GINGER

[milkvetch114]

Call me GINGER, she/her, twenties, pervert . . . . writing since I was thirteen, damian's beloved, jacaerys' vezhōnon. 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 ◞ closed 𝐈𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐗 ◞ always open

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ◞

asoiaf masterlist. dc masterlist. pinterest. ao3

rules/character list. taglist. spotify. writing tag. gingeryaps.

𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 ◞ Greedy, Greedy Girl

𝐔𝐏𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 ◞ For Your Kisses, I am Debased

[milkvetch114]

‎﴾ ‎ ‎ For Your Kisses, I Am Debased ﴿‏

𐔌 ⠀⠀𓂃 ࣪ ִ⠀⠀Jacaerys Velaryon x Bastard Reader

❛❛ the gods made me yours before they ever made me heir. i will crawl at your feet if that is the only place you will allow me beside you— only take me for yours ❜❜

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the gods never favored you, a bastard raised more like a hound than a true-born daughter. you were never meant to be more than a stain upon the rogue prince's legacy, until war in the stepstones placed you at the side of prince jacaerys velaryon. OR: in which viserys i lives longer, the narrow sea is fucked, and the heir to the iron throne decides you are his, as he is yours.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: au: viserys I targaryen lives longer, war, canon-typical violence, attempted sa, explicit language, slow burn, romance, possessive jacaerys, vaginal sex, oral sex, fighting as foreplay, possessive reader, pregnancy, essos, character death, targcest, plot heavy, angst, fluff, smut, canon-typical views, not a love triangle, warning: aemond. (+18) (MDNI)

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 : WIP (working title)

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𓆰𓆪 Act 1 ~ Stepstones

01 ~ SINS OF THE MOTHER

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taglist: @ange0o, @froogyok, @sparklejumperopequeen222, @ciaratomioka1432, @myangelbaby555, @lilithtales, @cloudnuggettt, @thytenderlambkin, @caliope-la-elocuencia-epica, @soopinkalicious If you would like to be tagged please let me know below !!

[milkvetch114]

Just found out Aerion is only 5'7. This is the best news ever. He'd be such a simp for his tall wife and he'd hate it so much. Such an angry little Labubu. He'd feel so emasculated too.

I adore a short king but he'd just be so insecure--

[milkvetch114]

Wait, I'm insane apparently???? I swear Gwayne had a very faint branched scar under his left eye??? I thought it was supposed to be from where Daemon unhorsed him? I seriously just hallucinated this while watching S2?????? What in the mandela effect?????

[everythingisdragons]

[milkvetch114]

Greedy, Greedy Woman

Gwayne Hightower x Targaryen Princess Reader

𓏲ּ𝄢 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: pregnancy has left you sickened by nearly every scent in oldtown. your only reprieve is burying your face in gwayne’s neck. though your poor husband rarely escapes without his pretty, pale skin thoroughly ravished.

𓏲ּ𝄢 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: smut, romance, cockwarming, pregnant sex, p what p, poor gwayne, his wife is a menace, domestic fluff, 18+ MDNI

𓏲ּ𝄢 𝐚𝐧: in celebration of gwayne finally having a bath in hotd. don’t get me wrong, I would have 100% risked that STI for dirty Gwayne, but now we can all admire that pretty pale neck again…. anways! this is also a little thank you for the unexpected, wonderful reaction i received on my debut gwayne fic! this can be read as a continuation or a stand-alone.

𓏲ּ𝄢 𝐰𝐜: 1.3k (oneshot)

You were barely showing, just the softest swell beneath the silk of your abandoned nightgown, but the pregnancy had already made your stomach squeamish.

Gwayne sat with you in the wide armchair by the open balcony doors, the warm night air billowing the gauzy curtains with the scent of the bay and night-blooming summer flowers. You were settled fully in his lap, arms around his neck, bare skin against his, his cock buried deep inside you and simply… resting there. Warm and full from your first round. Neither of you moved. The slow, steady throb of him against your walls was enough. It soothed the deep soreness pregnancy had left you with, and that restless ache that forever made you want to live in his skin.

Your nose was buried in the pale column of his throat.

