#beauty queen of only eighteen

[stacys-mom-has-got-it-goin-on]

Me on my 18th birthday: sobbing in the corner of my room listening to She Will Be Loved by Maroon 5 and shouting the lyrics

[swordgrace]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒.

༆ jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS: as lady-in-waiting to rhaenyra targaryen, you find that her eldest son, jacaerys, is the only true friend and comfort you have amidst a brewing war that threatens to tear the realm apart.

note: jacaerys is nineteen, reader is eighteen.

༆ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

༆ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

{ FORMAT: one shot — requested.

{ WORD COUNT: 11.5K (this is a long one, not sorry!)

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), friends to lovers, inexperience from both reader & jace, loss of virginity (mutual), first time sexual experiences, sexual tension, p in v sex (unprotected), missionary position, lots of kissing and sweeter antics, slight risk of getting caught, oral sex (fem!receiving), handjob, fingering, hair pulling kink, brief overstimulation, tiddy sucking, this whole thing is soft & sweet smut, nothing disgusting here, jacaerys is the epitome of a perfect lover :))

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I am lowkey transitioning into becoming a Jace girl, I absolutely love him and I’m really enjoying where his character is going! This was a request from an anon user who wanted something freeform! I hope you all enjoy it, thanks so much for all of the recent love & support for my work! It makes me so happy! ❤️

𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒, harkened in from the gentle roll of the tides. Saltwater and dampened rock filled your nostrils, aided by the fluttering breeze as it danced across the obsidian cliffs of Dragonstone.

The castle stood the testament of time, a monolith to the rule of the Targaryens. It loomed overhead, less frightening in the lighter hours, blanketed by glittering rays of sunlight. A cloudless day — good for sailing, you thought, as vessels ushered in goods to the shoddy harbor below.

Beneath the vibrancy of a cloudless sky, you could see the shadow of a dragon soaring overhead — the Princess Rhaenys, from the horned shape above. You cupped your hand around your eyes, squinting to see, constantly mesmerized by such creatures.

In your fantastical dreams, you flew upon the back of a dragon, letting the wind scrape across your visage, feeling the weight of something so powerful beneath you. Of course, you were neither Targaryen nor Velaryon — possessing a dragon wouldn’t be in the cards for you, and perhaps that was a good thing.

As much as you enjoyed the beauty of Dragonstone, you much preferred the outdoors. The weather was splendid, and you took small victories wherever possible. With war on the horizon between your Queen Rhaenyra and her usurper brother, any chance at happiness was worth chasing after and holding onto, while you could.

House Celtigar had bent the knee to Rhaenyra, and your father sat at her council. You were made to be a lady-in-waiting, much your initial disdain. The station you held would’ve been considered a great honor to most young women, but you were inclined to be out in the ocean or on the back of a horse.

Now, you found enjoyment in it, wherever you could.

Oceanic air filled your lungs in a singular inhale, tinged with a saltwater sting. You stood near one of the many stone terraces lining the lengthy walkway to the castle’s entrance, accompanied by Joffrey. The boy had become your greatest joy amidst the brewing chaos, and you were rather grateful for it.

“Would you like to see the ocean, little Prince?” You held the boy’s hand, stooping down to wrap your arms beneath him, standing him up along the cobbled bannister. Joffrey’s laughter could brighten a whole room, and it did — it certainly lifted your spirits.

“When will I be able to ride a dragon?” He questioned, pointing towards the shape of Meleys in the sky. Joffrey was rather inquisitive — a sharp mind, one that would become a great leader someday.

You were unsure of how to answer such a question. Tyraxes was young and still small, just like Joffrey. “Whenever you grow up,” You hummed, a smile playing at either corner of your mouth. “You must be as tall as your brother, first.”

Joffrey toyed with the wooden dragon clutched between his hands, gaze falling toward the ground. “Luke wasn’t much taller.” He mumbled, and it nearly crushed your heart completely to hear the confusion and despair in a child’s voice.

Youth knew more than most, and in the mind of a child, something heinous could appear innocent, or something tragic was beyond their comprehension. Joffrey knew that Luke was gone — he wasn’t coming back. Silence drifted between the both of you, and you found it difficult to change the subject from Lucerys to something lighthearted.

“I miss him.” Joffrey’s sweet voice rang out like the pealing of bells, crystal-clear and downtrodden. You turned him around within your grasp, keeping your hands slotted underneath his arms to ground him. His eyes swam with unshed tears, prompting you to bring him into your embrace.

“It’s alright, my Prince. He’s still here,” You whispered, hugging the boy as tightly as you could. It was enough to rip at your heartstrings, tear you asunder as melancholy began to eat you alive. The fate of Lucerys was a tragic one — unfair and unwarranted, and now, a catalyst for destruction between kin. “We will remember him.”

From afar, Jacaerys observed you and his brother, standing along the ramparts with a palm atop the pommel of his shortsword. The emotional turmoil he continued to feel in regards to Lucerys happened to swell the moment he saw Joffrey clinging onto you — and he knew.

Wisps of a tempered breeze stirred his curled tresses, drifting across his regalia as it caught against his cloak. After the death of his brother, he had come out to the ramparts nearly every night, to sob and to curse the world, to pray to any God that would listen — return Lucerys, bring him home. He had lost count, and in turn, lost a bit of faith.

Remaining optimistic in the face of unavoidable danger was a difficult thing — fear had gripped him once, but no longer. He knew that the only time a man could be brave was in situations like these, where terror stared him in the face and dared him to submit.

Many still referred to him as a mere boy, with little experience and no real understanding of the world and its cruelty. Jacaerys had shed the raiment of boyhood the night he flew blindly into the darkness in the name of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

With the man born, he knew that whatever would come next, he was prepared to face such challenges head-on. Brazenness was not in his nature, but he had learned to adopt stoicism when it mattered most. It was easy to shed the facade around his family, and around you.

His friendship with you was a calm within the storm, a lull in the tempestuous hurricane you were all trapped within. You now had as much stake in this game as he did — your father served on Rhaenyra’s council with Celtigar bannerman pledging to fight in the war to come, and you served as his mother’s lady-in-waiting.

Your blossoming bond was a great comfort, and the tender way in which you cared for Joffrey was a wonderful thing. You had a soft heart — a good heart, and that was something rare to come by. The two of you were both of a similar feather, and the admiration he held for you only seemed to grow stronger each day.

The word friendship often tormented him, on days where you wore beautiful gowns and stood beside his mother, or whenever you smiled. It tormented him when you held Joffrey within your arms and protected him just as fiercely as Rhaenyra would.

Honor demanded that he simply remain just that — a friend, but Jacaerys found himself smitten with you in a way that transcended propriety. To cross that line, especially with you, invited the disdain of his mother and the ire of your father, amongst other things.

Betrothal would be upon him soon enough, likely with a young maiden from the Vale or the Reach to secure an alliance, but it left a sour taste within his mouth. He had little desire to be with anyone else when you were right there.

Jacaerys steeled himself, abandoning his whimsical line of thinking in regards to you. It was a fool’s errand, and he couldn’t afford to be a fool. He stepped closer, the crunch of stone resonating underneath his boots as he approached you and Joffrey.

“My Lady,” Jacaerys’s tone was amiable, like the comforting lick of a warm hearth. His gaze flickered toward Joffrey, bemused with his brother’s antics as you balanced him along the bannister. “What are you doing up there?” He asked, playful in the presence of his little brother.

“Flying,” Joffrey’s head lifted from your shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. You happened to carry him in such a way that he called it flying — and he was asking you to do it again. “Flying!”

With a giggle, you picked the boy up, swinging him up enough to let him get some air. His melancholy turned to jovial laughter as you soared him over to Jacaerys, who was more than happy to pick him up. Joffrey clung to Jace, hugging his brother with all of his strength.

“You are getting too big to fly,” Jace mused, holding Joffrey in one arm as he motioned for you to accompany him. His tousled curls and amicable smile sent your heart fluttering as it had many times before. It wasn’t subtle, your liking of Jacaerys, but you understood the nature of your affections. “Big enough for Tyraxes, soon.”

Jacaerys was perfect, with all of the hallmarks of what a true King should be. He was gentle and eloquent, honed with a blade, learned — and above all, he was kind. The rage that plagued him now was justified, and it pained you to see him become coiled with anger, but you understood why.

As Joffrey regaled the two of you with tales of childlike wonder, soaring his toy dragon around Jace’s head, Jacaerys seemed inclined to converse with you regardless. “I always know where to look, whenever I need to see you.” He mused, walking alongside you as you made your way up the ramparts.

“Is that so?” You chuckled, head canting to one side. “What did you need to see me for, your Grace?” It was a force of habit — he was the heir to the Iron Throne, after all. Jacaerys regarded you with a brief laugh, knowing that formalities were often abandoned whenever the two of you were together.

“Do I need a reason?” Jacaerys mused, voice light and inviting. The crash of the tide upon the beach provided a rather serene ambience, accompanied by the calling of gulls as they circled the bay.

You shook your head, skirts gathered in one hand as you narrowly avoided an upturned plate of stone. “Of course not,” You hesitated, gaze sparkling as your nose wrinkled in mild amusement. “Jacaerys.” You ensured to exaggerate his name, allowing for your conversation to become personal.

At the end of the ramparts, a flock of crimson-clad handmaidens awaited your return. It was likely that they were waiting for you to hand Joffrey over, much to your dismay. The black-headed boy looked to you as you neared the end of your walk.

“I don’t want to go,” He protested, reaching for you as you stepped forward, taking a hold of his hand. “When can we fly again?” Joffrey asked, lower lip jutting out in a rather innocuous pout. He leaned forward, partially out of Jace’s grasp to give you a hug.

“Tomorrow, my Prince. I will let you fly as much as you’d like.” You assured him, reciprocating his hug with one of your own, with all of the warmth one could muster. It was motherly in-nature, and you watched as Jacaerys planted him onto solid ground.

Joffrey took the outstretched hand of a handmaiden, glancing back at you and Jacaerys before they disappeared behind the castle’s massive gates. It always hurt you to leave him, but you knew that tomorrow would come swiftly. A begrudging sigh escaped you before you looked at Jacaerys, countenance somber.

Jace knew what you were about to say — something about Lucerys. The gaping wound left within his heart was barely healed, still oozing with pain, but he was making every effort to mend it. You helped — your resolute reassurance and shoulder to lean on, but sometimes, it wasn’t enough.

Instead, you reached for Jace’s forearm, giving it a brief squeeze of comfort. Whatever sentiments he held, you seemed to echo it, leaving it all unspoken. You and Jacaerys had already spoken about it all at-length — sometimes, he had little desire to tear himself open again.

His head hung low, heap of dark curls billowing in the wind. Jacaerys’s jaw tightened for a brief moment, and he imagined plunging his sword into Aemond Targaryen’s other eye — and then it passed, just as quickly as it had appeared.

A forlorn silence settled between the both of you, one that was born out of mutual understanding and empathy. Jace went quiet often, and you were content to sit in it for as long as he pleased. Instead, you stepped toward the bannister, palms planting themselves atop the stone as you gazed out toward the land surrounding Dragonstone.

“You are good with him,” Jacaerys broke the silence, deliberately stepping towards you as he stood by your side. Joffrey and his half-brothers, Aegon and Viserys, were all he had left. He would die for them if he had to. “He talks about you often.”

An exuberant smile crept onto your features, one of a sweet fondness in regards to Joffrey. “He is a sweet boy — very sharp-witted, though. I would imagine he will grow to be very wise.” You replied, idly tracing your fingers around some of the rocks socketed into the bannister.

“I remember the day he was born,” Jacaerys recalled, remembering the day that his mother, pale skin glistening with sweat, had wobbled into the drawing room, a newborn Joffrey in her arms. “It was a beautiful day, and Ser Harwin was there, and Ser Laenor …” He trailed off, recalling the way that Lucerys had begged to hold his younger brother.

The topic of both Laenor and Harwin were bitter ones — both men playing the role of father. Jacaerys loved them both, as any son would. Another gust of saltwater mist brushed along the ramparts, dusting your cheeks with wisps of moist air.

Wordlessly, you reached for Jace’s arm, looping yours around him as you let him lean against you for support. As much as Jacaerys insisted that he would recover and move on, you ensured him that grieving took time — it came in many shapes and forms.

Jace’s smile was wistful and threadbare, made sorrowful by memories of Lucerys. He didn’t want to sully the moment with his melancholy, holding his head high as he glanced toward you. You were not looking, but it allowed him a moment of appreciation and admiration.

Your beauty was unparalleled, your features delicate and smile like the warmth of a summer sunshine. The way in which you carried yourself was of a kindly disposition, made to be nurturing and helpful instead of imposing. Admittedly, you took his breath away — the feeling was a constant one.

Sunlight sparkled across your countenance, gaze soothing and full of empathy. The way in which you grasped his arm, kept yourself tucked away within his side, it invoked feelings of protectiveness — and newfound affection.

A dragon’s shrill cry reverberated throughout the skies, prompting Jacaerys to immediately look ahead. It was the familiar shriek of Vermax, his bonded dragon, who had grown exponentially. He was larger than Moondancer, with olive-colored scales and orange fins, eyes the color of a burnished gold.

“Māzigon, Vermax!” Jacaerys called, gaining the attention of his dragon as it began to approach, causing your heart to gallop within your chest. He looked at you with a hint of amusement, head canting to one side. “Would you like to see him?” Jace inquired, moving along the wall.

As majestic as dragons were, the wonder within your eyes had quickly shifted to wariness as it landed along the ramparts, rocks scraping underneath its talons. Vermax was much larger when in close proximity than he was flying overhead. “He is wonderful, Jace. Though, it is best if I keep my distance. He might not like me.”

Jacaerys laughed, amber-brown eyes sparkling with mirth. “Might not like you?” He mused, knowing that such a thought was outlandish. If he liked you, then Vermax most certainly would. A dragon could always pick apart friend from foe, and you were as far from an enemy as one could be.

“Yes, what — Jacaerys, that is a perfectly reasonable thing to say,” You countered, flustered by Jace’s reaction to your skepticism. His smile was cheery and heartfelt as he stared at you, and then offered his hand. “I do not think that this is a good idea.” A soft utterance emerged from under your breath.

“Trust me.” His tone softened exponentially, shifting from playful to gentle, reassuring. You hesitated before taking a hold of his hand, and Jacaerys nearly brushed his thumb across your knuckles out of sheer instinct. Whatever thoughts he had, he pushed them to the far recesses of his mind.

You trusted Jacaerys more than most, prompting you to nod as he ushered you closer to Vermax. His grasp was tender, as to not frighten you, which only made your heart flutter with affection. The dragon bristled and made a series of noises, some more serpentine than others.

Vermax lowered his head, pushing closer towards his rider as the dragon bowed to Jacaerys. You were close enough to feel the waves of heat wafting from his breath, close enough to outstretch your arm and feel his scales beneath your palm.

The scent of brimstone and dragonscale lingered upon Vermax, like a crackling fire and smoke. You watched with bated breath as Jace’s palm moved to Vermax’s snout, digits tracing along the olive-hued scales, and down toward his jaw. “Sagon iēdrosa,” Jace murmured, stepping closer to his dragon. “Sȳz.”

High Valyrian was an exquisite language, a beautiful symphony from an ancient era. Jacaerys had become proficient in such a tongue, and the way he spoke it had you mesmerized. With a gentle smile, he still held your hand, gesturing toward Vermax.

“What are you saying to him?” You inquired, losing some of your fear. It gradually waned the closer Jacaerys had inched you toward the dragon, who showed no ill will towards you at all. Instead, Vermax’s burnished hues glimmered with intrigue — you were a familiar scent, emblazoned upon Jace, but not a familiar face.

“I told him to be still for you,” Jacaerys replied, fingers flexing around your own as he carefully guided you toward Vermax’s neck, where the scales began to flare and thicken. Olive turned to emerald in some places, verdant shades clashing together. “Place your hand here.”

Your breath hitched within your throat as Jace became in close proximity to you, closer than he’d been before. His grasp was a tender one, placing your palm atop the dragon’s throat. Warmth crept along the length of your spine, filling your belly with an eruption of butterflies.

You made the mistake of glancing at Jacaerys for the briefest moment, able to spot the rosy flush of color within his visage and the gleam within his stare. As soon as you’d made contact, he happened to glance away, making a soft noise as it stirred within his throat.

Vermax chortled, the dragon’s attention fixated upon you as you brushed your fingers across his scales. Jace had dropped your hand, realizing the sliver of space between you both as he stepped aside, content to observe you with his dragon.

It was your enchanting laughter that lifted his spirits, the gentle way in which you stroked across Vermax’s neck and shoulder. “He is beautiful,” You hummed, countenance bright with a joyous radiance as you looked at Jacaerys once more. The gap between you had grown, much to your dismay. “How do you say that in High Valyrian?”

Jace hesitated, lips parting just slightly. His heart nearly skipped a beat when you smiled at him, expectant and awaiting his answer. He became so easily distracted in your presence, and it was somewhat vexing to behold. “Gevie,” He replied, briefly clearing his throat. “Gevie means beautiful, in High Valyrian.”

With a soft hum, you looked to Vermax, your grin toothy and amused. “Gevie, Vermax.” You spoke clearly, but the dragon did not seem to understand what you said — it wasn’t a command. Instead, he let out a series of reptilian noises, nostrils flaring with snort, almost like that of a horse.

Vermax’s lack of reaction made you frown, but Jacaerys appeared amused by it, at least. “Gevie isn’t a command,” He mused, head canting to one side. “Your High Valyrian needs improvement.” His tone was jocular, teasing — it made your heart stir within your chest.

“Fortunately, I have the perfect teacher standing before me.” You countered with a giggle, noticing the way in which a shade of pink settled into his features. Jacaerys was beautiful and handsome, but his flustered behavior only made him more perfect to you.

The dragon shook its head, seeking the embrace of his rider before he began to take flight. A massive gust of wind from the flap of his wings nearly knocked you down, causing you to crouch and grip the stone of the ramparts.

Jacaerys smiled, watching as Vermax ascended, taking to the skies above Dragonstone once more. You watched with a semblance of awe, slowly rising to your feet as the dragon became a mere specter amidst the cloudless sky. He did not stray too far, circling around with the likes of Moondancer and Syrax.

“Someday, I will take you flying with me,” Jace suggested, nose wrinkling slightly at your bewildered expression. “I would keep you safe.” He reassured you before words could emerge from your mouth, his chuckle amicable as he led you back toward the gates of Dragonstone.

“I trust you, but flying?” To see the world from such great heights sounded wonderful, but you feared the fall — and you feared the unknown of it all even more. “That might take more convincing than this did.” You mused, walking alongside him as the gates became closer.

A huff escaped him, hand dropping from the pommel of his shortsword to his side, a symbol of letting his guard down. A comfortable silence settled between the both of you, occasionally accompanied by a brief bout of laughter or tender smiles.

As the gates loomed over the both of you, Jacaerys hesitated, deliberating on what to say next. There were so many things he wanted to say to you — where did he begin? The nerves of first affection grabbed hold of him, but he remained resistant, wanting nothing more than to tell you how much you meant to him.

“Perhaps an exchange is in-order,” Jacaerys began, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. “You come flying with me, and I will teach you High Valyrian.” He mused, smothering his grin at your expression. You were clearly wary and unimpressed.

“Danger for something that I could learn in the comfort of a book? I think not, your Grace.” With a grin of your own, Jace happened to snicker, his visage invoking an unspoken challenge, albeit playful. “If I am ever feeling bold and spontaneous, I will inform you as soon as possible.”

