#lucerys velaryon

[incorrect-targaryens]

salt and sea, fire and blood.

[catbayunthestoryteller]

Kindled Anew

Pairing: Jacaerys Targaryen x f!reader

Summary: Having studied Valyrian history and sorcery, you perform a ritual to save Jace's life after the battle of Gullet, except he's not quite who he used to be after he comes back from death's doorstep.

a/n: Reader is Daemon's daughter but it's not indicated from which marriage, take your pick.

The sea was grey that morning, mirroring the stone of Dragonstone itself. You stood at the window of your chamber, a heavy tome resting against your chest, its pages filled with script so old the ink had begun to flake away like dried blood. Below, the waves crashed against the volcanic rock, and high above, the clouds swirled in a slow, mournful dance. The whole world seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for a death that had not yet come.

Jacaerys had been lying in the maester's chamber for eight days.

You had counted each one. Eight days since Baela had landed Moondancer on the cliffs, screaming for help, her face streaked with salt and soot and grief. Eight days since they had carried his body, his body, not him, you had refused to think of it as him, from the dragon's back, wrapped in a cloak soaked through with seawater and blood. The Battle of the Gullet had been a victory, they said, but it did not feel like one. It felt like the world had been cracked open, and all the light was spilling out.

You remembered the sight of him when they brought him in. His face had been so pale it was nearly grey, his lips bloodless, his dark hair matted with salt and gore. Three arrows had struck him. One in the shoulder, one in the side, and the third, the one that made the maesters exchange those terrible, silent looks, lodged in his neck, just above the collarbone, so close to the great vessels that carried life through the body that even the most experienced of them had hesitated before touching it.

He had not drowned, they said, because he had been found clinging to a piece of driftwood, his fingers locked around it so tightly they had to pry them loose. Vermax had not been so fortunate. The young dragon had crashed into the waves, pierced by bolts and arrows, and the sea had taken him. Jace would have felt that, you knew. Even bleeding out into the water, he would have felt his dragon die.

You had not wept when they told you. You had stood very still, your hands clasped in front of you, and you had listened, and then you had gone to your chamber and opened the oldest book you possessed and begun to read.

Now, eight days later, you had read everything. Every scrap of text, every fragment of lore, every whispered rumor that had ever been committed to parchment about the old Valyrian ways. You had read until your eyes burned and your head ached and the words blurred together like blood in water. And you had found something.

The accounts of King Maegor the Cruel were not pleasant reading. His reign was a litany of atrocities, his name a curse upon the lips of even the most loyal Targaryen historians. But buried within the chronicles of his brutality was a single, strange thread: the story of his survival after the Trial of Seven. Maegor had fallen in combat, struck down by blows that should have killed him. He had lain insensible for nearly a moon's turn, his wounds festering, his body failing. The maesters had given him up for dead. And then, somehow, he had risen. He had opened his eyes, and he had stood, and he had walked out of that sickroom with a fury that would consume the realm.

The official histories attributed this to the will of the gods or the strength of his dragon blood, but you had found other writings. Theories scrawled in the margins of old texts, penned by maesters too afraid to speak openly. They pointed to Tyanna of Pentos, Maegor's wife. She had been rumored to practice dark arts, blood magic, the forbidden sorceries of the East. And there were those who believed that when Maegor lay dying, Tyanna had not healed him. She had remade him. She had poured life into him through sacrifice, through the transfer of vital essence, through a ritual that bound flesh to will and pulled a soul back from the abyss. Some texts even dared to name what he had become: a fire wight, a creature of flame, animated not by the natural processes of the body but by the burning power of blood and magic.

It was, the most cautious of the writers had noted, remarkably similar to the tales told by the red priests of R'hllor in far-off Asshai and Volantis. Their god could raise the dead, they claimed, could breathe fire back into cold lungs and set hearts beating again. But the price was always blood. Always life. Always a piece of the one who performed the working.

You had closed that book with trembling hands and gone to find your father.

Daemon Targaryen had returned to Dragonstone three days prior, summoned by a raven from your stepmother. Rhaenyra had called him back from Harrenhal not to mourn, but to act. The war had paused for no grief, and the Queen needed her husband's fire and his ruthlessness and his terrible, unwavering certainty. You had watched him arrive on Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm's crimson scales a slash of violent color against the grey sky, and you had seen the way his face had tightened when they told him about Jace.

Now, he stood in your chamber, the door closed behind him, turning the pages of your book with the same hands that had wielded Dark Sister for decades. His expression was unreadable.

"This is dangerous knowledge," he said at last. "Where did you find it?"

"Here," you said. "In the library. In the vaults below. Dragonstone is old, father." You swallowed hard. "Tyanna was not the only one who knew these rites. The Valyrians practiced blood magic for thousands of years. They used it to bind their dragons, to shape the very stone of their towers. This is just…another application."

Daemon looked at you, and for a moment you saw something flicker in his gaze. Pride, perhaps, or recognition. You were his daughter, after all, no matter which marriage had produced you. You had his blood in your veins, his fire, his refusal to accept the world as it was when you could bend it to your will instead.

"You want to do this for the boy," he said.

"He is my betrothed," you said, and your voice cracked on the word despite your best efforts. "He has been my betrothed since I was old enough to understand what the word meant. I was meant to marry him, father. I was meant to stand beside him when he took the throne. I was meant to…" You stopped, pressing your lips together, forcing the tears back. You would not weep. Not yet. Not while there was still something you could do.

Daemon was silent for a long moment. Then he closed the book and set it aside.

"The maesters believe he will die," he said. "They will not say it to Rhaenyra's face, they value their heads too much for that, but they have stopped trying to remove the arrow from his neck. They say it is too close to the artery. They say he has lost too much blood. They say even if he wakes, the wound will fester and poison him from within." His jaw tightened. "He is dying, daughter. Slowly but surely. If you do nothing, he will be dead anyway."

"Then I have to try," you said.

"Yes," Daemon agreed, and there was something almost gentle in his voice, something you had not heard from him in a very long time. "You do. And I will help you."

"Rhaenyra..."

"Rhaenyra must not know." Daemon's voice hardened. "She is already half-mad with grief. If she knew what we were attempting, she would forbid it. Or she would hope too much, and the disappointment would destroy her if you failed. No. This stays between us. I will stand guard outside the door. I will make certain no one disturbs you. Whatever you need, candles, herbs, a blade, I shall provide it. The rest is up to you."

You nodded, your heart beating so fast you could feel it in your throat. "Tonight," you said. "It has to be tonight. The maesters say the hour just before dawn is the most dangerous. If he survives until morning, it will be a miracle. I need to act before then."

Daemon reached out and put his firm hand on your shoulder. "You are my daughter," he said. "You have my blood. Whatever you need to do, do it without hesitation. Do it without doubt. The magic will know if your will wavers."

"I won't waver," you said.

He looked at you for a long moment, and then he nodded. "I know you won't."