You could not get enough of the smell of him. Clean skin, faint traces of the cedar and orange soap the maids used on him, and underneath it the deeper, warmer scent that was purely your Gwayne.

Ormund’s cloying perfumes made your stomach turn these days and the entire household reeked of his potpourri. You kept the windows and doors thrown open all day and night. But your husband’s neck was the one thing in the world that did not make you want to retch.

So you scented him constantly. And took advantage of him as you pleased, ravishing his pretty, pale skin. Your poor husband patiently endured his fate, condemned to spend his days feasted upon, the long column of his neck bitten red and purple for the whole of court to see.

“My dragon love is attempting to eat me again,” he murmured, voice low and amused even as he tilted his head to grant you better access. “I have a meeting with the High Septon in the morning, you greedy, greedy woman.” 

You hummed against his skin, the sound making him close his eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed and you attacked it. Your teeth scraped at the sensitive skin. He hissed, hand tightening on your hip. You soothed the sting at once with soft kitten licks, tongue tracing the indentations you had left.

“Sorry,” you whispered against his skin, not sounding very sorry at all. “You are just so pretty, husband. And you smell… gods, Gwayne.”

You whined as you buried your face again in the curve of his neck, just breathing him in. You felt like Ormund with his damned pomander.

“How am I to survive a whole week without this?” you asked mournfully.

“Stay.” His hand found the gentle swell of your belly and spread protectively over it. “It is far too much strain to ride in your condition.”

“The babe will be perfectly fine—"

“It is too much strain for you.”

He caught your chin and guided your face away from his throat until you were forced to look at him. Green eyes steady, serious. “You are already ill every morning. You scarcely keep anything down till midday. I worry for you.”

You hummed in reluctant acknowledgment and dipped your head again, resuming your slow, wet kisses, tasting the salt of his skin.

“Rhaenyra is with her second child already,” you murmured against his skin. “We want to go together and choose eggs for the babes to cradle with.” Your hand drifted down to rest over his on your stomach. “Oh, how sweet would it be if they were of the same clutch?”

“Very sweet,” Gwayne conceded, though his tone suggested he found the prospect considerably less charming than you did. He tried, but your husband was not born with fire singing in his blood. You could not fault him for not understanding. “But please, dearest, you should make the journey after the babe arrives and you have recovered.”

You answered him by rolling your hips.

A slow, deliberate grind that dragged your slick walls along the thick length buried inside you. Gwayne’s breath left him in a rough exhale and you felt him twitch inside of you, swelling even fuller. His hands immediately settled at your hips, large and warm.

“Again, for me,” he rasped.

You obliged. Up and down, slow at first, savoring every inch of the stretch, the way he filled you so completely even when neither of you was thrusting hard. The armchair creaked beneath you. You were dripping; his seed from the first round already spilled out with every upward slide, slicking his thighs and balls, making filthy wet sounds that filled the quiet chamber. Mixed with the quiet wash of the bay and the soft rustle of curtains, it was obscene.

You whined and he helped you without hesitation. His strong hands lifted and lowered you in a steady, generous rhythm, strong thighs braced beneath yours.

You kept your face buried to his skin, dipping to suck dark marks at his collar, breathing him in like you were starving for him, licking sweat from his skin, biting down whenever the pleasure spiked too high.

“That’s it,” he whispered against your hair, voice strained. “Have what you need, sweetling. Use me.”

You whimpered and clenched around him, his words going straight to the tight coil low in your belly. Your pace turned desperate, grinding harder, faster, chasing the friction of his cockhead against that perfect spot inside you while your sensitive clit dragged against the base of his dark curls on every roll.

“My love,” he gasped, head tipping back against the chair, his eyes fixed on you. “My beautiful love. Gods, I should keep you always like this— soft and lovely with my babe.”

Your pace quickened, hips rolling with growing urgency. The soft swell of your stomach brushed against his abdomen with every downward slide. One of his hands left your hip to cup the back of your head, holding you close so you could keep nuzzling and biting as you pleased. The other remained firm on your hip, helping you rise and sink, rise and sink, until the pleasure coiled tight and bright low in your belly.

You pulled your head back just enough to grip his chin and drag his mouth to yours. Breath mixed. Teeth clicked.

