For everyones information, I don't take request of fics since I'm very busy with my studies. So, please, don't send me any request of fics. I apologize for this but I hope you understand 😊
synopsis: years after a painful breakup caused by a heartbreaking misunderstanding, m/n and clark kent suddenly find themselves working together again at the daily planet, while m/n is engaged to architect (fiance's name) (last name). Despite trying to stay professional, m/n and Clark's unresolved history erupts into undeniable to tension, longing, and emotional turmoil. When the truth behind their separation finally comes to light, m/n realizes clark never ghosted him. Overhwhelmed by years of buried feelings, m/n rushes to clark, leading to a raw, passionate reunion where both men confront their past and choose each other again, reclaiming the love they thought was lost forever.
M/N stands at the back corner of the Daily Planet, a cup of lukewarm coffee in his hand, trying not to look at the man he once believed he’d spend the rest of his life with. Clark Kent is sitting at his desk, glasses slipping down his nose as he types, shoulders broad beneath a light blue dress shirt that looks unfairly good on him. M/N tries, really tries, not to stare, not to let memory wash over him. But memory is a tide, and it has never listened to his pleas. He adjusts his press badge and clears his throat, pretending the tension in the air is only from the broken office heater. It isn’t. Every time Clark walks past him, the air thickens, warm, electric, familiar, dangerous. Because M/N might be engaged, but his heart has never really learned how to stay loyal to a wound.
Lois Lane is the first to notice it, because she notices everything. She leans against M/N’s desk, crossing her arms with that deadly reporter stare. “You two were something,” she murmurs, not unkindly, but observant.
M/N only forces a laugh, pushing aside notes for an article he isn’t reading. “We were kids,” he lies. “I don’t think we knew what we were.”
Lois raises a brow. M/N pretends not to care, pretends his chest doesn’t tighten every time Clark’s deep voice rumbles across the room. He pretends he isn’t curious, angry, hurt, confused, still so wildly in love with a man he walked away from the night Clark didn’t show up to his university graduation. Clark had promised. Clark had sworn on every star in the sky. And then nothing. No calls. No texts. No explanations. Just silence, a silence sharp enough to break something essential inside him. So M/N did what he always did when things hurt too much; he disappeared first.
Clark tries to keep his distance. He’s polite, careful, almost painfully gentle, as though M/N is a fragile memory that might shatter if he breathes too close. It’s infuriating. It’s devastating. M/N hates it. He also aches for it. Every time Clark brushes past him to grab printouts, every time their eyes accidentally meet over morning briefings, M/N feels the old, dangerous gravity tug between them. Tonight, he reminds himself, he goes home to (Fiance's Name) (Last Name); architect, dependable, devoted, the man who gave M/N stability when he thought he’d never trust again. (Fiance's name), who asked him to marry him under the city lights with a quiet smile and a hand that didn’t shake. (Fiance's name), who is everything Clark wasn’t. Everything except… Clark.
M/N tries to bury himself in normal life. On weekends, he cleans their shared apartment because it’s one of the few acts of calm he can control; sorting, dusting, reorganizing the pieces of a life he’s building with a man who loves him. But this weekend feels strange from the beginning. (Fiance's name) is working at a project site all day. The apartment is quiet. Too quiet. M/N decides to clean (Fiance's name)’s home office, humming under his breath as he dusts shelves and rearranges blueprints. Halfway through, he notices the small black safe box tucked beneath the desk is cracked open. (Fiance's name) must’ve forgotten to close it. M/N bends down, reaching for the lid, ready to shut—
—and then he sees a name.
A familiar name.
A name that freezes the air in his lungs.
Clark Kent.
It sits handwritten on the corner of an envelope. Neat. Soft. The way Clark writes everything, as if afraid of leaving marks too heavy. M/N’s throat tightens. He shouldn’t touch it. He shouldn’t even be thinking about touching it. But something; instinct, dread, gravity, pulls him forward. Before he can talk himself out of it, he reaches into the safe and lifts the large manila envelope.
Inside are… letters.
Not one. Not two.
Hundreds.
All addressed to him.
All in Clark’s handwriting.
M/N’s fingers tremble so violently that the paper nearly slips from his grip. He sinks onto the floor, knees folding weakly beneath him, the quiet room suddenly suffocating. He opens the first letter. Then the second. Then the twentieth. His heartbeat is a roar in his ears as he reads words written in a voice he once knew better than his own, Clark wrote about searching for him after graduation. About showing up late because of something he couldn’t explain; an emergency, a disaster, a moment he had to save the world from. He wrote apologies, desperate, aching ones. He wrote hopes, small ones, trembling ones, hoping M/N will give him another chance. He wrote updates from Smallville. He wrote about loneliness. About missing M/N. About loving him still.
M/N can no longer breathe.
There are dates; dates from the months after he left, from the year after, from holidays, birthdays, anniversaries that shouldn’t still hurt but do. Letter after letter after letter. M/N’s vision blurs as he flips through them; some long, some short, all real. All true. All proof that Clark hadn’t ghosted him. Clark had tried. Clark had reached out. Clark has begged in ink.
He finds the explanation halfway through a stack of unopened envelopes. Clark had sent everything to his parents. He didn’t know M/N had moved out to escape the hurt. He didn’t know M/N avoided letting Clark know his new address. Clark had hoped, prayed, that someone would pass the letters on.
But someone had intercepted them.
Someone had stolen them.
Someone had put them in this safe.
(Fiance's name).
M/N’s hands go cold.
He digs deeper through the box and finds something else; an old SIM card. His old SIM card. Confusion coils in his gut before the realization slams into him so hard he nearly chokes.
His contacts. His call logs. His messages. Clark’s number.
Clark’s calls he never received.
Clark’s texts he never saw.
Everything… gone because someone replaced his SIM card.
Because (Fiance's name) replaced his SIM card.
M/N’s breath comes out in a broken trembling inhale. His shoulder shakes, then his entire body follows, as if grief is rising from somewhere years-deep inside him. Tears drip onto Clark’s handwriting.
