#jace is a filter

[citrus-system]

*shoves all our toxic masculinity into a gay alter to filter for us*

[simpfornegan]

asking your uncle to share a cigarette at your family’s boring corporate party…

[agentrouka-blog]

I don’t watch the show because it looks worse than a dumpster fire. What happened or didn’t happen with Jace?

I won’t be surprised given what I’ve read about the odd writing choices regarding Alicole, b&C, and the complete cutting of certain characters and/or copypasting their storylines onto the wrong characters.

Hi there.

Essentially, they cut his entire independent storyline. We see none of the negotiations he successfully handled and his contact with Cregan Stark is reduced to a five minute conversation of revisionist history in an elevator before it's interrupted by the Bad News Raven.

No Pact of Ice and Fire, zero confrontation with his own bastardy through the lens of Sara Snow, no controversial affairs or marital decisions that mirror Rhaenyra's own self-indulgent choices, and the Cregan "Duty is sacrifice" speech rings pretty hollow if it's not given any room to breathe and reflect on events down South instead of the Watch.

So now we get to see him return back to Mama Rhaenyra to grieve prettily with absolutely no conflict.

Zero character development has happened. And now none ever will.

Why am I supposed to care about this guy again? Because he's dramatically lit while handsomely crying with a child actor in his arms? We already knew he cared about his brothers. That's the literal only thing we know about him apart from bad posture and the inability to throw a punch. That's not characterization. That's not a story. That's a flat surface created to be frictionless.

[lurafita]

The Humphrey Bogart curse

Alec gets hit by a curse that makes him narrate his every thought and action like in those old black and white detective movies.

Magnus, entering the institute where the group is waiting for him: "Alright, you all look well enough. So what's the big emergency?"

Alec: "He breezed into the institute like the true force of nature he was. Magnus Bane, high warlock of Brooklyn, possibly the most powerful warlock alive, and the man I loved more than anything. He was as magnificent as ever, and even though it was a most inapproriate time, I couldn’t help but remember the night before, in our bed, when his glorious legs were wrapped tightly around my waist and I-"

Jace: "I'm begging you not to finish that sentence. Please. I already got the endorphins from your side last night through the bond, I don’t need the imagery as well."

Magnus: "Ah, the Humphrey Bogart curse. Been a while since I have last seen it in use. Don’t worry, everyone. I should be able to mix up the cure easily."

Alec: "Magnus was so smart. And pretty. And wonderful. I wanted to kiss him right where he stood. More than that, I wanted to-"

Jace: "Alec, by the Angel, please stop talking!"

[raytyger]

@jacebeleren, what do you think?

[jacehelps]

In the source link you will find #87 gifs of Adrianne Palicki as Vanessa Styles in From Dusk till Dawn: The Series as requested by me. She is currently 40 years of age and was around 31 at time of filming. All gifs were made by me. They are 268px by 151px.

Please don’t put into other gif hunts but feel free to turn into gif icons as long as you tag me/link this post!

Trigger Warnings: hostage, guns, kissing, being handcuffed/arrested

[hyperfixated-on-hensper]

Jace changed his pfp on Twitter and insta to this random man??? Do any of ya'll recognize him??

[angelsmailbox]

ᴀᴏ ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ ɪꜱꜱᴀ ᴠēᴅʀᴏꜱ (you drive me mad)

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jacaerys velaryon x targ!reader ⭑.ᐟ

౨ৎ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 — the prince is busy studying his high valyrian, you help him with his pronunciation.

౨ৎ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — nsfw, p in v smut, cunnilingus, hair pulling, semi-public sex, slight dom!jace, switch!reader, use of nicknames, possesive behavior, established relationship, reader is Daemon's first born daughter.

Prince Jacaerys is immersed in his studies at the Painted Table chamber in Dragonstone, his gaze fixed on the book in front of him. Papers were scattered to one side of the large desk, the room being lit by candles, casting a golden honey glow onto Jace's face.

The moon light filters through a window wide open, the breeze brushing in slightly. "Aegon iksos nykeā mittys" Jace reads under his breath.

"Your pronunciation is wrong" you say teasingly at him standing in the door frame. You make your way over to him and wrap your arms around his neck from the back, kissing the side of his cheek softly.

A smile tugged at the corners of Jace's lips, he leaned into the soothing presence of your embrace. He chuckled softly, putting the book down on the table and twisting his body slightly to make eye contact with you.

"Oh, is it, my love? Care to enlighten me then?" he asks feigning ignorance with a playful shrug. His hand reached up to intertwine with yours, his thumb caressing the back of your hand softly.

You giggle at him grabbing the book behind him and hoping onto the top of the desk in one swift motion. You make yourself comfortable before reading the words in the book. "Aegon iksos nykeā mittys" you read to him, your pronunciation perfect.

Jace couldn't help but be impressed by your flawless pronunciation. He raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on his lips as he looked up at you sitting on the desk. "Impressive," he complimented, his hand resting on your thigh. "Your High Valyrian is impeccable. You've been studying diligently, haven't you?"

You look down at him nodding your head teasingly. "I truly am a scholar" you joke with him moving your hands down to play with the rings around his fingers. "Aegon is and idiot?" you say teasingly referring to the words that were spoken in valyrian, raising an eyebrow at Jacaerys smirking.

A small laugh escaped Jace's lips at your jest, his gaze following your fingers as they toyed with his rings. He shrugged slightly, a sly smile playing on his face. "Aegon is indeed...unique," he replied, choosing his words carefully. "Let's just say he's not exactly known for his intellect." You laugh at this, listening to him intently.

"But what he lacks in wits, he makes up for in...other areas." he raises and eyebrow suggestively. You let out a small laugh, deciding that you want to tease him, you fain innocence. "And what might that be?"

Jace's smile broadened as his hands slid up your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. He tilted his head, his voice lowering to a playful murmur. "Oh, you know," he said, leaning in closer to you. "He excels in other...physical pursuits." His expression turned more suggestive, the implication clear in his tone and touch.

Enjoying the rise you are creating from him, you continue your act of being oblivous. You reach down for his hand on your thigh. "Is that so?" you breathe cocking your head to the side slightly. "And what do you know of these physical pursuits, my prince" you say teasingly hoping the title would have some effect on him.

The way he was looking at you with deep brown eyes filled with lust. He's barley touched you and you already need him badly. Jacaerys chuckled lowly, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your thigh. Your breath hitches in your throat. You keep your gaze fixed on him, hypnotized.

"More than you might think, my love," he replied, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper. His free hand reached up to graze your hip, pulling you closer to him. "I'm well aware of Ageon's...physical exploits." He smirked, his eyes locking with yours, a mixture of playful mischief and desire in his gaze.

"Really," you breathe, "enlighten me then" you say smirking down at him. He pulls you closer to the edge of the table by your legs and your hands instinctively cup around his face looking at him with a burning gaze, waiting for his next move.

Jacaerys grins at your words. He then gently starts pushing your legs apart for him slowly, moving closer. His hands move to your thighs again, pushing up your dress. His fingers trace delicate patterns on your skin that has you worked up. He leans in closer to you, his voice a soft, seductive murmur.

With his lips almost touching yours, he asks, "Enlighten you, hmm?" He smiles and gestures to the room you were in, asking, "Should I enlighten you right here?" Even though it wasn't your chambers, you were still somewhat alone. And at this moment, you couldn't even be bothered to consider that someone might hear you. He approaches you with his hands inching closer, but he stops just short of grazing you.

"Careful Jacaerys," you whisper breathlessly, a false warning to make him do whatever he pleases, as long as he touches you. You place your hands onto his arms gripping softly onto him. Jace grins, his arms wrapping around your waist as he holds onto your back. He leans up to press a soft kiss againts your neck, his lips tracing a path along your skin. Your breath hitches in your throat, arching yourself towards him.

His hands move over your body, his touch gentle yet possessive. "Careful, hmm?" he whispers against your ear, his voice dripping with desire. "Don't worry, my love. I promise to be gentle...and very thorough."

You whimper against his touch, moving your face to kiss the side of his jaw. You lull your head back again breathing deeply in frustration. As you lean your head back, Jace takes the opportunity to plant a trails of kisses on your neck, his mouth working gently over your skin. Dropping to his knees in front of you, he looks up at you with a sly smile, his hands massaging your thighs.

"Jace," you whimper leaning back on your hands spreading your legs a little further apart. You look at him with half lidded eyes filled with desire for him. "More please," you breathe out sultry closing your eyes for a second.

"Oh, I've just started my love, patience." he murmurs his voice filled with a mix of desire and promise. His hands slide up your legs, his thumbs rubbing slow, tantalizing circles over your skin. You whine loudly at his words tangling your fingers into his soft curls. You push your legs further apart, "Jace..."

Jacaerys lets out a soft groan at the sound of his name leaving your lips and at the feel of your fingers in his hair. He looks up at you again, his eyes dark with lust, you could loose yourself completely in them. "My love," he whispers, his voice low and husky. His rough hands move to your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh as he looks up at you. "You're so eager...I like that."

You huff out a breathy laugh trying to calm yourself. "You're the one in between my legs" you say back to him. Jacaerys chuckles at your retort, his hands sliding down your thighs gripping them tighter. Your breath hitches once again at the contact, you can't ever get enough of him. You can feel your wetness starting to pool between your legs.

He looks up at you with a cheeky grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief and desire. "That I am," he replies. his voice dripping with passion. "Can you blame me for being so? I've got my face in between the legs of the most beautiful woman in Westeros...how could I resist?"

Your heart leaps into your throat at his words. Your pulse quickened and you swear your skin felt like it was on fire. "Jace," you whine again, bucking your hips up slightly searching for some sort of friction. "Please touch me." Jacaerys lets out a low growl at your plea, his hands gripping your thighs even tighter, sure to leave bruises later, but you couldn't care.

"Don't worry my love," he assures you, his voice low, hand rubbing up and down your thigh slowly. "I'll take care of you. In due time." You let out a groan of frustration. "Please Jace, don't tease my love," you say lulling your head back.

Jace can't help but grin as he watches you plead for him, your fingers tugging at his hair . He lets out a soft groan at the sight of you, his eyes moving all over your dress, trying to map out your curves. He couldn't help but tease you, it drove him wild. Seeing you tinted a shade of red, breathing heavily, half lidded eyes, and most importantly; the beautiful sounds you make.

"Tease you, my love?" he asks, his hands moving between your thighs spreading them further as he moves closer to you. He leans his head on your right thigh looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. "Oh, you know me too well. But I promise," he says, his voice low and husky trailing kisses closer to where you needed him. "it'll be worth the wait."

You whine at his words, shivering under his touch, his kisses soft and warm. Jace smiles against your thigh, his lips moving closer to your cunt. He can feel the tremor that runs through your body, and it only serves to stroke the fire burning inside him. "Shhh, my darling Y/N," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin.

You try to compose yourself hearing your name slip off his tongue so sweetly. "Patience, I won't keep you waiting for much longer." Your heart clenches at the softness of his words. Jace then moves to push your dress up, bunching it around your hips, your pussy on full display before him.

He lets out a low groan lulling his head back slightly. He moves his hand down trailing a finger along your folds, gathering your slick. You breathe shakily at his touch, your eyes on his movements, never wavering. He brings his finger to his mouth and sucks on his finger. He groans at your taste. His hand runs up your leg again, he leans back admiring you.

"Gods, look at you. My beautiful girl, all wet and eager for me," he moves back in again going to plant a kiss right on your cunt. You throw your head back in a low moan as his nose nudges your throbbing bud. "Fuck, I can't get enough of you," he swipes his tongue over your slit.

A loud gasp and moan escapes your mouth into the quite room. Your hands move to his hair again, pulling on them slightly. "Jacaerys." He shivers at the sound of his name leaving your lips, his tongue starting to explore your folds slowly, teasingly. Your legs start to shiver. He moves his hands over the top of your thighs and holds you down so that you can sit still.

"You taste divine my love," he whispers against you, his lips wrapping around your clit sucking lightly. "Shit," you groan out, "Jace please...need more." Your mind is a fog, your words coming out as a babble. He wastes no time giving into what you want, his composure and need to tease you falling away as he hears your sweet voice. His body is boiling with desire, making it his purpose to have you come on his tongue.

Your hands grip onto the edge of the tale, desperate to keep some of your composure. When he'd lock his eyes with you, you could feel the coil in your stomach tightening with each suck and lick. "Feels so good Jace, please don't stop."

He moves to kiss your thighs again to catch his breathe. "I could stay here, my face buried in your cunt, and die the happiest man." he says, his voice breathy and barley above a whisper. His gaze flicking all over your frame and face. He moves back in, his movements vigorous.

You're a moaning mess under his touch, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. 'If anyone could hear you now', you think your face turning bright red, arousal growing at the thought of being caught in such a position. As Jace continues to eat you out like a starved man, he palms himself trying to relieve some of the tension in his pants.

He feels you clench around his tongue, you're close, he always knowns when you're close. He pulls away for a brief moment, "I need you to come on my tongue." You barley have time to respond as he dives back in lapping at you with such skill. You shake and moan, the room feeling impossibly hot.

It doesn't take long after his words before your coming with a high pitched moan squeezing your legs around his head. He holds your legs apart to ride you through your orgasm. You whimper at the overstimulation, panting. You move your hand down to pull on his hair after his sucks don't relent.

He looks beautiful when your eyes lock. Pupils blown out wide, your juices all over his chin and lips. He has a cheeky flushed out grin on his face. "Quite impressive," you breathe out shakily. Jacaerys chuckles lowly at your cheeky grin, a hint of pride and satisfaction in his expression. "Impressive, you say?" he replies, arching an eyebrow at you playfully, standing up to be face to face with you.

His lips capture yours in a deep kiss, trying to pour all the love he has for you into the kiss. You moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue, already feeling wet for him again. His tongue meets yours, fighting for dominance. He cups your face, deepening the kiss, his breathing ragged with desire. The kiss is messy and clumsy.

