives, is kind and discreet, far too accustomed to royal nerves to comment on the tension hanging in the room. He asks a handful of careful questions, his expression growing steadily more thoughtful with each answer.
When he rises from his examination, he folds his hands inside his sleeves and smiles.
"My prince."
Jace has been standing by the window the entire time.
"So?"
The old man inclines his head. "My congratulations."
The room falls completely still. You look at Jace. He looks at you. Neither of you speaks.
The maester continues, almost gently. "If my calculations are correct, Her Grace is nearing the end of her third month."
He leaves you with instructions about rest, diet, and avoiding undue strain, but you hear almost none of it, too focused on the way the room seems to have shrunk around you.
The door clicks shut.
Then Jace crosses the room so quickly that you barely have time to stand before his arms are around you. He buries his face against your hair, holding you so tightly it almost hurts.
You laugh through the tears threatening your eyes.
"I think..." Your voice catches. "I think we're going to have a baby."
He nods once against your shoulder, voice barely a whisper. "I know."
Jace's spiral into overprotectiveness begins with the reasonable things.
"No more riding."
You open your mouth to argue, but are stopped before any sound escapes by a single raised eyebrow.
The maester, entirely unhelpfully, agrees with him.
Then come the stairs.
"If no one is with you."
"Jace."
"They're uneven."
"They have been uneven for a hundred years."
He insists on taking your arm every time you descend them after that.
By the time your gowns no longer sit quite as they used to, he has become impossible.
Servants carry anything heavier than a book. Meals appear in your chambers if the Great Hall is too crowded. Councils are moved rather than asking you to cross the castle, and if you so much as mention feeling tired, Jace is already leading you back toward your rooms before you've finished the sentence.
"You know women have been having children since the beginning of time?"
"I am aware, yes."
"They don't all require an escort to the library."
"I don't care, because you will have one.
Once, you disappear for nearly an hour.
Jace finds you asleep in the late afternoon sun, curled against the warm curve of Vermax's foreleg with a book lying open across your lap.
The dragon is awake. His head rests protectively around you, just close enough to shelter you from the wind without touching.
At Jace's approach, one emerald eye opens. For a long moment, dragon and rider simply look at one another. Then Vermax lowers his head again.
You stir at the sound of footsteps, blinking sleepily up at your husband.
"There you are."
"I've been looking everywhere."
"I was comfortable."
"I can see that."
By the eighth month, you start to begrudingly appreciate Jace's over-the-top efforts.
"I cannot reach my boots."
Jace looks up from the letter he'd been pretending to read. "You reached them yesterday."
"I was smaller yesterday."
He watches you glare down at the impossible curve of your stomach as though sheer determination might convince it to move. After another unsuccessful attempt, you huff dramatically and fold your arms.
"This child is already causing problems."
"Our child," Jace corrects.
"Our child," you sigh, "has stolen my feet."
A smile threatens at the corners of his mouth. With the patience of a man who has accepted this as his fate, he sets the letter aside and kneels in front of you.
"Oh, don't you dare."
"You said you couldn't reach."
"I did not ask you to-"
"You were about to."
He lifts one foot gently onto his knee and makes quick work of the laces.
"Jace, you don't have to do everything you know."
"I know."
"So why do you?"
He finishes tying the second boot before looking up at you. "Because I like taking care of my wife."
A number of weeks later the castle wakes before dawn to the sound of a dragon.
Not roaring; pacing.
The heavy scrape of claws against stone echoes through the courtyard, followed by a low, restless rumble that seems to vibrate through the walls of Dragonstone itself.
You stir beneath the blankets, still half asleep. "...He's at it again."
Beside you, Jace groans into his pillow. "If he has frightened another stableboy, I swear on all that is holy-"
Another rumble.
Closer this time. Longer, almost a whine in nature.
Jace sits up. "...That's odd."
For the past several months Vermax has scarcely left the courtyard beneath your chambers, but he has always been quiet. Content simply to stand and watch.
The windows rattle faintly as his tail sweeps across the stone.
Jace is already pulling on a tunic. "I'll see what's wrong."
You nod, pushing yourself upright with considerably more effort than dignity. He smiles over his shoulder as he ducks out of the room, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
The courtyard is in chaos.