“No, no, no…” he curls over the letters like they’re fragile pieces of a past he thought he understood. His sobs are quiet, sharp, and choked. He covers his mouth with the back of his hand, shaking uncontrollably, terrified he’ll tear the paper with how hard he’s trembling. “You didn’t leave me,” he whispers, as though Clark can hear him from miles away. “You didn’t leave me. You didn’t… leave…”
His heart feels like it’s splitting; cleanly, violently, right along the seam where Clark’s name has always lived.
M/N cries until his chest aches, until his hands numb, until daylight fades from the windows and the safe box surrounds him like a confession. Everything he believed is wrong. Everything he built is healing on is a lie. Clark was never the villain.
(Fiance's name) is.
M/N wipes his face with shaking hands, staring down at Clark’s words; the final pieces of a truth he never let himself imagine. Every line is soaked in longing. Every letter is a testament. Every page feels like it’s whispering the same thing.
I didn’t stop loving you. I never stopped loving you.
And suddenly M/N can’t unfeel any of it.
He can’t un-know any of it.
He can’t pretend anymore that his heart doesn’t still belong to the man who wrote every one of these letters like a vow.
He sits there on the floor, surrounded by paper, surrounded by truth, drowning in grief and relief and heartbreak all at once. Slowly, very slowly, something inside him begins to shift, sharp, and fragile.
He whispers Clark’s name.
Soft.
Broken.
Reverent.
The letters stay scattered around him like fallen stars.
And M/N finally understands the one thing he’s spent years running from—
Not only did he never stop loving Clark…
He never had the chance to stop.
He wipes his face with the back of his wrist, useless, because the tears keep falling, and reaches into the safe again. He grabs the letters in fistfuls, terrified of leaving even one behind. Envelope after envelope, stack after stack, he pulls them out until the safe sits empty, hollow, stripped of every lie it silently guarded. The letters press against his chest as he clutches all of them, almost desperately, as if they’re the only proof he isn’t losing his mind. His breath trembles as he hurries to the bedroom, dropping onto his knees at the foot of the bed and stuffing the letters inside, not carefully, not neatly, but feverishly, like a man trying to save pieces of himself from a burning house. Once sealed, he swings the bag over his shoulder, storms out of the apartment with a pounding heart, and races down the stairwell.
Outside, the wind hits his face hard, but he barely feels it. Adrenaline, fear, longing, they drown everything else. M/N hops onto his bicycle and starts pedaling through the dim streets of Metropolis with reckless urgency. His thighs burn, his heartbeat hammers against his ribs, but he doesn’t slow down. Streetlights blur. Car horns yell behind him. His tears keep falling, drying on his skin only to be replaced by new ones. Clark’s letters feel like a weight and a lifeline inside the bag, every bump of the road reminding him they’re real. That Clark cared. That Clark, not as Superman, fought. That Clark hoped for him. By the time M/N reaches Clark’s apartment complex, he’s breathless, shaking, skin flushed from the cold and the ride, but none of that matters, because only one thing fills his mind. Clark.
He hops off of his bike without parking it properly and securely as he parks it on the side of the building. He can buy a new bicycle if it gets stolen, but he can’t buy a new Clark Kent. He rushes inside the building and nearly trips over himself as he runs up the stairs, taking them two at a time. When he reaches Clark’s unit, he stops only long enough to catch a fragment of breath before knocking, no pounding, on the door with trembling fists. His vision trembles. His chest aches. His lips quiver with words he can’t form yet. And then the door swings open, and Clark stands there in sweats and a plain black t-shirt, hair slightly messy, eyes softening instantly into worry the moment he sees M/N’s tear-streaked face.
“M/N?” Clark breathes, voice gentle, concerned, warm, so warm it breaks something in M/N completely. But M/N doesn’t speak. Doesn’t think. Doesn’t hesitate.
He moves.
He crashes into Clark like a storm, hands gripping Clark’s shirt, slamming his lips against Clark’s in a desperate, breaking, breathless kiss. Their mouths meet in heat and history, in longing sharpened by years of silence. Clark stiffens for half a second, surprised, shocked, then melts just as quickly, hands flying to M/N’s waist, pulling him inside the apartment without breaking the kiss. The door slams shut behind them when M/N kicks it with the heel of his shoe, never letting go. Clark kisses him back with a hunger M/N never forgot, deepening the kiss, cupping M/N’s face with trembling hands as if afraid M/N will disappear. Their breaths mix, hot, and uneven. M/N whimpers against Clark’s mouth, pouring years of yearning into every frantic press of his lips.
When they finally break apart for air, their foreheads rest together, breaths crashing in the small space between them. M/N is still crying, quiet, shaking tears that slide down Clark’s thumb as he wipes them gently.
“I-I saw them,” M/N whispers, voice cracking. “The letters. All of them. Clark, oh God, I saw everything.” His voice fractures under the weight of it. “It wasn’t you,” he cries. “It wasn’t you who left me. It was (Fiance's name). H-he hid them. He hid everything. He changed my SIM card so you couldn’t call. I thought you ghosted me. I thought you didn’t care. I thought you just… stopped loving me.” The words break him open. He sobs again. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
Clark cups his face, thumbs brushing tears away tears, eyes soften with a pain M/N has only seen once; when they first broke up. “Hey… hey,” Clark whispers, voice low, soothing, grounding. “M/N, no. You don’t apologize for something you didn’t do. We were both kept in the dark. We both lost each other because someone took our choices away.” His voice trembles. “You didn’t fail me. And I didn’t stop trying. We were victims of the same lie.”
M/N lets out a choked breath and launches forward again, kissing Clark with deeper need; wild, urgent, trembling with everything he held back for years. Clark responds immediately, hands sliding under M/N’s shirt, lifting him effortlessly. M/N drops the bag to the floor without caring where it lands, his legs wrappling around Clark’s waist as they kiss like they’re relearning the shape of each other. Clark walks them toward the bedroom, his lips never leaving M/N’s. Clothing falls away slowly at first, then faster, frantic, pulled by hands that remember too much and want even more. The world narrows to skin, breath, warmth, and the desperate reunion of two people who spent years aching for a touch they believed they lost forever.