You feel his erection poking at your thigh as he presses his body closer to yours. Your hand trails down to palm him with a gentle yet firm touch. Jace groans pushing his face into your neck trailing sloppy kisses along your burning skin. He reaches down to stop your hands movements. "If you keep touching me like that I won't last," he whispers sultry in your ear. You tilt your head a little to place a sweet kiss on his cheek.

"Have me then," you say barley above a whisper. Your hands move to wrap around his neck, your legs finding home around his hips. "ᴀᴏ ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ ɪꜱꜱᴀ ᴠēᴅʀᴏꜱ," he exhales, tapping your hip in a command. "Up," he says.

You get up off the desk waiting for his next words, his hands roam over your body as he kisses your neck and jaw softly. He grips you firm by the hips and spins you around, bending you over the desk slowly. He bunches your dress up again. He groans loudly at the sight of you before him.

"Jace," you gasp not being able to think because of his actions, you wait in anticipation. He looks down at your frame hypnotized. His grip at your hips possessive. "Look at you," he whispers lowly his hands trailing up behind your thighs. His touch ends shivers running through your body. "My pretty girl, all of this just for me?" He traces his hand over your arse, gripping at the flesh.

"Just for you Jace," you moan, your voice coming out desperate. "Gods, my sweet girl. Your so beautiful." He leans down to place a kiss below your ear, pressing his clothed cock against your dripping folds. He pulls back and his hand lands on your arse with a slap. The stinging has you moaning and it immediately turns into pleasure. "All mine," he breathes softly.

In one swift motion he removes his pants. He runs his cock over your folds, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp as the sight of your slick on his tip. "Are you ready Y/N/N?" he asks you gently, the nickname makes you overworked with desire for him. You nod your head vigorously, pleas falling from your mouth for him.

He then starts line himself up with your entrance, he slips in easily, bottoming out in you. He lets out a low groan at the feeling of your walls wrapping around him. "Gods," he swallows, adams apple bobbing. He wastes no time in moving himself out of you and slamming his hips back into you. Pleasure consumes you in a rush, your mouth hung open in loud moans and choked screams.

The sound of skin slapping against skin and wet noise fill the room, the smell of sex hung in the air thickly. Jacaerys throws his head back moaning loudly, his movements in a fast rhythm hitting spots inside you that make you see stars. "Fuck, you're perfect...taking me so well," his voice a whine behind you. You clench around him and he slumps forward withering in pleasure.

Jace;s hands move to your hair, wrapping his hand around it and pulling you back to whisper in your ear. You grip at the desk your knuckles white. "I love you so much," he whispers against your skin kissing you softly. You can't think straight, not with him moving inside you so delicously.

He let's go of your hair and his hand moves down your back, holding you to pound in faster and deeper within you. "Gonna fill you up, put a child in you," he chokes on a moan at the thought of having a family with you, his heart pounds against his chest. "Everyone will know who you belong to, how does that sound my love?"

"Yes, gods. please Jace, wanna give you a baby," you bite down on your lip, the knot in your stomach tightening again. "Fuck, there's my girl." He slams into you, your body bouncing on the desk. Jace can't hold on any longer, the feeling of you clenching around him makes his mouth water. "Need you to come with me," he breathes heavily as his hand moves down to play with your sensitive clit.

You scream at the shock of pleasure, your legs shaking. The knot in your stomach snaps and you come on Jace's cock clenching around him. The pleasure is blinding, the aftershock making you see stars. Jace stops his movements as he feels you come around him, he spills into you with a loud moan, hissing. "That's my good girl, that's my good fucking girl." He tries to catch his breathing.

He pulls out of you and you whine at the emptiness. He turns you around to face him, his expression fucked out. You're grateful he's holding you up with how your legs are shaking.

"And how is my knowledge on these physical pursuits?" he asks smirking at you. You chuckle at his words clicking your tongue. You lean your forehead against his, he closes his eyes as his skin touches yours. "Mm very good, I was wondering if you could show me more?"

[novaursa]

The Wolf's Flame

- Summary: When you take your son flying, Cregan keeps fires warm for your return.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is only daughter of Rhaenyra, has silver hair and violet eyes and is bonded to a dragon. These events happen after Fires That Never Freeze. To read all parts in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @daeryna @21-princess

Your fingers gently trace the downy softness of Alysane's silver hair, a mirror of your own. Her tiny eyelids flutter as she breathes steadily against your chest, her warmth a comfort in the quiet of the nursery. The light filtering through the windows casts a soft glow, making the strands of her hair shimmer like moonlight on water. She stirs slightly, letting out a small, contented sigh, and you can't help but smile, though it is tinged with sorrow.

You can still vividly recall the first time Jace held your son, Killian. He had been so careful, so reverent, as if the boy was made of the finest glass. 

"He's got your spirit," Jacaerys had said, cradling Killian in his arms with a grin that could have brightened the darkest day. "And a bit of Cregan's stubbornness too, I reckon. He's going to be a strong one."

You remember how his brown eyes had softened, his usual warrior's stoicism giving way to a tenderness that was rare to see in him. You had laughed then, a light, joyful sound that echoed in the stone halls, lifting the spirits of those around you. 

But now, that memory is a dagger to your heart. Jace is gone, another brother taken by the cruel hands of war and treachery. The Battle of the Gullet claimed him, like it claimed so many others, leaving behind only a hollow ache where once there had been warmth and love.

Your grip on Alysane tightens ever so slightly, as if you can protect her from the world that has already taken so much from you. She shifts in her sleep, her tiny fists clenching, and you wonder what kind of life she will have in this world that seems so determined to tear your family apart.

The door creaks open softly, and you glance up to see Cregan standing in the doorway, his gaze heavy with unspoken thoughts. His presence is a comfort, a solid anchor in the storm of your emotions. He steps into the room, his boots barely making a sound on the cold stone floor.

"She's beautiful," he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion as he comes to stand beside you. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder, a warm, steadying presence. "Just like her mother."

You smile faintly at his words, but it's a fragile thing, easily broken. "She reminds me of Jace," you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "The way he looked at Killian… it was as if he could see all the good in the world reflected in him."

Cregan's jaw tightens, and he nods, his eyes darkening with shared grief. "Jacaerys was a good man," he says after a moment, his voice low and filled with respect. "He would have been proud to see how you're raising our children, Y/N. Proud of the mother you've become."

His words are a balm, easing the sting of your loss, even if only slightly. You lean into him, resting your head against his chest, drawing strength from his steady heartbeat. "I just wish he were here to see them grow," you admit, your voice thick with unshed tears. "To see the family we’re building…"

Cregan wraps his arms around you, careful not to disturb Alysane, who remains peacefully asleep in your arms. "We'll make sure they know who he was," he promises, his voice strong and resolute. "We'll tell them stories of their uncle Jace, of his courage, his kindness. He won't be forgotten."

You nod, a tear finally slipping free, tracing a path down your cheek. "I just miss him so much," you confess, the words breaking like waves against the shore.

"I know," Cregan whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

For a long moment, the two of you stand there in the quiet of the nursery, holding each other close, sharing the weight of your grief. Alysane stirs again, and you look down at her, at the peaceful innocence on her tiny face. She is a beacon of hope, a reminder that even in the darkest times, life continues, new stories begin.

As you gaze at your daughter, you feel a small spark of determination flicker within you. You will protect her, protect Killian, and ensure they grow up knowing the love and legacy of those who came before them.

"I'll make sure they know," you whisper, more to yourself than to anyone else. "I'll make sure they remember him."

Cregan nods, his grip on you tightening just slightly, a silent promise that he will stand by you, no matter what. Together, you will keep Jace's memory alive, woven into the very fabric of your children's lives, a legacy of love and courage that even death cannot erase.

The chill of the northern wind bites at your cheeks as you stand in the courtyard of Winterfell, the ancient stones of the castle walls towering around you. The sky above is a pale, wintry blue, the kind that stretches on endlessly, promising the first snows of the season. Thraxata, your beloved dragon, is a dark silhouette against the sky, her massive form casting a shadow over the courtyard as she awaits you with the patient stillness of a creature who knows her place in the world.

Cregan stands nearby, holding Killian in his arms. Your son's violet eyes are wide with excitement, his small hands clutching at the fur-lined collar of his father's cloak. His breath comes in quick, excited puffs, visible in the cold air, as he watches you secure the last of the straps on Thraxata's saddle. 

"Is Mama ready?" Killian asks, his voice high with anticipation, his gaze flicking between you and the towering dragon. 

"Almost, little wolf," Cregan replies, his deep voice softened with affection. He adjusts his hold on Killian, allowing the boy to lean forward slightly, getting a better view of the magnificent creature before him.

You finish tightening the final strap and turn to face them, your heart swelling with love at the sight of your son’s eager face. "She's ready," you confirm, walking over to them with a smile that feels more natural now, more present. The cold air feels invigorating, as does the promise of the flight ahead.

Killian wiggles in Cregan’s arms, his excitement barely contained. "Can we fly now, Mama? Please?"

You chuckle at his enthusiasm and reach out to take him from Cregan, who hands him over with a tender smile. "Of course, we can, little one," you say, holding Killian close for a moment before lifting him up to press a quick kiss to his forehead. "But you must hold on tight, alright? Just like we practiced."

Killian nods eagerly, his little hands gripping your cloak as you turn to face Cregan. Your husband’s grey eyes are filled with warmth, the kind that always makes you feel grounded, no matter how high you fly. He steps closer, wrapping an arm around your waist as he bends down to press a kiss to your lips, a slow, lingering gesture that speaks of love and longing. 

"Fly safe," he murmurs against your lips, his breath warm in the cold air. "And bring him back to me in one piece."

You smile against his mouth, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. "Always," you promise, your voice soft but filled with the certainty that comes from years of shared battles and shared love. "We'll be back before the sun sets."

With a final kiss, you turn back to Thraxata, your heart thudding with a mix of excitement and the familiar rush of anticipation that always accompanies a flight. You cradle Killian with one arm as you approach the great beast, who lowers her massive head in greeting, her violet eyes shimmering with intelligence and recognition. 

“Hello girl,” you whisper, your free hand brushing against her polished obsidian scales, which glimmer faintly with hues of violet and blue in the sunlight. Thraxata rumbles in response, a sound that vibrates through the ground beneath your feet, as if she’s sharing in the excitement of the day.

With practiced ease, you swing yourself up onto the saddle, positioning Killian in front of you. His small hands reach out instinctively to grasp the pommel, and you secure him with a careful, reassuring grip. He giggles with delight as he feels the warmth of Thraxata’s body beneath him, the thrill of the impending flight already bubbling over.

“Ready?” you ask, your voice a blend of both motherly concern and the thrill of the adventure ahead.

“Ready!” Killian exclaims, his voice filled with a joy so pure it sends a spark of warmth through you, despite the cold.

With one last glance at Cregan, who watches you with that same steady look, you give Thraxata the command to take flight. The dragon responds immediately, her powerful wings unfurling with a sound like thunder. She launches into the air, her great body rising smoothly from the ground as the wind rushes past you, carrying the scent of pine and snow.

The world below falls away quickly as Thraxata soars upward, the chill of the wind tugging at your hair and cloak, but the cold is nothing compared to the exhilaration of the sky opening up before you. Killian’s laughter rings out, a bright, joyous sound that echoes across the open sky. He turns his head back to you, eyes wide with pure wonder. “Mama, we’re flying! Look, we’re really flying!”

You tighten your grip on him, feeling the steady thrum of Thraxata’s heart beneath you, the power of her wings carrying you higher, above the walls of Winterfell and the endless expanse of the North. “Yes, we are,” you say, your voice filled with the same awe you see reflected in your son’s eyes. “Just like I did with my mother when I was your age.”

The dragon’s flight is smooth, a testament to the bond you’ve shared since her hatching in your cradle. She’s been with you through every trial, every loss, and every victory. Now, she carries your son just as faithfully, as if she understands that he is a part of you, a continuation of your legacy.

As Winterfell grows smaller beneath you, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. Up here, with the sky stretching out infinitely above and the world below far removed, it’s easy to forget the weight of your grief, the loss of Jace, the uncertainty of the future. Up here, there is only the sound of the wind, the warmth of your son in your arms, and the steady, powerful beat of Thraxata’s wings.

You glance down at Killian, whose eyes are now glued to the horizon, a look of pure wonder on his face. “What do you see, little one?” you ask, curious to hear his thoughts.

“Everything, Mama,” he breathes, his voice filled with awe. “I can see everything.”

You smile, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple. “Then let’s see where the wind takes us, my brave little dragon rider.”

As Thraxata glides effortlessly through the sky, you let yourself enjoy the moment, the rare freedom it offers, the bond between mother and child, between rider and dragon. And for a time, as the cold wind whips past and the world falls away beneath you, you are simply Y/N Velaryon, a daughter of House Targaryen, a mother, a wife, and a rider of dragons. The rest of the world can wait until your feet are back on solid ground.

Cregan Stark watches as Thraxata’s obsidian-black form rises higher into the sky, the great dragon’s wings beating with a rhythm that reverberates in his chest. He stands in the courtyard of Winterfell, eyes locked on the shrinking figures of his wife and son as they ascend into the endless blue, until they become little more than a speck against the pale sky. The wind whips through the courtyard, carrying with it the scent of pine and the distant promise of snow, but Cregan remains still, his gaze unwavering as long as they are visible.

There’s a sense of awe and pride that fills him every time he watches Y/N with her dragon. Even after years of seeing her soar above the battlements, it never fails to stir something deep within him. She is a true daughter of the Targaryen line, a force of nature bound to the skies, and it amazes him that she is his—his wife, the mother of his children.

As Thraxata and his family disappear from sight, he finally lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, a mix of contentment and longing. He knows she’ll be back before long, but there’s always that small pang of separation, as if part of him takes flight with her every time she ascends into the heavens.

With a final glance at the now empty sky, Cregan turns and heads back toward the Great Keep. The stone walls of Winterfell rise imposingly around him, offering a stark contrast to the boundless sky from which he has just watched his wife and son disappear. The weight of his responsibilities returns to him with each step, grounding him in the reality of the world below.