Dragonkeepers stand well back from Vermax, speaking to him in soothing High Valyrian that goes utterly ignored. The dragon paces in tight circles, wings half-spread, head swinging constantly toward the tower above.
One keeper catches sight of Jace.
"My prince."
"What happened?"
"We don't know."
Vermax notices his rider. Instead of calming, the dragon lets out another deep, agitated rumble and immediately turns toward the tower again, toward your chambers. Then, he stamps a forefoot. Hard enough that dust shakes from the walls.
Up in the tower, you're sitting and waiting for Jace when pain tightens unexpectedly across your abdomen.
You stop halfway across the chamber, one hand finding the edge of the table. "...Hm."
The feeling passes as quickly as it came.
Outside, Vermax lets out the loudest cry you've ever heard him make. It rolls across the cliffs and back again.
You freeze before calling out. "...Jace?"
He is already taking the stairs two at a time. He bursts through the chamber doors moments later, slightly out of breath.
Before he can speak, another wave rolls through you. Your hand flies instinctively to your stomach.
Jace's face drains of colour. "What is it?"
"I..." You breathe carefully. "I think..."
Another pause. Then, despite yourself, you laugh. "I think Vermax has solved another mystery."
For one heartbeat Jace simply stares.
Then his eyes widen.
"No."
"I think so."
As if the universe itself objects to his denial, another wave steals your breath. You grip the bedpost but Jace is at your side before you can blink, one arm already around your waist.
"The maester."
His voice comes out far calmer than his expression.
"Someone fetch the maester!"
Outside, Vermax finally stops pacing.
He lowers himself heavily onto the black stone directly beneath your windows, refusing every attempt by the dragonkeepers to coax him away.
His head remains lifted toward the tower.
After hours of pain and effort the world slowly comes back into focus in pieces.
Sound first; soft voices, the distant rush of the sea, the occasional crackle of the hearth. Then warmth pressed against your side. You blink against the haze of exhaustion and find yourself surrounded by dim candlelight and movement that feels almost too gentle for how loud everything had just been.
Jace is here.
He’s sitting half on the edge of the bed, hair dishevelled, sleeves rolled up wrong, a smear of something dark on his cuff that you vaguely decide not to think about too hard. His eyes are fixed on you with a kind of stunned intensity, as if he’s afraid that if he looks away for even a second, this will all vanish.
“You’re shaking,” you murmur, though your own voice barely holds together.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
A beat of silence passes between you before he exhales and finally lets himself lean forward, pressing a careful kiss against your forehead.
“And him?” he asks, like he’s been holding the question in his teeth for hours.
You don’t even need to answer. The little bundle in your arms shifts slightly, a tiny sound breaking through the quiet and Jace goes utterly still. His gaze drops to the child as though he’s afraid it might disappear if he stares too hard.
“He's beautiful,” he says finally.
You adjust the blanket slightly, and the baby nestles closer, face scrunching briefly before settling again. Jace makes a sound that is halfway between a laugh and something dangerously close to breaking.
“I don’t-” he starts, then stops, swallowing. “I didn’t think it would feel like this.”
“You thought it would feel like what?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. His hand hovers near the bundle, stops short, then retreats again like he’s not sure he’s allowed.
“Louder,” he admits.
You huff a weak laugh. “I'm not sure it'll stay this quiet, so we should probably try to enjoy it while it lasts.”
He finally looks at you again, and there’s something undone in his expression that you’ve never seen before. “I need to see him,” he says.
You tilt your head slightly. “You’ve been staring at him for an hour.”
“Alright, I need to hold him.”
You carefully shift the baby into his arms. It’s awkward at first, Jace holding himself too rigid, like he’s afraid of doing it wrong, like one wrong breath might undo everything, but then the child settles against him and something in his shoulders breaks open.
He exhales, slow and unsteady. There’s a long silence where he doesn’t say anything at all.
Jace looks down again, thumb brushing so lightly over the baby’s cheek it’s almost not there. “He looks…” He pauses, helpless. “He looks like he knows things already.”
“That’s probably just you projecting.”
Outside the window, a deep sound rolls through the cliffs. Jace’s head lifts instantly.
“Oh.”
Jace carefully adjusts his grip on the baby, like he’s handling something far more fragile than steel and fire could ever be.