Their love-making is messy and emotional; soft in the beginning, then intense, heated, full of gasped breaths, moans, and whispered apologies and trembling “I missed you”s. Clark holds M/N with a reverence that feels like a vow, while M/N clings to him like a man finding home after years in the dark. They move together in the quiet glow of the bedside lamp, rediscovering every inch, every sound, every heartbeat they once memorized. It's not rushed, it’s years of pain dissolving into closeness, years of longing pouring into touch. When they finally collapse against the sheets, bodies warm and tangled, their hearts feel raw and exposed, but finally, beautifully, alive.
Hours later, still naked, M/N sits up, gets up, and exits the bedroom for a moment, returning then to the room with the bag. Sitting down on the bed, he pulls out every letter and spreads them across the bed, hundreds of envelopes, each one holding a version of Clark who refused to stop loving him. Clark, still catching his breath, sits up behind him, and wraps his arms around M/N’s waist, resting his chin on M/N’s shoulder as his eyes scan the letters; letters he never thought M/N would see.
Clark swallows hard. “I searched everywhere for you,” he murmurs, voice trembling. “I asked your parents every week. I waited in Smallville every Christmas, just in case you came home… because I thought maybe, maybe I could win you back.” His voice cracks. “I never stopped loving you, M/N. Not for a day.”
M/N turns to him slowly, eyes red, voice fragile. “My parents… they asked me so many times if I got your letters. They asked me so many times, and I thought they were joking. I thought they were teasing me because I never received a single one. I thought you didn’t care. I thought you forgot me.” He places a hand on Clark’s chest, feeling the steady heartbeat he once fell asleep to and looks down as he presses his forehead against Clark’s collarbone. “I thought you chose to forget me.”
Clark lifts M/N’s face gently, pleading in his eyes; raw, vulnerable, unmasked in a way only Clark Kent, not as Superman, ever is. “Choose me,” he whispers. “Please. Choose me again. I want you back. I want us back. I want everything we lost. M/N… I want you.” His words are a plea, a prayer, a desperate confession of the love he has carried all these years.
M/N’s breathes out a trembling sigh and leans until their lips brush. The kiss he gives Clark is slow, deep, full of devotion and rediscovered truth. When he pulls back, their lips slightly touching, he whispers softly, reverently, “I’ll always choose you, Clark. I always have. And I always will. My heart is yours from the first page.”
Ahoy,, sorry for the late reply since busy with my studies. But, no, I'm sorry. I don't take request. I'm very busy with my studies so I'm afraid I won't be able to do the requests of fics. I apologize again 🫶
Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x MALE! Targaryen reader
summary: In the midst of war and shifting alliances, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon and Prince M/N Targaryen share a bond stronger than blood, a love strengthened by promises of a shared future. But when duty calls them to separate missions to secure their mother's claim to the throne, tragedy looms. A deadly encounter leaves one prince lost to the skies, and the other shattered beyond repair. As a grieving mother vows vengeance and a kingdom inches closer to civil war, the two princes find each other again in the afterlife, beyond the reach of bloodshed, their souls finally at peace among the stars.
FEMALE READERS AND UNTITLED BLOGS WITH NO NAMES AND 'HE/HIM/HIS' WILL BE BLOCKED!
It is dusk on Dragonstone and the air hums with tension. The sky tinged a deep red, seems to reflect the foreboding emotions of those who walk its weathered paths. Clouds swirl like a storm above the island, the whispers of the sea murmuring against the rocks as waves break against the shore. Shadows stretch long over the castle walls as if trying to capture the fleeting peace. In the coming days, these shores and halls may know only war, but for now, the sons of Rhaenyra prepare for their missions in silence and anticipation.
Jacaerys Velaryon stands on the bridge, his dark hair whipping about in the evening breeze, his expression one of determined resolve. At seventeen, he carries himself with the confidence of a leader, the heir to the Iron Throne, though the path to that throne now appears littered with blood and betrayal. His eyes reflect the depth of responsibility too weighty for one so young, but he bears it willingly. Beside him stands his half-brother, M/N, a young man of equal age, with sharp features softened only by the affection he holds for Jace. M/N is the firstborn son of Rhaenyra and Daemon, a proud scion of both Targaryen blood. Though they share different fathers, the two brothers share a bond forged in the fires of youth and tempered by shared secrets, lingering glances, and unspoken promises.
Rhaenyra, queen of the Blacks, waits near the edge of the bridge Luke at her side, her face shadowed with worry. Her sons are her life, her blood, and the key to her strength in the coming war. But to send them off into the unknown, to trust them with missions that may steal them away from her forever… it feels as if her heart is being wrenched from her chest. And yet, a queen must remain strong. M/N steps away from Jace’s side to walk over to his father.
“Father,” M/N greets him.
Daemon’s face softens as he takes in his son’s form. In M/N, he sees his own reflection, the same fierce Targaryen spirit, the same unyielding will. Daemon’s hand rises to clasp his son’s shoulder. “Remember, my boy,” he says, his voice a low murmur, thick with unspoken emotion. “Baratheons are stubborn as stone. Meet Borros with strength. Show him no fear. You’re a dragon, after all.”
M/N smirks, the hint of a rebellious smile flickering at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll make him see, Father. I’ll make him understand what it means to cross us.” But there is a flicker of vulnerability in M/N’s eyes, as if he senses the weight of Daemon’s concern, though he would never voice it aloud.
Daemon’s grip tightens slightly as he studies his son, his voice growing softer. “Be careful, M/N,” he says, almost a whisper. The sea is wild, and dragons may fly, but even dragons can fall.”
M/N wraps his arms around his father, the rare embrace surprising both of them. For a heartbeat, Daemon’s mask slips, and he holds his son tightly, unaware that this will be their last touch, their last shared heartbeat. M/N releases his father, feeling the warmth of that bond lingering long after. He doesn’t realize this simple moment will soon be all that he has left of his father.
Meanwhile, on another stretch of the bridge, Rhaenyra stands in front of Jace and Luke, her long hair flowing in the wind, fierce and proud. She looks at her sons, her face a mixture of sorrow and pride. She had dreamed of a different path for them, one free from the shackles of duty and the threat of bloodshed, but fate has pulled them here, and she will not allow weakness or fear to taint their legacy.