Jacaerys hummed, head ducking for just a moment before he met your gaze again, doting and overflowing with a subtle warmth. “Thank you for this,” He began, tone heartfelt and genuine. “I would not know what to do if it weren’t for your company and comfort. I’ve found it difficult to remain jovial as of late, but it’s rather effortless in your presence.”

His genial compliments made your stomach turn with excitement, and you could soar away. Jacaerys would be an excellent ruler, should he take the Iron Throne — such grace, compassion, and gallantry were true hallmarks of what would make a good King. You felt the familiar, smitten flush dance along your skin.

“Of course, Jace — you never have to ask for it,” Your fingers twisted into the silk of your gown, an outlet for your growing nerves. “You’ve no idea how much your company means to me. We will get through this together, that much I know.” With a brief nod, you felt his stare grow in intensity.

Before he could bear his heart to you on a whim, the gates opened, revealing several Targaryen bannermen and Kingsguard. It was sudden and somewhat jarring, placing the two of you back within reality — in a realm on the brink of war.

“I should return to your mother, I fear I’ve neglected my duties enough today,” You murmured, offering Jace a kindly smile before dropping to curtsy. He seemed starstruck, as if caught within the depths of his own thoughts. “Good afternoon, your Grace.”

Formalities reappeared again, much to his disdain. He loved it when you called him Jace or Jacaerys, or your Grace whenever you teased him. To hear it used in the context of nobility made him feel distant, but he understood. You possessed a strong sense of propriety.

“My Lady.” Jace replied, watching as you took your leave to rejoin the other handmaidens and guardsmen. Jacaerys cursed himself for not making the most of the moment, but he knew that he could make his own opportunity, forge it if it never came about.

He intended to do just that.

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐊 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋, with braziers dancing across the obsidian interior. Stars sparkled above a clear night sky, dragons dancing above. It was almost like something from a fairytale or a painting, mesmerizing to behold as you gazed up at the scaling ceiling of your bedchambers.

Your quarters were small and homely, befitting of your status as lady-in-waiting. Rhaenyra had ensured that your lodgings and that of your father were enough — more than suitable, really. The feathered mattress you slept upon was made for royalty, you thought.

The constant flicker of candlelight provided a source of warmth as you rolled over within your bed, blankets hauled up beneath your chin. It was too early to fall asleep, too late to do anything of substance.

A knock at your door gave you pause, brows furrowing together as you retrieved your robe, lacing it around the sheer gossamer of your nightgown. Bare feet traveled across the cold stone, until you reached the metal hoop slotted atop mahogany.

With a pull, you opened the door, surprised to find Jacaerys, who had abandoned his traditional Targaryen regalia, hands occupied with a stack of various tomes and scrolls. His mop of dark curls framed his face, and even he seemed just as bewildered as you were.

“Jacaerys,” His nightly visits were rather uncommon — in fact, this was only the second time he’d come, the first following Lucerys’s passing. You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, stepping aside to allow him inside of your chambers. “Is everything alright?”

Jace placed the stack of books atop the table that sat amongst small lounge chairs, ensuring to clear his throat before he spoke. “Of course,” He replied, gesturing toward your newfound reading material. “I’ve brought you scripts to learn High Valyrian.”

You blinked, touched by such a thoughtful gesture. You smoothed your palms across your robe, stepping forward to inspect the books, many of which appeared ancient and weathered. “You didn’t have to,” You replied, head canting to one side. “Many of these seem important. Are you sure that no one will miss these?”

A brief chuckle escaped him before he shook his head. “The Maesters might, but they’ve read them a hundred times over, I’m certain of it. You will find more use.” He replied, retreating toward the threshold of your chambers. Jacaerys wanted to keep his visit brief — visiting a young woman’s quarters in the dead of night was not exactly an intelligent move.

“You’re leaving so soon?” Your inquiry held a twinge of disappointment, hoping that he would stay and converse with you, at the very least. “Jacaerys, I assure you that no one will admonish you if you stay for a few minutes longer.” The softness of your voice enticed him, and he very nearly confessed then and there.

The weight of growing sentiments felt as if they would swallow him whole if he did not speak them into fruition. With the threat of a looming war and the potential for oblivion, Jacaerys was unsure of what gave him pause. The fear of rejection, perhaps? That wasn’t it.

It took a moment for you to adjust, and when you did, you noted his own attire — a billowy tunic and dark trousers that happened to make him appear softer in the candlelight. The sharp black and crimson of his house’s colors made him intimidating and poised, but no longer.

You saw Jacaerys himself, doe-eyed and magnificent.

“I fear what will happen if I stay,” Jacaerys confessed, squaring himself with the door. If he continued to linger in your chambers without restraint or without additional eyes, he knew what would happen — he did not want to sully your honor. “I won’t.”

“Jacaerys,” You whispered, brows furrowing together to form a look of confusion and startlement. Out of concern, you stepped closer, abandoning the scripts of High Valyrian now scattered across your table. “What’s wrong? I don’t understand.”

The inner war he waged within seemed to reflect upon his countenance, as Jacaerys exhaled — it was laced with stress, a heaviness that you struggled to understand. He seemed flustered, not wanting to meet your amiable gaze. “It is best if I leave it alone.” He replied, taking a hold of your hands. “I would not tarnish your honor.”

That is what he meant.

Something boiled over inside of you, the butterflies and blossoming affection turning into a tidal wave that threatened to swallow you whole. As Jace held your hands, he seemed desperate to convey such a message — whatever he wanted, he could not have.

A brief exhale escaped you before you steeled yourself, thumbs brushing across his knuckles, over the veins of his hands. “You wouldn’t tarnish it,” You whispered, stomach churning with molten heat. “I know that you wouldn’t, Jace. I trust you the most.”

Jacaerys felt the stirring within his chest, the first inkling of arousal settling into his very bones. It was somewhat foreign — a new feeling, but exciting and exhilarating. “I would never hurt you,” He insisted, and you believed him wholeheartedly. “What I feel for you, I do not wish to feel this way with anyone else.”

If you could’ve collapsed then and there, you would’ve — you thought it would happen, with the way your knees rattled together beneath your nightgown. The beating of your heart accelerated into a violent crescendo, and then you felt the rush — the love you had for him, desire, admiration, neediness.

A tenuous silence drifted between you both, the tension thick enough to be sliced with a blade. Jacaerys had inched closer without thinking, able to peer down into your eyes, swirling with affection and bewilderment. “If I told you I felt the same?” Your voice barely rose above a whisper.

Deliberately, Jacaerys released one of your hands, allowing his palm to fully envelop your face, the pad of his thumb caressing your cheekbone. “I would never difile your virtue, or take it for granted. You must tell me if this is something you want.” He insisted, jaw tightening as he anxiously awaited your answer.

You knew that he wouldn’t — Jacaerys Velaryon was the most honorable man you knew, one that would never lay a finger upon you unless you consented. You couldn’t imagine a return to friendship if you happened to reject him — you didn’t want to reject him, either.

“I do,” A shudder ran down your spine, bringing a wave of thrill and anticipation with it. “I want this — and I want you, Jacaerys, if you’ll have me.” Part of you became nervous, knowing that you had never bedded a man before, but you pushed the thought aside.

“A hundred times over.” Jace uttered, dipping down to press his lips against yours. The kiss was incredibly sweet and delicate, something brief to test the waters as the two of you began to explore uncharted territory. Your hands reached for his chest, flat atop his sternum.

Allowing the kiss to linger, you tilted your head just slightly, enough to permit a sensual progression. He kissed you so sweetly, treated you as if you were precious, something to be worshiped. When he inevitably pulled away, you felt a twinge of nervousness.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Your confession was a strenuous one, and you hoped that he wouldn’t be disappointed by your lack of experience. Most men already had a plethora by the time betrothals and first love emerged. “Is that alright?”

“Of course,” Jacaerys reassured you with a gentle squeeze, brows furrowing together with insistence. He hesitated, somewhat sheepish to admit the very same, but he knew you wouldn’t admonish him for it. “I haven’t either, if that’s alright.” He mused, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile.

A sweet bout of laughter escaped you before you nodded several times over, unable to keep from withholding your happiness. “I suppose that this will be quite the learning experience.” You felt his thumb stroke along your jaw, his lips molding themselves to yours in another kiss.

Passion and tension began to mount, a continuous climb of affection, prepared to turn into something fiery. Jacaerys worried that he would disappoint you, or perhaps feel clumsy and awkward, but those were mere insecurities — he knew that you wouldn’t hold it against him.

One of his hands dropped, finding the pliant curve of your hip as he sank his digits into you, able to haul you closer, until there was no space left between the two of you. Kissing felt effortless with Jace, despite your inexperience — he was gentle and deliberate, ensuring that he took his time with you above all else.

Your fingers wandered from his chest to his broad shoulders, finding the curls of hair at the nape of his neck. Jacaerys exhaled, a shiver rolling down his spine as you began to gently tug at his tresses. He canted his head slightly, enough to deepen the kiss and hold you close.

It was Jace who slowly broke the kiss, but just enough to speak, warm breath fanning across your face. “May I take you to bed?” He murmured, tracing across the silky plane of your jaw. His excitement began to grow, heart hammering within his chest.

In such close quarters to one another, you noticed the faint dusting of freckles along the bridge of his nose, spreading just underneath his eyes. You pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “You may.” Eagerness replaced any nervousness you were experiencing, then and there.

Jacaerys found your hand, twining his digits with your own as the two of you inched toward your bed. It was plush, lined with furs and enough blankets to warm the Seven Kingdoms. He stood at the precipice of a cliff, preparing to dive headfirst — and it felt incredible.

He watched with bated breath, rapturous and enamored as your digits settled along the many ties of your outer robes. You began the sluggish process of untethering each one until the garment loosened, enough for you to shrug it aside and drape it over the chest at the foot of your bed.

Even with the veil of sheer, silky fabric, Jacaerys quietly admired your physique, shapely and beautiful in every way imaginable. “You are perfect,” Jace uttered, hands coming to settle around your hips, searching for any sign of hesitation on your end. “Beautiful.” He exhaled, feeling you coax him in for another kiss.

Through the slip of silk and gossamer, Jacaerys deftly felt his way along your body, taking his time savoring you. Every curve and dip, every little detail he committed to memory, lost within a sea of you. Your kiss became passionate, and he was more than happy to reciprocate, the intensity burning between you both.

Jace felt your fingers tease the hem of his tunic, enough to elicit a subtle gasp from him. The sensation of your flesh against his caused goosebumps to spread from where your digits brushed against his waist. He released you for a moment, long enough for him to assist you in removing his nightshirt.

A pang of admiration struck at your stomach, breath hitching within your throat. He was pretty — well-muscled for a young man, with sunkissed skin, smatterings of freckles along his shoulders. Jacaerys felt your lips press against the hollow of his throat, warmth fanning out from the simple contact.

“I want to take care of you, if you’ll let me.” Jace murmured, insistent on pleasuring you above all else. He knew very little of what ensued between a woman and a man within the confines of their bedchambers outside of the simple act itself, but it was easy to imagine.

Your lips parted, heat sinking into your bones as you reached for his curled tresses, digits slipping through his soft, dark locks. “Yes”, Your voice was barely above a whisper as you coaxed him in for another kiss, one charged with arousal and desire. “I want you, Jace.”

The heady, wanton way in which you spoke his name caused him to shiver, bare chest pressed snugly against your own. Even the veil of silken fabric could not hide your supple frame from him, the peaks of your breasts soft and pliant.

His kiss was so gentle — it was charged with lust despite its tame nature, not that you minded. You felt his hands fall to your hips, melding into your curves before he began to gather the fabric within his hands. Jacaerys looked to you before continuing, and you gave him a nod to signal your approval.

Silky gossamer slowly crawled up the length of your legs as Jace gathered your gown, sliding it upward. You couldn’t fight against the onslaught of molten heat that churned violently within your stomach, shamelessly pooling between your legs.

Jacaerys hesitated, likely thinking of what to do next. He had been educated on what consummation was, the act of making an heir — but there was more to it, more of you to explore. Curiosity consumed him as he placed his palm atop the bare skin of your thigh, using the other to ease you down onto your bed.

He sat beside you, leg to leg as he continued to push your nightgown up toward your hips, skirts gathering around the middle of your thighs. “May I?” Jace’s voice seemed to grow husky with arousal, desire burning its way through his veins.

Instead, you gingerly took a hold of his hand, guiding it underneath your gown as you parted your legs enough to allow him unhindered access. He caressed you wherever he could, shuddering when you held the trail of your nightgown in one hand to push it up around your hips.

You nearly squeaked when his palm brushed along your inner thigh, lips parting with a sharp exhale. Jace moved closer, as close as he could as his mouth graced your neck, digits inching toward the slick heat between your legs. When he found it, you let out a simpering whine, reaching for his forearm.

A hushed moan escaped you as two digits trailed across your cunt, exploratory and feather-light. Your hips canted forward into the sensation, desiring more — and Jace obliged, pushing both fingers inward until they slipped past your folds.

“Jace,” You whispered, eyes fluttering shut as he continued to pepper strings of sweet kisses along your neck, gown sagging enough to let him kiss your shoulder. “Do not stop, please.” That breathy plea exuded some power over him, and he was enthralled, prepared to do whatever you asked of him.

“Is that alright?” Jacaerys asked, digits becoming a touch more vigorous as he stroked at your slit, surprised at how wet you were. If it were a common thing, he would know what to expect in the future. His thumb grazed your clit, and you gasped.

With a soft hum of approval, you nodded, shifting your legs apart just a little more. “Y—Yes,” Absentmindedly, your fingers slipped from the taut muscle of his forearm to his hand, the one wedged underneath your gown. “I — Like this.” You instructed him to touch you how you had touched yourself.

Jacaerys watched through a half-lidded stare, beyond entranced with you. You were beautiful — so painfully ethereal that it made him want to kneel before you, a goddess made to be worshiped. You adjusted his fingers, ensuring that his thumb pressed against your clit with continuous pressure.

Despite his nonexistent experience, he was doing wonders for you — he was attentive and willing to learn your body as you saw fit. He was so handsome, lips curling into an affectionate smile before he kissed your jaw, digits continuing from where they’d left off.

Your palm fell across his thigh, nails beginning to dig themselves into the muscle there as he touched your clit, digits tracing around the rest of your cunt. The candlelight highlighted his features in such perfect detail, the illumination slight.

Reverence seeped into each action, every stroke of his fingers evoking a string of whimpers from you. He was passionate and careful, willing to learn your body better than you. He continued to caress your clit, the sensation sending jolts of electricity throughout your body.

His name became your prayer, devolving into desperate moans and whispered pleas as you rocked your hips into the sensation of his hand. “Jacaerys,” You sighed with passion, feeling the stirring within your stomach. Arousal consumed every part of you, just as it did him. “Jace.”

The dark-haired Prince let out a soft groan into the hollow of your throat, wanting you more than anything, and the hand you had perched atop his thigh did little to ease the fever. He kissed your neck again, scarlet-faced and beyond eager, whispering sweet nothings in High Valyrian against your skin.

Excitement and the heat of the moment seemed to get to you, as you used one hand to sloppily unlace the leather ties of his trousers. You wanted to touch him too, let him feel exactly how you felt — how he made you feel.

Jace shivered, not objecting, but he wanted to focus on you above all else. “What about you?” He asked, feeling his cock twitch with want. The ache he had for you was almost painful, threatening to tear him apart if he couldn’t find relief.

“Together,” You suggested, turning enough to crawl into his lap, much to his delight. Jacaerys held you steady, lips clamoring together in a messy flurry of tongue and adoration. It was the anticipation of youth — the desire and sentiments overrode everything else, made duty disappear. “You are perfect.”

His brief smile made all of your worry dissipate, fading into mere background noise. Your hands returned to the leather ties of his breeches once more, sluggishly loosening them. Jace steeled himself, a fire burning within his belly as you reached down.

A low, satisfied groan tore past his lips when your hand gently wrapped around his cock, searching his visage for any sign of discomfort. There was none — only desire, lust festering within his gaze. He resumed touching you, digits circling your clit once more.

Within your delicate grasp, his length hardened, your palm finding a careful rhythm. Your hips twitched, rolling into the sensation of his hand. It was heavenly — the way in which he handled you was gallant and gentle. Arousal continued to gather between your thighs, a new and sticky feeling.

Intermingled gasps and groans filled the air, the both of you clinging to one another. Jacaerys leaned forward, mouth seeking yours, the kiss hot and gentle. Between your careful, uncertain strokes along his length and his digits teasing your cunt, the both of you were lost within the throes of passion.

He slipped his other hand underneath your nightgown, with enough leverage to remove it, if he so desired. Jacaerys broke the kiss long enough to ask, chest heaving with heavier breaths. “May I?” He whispered, voice husky and hoarse with lust.

You nodded, maneuvering your arms over your head as your nightgown slipped to the floor, leaving you bare before Jacaerys. The saltwater breeze which fluttered through your quarters left you shivering, both from the brief chill and anticipation.

The awestruck way in which he stared at you left you hot, body feverish beneath his tempered gaze. He kissed your collarbone, eyes warm and affectionate. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He stated, nearly breathless. His heart was yours — every fiber of his being devoted itself to you.

Smitten beneath his sweetly-spoken compliments, you trailed your fingers throughout his soft curls. The other slyly descended to reach for his cock again, but Jacaerys seemed to place your hand aside. You seemed confused, head canting to one side. “Do you not like it?”

His bemused chuckle filled your chambers, amiable and as warm as a cozy hearth. “Of course I like it,” Jacaerys murmured, kissing along your jaw and neck, holding you as close as he could. “I’d like to focus on you. There’s something that I wanted to try, if you’ll allow it.”

Surprised, you seemed open to whatever he wanted to try. “Anything you want, you will have. It’s yours.” You expected him to put you on your knees or turn you on your stomach. Instead, he coaxed you down onto your back, getting you to lay down as he crawled between your parted legs.

His mouth pressed a string of affectionate kisses along your shoulder and collarbone, beginning to dip lower toward the perky swell of your breasts. You squirmed slightly, uncertain of where this would lead to. You trusted Jace to follow his own instinct.

Your back arched when his mouth graced your breast, pressing kisses all around the pliant flesh. A moan escaped you, signaling your pleasure as he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, gingerly suckling on the pebbled bud.

“Jace,” You squeaked, one hand flying to his mountain of dark curls, pushing your fingers through. He touched you in a way that evoked a sense of yearning, as if you were the only woman in the realm. His hand kneaded into your chest, a shiver coursing through him whenever you moaned his name. “Please.”

Heat simmered through him, a wave of desire that only seemed to grow in intensity, demanding to be extinguished. Your flesh tasted saccharine upon his tongue, but there was something else he wanted to taste. As he kissed your chest, he released his lips from your breast, continuing his descent.

He kissed you everywhere, reverence seeping into each brush of his mouth as he traversed your body. Jacaerys pressed his lips against your stomach, and then to your hips, palms sliding against your thighs.

A sharp exhale escaped you as he peppered a string of kisses along the inside of your thigh, showering you in little pecks of affection before he flattened himself entirely. You swallowed the lump within your throat; the sight of Jace’s face wedged in between your legs made you shiver, arousal following suit.

Everything was gentle, even the way in which his veined hands gripped the pliant flesh of your thighs to let them rest against his shoulders. He hesitated, allowing you a moment to adjust and steel yourself before he dipped forward, tongue raking hot embers across your cunt.