“I should-” he starts.
You raise an eyebrow. “You should what?”
He’s already standing. “I should show him.”
You blink at him. “Jace.”
But he’s not really listening anymore. Not in the way he used to, at least. This is something else, instinctive and almost urgent.
“Jace, it’s freezing outside.”
“I’ll be quick.”
So you watch him wrap a cloak around himself and the baby like it’s the most natural thing in the world, then walk out of the room.
By the time he reaches the courtyard, Vermax is already there.
The dragon is enormous against the grey morning sky, wings folded, tail curled tightly around the stone like he’s been rooted there for hours. When he sees Jace, he doesn’t move at first.
Then Jace steps into the open.
Vermax’s head lowers immediately.
Jace stops a few paces away, breathing uneven, then lifts the bundle higher against his chest.
“This is my son.”
Vermax steps forward, so carefully. The ground still trembles slightly beneath the weight of him, but he is impossibly gentle as he lowers his head until he’s level with Jace’s arms. One massive eye focuses on the tiny face within the blanket.
For a long moment, he does nothing.
Then he exhales. Warm air, slow and careful, brushes over the child like a blessing.
The baby stirs, and Vermax freezes instantly.
Jace laughs under his breath, disbelieving and wrecked all at once. “It’s alright,” he murmurs. “He’s yours too, apparently.”
The dragon makes a soft, almost questioning sound, then lowers himself further until his forehead rests against the stone directly in front of them, as if offering something wordless and absolute.
Jace finally looks up at him properly, smiling.
“Say hello,” he whispers.
Vermax answers with a quiet, reverent rumble that rolls out across Dragonstone.
this was too cute, idk where the idea came from but i needed some vermax jace fluff
warnings: brothel talk?, gay, short & sweet, homophobia, kinda sad undertones.
it wasn’t unheard of, men sharing beds with other men. brothels all over the world shared in this custom, pleasure was pleasure.
but Dragonstone wasn’t a brothel, and he wasn’t a paying costumer. Jace was the hair to the throne, a Targaryen and Velaryon prince and you aren’t a whore. But a nobleman, from a great house. but you had to hide your love, you couldn’t marry since neither of your could father heirs to one another, couldn’t join houses.
“Perhaps, I’ll join the queen’s guard.” you muttered to your lover. his head upon your chest, hands playing and caressing the markings on your hands, legs tangled beneath the sheets.
“Your father would try and wage war,” Jace spoke a jest.
“My father has no real use for me anyway, my oldest brother is to see to our lands when father dies. And I hear my younger brother, and sister have betrothals being arranged.” You know this conversation isn’t real, but perhaps tonight you both could pretend.
“Hmm, so you’d take no wife then?” he continues to play with your fingers, interlocking his with yours. “I quite like that idea.”
“Of course you would. How many lords and ladies have I simply glanced at, and had to be punished for them?” Jace scoffs and leans up and glares at you playfully.
“You’re quite handsome, many ladies at court and visit are taken by you. Half of the young guards would like to train with you,” he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek.
“But you only train with me right? Keep your prince company?” he smirks.
You chuckle. You wrap your arms around his waist and bring him to his side, rolling yourself over him and on top of him.
“My attention is only on you my prince. Do I have to prove it again?” your lips lean above his, barely touching his. Your hand holding his waist, give his soft skin few caresses.
And if I wrote a god!reader, placed by the gods to kill and favor Rhaenyra would anyone read it? JACE ROMANCE!! I just wanna kill everyone for my baddie queen!
Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Betrothed!Reader [Both of theses are dark, and have yandere themes]
₊˚𓂃 The Prince is rage and cold. His lover however, is hardly glum about her bloodshed.
₊˚𓂃 words: 1k
₊˚𓂃 warnings: first real suggestive fic, undoing clothes, dark!couple vibes, glum chaos x happy chaos, reader likes to kill for her prince and queen, angry/show jace! Jace and reader being 20! Like the actor!
THE PRINCE Jacaerys was known for his ability to argue with his mother. When the war started he became unliked the boy Dragonstone raised and was replaced with a hot headed man, much like the rogue prince himself. When he walked into a room people would bow their heads, never stare to long before he catches whiff.