The hour was late when you made your way to the chamber where Jacaerys lay. The castle was quiet, the servants and guards moving through the corridors like ghosts, their footsteps muffled by the weight of impending tragedy. Everyone knew. Everyone was waiting. The heir to the heir, the bright young prince who had flown to the Gullet with fire in his heart, was slipping away, and there was nothing anyone could do.

Except you. You could do something. You would do something.

Daemon walked beside you, a silent shadow in black and red. When you reached the door to Jace's chamber, he stopped and turned to face you.

"I will be here," he said quietly. "No one will enter until you open this door from the inside. Take as long as you need."

You nodded, not trusting your voice, and pushed open the heavy wooden door.

The room was dim, lit only by a single candle on the bedside table and the faint glow of the hearth fire. The windows were shuttered against the night air, and the scent of medicinal herbs hung thick in the air: poultices and tinctures and the smell of boiling wine used to cleanse wounds. But underneath it all was the smell of blood, old and new, and the sickly-sweet undertone of a body fighting a losing battle against death.

Jacaerys lay on the bed, and the sight of him made your heart clench like a fist.

He was so still. Jacaerys, who had always been in motion, always talking, always planning, always reaching for the next thing, lay utterly motionless beneath the furs. His face was ashen, his cheeks sunken, dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes. His lips were cracked and dry, parted slightly, and his breathing was so shallow you had to watch his chest for a long moment to be sure it was still moving. The arrow had been removed from his shoulder and the one from his side had been cut out, the wounds stitched and bandaged. But the third arrow, the one in his neck, was still there. The maesters had cut the shaft short, leaving only a few inches protruding from the swollen, angry flesh, but they had not dared to remove the head. It was lodged against something vital, and any attempt to pull it free would tear the vessel and kill him in moments.

You stood beside the bed for a long time, just looking at him. Remembering.

You remembered the first time you had met him, when you were both children, before you understood what betrothal meant. He had been solemn and serious even then, trying so hard to be worthy of the inheritance that had fallen to him. You had thought him stuffy at first, too concerned with duty and honor to be any fun. But then he had smiled at you, a quick, surprised smile, and you had seen the boy beneath the prince, and something had shifted in your heart.

You remembered the day your dragon died. The Battle of Rook's Rest. The sky had been full of fire and screaming, and you had been on your dragon's back, trying to stay alive, trying to fight, trying to do something, anything, to help. And then Rhaenys had fallen. Meleys had plunged from the sky in a tangle of scarlet wings, and Vhagar had turned. The ancient she-dragon had fixed her terrible eyes on you, and Aemond's voice had echoed across the battlefield, shouting something you could not hear over the roar of wind and flame. He had wanted to take you, you learned later. A prize. A hostage. A trophy to hang on his wall. But your dragon had fled, faster than Vhagar could follow, and had carried you all the way back to Dragonstone before succumbing to her wounds. She had died on the beach, her great head resting on sand, her eyes fixed on you with an apology you could not bear to receive. You had held her until the light went out of her, and then you had stood and walked up to the castle and begun to plan how you would make the Greens pay.

Jace had held you that night. He had not said anything, there was nothing to say, but he had held you, and let you weep into his shoulder, and when you were finished he had kissed your forehead and told you that you were the bravest person he had ever met.

Now he was dying, and you were going to save him, no matter what it cost.

You set down the small bag you had brought with you and began to prepare. From the bag you drew a candle of black wax, a small silver knife, a bowl of beaten copper, and a roll of parchment covered in the symbols and words you had copied from the old texts. You arranged them on the floor beside the bed, your hands steady despite the trembling in your heart. Then you drew back the furs and looked at Jace's wounds.

The bandages on his shoulder and side were fresh, changed that evening by the maesters. But the wound in his neck was the one that mattered. You leaned close, examining it in the dim light. The flesh around the arrow shaft was red and swollen, hot to the touch even from inches away. The skin had begun to take on a greyish tinge at the edges, and when you inhaled carefully, you caught the faint, foul scent of corruption beginning to take hold. The maesters were right. If the arrow was not removed, the infection would spread. It would poison his blood, and he would die in fever and delirium. But if they tried to remove it, the arrowhead would tear the great vessel in his neck, and he would drown in his own blood in moments.

Unless you changed the rules.

You had studied the accounts of the Valyrian blood mages for years. You had devoured every scrap of knowledge you could find about the old sorceries, the fire magic that had raised the Freehold to its terrible glory. And you had learned that blood was the key. Blood was always the key. Blood was life, and life was power, and power, properly channeled, could reshape the world.

The ritual Tyanna of Pentos had used, or something very like it, was described in fragments throughout the texts you had found. It was not healing in the traditional sense. It was something older, darker and more profound. It was the transference of life force, the binding of spirit to flesh, the rekindling of the inner fire that kept the soul tethered to the body. The subject would not simply recover. They would be remade, their body repaired not by natural processes but by the direct application of magical will. And the cost would be paid in blood. Not Jace's blood. Yours.

You knelt beside the bed and lit the black candle. The flame burned with a strange, bluish light, and the air in the room seemed to thicken, growing heavy and still. You picked up the silver knife and positioned the copper bowl on the floor before you.

"I don't know if you can hear me," you said quietly, looking at Jace's still face. "But if you can…hold on. Just a little longer. I'm going to bring you back."

Then you set the blade against the inside of your left forearm and cut.

The pain was immediate. Blood welled up from the wound, you held your arm over the copper bowl, letting it drip down into the metal basin. The candle flame flickered, then steadied, burning brighter than before. You closed your eyes and began to speak.

The words were High Valyrian. They were harsh, full of consonants that scraped against your throat and vowels that burned on your tongue. You had practiced them for hours, mouthing them silently in your chamber, but speaking them aloud was different. They had weight. They had presence. Each syllable seemed to hang in the air, resonating with something deep beneath the world.

We ask the Lord to shine his light, and the debt of blood to be paid.

With fire and blood, the debt shall be paid.

Your blood continued to flow, more than you had expected, more than seemed safe. The copper bowl was filling, the dark liquid swirling in the candlelight, and you felt a strange pulling sensation in your chest, as if something vital was being drawn out of you along with the blood. The candle flame rose higher, no longer blue but a deep, angry red, and the shadows in the room began to move.

You reached out with your bleeding arm and pressed your hand against the wound in Jace's neck, your fingers circling the broken arrow shaft. The moment your blood touched his skin, you felt it: a connection, a bridge, a channel opening between your life and his. You could feel his weak heartbeat, fluttering against your palm like a trapped bird. You could feel the poison spreading through his veins, the infection that was eating away at his flesh. And you could feel the arrowhead, a cold sliver of metal lodged against the pulsing wall of his artery, a hairsbreadth from the arms of the Stranger.

No, you thought, and poured yourself into him.