The singular, experimental stroke of his tongue caused you to shiver, hands curling into fists. If you could melt away into your furs, you would’ve, feeling his mouth press kisses against your core. “Jace,” You whined, attempting to hold still and cease your squirming. “Don’t stop.”

It was all the encouragement he truly needed, digits soothingly caressing along your thighs as he began to lap at your cunt, adopting a pace that was a little less sluggish. He nearly groaned when he felt your hand grasp at his curled tresses, sinking in toward the base of his skull.

In the nighttime gloom of Dragonstone, you found warmth and comfort in one another — affections intensified, and whatever bond you had before was now redefined entirely. Jacaerys loved you, he had never been more sure of himself until now, dutifully bringing about your pleasure.

A myriad of soft whimpers and whines escaped you, hand gingerly tugging on Jace’s hair as he buried his mouth in the apex of your thighs. His tongue vigorously lapped and traced over your core, savoring your taste, committing it to memory. Bathed in moonlight, Jace appeared more ethereal than ever, the muscles flexing within his back.

With slow, eager laps of his tongue, Jacaerys made sure to savor you, letting it flick across your clit. The short, dizzying gasp that tore past your mouth spurred him on, as he pressed another string of kisses against your slit. The continued sensation of your digits carding through his curls made him sigh with elation.

He brought you closer, heart leaping into his throat when you began to writhe beneath him, hips tilting forward into each stroke of his mouth. “You’re perfect,” Jacaerys whispered, ensuring that you could hear it. Soft utterances of High Valyrian were etched into the flesh of your thigh. “Perfect.”

Blossoming beneath his sweet compliments, your fingers curled against his scalp, unable to lay still as Jace resumed his previous ministrations. The warmth of his tongue left you with a blistering want, stomach churning with a wave of arousal.

As he lapped at your clit again, you whimpered, moaning his name as if to keep his attention there. Jacaerys’s tender expression also bore a great deal of concentration, dark eyes flickering toward you. “There?” He uttered, hoping that you would guide him to where he needed to be.

Your head bobbed up and down against the furs, flesh beginning to glisten with the first inklings of perspiration. Everything felt feverishly hot, as if you would be turned to ash where you sat. Jacaerys was attentive and loving, following your breathy plea as he pursed his lips around the pearl of your cunt.

Jace shivered at the sounds you made, enticed by each whimper and moan, every twitch of your body. He suckled on the sensitive bundle of nerves, alternating between that and greedy, vigorous laps of his tongue. He let himself be lost within bliss, arousal mounting from pleasuring you.

You reached for his hand, fingers interlocking atop the swell of your hip as he continued to lap at your aching core. He squeezed your hand as a sign of reassurance, buried deep within your sweet cunt, something that he wanted to have again and again.

He was at your mercy, the heir to the Iron Throne, the Prince of Dragonstone — and you hadn’t the slightest clue. Jace’s brow creased in concentration as he focused on what spots made you squirm the most, continuing to dutifully lap at your clit until your knees trembled.

“Jace,” A needy moan left you, reverberating within the obsidian confines of your chambers. Arousal rushed through you, molten heat oozing from between your thighs, a nectar as sweet as honey. “I—I think I’m close.” You groaned, unsure if it was just the throes of ecstasy or reality.

Nevertheless, you were on the verge of reaching your peak, and you didn’t want him to stop. Instead, you urged his head forward, fingers laced within his dark curls, right at the nape of his neck. Jacaerys groaned in delight, thoroughly enjoying the way you continued to coax him inward — he happily devoured every drop.

With another barrage of his tongue assaulting your cunt, you whimpered, turning malleable within Jace’s hands. He knew that you were on the verge, and so he pursed his lips around your clit once more, and that was more than enough.

His name emerged from your lips like a reverent prayer, the only name that you knew in that moment. Your release was hot, like a rush of fire that didn’t simmer immediately. The residual sensation lingered, and Jace helped you through it.

Your thighs twitched, absentmindedly attempting to clench together, but Jace held you apart, soothing you with kisses along your thighs. The blissful, contented expression that soon followed was a beautiful one — Jace was shocked to know that he could do that to you, bring you to ruin.

His gallant smile gave you pause as you studied the rosy flush within his features, the glistening sheen of your arousal upon his lips. Jacaerys seemed entirely unphased, basking in your aftermath all the same, his curls tousled and disheveled.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Your tone was sheepish, realizing how much you’d tugged at his hair. If it were you, a tender-headed maiden, you would’ve been batting his hand away. Jace’s bemused chuckle caused you to duck your head.

Jace disarmed you with a charming, doting smile and a simple look of those earthen-brown eyes of his, and shook his head. “You could never hurt me,” He replied, his attempt at gentle flirtation. “I worry more for you.” His confession was soft-spoken.

The act of consummation was not intended to be a comfortable one — for a woman, at least. Jacaerys knew to broach this with care, to make sure that you were well enough before all else. He inched forward from between your thighs, resting his head atop your stomach.

He allowed you a moment of composure, feeling your digits trace the lines of his countenance, stroke at his tresses. Jace pressed a string of kisses all around your body, wherever his lips could reach. The moment was incredibly tender, lingering with the tension of a blossoming ardor.

Through the comfortable haze of silence, you cleared your throat, staring down at Jacaerys with what only could be described at a look of complete and utter adoration. He was so kind, so noble and gentle, yet with the fervor of the dragon’s blood, a desire to do good. You felt so fortunate, even moreso when he smiled at you, pressing a kiss to your hip.

“I want you, Jacaerys,” You whispered, watching as Jace began to sit up, letting your legs trap him on either side. “More than I’ve ever wanted anyone else.” It was the hitch within his throat that made you shiver, heart hammering beneath your breast as you began to confess your feelings — it was inevitable.

Jace reveled at the sight of you, naked and glimmering within the moonlit dusk, candlelight bathing your physique in shades of flickering orange. His descent was slow as he covered you with his body, lips parting to allow a shaky exhale before he kissed your brow. “You have my heart,” He uttered, forehead resting against yours. “Everything I am, is yours.”

Your palms moved to cup either side of his face, thumbs caressing along his cheekbones before you smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I am yours.” You assured, your commitment resolute before the Gods — before Jacaerys Velaryon.

It was a poignant moment, one that seemed intermingled with the seriousness of your words, yet still tinged with the youthful excitement of a first love. He kissed you, slow and amorous, full of an unrestrained affection that no longer seemed weighed-down by unspoken sentiments.

“Are you certain that this is what you want?” Jace asked, his voice a soft caress through your haze of kisses. He would not fault you if you wanted to stop now — and he would if you wished it of him. As much as he desired you, he valued your virtue above his own.

“Yes,” You replied, your palms gliding from his soft visage to the taut muscle of his shoulders, lacing your fingers around the back of his neck. “Are you certain, too? I worry that you might regret lying with me.”

Jacaerys shook his head, brows furrowing together to reflect a semblance of disbelief. He reached down to caress your cheek, making sure that you understood every word. “Nothing in the world would ever make me regret this,” He murmured. “I’ve never been more certain about anything before.”

A brief stirring of adoration fluttered within your chest, and you knew that you wanted no one else ever again. You pulled yourself off of the mattress enough to kiss him, sinking into the sweet bliss of the moment as he reciprocated. His mouth moved in-tandem with yours, eyes beginning to flutter shut.

His hands planted themselves into the feathered pillow on either side of your head, but it didn’t last long. Jacaerys leaned back, maneuvering out of the leather of his trousers, flush against you once they were removed. You were so soft, like an ocean of silk beneath him.

He felt one of your legs hitch around his hips, bodies together beneath the furs. The chill of your chambers dissipated, replaced by the warmth of your skin. You kept your hands poised against his shoulders, dancing across the smattering of freckles there as you continued to kiss him, as if each one would be your last.

The hardened swell of his cock pressed against your lower stomach, and you could feel his breath grow heavier between kisses. He was perfect — flawless, so handsome that it made you ache with want.

Jace kissed you again and again, feeling the soft peaks of your breasts brush against his chest. He adjusted his weight, shifted his hips as he pressed the head of his length against your slick cunt. He was somewhat nervous — perhaps not as much as you, but anxious enough. He made sure to be careful, feeling your legs nudge themselves apart.

A look of mutual preparedness passed between you both, between your doe-eyed gaze of anticipation and Jace’s mounting look of want, there was little room left for uncertainty. He sat up enough to position himself against your aching core, his cock splitting past your folds before it prodded at your entrance.

You steeled yourself, and Jace made sure to be slow, afraid of hurting you enough to cause true discomfort. As he tilted forward, his length filled you, sheathing himself inside of you, inch by inch. Admittedly, it wasn’t a good feeling — not initially, anyway.

A sharp exhale escaped you as he bottomed out, staying still atop you as he allowed you time to grow accustomed to him. Waves of complete and utter bliss rolled through him, his own pleasure nearly overwhelming. You were tight, maidenhead intact for the next few moments until he began to move.

“Are you alright?” Jace whispered around the shell of your ear, pressing against you once more as he reassuringly kissed along the side of your face. He felt despicable for causing you any amount of pain, but you seemed to dismiss his concern.

“I am,” You placated him with a smile, coaxing him in for a kiss. It was best if you didn’t think about it — and with time, it would feel better. Everything was awkward and clumsy, the follies of youth, but as Jace began to move, a fire began to burn within your belly. “Jace.” You sighed, keeping your leg around his hips.

A soft groan resonated beside your ear as Jace adopted a sluggish rhythm, not wanting to intensify things so quickly. Your eyes fluttered shut, body content to bend to his thrusts, grow accustomed to the act itself. He reciprocated your kiss, black curls falling in front of his temples.

Bliss soon replaced discomfort, the more you allowed yourself to adjust. You shifted your legs further apart, one hand falling toward his bicep, the other remaining tangled at the nape of his neck. The sounds of your lovemaking soon filled your chambers, with your foreheads pressed together.

Your name fell from his tongue in a needy groan, and it made you shiver, body reacting with a barrage of gooseflesh along your spine. Perspiration grew upon his brow as he maintained his pace, digits curling into the furs on either side of you.

The sound of your pleasured moans made him feel better, a sign that you were no longer riddled with soreness and irritation. Jace pressed a trail of hot, messy kisses along your face, reaching to the sweet spot beneath your jaw. He kept himself anchored there, feeling your hand squeeze at his bicep.

“Jace!” You squeaked, flushed at the growing lewdness of the noises — the squelching, the passionate groans and heavy breathing. He was perfect, cock filling you in a way that left you completely satisfied. Jace felt your hand fall away from his bicep, reaching for his own, interlocked hands falling back against the cushions.

He shuddered, reveling in the way your cunt tightened around him, the sensation of your hand within his hair, hands joined at your side. Jace’s pace began to quicken, but only somewhat, enough to really feel the myriad of pleasure take hold.

You yearned for him in every way imaginable; your body ached with each movement, every thrust as he leisurely moved in and out of you. His cock pulsated with a dull throbbing, enough to fill his belly with a raging fire. He kissed you again, lips traversing wherever they saw fit, peppering every inch of your sweet skin.

Time seemed to move agonizingly slow in your presence — Jacaerys wouldn’t want it any other way. If he could capture this moment, he would’ve. Every moment was graced by a warm intimacy that sank into his very bones, his adoration for you furthered with each roll of his hips, sheathing himself inside of you.

His soft lips graced your collarbone, continuing to make love to you in the only way he knew how. It was passionate and gentle, in a way reserved for the deepest of lovers. Jace grunted when your hips involuntarily rolled upward to grind against him, lips parting as he squeezed your hand.

At last, he lifted his head, your eyes locking together. Your countenance was exceptionally beautiful, especially when painted with the shade of desire, and it had him aching with want. His jaw tensed when you brushed dark curls away from his eyes, palm lingering long enough to pull him down for a kiss.

His cock continued to hit your cunt with a tame fervor, filling you completely, testing your limits as he neared his peak. Jacaerys knew that there would be more moments like these in the future — his energy was waning, and perhaps, the unfamiliarity of it all contributed to this.

Your name spilled from his tongue, throat echoing with a soft groan as his pace became slightly erratic. It was difficult to control himself amidst chasing after his release, but he maintained what little composure he had, gritting his teeth together as he thrust into you again.

Pleasure contorted into ecstasy, becoming an unstoppable wave that was quick to take hold of him. Concentration intermingled with bliss were etched into his features, face pressing against yours, nearly breathless as you kissed him again.

With a groan, Jacaerys rocked forward again, spilling himself inside of you. In hindsight, it was both brazen and feckless, done in the heat of the moment, but he cared little of it for the time being. His cock throbbed, thrusting into you again a time or two before he stilled completely.

Heavy pants resonated between you both as you caught your breath, flush against one another in the aftermath. You pressed a kiss against Jace’s cheek, trailing your fingers throughout his hair. He was quick to kiss you, gathering his composure before he pulled himself out of you.

A rush of sticky warmth slathered the inside of your thighs, leaving behind a feeling of slight discomfort. Jace gathered a cloth for you to clean yourself with, returning to lay beside you as he rucked the furs up around your bodies. The air was colder at nightfall, injected with a saltwater mist.

“I apologize if I hurt you,” Jacaerys uttered, dark brows furrowing together as you wriggled closer, resting your head atop his bare chest. Your arm draped over him, allowing yourself to be close, a feeling that he wanted more than anything else. “It was not my intention.” He kissed the top of your head.

“You didn’t,” You replied, tracing soft patterns against his skin, angling your head up enough to kiss him. Jace cupped your jaw, leaning in to deepen the tender entanglement, lost within the bliss of your lips. “You would never hurt me.”

Jacaerys was fiercely protective over you, that much was true — even from himself. He kept an arm wrapped around you, cradling you at his side as he gazed into your eyes. He could see you, then — his beloved wife, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps it was too early to tell, but he knew.

As the both of you settled in together, your maidenhead now lost, you couldn’t help but smile. Jacaerys had made your first experience more than anyone ever could — you hoped that it would stay that way forever. “Does your offer of teaching High Valyrian still stand?” You mused.

A huff of amusement left Jacaerys as he turned his head enough to look at you, a smile playing at either corner of his mouth. “I thought you wanted those dusty old books.” Admittedly, his offering of those damned texts is what started this in the first place — he had to be grateful.

“I knew that you would be kind enough to bring them to me,” You confessed, nose wrinkling in amusement. “An excuse to see you.” The look on Jace’s face was one of theatrical shock, and you erupted into a fit of laughter when he squeezed your hip.

“You might grow tired of me, if I am to teach you High Valyrian.” Jacaerys mused, his smile one of complete and utter warmth. Anyone would know that his love for you was obvious — there wasn’t any subtlety about it.

You shook your head, comfortably sinking against him, your upper body lounging atop him. “I could never grow tired of you, Jacaerys Velaryon.” You exhaled, exhaustion beginning to grip you. It was bound to happen eventually, given the abnormally late hour.

Jace was thankful that you weren’t looking — his face was dusted with a rather obvious layer of pink, and yet, the feeling was beyond satisfying. The two of you allowed the silence to sink through, accompanied by the sound of the encroaching tide as it broke upon the jagged rock and cliff sides surrounding Dragonstone.

“Will you stay?” You asked, hoping that he would be agreeable to it. It was a risky proposition, but Jace knew that he couldn’t leave you after this — he didn’t want to, either. No one would come clamoring about within his chambers at first light.

“Of course,” He murmured, lips twitching into a sweet smile. “Though, I should go at the first light of dawn.” Jace’s tone was one of clear disappointment, but it was best to keep suspicions low. You knew that he had duties that transcended you — he was the Prince of Dragonstone, the heir — and you were not betrothed.

A sense of understanding settled onto your features, but you still wanted him by your side — you wished that you could wake up next to him. “I hope that dawn never comes, then.” You whispered, taking his hand within yours as you pressed a kiss against his palm, knowing that there would be many more dawns to come with him at your side.

copyright @ swordgrace; please do not translate, steal, or copy my works and post them onto other platforms or claim as your own.

[yanderecrazysie]

MIRROR, MIRROR

“Who is the fairest of them all?”

Pairings: Yandere! Vil Schoenheit x Female! Reader

WARNINGS: yandere themes, technically stepcest (but not focused on), suicide

Note: I randomly wanted to write this, and it’s very long compared to most of my works.

Vil Schoenheit glided down the long hallway, the heels of his shoes clicking against the marble floors as he hurried to his destination. He paid no mind to the town outside his grand windows, many stories below. It was insignificant compared to him.

He entered a dark room at the end of the hall, his cape swirling behind him as he spun around and drew the double doors closed. The room darkened even further with the absence of the hallway lighting, but Vil made no move to turn on the light. Slowly, a soft purplish glow began to brighten the room, emitted from a mirror on the wall opposite the doors.

The mirror was ornate, with curved, flowery metal sculptures curling from the mirror’s base to the edges of the wall. The glass shimmered and became cloudy, almost as if puffs of smoke had filled the room, but only on the other side of the reflection. Vil waited impatiently as a face came into focus. 

The face was a strange one, almost like a floating comedy/tragedy mask. Its initial frown curled into a smile upon seeing Vil, tilting its head in a small bow, “Your Highness, how may I assist you?”

When Vil spoke, his voice was confident and cold, as though he’d said this a million times before, “Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”

The mirror’s smile widened, “Why, you, of course, dear King.”

Vil smiled victoriously and turned around, leaving the strange dark room behind in an instant, bursting out of the double doors and entering the hallway once more. The mirror man’s expression faltered for a moment, as though doubt had consumed him for a moment, before he melded into the fog of the mirror. Quickly, the smoke in the reflection disbursed, returning to look like an ordinary mirror just as the doors banged shut behind the king.

This time, Vil turned his attention to the town below, a smirk curling on his lips as his lavender eyes focused on a figure in the town square.

“Still not enough to surpass me, Neige,” Vil snickered. He brushed the invisible dust off of his robes and continued down the hall.

—-----------------------------

“Have you drawn the water, Neige?” you asked, standing up from where you had been using the washboard to wash dark blue, priceless robes.

“Of course, sis!” Neige smiled with closed eyes, lifting the water bucket effortlessly. You smiled back at your brother, despite the stinging of your hands and the aching of your knees from kneeling for so long.

Neige took a seat in the dirt next to the washing tub and reached for the soaking robes, “Still cleaning Vil’s clothing?”

“It never seems to end,” you sighed, kneeling back down. 

Your brother took your hand and pulled it away from the washboard, “Sis, please, we officially turn eighteen in a few minutes.”

You shrugged, “What’s so special about birthdays anymore? Ever since Mom died…” Your voice became choked and died on your tongue. Tears threatening to fall, you turned away and pulled up the corner of your ragged sleeve to wipe furiously at your eyes.

The two of you were wearing rags sewn together and you were buried in endless chores, all while Vil lived a lavish life with a mountain of wealth that your mother, the queen, had left behind after her mysterious death. A death you had no doubt was at Vil’s hand, although sweet, sweet Neige suspected nothing of the man who had married his mother just a few short months before her demise.

“I saw the most beautiful girl when I was drawing water,” Neige sighed dreamily, “She sang the most wonderful song and her voice… it was so beautiful.”

You shook your head, but couldn’t hide your smile. If your brother, a sweet boy with his head in the clouds, found his love, you would support him. He deserved love more than anyone else you knew.

Neige began to draw in the dirt with his index finger and a rudimentary cake with a few candles took shape. He smiled innocently at you, “Blow out the candles, sis!”