“Winterfell,” she murmurs to Jace, her voice a soft command and blessing. “The Starks will respect loyalty. Show them our strength, Jace, but remember that they value truth and honor above all. Speak to Lord Cregan as an ally, as an equal.” She reaches out, touching his cheek with a rare tenderness that pierces Jace’s heart.
He has seen her fierce, and resolute as a queen, but in this moment, she is simply his mother, and the weight of her love is as heavy as the crown.
She looks at Luke, her secondborn son, her gaze softening as if she sees the boy he once was, the boy she desperately wants to protect. “The Eyrie has long been our ally. Lady Jeyne Arryn is our kin. Show her the honor of our house, and she will not forsake us in this time of need.”
Luke nods, trying to hide the fear that flickers in his eyes. He has heard tales of the Eyrie’s daunting heights, of its dangerous mountain passes but he steels himself for his duty.
After Rhaenyra speaks to them, Jace walks over to M/N, who’s standing nearby. Jace moves closer, his expression softening as he searches M/N’s face.
“M/N,” he murmurs, his voice laced with something raw, a need that only the two of them understand. He reaches for M/N’s hand, gripping it tightly as the bridge falls silent around them. For a moment, they are alone in this vast world, two young men holding onto each other as if by this touch alone, they can defy the fate that looms.
“Wait for me,” Jace whispers, his lips so close to M/N’s that they can feel each other’s breath. “When I return from Winterfell… wait for me.”
M/N’s eyes glisten with something unsaid, something that binds him to Jace in a way that no one else could ever understand. He nods, his voice trembling as he breathes out his promise. “I’ll wait, Jace. I swear it.”
Their lips meet in a kiss, slow and deep, the world falling away as they pour all their unspoken fears and hopes into the touch. They hold each other, a heartbeat of eternity stretching between them, before they part, their foreheads resting against each other, unwilling to break the connection. But duty calls, and they know that they must answer.
With a heavy heart, Rhaenyra watches them prepare for flight, her sons mounted on their dragons—Vermax, Xerxes, and Arrax, with Rhaenys upon Meleys. The dragons roar, their voices filling the sunset, wings spreading wide as they prepare to take flight. Daemon stands by Rhaenyra’s side as they watch their sons lift into the sky, their silhouettes framed by the last light of the setting sun.
~ ~ ~ ~
Late into the evening, a messenger arrives with the news that turns blood cold. Prince M/N has been killed. His dragon, Xerxes, has been bitten into pieces and M/N was devoured by Vhagar. The news spreads through Dragonstone like wildfire, tearing through every heart that hears it, each soul breaking under the weight of the message. M/N, the beloved firstborn son of Daemon and Rhaenyra, eldest brother of Aegon III and Viserys II, the fierce prince who held loyalty and love in equal measure, is gone. The whispers grow louder as the truth settles into aching bones: Aemond Targaryen chased him, relentless and unyielding, and Xerxes, M/N’s noble dragon, was no match for the monstrous Vhagar. What remained was nothing but smoke and silence.
Daemon, who has faced countless battles, and has known loss and grief, feels the ground fall away beneath him as he hears of his son’s death. He stands motionless, his hand gripping the hilt of Dark Sister with a strength that could break the stone. His heart pounds with an agonizing mix of sorrow and fury, his mind racing back to that last embrace, the warmth of M/N’s arms around him, the quiet strength in his son’s gaze. The ache in his chest grows, spreading like poison, until he forces himself to move, to find Rhaenyra and deliver this wound that neither of them will ever truly heal from.
Rhaenyra is standing in front of the fireplace where he finds her, her face bathed in the flickering orange light. She is lost in thought, the shadows playing across her features, painting her in the likeness of a queen carved from grief and fury. Daemon hesitates, his heart breaking anew as he watches her, knowing that what he brings will destroy her.
“Rhaenyra,” he says softly, his voice breaking as he stands before her.
She turns slowly, her eyes meeting his, and he sees the question there, the hope that will soon shatter.
“Our son,” Daemon whispers, his voice hollow, his gaze darkening with a fury that rivals the flames in the hearth. “Our beautiful boy is… gone.”
They stand together, frozen in their grief, a grief that will fuel the fires of vengeance and drive them to the edge of reason. Rhaenyra’s face hardens, her gaze fixing on the flames, and Daemon stands beside her, his hand clenched into a fist, his mind already spinning with thoughts of revenge.
For the first time, they both understand the true cost of this war, and it is a cost they will bear together, bound by the shared agony of losing their son. The fire crackles in the hearth, the only sound in the heavy silence, but it pales in comparison to the flames igniting in their hearts. Rhaenyra’s face is a mask of grief, fury, and sorrow all twisted into one. Her lips press into a thin line as she swallows down the scream building within her chest, a scream for the child she will never see again.
Daemon moves closer to her, his hand trembling as it finds her shoulder. They do not need words to convey the devastation shared between them; the depth of their loss hangs heavy in the room. Slowly, Rhaenyra’s gaze lifts to meet Daemon’s, her expression both hollow and fierce, as if she stands poised on the edge of a precipice, unsure whether to succumb to her despair or let it drive her forward.
“That bastard Aemond will pay for this,” Daemon growls, his voice low and menacing. His face is cast in shadows, his gaze unyielding as he stares into the fire as if he can see his revenge reflected in the flickering flames. “For what he’s done… he will pay dearly.”
Rhaenyra’s lips part, and her voice is barely a whisper as she speaks, each word laced with an intensity that could rival dragonfire. “They have taken my son,” she breathes, her hand tightening into a fist as her nails bite into her palm. “They will know what it means to lose everything.”
Her words hang heavy in the air, a vow sworn in blood and loss. For a brief moment, they stand together, two grieving parents united in their shared pain, their sorrow forging an iron bond that no enemy can shatter.
But as the embers of their anger continue to burn, they know that this grief will not be still. It will demand action, demand retribution. And as Rhaenyra stares into the fire, she knows that this is not the end of her family’s suffering, but only the beginning of a dark, twisted path that will demand sacrifices they are only beginning to comprehend.