It was like falling. Like drowning. Like being unmade and remade in the space of a single heartbeat. Your vision went white, then red, then black, and you were somewhere else, somewhere vast and dark and full of fire. You could feel Jace there, a flickering ember in the darkness, barely holding on. And you could feel something else, something vast and hungry, watching you from the shadows. The magic. The old power. It wanted what you were offering. It wanted the blood, the life, the sacrifice. It wanted you.

Take it, you said, or thought, or screamed into the void. Take whatever you need. Just give him back to me.

The darkness surged forward, and you knew nothing more.

You woke in your own bed, with sunlight streaming through the windows and the sound of shouting echoing through the corridors.

For a long, disorienting moment, you had no idea where you were or how you had gotten there. Your body felt strange, heavy and hollow at the same time, as if someone had scooped out your insides and replaced them with lead. Your left arm throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, and when you lifted it to look, you saw that someone had bandaged it. The white linen was spotted with red, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped.

The shouting grew louder. Footsteps pounded past your door. Someone was calling for the maester, and someone else was weeping, and beneath it all was a rising tide of voices, excited and frightened and disbelieving.

And then you remembered.

You sat up so fast the room spun around you. You grabbed the bedpost, steadying yourself, and swung your legs over the side of the bed. Your head pounded, your vision blurring, but you forced yourself to stand, to walk, to open the door and step out into the corridor.

A serving girl was running past, her eyes wide and her face flushed. You caught her arm.

"What's happening?" you demanded, and your voice came out rough and strange, barely recognizable as your own.

"My lady!" The girl's words tumbled over each other in her haste. "It's the prince! Prince Jacaerys! He's awake! He's awake, and the maester says his wounds are healing, and the Queen is with him now..."

You let go of her arm. She kept talking, but you were already moving, pushing past her, walking as fast as your unsteady legs would carry you toward Jace's chamber.

The corridor outside his room was crowded with people, servants and guards and minor lords, all craning their necks and whispering among themselves. They parted when they saw you, their eyes wide with surprise or curiosity or something else you didn't have the presence of mind to identify. You didn't care. You didn't care about any of it. You only cared about the door at the end of the corridor and what lay beyond it.

Daemon was leaning by the door. He saw you coming, and his expression flickered, relief and what might have been pride or might have been concern. He stepped forward to meet you.

"It worked," his voice was pitched low so only you could hear. "The maester examined him this morning. The swelling in his neck has gone down. The corruption is receding. They were able to remove the arrowhead safely an hour ago. He is weak, but he is alive, and he is awake."

You closed your eyes for a moment, swaying on your feet. The relief that flooded through you was so intense it was almost painful. "I need to see him."

"Rhaenyra is with him now. She has been there since they told her. She is…" Daemon paused, searching for the right word. "Overjoyed. She thinks it's a miracle."

"It is a miracle," you said.

Daemon's eyes met yours. "Yes," he agreed. "It is. But not the kind she thinks." He put his hand on your shoulder, steadying you. "You did well, daughter. Better than I dared to hope. But be careful with him, he hasn't quite come back to himself yet."

He opened the door, and you stepped inside.

The first thing you saw was Rhaenyra. The Queen was sitting on the edge of the bed, her silver-gold hair unbound and disheveled, her face wet with tears. She was holding Jace's hand in both of hers, and she was speaking to him in a low, urgent voice, her words tumbling out too fast to follow. She looked exhausted, wrung out, the way a person looks when they have been holding themselves together for so long that the relief of letting go is almost as painful as the fear.

And then you saw Jace.

He was sitting up against the pillows, his dark hair brushed back from his face, his eyes open and alert. The bandage on his neck was fresh and white, and his color was better than it had been in days, still pale, but no longer grey, no longer the ashen hue of a corpse waiting to happen. He was thinner than before, the bones of his face more prominent, but he was alive. He was alive.

He looked up when you entered, your eyes met, and you felt as though your heart would burst.

"Jace," you breathed.

His expression shifted. For a moment, he looked almost confused, as if he didn't quite recognize you. Then his face cleared, and he smiled, a small, tired smile, but a real one, and held out his free hand to you.

"There you are," he said. His voice was hoarse, rough from disuse, but it was his voice. "I was wondering when you would come."

You crossed the room without thinking, barely aware of Rhaenyra moving aside to make space for you. You took his hand, his fingers closed around yours, and he was warm. He was warm. You had been so afraid that he would be cold, that the ritual would have taken something essential from him, that he would be a shell wearing Jace's face. But his hand was warm, and his pulse beat steady in his wrist.

Except.

Except there was something different in his eyes. A gleam. A light that hadn't been there before. When he looked at you, you felt the weight of his attention, focused and intense. There was none of the softness you remembered, none of the gentle uncertainty that had always lurked beneath his princely composure. This was a Jacaerys who had looked into the darkness and come back with something of it still burning behind his eyes.

"Your Grace," you said to Rhaenyra, remembering your courtesies even as your heart hammered against your ribs. "I came as soon as I heard."

"He's going to be all right," Rhaenyra said, and her voice broke on the words. "The maester says he's going to be all right. I don't understand it. None of them understand it. But I don't care. My son is alive." She pressed a hand to her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks again. "I'm so relieved. I thought I'd lost you. I thought I'd lost both of you."

She meant Luke, you realized. Lucerys, who had died at Storm's End, whose death had started the cascade of violence that had led here. Rhaenyra had lost one son already. She could not bear to lose another.

Jace's expression softened. "I'm here," he said. "I'm not going anywhere. But if I could speak with my betrothed now. Alone, if you don't mind."

Rhaenyra hesitated, looking between the two of you. Then she nodded, pressing a kiss to Jace's forehead before rising from the bed. "I'll be just outside," she said. "I'll send for some broth. You need to eat. You need to regain your strength."

She left the room, and the door closed behind her with a soft click. You and Jace were alone.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You were still holding his hand, and he was still looking at you with that strange, intense gaze, and you didn't know what to say. What did you say to someone you had pulled back from the edge of death? What did you say to someone who might owe their life to a ritual you barely understood and a power you had no right to wield?

"You did something," Jace said at last.

You opened your mouth to deny it, but the words wouldn't come. His eyes were too sharp, too knowing. He could see right through you.

"Yes," you said quietly. "I did."

"What did you do?"

You told him everything. You were too tired to lie and too frightened to hold it in, and because he deserved to know what had been done to him.

When you finished, he was silent for a long moment. Then he reached up with his free hand and touched the bandage on his neck, his fingers tracing the edge of it with a strange, detached curiosity.

"I died," he said. "Didn't I?"

"No," you denied quickly. "No, you were still alive. The maesters said..."

"The maesters said I was going to die. They said there was nothing they could do." His eyes met yours again. "I remember the water. The cold. I remember Vermax screaming. And then…nothing. Darkness. Just darkness, for a long time. And then something else. Something pulling me back. It felt like fire. Like dragonfire, but inside me. In my blood. In my bones." He paused. "Was that you?"