You came with a muffled cry, walls fluttering and clenching around him. Gwayne groaned deeply, hips lifting once, twice, grinding up into you as he followed, spilling hot and deep while you rode out every last pulse.

For a long moment neither of you moved. You stayed exactly where you were: impaled, trembling, staring into his green eyes while you stroked his hair and pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to his lips. His hands stayed wrapped around your back, holding you gently against him even as his cock twitched with aftershocks inside you.

“That was shameless,” he murmured.

“Was it persuasive?”

Gwayne gave you a long, unimpressed look. You smiled sweetly.

“…You are an unscrupulous woman.”

You squealed with joyous victory, peppering thankful kisses to the scar under his eye.

He ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it from his face, doing poorly to hide his own smile.

“You have my blessing— provided the maesters find no cause for concern.” His gaze sharpened. “And you will rest once you arrive. You will not exhaust yourself attempting to keep pace with your sister, and at the first hint of pain— however slight— you will stay with her and send for me.”

“You make me sound so terribly fragile.”

He pressed a kiss to your left eye, then to your right. “You are what is most precious to me.”

Then he bent to your throat and began repaying your greedy attentions, one lingering kiss at a time.

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@ange0o

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[king-baelor]

JACAERYS VELARYON ⋆ HOUSE OF THE DRAGON

[milkvetch114]

I'm working on a multi-chapter Jacaerys x reader fic rn and doing research, and it occurred to me:

When Rhaenyra has her dragon seed audition, she summons Vermithor.

Not Silverwing, who's generally good-natured and has a good disposition and who was also available to be summoned.

She decided to sic the "Bronze Fury", the second biggest dragon alive, on these people and just see how it went.

[starsandstars]

So true bestie

[milkvetch114]

no because debut fic with gwayne was phenomenal i needed to say it and give you your flowers 💐🤍

You're out here making me kick my feet and twirl my hair 🤍 Thank you so much!!

[card1gan]

where are the season 1 jacaerys girlies??? can we talk about how this side profile belongs to a MUSEUM?!!??!!?

he’s literally perfect .

[milkvetch114]

Proud to say I had the biggest crush on him AND his funky haircut

[king-baelor]

JACAERYS VELARYON ⋆ HOUSE OF THE DRAGON

[milkvetch114]

‎ ‎    ֹ    ❜    ｡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ──── ( ꢾ꣒ ) : 𝒢 𝖴 𝖨 𝖣 𝖤 𝖫 𝖨 𝖭 𝖤 𝖲

This blog is strictly 18+.

SOME FICS MAY INCLUDE DARK CONTENT. THIS BLOG IS NOT FOR MINORS. 18+. I frequently write explicit sexual content, heavy angst, heavy violence, and other mature themes. Please read all warnings and tags before engaging with my work. I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume.

Cis!Fem!Reader only. That’s my experience and what I’m comfortable writing.

𝗬𝗘𝗦 ` fluff, smut, angst, violence, breeding kink, spanking, dacryphilia, praise, intimacy, somnophilia, dubcon, pregnancy, menstruation, alternative universes, targcest, obsessive love, omegaverse, more tba… (if you aren't sure, please ask first)

𝗡𝗢 ` harassment, pegging, feces or urine, male!reader, noncon, poly, AI use, daddy kink, fetishized infidelity, domestic violence, pedophilia, master/mistress play, age play, pet play, ddlg, irl politics, racism, rudeness, more tba…

꒰ 𝗪𝗛𝗢 𝗜 𝗪𝗜𝗟𝗟 𝗪𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗘 𝗙𝗢𝗥 ꒱

A Song of Ice and Fire

Jacaerys Velaryon

Aemond Targaryen

Gwayne Hightower

Valarr Targaryen

Aerion Targaryen

Robb Stark

DC Comics

Bruce Wayne

Dick Grayson

Jason Todd

Tim Drake

Aged up! Damian Wayne

Terry McGinnis

Wally West

[milkvetch114]

alright i read your gwayne fic... and ma'am i was sobbing while smiling idk why fr... 😭 it was really great. i love how angry gwayne was. chef's kiss 💌

"Sobbing while smiling" exactly the kind of emotional damage I was hoping to inflict 💋

I may or may not have stalked your blog. Your Gwayne fic was so SO good!!