~ ~ ~ ~
A cold mist hangs over Dragonstone as Jacaerys returns from his journey to Winterfell. The familiar cliffs loom ahead, shrouded in dark clouds, and the sea churns below as Vermax soars through the gray dawn, his powerful wings slicing through the air. Jace feels the thrill of victory and purpose in his chest. He has done what was asked of him, securing House Stark as a steadfast ally in the fight for his mother’s throne. Cregan Stark, with his unyielding loyalty and fierce sense of honor, has promised his support, and Jace finds hope for what lies ahead.
Yet a strange, chilling apprehension lingers in his heart. Winterfell was colder than he’d expected, not just in climate but in spirit. The Starks had looked at him with quiet solemnity, as though sensing the shadows that clung to him. Jace brushed off the feeling, chalking it up to the North’s grim atmosphere, yet he can’t shake it now, not as Dragonstone looms closer. He tells himself it’s nothing, just the weight of the task, but his heartbeat quickens with an urgency he can’t name.
As Vermax lands, his powerful claws scraping against the stone, Jace dismounts and strides toward the keep, the rush of battle plans and future strategies still alive in his mind. He has news for his mother, news that will strengthen their cause. But when he enters the great hall, he pauses. Something feels wrong. Servants look away as he passes, their eyes downcast, their faces drawn, casting him glances that make his skin crawl.
The doors to the living room stand ajar, and he catches sight of his mother waiting inside. Rhaenyra sits, her figure slouched, wrapped in a dark cloak that seems to swallow her whole. Her face is pale, almost ghostly, her eyes rimmed red and shadowed as if she hasn’t slept in days. She looks up when he enters, her gaze sharp yet vulnerable, a broken queen trying to hold herself together.
“Mother,” he greets her, keeping his voice strong. “Winterfell stands with us. Lord Cregan Stark has pledged his banners. House Stark is ours.”
Rhaenyra nods, managing a faint smile. “Well done, Jace,” she says, her voice trembling. “You have done our House proud.”
“Luke succeeded too, didn’t he?” Jace asks, a little hope creeping into his tone as he searches her face. “He secured the support of House Arryn?”
“Yes,” she replies, nodding again, her gaze drifting away as if her mind is miles from this room. “The Arryns stand with us, thanks to Luke.”
A silence stretches between them, heavy and suffocating. Jace frowns, noticing her hesitation. He’d expected his mother to be overjoyed, to feel victorious, but she seems to sink deeper into sorrow with every word. Her gaze is distant, her face etches with anguish, and the emptiness in her eyes unsettles him.
“And M/N?” he asks, his heart hammering. “Has he returned?”
Rhaenyra flinches, her gaze dropping to the floor. The quiet that follows is deafening, each second a knife twisting in his chest. She doesn’t answer, and a creeping dread coils around his heart, squeezing tighter and tighter. He takes a step closer, his voice pleading now, his mind refusing to accept the terrible silence.
“Mother…” he whispers, his tone desperate. “What about M/N?”
She presses a hand to her mouth, her shoulders shuddering as if under a great weight. For a moment, she looks like she might crumble completely, her face twisting in pain. She takes a deep breath, her fingers trembling as she wipes away a tear. Her voice is barely above a whisper when she finally speaks, each word drenched in sorrow.
“Jace… M/N will not come home,” she says, her voice breaking. “He… he’s gone.”
Jace blinks, the words not registering, their meaning foreign and unfathomable. His mind rebels against them, refusing to process the implications. “What…?” he chokes on the word, the disbelief clawing at his throat. “No. No, he’s not. He promised… he promised he’d be here. He’s waiting for me now.”
She shakes her head, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “Aemond chased him down. M/N tried to escape, but Vhagar… Vhagar devoured him whole while Xerxes had been bitten into pieces. There was nothing left. Nothing.”
Her words shatter the fragile hope that clings to his heart. His chest tightens, his breath coming in short gasps as the truth crashes over him, unrelenting and brutal. He stumbles back, shaking his head, denial tearing through him like a storm. “No,” he mutters, his voice rising with each word. “No, he’s not dead. He can’t be dead! He promised he’d be here!”
Rhaenyra reaches for him, but he flinches away, his whole body trembling as anger and despair twist inside him, tearing him apart.
“He promised,” he cries, his voice cracking. “He said he’d wait for me! He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t break that promise. He wouldn’t leave me.”
Rhaenyra moves closer, her arms wrapping around him as he thrashes against her hold. “I’m so sorry, Jace,” she whispers, her voice breaking as she holds him tightly. “I’m so sorry, sweet boy.”
Jace’s anger breaks, giving away raw, wrenching grief. He sags against her, his fist pounding against her shoulders as sobs wrack his body. His voice is hoarse, torn from the depths of his soul, as he weeps in his mother’s arms. All his dreams, all his hopes, crumble to dust in that instant, the weight of loss crushing him as he clings to her, his tears soaking into her long dress.
That night, after his tears have dried and his mother has left him alone to grieve, Jace wanders the cold, empty halls of Dragonstone. The silence presses down on him, suffocating, each echo of his footsteps a reminder of what he has lost. He finds himself at the door to M/N’s bedchamber, his heart heavy, his mind numb.
He pushes the door open, the familiar scent of his beloved lingering in the air, wrapping around him like a ghostly embrace. The room is dim, with only a candle on the desk of M/N and shadows pooling in every corner. He crosses to the bed, the covers still rumpled from the last time M/N had lain there. Jace sinks onto the mattress, his fingers trembling as he brushes over the empty sheets, feeling the cold that has settled in M/N’s absence.
A shuddering sob escapes him, and he presses his face into the pillow, breathing in the faint scent of M/N’s hair, his skin, and his warmth. The weight of his grief is a physical ache, a hollow void that devours him from the inside. He lies there, clutching the sheets as his body shakes with silent tears, his heart breaking all over again with each breath.
Time loses meaning as he lies there, drowning in memories of laughter, stolen kisses, and whispered promises under starlit skies. He remembers the warmth of M/N’s touch, the sound of his voice, and the way his eyes softened whenever they looked at Jace. All of it feels like a cruel dream, slipping further and further away with each heartbeat.