You swallowed hard. "I don't know. I don't know what I did. The texts said the ritual could transfer life force, could bind spirit to flesh, could rekindle the inner fire. But they didn't say how. They didn't say what the cost would be. I just…I couldn't let you die. I couldn't. Not when there was something I could try."

Jace looked at you for a long moment. Then he pulled you toward him, and before you knew what was happening, his arms were around you and your face was pressed against his shoulder and he was holding you so tightly you could barely breathe.

"You foolish, brave, tricky woman," he murmured into your hair. "You could have died. You could have killed yourself. For me."

"There was no choice," you said, your voice muffled against his chest. "There was never a choice. Don't you understand? Without you, there's no point. There's no point to any of it."

You felt him exhale a shaky breath. His hand came up to stroke your hair, gentle despite the new strength you could feel in his grip. "I understand," he said. "I understand better than you know."

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him. Your eyes were wet, you realized. You had been crying without noticing it. He reached up and wiped the tears from your cheeks with his thumb, his touch warm and achingly familiar.

"When I was pulled from the darkness," he whispered, "I dreamed. I dreamed of fire and blood and a throne made of swords. I dreamed of our enemies burning. I dreamed of Aemond Targaryen dying in the mud, with my hands around his throat. I dreamed of victory, absolute and total, with no mercy and no quarter and no hesitation. I dreamed of everything I was too weak to do before." His voice hardened, and that gleam in his eyes grew brighter, more dangerous. "I'm not weak anymore."

You stared at him. There was something new and terrible and fierce in his voice. The boy you had known was still there, but there was something else now, something that had been forged in the darkness and brought back with him into the light.

"The Greens took my brother," Jace said. "They took my dragon. They took my birthright. They tried to take my life. They tried to take you." His hands tightened on your arms. "They will fail. They will all fail. I am going to recover from this. I am going to get out of this bed, and I am going to be there when my mother takes King's Landing. And then I am going to find Aemond Targaryen, and I am going to make him pay for every drop of blood he has spilled."

"Jace," you said, and you didn't know if it was a warning or a plea or a prayer.

"When I woke up," he continued, as if you hadn't spoken, "I felt different. I feel…more. More alive, more aware. Better, altogether." He laughed without humour. "I feel like someone lit a fire inside me and it's never going to go out. Is that what you did to me? Is that what the magic made me?"

"I don't know," you whispered. "I didn't know what it would do. The texts said…"

"The texts said Maegor came back changed. Crueler. Stronger. Unstoppable." Jace's eyes met yours. "Maybe that's what I am now. Maybe that's what you made me."

"No. You're not Maegor. You're not cruel. You're not..."

"I'm not what I was before." He said it calmly, as if stating a simple fact. "I can feel it. The part of me that hesitated, that second-guessed, that worried about being good enough, worthy enough, it's gone. Burned away. All that's left is the fire." He cupped your face in his hands, his palms were warm against your cheeks. "But I'm still me. I'm still yours. That hasn't changed. That will never change."

He kissed you. It was not like the gentle, tentative kisses you had shared before. It was fierce, demanding, full of that new fire, and you found yourself responding to it despite your fear, despite your uncertainty. His lips were warm, his hands were strong, and he was alive. He was alive, and that was all that mattered.

When he pulled back, his eyes were still burning with that strange, fierce light. "You brought me back," he said. "You gave me a second chance. I'm not going to waste it. I'm going to win this war. I'm going to put my mother on the Iron Throne. I'm going to marry you, and we are going to build a dynasty that will last a thousand years." He smiled, and it was a crazed and beautiful thing. "I swear to you."

You looked at him. Your betrothed, your prince, the boy you had loved since before you understood what love was, and saw the man he had become. The fire in his eyes. The steel in his voice. The fury and the purpose and the unshakeable certainty. The old texts had warned that those brought back by blood magic were never quite the same. They came back changed. They came back wrong. But looking at him now, you couldn't bring yourself to believe it.

He wasn't wrong. He was more.

"Rest now," you said, pressing him back against the pillows. "Regain your strength. The war will still be there when you're healed."

He caught your wrist, his strong grip still surprised you. "Stay," he said. "Stay with me."

"I'm not going anywhere," you promised.

You stayed by his side as the days passed, watching as his strength returned with unnatural speed. The maesters marveled at his recovery, calling it a miracle, a blessing from the Seven, the indomitable will of the dragon blood. They didn't know. They couldn't know. Only you and Daemon knew the truth, and you kept it locked away in your hearts, a secret that bound you together in shared complicity.

Part 2: see here

a/n: Comment if you'd like to be added to this series' taglist.

Rn I'm tagging those who commented that they'd like me to post this fic: @ilovefoolishknights @mellowpeacequeen @disturbedturtle @pinkypurplez @oh-miniso @brlghtflame

a/n: Liked the fic? You can donate on Ko-fi, your support helps me write more: https://ko-fi.com/catbayunthestoryteller <3

[tartharyen]

They're a power man should never have trifled with.

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON ⚔︎ 1.1 | 1.10 | 3.1

[bram-stoners]

You’re in the wind, I’m in the water

[yenvengerberg]

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON Season 1 Episode 10, 'The Black Queen' Season 3 Episode 1, 'Salt and Sea, Fire and Blood'

[allyriadayne]

When you have a brother

[amyposts34568913]

YEARNING FOR HIS FUTURE QUEEN.

jacaerys velaryon x tully!reader!female

warnings: 18+, very very sweet fluff, no war and dance of the dragons au, tully's family is not book canon, smut, face-sitting, p in v, kissing, making out, teasing, pet names, breeding kink.

summary: You and Jacaerys are betrothed since you were children. He's visiting the Riverlands to see you again... being so sweet in front of your family but craving the feel of you after being apart for so long.

taglist: @claerysa

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Jacaerys had been betrothed since childhood, your engagement arranged to strengthen the bond between your two houses.

You spent much of your early years in King's Landing, chasing one another through the winding corridors of the Red Keep. You watched him train tirelessly in the castle yard, wooden sword in hand, only for the two of you to sneak away afterward and steal lemon cakes from the kitchens before anyone could catch you.

Those became some of your fondest childhood memories.

When Jacaerys moved to Dragonstone with his family, the atmosphere within the royal family grew increasingly strained. Rather than asking you to travel to him, he began visiting you in the Riverlands whenever his duties allowed.

Neither of you cared where you met.

Whether it was Dragonstone, the Red Keep, or your family's castle in the Riverlands, the place never mattered.

What mattered was being together.

You had loved one another for as long as either of you could remember. As the years passed, your childhood affection quietly blossomed into something deeper, growing stronger with every reunion and every reluctant farewell.

Now, a grand tourney was to be held at Riverrun.

The moment you heard the news, you wasted no time sending a raven to Dragonstone, inviting Jacaerys to attend. The tourney itself was little more than an excuse.