As he enters the Great Hall, the warmth of the hearth fires greets him, a welcome change from the crisp air outside. The hall is quiet this time of day, the usual bustle of Winterfell subdued, with most of the household attending to their duties. He makes his way down the familiar corridors, his boots echoing softly on the stone floors, until he reaches the chamber where his daughter, Alysane, is being tended to.

The door is slightly ajar, and as he steps inside, he is greeted by the sight of a nursemaid cradling the infant in her arms. Alysane is awake, her bright violet eyes—so much like her mother’s—tracking the nursemaid’s movements with the curious intensity only a baby can muster. The soft, cooing lullaby being sung to her halts as the nursemaid notices Cregan’s entrance.

“Lord Stark,” she says with a respectful dip of her head, adjusting her hold on the child. “The little lady has been a delight today, though I daresay she misses her mother already.”

Cregan crosses the room in a few long strides, his gaze softening as he looks down at his daughter. “She’ll have her back soon enough,” he replies, his voice a low rumble of reassurance. “Let me hold her.”

The nursemaid carefully transfers Alysane into his arms, and Cregan feels the familiar, grounding weight of his daughter settle against his chest. She’s so small, so delicate, and yet she has a strength in her grip that makes him smile every time she reaches out to grasp his fingers. Alysane’s eyes, so much like Y/N’s, meet his, and he can’t help the rush of love that fills him.

“Have you been good for the nursemaid, little one?” he asks, his tone lighter, more playful as he gently rocks her. Alysane coos in response, her tiny fists waving in the air as if to say, Yes, Papa, I’ve been very good.

“She’s taken to her feeding well, my lord,” the nursemaid informs him, a smile tugging at her lips as she watches the interaction. “And she seems to enjoy the warmth of the fire. Perhaps she takes after her mother in that regard.”

Cregan chuckles softly, nodding. “She has the blood of the dragon in her, no doubt. But she’s a Stark, too. She’ll grow to love these cold winds, just as we do.”

He spends a few more moments with his daughter, savoring the simple joy of holding her, of feeling her small heartbeat against his chest. It’s a different kind of peace than what he feels when he’s with Y/N, but no less profound. Alysane is a part of them both, a perfect blend of fire and ice, and he treasures these quiet moments with her.

After a while, he gently hands Alysane back to the nursemaid, who resumes her gentle rocking and humming. “Thank you,” he says, his voice warm with gratitude. “Keep her close to the fire. The day will grow colder before it ends.”

The nursemaid nods. “As you wish, my lord.”

Cregan leaves the chamber, his thoughts now turning to the evening ahead. The wind outside has picked up, and he knows Y/N and Killian will appreciate a warm welcome when they return. He heads toward the Great Hall once more, this time with purpose in his stride. The fires need to be tended, more wood brought in, and the hearths stoked to a roaring blaze. Winterfell might be a cold, unforgiving place at times, but it was also a home—a sanctuary for his family—and he would see to it that they returned to warmth and comfort.

As he reaches the Great Hall, he calls out to a nearby servant, a young man quick on his feet. “We’ll need more wood for the hearths,” Cregan instructs, his tone commanding but not unkind. “Bring in what you can carry and see to it that the fires are stoked high.”

The servant nods eagerly, hurrying off to fulfill the request. Cregan moves to the main hearth himself, where the fire is already burning but not nearly to the level he desires. He takes up a heavy iron poker and stirs the embers, watching as the flames leap higher, their glow reflecting off the stone walls. 

As the fire roars to life, filling the hall with a warm, golden light, he steps back, satisfied with his work. The crackling of the flames, the scent of burning wood, and the comforting heat are all reminders of why he fights, why he endures. It’s for these moments—for the quiet, peaceful evenings after the storms have passed, when his family is safe and together under one roof.

He can almost hear Killian’s excited laughter already, the way his little boy’s voice fills the hall with joy whenever they return from a flight. He imagines Y/N’s smile, the way it lights up her entire face, and how her silver hair catches the firelight as she steps inside, Killian in tow, both of them flushed from the cold and the exhilaration of the sky.

The servant returns with an armful of wood, and Cregan helps him stack it near the hearth. The warmth is already spreading through the hall, driving away the chill that had begun to settle as the day waned. He can feel the sense of home building around him, the very thing he’s fought to protect, to preserve for those he loves most.

With the fires now blazing, he takes a moment to himself, standing in the center of the hall and letting the warmth seep into his bones. It’s a simple pleasure, but one he doesn’t take for granted. The flickering light of the flames plays across his face, casting shadows that dance along the stone walls. 

He glances toward the door, knowing it will soon swing open, admitting his wife and son back into the safety and warmth of Winterfell. He’s ready to greet them, to hear about their flight, to listen to Killian’s breathless recounting of the view from above and to feel the reassurance of Y/N’s presence beside him.

As he waits, the fire crackling at his back, Cregan Stark feels a deep sense of contentment. There’s a storm coming, as there always is in the North, but for now, his world is warm, his heart full, and his family is safe. And that is all he could ever ask for.

The warmth of the fire mingles with the lingering heat of your bodies, still flush from the passion that had just consumed you both. You lie nestled in the soft, thick furs of your bed, the heavy pelts providing a cocoon of warmth against the biting cold that lurks just beyond the walls of Winterfell.

Cregan's strong arm is draped around you, his hand tracing lazy, soothing patterns on your bare back. Your head rests on his broad chest, rising and falling with each steady breath he takes. The intimacy of the moment is profound, the kind of peace that only comes after such intensity, when every barrier has been stripped away, leaving only raw, unfiltered affection in its wake.

His fingers slide through your silver hair, untangling the strands that had become tousled during your lovemaking, and you feel a contented sigh escape your lips. The connection between you is tangible, a bond forged not only in love but in shared trials, in the promises whispered in the dark and the strength you find in one another.

"Sometimes," you begin softly, your voice barely more than a murmur in the quiet of the room, "sometimes I wish I could be down there, in the thick of it, fighting alongside my mother. Facing the Greens with fire and blood, like we were meant to."

Cregan’s hand stills on your back for a moment before he resumes his gentle caresses. He knows how deeply the conflict weighs on you, how much you struggle with the separation from your mother and the battles you were born to fight. "You’re a warrior at heart, Y/N," he says, his voice low and full of understanding. "It’s in your blood, in your very soul. But you’re here now, and there’s strength in that too—in being the heart of this family, in raising our children with the knowledge of who they are and where they come from."

You nod against his chest, taking comfort in his words. It’s not easy to be away from the fight, to know that your family is out there, risking their lives while you remain here, safe in the North. But Cregan is right—there is strength in what you’re doing here, in the life you’ve built together, in the legacy you’re creating.

"I know," you whisper, tilting your head to press a soft kiss to his chest, right above his heart. "I know. But I’m grateful, Cregan. For this, for you, for everything we’ve found here in Winterfell. It’s more than I ever imagined for myself."

He shifts slightly, turning so that he can look down at you, his grey eyes dark and intense as they meet yours. There’s a tenderness there, a love so deep it nearly takes your breath away. "You’ve brought light to this place, Y/N," he says, his voice filled with conviction. "You’ve made it a home, not just for me, but for everyone within these walls. You are the heart of Winterfell now, just as much as you were born both of Dragonstone and Driftmark. And I will always be grateful for that, for you."

You smile up at him, a warmth blooming in your chest that has nothing to do with the fire. "And I, for you, my love," you reply softly, lifting your hand to trace the strong line of his jaw, feeling the roughness of his beard beneath your fingers. "I never thought I could find such peace, such happiness, in a place so far from the warmth of the South. But here with you, it feels like I’ve found something even better. Something that feels like home."

He leans down to capture your lips in a slow, lingering kiss, one that speaks of love and promises, of the future you’ll face together. When he pulls back, his gaze is serious, his expression thoughtful. "Winter will come soon," he says, his voice taking on a more somber tone. "The snow will fall heavier, and the North will sleep beneath its blanket of white. But when the spring sun melts the snow, when the rivers flow again and the ice recedes, the North will rise. And we will march south, to deliver the justice that has long been owed. Just as I promised you, Y/N. The time will come."

You see the resolve in his eyes, the fire of his conviction, and it stirs something within you—a spark of hope, of purpose. You’ve always known that the North was a place of endurance, of long winters and even longer memories. But with Cregan by your side, you also know it is a place of honor, of loyalty, and of promises kept.

"And I will be ready," you say, your voice firm with determination. "We will be ready. For whatever comes."

He nods, the tension in his expression easing as he presses another kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if to seal the promise between you. "But for now," he murmurs against your skin, "we have this. These moments, this peace. And we will hold on to it for as long as we can."

You close your eyes, letting his warmth and the steady beat of his heart lull you into a state of calm. The world outside can wait for now—the battles, the struggles, the uncertainties of the future. Here, wrapped in Cregan’s arms, you find solace, a reprieve from the weight of the world, and the strength to face whatever comes next.

As you drift off to sleep, cocooned in the warmth of the furs and the security of Cregan’s embrace, you feel a deep sense of contentment settle over you. The future may hold its challenges, but in this moment, all is well. You are together, and that is all that matters.

[misswynters]

Pretty in Pink

Jacaerys Velaryon x wife! reader

[WARNING: dark romance, yandere behavior, misspellings

[tags: soft jace, father jace, rude behavior

[a/n: bringing back dark!jace, just thought of this for no reason (if you would like to be tagged for all of the jace content let me know! <3)

The morning sun filtered through the thick curtains of the chamber, casting a soft, golden light over the room. You stirred from your sleep, the warmth of the bed and the comforting presence of Jacaerys beside you making it difficult to fully wake. As your eyes fluttered open, you were greeted by the soft sound of giggles, the kind that could only belong to your daughter.

Jacaerys was sitting up in bed, his wild curls tousled from sleep, but his eyes were bright and alert. He was completely captivated by the tiny figure perched on his lap. Your daughter, with her dark, curly hair and bright, mischievous eyes, was the very image of her father. She was clothed in a tiny pink gown that matched the one you had worn the night before, the soft fabric clinging to her chubby little frame as she clapped her hands, clearly delighted with whatever game Jacaerys was playing with her.

“Good morning, sweet girl,” you murmured, your voice still thick with sleep as you propped yourself up on one elbow to watch them. Jacaerys looked over at you with a smile that melted your heart, his eyes filled with a tenderness that was reserved only for you and your daughter.

“She woke up early,” he explained softly, his large hands carefully supporting her as she wobbled on his lap. “I thought I’d let you sleep a little longer.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with love for the man who had become everything to you. “Thank you, Jace,” you said, leaning over to press a soft kiss to his lips. He returned it gently before focusing back on your daughter, who was now babbling happily to herself, her little fists clutching the fabric of Jacaerys’ tunic.

“And how’s my little princess this morning?” you cooed, reaching out to brush a stray curl from her forehead. She looked up at you with those big brown eyes that never failed to make your heart skip a beat, her tiny face lighting up as she recognized you.

“Pretty in pink, just like her mother,” Jacaerys said with a soft chuckle, lifting her slightly so that she was at your eye level. “Isn’t that right, my love?”

Your daughter gurgled in response, a string of incomprehensible baby talk that had both of you laughing softly. You could see the adoration in Jacaerys’ eyes as he looked at her, the way his entire world seemed to revolve around this tiny little being. And it wasn’t just the soft moments like this—no, Jacaerys would go to the ends of the earth for his daughter.

He gave her everything she asked for, every whim indulged, every desire met. Whether it was a new toy, a special treat, or simply more time with her father, Jacaerys made sure that she had it. The maids and servants had taken to calling her the little princess of Dragonstone, a title that Jacaerys encouraged with every passing day.

But there was another side to his love, one that was fierce and unyielding. If anyone dared to ignore her, if anyone so much as thought to mistreat her, Jacaerys would ensure that they understood the consequences of their actions. He had a way of speaking to people, a certain tone that could send chills down the spine of even the bravest knights. There had been more than one occasion where a careless servant had found themselves the subject of a very special talk with the Lord of Dragonstone, emerging pale and shaken, but utterly devoted to ensuring that the little princess was never neglected again.

“Jace, you spoil her,” you teased lightly, though there was no real admonishment in your voice. You couldn’t blame him—who could resist those big eyes and that bright, innocent smile?

“She deserves to be spoiled,” he said, his voice firm, but there was a softness in his gaze as he looked at you. “She’s our daughter. She should have everything the world has to offer.”

“And what if she asks for the moon?” you teased, reaching out to take her from his arms. She settled into your embrace with a contented sigh, her tiny hand wrapping around your finger.

“Then I’ll find a way to give it to her,” he replied without missing a beat, his eyes sparkling with determination. You laughed softly, shaking your head at his response. There was no doubt in your mind that he meant it, that if your daughter ever wanted something as impossible as the moon, Jacaerys would move heaven and earth to make it happen.

“Do you think you could start with something a bit more manageable, like breakfast?” you asked with a playful smile, shifting your daughter in your arms as you sat up fully in bed.

“Of course,” Jacaerys said, rising from the bed with a fluid grace that always left you a little breathless. “I’ll have something brought up for all of us.”

As he moved to the door, your daughter watched him intently, her little face scrunching up as she realized he was leaving. She let out a small whimper, her tiny hands reaching out for him, and you felt your heart clench at the sound.

Jacaerys paused immediately, turning back to her with a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, little one. I’m not going far,” he reassured her, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

She seemed to understand, her expression calming as he straightened up and left the room. You watched him go, your heart swelling with love for the man who had become not just your husband, but the father of your child—the man who would do anything to make sure she was happy, safe, and loved.

As you rocked your daughter gently in your arms, humming a soft tune to her, you couldn’t help but reflect on how much your life had changed since Jacaerys had come into it. He had been the heir to Driftmark, the strong, determined prince who had always seemed so sure of himself, so confident in his place in the world. But beneath that exterior had been a man who needed someone to lean on, someone who could share the burdens that came with his birthright.

And now, as a father, he had found a new purpose, a new strength. The fierce love he felt for his daughter was something that took your breath away, something that made you fall even more deeply in love with him every day.

When Jacaerys returned, it was with a tray laden with food—fresh fruit, warm bread, and a selection of pastries that had your daughter squirming in excitement. “I think someone’s ready for breakfast,” he said with a smile as he set the tray down on the bed.