And yet, when he told of his ideas and defenses against the greens and their army, he was turned away by his mother for being too young to understand. He knew what he was, what the council thought of him. A bastard unfit to ruin, just a boy that knew nothing of the cold winds of the world.
He chose anger.
But, his lover chose violence. Chose to relish in chaos, hunt and protect. Happy to do so.
Perhaps it was unfitting of a princes betrothed to be so cruel, so blood thirsty. Whispers of women being soft, submissive and the perfect wife was always something your mother tried to push into you. You hated it. Why couldn't you be soft, but harden when it mattered? Why couldn't you spill blood such as a man does?
Queen Rhaenyra however, took you in just after your first blood and raised you up. Never putting you down for training with her sons, never once punished you for striking down someone who insulted her sons. Because she knew where she could not protect Jace. You'd do just fine.
"You looked troubled," You gazed upon your betrothed, his dark curls turning a lighter shade of brown from the candle light. Here within theses walls, you aren't seen as crazed and untamed. With him, your chaos and stability met and harmonized.
“Perhaps. It is late.” His voice was strained and low. All the happiness had recently left him since the news of his brother. Him smiling and being comfortable was a pleasure but rare moment.
Walking up to him, you wrap your arms around his neck and resting your head on his. He leaned back against you, exhaling and closing his eyes. “What if you get some rest, you never know what tomorrow brings. All these books around you makes a boring night,” you lean down you kiss just beside his ear.
“If I could just find one thing, anything to prove myself and my mother’s claim — Perhaps the whispering of my legitimacy would stop, and the fucking stares.” He sighed while tightening his jaw. His voice was now growling, angry but also desperate, a mix you learned well.
Humming, you let go of him and took your place beside his chair. Jace opened his eyes again and looked up, seeing your loving gaze and soft eyes. Something only reserved for him, or his family. Every part of you had him in chains since your youth, your spiteful actions and rage so loud it normal ended in bloodshed. But he loved that you let your guard down, that you aren’t afraid to be gentle with him. That you felt safe with him.
“You deserve the title of heir just as much as anyone who sat the throne before your mother. A son of the tided and fire.” your hand reached up to stroke his pale cheeks. His skin so soft beneath your caressing thumb, “You are her son. First born son, she was and is the true heir. Who your father is doesn’t matter, you are named heir for a reason. A perfect prince who loves his people, who fights for what is rightful his.”
He could only respond with raising his knees and coming to clash his lips onto yours. You smiled against his lips and found your arms being thrown once again upon his neck, pulling him closer. “Jace,” your voice came as only a slight warning as he moved you up against the stone table, reaching behind you to move the spread of books laid out.
“You are loyal, my loyal woman.” His hands reached your hips and helped you sit on top of the surface, his hands then moving to the low him of your shirts.
You push him back, a wicked smile creeping upon your lips and lean back slightly. “A loyal wife soon, but you know I’m so much more than a woman,” you reach up to tug at his dark locks, and with your other hand resting on his chest.
“Loyal blade more like it, hmm? I have killed for you, beaten and maimed for you.” he nodded in agreement, leaning his head back while you tug and scratch the back of his head.
“My love, you give me fire to keep going. The flame in my heart,” you chuckled slightly at his words, very heartfelt but more like a poem from songs. Unbelievably corny.
You let him kiss you once again, harder and more desperate this time for your affection. You have no will to stop it, you liked the heat that burned your skin when he touched you. And he told you just how much he needs you, in every way possible.
“I’ll kill everyone,” you whisper when he pulls away, bowing his head to take interest with the skin of your neck. “Everyone who has wronged you, has raised an army against your mother.” he hummed against your neck, satisfied with your words losing its strength from heavy breathing.
“To see you in battle from the skies, would be a thrilling tale. Covered in red, screaming and slaying traitors.” Jace agreed, his fingers working up the back of your dress, trying to grab the laced strings.
Your hands begin to find his clothings, unhooking every accessory and his sword. “Would you believe I’d kill the green bitch dragon? Her and her cunt of a rider.”
It was uncertain why your heart skipped an unusual beat when he pulled away, you wondered if he was offended. If mentioning killing the symbol of his house wounded him and his pride, something you didn’t want.