In truth, you simply wanted to see him again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I waited for you..." you said with a playful pout, a teasing smirk tugging at your lips. "But I think you'd rather see my brother than me."

‎To your surprise, your sweet betrothed hadn't come to greet you first upon his arrival. Instead, one of your maids informed you that he had been welcomed by your older brother, Grover.

‎Curious, you made your way to the Great Hall.

‎There they were.

‎Jacaerys and Grover stood near the great fireplace, each holding a goblet of wine that a servant had just poured for them. Deep in conversation, neither of them noticed your arrival at first.

‎Only when your voice broke the silence did Jacaerys turn toward you, his face instantly softening into the warm smile you had been hoping to see.

‎"Forgive me" he says, walking up to you "You know I can't say no to my future brother in law." He says grinning.

‎He reaches out then—gloved fingers gently brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. The gesture is tender, almost reverent. Behind him, Grover Tully watches silently with folded arms and an unreadable expression.

‎Grover genuinely liked Jacaerys. The two of them often spent their days hunting through the forests or crossing swords in the training yard, and he had come to respect the young prince both as a warrior and as a friend.

‎There was only one thing he didn't particularly care for.

‎The way Jacaerys was always so affectionate with you.

‎It wasn't that Grover was angry or disapproved of the match. If anything, he trusted Jacaerys more than most men. He was simply a protective older brother, always watching closely, determined to make sure his little sister's heart would never be broken.

‎Jace ignores the weight of his audience - In this moment, there’s only you.

‎Without another word, he closes the distance and pulls you into a tight embrace. His armor is cold against your cheek—but his heartbeat thunders beneath it: strong, fast… alive.

‎A beat passes. Then two.

‎And then—finally—he kisses you.

‎The kiss is gentle at first—hesitant, like the brush of a summer breeze. But then it deepens, fueled by months of longing and separation. Jace cups your face in his hands, thumbs tracing your cheeks as if memorizing you.

‎Your brother clears his throat loudly from across the hall.

‎Jace breaks the kiss reluctantly, his forehead resting against yours for a breath—just one more second of closeness. When he pulls back, his silver eyes are bright with joy and love.

‎He turns to Grover slowly, straightening up into the posture of a prince who knows he’s been caught in an intimate moment on foreign soil.

‎"Lord Tully" Jace says formally—though there's no real formality left in him after that kiss.

‎Grover steps forward, his dark eyes sharp with unspoken words.

‎"Keep your hands to yourself, Velaryon." He says warningly smacking him gently on the arm.

‎Jace meets his gaze without flinching. He gives another firm nod—respectful, solemn.

‎"Understood" he says simply. No excuses, no empty promises. Just quiet acknowledgment of the weight his actions carry now—not just as a prince, but as the man who will marry his sister.

‎Grover studies him a moment longer… then turns and strides toward the door without another word.

‎The tension in the hall eases slightly with his departure.

‎"You really had to do that in front of him?" You said trying not to laugh.

‎Jace grins—wide, unapologetic, boyish. The kind of smile that used to get him into trouble as a child.

‎"Of course I did" he says with mock pride. "If I was going to kiss you after all this time… I wanted your brother to see it. Let him know—right now—that you're mine."

‎He winks at you, then laces his fingers through yours like it's the most natural thing in the world. Around them, guards and servants pretend not to stare—but they do.

‎The Great Hall feels warmer somehow.

‎"I think everybody knows that I'm yours." You say quietly.

‎Jace squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The pride in his eyes is impossible to miss—bright and unguarded, like a dragon finally allowed to stretch its wings after being caged.

‎"Good," he murmurs. "Let them all know."

‎He leans down and kisses you again—quickly this time, a soft press of lips—but with no less meaning. Then he rests his forehead against yours once more, whispering:

‎"I've got something for you," Jacaerys said, slipping a hand into his cloak.

‎"I hope it's that wonderful Dornish wine we drank at the Red Keep," you replied eagerly, your eyes lighting up.

‎He let out a quiet laugh and shook his head.

‎"Not this time, my darling. I'm not making the mistake of letting you get that drunk again."

‎You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

‎"You're impossible."

‎"So I've been told."

‎At last, he opened his hand.

‎Resting in his palm was a delicate silver ring, its band shaped like a dragon coiled around itself. The tiny scales shimmered in the firelight, each one catching the glow from the nearby hearth.

‎For a moment, you could only stare.

‎"I know we've been betrothed for what feels like forever," Jacaerys said softly. "But I've never given you anything that was truly ours. Something to remind you of me whenever we're apart." His eyes met yours. "And something to let the world know that your heart already belongs to someone."

‎You looked at the ring in silent amazement, watching the silver gleam in the dancing flames.

‎"It's beautiful, my love," you whispered. "I can't believe you did this for me."

‎A gentle smile spread across his face.

‎"It's a promise ring," he said as he carefully slipped it onto your finger. "A promise that one day we'll stand before the gods and be married." His thumb brushed lightly over your hand. "And from that day forward, we'll never have to say goodbye again."

‎You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

‎Every time he looked at you that way... every time he did something so thoughtful, so effortlessly charming, your heart swelled until it felt as though it could no longer contain the love you had for him.

‎You wondered how it was possible to love someone so completely, yet with every passing day, your feelings for Jacaerys only seemed to grow stronger. "I love you with all the fire." You whispered against his lips.

‎"I love you, my love, my everything."

Jace hums against your lips—content, happy—as you peck him again. Each little kiss feels like a secret shared between just the two of you, a rebellion against all courtly decorum.

‎He doesn’t rush to deepen it this time. Just savors the softness—the sweetness of your affection—before returning it with another gentle press of his own.

‎Suddenly, you pulled away from him breaking the kiss and walked towards the door with a smirk on your face.

‎Jace’s eyes follow you instantly. That grin of yours? It’s dangerous. Playful and tasing. And it makes his heart leap.

‎He doesn’t move right away—just watches as you glide toward the door, your steps light and deliberate. The game is on.

‎A slow smirk spreads across his face—the kind that says: Oh, so we’re doing this now?

‎Without a word he starts walking after you.

‎Jace follows at a leisurely pace, hands tucked behind his back—deceptively calm. But there’s fire in his eyes.

‎The corridor outside the Great Hall is quiet, torchlight flickering on stone walls. You’re ahead… but not too far ahead.

‎Then—suddenly—he breaks into a light jog and closes the distance between you.

‎One arm wraps around your waist from behind as he pulls you gently against him.

‎The sudden warmth of his body pressed to your back sends a shiver through you—his breath tickling the shell of your ear. Jace doesn’t speak, not yet. Just holds you there for a heartbeat.

‎He lowered his head, pressing a trail of lingering kisses along your neck, each one feather-light against your skin. His hands rested gently on your shoulders, holding you steady against his chest as you melted into his embrace.