[milkvetch114]

i looooove your Gwayne fic🩷 it's exactly the kind of angst that I've been craving lately, i've already read it twice now!! I hope your write more for him because you've captured how I imagine him with a lover

thank you for such a wonderful story!!

STOP this is so sweet 😭💕 The fact that you've already read it twice is insane to me!!

[milkvetch114]

—𓏲𑁘 Damian yachting with his ridiculously spoiled wife

The Italian coast glittered around you. The sun turning the white cliffs and water to diamonds.

The sea was impossibly blue, bright enough to burn through your closed eyelids. You had melted bonelessly into the vinyl cushions at the bow with no intention of moving. Not from the overwhelming heat. The sun was warming its way through your skin to the marrow of you, turning your body loose and golden and heavy.

You were too hot. Overheated, definitely. Your breathing had gone shallow from it.

But it felt so good.

Eventually, you would roll off the side of the anchored yacht like some dramatic, half-dead thing and crash into the water to cool yourself down.

For now, you were content to sun like a spoiled lizard.

Till a shadow fell over you.

You did not open your eyes.

“You’re going to burn,” Damian said. “When’s the last time you applied sunscreen or drank water?”

“Mm.”

There was a disapproving sound above you. A click of his tongue. The sound your long-suffering husband always made when you were being unreasonable on purpose.

Then his hands were on you.

You whined, immediately going limp in protest. “Nooo, ’m all sweaty.”

He ignored you, of course. Gathered you to him with appalling ease, as if you were not a grown woman but some indignant cat. You made yourself dead weight just to be difficult, and he handled you anyway. He settled against the cushioned backrest and arranged you so you were lying atop him, front to his bare chest. His heartbeat slow under your squished cheek.

You huffed but made no attempt to move.

He tugged the strings of your bikini top, tossing the pesky thing away so he could run his broad hand lazily up and down the length of your spine uninterrupted.

“Open, beloved.”

You opened your mouth without opening your eyes to see what it was.

Blood orange burst over your tongue, sharply sweet and cold. Juice ran down the corner of your mouth before you could catch it.

Damian simply ducked his head, licking the red trail clean for you.

“Greedy,” you mumbled. Your eyes opened halfway to look up at him.

“My wife makes restraint difficult.” He placed another slice between his teeth and leaned close enough to make you lift your head for it. You took it from his mouth, licking your lips.  

You inspected the plate that sat beside you. Washed fruit, cut neat and pretty because he had no capacity to do anything carelessly. “Cherries next.” You demanded, because you had him wrapped around your finger and you both knew it.

And next came black cherries, dark and glossy as polished stones and already pitted. He hand-fed them to you one by one, letting your lips brush his fingertips every time. Crisp pears, cold and pale. Then blood orange again, peeled and segmented, ruby-bright and dripping between his fingers. He ate what you did not, had you lick the juice from his now sticky fingers, and kept his other possessive hand spread across the bare, sun-hot skin of your back.

Waves licked at the sides of the yacht and the whole world smelled like salt, sweat, citrus, and him.

You were still too hot. Still drowsy with it. Half-planning your escape to slip into the water.

But Damian’s chest rose and fell beneath you, steady and hot. His mouth pressed once to the crown of your head. His muscular arms wrapped around you, as if he had all the time in the world to keep you exactly where he wanted you.

So, you closed your eyes again.

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WC: 619 (drabble)

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[milkvetch114]

ֹ    ❜    ｡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐵 𝖮 𝖮 𝖪 𝖲 𝖧 𝖤 𝖫 𝖥 ──── DC COMICS M.LIST

𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

． ． ．𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑛

𝐃𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧

． ． ．𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑛

𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝

． ． ．𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑛

𝐓𝐢𝐦 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐞

． ． ．𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑛

𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

⤻ 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒

． ． ．𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑛

⤻ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

． ． ．𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑛

⤻ 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒

━━━━━━ Damian yachting with his ridiculously spoiled wife

(0.6k) (sfw)

⤻ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

． ． ．𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑛

⧽ 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐭

． ． ．𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑛

last updated: July 22 2026