After what feels like an eternity, he forces himself to sit up, his gaze drifting to the window. The world outside is dark, the stars hidden behind clouds as if even the heavens mourn his loss. He rises, crossing the room on unsteady feet, drawn to the window’s edge. He stares out into the void below, the cliffs sharp and jagged against the faint glimmer of the sea. A strange calm settles over him as he contemplates the drop, the final release it promises.
But he has something he needs to do first.
He moves M/N’s table, where papers and quills lie scattered across the surface. He sits, his fingers shaking as he dips the quill into the ink, each stroke heavy with purpose. He writes slowly, carefully, each word an offering, a farewell.
To My Dearest Family,
It is with a heart so heavy that words scarcely serve me now, for I know what sorrow and anger my choice will bring upon you. Yet as the dark night calls me to follow my beloved Prince M/N into eternal slumber, I must heard it, for what use is a life if it must walk alone, a hollow echo of what was once a symphony. To my dearest mother, Rhaenyra, I am grieved beyond measure for the agony my actions will inflict upon your heart; you, who fought so fiercely to secure my path to the throne, I now abandon it. Know, though, that no ambition could ever soothe the wound left by M/N’s death. Without him, the throne is but a lifeless relic, a kingdom barren of meaning. Daemon forgive me, too, for not possessing your strength to press on, for it was M/N who tethered my soul to this world, and with his passing, my own spirit has fled like ashes scattered to the winds. To my brothers, Luke and Joffrey, and my half-brothers, Aegon and Viserys—may you remember me as I was, not as I have become, one bound by love so deep that even death’s dark chasm could not keep us apart. You will lead where I cannot; you must carry forward the blood of the dragon, for I go now to M/N’s side, where perhaps even the bitterness of death may feel as sweet as the touch of his hand once was to me. To my grandmother Princess Rhaenys, a Queen Who Never Was, and my grandfather Lord Corlys, whose wisdom and courage I have always aspired to mirror, I ask forgiveness if my actions seem a disgrace to the name of Velaryon, yet I am only a boy who found in love something so profound that it cannot endure separation. And to dear Baela and Rhaena, who shared the shadows and sorrows of my heart—thank you, my cousins, of the soul; remember me with the gentlest of thoughts, for I leave you not out of malice, but out of love that transcends mortal binds. Pray, do not weep for me but hold fast to one another, for it is you, my family, who must rise like dragons anew. Though I depart from this world, know that I love you all still, more than words could ever tell, and that my spirit shall be forever intertwined with yours, as close as breath, as close as blood.
Forever with love and sorrow,
Jacaerys Velaryon
When he finishes, he places the letter on the bed, laying his sword beside it as a final tribute. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself, feeling the strange peace that comes with the decision. He walks back to the window, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his heart silent, ready.
With a last, lingering breath, he closes his eyes, and he… falls.
The night is still as Jace plummets through the cold air, his descent silent, and peaceful, an end he has chosen willingly to be reunited with the one he loved more than life itself. His body strikes the ground with a sickening thud, and a crimson pool begins to form beneath him, the blood seeping into the Earth, bearing witness to his final act of devotion.
The guards stationed nearby are the first to find him, their faces paling as they approach. They stare in disbelief, horror flooding in their expressions as they realize who it is lying broken on the ground before them.
“Prince Jacaerys…” one of them whispers, his voice quivering with shock.
They exchange stricken looks, understanding the weight of what they have just witnessed. One of the guards stumbles back, calling for help, his shout piercing the quiet night and echoing through the stone halls of the Dragonstone.
The news of Jace’s death spreads quickly, rippling through the keep like a wave of sorrow and disbelief. Servants whisper in hushed tones, their faces pale and their hearts heavy. The death of two beloved princes within days is too much for the realm to bear, it feels like the very heart of Dragonstone has been ripped out.
Two days later, Dragonstone is shrouded in a heavy silence, the grief so palbable that it feels as though the castle itself mourns. The skies are gray, the air thick with the weight of unspoken sorrow. Outside the castle, a small gathering stands somberly around a large pyre where Jace and M/N’s clothes lie folded neatly, ready to be set alight in a final tribute to their lives.
Rhaenyra, who’s holding the clothes of M/N, stands at the head of the pyre, her face a mask of unyielding grief, her eyes hollow, distant. Beside her, Luke, who’s holding the clothes of Jace, and Joffrey, the boy’s small fingers clutching his older brother’s clothes as though he understands the magnitude of this loss. Lord Corlys stands nearby, his face etched with sorrow, his shoulders weighed down by the grief of losing yet another grandson. Beside him is Rhaenys, her face set in a grim line, her eyes fierce with the anger and pain of a grandmother who has lost far too much.
Baela and Rhaena stand together, their faces pale, eyes red from weeping. They hold each other tightly, sisters united in sorrow, mourning the cousins they loved as brothers. The fire crackles and snaps as Rhaenyra steps forward, M/N’s clothes in her hands, her gaze fixed on the fire. She gently throws the clothes of M/N, her expression a mask of resolve even as her heart shatters anew. Luke follows, throwing gently Jace’s clothes before he takes Joffrey’s hand.
As the flames begin to consume the clothes, Rhaenyra stares into the fire, her face illuminated by the flickering light. She remembers the letter Jace left behind after receiving the news of Jace’s death, the words that cut through her like a blade. He had loved her, she knows, but his heart had belonged to M/N, and in his death, he had found a way to be with him. The thought brings her no comfort, only a bitter, seething rage that coils within her feet.
She clenches her fists, her gaze hardening as she watches the flames rise higher, consuming the last remnants of her beloved sons. At that moment, she makes a silent vow—a promise to bring her pain upon the Greens, to ensure that Aemond and all who supported him would know the depths of her loss. Her heart is forged, burning with a wrath that only blood can quench.
The ceremony is brief, marked only by the sound of crackling flames and the soft murmurs of grief. When it is done, the gathering disperses slowly, each person lost in their own sorrow. Rhaenyra remains by the pyre long after everyone else has gone, her gaze fixed on the dying embers, her heart a wasteland.