‎"You’re impossible," he murmurs against your ear. "Running off like that… you knew I’d chase you."

‎"I know... That's why I did that." You say, looking sweetly at him.

‎"Little tease." He spins you around with surprising grace and captures your lips again - this time deeper and hungrier.

‎His hands slide up to cradle your face as the torches flicker around you both.

‎"I need to go..." You said between kisses, trying to catch your breath. "And get ready for the feast."

‎Jace sighs—dramatic, exaggerated, the pout of a man torn between love and duty. The feast. Of course. Dinner with lords and ladies, politics barely hidden under polite conversation.

‎"Already?" he murmurs against your lips one last time before reluctantly pulling back.

‎He smooths his hands over your shoulders like he’s memorizing the feel of you in this moment—and then steps aside to let you pass.

‎"Go," he says softly, "but I’ll be waiting at the table for you."

‎A small smirk returns.

‎"And I won’t stop looking at you all night."

‎"I know you won't." You wink at him and started to walk towards your chambers.

‎Jace watches you walk down the corridor, your steps graceful, the sway of your gown catching the torchlight. That wink? Devastating. It lingers in his mind like a spell.

‎He stands there for a few extra seconds—long after you’ve turned a corner and vanished from sight—just smiling to himself.

‎A passing servant clears their throat awkwardly. Jace blinks, remembering he’s supposed to be a prince now—not some lovestruck boy daydreaming in hallways.

‎With one last glance toward where you disappeared… he straightens his cloak and heads toward his own chambers that were placed in completely different direction than yours. Not that your brother had anything to do with that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‎The Great Hall is transformed—long tables laden with roasted meats, honeyed fruits, and dark breads stretch from one end to the other. Torches blaze brightly overhead, casting golden light on silver platters and polished armor.

‎Lords and ladies filled the benches, their voices blending into a constant murmur of conversation. Soft piano music drifted through the hall, weaving gracefully between the chatter and lending the gathering an air of quiet elegance.

‎And there at the high table sits Jace—already in his place beside Grover.

‎Jace scans every guest entering… waiting for your arrival.

‎Then the doors swing open—guards announcing your arrival with quiet formality. The hall hushes slightly, not out of awe for a noblewoman, but because everyone knows who you are: Lady Tully, Betrothed to Prince Jacaerys.

‎The murmurs begin instantly—whispers about your gown, your grace, how young and lovely you look beside the prince.

‎Jacaerys rises as soon as he sees you.

‎No protocol stops him from coming down to meet you halfway.

‎Jace strides toward you with purpose—ignoring the stares, ignoring Grover's sharp glance from the high table. The moment he reaches you, his expression shifts: all softness and warmth reserved only for you.

‎He takes your hand—gloved in black velvet—and presses a respectful kiss to your knuckles. But when he lifts his eyes? That quiet fire is back.

‎"Beautiful," he murmurs just for you to hear.

‎Then offers his arm like a true prince escorting his lady.

‎Jace finally guides you to the table, keeping his arm firmly around you. He serves you first - plucking a juicy piece of roasted pheasant and placing it on your plate with deliberate care. He fills your goblet with wine, then lean close to murmur: "Eat. I can see that you're starving."

‎How the hell does he know that? You started thinking how he could notice such a thing about you.

‎"How do you even know that?" You said with a sly smile.

‎Jace smirks, taking a sip of his own wine before answering. "I notice everything about you, my love." He says simply like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

‎And it is. Jace pays attention - the way you braid your hair, the way you chew your lip when you're reading a book.

‎A servant passes by with a fresh bread; Jace grabs a warm roll and hands it to you without being asked.

‎You take a bite of the food and tug a curl of his hair behind his ear. "You're such a gentleman."

‎Jace leans into your touch, the gesture is so soft and so affectionate that it makes his eyes close for a brief moment.

‎"Only for you" He murmurs, and place a kiss on your fingertips.

‎You returned to your meal, trying your best to hide the smile spreading across your face. You lifted your hand to cover it, hoping no one would notice the blush warming your cheeks at the sight of your beloved.

‎Jace sees it- of course he does. The way you hide your smile, the flustered eating, the slight pink in your cheeks. He knows exactly what's happening: you're head over heels for him.

‎And gods, that makes his chest swell with pride. He grins like a smug fool. A slow knowing smirk as he watches you chew.

‎Jacaerys feels the nudge of your knee and his smirk softness into something fond. He nudges back immediately.

‎Under the table his knee stays pressed against yours now. A secret point of contact- a way to stay connected even when people bustle around you.

Across from you sat your younger siblings, a lively group of children with bright blue eyes and fiery red hair. They watched Jacaerys with barely concealed amusement, having adored him for as long as they could remember.

‎He always brought them sweets from King's Landing. Once, he had even introduced them to Vermax, much to their excitement. And somehow, despite having no idea what he was doing at first, he had even taught himself how to braid hair just for your youngest sister.

‎It was impossible for them not to love him.

‎"Do you always drink so much wine, Jace?" Your brother asks giggling.

‎Jacaerys nearly choked on his drink at the boy's boldness. He set his goblet down, trying to suppress his laughter.

‎"No. Only at feasts."

‎"Don't ask questions like that!" you whispered to your siblings, lightly kicking their feet beneath the table.

‎The children yelped—not from pain, but from surprise—and immediately shot you deeply betrayed looks.

‎Jacaerys, however, couldn't help but chuckle. There was something refreshing about the bluntness of children. No politics. No careful words. Just innocent curiosity.

‎"It's all right," he assured them with a small smile before adding mischievously, "But if I drank wine all the time like some of the lords do, I'd be drunk by noon."

‎The children burst into giggles, clearly charmed by him.

‎"Where did you get that ring?!" your younger sister suddenly exclaimed.

‎Before you could answer, she reached across the table and took your hand, examining the silver dragon ring with wide, fascinated eyes.

‎"Jace gave it to me—as a gift."

‎You couldn't miss the suspicious look Grover sent in Jacaerys's direction.

‎"It's so pretty!" your sister squealed, squirming excitedly in her seat. "You're so lucky... I want pretty things like that, too..."

‎Her excitement faded into a small pout.

‎"Don't worry," Jacaerys said gently. "You will have something pretty of your own one day." He considered her for a moment before smiling. "Perhaps I could have a necklace made for you."

‎Your sister gasped. ‎"Really?"

‎"Really."

‎She nodded enthusiastically, already imagining it.

‎You couldn't help but smile as you watched Jacaerys with your younger siblings. He was so gentle with them, so patient and kind. Something warm stirred in your chest as you found yourself imagining a future with him—a home of your own, children running through its halls, and Jacaerys looking at them with that same tender smile.

‎Then, as though she had somehow heard your thoughts, your sister spoke.

‎"Are you going to have children with my sister?"

‎The question struck the hall like a thunderclap.

‎Several nearby guests immediately choked on their wine. ‎Jacaerys froze.