You laughed softly, setting your daughter down on the bed between you as you began to serve the food. She reached out eagerly, her chubby hands grabbing at the fruit with a delighted giggle, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“She has your appetite,” you teased, glancing over at Jacaerys as you handed him a piece of bread.

“She has everything of mine,” he replied with a soft chuckle, though there was a hint of pride in his voice. “But she’s her mother’s daughter too. She has your strength, your fire.”

“And your stubbornness,” you added with a grin, earning a playful glare from Jacaerys. But there was no denying it—your daughter was a perfect blend of both of you, with all the best qualities of each.

As you ate together, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment settle over you. There were no dragons to worry about, no battles to fight, no courtly intrigues to navigate—just the three of you, here in this quiet, sunlit chamber, sharing a simple meal and the kind of love that made all the struggles worth it.

When breakfast was over, Jacaerys took your daughter in his arms, lifting her high into the air as she squealed in delight. “You’re getting too big for this, little one,” he teased, though the smile on his face said that he didn’t mind in the least.

“She’ll never be too big for her father,” you said softly, watching them with a fond smile. “Not as long as you’re around.”

Jacaerys looked over at you, his eyes filled with a warmth that made your heart skip a beat. “I’ll always be around,” he promised, his voice low and serious. “For both of you. No matter what.”

You nodded, your chest tight with emotion as you rose from the bed, moving to stand beside him. “And we’ll always be here for you,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek as your daughter babbled happily between you.

In that moment, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, no matter what trials the future might bring, you would face them together—as a family. And with Jacaerys by your side, there was nothing you couldn’t overcome.

As the morning light filled the room, casting a warm glow over the three of you, you felt a deep sense of peace settle over you. You were home, with the two people you loved most in the world, and nothing else mattered.

“Pretty in pink,” Jacaerys murmured, his eyes drifting to the gown you still wore, and then to your daughter, who was now tugging at his hair with a mischievous grin.

“Hmm,” you agreed with a soft smile, your heart full to bursting as you looked at your little family. “And perfect just the way we are.

The warmth of the morning slowly faded as the day wore on. The sun had just begun to dip below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the stone walls of Dragonstone. You and Jacaerys were in the courtyard, watching as Elaena toddled around, her tiny feet pattering against the cobblestones. She wore another pink gown, this one slightly darker, embroidered with tiny golden dragons that glimmered in the fading light.

Elaena had always loved the color pink, a hue that seemed to reflect her joyful spirit and the innocence of her childhood. Her closet was filled with gowns, cloaks, and tiny slippers in various shades of pink, each more luxurious than the last. You often marveled at how your little girl had softened Jacaerys, bringing out a side of him that was fiercely protective yet endlessly tender.

She was playing near one of the serving women, a new addition to the staff who hadn’t yet grown accustomed to the importance of her tiny charge. Elaena’s curiosity had drawn her toward the vibrant flowers that lined the edge of the courtyard, her little fingers reaching out to touch the soft petals.

You watched from a distance, smiling as you saw the wonder in her eyes. But your smile faltered when you heard the sharp, dismissive tone of the handmaiden, who was standing too close to your daughter.

“Go on, girl. You’ll ruin them with your sticky fingers,” the woman snapped, her tone harsher than necessary. There was no kindness in her words, only irritation.

Your heart clenched, and you were about to step forward, but Jacaerys was already moving. His expression had darkened, the playful warmth in his eyes replaced by a cold, steely resolve. The air around him seemed to crackle with a silent fury, a reminder of the dragon blood that flowed through his veins.

The woman, sensing his approach, straightened up, a look of confusion crossing her face as she realized who she had just scolded. Elaena looked up at her father, her lower lip trembling as if she might cry, but Jacaerys was there in an instant, scooping her up into his arms.

“No one speaks to my daughter that way,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. The courtyard grew deathly quiet as his words hung in the air, the tension palpable. “Do you understand?”

The serving woman paled, her eyes wide with fear as she stammered out an apology, her earlier haughtiness gone in an instant. “I-I didn’t realize… my lord, I’m so sorry…”

Jacaerys held her gaze for a moment longer, his grip on Elaena tightening protectively. His voice dropped even lower, laced with a venomous edge. “You’ve made a grave mistake, and I don’t tolerate mistakes when it comes to my daughter.”

The woman’s knees buckled slightly, and she looked as if she might collapse under the weight of his words. “Please, my lord, I meant no harm…”

But Jacaerys was unmoved. He turned his attention to one of the guards stationed nearby, his expression cold and commanding. “Take her to the dungeons. I’ll decide her fate later.”

The handmaiden gasped, her eyes filling with tears as she realized the severity of her situation. She tried to plead with him, her voice trembling with desperation. “My lord, have mercy—”

“Enough,” Jacaerys interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. “You showed no mercy to my daughter. Now, you will learn the price of your cruelty.”

The guard stepped forward, grabbing the woman by the arm and dragging her away as she continued to plead for forgiveness. But her words fell on deaf ears. Jacaerys was already turning away, his attention back on Elaena, who had buried her face in his shoulder, her small body trembling slightly.

You followed, your heart pounding in your chest, and when you caught up to him, he was already at the entrance of the keep. “Jace, what are you going to do?” you asked quietly, glancing back at the courtyard where the woman had disappeared from sight, her fate now in his hands.

“She will not remain in my household,” he said simply, his voice cold as he shifted Elaena in his arms. “She’ll be lucky if I don’t have her thrown off the cliffs into the sea.”

The finality of his words sent a shiver down your spine, but you understood the protectiveness that surged within him. “She’s safe now,” you said softly, reaching out to brush a stray tear from Elaena’s cheek. “You’ve taken care of it.”

Jacaerys softened as he looked down at his daughter, who was now snuggling into his chest, her earlier distress forgotten. “I’ll always take care of her,” he murmured, his voice filled with a fierce love. “No one will ever hurt her. Not while I’m around.”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you wrapped your arms around the two of them, feeling the warmth and strength of your family. Elaena let out a contented sigh, her tiny fingers clutching at Jacaerys’ tunic as she drifted off to sleep.

As the evening shadows lengthened, the three of you remained in that embrace, bound together by a love that was unbreakable, a love that would protect Elaena from any harm that might come her way.

Jacaerys might have been the heir to the throne, but in that moment, he was simply a father—a father who would move mountains, who would face down dragons, to keep his daughter safe. And as you held them close, you knew that no matter what, you will always have strong and unyielding little family.

taglist: @benjicotblckwood @thornsandtulips @spn-obession @beebeechaos @malfoycassimalfoy

banner: @cafekitsune

[queers-gambit]

The Black Dread part one

prompt: after word is sent for Dragonseeds to raise up, you shockingly claim The Black Dread. knowing your stance would all but determine the war, both Alicent and Rhaenyra send emissaries to persuade your allegiance through means of marriage. when tragedy strikes, you fly to war. -> in this part - you claim Balerion and emissaries are sent.

pairing: Jacaerys 'Jace' Velaryon x female!Tyrell!reader pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader -> hair color specified reader -> technically Targaryen!reader -> ALL characters aged 18+

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

series masterlist: The Black Dread > > > next part, part two: read here

word count: 4.9k+

note: ALL characters are aged up - they are NOT minors

warnings: hair color specified reader but it's paramount to the story. Dance of the Dragons AU, Balerion lives AU - kinda heavy introduction. political manipulation, i guess no Baela, Rhaena or Alys romantic interests, ALL characters are aged 18 or older, Muses aren't in this part much, stolen Olenna Tyrell quote(s), Dylan Thomas quote.

though Balerion is not shown in the shows [HOTD or GOT], these are some of author's personal favorite fan art pieces: this this one, but maybe this color

Considering the climate, environment, elements, and location of each region with no true diverse distinction or transition between seasons, summers varied in each corner of the Seven Kingdoms. Notably, the mainland experienced vastly different summers in comparison to the constantly humid Westerosi islands.

This was expected.

Where the weather endured in King’s Landing is dry and stale - lacking cloud coverage, baking all forms of life under the unforgiving sun - Dorne was ideal: temperate, tropical, the temperature usually consistently comfortable.

Northwest of the continent, off the Westerlands coast in water of Ironman's Bay so dark, secrets remain hidden, summers on the ratified Iron Islands were cold due to the winds blowing from the North. The rocky region wet and slippery from rain; never humid, usually biting.

The Reach boasted pleasant summers; lush and green with fully bloomed gardens, perfectly balmy. The Stormlands lived up to its name and was plagued with frequent storms. These were usually warm rains - opposite the Iron Islands. The Crownland's annually hosted hordes of tourists at their ever popular summer attraction: temperate beaches. And why wouldn't they? The Crownlands's usually kept moderate temperatures and plenty of vast coastline to offer reprieve in the surf.

However, the only exception to sweltering, stereotypical climate that ransacks the Realm is the North - an expansive outlier. You see, in the North, summers are cold but winters are REALLY cold. From Bear Island to White Harbor, the dreary, overcast summer sky reflects on year-round, bright, pristine summer snow, making it glitter and blindingly glow. This results in the curation of a blue-grey filter naturally exclusive in the North.

However, tonight - You weren't ankle-deep in North summer snows. You weren't wheezing in King's Landing. You weren't vacationing in Dorne. You weren't sloshing through the Stormlands.

Tonight, you weren't on the mainland.

Tonight, you were on Dragonstone - ancestral home of your distant, estranged family.

Bullfrogs belted their croaky song, loud and incessant; as if trying to individually greet each twinkling star in the inky sky - the ever faithful audience; intrigued by this reckless and dangerous suicidal showdown you embarked on. Crickets chirped in a soprano choir; dotting around the maze of tide pools - cratered by the same porous, jagged, volcanic rock that defines the unpredictable, natural coastline. Frothing alto waves of dark navy, violent, salty sea brutally crashed against rock - the booming baseline of the frog's and cricket's private duet sang in perfect harmony.

All that was missing was a little red crab with a Jamaican accent encouraging you "kiss the girl".

Night had fallen. The winds were cold as a storm rumbled overhead. Rain fell sideways. Lightning streaked the skies.

You navigated through the dark - a slippery, dangerous feat.

Few windows of the castle gave a subtle, dim light; indicating the residents were more than likely turned in for the night. Still, despite the lack of patrolling guards and other witnesses, you remained in stealth mode. Only fools allowed themselves to feel cocky when their guards go down. When someone allowed their defenses to go down, mistakes are made, capture is imminent, the mission is a failure, and surrender to the enemy's mercy is forced.

Your presence on Dragonstone wasn't for romance - no girls (or boys) for you to kiss. This wasn't a social visit to recreationally mingle with the Velaryon Prince or Targaryen Princess Twins. You're not conducting research curriculum - no time to study flora, fauna, volcanic activity.

To the winged terrors, Dragonstone Island is a recognizable safe haven that promotes healing - the one place these miraculous beasts could relax, ease their defenses; be vulnerable with lowered guards. This sense of safety gives freedom away from the confines of Dragon Riders - simply allowed to be true, authentic, and animalistic.

Currently, a couple dragons sought refuge on the island, nesting, minding their own business; others sought rest, retirement, peaceful isolation. Several took advantage of the heat and loitered around the volcano, the Dragonmont.

They weren't just any dragons, some were rogue, wild; some released after captivity; all unclaimed, riderless. This tempted several persons to rely on arrogant luck and try their hand at harnessing the terrible beasties - but they never returned.

Summer days stretched long, giving limited time to move under the cover of darkness, and the nights progressively shortened each day leading up to the solstice. Your journey was miraculous, having never navigated open water before yet somehow arriving at Dragonstone after setting sail from King's Landing by yourself. Perhaps you had a hidden talent, a subconscious sailor mentality; maybe you were just lucky, or maybe your boiling emotions made you defiantly determined - running on pure spite to stay alive, unharmed, and without capsizing in an effort to complete your mission.

Most of the time, you relied more on logic than emotion, something that helped keep you balanced, grateful, rational. Leading with logic arguably "made" someone intelligent; solution oriented, stubborn, hardheaded, unwilling to compromise (a common foundation when leading with emotion).

Yet logic made you very black and white - no grey area. Logic is cut and dry. Logic is sometimes sophisticated. Logic is also stubborn. Logic abandoned empathy. Logic could be explained. Logic identified applicable reasonings and explanations. Logic is hard to argue against. Logic sustained battles of wit. Logic is sometimes discriminatory. Logic always tells the truth. Logic has limited loopholes.

Logic is fact driven, and when paired with your own rooted moral and religious beliefs, made you subconsciously judgmental.

There's a well-known proverb, quote, "it's not the destination, but the journey." Yet some philosophers think the destination is mundane, anticlimactic, boring, sometimes disappointing and unfulfilling while the journey is much more fulfilling. The journey is what's worth; an adventure, where development inflates, where a story worth telling lies.

Logic is the destination. Leading with emotion is the journey.

Leading with emotion develops thoughtful decisions. Emotions sharpen empathetic abilities. Emotions sometimes changes perspectives, broadens horizons. Emotions allow for differences in opinions. Emotions curates safety. Emotions heightens generosity. Emotions expands willingness to help. Emotions softens situations with compassion. Emotions often strides towards peace. Emotions structures harmony. Emotions accepts all. Emotions could be overwhelming. Emotions don't always have one, single, clear victor.

Leading with emotion makes you easily reactive, being why you made a conscious effort to engage logic; keeping yourself in check.

You often never lost your cool; always having a handle on things, but sometimes, it was a challenge. Emotions demand to be felt, and no matter how hard you train yourself and practice relying on logic, you were still human.

Both leading with logic and emotion made you passionate, sometimes synonymous with stubborn. Either way, you ended up here - on Dragonstone - slinking around in the dead of night as if a criminal on the run, trying to avoid the Rogue Prince's nefarious, outlandishly violent City Watch.

You were dedicated to the truth, hence your willingness to embark on this suicide mission. You know it's out there, becoming desperate to find it; never settling, fed the fuck up of mindless gossip the court whispered and hissed about. Enduring years of scrutiny and unfiltered rudeness made you confident, wanting, and energized to justify your claims, prove self-worth, assign relief, terminate turmoil, tension, and assumption.