You rolled your eyes, still smiling, and blew a gust of air at the dusty cake. Your breath was so strong that it blew away most of the cake’s shape and both you and your brother burst into laughter.

Laughter had become so unfamiliar to you- you weren’t sure of the last time you laughed. Neige’s laugh was like tinkling bells, as perfect as he was. Even though Vil kept him out of the spotlight and forced him to wear rags, he still caught the attention of beautiful girls and his kind nature shone through- more beautiful than Vil could ever hope to be, in your opinion.

—--------------------------------------------------

“Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?” Vil’s voice was as confident and cold as the day before. 

There was a silence that fell over the room as the man in the mirror lost his smile, “I must warn you, dear King, that there have been changes…”

“What kind of changes?” An edge sneaked into Vil’s voice as he demanded to know, “Who is the fairest of them all?”

“Neige LeBlanche is the fairest in all the land,” the mirror said reluctantly, as if it knew what this information would do.

Vil’s eyes were wild when he slammed a fist against the mirror, making the face inside it cower in fear, “Neige has surpassed me? Me?”

Vil dragged a hand across his face in disbelief. He had thought… keeping Neige in rags… even in rags, that boy had surpassed him?

“At least I’m the second fairest, right?” Vil practically begged the mirror, “Tell me it’s only Neige who threatens my beauty.”

The face in the mirror grimaced. 

Vil lost it then, “Who is it then? Who else is more beautiful than I am? Who the hell could it possibly be?”

“(Y/n) LeBlanche is the second fairest in all the land.”

Vil stared at the mirror blankly, rage giving way to confusion, “Who is that? Certainly not that mousy girl?”

“She has become more and more beautiful with time,” the mirror replied.

Vil lifted a painted thumbnail to his lips and worried it between his teeth. He had barely paid the daughter of the queen a second glance, always worried about Neige as his growing competition.

The king sighed. He’d have to find a way to get rid of them both. What a shame it was, to have to kill both children. What a shame it was, even more, that anyone dared to compete with his beauty.

He stepped back into the hallway, a shadow of rage crossing his face as he stormed his way to the throne room. Maids threw themselves out of the way, never having seen their handsome ruler this angry before and not wanting him to turn his wrath onto them.

Vil took a seat on the throne- the only place that truly calmed him. Yet, it had no calming effect today. He raised his pale hands and clapped them together twice. Immediately, three workers materialized, kneeling in front of him, waiting for his orders.

The king tilted his chin upwards, peering down at the worthless staff. It made him feel so much taller to sit upon the throne and a cruel smile made its way across his face.

“Bring me Rook Hunt.”

—----------------------------------------

“I don’t trust him,” you whispered to your brother. Neige sent you a disappointed look, as though you might offend the strange man leading you deeper into the woods.

He was an eccentric man, that much you could tell. He was strange- he walked strange, talked strange, looked strange. But your brother would never suspect a robber of thievery, so it was up to you.

“A baby bird!” Neige’s voice startled you, since you were so on edge. Your eyes softened at the sight of a soft-feathered tiny bird chirping helplessly on the ground. You looked up and spotted a nest of sticks and leaves in the tree branch above.

“Poor thing, let me help you,” you cooed, reaching down and gently scooping the little creature off the grass. Holding it cupped in one hand, you wrapped your other arm around the trunk and began climbing the tree.

You risked a look back at Neige and you let out a scream. 

The strange man’s knife stopped millimeters from the back of Neige’s skull. He looked as though he were struggling with himself. As Neige turned around to see what had frightened you, his face went pale and he stumbled backwards, falling over a rock and crashing into the ground, chest heaving in terror as the strange man loomed over him with a long, jagged knife.

You dumped the chick unceremoniously into its nest with its siblings and jumped down from the tree, “Don’t you dare touch him!”

The bob-cut haired man lowered his head, “I cannot, even if I wanted to.” He sheathed the knife on hip and reached a hand out to Neige, who remained frozen on the ground, eyes wide with disbelief and horror.

“Who are you?” you demanded, “What are you doing, trying to kill my brother?”

“Your father…” The stranger began.

“Vil is not our father,” you snapped immediately.

“Fine. The king wants you both dead- his jealousy is unmatched. Yet, I cannot kill someone as kind as you two,” his eyes misted over, “I cannot kill either of you.”

You were shocked- you had never liked Vil and you knew he killed your mother, but you hadn’t expected this. He really thought he’d just make do with the LeBlanche family entirely, didn’t he? Well, you wouldn’t let him!

“Run!” you yelled at Neige, surprised by how loud your own scream was, “Get up and run!”

The strange man watched as you dragged Neige to his feet and the two of you disappeared into the woods. He turned around and laid a hand over the box the king had given him, tucked into his breast pocket. 

He pulled the knife back out of its sheath and headed off to the market. He would not bring the king either LeBlanche heart, but maybe a goat’s heart would fool him…

Meanwhile, you dragged Neige deeper and deeper into the forest, panic pumping adrenaline into your veins. You didn’t know where you were going and the plants seemed to grow crueller as you lost your way. 

Branches like clawed hands reached out for you, grabbing on your rags and tearing your clothing when you violently leapt back from them. And were those logs in the lake or alligators? They did seem to be making their way closer to you both, eyeing you as their next meal…

You were panicking now, breath coming in short gasps and heart pounding against your ribcage. You were running low on energy too, struggling to continue pulling on Neige, who had gone nearly-limp with shock.

“Wait!” Neige gasped. You stopped suddenly and your legs gave out, causing the two of you to crash into the tall grass. 

“What?” you asked raggedly.

“That bird, I think it wants us to follow it,” Neige said with the utmost sincerity.

You stared at him. Had he hit his head? Then again, a bright bluebird circled just barely above the treetops, as though it were waiting for you to stand back up and follow it.

“I think it’s thanking us for returning its baby,” Neige continued. You were still considering the fact that he may have lost his mind, but it couldn’t be worse than rampaging through the woods.

The two of you stood and began following the bluebird, both of you still shaking in fear. The trees thinned out, and the grass seemed to grow lighter, the sun shining more through these treetops.

“A cottage!” Neige pointed down at the bottom of a steep incline. Sure enough, a quaint cottage stood between two willow trees. 

“Do you think whoever lives here will let us stay?” you asked quietly.

“Only one way to find out,” Neige shrugged.

—--------------------------------

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?” Vil asked confidently, a smirk curling at his lips.

“Although your beauty is great,” came the mirror’s response, “Neige and (Y/n)’s beauty is greater.”

“WHAT?” Vil screamed, hands balling into fists, “They are no more! Rook brought me their hearts!”

The mirror responded by swirling into a scene of Rook leading you and Neige deep into the woods. Vil could see the doubt on Rook’s face from a mile away, and he let out a growl. “I don’t trust him,” came a pretty voice. For the first time, Vil allowed himself to look at you- really look at you.

The mirror hadn’t lied- you really had become beautiful. You were no longer the little girl crying at your mother’s bedside. You were a gorgeous young woman with a steely look of determination in your eyes. Vil watched, transfixed as you turned your back on Rook, even though you were suspicious of him, in order to help a helpless baby bird. He shook his head, banishing the thoughts from his head. “Skip past the part where that gutless idiot fails to kill them. Show me where they are now.”

The mirror shimmered and the image of a cottage swam in its reflection, before it showed a happy scene of you and Neige dancing around with a few small men. He couldn’t tear his eyes from your form, your smile, and your graceful movements.

He swallowed, “Ah, the dwarves’ cottage in the woods. They’ll be easy to find.” Somehow, he found it hard to be excited when he thought of what he was about to do.

��---------------------------------------------------

The longer Vil watched you in the mirror, the harder he began to fall for you. He told himself he was just waiting for the dwarves to leave for the mines, that he was just waiting for the chance to destroy you… but in reality, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.

So when he stood across from you, in full magical disguise as an old man, he was trembling a little with desire. He could just reach out and touch you… But what would you say? You would just think he was a creepy old man, and that’s not how he wanted to come across right now.

“Can we help you?” you asked, one eyebrow raised.

“I was wondering who lived in this quaint little cottage,” Vil made his voice quaver, looking at you as innocently as possible.

“You seem familiar, somehow,” your eyes narrowed, “Who are you again?”

Neige appeared behind you and Vil held back a smirk, “Here, why don’t I talk with the man of the house.”

You looked offended but threw your hands in the air, “Whatever! Neige, he wants to speak with you.”

You disappeared into the house and Vil forced back the smirk even harder. This was perfect. He reached into his basket and pulled out an apple, shining red and delicious-looking. “If you show me the way back to town, I’ll give you one of my apples.”

Neige shook his head, “I’ll show you back to town, but you don’t need to give me anything in return.”

“I insist,” Vil’s eyes shone.

—--------------------------------------------------

“NEIGE!” your scream was like music to Vil’s ears. You ran over to your collapsed brother, pulling him off the ground to look at him. You looked up at Vil, who had transformed back to his normal self, “What did you do to him?”

Vil smiled down at you, having decided long ago what to do with you.

“I can bring him back from the dead,” Vil said calmly, “I know the one thing that can bring him back.”

“How?” you demanded, tears starting to spill over your round cheeks, “How do I bring him back.”

“First, you must do one thing,” Vil said, kneeling down to where you clutched your brother, “Marry me.”

“I’d rather die!” you screamed. You spotted the apple still clutched in Neige’s lifeless hand and snatched it, “This is what you used, didn’t you?”

“Don’t touch that,” Vil snapped.

It was too late, you had shoved the apple in your mouth and taken a huge bite. To his horror, you slumped, lifeless, over your twin brother’s body. 

“N-no, you wouldn’t really do that, would you?” Vil laughed shakily, “You’re pretending to make me give up the secret.”

You didn’t respond. Move. Breathe.

“Okay, you got me,” Vil’s voice went up an octave, “It’s true love’s kiss. He has a girl he loves, so we just have to find her and…”

Tears ran down his cheeks as he frantically shook your body, “Please wake up, please, I’m sorry!”

He turned you over and a thought occurred to him. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. But still, they remained cold and blue, there was no gasp of life and fluttering of the eyelids like there should have been.

Of course there wasn’t.

You’d never love him.

—--------------------------------------

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”

“You, Vil Schoenheit, are the fairest in all the land.”

Vil sank to the ground, grief consuming him entirely.

[loggiepj]

To Love A Lannister

Chapter 1

(A Cersei Lannister x G!p Fem reader fanfiction story)

Summary: Just a short story of how dangerous it is to love a Lannister.

Do not get involved with the Lannisters, they said, especially the one and only Cersei Lannister.

Evil queen, as the commoners had called her behind her back. Willful. Ambitious. Cunning.

They had all warned you about it. Your cousin Oberyn had warned you about it. Your father had warned you about it growing up. You and your siblings knew what they did to your cousin Elia when she was still young. Though you were almost eighteen years younger than Oberyn, you knew every cruel thing the family Lannister had done to any house just to obtain power. The Lannisters were nothing short but greedy.

Even Cersei's own brother, Tyrion, whom you had the chance to know later on, had pointed out all the signs how loving her sister could lead to your untimely demise.

But of course, you didn't believe any of it. You couldn't just pass and blame unto the children the sins of their father. Even when Cersei's offspring, Joffrey, was the cruelest King you had ever known.

It was King Robert's name day when you first saw Cersei and her family. You were sent by your father as a representative from House Martell, just to keep appearances. There was a reason why your house motto was "Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken". House Martell was the last of the Seven Kingdoms to join Westeros after all.

Only the infamous imp, Lord Tyrion, greeted your arrival, what with the Capital not expecting some young woman from House Martell to arrive instead of Prince Doran himself. Lucky for you, you get to be invisible for the duration of the event. Tired from your long travel from Dorne, you immediately requested to be escorted into your chambers.

The first moment you had set your eyes on Cersei was the time when you accidentally bumped into her in the Red Keep as you turned around the corner outside the Library, with a slice of mince pie hanging from your mouth. It was very unladylike of you but books and scrolls filled your arms at the moment.

You were an avid reader. Having said this to Tyrion, he suggested you could use the Red Keep's Library to your full content. You checked out some writings and took them with you. It wasn't stealing when they were just gaining dust on the shelves remaining untouched probably for centuries.

Curly golden hair, emerald green eyes, fair skin, and a slender, graceful figure met your vision the moment you opened your eyes.

Of course, the pie fell unto the ground as you immediately kneeled and apologized profusely when you realized it was her. Queen Cersei.

Cersei only scoffed, irritated, as she hurriedly walked past you, her knights in armor following her.

Slowly standing up, you couldn't help but look back at Cersei as she walked away, how her golden hair sway perfectly from her back. Any one, man or woman, who would deny calling Cersei beautiful was a fool.

Cersei was strikingly beautiful, the kind that could whip the air out from your lungs and somehow you'd forget how to breathe. One look from her and your heart could stop from beating.

From that moment on, you couldn't seem to forget about her.

She was the only thing in your mind and heart even when you finally returned back home to Dorne. She was the first thing you shared to your friends when they asked you how the trip to the Capital went. And they were all wary. They all warned you about it.