“Aemond hides in the skies, but if we meet him there…” his words trail off, smiling as he finally unhooks your fabric and it slowly looses around your shoulders.
“Then with blood we will win the war. We will have what’s rightfully ours.”
synopsis. somewhere in a web of crimson thread, jacaerys velaryon finds himself unexpectedly stuck.
pairing. jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader
word count. 2,987
authors note. fluff bc im getting depressed w all the sad fics here. AND MY FIRST EVER JACE FIC HELLO??? give this sum love!! leave a comment or reblog mwamwa <3
The Feast Hall of the keep was a deafening roar of rustic merriment, entirely too loud for a realm on the precipice of a succession crisis.
Jace sat stiffly at the high table, his fingers curled so tightly around the silver stem of his wine goblet that his knuckles were white. He watched the local lords and smallfolk mingle, laughing and drinking as if the greens weren't currently circling King's Landing like vultures. His mother had brought him here to secure a pledge from a house that didn't traditionally care for dragons, hoping their massive influence would deter a war entirely.
And yet, instead of a private solar and a contract, they were given a feast.
"They are wasting time," Jace muttered under his breath, his eyes fixed on the lord of the house, who was currently laughing at a jest across the room. "We should be negotiating the terms of the alliance, not nursing ale. Every hour we sit here is an hour Aegon uses to solidify his claim."
Rhaenyra didn't so much as glance his way. She lifted her goblet to her lips, letting him stew for a moment before speaking.
"Have some courtesy, Jace," she said quietly. "You may be king one day, but that means learning how to win people over. These people are opening their home to us. The least you can do is look pleased to be here."
Jace's jaw tightened. Beside him, Rhaenyra took note immediately. She lifted her wine cup to her lips, though the faint look she sent him over the rim was knowing enough.
Jace glanced sideways at his mother.
"I have reason to," Jace replied.
"You always have reason to."
He looked away, his gaze settling on the lord seated halfway across the hall. The man had spent most of the evening laughing with his bannermen rather than discussing the alliance they had traveled all this way to secure.
"We've been here for hours," Jace said quietly. "Every moment spent feasting is a moment wasted." Rhaenyra hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
"So does everyone in this hall," she said after a moment. "Yet they still seem capable of enjoying themselves."
Jace followed her gaze across the room. A group of young knights were arguing over some game near the hearth. A cluster of ladies sat together, smiling behind raised cups. Even the older men looked relaxed.
He remained unimpressed. At that, Rhaenyra nudged his arm lightly with her own.
"Try smiling."
Jace stared at her.
"Mother."
"It will not kill you."
A breath escaped through his nose, somewhere between amusement and exasperation.
"I doubt a smile is what wins alliances."
"No," a voice said from nearby. "But it certainly helps."
Jace blinked, shifting his gaze downward. You were standing before the high table, a cup of spiced cider in one hand and a lazy, knowing grin on your face. Months earlier, at a banquet in King's Landing, the two of you had found yourselves trapped in the same corner of the hall while half the court chased after more interesting company. The conversation had been brief, but memorable. Jace had spent most of it attempting to be polite, and you had spent most of it laughing at him.
"And judging by the look on your face, Prince Jacaerys," you continued, "you could use all the help you can get."
A smile tugged at Rhaenyra's mouth. And Jace– unfortunately, felt no such inclination.
"I believe you owe me a dance," you said, tilting your head.
Jace’s formal mask slipped perfectly into place, his expression hardening. "No, I don't."
“Oh, you absolutely do,” you countered, stepping closer to the dais, entirely unbothered by his frosty stare. “You promised it in the Red Keep, just before Prince Aegon caused enough of a scene to distract the entire court.”
Jace’s brow furrowed, his shoulders squaring defensively. “I did not.”
“You did–“
“–Then I would remember.”
You hummed thoughtfully, taking a slow, deliberate sip of your cider while keeping your eyes locked onto his.
“Oh, of course you don’t remember,” you said, your smile widening with wicked delight. “You flew here on dragonback, didn't you? The wind must have blown the memory straight out of your head.”
A few local lords nearby snorted into their ale, entirely unawed by the royal guest. Jace's jaw tightened, a faint flush of irritation creeping up his neck.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, dropping his voice to a stern register. “I am here on official crown business, my lady. I hardly think a dance is appropriate given the gravity of the circumstances.”