Yeah, yeah, yeah - but what truth are you dedicated to? Your family's lineage and heritage, your birthrights, your position in society. Your contributing livelihood. They only thought you a young lady boasting the Tyrell surname - a broodmare to sell off. After Queen Rhaenyra proclaimed herself, you became incessant to prove you were so much more than a pretty fragile rose to be set in a vase.

Truth became your Eighth God; being a dedicated, loyal, trusting, worshipping follower. And the truth was, you're a Targaryen as much as a Tyrell, and by all means, had as much of a right to claim a dragon as any of the rest of them.

You refuse to take detours, cut corners, violate, or cheat to obtain your goal(s); arriving at your desired end result with integrity, completing your mission by barreling through obstacles with laser focus - like a predator stalking prey.

Boots slapped and clicked on wet rock, splashing in puddles, splattering mud up your legs to soak into your breeches. Heavy humidity - thick and muggy air - coated lungs and stuck in nostrils, being suffocatingly stuffy; breathing becoming difficult. You could physically feel the condensation in the air - hair adopting a mind of its own; beaded, clammy skin becoming uncomfortably sticky, palms slick with sweat. You missed the dry heat of the capital.

Dark hood of your cloak hid your vibrant hair; the material swishing, swirling airy fog low to the ground around your creeping form, creating an ominous energy. You half expected a ghost to appear at your flank.

The clanking of the night patrol's armor was heard first, alerting you to a diminishing window; sliding into the mouth of one of the dragon caves in time for the White Cloaks to stalk around the castle's perimeter walkway.

Even with thick rock cocooning your form, the rumbling of the nested dragon's slumber was heard; loose pebbles, dust and other debris showered from the cave ceiling. Despite the heat of the Dragonmont, you heard the slow echo of dripping water.

Your choice to come to Dragonstone, was it a logical decision? Or driven by emotions - fed up with the rumors, sneers, disrespect, critical judgement from everyone in King's Landing? ...yes.

Navigating a dragon lair was dangerous, but navigating a dragon lair with ZERO experience was an anticipated disaster. Surely, you must've lost your mind because no mentally stable person would dare step foot in this cave - let alone scale the depths in search of an ancient beast that could (and possibly wound) treat your charred body as a BBQ appetizer. With a gasp, you slipped on the rocks, hissing when the heels of your palms took the brunt end of impact and slit open; tiny pebbles sticking to your open flesh. You whimpered gently, jagged rocks digging into your knees as you cleared your hands and slowly found your feet.

Even with knowledge of your heritage, you hadn't grown around the scaly Targaryen counterparts like any and every other legitimate offspring. You were long divided from that side of your family, missing out on fascinating Valyrian traditional customs. It made you a slightly bitter.

No dragon egg in your crib. No hours-long practice in the Dragon Pit. No reptilian anatomy studies. No personalized leather saddle embellished with a three-headed dragon. No claim to ancestral privilege or birthright. No unique morality, nor holier than thou complex. No generational beast to inherit.

Skin free from the lingering, invasive, embedded stench of dragon hide.

You used to think learning Ancient Valyrian was a redundant waste of time, education, and resources. You were raised in the ancestral keep in the Reach's capital, Highgarden, under your father, Lord Tyrell, and his beloved wife - the Vanished Princess - which made this secret sleuthing harder to rationalize or explain, given no Targaryen ever lived in Highgarden. Never before were dragons hosted in The Reach, and therefor, a Dragon Pit was never erected.

So, you know how when you're a kid and see something at the store that you really want but your parent says no because you already have too much shit? They might've made their point by saying something, like, "Where do you think you're gonna put all that?"

Well, Highgarden is the toy box and you intend on bringing home one of those enormous stuffed animals won at a carnival / festival.

If anyone knew of this plan, they might've sent you to the medical institute the Citadel in Oldtown operates; involuntarily commit you to the structured research program that studies different mental and physical medical phenomenons.

Truth was, this wasn't even your idea. Your grandmother, who definitely either spent time in one of the Citadel's cells or should, encouraged you. Perhaps that should've been a red flag, but it was too late now, her words echoing in your mind ―

Be a dragon.

The gardens you walked through were in fragrant, full bloom; providing a sweet air to combat the foul words you admitted with your arm looped in your grandmother's. You paced evenly through the overgrown foliage, the bees buzzing to drown your words.

"Perhaps, something is wrong with me," you sulked, "because surely, it cannot be this difficult to find a match. It seems I need to lower my standards, I could not attract a decent man if I were covered in honey and he were a fly."

"Perhaps try covering yourself in shit, then," she advised with a knowing smirk.

"Grandmother."

"Well, it's curious, isn't it?" Celia asked.

"What is?"

"All your life, you've always been more Targaryen than Tyrell; fierce, loyal, impulsive, strong, enduring. Yet now, you return nothing more than a rose wilted from King's Landing's stench, moping about failed relations. Have you ever considered that simple men are incapable of supporting the love and marriage of a dragon?"

"Half blooded does not make me a dragon."

"No, but the spirit, wit, intelligence, spunk, ferocity, cunningness, and determination you display proves it." She paused your stroll, secluded canopy shroud by foliage to provide a moment of privacy.

"Not all would think so," you let your eyes roll.

"Who do you speak of?"

"Those who think I am lying about my own Targaryen parentage, citing the color of my hair as evidence. You would think I'm one of the Queen's sons, the way they whisper."

"Do not listen to busy mouths, sweet child, hair cannot be a sole indication of parentage. I know it's easy to cite, but not all descendants of Valyria have silver locks, and should anyone have anything to say, know they are merely bitter and jealous for your hair is the perfect blend of Tyrell auburn and Targaryen silver. A color that is hard to ignore."

"Yet it's not enough to prove myself to them, Grandmother."

Now Celia sounded determined but angry, "You are every bit Tyrell as you are Targaryen. While you might not appear to their biased eye, there's never been denial that you are made in your mother's fire. Pure blooded or not, you're a dragon, my sweet petal."

"So?"

"Oh, for the love of the Gods - so, be a dragon! Dragons do not fret because men don't blink twice at them, they eat those men! Don't beg for approval; maintain your dignity, instill a new opinion, demand respect! Prove your strength, skill, and capabilities - everything the courts would deliberately overlook. Prove everyone wrong, offer contribution to this war, become a valuable asset who would be foolish to send away. Establish your seat at the table and never let anyone talk down on you again," your grandmother snarled with passion. "There's more than one way to prove you have the blood of the dragon."

"Such as? What would you have me do?"

"I hear rumor there remains a host of unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone. The Queen's son and heir, Prince Jacaerys, has called for dragonseeds to try their hand - they need more dragonriders for their war. Claiming your birthright might be the fastest, easiest way to earn the Realm's approval; doubling as undisputed evidence of who you are."

"What a terrifying thought."

"But what a statement it would make," Celia's lips pulled in a smirk, wrinkles deeper, more prominent on sun-soaked, wrinkled skin. "Tyrells might be flowery, we might sigil a rose - but we are resilient and refuse to wilt; even in the heat of dragon fire. The Realm thinks Tyrells are only pretty faces; pretty flowers meant to be seen and never heard, whose sole purpose is to be left on display. Preconceived as uselessly inexperienced during wartimes; criminally green, pure, innocent - judgement that makes them shockingly unprepared for how deep our thorns prick." Both of Celia's hands grabbed yours, squeezing, advising, "Do not go quietly, my petal, make those who doubted you be haunted by their foolish choice to challenge the wrong woman. Let them seep in humiliation and regret their judgement. Allow your successful conquest to be the biggest 'fuck you' to prejudice, the final nail in any coffin of doubt. Toss your wilted rose of fear aside, petal, embrace the fire that burns in your veins; you are Lady Y/N Tyrell of Highgarden, daughter of The Forgotten Princess, and you will not go gentle into that good night. You will be a dragon."

You were ensuring passage by morning light, intent to deliver yourself to Dragonstone.

Parts of the cave glittered with unharvested gems; a lost collection of rarities nobody dared pursue out of fear of the ancient, terrible Valyrian beasties that dwell in those caves. The walls sweat from combined dragon and volcanic heat, tunnels jagged and uneven; zero holes, cracks, or slits the sun could leak through (if it were up); everything terribly dark. At least there was a scattered pile of preprepared torches to light the way. A permanent odor of limestone and fractioned corpses assaulted your sinuses, dried puddles of blood seeped into rock, the scurrying critters who used dragons as hosts echoed with a twinkling charm - the least menacing reminder that you were not alone.

Claimed dragon chambers varied in size; pitstops along the winding pathways that ended at the largest chamber - a dead end. While other chambers were large enough for sometimes several dragons, this final stop could only be described as a jarring, stomach churning, hauntingly pitched ebony abyss of incalculable depth that played tricks on the mind. An abyss. It was like you were staring Death in the face and anxiety was dredged forth from white hot fear.

With a flickering torch alight in a trembling hand, you slowly stalked down the chiseled causeway that ended several lengths into the expansive, bleak nothingness. Pitch black shadows danced; the air felt electric, seemingly vibrating - alive and judgmental.

The glaring cavern besmirched your family name, hauntingly reminding that your disinheritance resulted in your late dragon bloom. The ebony airy sea identifies and heightens fearful insecurity about your estranged family's rejection, their lack of interest and care for your side of the family stinging; their rejection of familial relationships. The darkness predicted your failure, inability, and humiliation.

The cavern challenged your confidence and determination, your staked ownership and proclaimed lineage; labeling your bravery, beliefs and ambition as arrogant. It sneered about your stupidity, weakness, fear, and anxiety; belittled applied effort and desired goals; questioned your true desires and needs; tested your loyalty.

The cavern rejects any and all attempts before you could even try; unraveling your logic, shunning your emotions; proclaims reactive decisions as immature and lacking control, crowning you as dangerously naïve.

The cavern mocked your desperately pathetic need for station and acceptance; revoking and nullifying public (and private) ladyship, dubbing you unladylike - which, in itself, was insulting to your womanhood. Why do men get all the exciting adventure, but when a woman tries, she's crucified for being irresponsible? Smooth ebony waves reflected your maddening, constant effort and want for acknowledged contributions.

To the naked eye, the cavern appeared uninhabited, assuming the habitat was abandoned. The silence was eery; air buzzing with alarm, deceiving humans that attempted to see through the waves of darkness.

To a "true" Targaryen, this was just a sheet of camouflage the fire breathers wield for their privacy.

No wonder the Red Sowing was so... Bloody and devastating.

A growl was heard, something gravely and deep, intimidating and impressive. You frozen, eyes wide as if it would give you night vision, torch flickering, hands starting to shake. Then you saw prominent movement, lungs stalling and heart hammering. Slowly, a large, scaly, stained snout emerged at a sail's pace.

The more the beast stepped into your sight, your mind could only scream one thing - was coming face to face with a dragon logical or emotional? Because whether logical or emotional, this was a dumb fucking idea there was no turning back from.

So, you steeled yourself in position, dewy sweat lining your forehead to soak your hairline.

112 years After Conquest, dragons flew to war at the behest of the Targaryen family over Rhaenyra and her half-brother's claim to Aegon the Conqueror's Iron Throne. Sister-wife, Queen Visenya, rode Vhagar - said to have been the smallest dragon with bronze hide, yet, as rumor had it, still large enough that a horse could ride down her gullet. Sister-wife, Queen Rhaenys, rode Meraxes - who was larger; big enough to swallow horses whole with silver scales and golden eyes.

Then, The Conqueror, King Aegon Targaryen I, rode Balerion - the fiercest and largest, who’s wingspan could shadow entire towns, swords-long teeth assisting his ability to swallow mammoths whole, and who’s scales, wings, and fire were pitch black. Balerion was called the Black Dread and was so powerful, he could melt steel, stone, and fuse sand into glass. He never lost a battle - against human or dragon.

Balerion was also the dragon responsible for the Burning of Harrenhal, largest castle in Westeros.

In the year 2 BC, Aegon began his Conquest and engaged King Harren Hoare the Black in his keep, Harrenhal, who refused the Conqueror and was met with Balerion’s flames. In fire so hot, it melts stone like candles, the entire House Hoare was extinguished when Harren and his sons perished in the largest tower - later named Kingspyre Tower - though it’s said they haunt the Wailing Tower.

Since then, of Aegon's Three Dragons, only Meraxes boasted a single rider, but to be fair, in 10 AC, during the First Dornish War, allegedly, both Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes met their demise. Vhagar knew Prince Baelon Targaryen, Lady Laena Velaryon, and Prince Aemond as riders. Balerion knew Maegor the Cruel, Princess Aerea, and King Viserys, who, in the year 94, retired The Black Dread - thinking the beast was nearing his end. The dragon outlived every single rider.

In the year 129, Viserys died and The Black Dread stared you in the eye; curating a vibrating rumble deep within his chest that made the darkness dance. It'd been decades since anyone dared face this terrible beastie, thinking he wasn't long for this world; the pair of you curious about the other, no moves made yet.

There was no backing down, there was no turning away. This is what you wanted, for Aegon the Conqueror's mount to see you as you are - worthy of your of blood. You refused to be told you did not deserve your lineage, the Targaryen name, you would not endure disrespect any longer! You would earn your place in this Godsforsaken family, earn station in this Godsforsaken world, or die trying...

That night, Balerion took to the skies again, doing several laps in the air, soaring over King's Landing to let the residents of the Realm know - he flew again.

Your father's family hailed from The Reach, specifically Highgarden; colorful, temperate, lush, bountiful, and abundant. Your family oversaw 75% of the country's sole wheat, barley, grain, and corn production, even germinating the country's most grand gardens - which decorated a rather generous estate.

Despite the vast, open lands, there had never been need for a dragonpit before, so, when you landed your mount, he was left exposed on the outskirts of the Keep. Considering he was the largest thing, you know, ever, Balerion seemed content out there - so, you didn't worry.

It was strange, however, to see anyone without white hair on dragonback. Even stranger to the Realm to learn of your accomplishment; adding fuel to several fires.