But of course, you were in love.

~~~

When King Robert died, you must have insisted on your father to send you back to the Capital to give your condolences on behalf of House Martell. And how disappointed you were that your cousin Prince Doran had already went and there was no need for you to go. For all you knew, your father was just worried you'd make a stupid out of yourself in front of the Royal family, especially the Lannisters.

Joffrey succeeded him as expected. You hated the small guy. You hated the fact that he was Cersei's blood. You still could not believe his sister Myrcella, a sweet young girl, was related to him. You hated him more when news about the execution of the traitor Lord Ned Stark reached Dorne. You knew it had something to do with King Joffrey.

That was when the war began. The game of thrones.

You were forbidden to leave Dorne ever since. Your father remained adamant that you stayed within the castle but you only grew restless. You knew how to use any weapon provided to you, be it a sword, a bow and arrow, a spear or even just a table knife. Any children in Dorne were trained to combat growing up. You weren't an exception.

There was a strong urge inside of you to fight for the Capital but rumors about the incestuous affair between Cersei and her twin brother, Jaime, about Joffrey not being the true heir, only befuddled your judgment. If there was any truth to it, then the next in throne should be Robert's brother, Stannis Baratheon.

Myrcella arrived in Dorne some time later, and the color of her hair only reminded you of her. You doubted it was Cersei's decision to send her only daughter far away from the Capital but it was the wisest one since Dorne was the safest place in Westeros.

If you were born a woman, you better be a highborn or better if you lived in Dorne. Women in Dorne had equal rights the same as men. They could also inherit lordships and land from their parents, even they were included in the succession of titles.

"Do not get involved, my daughter," your father had said. "This is their fight."

"So the Martells would be called cowards by staying silent and closing its doors?"

Your cousin Oberyn only gave you a look of pity.

"We are not closing our doors. Myrcella is even well protected. We are just not participating when we are not called to participate. There's no raven yet from the Capital. There's no reason to act on something that's barely being lit."

"Barely being lit? There's a war going on in the North, the wildfire-"

"This discussion is over, Y/n. I think it wise to discuss about your marriage-"

You didn't give your father a chance to finish and left to head back to your chambers.

There was freedom in Dorne. Freedom to live. Freedom to love anyone regardless of gender. Freedom to marry who you truly desire. But being part of the royal family in Dorne and an only child, you were obliged to marry and continue your blood. And your father had insisted you for five years now since you turned twenty.

You never knew your mother. But you knew she wouldn't insist you to make an heir for someone you didn't love.

You had vast experiences when it came to fornication, what with being born with a certain appendage became known in Dorne. Your father scolded you for being too reckless and yet there you were complaining why your cousins could bed anyone, have a child with them, while watching your father's maester make a certain cup of tea for the whore you had spent the night with.

Both men and women, from sacred houses to brothels, you weren't picky.

But ever since knowing the existence of one certain blonde goddess, you knew you had chosen who you were going to marry. As you stopped and stared into the horizon from the balcony of the castle, all you could think about was the war going on in every direction thousands and thousands of miles away from Dorne, and Cersei defending her children as they fought against Stannis Baratheon. And there you were in Dorne, trapped.

"I know what you're thinking," Oberyn spoke as he stood beside you in the balcony. "Your father won't approve. Every Dornish won't approve."

You could only scoff. "I thought I was free to love and marry who I wish to love and marry-"

"But a Lannister, Y/n? And Cersei herself?" Oberyn chuckled, shaking his head. "You must have gone crazy."

You chuckled back as you went to ignore him.

"And she's probably what, almost eight or nine years older than you?"

"You know age won't stop me from admiring such beauty."

"Should I call the maesters and have you checked?"

You laughed. "Call it what you want. But I know I'll get her one day."

"Death would get you one day, Y/n, if you're not too careful."

[ivystoryweaver]

March the 9th

Marc Spector x gn!reader 1.4k words, angst, sex is implied, no smut, tw abuse, not beta'd

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Your skin tingles as you struggle you steady your breathing. Pacing the floor for an hour does nothing to calm that fuzzy feeling in the center of you.

He’ll be here soon.

You’ve memorized the pattern on the ceiling over your bed, because you stared at it the entire night, never once slipping into blissful slumber.

Your phone never rings. No emails, no letters, no messages.

But he always shows.

Bouncing on your toes, you smooth your hands down the lines of your body, checking your reflection, which lets you know you look the same as you did five minutes ago.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

The first year...

Your family moved onto the Spectors’ street when you were nine years old. You quickly befriended the Spector boys, often playing with them after school and on weekends.

Then, one day, Randall was gone. You were supposed to play with them that day, but you had the flu.

Marc was never the same and you didn’t see much of him, except at school. The Spectors didn’t throw him a birthday party and he didn’t show up at yours either.

So you created a handmade birthday card for him, making a point to cross his path at school. He was absent.

The next year approached, and you realized the Spectors once again would not be throwing a party, so you gave Marc his birthday card on March 8th. He jerked it out of your hand, eyes downcast, muttering, “thanks,” before shuffling away.

You called his name, scampering after him, but he never looked back. The two of you were in middle school now and Marc didn’t seem to have many friends at all. Hopefully he would read the card, which invited him over to hang out.

He did.

On the night of March 9th, he crawled through your bedroom window for the first time. Tears streaked down his cheeks as his body trembled.

“Can I sleep on your floor?” He brokenly whispered.

You had a queen sized bed, so, of course you didn’t let your clearly devastated friend sleep on the hard floor.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he murmured drowsily, once he slid beneath the covers. “Please, they’ll kill me.”

You didn’t understand and he wouldn’t explain. You were only twelve years old. You squeezed his hand and let him rest.

He talked to you after that, only sometimes.

The next March 9th, you gave him another card, with another invitation to come over. He did. Your fingers tangled with his.

Again at fourteen, when, after swiping the tears from his eyes, he kissed you. He kissed you for a long time and you thought you’d never felt anything so magical.

At fifteen, he kissed and touched you all night long. Your heart was his now.

Still, he kept to himself for most of the other 364 days a year.

At sixteen, he climbed into your bed and the two of you lost your virginity. Neither of you had a clue what you were doing - clumsy and wild and sweet. But he kissed you and held you and he tried. You loved him and you had never felt so close to anyone in your life.

He flinched away from your touch several times, so you thought you must be doing something wrong.

It wasn’t until seventeen that you saw his well-hidden bruises and red welts by your bedside lamplight.

“Who did this to you?” Tears streamed down your face as your fingertips traced lovingly around anger and drunkenness unleashed on his beautiful body.

His eyes met yours and you knew. He came to your bed a lot more after that.

Then came eighteen. Three months before graduation. You asked him all the time where he wanted to go to college - where the two of you could go together, but nothing ever came of it. He only answered, “I have to get out.”

March the 9th of year eighteen was the last you saw of Marc Spector for a long time. He didn’t make it to graduation.

He sent you a letter in year nineteen.

‘I’m sorry,’ was all it said.

Year twenty passed. 21, 22, 23…

You graduated college and met someone. But every March the 9th, your fingers would trace his picture, so your "someone" didn't last.

More than a few March 9ths ago, you somehow wished him right back to you. He knocked on your door, shuffling anxiously from foot to foot, swallowing hard and expecting rejection.

You threw your arms around him. “Happy birthday,” you whispered against his cheek before his mouth found yours.

He took you to bed and you knew then that your heart would only ever be his.

It wasn’t enough though. He granted you a half-hearted explanation about danger and old debts and how he was so messed up - he could never bring it all into your life.

You had enough dignity to refrain from begging him.

The next March the 9th was the same. And the next, and the next.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

This year, you’re resolute. It will be the last. It has to be. You can’t do this anymore. He doesn’t love you - not the way you love him. You’ll wish him happy birthday, take him to your bed, but - never again. It hurts too much.

A sharp knock jolts you out of your reverie, sending all the air rushing out of you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you steady yourself, giving yourself one final moment to prepare for your last night with Marc.

You reach for the door and find him holding flowers. Irises.

“You like these…right?” Dark eyebrows shift hopefully.

You breathe his name, your heart flaming with adoration. You take the bouquet and wrap your arms around his neck like always, whispering, “Happy birthday,” against his cheek as his lips seek out your own. He tastes you slowly…sweetly, his breath mingling with yours.

You lose your grasp on the irises, forgetting to care as they spill to the floor. Strong arms wind around you as his hands spread across your back, pressing you against the solid warmth of his chest. The kiss goes on and on until you’re dizzy and breathless and hot tears wet your eyes at the thought of never tasting him again.

You fight them back as the two of you finally make it through the front door and he kicks it closed. He takes you to bed and you drown in the essence that is Marc - unearthed secrets, soul-crushing burdens, beautiful desperation and a kind of hungry tenderness. You bury your nose in the crook of his neck, comforted and tormented as you inhale the spicy, sun-kissed scent of him, your lips tasting, committing him to memory.

Saltiness seeps into your mouth and you’re not sure if it’s the slight sheen on his skin as he works his way into you, or the tears slipping down your cheeks.

Your fingers twist through his dark curls as you pull your body flush against his - the heat of your tongue - the twist of your body - the scrape of your fingernails desperately attempting to communicate your need for this man.

He’s been your birthday wish most of your life.

He holds you against him until the calendar turns to the 10th. The sun rises and you realize he’s never stayed this long.

Which will make the speech you’ve planned so much harder. You shuffle to the bathroom while he sleeps, steeling yourself for the heartbreak. As you stare into the mirror, tears burn your eyes and you wonder if you can go through with it. The thought of never seeing him again is crushing, but you can’t go on like this.

Finally, you straighten out your appearance and freshen up, fighting like hell to keep your composure.

Marc is awake, sitting on the edge of your bed in only his boxers. You expect him to be dressed and ready to walk out the door, but as his warm, coffee colored eyes find yours…

He gently smiles.

“Marc?” You whisper, slowly approaching him.

“Come here,” he softly instructs, reaching for you. You sink down beside him, your foreheads touching sweetly as he grips your arms.

“Could…do you think I could stay?”

Tears trickle down. Again. “I don’t know,” you whimper. “I-I can’t-"

“I know.,” he nods, pressing an urgent kiss to your mouth. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

He’s off the bed and reaching for his clothes before you can blink, but you don’t let him get far. “Stay,” you urgently plead. “Stay with me.”

He freezes, eyes wide and hopeful. “F-for tonight, or…”

“Stay,” you repeat, pressing your palms to the heat of his bare chest. “Stay or go. Just decide.”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Next March the 9th…

“Happy birthday, baby,” you murmur against his lips as he rolls you underneath him.

“Happy anniversary,” he returns, sealing his mouth to yours.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Marc Spector-Centric stories

Moon Knight Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[ichorai]

amsterdam ; jacaerys velaryon. (m)

track two of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; jacaerys velaryon x arryn!f!reader

synopsis ; prince jacaerys velaryon traveled to the eyrie to secure aid for his mother's cause. he didn't at all expect to fall in love an arryn while he was there.

words ; 4.7k

themes ; fluff, smut (minors dni!), fantasy

warnings / includes ; unprotected sex, oral (f recieving), jace is very much infatuated with you (expect lots of praise !!), reader is the only child of jeyne arryn of the vale, mentions of daemon and rhaenyra, in this fic jace is over eighteen when he goes to the eyrie !! cursing, mentions of death, vermax is grumpy bcs he has to sit outside in the cold someone save him

main masterlist.

The Eyrie stood tall and proud on the very top of rocky mountains—so high that white wisps of clouds could be seen far below where the castle was situated. Jacaerys unmounted his dragon, placing a reassuring hand on the large, olive-green scales of his snout. 

“Kesan sagon arlī. Umbagon,” he murmured to Vermax, who huffed out a plume of warm smoke and settled back on his haunches, clearly unhappy with the prospect of waiting around in the cold. I will be back. Stay.

Blowing out a nervous exhale, Jace squared his shoulders and turned on his heel, making his way into the white-stone castle. 

Blue-cloaked guards stood in his way of the wooden entrance, faces stony and hands resting on the hilts of their swords, at the ready. 

“I am Jacaerys Velaryon, son of the rightful Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen. I’ve come to urgently speak to Lady Jeyne Arryn to secure aid for my mother’s cause.” His voice rang clear and true, confident despite his inner turmoil.

The guards glanced at each other, before stepping aside, letting him walk through. 

“This way, my Prince,” one of them said, guiding him through winding corridors and eventually, down a long hall. The blue-veined, marble walls shone with polish—so much so that Jacaerys could see his own warped reflection looking back at him. 

And at the end of the hall, laid two thrones of weirwood—nothing compared to the hunkering mass that was the iron throne, but still grand nonetheless. Seated on one was the Lady of the Eyrie, Jeyne Arryn, with a head of dark locks like his, and soft features that contrasted starkly with the scowl pulling at her lips. 

The lady was facing her side, where she was speaking in hushed whispers to her only daughter—Y/N Arryn, the infamous Jewel of the Eyrie. 

Jace could feel his heart stumble upon itself when he laid his eyes on you. Suddenly, your name made sense. Sure, he had heard tales of your regaling beauty and your kind nature, but words alone were not enough to fully encapsulate just how breathtaking you really were. 

The sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows bathed you in a warm glow, casting long, sloping shadows over your skin. Draped over your form was a dress of cerulean hue, cascading down your hips as if it were water. Jace considered himself a gentleman—he had to take care not to let his eyes wander to the low-hanging cut of your neckline, where the very beginnings of your cleavage were exposed, and a glinting pearl necklace hung just above your clavicle. Your hair was cut rather short, nearly as short as his, but framed your face just perfectly. Your lips were moving hurriedly as you spoke to your mother, eyes alight with a certain fire, but Jace couldn’t quite catch what you were saying. The stories not only told of your enchanting beauty, but of your strongly overprotective mother, who always turned away any and all suitors for you. And proposals were never short, from what he heard. Jacaerys felt a strange flame of jealousy brew within his stomach. 

“Apologies for the interruption, my lady,” announced the guard. “Jacaerys Velaryon, here to speak with you.”

Upon the abrupt announcement, you promptly clamped your mouth shut, looking over to Jace with a scrutinizing, yet curious gaze, meeting the Prince’s own intrigued eyes. 

His throat was suddenly dry. It took everything within him to tear his attention away from you, and look towards your mother.

“My lady,” greeted Jacaerys, fists clenching and unclenching behind his back. “I’ve come on behalf of my mother, the Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen. She kindly asks you to remember that she is part Arryn herself, as you are half-siblings with the late Queen Aemma, and hopes you will support your cousin’s claim to the throne.”

Recognition sparked within the Lady’s eyes, remembering her half-sister, Aemma. From beside her, you subconsciously straightened yourself as he spoke, lips parting out of interest. This was Prince Jacaerys himself—heir to the throne. Jace gradually shifted his weight from foot to foot, feeling your gaze practically burn holes straight through him. You couldn’t help but notice that he was quite the handsome young man, with a head of thick, dark hair, and hard-set, determined eyes. He spoke evenly and calmly, voice soaked with honey and smoked cedar and ocean salt. The Prince looked to be around the same age as you, give or take a few moons. And as Jacaerys had heard much about you, you knew just as much about him—and now that you were seeing him in person… the stories seemed to prove themself true. He didn’t look one bit Targaryen or Valeryon, but rather resembled the bold, physical characteristics of a Strong. 

Either way, bastard or not, Jacaerys Velaryon intrigued you.

The argument you’d just had with your mother about traveling to King’s Landing and seeing the world for yourself was still fresh on your mind, and seeing Jace right here in front of you felt like much more than a coincidence.

“Yes,” your mother said, standing up from the throne to step closer to the Prince. “I do remember the rather twisted history of our families. In fact, I seem to recall your great-uncle Daemon was married to Rhea Royce until her… untimely death.”

The Lady of the Eyrie was plainly hinting at the fact that his stepfather murdered his first wife. Jace steeled himself by blowing out a small breath. 

“It was truly unfortunate,” said Jace diplomatically. 

The woman narrowed her eyes, eerily similar to your expression. “Despite my contempt for your great-uncle, it would be hypocritical of me to say Targaryen men are the root of the problem. Mine own kin have sought to replace me as Ruler of the Vale thrice by now. My cousin, Ser Arnold, oft claims women are too soft to rule. He is currently in one of my sky cells, if you would like to see.”

Jacaerys shifted uncomfortably. He’d heard little of the sky cells—only that the room bore three walls instead of four, leaving an open gap for anybody to plummet to their grueling death. And knowing how high up the castles were built, there would be no chance for survival. The grounds were sloped and it was not uncommon for prisoners to roll off the edge during their sleep. 

“Mother,” you spoke for the first time, making his head snap to you. You watched him sympathetically, an apologetic glint to your eyes, voice smoothly soft but tone firm. “I am sure the Prince has much more important matters to attend to than my bumbling fool of an uncle.”

Jeyne nodded at your words. “Yes… of course. We’ll help you fight your war, Prince Jacaerys. Send word to your mother that we support her cause and will supply her with as many soldiers as she needs—in this world of men, we women must band together.”

Relief flooded through Jace’s veins. Momentarily, he caught your eye and dipped his head in gratitude. 

“On one condition,” said the Lady of the Eyrie, holding up a hand. “We will send you support if and only if you swear to protect the Vale from the Greens with dragonriders.”

Irrational hope flared within Jacaerys’ chest—the thought of being able to spend more time in the Vale just to see you a bit more made him rather excited. Though, knowing his mother, he would most likely be stuck by her side as heir to the throne than up North protecting the Vale. 

“That can be arranged,” agreed Jacaerys. “We swear to protect the Vale and the people within it.”

“Then our deal is done,” said your mother, before lowering herself slightly, as an act of bending the knee to the Prince. You followed suit, meeting his gaze once again, this time with a subtle, radiant smile cinching the corners of your eyes. The guards flanking the hall were the last to mirror your actions, all bending the knee to the heir of the iron throne.

Jacaerys was making his way out of the hall, surprised when you bid your mother adieu and rushed after the Prince, much to her overprotective dismay, offering to walk with him to his dragon. You waved the guards away, but they still hovered over the pair of you with uncertain expressions.

“It’s just a brief walk,” you reasoned. “I’ll be fine.”

Relenting, the guards backed off and left you alone with the Prince. 

“Come along, my Prince, I can show you the way out,” you gently laid your hand on his forearm, tugging him with you further down the hall. The young man could feel his heart slamming against his chest, a thundering pulse in his ears nearly deafening him. 

Now that you were so much closer to him—mere inches—Jace could see finer details about you, and impossibly, you somehow became all the more beautiful. The blue fabric of your dress grazed his more coarse tunic. 

“There is much I have heard of you, my Prince,” you began, a kind smile illuminating your features. “I must say, I admire your Queen mother greatly.”

“Jace,” he softly said.

You blinked at him. “Pardon?”

Tripping over his words, Jace quickly backtracked, “I, uh, you don’t have to call me your Prince. Jace is just fine.” A bit more hesitantly, he tacked on, “I’m not quite used to the title just yet. It feels strange.”

A part of him was worried you’d be appalled at the impropriety of calling him by a nickname, but you merely grinned, all wide and sweet. 

“Alright then, Jace. Have you anywhere urgent to be? The hour is growing late—perhaps you can stay for supper. You cannot possibly run more errands on an empty stomach.”

You leaned closer and he caught a whiff of saccharine fruits and jasmine oil wafting from your hair, a smell that he yearned to drown himself into. It also didn’t slip past his notice that your chest was pressed up against his bicep. Good heavens, Jacaerys needed to get a grip of himself. 

Ever the responsible son, Jacaerys knew he had to be on his way to the Three Sisters, a small cluster of islands up North, to gain their support for his mother, as well. But he was ahead of schedule, and he deserved something of a rest after hours on dragonback. After all, he’d packed little else than fruit and bread and dried meat rations—the idea of a warm meal was more than appealing. 

Perhaps those were all just excuses. The true reason he wanted to stay was because he wanted to spend more time with you. 

“Wouldn’t your mother mind?” he asked, a little apprehensive, not wanting to get in between you and the overprotective Lady of the Eyrie. She already had a distaste for Targaryen men, thanks to his stepfather Daemon, and he wasn’t too keen on being added to the roster.

Expression faltering just a smidge, you shook your head. “No, she’s so very busy running the Vale—warding off her cousins who are fighting for their claim to inherit the Eyrie. It’s a whole lot of political nonsense, if you ask me.”

Hesitantly convinced, Jace allowed himself to smile in hopes of seeing your own once more. “If you insist, my lady. Supper sounds wonderful.”

To his delight, you beamed, and led him to a winding marble staircase, flourished with blue carpets that matched your dress. “Great! The morning hall is right up here—it’s rather quiet around this time, since it’s a bit early for supper.”

“Perfect,” mumbled Jace, the idea of being alone with you setting his cheeks aflame. 

Once in the hall, you kindly requested one of the servants to fetch a bowl of lamb stew and some cider for the Prince, gesturing for him to sit on one of the narrow, long tables that stretched nearly the entire length of the room. 

You engaged Jace in amicable chatter, which he seldom got to do with anybody that wasn’t his family—everyone either hated him because of his uncanny resemblance to Harwin Strong, or they were intimidated by his status as heir to the throne. It was refreshing, and frankly, made Jacaerys a little envious of those without the burden of responsibility on their shoulders.