“There really is no cure for princely arrogance, is there?” you mused, turning your head slightly to appeal to the surrounding crowd. “A man makes one promise and immediately hides behind a crown.”
“I made no such promise.”
“You did.”
“When?” Jace demanded, leaning forward slightly.
You pointed at him triumphantly, your grin turning entirely smug. “See? You're asking for the time because you've forgotten it already.”
For a brief moment, Jace simply stared at you, his mouth slightly open as he processed the trap he had just walked into. Months ago in King's Landing, he had thought you mildly amusing. Now, he was beginning to suspect that there had been a grave miscalculation. Meanwhile, the Princess of Dragonstone had gone suspiciously quiet beside him. You noticed immediately, your eyes darting over his shoulder. “Your mother remembers.”
Jace turned sharply toward his mother.
To his absolute horror, she looked distinctly entertained. She wasn't even trying to hide it, her violet eyes dancing with mirth as she raised her chalice.
“I do recall a conversation,” Rhaenyra said smoothly into her wine.
“Mother,” Jace hissed, his ears burning.
“What?” she asked, looking at him with an innocence that fooled absolutely no one at the table. “You should be grateful, Jace. It is not often someone honors your promises better than you do. Go on.” A smirk came up to the side of his lips– “don't keep the host waiting.”
"Official business can wait until the morning," you said, offering a fluid, mocking little bow as you reached out and confidently took his hand. Jace shot you a look of utter, incredulous disbelief at the sheer audacity of the gesture. The gods– he decided right then and there, were testing him today. You offered him one of your most charming, shameless smiles before he could even think to pull away.
"Besides–" you added smoothly, "my father refuses to talk politics on an empty stomach–” you then glanced and nodded towards the parque, “--or an empty dance floor.” You then lowered your voice as though sharing a secret, “it's bad luck."
Jace looked unconvinced but before he could find a polite way to decline again, you stepped back, letting your fingers slide from his as you turned your attention to your sister. She stood a few paces away, holding a massive wooden spool wound tight with vibrant, crimson yarn.
"My lords, ladies, and honored guests!" your sister called out, her voice easily cutting through the din of the hall. A few heads turned. Then a few more. Before long, conversations began to taper off as the musicians eased into a much slower tune. “Before the night gets away from us,” she continued, raising the large spool of crimson wool in her hands, “it is time for the Weaver’s Dance.”
A cheer went up from several of the local guests. Others laughed and began pushing back their benches, already preparing to join. You glanced toward the high table. The royal party had caught on immediately. Some looked curious. Others exchanged quiet questions among themselves. But only one person remained distinctly unimpressed.
Your gaze settled on Prince Jacaerys. You had to bite back a smile. There was something almost impressive about his dedication to being miserable. Unfortunately for him, you had no intention of letting him spend the evening glowering from the high table.
"A regional tradition," you explained, nodding toward your sister and the enormous spool of crimson wool in her hands. By now, servants and guests alike were helping unwind the thread, passing lengths of it between tables as dancers began to gather in the center of the hall.
"The dancers take the floor while everyone else weaves the string through the crowd." You gestured toward a group of children already running off with an armful of wool. "Usually with considerably more enthusiasm than skill."
Jace's gaze followed the growing web of crimson stretching across the hall.
"And the purpose of this is?" Jace asked, watching as a servant tossed a length of red wool across the room.
You followed his gaze and shrugged. "Depends on who you ask."
Your eyes drifted toward an elderly woman seated near the hearth. She had already wrapped a strand of the wool around her wrist and was murmuring something under her breath as though the thread itself might be listening. "The old women will tell you the thread has a mind of its own," you said. "That it catches people whose paths were always meant to cross."
Jace glanced at the woman, then back at you. "Convenient," Jace said dryly.
"Very." You smiled.
Across the hall, another strand was thrown overhead, drawing a cheer from a group of children who immediately ducked beneath it. "The younger generation mostly uses it as an excuse to trip their cousins and embarrass their friends."
As if on cue, a boy of about ten promptly tangled his sister's feet in a loop of wool. The girl shoved him. That earned a snort from Luke.
"There it is." You pointed triumphantly. "Exhibit A."