In another world, far removed from the realm of the living, Jace finds himself at peace. He stands on the tranquil beach, the sky a gentle shade of twilight, the waves lapping softly at the shore. He feels a presence beside him, warm and familiar, and he turns to see M/N standing there, watching him with a quiet smile.
M/N steps closer, reaching out to take Jace’s hand, his touch grounding and real in a way Jace hadn’t dared to hope for. They stand in silence for a moment, letting the weight of their reunion settle between them. Finally, M/N speaks, his voice soft and filled with regret.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his gaze earnest. “I promised I’d wait for you, and I broke that promise.”
Jace shakes his head, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he replies, his voice steady, his heart finally at peace. “When you died, half of my soul died with you. I couldn’t stay without you.”
M/N’s eyes shine with a mixture of love and sadness as he pulls Jace close, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I love you,” he whispers, the words carrying all the weight of his devotion, all the moments they had lost, and all the eternity they now had to spend together.
They share a deep, lingering kiss, one filled with the promises they can finally fulfill. When they part, Jace feels the warmth of M/N’s hand in his, steady and unyielding, a bond that death could not sever.
Above them, a familiar roar echoes, and they look up to see Xerxes, M/N’s loyal dragon, circling above. His scales glisten in the light, and his eyes shine with recognition as he watches his rider reunited with his love.
M/N smiles, tugging Jace with a glint of excitement in his eyes. “Come,” he says, gesturing to Xerxes. “Let us fly together, as we were always meant to.”
Without hesitation, Jace nods, following M/N to the great beast waiting patiently for them. They climb onto Xerxes’ back, Jace settling in behind M/N, his arms wrapped securely around his beloved’s waist. The dragon roars again, a sound of joy and freedom, as he takes to the sky, his powerful wings lifting them above the endless horizon.
Together, they soar through the afterlife, free from the pain and sorrow that had once bound them. They are whole, and at peace, their souls forever entwined as they ride through the eternal skies.
note: reader is older than Jace in this fic (m!reader is 19 and Jace is 18). Don't like it? Don't read it and leave my fic alone
WARNING: This fanfiction contains explicit content including incest, sexual tension, and intimate scenes between two brothers. It explores themes of obsession, possessiveness, and forbidden love, with detailed descriptions of sexual encounters. Reader’s discretion is advised, as the story involves mature content and is intended for adult readers only. Please be aware of the sensitive and taboo subject matter before reading.
FEM READERS AND MINORS DNI PLEASE! UNTITLED BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED
The court is abuzz with rumors of M/N Velaryon’s betrothal to Helaena Targaryen, a match designed to strengthen the fragile alliance between Rhaenyra Targaryen and the Hightowers. Jace watches from the shadows, his heart a storm of jealousy, possessiveness, and frustration. He has always loved his older brother—more than he should—but the thought of M/N being tied to someone else, especially Helaena, makes his blood boil. As he listens to their mother speak with Alicent Hightower, confirming the arrangement, Jace’s mind churns with a desperate plan.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
That night, Jace corners M/N in the dim halls of Dragonstone. “Do you truly wish to marry her?” His voice is sharp, his eyes locked onto his brother’s face.
M/N hesitates, his handsome features soft with uncertainty. “I don’t have a choice, Jace. This is what mother wants, what the realm demands.”
Jace steps closer, his breath shallow, his pulse quickening. “But what do you want, M/N? Do you even know?” His words intensify, making M/N pause, searching for his brother’s gaze for meaning.
“I want what is best for the family,” M/N responds, his tone weak, as though he’s trying to convince himself.
Jace moves closer, his fingers brushing M/N’s arm, sending sparks through his skin. “What if the best thing for the family isn’t a marriage to Helaena? What if there’s something else, someone else?”
M/N frowns, confusion clouding his eyes, but Jace doesn’t give him time to respond. Instead, he pulls him into a fierce kiss, his lips urgent and demanding against his brother’s. M/N freezes at first, shocked, but the raw passion in Jace’s touch melts his resistance. The kiss deepens, and for the firs time, M/N feels the truth he’s been trying to deny for years.
When they part, both brothers are breathless.
~ ~ ~ ~
“I don’t want you to marry her,” Jace whispers, his voice a plea. “I want you to be mine.”
Jace begins seduction in subtle, deliberate ways. He touches M/N more often—brushing his hands when no one is looking, letting his gaze linger too long when they train together, always finding excuses to be alone with him. His possessiveness grows each day, and with it, his obsession. He can’t bear the thought of M/N lying with Helaena, being hers in the way that he yearns for him to be his.
One evening, when the moon is high and the castle is quiet, Jace sneaks into M/N’s bedchamber. The door creaks as he opens it, but he’s careful, silent as he slips inside. M/N is asleep, the soft rise and fall of his chest the only sound in the room. Jace’s heart pounds as he undresses, his clothes falling to the floor in a pile. He is naked now, the cool air of the room prickling his skin. His eyes never leave M/N as he crawls onto the bed, his body trembling with anticipation.
“M/N,” he whispers, his lips brushing against his brother’s ear.
M/N stirs, his eyes fluttering open in confusion, but before he can speak, Jace is kissing him—hungrily and desperately.
M/N gasps, his hands instinctively reaching out to push Jace away, but the moment their skin touches, he freezes. Jace’s hands slide down M/N’s body, undoing the ties of his nightshirt.
“Jace… we can’t—” M/N breathes, but his voice falters when Jace’s lips trail down his neck, leaving a burning path in their wake.
“Yes, we can,” Jace murmurs against his skin, his hands sliding under the fabric of M/N’s shirt to feel the warmth of his bare chest. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.”
M/N’s breath hitches, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and desire, but Jace doesn’t give him time to think. He pulls the shirt off, exposing M/N’s chest to the cool night air before pushing him back down onto the bed. Jace’s lips follow the line of his collarbone, tasting every inch of skin as he undresses his brother completely.
M/N gasps as Jace’s hands explore his body, his touch both tender and possessive. Jace moves down, his mouth trailing lover until he reaches the waistband of M/N’s pajamas. He hesitates for only a moment before pulling them down, licking his lips seductively when he sees the beautiful cock of his older brother, his breath hot against M/N’s skin as he kisses his way back up.