The Green King Aegon asked lazily, a hand waving in the air, "Who?"

His mother, Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower, reminded, "She is of Targaryen seed on her mother's side, but was raised under the Tyrells. She sits to inherit all of The Reach, she will be Lady of Highgarden - "

"Until," Grand Maester Orwyle interjected softly, "her young brother, the Young Lord Tyrell, comes of age."

Aegon waved their words off, complaining, "Yes, yes, but why do we caaaaare about some red headed bitch?"

See, where the Targaryens had trademark white locks, the Lannisters had golden strands. The Starks had deep umber brunette color hair, and while both the Tully's and Tyrell's erred more on the reddish side, the Tully's had darker overtones, like an auburn, and the Tyrell's had lighter, coppery-amber waves. North of the Wall, they say "kissed by fire".

"Because Lady Tyrell has laid successful claim to The Black Dread! To Balerion!" Alicent snapped, quickly adding the snarky punctuation, "Your Grace."

"Well, we have Vhagar - "

"With respect, Your Grace, Balerion could give a singular chomp to any living dragon as Vhagar did Arrax and it would prove fatal," Otto Hightower, the King's grandfather and Hand, quickly stepped in to save his daughter from losing her temper.

"Well, she doesn't even speak High Valyrian," Aegon scoffed, rolling his eyes; lip curled, slouched in his chair.

"Neither do you," Aemond quipped in his Father's Tongue.

Otto continued loudly to prevent Aegon's response, "With The Black Dread now officially out of retirement and in play, the only choice we have is risk facing him in open battle, or..." His eyes shifted to Alicent, pausing, sighing and revealing, "Send an emissary to negotiate terms of an alliance."

"Meaning...?" Aegon drawled.

"Meaning a marriage pact, Your Grace," Otto supplied sternly.

"With respect?" Larys Strong spoke up, "But the Crown is lacking in their eligible bachelors for such terms."

"Or perhaps, what of someone outside the family? Marry two strong allies of the Crowns? Alliances henceforth might not have to include Targaryen marriages," Jason Lannister threw in quickly, but every Small Council member denied him just as swift.

It was reminded, "There's Prince Daeron."

"Lady Tyrell is actually the same age as Prince Aemond, I do not think she is looking for a husband so many years younger than her."

"Didn't Prince Aemond already secure the Baratheons through a marriage alliance?"

"Technically," Otto agreed slowly, "but given the circumstances and turning of tides, Lord Borros can be treated with in other ways should we need to offer Aemond for Lady Tyrell's willing support."

"Rhaenyra will send terms, as well," Alicent reminded. "Lady Tyrell is Prince Jacaerys' age, she might consider breaking his engagement, too."

The Small Council continued their plotting. Prince Aemond remained silent. Nobody so much as threw him a glance.

When the Black Queen Rhaenyra was informed of your heroics and your identity was questioned, her uncle-husband, Daemon, informed, "Daughter of the Forgotten Princess."

And Rhaenys affirmed, "My sister's daughter... Do not mistake her lineage for guaranteed alliance; her mother and I are long estranged, she's lived in The Reach her whole life - she does not know us. Nor owes us any loyalty."

"Perhaps she could be persuaded," Corlys wondered. "The Lady Tyrell is unwed, is she not?"

"As far as accounts go, yes," his wife reported.

"Perhaps a marriage alliance?" Corlys glanced around the table.

"To whom would you propose?" Queen Rhaenyra asked, all sat around the Painted Table.

"If I may be so bold...?"

"Please."

"Given your marriage to Daemon and his daughter's are shared with our own daughter, Laena... Is there truly need for a marriage pact between the children?"

Rhaenyra cocked her head, "You mean to... Disengage my son from his intended, and engage him again...? Like a pawn in chess? My son, Heir to the Iron Throne, married to Lady Tyrell?"

"Why do you sound displeased by the prospect, Your Grace?" Corlys wondered. "I hear the Lady Tyrell is most beautiful, and we need the Tyrell's wealth like we need their dragon, Balerion. If used properly, he can melt castles alone, Your Grace; burn towns, extinguish entire bloodlines, torch this country, melt the bloody Wall. No living dragon rivals him in size, in ferocity, in age nor experience. He's been at rest for decades now... Something tells me there's a reason he's come out of his nest."

"An omen," Rhaenyra agreed, straightening her spine.

"Precisely - the portents are cast, Your Grace."

"Lord Corlys makes a point," Daemon chimed in, "if by marriage, we secure The Reach and take back the Iron Throne with little to no carnage. Should the Greens fight, not even Vhagar could stand against Balerion."

"Prince Jacaerys is a handsome match to offer," another lord agreed, "which should help sway Lady Tyrell to our side."

"Which also frees both Lady Baela and Rhaena for other pacts - if need be."

"But if we have had this thought, I promise so has Alicent," Rhaenyra stood from the table, staring at the triangle of King's Landing, Dragonstone, and Highgarden. "Who would they offer? Who do they have, unwed, unpromised?"

"Well," Rhaenys stood to meet her Queen, "if we had the thought of a marriage alliance, and the thought to break off one engagement in favor of another, who is to say the Greens would not consider the same?"

It was quiet, a shiver shooting down the Queen's spine. "Vhagar and Balerion are familiar with one another," she grit her teeth, "and Aemond is the False King's brother. He's an attractive match, too."

"I think it's worth making the Tyrell's an offer," Corlys sat back in his seat. "They will receive us both and decide their allegiance - just as the Baratheons did, just as the rest of the Realm has or must do as well."

"Let it be done - if Prince Jacaerys agrees," Rhaenyra nodded, looking to her son - wanting his consent and participation in his own fate. Jace proudly lifted his chin and puffed his chest, nodding while nobody noted the looks of near relief on Lady Baela and Rhaena's faces. In a moment, they had been engaged to Jace and Luke without their thought, input, nor consent. In another moment, they were single young women with the tantalizing prospect to marry outside the family.

"I consider Her Grace's offer an honor."

> > > next part, part two: read here

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

The Black Dread masterlist

i'm already writing it, but, poll for the end ―

[astrxq]

Since your request are open and you want to experiment with jace🫣, I was wondering if you could write modern!jace from best friends to lovers, something fluffy and cute<3

Flickers of Friendship

modern!jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader

words: 4.8k

notes: feedback is appreciated!! warnings: making out, aged-up characters.

The gentle hum of the refrigerator filled the kitchen as you stood there, staring blankly at its contents. It was nearly midnight, and the soft glow from inside illuminated your face in the otherwise dark room. You weren't really hungry; it was more of a habitual late-night wandering that brought you here.

"If you stare any harder, you might just melt the ice cream," a familiar voice teased from behind you.

You didn't need to turn around to know it was Jace. His presence was as familiar to you as your own shadow, a constant in your life for as long as you could remember. You could picture the amused smirk on his face without even looking.

"I'm contemplating the mysteries of the universe," you replied dryly, finally closing the fridge door and turning to face him.

Jace was leaning against the doorframe, his dark hair slightly tousled from running his fingers through it – a habit he'd had since you were kids. He wore an old t-shirt and sweatpants, his usual nighttime attire. Even in the dim light filtering in from the living room, you could see the glint of humor in his eyes.

"Ah, yes. The great philosophical question: to snack or not to snack," he quipped, pushing off the doorframe and sauntering into the kitchen. "That is the question."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't suppress the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. This was how it always was with Jace – easy banter, comfortable silences, and an inexplicable ability to make you smile even when you were determined not to.

"What are you doing up?" you asked, hopping up to sit on the counter. Your legs dangled, not quite touching the floor.

Jace shrugged, mirroring your position on the opposite counter. "Couldn't sleep."

"Your Spidey senses tingling again?" you joked.

He grinned, tapping his temple. "They're never wrong when it comes to you."

There was a brief pause, a comfortable silence settling between you. It was moments like these that you cherished most – just existing in the same space, no need for words or explanations. You'd known each other for so long that silence was never awkward; it was a shared language of its own.

"So," Jace said after a while, his voice softer now. "What's really keeping you up?"

You sighed, knowing he'd see right through any attempt to deflect. "Just thinking about that group project due next week. I'm worried we won't finish in time."

Jace nodded understandingly. "The one for Professor Harrison's class?" When you confirmed with a nod, he continued, "Want me to take a look at it tomorrow? Two heads are better than one, especially when one of those heads is as brilliant as mine."

You snorted, reaching out to swat his arm playfully. "Your humility never ceases to amaze me."

"M’just stating facts," he defended, catching your hand before you could pull it back. His thumb absently traced circles on your palm, a gesture so natural and familiar that neither of you seemed to notice. "Seriously though, I'd be happy to help if you need it."

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten with affection. This was Jace – always ready to lend a hand, always there when you needed him. You squeezed his hand gratefully. "Thanks, Jace. I might take you up on that."

He smiled, a softer version of his usual grin. "Anytime. That's what I'm here for."

You sat there for a moment, hands still linked, before Jace suddenly hopped off the counter. "Come on," he said, tugging you gently off your perch. "If we're going to be up, we might as well do something fun."

"Jace, it's past midnight," you protested weakly, even as you allowed him to lead you to the living room.

"Exactly," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Perfect time for a movie marathon. You pick the first one, I'll make the popcorn."

Before you could argue further, he was already back in the kitchen, the sound of popcorn kernels hitting the bottom of a pot following soon after. You shook your head fondly, knowing resistance was futile. This was classic Jace – spontaneous, thoughtful, and always knowing exactly how to distract you from your worries.

You settled onto the couch, pulling the soft throw blanket over your legs as you scrolled through your shared streaming queue. By the time Jace returned with a large bowl of popcorn, you had picked out an old favorite – a cheesy comedy you'd watched together countless times.

"Excellent choice," Jace approved, setting the bowl on the coffee table before plopping down next to you. Without hesitation, he lifted the edge of the blanket and scooted closer, his warmth seeping into your side.

As the opening credits rolled, you felt the tension from earlier slowly melting away. Jace's arm found its way around your shoulders, a casual gesture that felt as natural as breathing. You leaned into him, your head finding that perfect spot between his shoulder and chest.

"Thanks for this," you murmured, your eyes fixed on the screen but your attention on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Jace's response was to pull you a little closer, his fingers absently playing with a strand of your hair. "Always," he said simply.

And as you sat there, wrapped in the cocoon of warmth and familiarity that was Jace, you couldn't help but think that maybe sleepless nights weren't so bad after all. Not when they led to moments like these – quiet, unassuming, yet somehow more intimate than any grand gesture could ever be.

The movie played on, but neither of you were really watching anymore. You were too caught up in the comfort of each other's presence, in the unspoken understanding that had defined your friendship for years. And if there was a flutter in your chest when Jace's lips brushed against your forehead in a fleeting, almost unconscious gesture – well, that was something to contemplate another time.

The first rays of sunlight filtering through the living room blinds roused you from sleep. For a moment, you were disoriented, unsure why you weren't in your bed. Then you felt the steady rise and fall of Jace's chest beneath your cheek, and the events of last night came rushing back.

You must have fallen asleep during the movie. Jace's arm was still draped around you, his hand resting lightly on your waist. The TV screen had long since gone dark, and the bowl of popcorn sat untouched on the coffee table.

You lay there for a moment, not wanting to disturb the peaceful quiet of the morning or the warmth of Jace's embrace. It wasn't the first time you'd fallen asleep together like this, but something felt different this time. There was a flutter in your stomach that you couldn't quite explain.

Carefully, you tilted your head to look at Jace's sleeping face. His features were relaxed, lips slightly parted, dark lashes fanned against his cheeks. A lock of hair had fallen across his forehead, and you had to resist the urge to brush it away.

As if sensing your gaze, Jace's eyes fluttered open. He blinked a few times, confused, before his eyes found yours. A slow, sleepy smile spread across his face.

"Morning, sunshine," he murmured, his voice husky from sleep.

You felt your cheeks warm at the endearment, even though you knew it was just Jace being Jace. "Morning," you replied softly. "Sorry I fell asleep on you."

Jace's arm tightened around you briefly in a gentle squeeze. "No complaints here. You make an excellent blanket."

You laughed quietly, finally pushing yourself up to a sitting position. Jace followed suit, stretching his arms above his head with a groan. His t-shirt rode up slightly, revealing a sliver of skin above his sweatpants. You quickly averted your eyes, suddenly feeling flustered.

"What time is it?" Jace asked, running a hand through his messy hair.

You glanced at the clock on the wall. "Just past seven."

Jace groaned again, flopping back onto the couch dramatically. "It should be illegal to be awake this early on a Saturday."

"Says the guy who dragged me into a midnight movie marathon," you retorted, poking his side.

He squirmed away from your finger, laughing. "Hey, that was for your own good. Can't have my best friend stressing herself into an early grave."

The fondness in his voice made your heart skip a beat. You stood up quickly, needing to put some distance between you and the confusing feelings swirling in your chest.

"I'm going to make some coffee. Want some?" you asked, already heading towards the kitchen.

"Is that even a question?" Jace called after you. You could hear him getting up from the couch, his footsteps following you into the kitchen.

As you busied yourself with the coffee maker, Jace leaned against the counter beside you, watching your movements with a soft expression you couldn't quite decipher.

"So, any big plans for today?" he asked, reaching past you to grab two mugs from the cabinet. His arm brushed against yours, sending a small shiver down your spine.

You shook your head, both in response to his question and to clear your muddled thoughts. "Not really. I should probably work on that project some more."

Jace nodded, setting the mugs down next to the coffee maker. "Want some company? I meant what I said last night about helping out."

You turned to face him, touched by his offer. "You don't have to do that, Jace. It's your day off too."

He shrugged, a lopsided smile on his face. "What else am I going to do? Besides, I like spending time with you. Even if it involves boring schoolwork."

There was something in his eyes, a warmth that made your breath catch in your throat. For a moment, you just stared at each other, the air between you charged with an energy you couldn't name. The gurgle of the coffee maker broke the spell. You turned back to pour the coffee, grateful for the distraction.

"Okay," you said, handing him a steaming mug. "But fair warning: it might involve a lot of complaining on my part."