Jace shook his head and ran his tongue across his lips before folding his arms over his chest, looking thoroughly unconvinced despite the flicker of interest in his eyes. "You have a peculiar tradition."
"You've not seen the worst of it yet." And then in a cue– a musician narrowly avoided being clotheslined by a poorly aimed strand, earning another round of laughter from the crowd.
"But every now and then," you continued, turning back to him, "someone ends up tangled with a complete stranger, and by the end of the year they're married."
"I'm sure the maesters would be fascinated by that."
"Oh, unquestionably." You folded your hands behind your back, before stating– "personally, I think it's nonsense."
Jace raised a brow. "But?"
You offered him a look of pure, exaggerated innocence– the kind that fooled absolutely no one, least of all a prince. But the playful tilt of your chin did something unexpected. And foor the first time all evening, Jace’s guarded gaze slipped. His eyes flickered downward, catching the curve of your lips for a single, heavy heartbeat before snapping back to your eyes.
Not so prince-like, you noted with a quiet surge of triumph. Beneath all that heavy velvet and duty, the boy could be unnerved.
"But my grandmother would haunt me from beyond the grave if I said so too loudly." Around you, the hall continued to buzz with anticipation as more strands of red thread crisscrossed the room, turning the space into a loose web of crimson lines.
"Either way," you said, your voice dropping to a smooth whisper as you stepped just an inch closer to the dais, "it's a tradition. And seeing as you're a guest in our hall, it would be terribly rude not to participate. Surely the future king of Westeros isn't afraid of a little local superstition?"
Jace’s eyes narrowed slightly at the challenge, his jaw tightening as he looked down at your outstretched hand. He was a creature of duty, and you were weaponizing hospitality against him with terrifying efficiency.
"I am afraid of nothing, my lady," he muttered, though his tone lacked its previous icy armor.
"Prove it then," you teased.
The dance began. It wasn't the rigid, courtly steps of King's Landing, but something more fluid and alive. As you and Jace moved, circling each other, the music swelled, the heavy thrum of the drums echoing off the stone walls. At first, the prince was predictably stiff, his posture impeccably straight as if he were still standing at attention. "You look as though you're marching to an execution, not a dance," you said, stepping closer as the rhythm shifted. "Relax your shoulders, My Prince. I don't bite unless requested."
Jace’s eyebrows shot up, a sudden flush creeping up his neck, though his expression remained stubbornly stern. "I have a lot on my mind. My mother needs this alliance. I thought your house understood the urgency, yet you treat this like a maiden's day festival."
"We do understand," you said softly, your eyes holding his as you took a step backward, drawing him deeper into the lively pattern of the dance. As the tempo quickened, he was forced to adapt, his hand on your waist tightening significantly to keep up with the pace of the local youth. "But my father believes that you cannot truly know a man's character in a dark room over parchment. He wanted to see how the future king comports himself among the people he wishes to rule. If you are cold, they will be cold."
Jace paused mid-step, a sudden realization dawning on him. He looked around the room over your shoulder, noticing for the first time that the lord of the house– your father– wasn't drinking blindly– he was watching Jace. Watching how he treated you, how he carried himself.
"I see," Jace murmured, a bit of the tension finally leaving his shoulders, though his dark eyes narrowed playfully down at you. "A test, then. And you're the distraction?"
"I prefer the term 'hostess'," you smirked.
From the galleries above and the sidelines below, the onlookers began to toss the long, unbroken strands of vibrant red wool across the floor. The crimson lines arched beautifully through the air like a localized storm, draping softly over shoulders, catching on heavy velvet sleeves, and tangling around the swirling skirts and heavy boots of the dancers. With every passing second, the room was being woven together into a chaotic, beautiful web of bright red thread.
Jace ducked his head slightly as a stray strand brushed over his dark curls, his eyes darting around the room in a mix of wariness and pure fascination. He looked less like a brooding prince now and more like a man caught in a spell, entirely surrounded by the warmth of your hall– and the impossible-to-ignore pull of his partner.
Suddenly, a particularly long, vibrant arc of red string was thrown from the gallery above, cutting through the warm haze of the hall like a streak of wildfire. It dropped directly into the narrow space between the two of you just as the music took a sharp, dramatic turn.