The stew arrived not too shortly after, along with a silver chalice full of spiced apple cider that burned his tongue in all the right ways. You sipped on your own cup, nearly choking with laughter when he began recounting a story about his younger brother, Lucerys, nearly falling off his dragon during his first ride. Jace thought you had the most mellifluous laugh, practically music to his ears. He itched to hear the sweet sound over and over again.

“I wish I had siblings sometimes,” you wistfully said, placing your chalice down on the table and resting your face on your palm, propped up by your elbow. “It gets awfully lonely here. My mother, I love her, I do, but she never really lets me go out of the Vale. The only times were when I was a small child, and even then I was accompanied by half a dozen guards.”

Jace hummed sympathetically, spooning more of the peppery stew in his mouth. “So it’s true, then? Your mother constantly rejecting all the suitors and proposals lined up on your doorstep?”

“Yeah,” you fixed him with a warm smile. “Though, I suppose it’s not that much of a loss. Most of the men asking for my hand were more than twice my age and always looked upon me in a… lewd manner. It’s no wonder my mother turned all of them down.”

Without thinking, Jace blurted out, “You deserve to wed someone you love. A man who loves you doubly so.”

You fell silent, regarding him curiously. Maybe Jace didn’t know any better, but you appeared to be flustered. Clearing your throat, you said, “Thank you, my pr—Jace. Besides, the proposals aren’t really what bother me. It’s the fact that I stand to inherit the Eyrie and I have yet to explore the rest of the world. I’m afraid that once I am Lady of the Vale, I won't have any time for myself.”

“I have a dragon,” said Jace, in a half-joking, half-serious manner. “I can take you flying around Westeros one day, when the war is over.”

“You mean it?” you whispered, a genuine glimmer of excitement laced behind your words. Jace nodded, his heart leaping into his throat with the motion. “That would mean the world to me, it really would.”

The two of you fell into another comfortable silence. You downed the rest of your cider and he mopped up the remaining bits of his stew with a steaming loaf of bread. 

“I have yet to find a suitor to my liking,” you said, pursing your lips hesitantly. Jace gestured for you to keep talking, drinking some of the cider to wash down his meal. “And I’ve heard you’re betrothed now, yes?”

At the mention of his betrothal to his cousin Baela, Jacaerys stiffened. 

He leaned forward. “Can I be completely honest with you? And you must promise not to say a word of this to anyone.”

You nodded, eyes wide. 

“I do not wish to marry Baela,” he whispered, glancing around to make sure nobody was listening. Your lips parted, as if you wanted to say something, but you kept quiet, allowing for him to continue. “The romantic love I harbor for her is scant—she is more of my sister than anything. I cannot see myself ever… consummating our marriage.” Heat seeped into his cheeks, and a part of him instantly regretted admitting that to you. 

“Perhaps you need not marry her, then,” you responded without a second’s pause, before freezing at your words, as if they had slipped from your mouth out of your own volition. “I’m terribly sorry, my Prince, I shouldn’t have…” 

Whatever you were beginning to say died on your tongue when Jace moved his hand across the table to settle gently on top of yours. 

The atmosphere between the two of you seemed to shift. 

Jace studied your features with a keen eye, noticing the bright glint to your molten irises, the gentle curvature of your nose, the small birthmark on the left side of your jaw. And, not at all discreetly, his gaze fell to your lips, where your teeth were worrying into the supple flesh. His own expression melded into one of raw longing—nearing desperation, even.

And you could see it all on his face, plain and clear. Jacaerys Velaryon was enraptured by you. 

It was not at all like how the suitors asked for your hand—they looked upon you like a direwolf would a slab of meat, as if you were merely an object for their carnal desires, as if you were to warm their bed and nothing else. 

Jacaerys, however, looked upon you like you had scattered the very stars in the sky with your bare hands. And you had no doubt you mirrored his yearning countenance.

“Come with me,” you whispered, standing up and lacing your fingers with his, tugging him away from the table, and out of the morning hall. 

With a dazed look on his face, Jace followed along, allowing you to pull him towards more stairs. Up, up, and further up, the two of you went.

Until he stood in front of a large oaken door, your free hand pushing it open and the other ushering him inside the spacious room. The waning, clementine light of the setting sun shone through the diamond-shaped windows, framed by blue velvet curtains, bathing you in a regal, aureate luminescence as you softly shut the door behind you and leaned against the wood, fixing him with a burning stare. Your lips were parted, and your chest was rising and falling in a tantalizing manner. 

The cold realization that he was in your chambers suddenly dawned upon him. Seven hells, this was… beyond improper. Reality slapped Jacaerys out of his lustful stupor, and he struggled to formulate a coherent sentence.

“My lady,” he began, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “This is… we shouldn’t—”

His words dwindled away when you reached behind yourself and began undoing the laces of your dress. Despite his protests, Jace made no move to leave. He could feel his breeches growing uncomfortably tight. It felt like there was not enough air in the room for him to breathe.

“I… I should probably get going, Vermax—my dragon loathes the cold, you see…” he tried once more, to no avail.

The blue material fell from your shoulders, cascading down your body and pooled onto the ground in one seamless motion, leaving only a thin pale shift between him and your naked body. He fell deathly silent. 

You were the most beautiful person Jacaerys had ever laid his eyes on. No woman, no man, nobody in all of Westeros, could ever compare to the likes of you.

Throwing all caution to the wind, the Prince surged forward in two large strides, sealing the distance between you. One of his hands carefully cradled your face as if you were hewn from porcelain, and the other clutched your waist, thumb grazing over the sides of your ribs, dangerously close to your breasts.

And his lips met yours in a heated frenzy, your noses bumping against one another amidst your vigor.

“Should you wish to stop, just say the word, my lady,” he murmured against you, tugging you away from the door and walking you backwards to the large bed. 

Your knees buckled against the mattress and you fell back, eyes darkened with wanton need. Your fingers began hurriedly undoing the buttons at the top of his tunic. “Don’t stop, please,” you breathed out just as he began languidly kissing you once again. “Don’t you dare stop.”

A newfound confidence fueled his movements with your affirmation, and he rid himself of his shirt, tossing it somewhere behind him, along with his straining breeches and undergarments. You let your eyes roam over his toned chest, lids half-hooded.

“You’re so beautiful,” you told him, following suit and shirking your thin shift off, leaving you completely nude in front of the Prince, save for the opalescent pearls hanging around your neck. 

His breath hitched at your praise. “I was just about to say the same thing,” he muttered hotly against your flushed skin, trailing kisses down your jaw, roaming over the slope of your neck, your shoulders, your chest. “Beautiful,” he said, echoing himself with every kiss. You fisted the sheets beneath you, desperate for him to touch you where it ached the most.

A wave of arousal danced over you when he came face to face with your breasts, his tongue slipping out to drag along one of your pebbled nipples, his hand lifting to tweak the other between his fingers. His lips enveloped one of the pert buds, and he glanced up to see you with your head thrown back, a sigh of pleasure falling from your throat.

“Jacaerys, please…” you moaned, breathing stilted. 

Eager to please, Jace pulled away from your breast, trailing wet kisses down your stomach, along your hips, and to the insides of your thighs. His hands held your legs apart, which trembled with anticipation and need. 

His cock twitched against the bed upon seeing your slickened cunt, soaked with your essence.

“All this for me?” he hummed, laving his tongue mere inches away from where you needed him most.

“All for you,” you said, a low groan tumbling from your lungs when he finally surged forward and buried his face into your cunt, licking into your warm hole, the crook of his nose pressing repeatedly into your spasming clit. 

Embarrassed by your volume, you slapped your hands over your mouth, muffling your breathless whines.

Obviously not pleased with this, Jacaerys looked up at you with a stern look, halting his ministrations. “Let me hear you, my lady. I want to hear you.”

Hands quaking, you let them fall away from your lips, clenching into fists by your sides. Jacaerys smiled at you, the lower half of his face gleaming with your arousal. Then, he lowered himself back down and abruptly attached his lips to your sensitive clit, making your hips jolt upwards with the sudden rush of pleasure. 

“Jace!” you wailed, grinding your cunt against his mouth. He hummed in approval, clearly getting off on your own pleasure. Two of his fingers circled your entrance, and he slowly pushed them into you, cracking one of his eyes open to observe your breathless, writhing figure. 

He continued his ministrations, fucking you with his fingers and sucking relentlessly on your clit until you seized up beneath him, a litany of pleas falling from your kiss-swollen lips. 

“That’s it, cum for me. My good girl,” he praised, moaning into your cunt as you did what you were told, grinding against his face as you came down from your high, until you began to flinch away with overstimulation. Jace wished to have you ride his face, use him as the dragon he was, be completely at your mercy… but he was desperate to feel your cunt around him.

Jacaerys made his way back up your body, kissing you once more. You could taste yourself on him, which made you dizzy with delight.

“I need you, Jace,” you mumbled, wrapping your legs over his waist, your hot, soaked pussy pressed against his abdomen. “I need you inside me.”

“As you wish, my lady,” he whispered with one final kiss, ever the gentleman. “Tell me if it’s too much. I wish not to hurt you.” 

Lining himself with your still-sensitive entrance, he began to slowly ease his way in, keenly watching your expression to make sure he wasn’t paining you in any way.

“So good,” you mumbled, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his shoulder. “Feels so good, Jace.”

“Beautiful girl,” the Prince groaned once he bottomed out inside your warmth, eyes rolling into the back of his head from the overwhelming sensation of your sopping cunt fluttering around his cock. 

He started off gentle, slowly rocking into you, eyes darting between your blissful features, and your breasts bouncing with every thrust. 

You began to move in tandem with him, wanton moans echoing throughout your chambers when he reached down to rub slow circles on your clit. 

The slapping of his skin on yours made a flustered expression burrow itself permanently on his face, dusting his skin with faint rouge. You felt so fucking good, nearly too good to be true, and Jacaerys wouldn’t at all be surprised if he woke up and you turned out to be a dream. 

Your name tumbled from his lips in rapid repetition as he could feel his orgasm approaching, rhythm faltering when you clenched viciously around him. He met your eyes, leaning down to kiss you sweet and slow. “Can you cum for me again, sweet girl?” he murmured, a satisfied growl thundering in the back of his throat.

Shivering, one of your hands raked down his back desperately, on the very precipice of your climax. You came with a shout of his name, stars blotting out your vision, clenching so tightly around him that Jace had a hard time moving, which had him moaning a breathy string of curses. 

He showered you with more praises, thrusting into you once, twice, three more times, before his voice tapered off into a groan, hurriedly pulling out of your throbbing cunt to cum all over your stomach, both your chests glistening with sweat.

Panting, Jacaerys collapsed onto the bed beside you, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your temple. “My beautiful, sweet girl,” he murmured, making your heart swell with pride and adoration.

You turned to slot your lips just beside his nose bridge, rubbing your thighs together contentedly. “My handsome, gentle Prince,” you responded, voice hoarse and exhaust weighing down your eyelids. 

“You did so well for me. You can sleep now, my lady.” he reassured, expression softening as he pushed a stray strand of your hair away from your face. “I’ll clean you up.”

You could only tiredly smile at him, allowing your eyes to fully slip shut, chest rising and falling evenly as slumber took over your form. Jace could only watch fondly, pressing one last kiss to your temple, before making his way off the bed.

The next morning rolled by far too soon. The sun glared through your windows, straight into your eyes, and you tried waving it away with a huff of annoyance, to no avail. Finally, you sat up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with the back of your hand. Once you came to, you noticed that you were neatly tucked into the center of your expansive bed, and you lifted the thick blue blanket to look down, mildly surprised to find any and all stickiness between your thighs and on your stomach was gone. 

Did you dream of what transpired last night? Was Prince Jacaerys only but a figment of your hyperactive imagination?

Feeling a bit dejected, you fell back against your feather-stuffed pillows, rolling onto your side. It couldn’t have been a dream, though—it certainly felt real. Heat spidered across your skin at the lewd memories of the night before. 

Your suspicion was only confirmed when you caught sight of a small, folded piece of paper on your bedside table. With nimble fingers, you plucked it off the surface and unfurled the sheet, a small smile dancing at the corner of your mouth. You found it endearing that Jacaerys’ handwriting was a nearly illegible, messy scrawl of ink across the parchment.

My dearest lady, As much as it pains me to leave you, I have urgent matters to attend to for my mother. I will be heading North to the Three Sisters in hopes of gaining their favor. I will never forget this night with you, nor will I forget my promise to take you flying across Westeros after the war ends. You are, without a doubt, the most wonderful thing to have happened to me. I still wonder if I am dreaming, because a beauty such as yours cannot possibly exist. I will come back for you, sweet girl. I swear it by the Seven.  Yours, Jace

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Vyjayanthimala (Madhumati, Amrapali, Sangam, Devdas)—Strong contender for /the/ OG queen of Indian cinema for over 2 straight decades. Her Filmfare Lifetime Achievement Award came not a moment too soon with 62 movies under her belt. Singer, dancer, actor, and also has the most expressive set of eyes known to man

Debbie Reynolds (Singin’ in the Rain, The Unsinkable Molly Brown)—she was only EIGHTEEN in Singin’ in the Rain and she was incredible. she was my childhood hero. also she was a humanitarian and supported mental health causes, LGBTQ causes, and advocated for AIDS research in the early 1980s. when a network showed cigarette ads during her show she was PISSED because she didn’t want to support something that was detrimental to people’s health. and finally she was Carrie Fisher’s mother!

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Vyjayanthimala:

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Debbie Reynolds:

listen i realized recently that debbie reynolds was my gay awakening - i didn't want to Be Her (well, i also did), i wanted to fucking kiss her and i was too catholic of a wee child to realize that. also i almost wore out the vhs tape of singin in the rain we have

Her singing voice is so beautiful! She was in one of the most influential musicals of all time and her performance in it is one of the reasons why it's so remembered!

Known for her stage and movie work, and scandal when her first husband, Eddie Fisher, left her for Liz Taylor. They were both better off without him.

My mom went "oh you HAVE to submit Debbie Reynolds" so here I am. Vote Debbie Reynolds for my mom!

[nikethestatue]

An Ode To Elain Archeron

Think about it--Elain Archeron is so desirable, so enviable, so needed--that she is always the prize at the end of the battle. She is the victory. The fact that she lives absolutely rent free in so many people's minds is the testament to her utterly monumental power. Because EVERYONE wants her. She doesn't have to lift a finger, but yet, she is the prize.

She is the prize for Lucien, and even if he himself doesn't even want her, his stans insist that they end up together, convinced that only SHE can make him happy

She is a prize for Tamlin, even though he doesn't know her and wanted her sister. But his stans insist that it would be Elain who'd remove the memory of Feyre from him and make him happy

She is a prize for Azriel, whom she wants and who wants her, and who forgot all about his 500 year old crush in like 3 months after meeting her

The Cauldron whom which all Life sprung and for which the Asteri themselves fought, desiring its power, PURRED in the presence of Elain Archeron, finding her so pleasing and beautiful

The King of Hybern fell to his knees in front of Elain, succumbing to her perfect strike, but not before calling her 'the pretty one' and acknowledging her inner strength

The High Lord of Night Court goes out of his way to fly her and show her the scenic route of Velaris, to please her

The entire IC stops eating their Solstice meals in order to wait for Elain to take her rightful place at the head of the table

Just like Azriel, Elain is shipped with everyone. Because she is desired by everyone--and every time someone calls her boring, they contradict themselves. Because you all want Elain for yourself. You all want HER with your guy of choice.

Elain's been shipped with Tarquin and Tamlin, with Aidas and Apollion, with Fenrys and Ruhn, with Beron and Lucien, with Azriel and the Cauldron, with Gwyn and Mor and Hypaxia, with Dorian and Bryaxis. With Eris. Jurian and Graysen. EVERYONE. Everyone wants Elain.

No one's been shipped with as many people, not even Azriel.

That's the power of Elain. She hasn't even had a book, and yet she is torn to pieces by the fandom, with each and every fraction wanting her.

You know how many people Gwyn is shipped with? ONE. (And the very controversial Tarquin, apparently)

Mor? Two.

Eris? Two.

Helion? One.

Elain, by the latest count--at least 18.

You want to pair Elain with EIGHTEEN characters.

Who the hell else has that level of appeal? This kind of power? NO ONE.

Elain Archeron is the baddest bitch of them all.

This is the queen of Queens. So, bow.

art: bethgilbert.art

[sanjoongie]

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕊𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟: 𝔹𝕠𝕕𝕪 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡

🥀Pairing: Choi San x Reader (f)

🥀Genre: Smut

🥀Rating: 18+, Minors Do not Interact

🥀Au: Sweet Sorrow of Evil au written with @thelargefrye , Medieval Au, Fantasy au, royal au

🥀Trope: male consort x queen

🥀Summary: San shows that you deserve to be spoiled like the queen you are, and why exactly he was the one chosen to be your first consort

🥀Kinks: body worship, oral (f), breast play, penetrative sex with no barrier, dry humping, switch! Reader, switch! San, cum play, cum eating

🥀Word Count: 2,229

🥀Betas: n/a

🥀Day Sixteen: Cockwarming 🥀Mini Masterlist 🥀Day Eighteen: Size Kink

You were up to your nose in the copper tub, wondering how long San would let you soak in there. It was your night with your consort but you weren't looking forward to giving yourself to the man whose duty it was to please you. You’d rather cuddle up with Jongho right now, while he read his nighttime book of choice.

“My queen?” San held out your robe.

You stood up and stepped out of the tub, allowing him to hold open the robe and wrap it around you. He tucked his head into the crook of your neck from behind while he tied up your robe. “Your skin is delectable,” he murmured.

You felt his rough tongue on a patch of skin. “San… Did you just lick me?”

San giggled into your neck and then released you but grabbed your hand instead. “Come to bed.”

The bed had been scattered with red rose petals and you laughed under your breath. “Is all this really necessary, San?”

San cocked his head. “Of course. You are the queen. And you should be treated as such.”

“San,” You ducked your head in embarrassment.

San brought your hand to his lips and kissed it. “It's my night with you. Let me spoil you.”

You let San lay you back on your bed, the dark sheets lit up with the rose petals. The perfume permeated your nose as you looked up at San. His billowy white top only highlighted his beautiful bronze skin. He smiled down at you and leaned down to run a hand against your cheek. “You're so beautiful.”

San climbed on the bed, remaining on his hands and knees. He began to kiss your face starting with your forehead and cheeks, nose and jawline. “Each part of you is precious to me,” San whispered with each kiss.

You moaned softly when he began to kiss down your neck. You moved your head to the side to allow him easy access. It made San chuckle against your neck. “So good for me, my queen,” he said.

You whimpered as he pushed aside your robe to kiss down the valley of your breasts. His tongue came out sneakily, licking up stray droplets of water that the robe had not absorbed. His hands skimmed the side of your breasts but he didn't cup them or touch your nipples. You arched your back for more but San simply continued to kiss down your torso.

“Please,” You whimpered, digging your hands into San's hair.

“I'll take care of you, my queen, you don't need to beg,” San replied impishly.

Your hands tightened, pulling back hard to look San in the eyes. “I don't beg for anything, San,” You growled.

San simply smiled. “There she is. The evil queen they all whisper about when it's dark and they fear you'll focus on them.”

Concern echoed in your gaze and San pulled at your hold on him, pressing a kiss where your eyebrows were furrowed. “I'm not scared of you, of course.”

You smile slightly. “Of course.”

“That's because I know if you kill me, you'd have Jongho to answer to.” San grinned cheekily.

You grinned eerily at San, making him gulp loudly. “You'll still be dead.”

“Luckily, I know a few tricks to convince you to not kill me.”

Your robe was undone and San finished his descent down your stomach to kiss your mound. He pushed your thighs apart, hands heavy on your inner thighs. You closed your eyes, anticipating that San would begin to pleasure your cunt, but instead he began to kiss down your thigh.

You sighed heavily, opening your eyes to see San's eyes in gleeful half-moon crescents, quite aware of your disappointment. “Are you trying to drive me wild?” You demanded.

San made his way down to your ankle, kissing it, and then said, “Yes. But I'm also trying to worship your body, like you deserve.”

You raised your hands and beckoned San back to you. San followed, cupping your face and kissing you thoroughly. His tongue tangled with yours, a messy kiss full of enthusiasm for you. His hands eventually moved down your torso again, sliding your robe completely out of the way so he could play with your breasts. His hot palms pressed against them, sliding and giving way so that his thumbs could flick across your nipples and make them pert for him. His lips looked wonderful around your nipples, eyes making contact with yours to watch the faces you made while he licked your nipples inside of his mouth.

He grinded his clothed lower half into your bare core, making you moan. “Give me everything, San,” You commanded him.

San grinded even harder into you, the friction toeing the line between pleasure and pain. The both of you looked down to see your slick had smeared the front of his pants, and the lewdness of it made you both curse. “I have to taste you,” San mused out loud and immediately lowered himself back down your body again.

“Worship your queen,” You purred. You felt rather than saw the shudder travel through San’s body.

“Yes, my queen,” San promised, eyes solely on your wet pussy.

San ate you up like a starved man. He could have gone straight to the bundle of nerves that would have given you instant gratification but instead licked your wet folds with a pointed tongue. He tasted every crevice that was available to him. He sucked your lower lips into his mouth and traced your hole delicately. He even shoved his tongue inside of you a few times just to get you to buck up into his face, smearing your wetness evenly across his face. His nose nudged your clit and you pushed his face further into your aching cunt.

“There isn’t a part of you I don’t want to kiss,” He groaned. You could see his lower half grinding into the bed, his hips moving back and forth to give himself some relief to his cock that was probably twitching to get inside of you.

“San, San,” You said his name to get his attention. “Don’t move your hips like that if you aren’t going to move inside of me.”