Jace's fingers brushed yours as he took the mug, lingering a second longer than necessary. "Bring it on. I happen to be an excellent complaint receptor."

You laughed, "Well, aren't you just the perfect friend? Sacrificing your Saturday for little old me."

"What can I say?" Jace grinned, taking a sip of his coffee. "I live to serve."

"My hero," you deadpanned, but your smile gave you away.

As you both stood there, sipping your coffee and trading playful jabs, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. This was familiar territory – the easy conversation, the shared laughter, the comfortable silences. But there was also something new simmering beneath the surface, a current of awareness that hadn't been there before.

You found yourself noticing things you'd never paid attention to before – the way Jace's eyes crinkled when he laughed, the dimple that appeared in his left cheek when he smiled, the gentle timbre of his voice when he spoke softly.

It was confusing and exhilarating all at once, and you weren't sure what to make of it. But as Jace launched into a detailed plan for tackling your project, his enthusiasm infectious, you decided to push those thoughts aside for now.

You had a whole day ahead of you, just you and Jace. Whatever these new feelings were, they could wait. For now, you were content to bask in the warmth of his presence and the promise of his company.

The morning sun climbed higher in the sky as you and Jace settled into your shared workspace – the small dining table tucked into the corner of your apartment. Books and papers were strewn across its surface, your laptop open to a half-finished document. Jace sat beside you, close enough that your elbows occasionally brushed as you worked.

"Okay, so walk me through what you've got so far," Jace said, leaning in to look at your screen. His proximity sent a small thrill through you, one that you tried to ignore as you began explaining your project.

As you talked, Jace listened intently, his brow furrowed in concentration. It was a look you'd seen countless times before, but today it made your heart skip a beat. You found yourself stumbling over your words, distracted by the way his hair fell across his forehead, the sharp line of his jaw, the warmth of his arm against yours.

"...and that's where I'm stuck," you finished, realizing you'd been rambling. "I just can't figure out how to tie it all together."

Jace nodded thoughtfully, then turned to face you. His knee bumped yours under the table, and neither of you moved to break the contact. "I think I see the problem," he said, his voice low and close. "You're trying to connect too many ideas at once. What if we approach it from a different angle?"

He reached for your laptop, his hand brushing yours as he took control of the touchpad. You inhaled sharply at the contact, a jolt of electricity running through you. If Jace noticed your reaction, he didn't show it, instead focusing on rearranging the sections of your document.

As he worked, explaining his thought process, you found yourself watching him more than the screen. The way his lips moved as he spoke, the little crease between his eyebrows when he concentrated, the gentle timbre of his voice – it was all suddenly, intensely fascinating.

"What do you think?" Jace asked, turning to you with an expectant smile. You blinked, realizing you hadn't heard a word he'd said.

"Uh, could you repeat that?" you asked, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. "I think I zoned out for a second."

Jace's smile turned teasing. "Am I boring you already? And here I thought I was being brilliantly insightful."

You laughed, shoving his shoulder playfully. "You? Brilliant? Never."

"You wound me," Jace clutched his chest dramatically. "After all my hard work and dedication."

"Your ego will survive," you retorted, but there was no bite to your words. Just fondness, warm and familiar.

Jace's expression softened, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke, caught in a gaze that felt charged with unspoken words. Your heart raced, and you found yourself leaning in slightly, drawn by some invisible force.

The sudden blare of Jace's phone alarm shattered the moment. You both jumped, the spell broken.

"Shit," Jace muttered, fumbling for his phone. "I forgot I promised to call my mom this morning."

You nodded, trying to ignore the pang of disappointment in your chest. "Go ahead," you said, gesturing to his room. "I'll keep working on this."

Jace hesitated, looking torn. "You sure? I can reschedule..."

"Don't be silly," you insisted, mustering a smile. "Go talk to your mom. I'll be fine."

He nodded, getting up from the table. But before he left, he paused, his hand resting on your shoulder. "Thanks," he said softly, giving you a gentle squeeze. The warmth of his touch lingered even after he'd disappeared into his room.

You stared at your laptop screen, trying to focus on the work in front of you. But your mind kept wandering back to the moment before the interruption. What had that been? The way Jace had looked at you, the way your body had gravitated towards his... it felt different from your usual interactions, charged with a tension you couldn't quite name.

Shaking your head, you forced yourself to concentrate on the project. It was probably nothing, you told yourself. Just your imagination running wild after a night of little sleep and too much closeness.

But as you worked, you couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between you and Jace. Whether it was a momentary blip or the start of something more, only time would tell.

An hour passed before Jace emerged from his room, looking slightly harried. "Sorry about that," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Mom got chatty."

You smiled, understanding all too well. "No worries. How is she?"

"Good," Jace replied, dropping back into the chair beside you. "She says hi, by the way. Asked when you're coming to visit again."

A warm feeling spread through your chest at the mention. Jace's family had always treated you like one of their own, ever since you were kids. "Tell her soon," you said. "I miss her cooking."

Jace laughed. "I'll let her know. She'll be thrilled – you know she loves feeding people."

As Jace settled back into work mode, you found yourself stealing glances at him. The easy familiarity between you was still there, but now it was tinged with something else. An awareness that hadn't been there before, a hyper-consciousness of every move, every touch.

You worked side by side for the next few hours, the project slowly taking shape under your combined efforts. Jace's insights proved invaluable, his unique perspective helping you overcome the roadblocks you'd been struggling with.

As the afternoon wore on, you found yourself relaxing into the rhythm of your collaboration. The earlier tension faded, replaced by the comfortable synchronicity you'd always shared. Yet, there was a new undercurrent to your interactions – a lingering touch here, a prolonged gaze there, moments of silence that felt heavy with unspoken words.

By the time the sun began to dip towards the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you'd made significant progress on the project.

"I think that's enough for today," Jace said, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rode up slightly, revealing a strip of skin that you found yourself staring at before quickly averting your eyes.

"Yeah," you agreed, saving the document and closing your laptop. "Thanks for your help, Jace. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Jace's expression softened, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Anytime," he said softly. "That's what I'm here for."

There was something in his voice, a tenderness that made your breath catch. You looked up, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you.

The moment stretched, full of possibility. You found yourself leaning in slightly, drawn by some invisible force. Jace mirrored your movement, his eyes flickering briefly to your lips before meeting your gaze again.

Your heart raced, a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through you. Was this really happening? Were you and Jace about to...?

The sharp ring of the doorbell made you both jump, the moment shattering like glass. You jerked back, nearly toppling your chair in your haste.

"I'll get it," Jace said quickly, already on his feet and heading for the door. You watched him go, your heart still pounding, mind reeling from what had almost happened.

As Jace's voice mingled with that of your neighbor, asking to borrow some sugar, you took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. What had that been? Were you imagining things, or had Jace been about to kiss you?

And more importantly, why did a part of you wish the doorbell hadn't rung?

The days stretched into weeks, each one a delicate dance of unspoken words and lingering glances. Your relationship with Jace remained as close as ever, yet there was an undercurrent of something new, something neither of you dared to name.

One lazy Sunday afternoon, you found yourself sprawled on the living room floor, textbooks and notes scattered around you. Jace was nearby, lounging on the couch with his laptop, occasionally mumbling to himself as he worked on an assignment.

"Hey," you called out, not looking up from your notes. "What's another word for 'fundamental'?"

"Hmm," Jace mused. You could hear the smile in his voice as he replied, "Crucial?”

With a nod, you turned back to your essay, you forced yourself to pretend not to have caught Jace looking at you with an expression you couldn't quite decipher. It was soft, almost wistful, and it made your heart do a funny little flip in your chest. But before you could analyze it further, he had already returned his attention to his laptop, leaving you to wonder if you'd imagined it.

The moment passed, as so many similar moments had over the past few weeks. Yet each one left a lingering warmth, like the afterglow of a sunset, building slowly into something you weren't quite ready to name.

Days turned into nights, filled with shared meals, late-night study sessions, and the comfortable silences that only come with true familiarity. You found yourself noticing little things about Jace that you'd never paid attention to before – the way he always made sure to make extra coffee for you in the morning, how he'd absently hum while doing the dishes, the gentle way he'd touch your shoulder when passing by.

One evening, as you both prepared dinner in the small kitchen, you reached for a spice jar at the same moment Jace did. Your hands brushed, and you felt that now-familiar jolt of electricity. You both froze for a moment, eyes meeting over the cluttered countertop.

"Sorry," Jace murmured, his voice low. "You go ahead."

You nodded, unable to form words, and grabbed the jar. As you turned back to the stove, you could feel Jace's gaze on you, heavy with unspoken thoughts. You almost forgot what you needed the jar for, too caught up in the moment.

These moments became more frequent, each one a tiny spark adding to a slowly building fire. A lingering touch while passing the salt at dinner. A shared laugh over an inside joke that left you both breathless. The way Jace's eyes would soften when he looked at you, thinking you wouldn't notice.

You found yourself seeking out these moments, craving the warmth they brought. Yet neither of you took that final step, both hesitant to disturb the delicate balance of your friendship.

As midterms approached, the atmosphere in your apartment grew tenser, filled with the stress of impending exams. You spent long hours hunched over textbooks, your mind a whirl of facts and figures. Jace was equally busy, but he always seemed to sense when you needed a break.

One night, as you sat at the dining table, staring blankly at your notes, Jace appeared beside you. Without a word, he gently closed your textbook and tugged you to your feet.

"Come on," he said softly. "You need a break."

Too tired to argue, you let him lead you to the living room. He sat you down on the couch, disappeared into the kitchen, and returned moments later with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

As you sipped the sweet drink, Jace put on a movie. He settled beside you on the couch, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body. It all felt too familiar, making you remember the last time you fell asleep together.

Halfway through the movie, you felt your eyelids growing heavy. Without thinking, you leaned into Jace, your head finding that perfect spot between his shoulder and chest. His arm came around you, holding you close, and you felt him press a soft kiss to the top of your head.

The movie's credits rolled, but neither of you moved. Your eyes were closed, Jace's steady heartbeat a soothing rhythm beneath your ear. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your arm, sending shivers down your spine.

"We should probably get some sleep," Jace murmured, his voice a low rumble in his chest.

You nodded but made no effort to move. "Probably," you agreed softly.

Another moment passed in comfortable silence. Then, slowly, you lifted your head to look at him. Jace's eyes met yours, dark and intense in the dim light of the TV screen. Something in his gaze made your breath catch in your throat.

"Jace," you whispered, barely audible.

His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing lightly across your skin. "Yeah?" he breathed, leaning in slightly.

Your heart raced as you tilted your face towards his, drawn by an invisible force. Time seemed to slow as the distance between you narrowed, until finally, finally, his lips met yours.

The first touch was soft, tentative, a gentle press of lips that sent sparks coursing through your body. For a moment, you both hesitated, teetering on the edge of this new territory. Then, as if a dam had broken, the kiss deepened.

Jace's hand slid into your hair, cradling the back of your head as he pulled you closer. Your fingers gripped his shirt, anchoring yourself as the world seemed to spin around you. His lips moved against yours with growing urgency, years of unspoken feelings pouring out in a rush of passion.

You gasped softly as Jace's tongue traced the seam of your lips, seeking entrance. Without hesitation, you granted it, meeting his tongue with your own. The taste of him – a hint of chocolate and something uniquely Jace – made you dizzy with want.

The kiss was everything you'd never let yourself imagine and more. It was the comfort of years of friendship mixed with the thrill of new discovery. Jace kissed like he did everything else – with full dedication and a hint of playfulness. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, drawing a small sound from you that he swallowed eagerly. 

Your hands roamed, one sliding up to tangle in his hair, the other tracing the strong line of his jaw. Jace's free hand found your waist, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt to caress the skin beneath. His touch left trails of fire in its wake, igniting every nerve ending.

When you finally broke apart, both gasping for air, Jace rested his forehead against yours. His eyes, when they fluttered open, were dark with desire, but there was also a softness there that made your heart ache.

"Hey," he breathed, a smile tugging at his lips.

You couldn't help but laugh softly, feeling giddy and overwhelmed. "Hi," you agreed. 

Jace's thumb stroked your cheek as he gazed at you with wonder. "I've wanted to do that for so long," he admitted.

Your heart soared at his words. "Me too," you confessed. "I just... I was afraid of ruining what we had."

"Nothing could ruin us," Jace said with conviction. He leaned in, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to your lips.

This time when your lips met, it was slower, deeper. A promise and an exploration. Jace took his time, mapping every contour of your mouth with his tongue, drawing soft sighs and quiet moans from you. Your fingers trailed down his neck, feeling his pulse race beneath your touch.

When you finally parted, you were both breathless and flushed. Jace's hair was mussed from your fingers, his lips swollen from your kisses. You imagined you looked much the same.

"Jace," you whispered again, more firmly this time, seeking his eyes. He looked at you with such tenderness that it nearly took your breath away. "What happens now?"

His expression softened further, a small, reassuring smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Jace's smile widened, and he pressed another kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly, giving you space but not letting go. "We should really get some sleep," he repeated, though his tone held a note of reluctance.

You nodded, feeling the fatigue of the long day catch up with you again. "Yeah, sleep sounds good."

With a soft chuckle, Jace helped you to your feet. You both moved slowly, almost reluctantly, as if savoring every moment of this new closeness. He led you to your bedroom, his hand warm and steady in yours.

As you stood together at the threshold of your bedroom, Jace's hand still gently holding yours, there was a moment of hesitation. The unspoken question lingered in the air – should he stay or go to his own room?

Breaking the silence, Jace gave your hand a reassuring squeeze and leaned in, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. 

"I'll let you get some rest," he murmured softly, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "Goodnight."

You felt a pang of longing at the thought of him leaving, but you knew that tonight was just the beginning of something new and beautiful between you. With a small smile, you replied, "Goodnight, Jace."

He lingered for a moment, his gaze searching yours as if to reassure himself of your mutual understanding. Then, reluctantly, he released your hand and turned to leave. As he walked down the hallway towards his own room, you couldn't help but watch him go, heart fluttering with giddiness.