‎His entire face turned scarlet, his eyes widening as he stared at the little girl in complete disbelief.

‎Your mouth fell open.

‎Even Grover looked momentarily stunned.

‎Your sister, completely oblivious to the chaos she had caused, simply waited for an answer.

‎Jacaerys opened his mouth. ‎Nothing came out. ‎She tilted her head impatiently ‎"Well?" she demanded. "Are you going to?"

‎Jacaerys finally found his voice, though it came out an octave higher than usual. ‎"I mean... yes. Eventually."

‎Your sister gasped before immediately turning to her younger brother.

‎"Do you know what that means?! Our nieces and nephews are going to have dragons!"

‎Your brother's eyes widened.

‎The two children bounced excitedly in their seats, already imagining tiny Targaryen children running through the halls with miniature dragons at their heels.

‎Jacaerys, still recovering from the question, managed a weak smile at their enthusiasm.

‎The thought of having children of his own—children with dragons—wasn't entirely foreign to him.

‎He would be lying if he said he had never imagined it before.

‎You, however, could only roll your eyes at your siblings for embarrassing both you and Jacaerys.

‎"Enough with the questions. Go play with someone your own age."

‎The children pouted but obeyed, hopping from their chairs and scampering toward the dancers, where other children were spinning in circles to the lively tune of the fiddles.

‎Jacaerys released a long breath once they were safely out of earshot.

‎"That was... a lot."

‎He reached for his goblet and took a long drink, clearly attempting to compose himself after the most unexpected interrogation of his life.

‎Around you, the hall gradually returned to normal. Lords resumed their conversations, ladies giggled behind their hands, and the musicians continued playing as though nothing had happened.

‎"I'm sorry," you murmured to Jacaerys. "They can't keep their tongues in their mouths."

‎"No, it's fine," he replied with a quiet chuckle. "I liked her questions."

‎He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear.

‎"Besides..." His eyes softened as they met yours. "I don't mind talking about children with you."

‎The simple confession caught you off guard.

‎You had never truly spoken about it before.

‎Of course, you both knew that one day you would be expected to provide heirs. It was simply part of marriage, especially a marriage between two noble houses.

‎But neither of you had ever admitted whether that was something you actually wanted.

‎For the first time, you wondered if perhaps Jacaerys had imagined the same future you had quietly dreamed about—a family of your own, with little children carrying pieces of both of you.

‎You opened your mouth to answer, but before you could say a word, a servant appeared to refill your goblets. You turned toward her and offered a quiet, "Thank you."

‎Once she had moved away, you reached beneath the table and took Jacaerys's hand.

‎With the lightest touch of your fingertips, you slowly traced a single word into his palm. ‎MINE

‎He shivered.

‎The possessive little claim sent his heart pounding, and a slow, amused smile spread across his face.

‎You little tease, he thought.

‎Without looking down, he gently turned your palm upward and traced his own answer against your skin. ‎YOURS.

‎You focused on the sensation of his fingertips, following each letter until the meaning became clear.

‎A quiet smile touched your lips.

‎Jacaerys wasn't accustomed to this kind of intimacy between the two of you—not in public, where every gesture had to be measured and every glance carefully controlled.

‎But he loved it.

‎Every fleeting touch. Every secret glance. Every small gesture meant only for him.

‎Above the table, he remained perfectly composed—the picture of a prince raised to hide every emotion behind a calm expression.

‎But beneath it all, your touch had left him thoroughly flustered.

‎Then your hand moved away from his palm.

‎You rose from your seat and began making your way toward the dance floor, leaving him wondering for a moment what you were doing.

‎As you passed behind him, your fingertips brushed lightly against the back of his neck, disappearing beneath his dark curls for the briefest moment.

‎Jacaerys inhaled sharply.

‎His shoulders stiffened for an instant before slowly relaxing as warmth spread from that tiny point of contact.

‎And then you were gone.

‎You walked toward the dancers with effortless grace, leaving Jacaerys sitting there as though he had been struck by some strange spell.

‎He watched you disappear into the crowd, unable to stop the smile tugging at his lips.

‎Jacaerys finally blinked, coming back to reality like a man waking from a dream.

‎The harpist had begun a lively dance, and couples were already rising from their tables.

‎His eyes immediately found you.

‎You joined the other dancers, moving with effortless grace. Every step seemed almost poetic—elegant, confident, and utterly distracting. All Jacaerys wanted was to be the one holding your hand.

‎Instead, he waited.

‎Patiently.

‎At least, he tried to.

‎The dance wasn't particularly fast, a gentle waltz beneath the warm glow of the torches. Jacaerys watched every movement as you glided across the floor with some nobleman's son who had been bold enough to ask you first.

‎A tiny spark of jealousy flickered in his chest.

‎Irrational. Fleeting.

‎But there nonetheless.

‎Then the music ended.

‎The dancers applauded politely, and before anyone could approach him, Jacaerys rose from his seat.

‎He crossed the hall with purpose, ignoring the curious looks following his every step. Protocol could wait. The musicians were already preparing for the next dance, and this time, he intended to be your partner.

‎He reached you just as the first notes of a soft lute melody filled the hall—a slower, more intimate tune than the one before.

‎Without asking, he extended his hand toward you.

‎A silent request. ‎Dance with me.‎The entire court seemed to watch. ‎Neither of you cared.

‎You placed your hand in his without hesitation, your palm fitting naturally against his. Jacaerys led you toward the center of the floor as the other couples formed around you.

‎The music swelled.

‎His hand settled gently at your waist while his other held yours, raised gracefully between you. There was no need for words. You simply moved together, matching each other's rhythm as though you had been dancing this way all your lives.

‎Then you looked up at him, a knowing smile playing on your lips. ‎"Got jealous?"

‎Jacaerys's steps didn't falter, but his eyes betrayed him immediately.

‎A guilty little flicker passed through them.

‎He let out a quiet breath, leaning closer so only you could hear. ‎"...Maybe a little."

‎There was no point lying to you. Not when you knew him so well.

‎His gaze softened.

‎"You know I only want you, right?" you murmured.

‎For a moment, Jacaerys simply looked at you.

‎Then a warm smile spread across his face.

‎"I know," he whispered. "And I only want you."

‎His fingers tightened gently around yours as the music carried you both across the floor.

‎"Come with me," Jacaerys murmured, just loud enough for you to hear.

‎"Where?" you asked, glancing at him in confusion.

‎He only gave you a knowing look.

‎There was something mischievous in his eyes, something that told you he had already made up his mind.

‎Without another word, he took your hand and guided you through the dancing couples. You followed quickly, trying to keep your head down and your steps discreet so no one would notice the two of you slipping away.

‎At last, you reached the doors.

‎Jacaerys pulled one open, and the two of you slipped into the corridor. The door closed behind you, muffling the music and laughter of the feast.

‎You released a quiet sigh.