As Jace expertly spun you around to follow the changing beat, the heavy wool caught. With a sudden snap, the coarse yarn hooked itself tightly onto the sharp, ornamental silver buckle of his belt. At the exact same moment, the momentum of your spin caused the loose tail of the thread to whip around your arm, wrapping itself three times perfectly around your wrist.
The sudden, rigid tension snapped the line completely taut, halting your movements mid-stride. The delicate friction of the wool dug slightly into your skin, effectively locking your hand to his hip.
You stopped in your tracks. Slowing down your breathing, you looked down at your bound wrist, then tracked the straight crimson line directly to his waist. A slow, wicked smirk spread across your face.
Jace frowned, completely oblivious to the tradition's rules, and reached down with his free hand to unhook it. "Let me just–"
Before his fingers could even touch the wool, you gave your wrist a sudden, sharp yank.
The pull caught Jace entirely off guard. Stumbling forward, the sheer force of the tug dragged him a full step closer, his chest nearly colliding with yours. To keep his balance, his hand automatically clamped down firmly on your waist, his eyes widening in genuine shock as he found himself looking straight down into your amused face, mere inches away.
The music swelled perfectly with the moment, and around you, a few locals cheered and pointed at the tight, crimson line binding the stubborn prince's hips directly to your hand.
"Where are you going, Prince Jacaerys?" you whispered, your voice a low, teasing purr as you deliberately held the string taut between you, refusing to give him an inch of breathing room. "The game isn't over yet."
Jace’s breath hitched, his hand still anchored heavily to your hip, the warmth of his palm seeping through your clothes. He looked at your smirk, then down at the red string, his jaw tightening as he fought a losing battle against a sudden, involuntary smile of his own.
"You are incredibly frustrating," he muttered, his voice low, though he didn't make a single move to let go of your waist.
"And you're incredibly stiff," you whispered, leaning in just close enough to ensure he couldn't look away– "but your heart is betraying you, My Prince."
As you spoke, you deliberately pressed your bound hand flat against the center of his chest. The red string– wrapped tight around your wrist and anchored to his belt, pulled taut between you, dragging your bodies even closer. Beneath your palm, through the heavy layers of his velvet doublet, you could feel the frantic, heavy thudding of his pulse against his ribs– rapid, fierce, and utterly uncoordinated with the rhythm of the drums around you.
At the touch, the air caught entirely in his throat. For all his rigid royal posture and cold sense of duty, his body was completely giving him away– his gaze dropped, helpless, tracking the slight parting of your lips before locking back onto your eyes with a sudden dark intensity.
"And I certainly think you're exactly where you want to be."
Strangers Union [Jace arranged marriage x fem!reader]
The Right Shade Of Green: [Baela & Jace x Hightower!fem!R]
Jacaerys Velaryon x Baratheon!M!Reader [First Laughing storm]
Modern!Jacaerys AU of college romance
Yandere Jacaerys x Brother!Reader
Yandere Baela & Jace x Fiancé!F!Reader
Voting ended onJun 28
Stranger Union series: Plot: Having just been betrothed to, Prince Jacaerys, you both are just getting used to each other. A new home an ocean away from yours, in the middle of a war between kin and dragons. You wonder if you both could grow together, or die before you get to try.
The Right Shade Of Green: Baela and Jace have a strange relationship with their aunt/cousin. The tolerable Hightower since childhood, they have a need to be closer to her.
The first laughing storm idea: Just a silly little slow burn? About Jace having met a barathon reader who he becomes good friends with, and realizing he’s thinking about kissing the big hunk!
Modern Jacaerys idea: Probably a mini series! Jace alive in modern times because he would love it here! Jace and reader would probably be a collage romance, some soft trope! Childhood friends to lovers, friends to lovers, Best friends older brother, love a first sight. Family friend- the list is endless.
Yandere Jacaerys x brother reader: after the brutal death of your twin brother, Jace can’t seem to be too far away from you. So scared of losing you to, that he’s not afraid of showing his admiration for you.
Yandere Baela & Jace x Fiancé!F!Reader: The Dance begins, Rhaenrya is forced to make a union between her son and a new bride. She fears Jace and Baela will grow cold towards you- Just as you thought. But the two couldn’t be more warmly towards you….It’s slowly burning you like Dragon Fire.