San bit down on his lower lip, slowly letting it pop out. “Your highness…”

You didn’t want San to withhold anything. This feeling of being a delicious morsel for San was heady. “Tell me, San.”

“Please let me fuck you and come inside of you,” San begged. “I’ll show you the stars but please, let me come inside of you this time.”

Previously you had been getting San to pull out and come on your stomach. Of course royal heirs were important, but you had agreed to San being consort in order to get the council off your back, simple as that. You still had more ruthless moves to make against your enemies and you did not need to be fat with child while doing so. Not to mention, you didn’t have the best parents in the world, and didn’t want to inflict that on another child.

“Please?” San begged and then he began to flick his tongue along your clit.

You grabbed the sheets under you and arched your back. San had your lips spread so that he had direct access to that sensitive bundle of nerves. He had you coming undone for him quickly, thighs shaking with pleasure coursing through you.

And with that messy face, he kissed his way up your body, smearing your wetness all along your body until he tangled his tongue with yours again. You could taste yourself on his tongue and yet you still let him kiss you like you were the cook’s prized dessert. “Please,” San said with a growly voice, full of desire for you.

You moaned and cupped San’s face. “If Jongho asks you, you’ve been coming inside of me every night, do you hear me?”

San smirked, slow and satisfied. “Why would Jongho ask me that?”

“Because he knows me,” You sighed. “You can come inside of me tonight, San, you have my permission.”

What passed between San’s lips next was caught between a chuckle and a hoot. “You won’t regret it, your highness.”

In the candlelight of your royal bedchamber, San stood on his knees and pulled his shirt off with one firm yank behind his back. His dimples showed as he grinned to your reaction of pure adoration at his bare upper body. He was a man worth gazing upon. Next went his pants, in which one wrong step almost sent him face first into the fur rug under him until he caught himself against the bedpost. The clumsiness only made you adore him that much more.

San slowly fucked his way into your cunt, hands gripping your thighs and hips as he did so. The squeezes were appreciative of the flesh there. He manhandled them to hold himself back from simply hammering into you. San was your consort and he was here for the romance of the moment and not to fuck you.

His eyes traveled over your body as if he looked to memorize it. “You are beautiful and I will smother anyone in their sleep that dares to say otherwise,” San vowed.

“How romantic,” You teased.

San leaned down to brace himself above you with his arms caging you in his embrace. He waved his body between your legs. His pelvis rubbed against your puffy clit and you moaned at the extra stimulation. “I will spend hours here. It’s my job, you know? To keep my queen pleased. Do I please you, your highness?”

“Gods,” You whined. “Is that even a question?”

“Being sheathed inside of you is a feeling not many men of this realm, let alone the world, will experience. And yet, my purpose is to be here. Do you even know how lucky I am?” San asked.

You looked up into San’s eyes and you found only the genuine look of adoration from San. His eyes were dark with lust but also wet with sincerity. You wanted to believe him. But this was his duty, you knew that, not his choice.

San must have sensed your hesitance because he bent his arms so his forearms braced himself on the bed now, inches away from your face. It was intimate, San fucking you like this. It was simply himself swallowing your vision of the world right now. “I choose every night to make love to you. You are not who I thought you’d be. Your highness--”

You pushed a finger to San’s lips. His eyes widened, surprised you’d cut him off. “I do not require you to spill your heart to me, consort of mine. Leave a little mystery between you and I.”

If there was a ghost of sadness that floated through San’s eyes, it was chased away with a confident look. “Yes, my queen.”

San picked up your legs to hook around his arms, holding you open for him so he could thrust more quickly inside of you. You could hear the cacophony of skin slapping against skin and also the wet noises of San’s cock moving in and out of you. Your breath was catching in the back of your throat; the intenseness of the pleasure he was giving you was making you breathless.

“Sa-san,” You stuttered, feeling your climax approach.

“I’m close too. After you, your highness,” San said with a teasing tone.

Your toes curled as your body tensed from the pleasure coursing through your nerves. You cried out his name, knowing full well who made you feel this good. It was soon after that San came as well, holding himself deep inside of you, giving you everything, just like you had asked of him before. His nose scrunched up, his hair clinging to his hairline with the exertion of making love to you. He looked every bit the debauched consort and for a moment, you were glad he was yours.

“San, that was..” You didn't even know if there were words to shed light on how you had felt just now.

“The pleasure was all mine, My queen,” San giggled.

You groaned as you realized you had bathed for your night with San but you were even more dirty than you had been before you had entered the bath. “We should call the servants back, we’re going to need another bath drawn.”

“What's wrong, your highness? Can’t endure a little messiness?” San teased, quirking an eyebrow at you.

San could barely contain the glee that was spilling from his lively eyes. “Should I clean you up myself then?”

You laughed under your breath. Considering your origin story, how you became queen in the first place, the irony of that statement was hilarious. But still, you played into the entire theme of the night. “I am a queen, San, and deserve to be treated as such.”

Your mouth went dry as he moved down to your core. Was he really going to undo the good work he did? His tongue played with the skin between your puckered hole, avoiding his cum and your hole. You had a long night ahead of you and you no longer felt like you wanted to avoid it. In fact, you wanted to embrace it head on.

“Clean up the mess you made, Choi San.”

🥀Day Sixteen: Cockwarming🥀Mini Masterlist 🥀Day Eighteen: Size Kink

[lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Wrote smth similar for Idia so of course I had to write this for my absolutely beautiful and astonishing queen (⁠๑⁠♡⁠⌓⁠♡⁠๑⁠)

Vil stood in front of the mirror, scrutinizing his reflection with a critical eye. Every detail had to be perfect, from his perfectly styled hair to the flawless application of his makeup. You stood a few steps away, watching him with a mix of sentiments.

His beauty was undeniable but it was the person behind the perfection that truly captivated you. Yet he didn't realized that.

Vil caught your gaze in the mirror and turned to face you, a slight frown creasing his flawless features. "Is there something on my face?" He asked, his voice carrying a hint of irritation masked with a polite tone.

You shook your head and took a step closer. "No, there's nothing on your face," you said softly. "I just enjoy looking at you."

His cheeks turned a faint shade of pink and he looked away, busying himself with a makeup brush. "Why would you...?" He began, but his voice trailed off as you closed the distance between you.

Gently, you placed your hands on either side of his face, lifting it so his eyes met yours once more. The warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips made your heart race. Slowly, you leaned in, your breath mingling with his.

Before he could react, you pressed your lips to his in a soft, tender kiss, which you tried to convey everything you felt for him and how much loved he was. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Vil's eyes widened in surprise before fluttering shut, his lips responding tentatively to yours. The kiss was sweet, filled with the promise of affection and unspoken feelings.

"I like looking at you because you're beautiful," You whispered, your voice barely audible.

When you finally pulled away, his face was a deep shade of red and he stared at you with a mixture of astonishment and something deeper, a vulnerable softness that he rarely showed to you. His hand came up to touch his lips, as if trying to capture the lingering sensation of your kiss.

"I... I didn't expect..." He stammered, his usual poise faltering. A long exasperated sigh leaving his throat as he looked back at the mirror. For a long moment he looked tired, more tired than it was possible to be. "People always admire me for my looks, but they never truly see me, they can't. I've always struggled with maintaining this perfect image, more now than ever as Neige was cast in a role that I wanted. Maybe I'm only beautiful enough to be a villain."

You could see the insecurity in his eyes, the remnants of the pressure he had carried for so long. You reached out, taking his hands in yours, squeezing them gently.

"Vil, you are so much more than your appearance," You said, your voice firm but gentle. "I've seen the way you care for those around you, how dedicated you are to your craft and how deeply you feel. Your outer beauty is just a part of you. It's your heart and soul that make you truly beautiful."

His eyes softened further and you noticed the lipstick in his hand. With a gentle smile, you reached out and took it from him. "May I?"

His eyes glistened, the words sinking in. He had always been so critical of himself, striving for an impossible standard of perfection and you knew it. But your words, and the sincerity in your eyes, gave him something he hadn't felt in a long time: acceptance.

And you also knew that.

People didn't see him: Vil Schoenheit, an eighteen old boy and a simple but strict dorm leader who have been on the spotlight and under pressure since he was younger, they only saw The Vil Schoenheit, famous actor and model. A talented villain, a vain man who only cares about his beauty.

He nodded, watching you intently as you uncapped the lipstick. Carefully, you tilted his chin up and began to apply it to his lips, your movements slow and deliberate. The rich color spread evenly, enhancing his already stunning features. You took your time, savoring the intimacy of the moment, the way his breath hitched slightly under your touch.

"There," You said, stepping back to admire your work. "Perfect. Just like you."

Vil's fingers brushed against his lips, a small smile tugging at the corners. "Thank you, liebling," He whispered, his voice filled with genuine gratitude.

"If you ever feel under the weather again, don't hesitate to tell me, babe," You continued, a smile playing on your lips. "I can always snatch you up so he can cuddle while I tell all the things I love about it. And I love a lot of things."

His eyes met yours, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of hope and happiness there. His frown was replaced by a graceful smile growing on his lips, he wasn't tired at all now.

He was calm and relaxed, and more than that, he was happy to forget his worries, if only for a moment. You had this effect on him.

[stacys-mom-has-got-it-goin-on]

[malaquitesgallery]

King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne’s children part 7: Princess Daella, lady of the Vale alongside her husband lord Rodrik Arryn.

Daella was small of stature: on her toes she stood five feet and two inches. Everyone who met her judged her younger than she was in truth, as there was a childish aspect to her. Her mother, Queen Alysanne Targaryen, described Daella as "my little flower". As she grew to maidenhood she was described as pretty, enough to attract the attention of young lords, but wasn't singled out as exceptionally beautiful.

Daella was considered sweet, kind, and gentle, with a tender heart. However, she was also a delicate and shy, tongue-tied girl, who was easily frightened and quick to cry. She liked flowers but was afraid of gardens, bees, and cats.

[…] In 82 AC, after a year and a half of marriage, Daella wrote to her mother in her own hand to inform her of her pregnancy, telling her mother that she was frightened and asking her to come. Alysanne flew to her daughter on Silverwing, arriving three months before Daella was due. Alysanne remained with Daella until she gave birth. Daella went into labor a fortnight too early, and had a long and troubled labor. Although her daughter, Aemma Arryn, was healthy, childbed fever began soon after the birth. Her fever only grew worse, and Daella eventually died, at the age of eighteen

[inklore]

there are nawt enough stories and imagines reflecting how much I would let tenoch destroy my throat. just a ridiculously beautiful and charming man, but crumbs on here. crumbs!!!!! I hope for the second week of bp:wk out there are more

shameless

pairing: namor x (f)reader

word count: 548

warnings: eighteen+ content, m receiving oral, mentions and implications of past sexual encounters, deep throating on the beach basically, poetic af, no spoilers but let’s pretend that certain things didn’t happen and this makes sense, a bit of dirty talk, a touch of forbidden relationship, reader is from wakanda.

note: here’s a crumb from a whore who is also scouring every part of the internet for more content of this man!!!

The beach is quiet at night. The calm movements of the waves mingling with the hum of insects in the trees make for a peaceful symphony, that even the most lonesome hearted could feel serenity from.

It’s why you found yourself down here when you couldn’t sleep. Sand between your toes, your weight sinking into it like a welcome abyss. The sounds of the ocean, of nature, bringing a peace of mind to your ever racing thoughts on most nights.

You liked the alone time.

Liked to be left with only you and the water. As if it washed away every mental ailment that stung you that day, that week—month. A refreshing breath of air.

A ritual that morphed itself into something forbidden when he began showing up.

Your alone time turning into something shared with someone you should have turned your back to. Should have made your way back up the sand the first night he appeared out of the water.

Anger. Fear. Anything other than acceptance should have soiled your once peaceful time. Should have kept you from returning every night.

Not being the reason why you kept returning.

That anger and fear never showing up, when he always did.

You wondered if he waited for you. Every night. To see your silhouette darken the shore as he waited just below the surface.

Like a predator waiting for its prey.

You should hate him.

Hating him was easier than whatever these meetings turned into.

Going from something innocent, a way to not be alone, water and oil meeting and trying to learn to be one; to something you should feel ashamed over.

The quiet of the beach now tainted, soiled, with sounds of mouths pressed together, moans, skin on skin.

Just as the anger and fear never showed neither did the shame. You knew if you dug deep enough there might be hatred and guilt aimed at yourself—where it should be aimed at him.

Both unfair when you really thought about it. Unfair for you to feel hatred when its route cause felt so good.

Unfair for you to aim hatred at him when there had been no forcing, no convincing, no manipulation to get you like this. To start this. To continue it.

You had other things to hate him for. But this was not one of them.

Even after that first night when he had left your bottom covered in sand, thighs soaked from your arousal and his mouth; guilt and hatred were washed away with his tongue, like the waves he disappeared in.

That’s why it’s no surprise the only thing you feel right now as tiny stones in the sand dig into your knees, throat feeling raw, jaw aching, deep groans sounding from above you—is pleasure.

The peace of the night ruined by wet sputters.

“What would your queen say if she saw you like this?” Namor’s tone is rough and lust riddled. Hips snapping forward as his fingers dig into the back of your skull, as he keeps your mouth attached to his cock, as he uses your mouth, your tongue—your throat—as nothing more than something to conquer, claim. There’s a smirk on his lips when you look up at him, as drool runs down your chin. “Shameless. Perfect,” he grunts.

[jenflirts]

my lovely, jenna

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 : Jenna Ortega x Fem!Reader

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎 : Angst

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢 : you have been adoring Jenna since you were little

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 : mention of homophobia and Language & also my bad writing

A/N: kings and queens era. listen to the song if you ever want to feel what I felt while writing this lol.

“Jenna, can I tell you something? Promise me you won’t run away or freak out” You said as you sat down under the tree where the two of you often sit just for shade. 

Jenna nodded and sat down beside you looking at you adoringly. 

Jenna and You have been friends since you can remember—the two of you did everything together whether it’s good or bad—it’s been a few months since she turned eighteen and you thought about asking her for a marriage proposal. You never ran this down to your parents nor hers, but you will once you get her consent. 

“Jenna, we’ve known each other since we were kids and I’ve been adoring you since then. I knew what I was feeling is all wrong, I knew that I won’t be accepted for being who I am, but to hell with that—I would go through the depths of hell just to love you freely, I would course through war and have my heart pierced just to make you mine—I love you, every part of you I would be on my knees and worship you just so you could feel how much I appreciate you. I want you to be mine for eternity, I would love to have you by my side and rule this kingdom with me” 

Jenna’s look softened when she looked at your hopeful eyes, all her what if’s and worries for what other thinks faded away. As long she’s with you she knows that everything will be fine. 

“I love you too, I promise you that you only have my heart and no one else can have it” Jenna replied. 

You were content, you have her and no one else can. 

It’s the day that you’ve been waiting for, the day that the both of you are waiting for, it’s Jenna’s and Yours special day. Jenna’s practically trying her best to calm down and not panic, overthinking if she did the right thing, if her dress looks good on her, her saying yes to this marriage, and her being a good queen to this kingdom. She wanted you here, but you can’t see her just yet. A knock interrupted Jenna’s panicking mind and told the person to come in and help her calm down.

Emma saw the girl’s state and went to her and gave a box of tissues and tried to calm her down, but to no avail. Emma thought of giving her the letter that you gave her earlier this morning with a light-weighted box. 

“Y/n told me to give you this, she said read the letter first then open the box” Emma said as she handed Jenna the envelope and the box. 

Jenna hurriedly opened the envelope containing a letter with some tear stains. 

My lovely, Jenna

I hope this letter finds you well, I want to apologize for my inappropriate behavior and not attending your special day. I know you want me to be there and I want to be there too, my love, but I want to be the one waiting for you at the end of the aisle. I want to be the one holding you, I want to be the one appreciating your beauty, I want to be the one sacrificing my life just to save yours and I want to be the one assuring you that I love you every single day. 

My love, I know you’re doubting yourself and every decision you have made, but I’m here to assure you that you did not. You will be an amazing queen to this kingdom and my brother is lucky to have you as his wife. 

I know this is too late to give to you, but once you finish this letter open the box that Emma gave you and read one poem. All of them are about you, my love. If you ever need to let yourself know that you’re appreciated, just read one of my poems because every single one of it is about you. 

Jenna, I just want you to know that this is also my last letter to give to you as I will be joining the knights for the upcoming war. Father instructed me to lead them and as a child that wanted to go to the fields I’m honored to lead them. I promise you that I’ll be back and still love you, and if not, I will be waiting for you and hope that I could love you again like I did before. 

Congratulations on your wedding, my love.

I love you so much. 

Sincerely your loving friend,

Y/N Y/L/N

Jenna was stunned, she dropped the letter at the table and opened the box hurriedly and to her surprise it was full of folded paper—she never knew that it would be full of paper because of it being light-weighted—she picked up one paper and read.

Your eyes, like stars, in the midnight sky, Hold secrets and dreams that make my heart fly. Your smile, a beacon, in the darkest night, Fills my world with warmth and light.

In the curve of your lips, the softness of your gaze, A beauty that leaves me in endless amaze. A secret admiration, I can't help but feel, In your presence, my heart's secrets I conceal.

Though silent, this love in my heart resides, In friendship's embrace, it sweetly abides. For you, my love, are a work of art, A beauty that's etched within my heart.

Jenna knew she fucked up by accepting your brother’s proposal, she knew she hurt you, but she was too blind for it to see, she wanted to let the remarks of her relationship with you to subside that’s why she accepted this. She wanted you, she wanted to be with you for eternity too like the one that you both promised.

[kingorqueenofnarnia]

Narnia Headcanons

Queen Susan the Gentle

Never married, but so renowned was her beauty that she received countless courting offers from kingdoms all over the Mainland and even the archipelagos beyond the Lone Islands. Got sick of it within a year, and stopped going out of Narnia on account of matrimonial alliances after the Rabadash fiasco.

Personally took in Aravis Tarkheena as an apprentice after the battle at Archenland, and a few years down the line, officiated her wedding to Shasta on the couple's request.

The Narnians gave her many epithets. A few of them are thus: Queen Susan the Fierce, Susan the Eagle-Eyed, the Peacemaker Queen, Defender of the People, etc. In Narnia, she was respected for her intelligence and for being a fierce warrior and archer.

Surrounding nations gave her the following titles: Queen Susan the Divine, the Celestial Beauty, the Heavenly Queen, and so forth. Outside, Susan was famous for her beauty and not much else. It chafed, to not be known for her intelligence or strength. She disliked her foreign titles for their shallowness.

She and the others adopted Peter's tradition of adding a braid every time a battle/duel was won. She would also regularly add flowers to her hair, unlike Peter who only let Lucy braid flowers into his hair on special occasions. She chose the flowers carefully depending on their meaning and how it related to each battle. When they fell out of Narnia, Susan had eighteen braids and types of flowers in her hair.

Detested war, and very rarely rode out to battle— only when there was no other way and she was absolutely required on the battlefield would she don armour and command the archers. She was just as good a strategist as her siblings, and won every battle that she led.

War paint was worn both in court and on the battlefield. In court, her war paint was her makeup— rouge cheeks, rosy lips, black kohl, pearls woven into her hair, shimmery dust on her eyelids and cheekbones. On the battlefield, she caked gold dust on her lips, eyelids and cheekbones till she shone like the sun. She was often called the Radiant Archer.

An athletic nerd; the exact opposite of Peter. She adored being outdoors with a bow and a quiver and sword-wielding with her siblings, but she would rather be in the library with her head in the books or in the throne room attending to the problems of the people.

Her favourite subjects were Literature, Governance and Economics. She had a head for Logic, and would often be found debating these subjects with Ed in their free time. She was a logical creature and rarely gave into emotions when making decisions, which made her well suited to settling internal disputes.

Chess with her sister was her favourite passtime. Lucy was an imaginative strategist and playing her was always a herculean challenge, and Susan quite enjoyed spending hours on the other side of the board from Lucy. Playing Peter was a delightful time, of course, but she liked to spend time with Lucy.

[boredmadamoiselle]

She Will Be Loved 

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader; Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Synopsis: Charles learns that if you can't take care of something, someone will for you.

Warnings: Angst. Charles a little toxic. English isn't my first language, it probably contains some mistakes. I tried my best but sorry in advance and if you want to correct or help me, you're welcome.

Author's note: Don't know if I like this or hate it, so let me know what you think. Your feedback is always appreciated and is important for me. If you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to write them and I will take into consideration. 

Beauty queen of only eighteen, she had some trouble with herself He was always there to help her, she always belonged to someone else I drove for miles and miles, and wound up at your door I've had you so many times, but somehow I want more