‎"We're going to be in trouble for this."

‎"I don't care," he replied simply.

‎His fingers intertwined with yours again as he began leading you down the corridor toward your chambers, a faint, mischievous smile lingering on his lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‎The kiss was sloppy and desperate. The two of you stumbled into your chambers, barely giving the door time to close before you reached for him.

‎Jacaerys met you halfway, pulling you into a breathless kiss filled with all the longing you had both been trying to suppress.

‎Your fingers tangled into his dark hair, holding him close as the kiss grew more desperate, neither of you willing to be the first to pull away.

‎He pulled your body flush against him. The warm of his body made the spot between your legs ache. You tug at his tunic but rather than allowing you to undress him, Jacaerys breaks from the kiss and turns you around, so now your back was facing him.

‎"Gods, you were teasing me all day... touching me." He said while nipping at your neck, kissing your skin with open-mouthed kisses. "I missed having you like this."

‎"Jacaerys I-..." You wanted to say something but you couldn't. The tension was just too much.

‎"Say it." He demanded. Jacaerys begins to tug at your laces, removing your gown with ease and allowing it to fall at your feet. You just whimpered when you felt the cold air hitting your bare skin.

‎"Tell me." Jacaerys asked again when his fingers made contact with your clothed clit over your small cloth.

‎"Oh." You whimpered and let your head fall on his shoulder. "I want you... So bad." He nipped at your neck harder than before. "I crave the feel of you, we've been aparat for too long." You started to move your hips when you felt his hand wandering over your clothed folds.

‎"I know darling, don't worry, I will take care of you." He murmured to your ear gently sucking at the skin. "Lie down on the bed."

‎You immediately obeyed him and made your way to the bed, almost running so eager to have him already with you. He took of his tunic standing above you, then his belt followed hitting the floor. "Take this off." He said to you pointing at your small cloth that was already wet in one place next to you core. That sight made him shiver.

‎The two of you took the last pieces of clothing and he lied down next to you. "Come here, darling." He gestured for you to sit on his lap. He wanted you to be on top? That was new.

‎When you sat down on his body your hand wandered behind you to grab his hard length but he immediately stopped you. "No, I meant, come here." He said smirking at you. Your face was filled with confusion when you realized he wanted you to sit on his face. But then, you knew Jacaerys loved tasting you. He preferred that more than his own pleasure.

‎You quickly crawled to him. Your core inches from his face. He smiled like a little kid on his name day when he saw presents. "Gods...I've missed you." he only muttered when he grabbed your waist and pushed you down on his face.

‎When you felt his tongue against your folds your whole body felt forward to grab the headboard to have something to hold while he was eating you out like a starved man.

‎He hummed against you when he kissed your folds spreading them aparat with his tongue. Your clit bumped into his nose when you tried to match his rythym.

‎"Oh Jacaerys." You moaned so loudly you were afraid someone near your chambers might hear. But the sounds he was making were driving you insane, only adding to this sensation.

‎He enjoyed being this close to your intimate part that was stealing his whimpers and grunts.

‎You slightly lift yourself up for him to catch his breath and he played with your cunt only with the tip of his tongue. This feeling was so delicate that it made you twitch.

‎But he wasn't satisfied. Jacaerys wanted to devour you. "I said sit, my love." He mumbled before lowering you back to his mouth, but slightly lower than before so he could tease your clit with his mouth.

‎Jacaerys sucked your clit into his mouth and released it with a soft sound while his gaze stayed on you. "You're close aren't you, sweetheart? I can feel you dripping on my face."

‎"So close, Jacaerys. Please-" He started to place open-mouthed kisses and then he allowed his tongue to lick at the same spots over and over again.

‎When you reached your peak you felt the pleasure buzzing in your whole body. High whimpers and whines left your lips. Jace still holds you, softly kissing you.

‎When you came down from your high you pushed yourself from his body to lie down next to him. He hugged you tightly and stroked your back. "You were amazing my love. It wasn't too much?" He asked with the softness in his voice.

‎"No, it was really new but perfect." You smiled brightly when you saw him breathing heavily still trying to catch his breath.

‎Jacaerys intervined your hands and pressed a kiss to your knuckles and to your ring when he found himself blushing at your praise.

‎You reached between your bodies and grabbed his hard leaking length and started to stroke him.

‎"You don't have to-" Jacaerys went to stop you but you only smiled sweetly.

‎"I need you inside me." You mumbled against his mouth.

‎"You sure?" He stroked your cheek gently. "I don't want you to be sore later."

‎"I don't care." You replied already laying on your back. "I just want you."

‎He looked at you like you were sent from the Gods to be his. You gave his weeping dick some merciful strokes when he buried his face in the crook of your neck slowly sinking into your warm.

‎He was in heaven when he looked deep into your eyes, every part of you connected. You clenched around his cock when he started to pick up a pace.

‎At first it was slow thrusts but you felt them deep inside you. You just enjoyed being this close together, happily looking at each other when your bodies moved.

‎But after a time he started to go faster and deeper, pining your tights into the mattress with his hands so you could feel every cure of him deep inside you.

‎"Jace- Oh, gods." Your whined softly when he pounded into you, his eyes never leaving yours.

‎You touched his shoulders and played with his hair as his thrusts were losing their pace as he felt it approaching. A groan left his mouth when you clenched your walls around him once again.

‎Skin slapping against skin with the same rythym he moved above you. There was no rush in the way your lips found each other, his tongue against yours. Only the feeling of his dick against your oversensitive walls was enough to make you come apart.

‎"I'm not gonna last long..." He confessed, his brows frowing while rolling his hips forward. "You feel so good, all mine."

‎"Let go for me, my love." You said against his lips, your hot breath tickling his face. "I know you need it."

‎Something inside him broke with the last thrust. He cried into the crook of your neck when he slowed down his pace, he felt his seed spilling inside you.

‎You couldn't help but falling over the edge the second time, your whole body shaking and twitching. The two of you hugged each other desperately still coming down from your peak.

‎Not ready to let go, Jace sighed and rolled down from you but not without pulling you with him and tucking you safely. You tangled one of your legs into his and hummed happily.

‎"I love you so much." He confessed. "I can't wait to marry you so we could be together all the time."

‎"I love you." You said and kissed his cheek sweetly. "Soon, my love. Soon we will be husband and wife."

‎He kissed your forehead breathing the scent of you before taking a towel from your nightstand and cleaning you up.

‎You were so overwhelmed by the love you felt for him that tears gathered in your eyes.

‎Of all the places you had been, of all the moments you had lived through, you had never felt more at peace than when you were beside him.

‎Jacaerys had been there through every chapter of your life.

‎Your childhood companion. Your best friend. Your betrothed. And, somehow, the love of your life.

‎You were the happiest with him.

"Perhaps we should take a bath..." Jacaerys offered before dropping the towel on the floor. "And maybe air out the room...?"

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