“Jace… please,” M/N’s voice is a whisper now, a plea, but it’s unclear if he’s asking his younger brother to stop or continue.
The following days are filled with stolen glances and secretive touches, but the guilt begins to weigh on M/N. He knows what they’ve done is wrong, yet he can’t deny the fire that Jace has ignited inside him. The betrothal to Helaena looms over him like a dark cloud, but his mind is consumed by thoughts of Jace—of the way his brother made him feel alive in a way no one else ever has.
Jace answers by pressing their naked bodies together, the heat between them unbearable. His hands slide down M/N’s back, pulling him closer as their lips crash together once more. That night, in the secrecy of M/N’s bedchamber, they both lose their virginities to each other, their bodies entwined in a forbidden, passionate embrace.
~ ~ ~ ~
One evening, M/N sneaks into Jace’s bedchamber. Jace is bathing, the warm water lapping against his bare skin, but when M/N enters, everything changes. M/N says nothing as he undresses, his eyes locked on Jace. He steps into the tub, straddling his brother’s lap, both of their cocks pressed together, and their lips meet in a passionate, sensual kiss.
“I can’t marry her,” M/N whispers between kisses, his hands tangled in Jace’s hair. “I don’t want anyone else but you.”
Jace’s heart soars at the confession, his hands gripping M/N’s ass as he pulls him closer. The water splashes around them as they fuck again, their bodies moving in perfect harmony, and the heat between them as consuming as the flames of their ancestors.
The next day, M/N finally makes a decision. He can’t live a lie any longer. The love he shares with Jace is too powerful, too all-consuming to be denied. With a heavy heart, he goes to their mother.
~ ~ ~ ~
“Mother, I need to speak with you,” M/N says, his voice steady but filled with emotion.
Rhaenyra looks up, concerned etched on her face. “What is it, my son?” she asks, her tone gentle.
Rhaegor hesitates for a moment, then takes a deep breath. “It’s about the betrothal… to Helaena. I cannot go through with it.”
Rhaenyra expression tightens, her brows knitting together. “M/N, the match with Helaena is important. It could help heal with rift between our families. Why do you say this now?”
M/N’s heart pounds in his chest as he struggles to find the words. “Because… I am in love with someone else. Someone I cannot betray,” he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper.
She frowns, her gaze searching his face. “Who is it, M/N? Who has captured your heart?”
M/N meets his mother’s eyes, the weight of his confession hanging in the air. “It’s Jacaerys,” he admits softly, the words heavy with meaning. “I am in love with my brother.”
There is long, stunned silence as Rhaenyra processes his words. Her eyes widen, and for a moment, she seems at a loss for how to respond. “Your brother…” she repeats, her voice trailing off.
“I know it’s wrong while I’m betrothed to Helaena, but I can’t help how I feel,” M/N continues, his voice shaking. “I’ve tried to deny it, to push him away, but I can’t. The love I feel for him is too strong. It would be unfair to Helaena, and cruel to myself, to marry her when my heart belongs to someone else.”
Rhaenyra’s expression softens as she looks at her son, seeing the torment in his eyes. “This is not an easy path, M/N,” she says carefully. “You know the consequences of such a love…”
“I do,” M/N replies. “But I would rather face those consequences than live a lie.”
There’s a long pause before Rhaenyra finally nods, her voice quiet but firm. “If this is your choice, then I will support you. I will speak to Alicent and end the betrothal.”
With the betrothal called off, Jace and M/N are finally free to love one another without the looming shadow of Helaena between them. Their bond only deepens as the days pass, their love growing stronger with each stolen moment together.
Relief floods through M/N, and he bows his head in gratitude. “Thank you, mother.”
~ ~ ~ ~
One afternoon, Jace suggests they escape to the beach near Dragonstone, far from prying eyes. Rhaenyra, standing at the balcony, watches her sons with a smile as they ride their dragons above. The sun is beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow across the sea as the two brothers walk side by side, their hands intertwined.
M/N glances at Jace, his heart swelling with love as they reach a secluded stretch of sand. “We’re truly free now,” he says softly, turning to face Jace, his dark hair catching the last rays of the sun.
Jace smiles, his eyes filled with possessive adoration as he steps closer to his brother. “You’re mine, M/N,” he whispers, cupping M/N’s face in his hands. “Now and forever.”
M/N’s breath hitches as Jace pulls him in for a kiss, their lips meeting in a slow, sensual embrace. The waves crash softly against the shore as they stand there, kissing under the fading light of the sunset. The world around them seems to fade away, leavin only the two of them, bound together by a love that defies all.
Without a word, Jace begins to undress, pulling off his clothes and letting them fall to the sand. His skin glows in the soft light, and M/N follows suit, his heart pounding as he removes his clothes, until they are both standing bare under the open sky.
Jace steps forward, wrapping his arms around M/N’s waist as he presses their naked bodies together, the heat between them sparking once again.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Jace murmurs against M/N’s lips, his hands sliding down to grip his brother’s hips. “I want you, M/N. All of you.”
M/N’s response is a soft moan as Jace guides them down to the sand, laying M/N back as he hovers him, their lips never parting. The feel of the cool sand beneath them contrasts with the burning heart of their skin as Jace kisses his way down M/N’s chest, his touch reverent and possessive.
“I love you, Jace,” M/N breathes, his hands tangling Jace’s hair as their bodies move together, their love-making slow and passionate.
The sound of the waves crashing nearby mixes with their soft moans, skins slapping, and sloppy kisses, the world reduced to just the two of them as they lose themselves in each other.
As the night wears on, they lie together on the sand with their cloaks cover their naked bottoms, wrapped in each other’s arms, their bodies spent but their hearts full. The stars twinkle above them, a silent witness to their forbidden love, but for the first time, they feel no shame and no guilt—only love.
“I will never let you go,” Jace whispers, pressing a kiss to M/N’s forehead as they lie there, naked and entwined, basking in the afterglow of their love.
“And I will never you,” M/N replies, his voice soft but firm. We are bound by blood, and by love. Nothing will ever change that.”
As the waves lap gently at the shore, Jace pulls M/N closer, their bodies together, their love as eternal and unbreakable as the sea itself.
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