You had met Lewis a few months ago at the Paris Fashion Week. He was there for the Valentino show as their guest; you, instead, were one of the models chosen to walk the runway. 

You didn’t know he’d be there; you were walking down the catwalk when you saw him sitting in the front row, his eyes staring at you. You continued to walk as if nothing had happened, but it was the first time you saw Lewis since breaking up with Charles, your ex, F1 driver and also Lewis’ colleague. 

Later that day, you had seen him at the after party organized by Valentino. As he walked towards you, part of you wanted to run away. Seeing him brought back so many memories, as it was hard to see Lewis and not to think about Charles. And that was the last thing you wanted, after it had taken you long to forget him and move on with your life. But Lewis wasn’t to blame for what had happened with your ex. You could see that he seemed visibly happy to see you again and you couldn’t deny that you were too. 

You had always liked Lewis, he wasn’t just one of the best drivers in the world but he was also a good person and when you used to go to races, you liked talking to him. Even if he was a 7-time world champion, he had remained a humble and sensitive person, as well as very intelligent. And yeah, he was also extremely handsome. 

You didn’t keep yourself update on Formula 1 anymore, not as you used to do once, but from what you had heard, you knew he wasn’t doing well as in the past and you feel sorry for him. He didn’t deserve it. Despite that, his face lighted up when he saw you and in the end, you stayed. 

Not much in the mood to celebrate, you ended up walking the streets of Paris, chatting and enjoying the beauty that the city had to offer you. Even though he must be curious and have questions about the end of your relationship with Charles, especially when everything seemed to be fine, Lewis didn’t touch the subject even once and you were secretly grateful to him. Later, like the gentleman he was, he had accompanied you to the hotel and greeted you on the cheek. 

The next day you had found a big bouquet of roses in your room sent by Lewis. There was also a note in which he thanked you for the beautiful night and that he hoped to repeat it again and as soon as possible. Deep in your heart you wanted it too.

A few weeks later, while you were getting ready for a photoshoot, you were scrolling your Instagram when some pictures captured your attention. Your eyes filled with tears but you immediately chased them away as you didn’t want to ruin your makeup. You took a better look at the photos. They portrayed your ex with a girl. He was smiling and seemed happy. You, on the other hand, were hurt but angry as well. 

As your heart broke into a thousand pieces, his words played on repeat in your head, which now appeared to be more lies than anything else. Suddenly everything seemed clearer to you. He hadn’t left you because he wanted to focus on his career as he had said. He just didn't love you as much as you did. As much as you still did, you needed to recognize, and those photos proved it. Despite the pain you felt, you ended up putting your best smile for the photographer, showing professionalism and dedication to your job as always. You had worked hard to get where you were and weren't going to let your past ruin it. Fuck him, you thought. I’ll focus on my career too now. 

At the end of the photo shoot, when you were back in the dressing room, a message was waiting for you. You face lit up as you saw it was from Lewis and smiled even more seeing what he had written.

Hey

Are you okay?

After that night you started keeping in touch. Even with different time zones and being almost always on the other side of the world, there was no day you didn't talk or send texts to each other. He had also invited you to go to some races but you had declined. You weren’t still ready for that. And to see him. 

A few months later you had finally met Lewis again. After your success at the Paris Fashion week, you had become very popular in the world of fashion and beyond. Everyone – the most important fashion houses, magazines, and lots of brands – wanted you, including Anna Wintour, who had invited you to the Met Gala. You couldn't wait to go to one of New York's most exclusive events, especially knowing that Lewis would have been there too. 

He originally proposed you went together but you politely declined. Even if you wanted to go out on a date with Lewis, the Met Gala wasn’t the right place and the right time. Everyone would have seen you and talked about you two. You wanted people to talk about you for who you really were and for what you did, not because you were with the 7-time world champion. You didn't want history to repeat itself. 

When you and Charles had broken up, soon after your career had started to take off and many had insulted you for that. They thought you had used the Monegasque only for fame and that when you had gotten what you wanted, you had just left him. If only they knew how wrong they were, you thought. The truth was you didn’t want to leave him, he just didn’t give you choice. 

“There isn't much to say. We simply wanted different things and we both need to focus on our career”, he had said when a journalist had asked him about your break-up.  

Yeah, you wanted to focus on your career and I… wanted to be with you. But apparently, I wasn’t in your plans anymore, you had thought at the time. 

As you walked the red carpet at the same time as Lewis, you could feel his eyes on you while posing for photographers. Given your previous relationship, the others knew that you and Lewis knew each other, so you quickly said hello to each other.  

“You are beautiful tonight”, he whispered in your ear, as you kissed him on the cheek. You smiled at his words. 

Later that night you invited him to your place where, between the covers of your bed, you got to know each other better. 

After that whenever he was off, Lewis was often in the States or joined you wherever your job brought you only to see you. It was good for him, you were good to him. The time he spent with you helped him get distracted and not think about what happened on track. 

Things between you quickly became serious and you could say you were secretly dating. In fact, no one knew about you two and in some ways, it was simpler that way. On the other hand, even if he was patient and willing to wait, Lewis wanted to make things official as soon as possible and tell the whole world the truth. That you were his. And most of all he wanted and needed you by his side during races. You knew that sooner or later that was inevitable. But you were afraid of what people would have thought and said. 

Also, you wanted to talk to your ex before going public with Lewis. You didn't owe him anything, but Lewis was still Charles’ colleague, and you didn't want things between them to get tense because of you. That’s why you were holding your phone and looking at Charles’ number. Again. Shortly after your breakup, you had erased it just as he had erased you from his life but you still remembered it. Like so much else, it was engraved in your mind. 

You kept staring at the phone hoping the call would go off by itself. On one hand, the very idea of hearing him, even just on the phone, terrified you; on the other side, you terribly wanted to hear his voice.

You were having a déjà vu as you have already experienced this situation, months ago when after your breakup you spent most of your time waiting for him to call you or hoping he would. But you never heard from him again. It was also for this reason that you were hesitant to call him. Calling him first would’ve been like admitting defeat. And you didn't want to lose any more. You had already lost too much. 

You ended up never calling him. And soon it’d be no longer necessary.

A few weeks later, in fact, you were entering the paddock at the Grand Prix of Austin. When Lewis had had an accident during the qualifying the day before, you had decided to join him to check on him and cheer him up. You wanted to be there for him as he had been there for you. 

You had originally planned to stay at the hotel watching the race from there, but in the end, seeing how frustrated and demoralized Lewis was, you had decided to go to the Grand Prix. You knew he needed you there. And in fact, when you had told him about your decision, he had instantly become the happiest man alive as that really meant a lot to him. 

Since you still wanted to be discreet, you hadn't arrived with Lewis and hadn’t used the main entrance. As you reached the Mercedes hospitality where Lewis was waiting for you, you hoped no one would recognize you. More than anything, though, you hoped you wouldn't meet Charles. Not yet at least.

Seeing the red building, the Ferrari hospitality, memories crossed your mind. It was strange not to enter it and to be there under those new circumstances; you almost felt like a stranger, an intruder. Yet for a long time that place had been like your home and you had been very happy there. 

You were so deep in your own thoughts that it took a few seconds before you heard a voice calling you. 

“Y/n? Is it really you?”

You froze. The hairs on the back of your neck started to rise, and you feel your cheeks getting warm. Even if your back was turned, you knew who that voice belonged to and as much as you wanted to run away, you turned around to face him. You could see the driver was visibly surprised and confused to see you.

“Ehi, Pierre. It’s good to see you again. How are you?” You forced yourself to smile at the French driver and hugged him. Actually, you had no problem with Pierre and part of you was happy to see him again, the fact was that of all the possible people, with the paddock full of people, it was him you had crossed paths with. Pierre Gasly, F1 driver and one of Charles’ best friends. If you had had any hope of going unnoticed, without Charles knowing you were there, you had lost it entirely now. Meeting him was like meeting Charles since he’d tell him that he had met you. 

“I’m good, are you? But what are you doing here? Wait, are you and Charles…” You didn’t let him finish the sentence. 

“No, we’re not”, you quickly said. After that you didn’t know what to say, so you simply told the truth. Sort of. “I was invited... Mercedes invited me. I’m their guest.” It wasn't entirely a lie but it wasn't the truth either. 

Pretending to look at the clock, you continued. “Actually, I should go as I’m already late. But it was really good to see you, Pierre. Good luck for the race and be careful!”. 

While you entered the Mercedes hospitality as quickly as you could, Pierre looked at you confused. You, on the other hand, breathed a sigh of relief once inside. 

-

“Are you really sure it was her, Pierre?” Charles’ mind was racing as he couldn't believe what his friend just told him. He didn't know whether to hope Pierre was right or not.

“Mate, I know it seems unbelievable but I’m not going crazy or hallucinating. I told you: it was her.”

Charles fell silent and seeing his friend speechless, Pierre continued. “You know when I saw her I got a little offended because for a moment I thought you secretly got back together and didn't tell me anything.”

“It isn’t…", Charles quickly corrected his friend. "...Even if I wish it were.” He didn't want to say it at first, as it was hard for him to admit it but if there was anyone he could talk to about it, that was definitely Pierre. 

Pierre could hear the sadness in Charles’ voice and he knew his friend wasn't the same since you two broke up, despite all his success.  

“Well, then you might have your chance to get her back. Go talk to her”, Pierre suggested.

“I can’t, Pierre. I never even called her or looked for her… And even if I did, maybe she moved on.” Even if he was saying it, Charles hoped it wasn’t true but at that moment, he realized something. “Did you say she entered into the Mercedes hospitality?”, he continued.

Pierre nodded not fully understanding why he was asking, while Charles couldn’t come to terms with what he just thought. 

“Wait, George is with Carmen and Lewis… You don't think the two are together, right?”, Pierre asked as he had finally connected the dots too. 

“I don’t know, Pierre. But it’s strange that she’s here, moreover as a guest of Mercedes, when in all these months she has never come once. Why right now?”

Pierre looked at his friend not knowing well what to say. 

“And then you'll remember Lewis has always had a crush on Y/n… I certainly haven't forgotten the way he looked at her when we were dating”, Charles said while jealousy taking hold of him. 

“Of course, he had, Charles. I too had a crush on her, everyone had. She is stunning, smart and funny. But I don't need to tell you that, you yourself know it very well”, Pierre said. 

Yeah, Charles perfectly knew that. 

“Maybe it’s something related to her job. It wouldn’t be the first time that top models come to see a F1 race and then, you know Lewis is into fashion”, Pierre continued. 

“Yeah, I know. And maybe he is into her too”, Charles said. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was. Pierre’s words played on repeat on his mind. You know Lewis is into fashion, he had said. They could have gotten closer through fashion, Charles thought. Lewis used to attend some fashion show and Charles remembered seeing a photo of you together during a party a few months ago. You were just talking in the picture, nothing more but the sight of you together had been enough at that time to make him jealous. He should have been the one with you, not Lewis. But he was the only one to blame if you weren’t with him. He had sent you away. And for what? He had given up on you to focus on his career and chasing fame, victory and even if he had actually won everything and that had been one of the best year of his entire career, he had lost the most important thing in his life: you. And he couldn’t forgive himself for that. All those awards meant nothing if you weren't there with him. In the end, if he had gotten there where he was, it was also thanks to you. You had loved him and supported him before he became Il Predestinato. 

What if you had actually moved on?, Charles thought. He couldn't bear to think it was true, least of all with Lewis. The very idea was unbearable to him. 

He looked at his clock. There was still time before the race started. Pierre was right, he had to do something, at least he had to try. Even if he had to race later, Charles had a bigger race to run at that moment: he needed to win you back. 

-

You were behind the Mercedes hospitality smoking a cigarette as you waited for Lewis to finish his debrief and join you before the race to spend some time together. As you needed some air, you had decided to go out. 

You were surprised but at the same time disappointed you hadn't seen Charles yet. You didn’t know what you really wanted. Part of you wished to see him and his reaction at the sight of you; on the other hand you were scared that you wouldn't see any reaction from him. It’d mean that he didn’t care about you anymore. And that would have broken your heart. Again and again. 

You were smoking to try to calm yourself and yet all you could do was think about him and distress yourself. It wasn't good for you to be alone, so you decided to go back inside. You threw the cigarette away and turned around. But you froze immediately. 

There he was, your ex-boyfriend standing in front of you and looking at you intensely. You, on the other side, were unable to say or do anything. How long had he been there?, you asked yourself. Why was he there? Was he walking and saw you by chance? Or was he looking for you?

After what it seemed an eternity to you, he broke the silence. “I thought you quit smoking”, he said pointing at the cigarette on the floor. 

Yes, you had. But you can't say no to certain vices for too long. 

“Hello to you too, Charles. And yeah, I did but I still smoke sometimes. Occasionally. For example, when I’m nervous”, you explained saying too much and exposing yourself. Why were you explaining yourself to him? You don’t have to. He is nothing to you, you thought.

He was approaching you, so you took a step back until you were pinned against the wall. “Are you nervous now, Y/n?”, he teased you. He knew what he was doing to you. Just hearing him talking was enough to turn you on. 

“No, I’m not”, you lied. You were just dying inside. 

Charles looked at you better. God, how beautiful you are, he thought. Even if you were wearing just a top, a pair of jeans and sneakers, you were breathtaking. Simple but beautiful, as he always liked you and he couldn't take his eyes off you. 

He smirked noticing the color of you top. “I can see you still wear red”, he said. 

Fuck, you thought. With a closet full of clothes, you made the choice to wear a red top that remembered Ferrari. How did you not think about it? Force of habit, you thought. When you and Charles dated, you always used to wear something red during race weekend as a sign of support towards him. 

On the other side, Charles loved to see you in that color, even now that you weren’t together anymore. It didn't just say who you rooted for but also who you belonged to: his and no one else's. And the fact that you were wearing it when you were probably with Lewis made him smile and turned him on. Maybe there is still hope, Charles thought. 

You shook your head, fully aware of what he really meant. “It’s just a color”, you simply said. But it wasn’t and you knew it. Deep down you were still rooting for him. You always would have. 

You looked away, unable to hold his gaze as his eyes roamed over your body and how they darkened as he took in the details, the tension building up. Charles knew you were lying, he knew you too well. 

Pinned against the wall with his hands to the side of your face, he put a lock of hair behind your ear. 

There were a million things Charles wanted to tell you, to ask you – important things – but in the end jealousy got the better of him. “What are you doing here, Y/n?”, he asked and kindly grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. 

The time had come, you thought. That moment you had been waiting for but at the same time postponing for so many weeks, it was there. Now or never, you thought. You had to tell him about Lewis. 

“I’m here for Lewis”, you whispered. 

So, I was right, Charles thought. You are here for Lewis, there is something between you. But what? Even if he already knew the answer, he had to try, get to the bottom of the matter.

“That’s nice of you. It’s important to be there for friends. Can I be your friend too?” Charles knew he was going too far but he couldn't resist, his eyes studying your face for some kind of clue. Anything that confirmed that you were just friends. 

You rolled your eyes and ignoring his question, you got straight to the point. “Charles, we aren’t friends. I mean, yes, we are but not just that. We are dating, actually.”

A sigh expelled past his lips, his head hanging low so you couldn’t see his eyes. 

Charles’ mind was racing as he couldn’t come to terms with what you just told him. His worst fears had come true. He had lost you. No, it couldn’t be, Charles thought. That couldn’t be the end.  

“Really? With a Mercedes guy, Y/n? That’s not your place”, he said looking back at you. 

You had never seen that look on his face before, it portrayed… Anger? Maybe. Annoyance? Also. But there was something else too. Jealousy. He was jealous. 

Even if his jealousy pleased you because it meant he still felt something for you, you still got angry at his words. Who did he think he was to say that?, you thought. 

“And let’s hear, what would be my place, uhm, Charles? Where?”, you challenged him. 

Seeing that he didn't speak, you repeated the question and started beating him on the chest. “Come on, answer, coward!” You didn’t care if people were hearing you. You had waited too long for this moment. 

He grabbed your wrists, stopping you. Your eyes, filled with tears, peered up at him, waiting for his answer. “With me… Your place is with me, Y/n.” 

Even if you felt a tingling and loving feeling at his words and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want that your place was with him, you couldn’t forget how badly he had treated you. How could you believe him after what he had done to you? How could he look straight in your face and say that? How?, you asked yourself and got even angrier if possible. 

“With you?”, you joked. “After you kicked me out as soon as you had everything you wanted and when you didn't need me anymore? Are you serious, Charles?”, you asked him and sighed. 

He glanced away, unable to look at you as he felt ashamed. He let your wrists and sighed. “I made a mistake, okay? I thought I needed to focus on my career and that to do so I had to leave all distractions aside, but I never…”

“So now I was just a simple distraction, Charles?” You felt your chest tighten as you let out a sob, you couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. “You know, I think I've heard enough. You're not the only one who made a mistake because I too thought you loved me and instead evidently......”

He didn't let you finish as he pushed you against the wall again and pressed his lips on yours. After the initial shock and even if you were angry with him, you didn't even try to resist him and kissed him back. His mouth was warm and soft. The kiss was nothing gentle and light, but intense and his hands were moving to squeeze at your waist, pulling you closer, and you completely melted into him. Even if all those months you had said otherwise, the truth was you had missed him, his touch on you… all that. 

Even though you knew it was wrong towards you, towards Lewis especially, you didn’t stop him, you just enjoyed the moment, the feeling of his lips on yours. It was intoxicating, but it was also the only thing you needed at that moment. 

That kiss was worth a thousand words. It contained everything you hadn’t said, how much you had missed each other and how much you…

“I never stopped loving you, Y/n, and you were never a distraction. Never. I made a mistake putting you aside just as I made a mistake not looking for you when I realized what I had done but I was too ashamed. And then.. I thought I didn't deserve you, that you were better off without me”, he sighed.  “But I loved you, Y/n, and I still do. I know I don’t deserve it but if you feel the same, forgive me and take me back. Please”, he whispered, almost begging you. 

… you loved each other. 

You were speechless and your mind was racing, playing his words on repeat in your head. In all those months you hadn't wanted anything else, so many times you had imagined hearing him say those words and now he was finally saying them. But was it enough for you? After everything?

You were about to speak when you heard Lewis’ voice, scaring you to death. You and Charles quickly walked away from each other. 

“Here you are”, the English driver said referring to you. “Hey, mate”, he said, greeting Charles. 

Although you were scared to face him and were feeling incredibly guilty, you glanced at Lewis, he seemed relaxed but you didn't know how long he'd been there or what he'd heard. For all you knew, he might have heard all of it. You were too caught up in the moment to notice anything. What if he had actually heard it all and was faking it? You hadn’t said anything compromising, but you had kissed Charles back and that was enough to incriminate you. And even though he hadn't seen anything, you and Charles were too close for anyone to think you were just talking. Lewis wasn’t stupid and even if he was faking it, seeing your faces almost touching must have made him suspicious. 

The last thing you wanted was hurting him, after he had treated you so well, showing you love and respect. But maybe it was already too late. 

“Did I interrupt something?”, he asked. 

You could feel the tension building up. 

“No”, you quickly lied. “I went out for a smoke and we meet but he was leaving now.”

Charles looked at you, totally ignoring Lewis. This time it was you who was sending him away but he wasn't going to give up, not this time. That kiss had told him more than you were willing to tell him, at least not yet.

“Oh, that’s good. I imagine you had a few things to tell each other”, Lewis said. 

You wondered if that was a way of saying that he had heard everything or simply an observation knowing what had happened between you and Charles in the past. You were about to tell him that you had told Charles about you and him but the Monegasque driver preceded you. 

“Yeah, we had and by the way, she told me about you two”, he said finally looking at Lewis. 

“Oh, well. This is a little embarrassing… But I hope it’s not a problem for you, for us.” 

“No, it’s not. Just be smarter than me and treat her well”, Charles said surprising you. You looked at him. Was he letting you go? Was he giving up on you again?, you asked yourself.

You knew it was the right thing for you, especially if you wanted to make things work between you and Lewis, but part of you wanted to do nothing more than run into Charles’ arms and tell him to never leave you again. That you were his. Maybe you rushed things too far with Lewis… Maybe it wasn't too late for you and Charles,you thought. 

“Oh, don’t worry. She will be loved”, Lewis exclaimed letting both of you speechless.

But in the end, Charles’ words weren’t enough for you, they couldn’t be. You needed something more and Lewis was willing to give it to you.

I don't mind spending every day Out on your corner in the pouring rain Look for the girl with the broken smile Ask her if she wants to stay a while And she will be loved And she will be loved