[darkestspring]

Could you do a part three on the aegon’s wife being rhanerya and daemon’s daughter and the blood and cheese assassination being attempted on her instead of Helaena

part one | part two | asks are open!

Aegon had wanted to slaughter the whole of them, everyone on dragonstone. innocent, guilty, it didn't matter to him. he wanted them all dead but under his wife's pleas, he agreed to rescind the declaration of war but add in the condition that they were not to approach you unless you allowed it under explicit consent.

you sent your own letter, telling them to not see or talk to you unless you sent them a letter first. The grief you felt never ceased. You often cried when you thought the twins couldn't hear you, sobbing into your hands.

You almost lost Jaehaerys and now you clung to both of your children, no longer letting maids dress them or feed them or even watch over them. you remained near them at all times, sleeping in their room so often that you ordered a bed to be placed in there. Or you would often sleep with them in your bed.

"I'm okay, Mama." Jaehaerys assured you softly, taking your hand in his and your lip quivered.

"Oh, ym sweet, brave boy." You whispered tearfully, cupping his cheek with your hand.

"I'm okay too! Mama protected us like a knight!" Jaehaera beamed a smile up at you and seeing her innocent smile, so happy despite the circumstances made you heart jump with joy.

"Mama will always protect you. My most precious treasures." You whispered softly to them, kissing their forehead.

"My queen." Softly announcing herself, Medea, your personal maid walked into the room. "More letters from dragonstone."

"From my mother or my father?" You questioned, tone turning dry as you looked at her.

"....It's from Prince Jacaerys." She resplied, almost hesitantly.

You blinked at her before sighing. "Alright, I'll read it, please inform my husband of the letter. It's most likely unnecessary but I don't want to take any chances.

It had been a few hours later and the twins were drawing as you talked with Aegon softly. "You want to invite the people who nearly killed our children here?" He hissed at you, watching your reaction.

"No, not here. I'm going to dragonstone." You told him softly. "I'm not letting either of them around our children. I'm.... I'm not ready for that. I still can't sleep well yet, I fear for their safety still..." You whispered softly, looking back to make sure the twins weren't listening.

"Everything is safe now, my love. I won't let anyone hurt you or our children." Aegon whispered back, softer this time, cupping your cheeks.

"You read the letter Jace sent me. I don't want this wallowing in self-destruction to go on any longer, but I won't allow them here, so I'll be going to them. My mother is starving herself out of guilt. I don't want that."

Aegon thought you should leave them to rot, the whole lot of them really but he refrained from saying that (surprising that he has a filter, i know) and he sighed.

"If you're not back by nighttime then i'm coming to pick you up." Aegon replied and you smiled softly at him, leaning in and kissing him.

Jaehaera looked up before looking over at her twin. "Does this mean we're getting a younger sibling? I want a sister."

[aemondsbabe]

Duty & Sacrifice | Claimant Pt 2

summary: your wedding to jace will happen whether you and aemond like it or not; even still, you know where you truly belong

pairing: dark!brother!aemond x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark aemond, threats against jace, jace slander do not come at me you were warned, blood purest aemond like he's voldemort coded idk he loves that valyrian o neg, breeding kink, fingering, unprotected sex, piv sex, biting, brief hand on neck, possessive aemond, obsessive aemond, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 3.7k

a/n: big thank you to @rabbit-hearted for sending a request for more dark!aemond! i hope you enjoy!! dark aemond was a bit toned down in this one but he (and the reader) will be going unhinged psycho in part 3 uwu

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🔪read part 1 here!

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“Oh, you look absolutely beautiful, Princess,” your lady’s maid coos over your shoulder while she finishes tying the laces at the back of your gown, eliciting a chorus of echoing hums and titters of agreement from the other women fluttering about your chambers. 

“Thank you, Kella,” you murmur, meeting her gaze in the mirror, your lips stretched into a thin, tight smile. Even in your periphery, the sight of the ivory dress makes your stomach turn and twist into barbarous knots and you quickly glance away. You try to ignore the pang of guilt that eats at your heart as you keep your eyes trained on the shelves beside the mirror, silently reciting the name of each book stacked on them over and over again, anything to keep your mind occupied. 

It only halfway works, just as it had every time before – every other time you stood in this exact same spot as the tailor measured and fitted your dress, as you discussed hairstyles with your maids, as you chose jewelry with your mother. Helaena had spent weeks, hours upon hours, sewing bead after bead into the alabaster fabric, creating intricate patterns of florals giving way to flames, and you could hardly bring yourself to look at it. 

If I don’t look, it’s not real. If I don’t look, it’s not real, the words, foolish as they were, echoed in your mind for the millionth time as your maids added final touches to your outfit – sliding your feet into shoes and clasping on various ornate jewels. 

“Should we finish the hair first or get the cloak on first?” You hear one of your lady’s maids ask another, somewhere off to the side. 

“Mm, I think the cloak,” another one answers; you can hear the doors of your wardrobe being pulled open, “Her tiara may get snagged otherwise.”

Glimmers of red from the small garnet gemstones decorating your gown create bloody splotches in your periphery as morning sunlight filters through your windows; your mind begins to wander again despite your best efforts and crimson quickly gives way to hues of sapphire. Absent-mindedly, you dig your nails into your cuticles as you recall that night. The events play out behind your eyes like they have time and time again in the weeks between then and now – the pin-pricked chill you’d felt from his gaze, the way his whispered promises made your heart ache with a confusing whirlwind of longing and dread, the way his hands had felt against your skin. The sound of your blood pumping wildly in your veins drowns out any other noise as his voice echoes in your head. 

“Prove your devotion to me, my Strong girl,” he had commanded, directing your attention to the hilt of his dagger. And you had, the memories of it make you shiver even now. 

You had.

But it didn’t matter because here you are, clad in an ivory gown that may as well be a death shroud for all the joy it brings you.

“Princess?” A little gasp falls from your lips as you’re hoisted out of your reverie and your eyes finally focus on Kella standing before you, matching cloak in hand. 

“My apologies,” you say, managing a little chuckle, “I’m not sure where my head was at.” 

“No trouble, Princess,” Kella smiles, waving a hand dismissively, “I’m sure you’re eager to get the day started, marrying a prince and all.”

“Eager, yes,” you sigh, forced smile falling flat the second she looks away. The back of your throat tightens when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror and, for the umpteenth time today, you try desperately to ignore the urge to run – to sprint all the way to the Dragonpit, mount Silverwing, and go. Instead, you swallow down the sick feeling in your gut and compel yourself to be still as Kella drapes the cloak over your shoulders, the red silk underlining enveloping you in a sanguine veil. 

Just as she’s about to fasten it to the little ties at the shoulders of your gown, the doors to your chambers bang open, causing both of you to jump as your heads whip toward the sound of the noise. 

“Prince Aemond,” Kella says breathlessly, draping the cloak over an arm and curtsying politely. 

“Get out,” he murmurs lowly, violet eye not moving from yours as he stands at the doorway, arms tucked behind his back, “I wish to have a moment alone with my sister.” Your heart hammers so wildly that you’re amazed the sound of it doesn’t echo off the walls – that it doesn’t burst in your chest. 

You don’t miss the uncertain glances your maids give one another, though they ultimately nod their heads. A small chorus of, “Yes, your highness,” rises around you as they scurry from the room; Kella quickly drapes your cloak over the back of your vanity chair before leaving as well, the doors to your chambers closing behind her. 

Aemond quickly locks them, the barest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips for a precious second as he does so, before turning to you. Your brows furrow as nervousness builds within you, nails digging into your cuticles as you desperately study the neutral expression on his face as he stalks toward you. 

“Don’t you look breathtaking, sweet sister,” his eye sweeps over your form as he speaks and you feel as if every ounce of air is pressed from your lungs when he gently grasps at your chin, angling your face up toward his when he comes to a stop before you. 

“How did you get in here?” You question, hating how feeble your voice sounds, how your heart slows the second he touches you. Your question is a valid one, though – your mother had taken great caution in the weeks following the night of your betrothal feast to keep you and your brother as separated as possible. 

He chuckles as he tilts your face to the side, exposing your neck. “Someone may have delivered an anonymous tip to Cole informing him of a supposed smallfolk revolt brewing in Flea Bottom,” you don’t miss the twitch of a victorious smile on his lips, “Of course, the Gold Cloaks had to attend to it – we wouldn’t want anything ruining such a… joyous day. Once they were gone, it was easy enough to slip from the Sept and make my way back here.”

“You’ve been planning,” his eye stays fixed on the ruby necklace clasped around your neck as you speak, though he hums in acknowledgement at your words. After another few seconds of heavy silence, you cannot help but huff and jerk your chin from his careful grip, “Did you come here to merely ogle at me or do you need something?”

“Mm,” he hums, narrowing his eye for just the barest of seconds, “There is something I need indeed, Strong girl.”

“Don’t call me that!” You snap, the little huff of laughter he gives only makes you more agitated. He turns his back to you and stalks over to your vanity; it’s only then that you see he’s holding a small box behind his back, “What is that?”

“Only a little wedding present,” Aemond drawls, violet eye meeting yours in the mirror as he runs his fingers over the soft ivory silk of your cloak; his nose twitches in disgust, the most subtle of movements that you’re sure only you are able to spot. 

“Can… can I see it?”

Another twitch of his lips, a little pulling at the corners, just enough for you to know he’s satisfied about something, makes your heart squeeze in your chest. Whatever game he’s playing at, whatever imaginary battle he’s thought up in his mind, he’s winning. 

Am I even fighting back? Do I want to?

Silently, he makes his way back over to you, each heavy step a nail in your proverbial coffin. He’s standing before you again, long hair spilling over the shoulders of his tunic like a pearlescent waterfall, held back from his face by two thin braids that join in the back. 

Finally, he opens the box, carefully sliding the lid off. Your lips part as you stare down at the contents, eyes as wide as the moon as it feels like all the air has been sucked from the room. 

“I had it made by the finest craftsman in the city,” he murmurs, eye gleaming with pride at your stunned reaction, “Do you like it, little one?”

“I… Aemond, I…,” you stammer, at a loss for words as you look over the necklace resting on a bed of soft cloth. Made from a breathtaking assortment of pearls, the attention to detail is immaculate; each milky white stone is threaded onto a fine silver chain, all leading to a gleaming deep blue sapphire in the center, framed by the figure of a small silver dragon. “I-It’s gorgeous, brother, I… thank you.”

“You deserve only the best,” he purrs, watching closely as you reach up and carefully run your fingers over the glittering stones, “Shall I put it on you?”

“I already have a neck –” You start, only for a loud gasp to rip itself from your throat as Aemond tears the ruby necklace from you, the delicate gold chains easily snapping and sending dozens of tiny rosy stones clattering to the floor. All you can do is gape at him, one hand grazing against the place on your neck where the necklace once sat. 

Meanwhile, your brother’s violet eye merely follows a few of the stones as they skid across the stone floors. “Pity,” he tuts, stalking around you like a lion would its prey before stopping behind you and meeting your gaze in the mirror. 

“Do you have any idea who that necklace bel–”

“I don’t give a shit about who it belonged to,” he hisses, reaching over your shoulder and grabbing your jaw, forcing your head to turn back enough to meet his heated stare, “All that matters is that you belong to me, not some sniveling fucking bastard who shall only bring you ruin.”

He stares at you for a second more as if trying to drive the point somehow further into your heart before finally releasing your chin, smirking at the little shiver that runs down your spine when he skims his fingers over your neck. 

Your eyes flutter shut as he delicately sweeps the hair away from the back of your neck before pressing a soft kiss there, only to trail more down the crook of your neck and shoulder; time seems to slow for a moment while you savor the feel of his lips against your skin and your chest tightens when he groans. 

He huffs when he straightens back up, like being apart from you, even if only by a few scant inches, is painful – a feeling you know all too well. Opening your eyes, you watch as he carefully clasps the sapphire necklace around your neck. The larger middle stone sits perfectly at the base of your neck, the rich blue hue sparkles beautifully against your skin. 

“Flawless,” he says lowly, gently kissing just below your ear before trailing his eye up to the floor-length mirror the two of you stand before, hands resting on your waist, “We look perfect together, don’t we, little one?”

Automatically, you nod your head, unable to separate your gaze from the mirror. He’s right, he always is. The two of you simply fit together – perfect compliments of the other. 

He smiles lazily over your shoulder and pulls you closer against him, relishing in the small gasp that leaves your lips as his length presses against you, already half-hard and wanting. “Yes, you and I were meant to be together,” he breathes, slowly pulling up the skirts of your gown, “You may be marrying that traitorous little cunt, but you’ll belong to me soon enough, sweet sister.”

Your brows furrow at that and you start to question him, ask what exactly he means, but before you can utter a word, a feeble, stuttering moan is wrenched from your lips instead. Aemond holds you steady, keeping one hand firmly around your waist, as the other fits itself between your thighs; you’re helpless to do much else than watch yourself fall apart in the mirror as his lithe fingers slip through your already drenched center.

A pleased hum reverberates against the side of your jaw as he presses soft kisses against your neck, ravenous eye glued to your chest as it rises and falls with sharp pants, your breasts heaving beneath the bodice of your wedding dress.

“Promise me you won’t let him touch you,” your brother growls, swirling his fingers around your already aching pearl with practiced ease, “Swear to me that I am the only one who will ever claim you, sweet girl.”

“A-Aemond, I…,” you gasp, already having to fight through the fog in your mind to remain upright, much less speak, “Brother, please!”

“Swear it!” He snarls, biting harshly at your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. 

“I promise, I promise!” You quickly concede, the truth willingly spilling from you. You did not want anyone else, you never had – your gaze had been firmly set on Aemond for as long as you could remember. Your heart had soared with hope when Aegon and Helaena’s betrothal was announced, only for those hopes to be squashed when you were all but promised to Jace not too long after Aemond’s eye had been taken – doomed to a marriage built on regrets. 

Your older brother had felt the same from an earlier age still, always doting on you, even as a child. He loves Helaena, yes, but his heart had only been yours. His screams still echo in your mind – the only time he’d ever raised his voice at your mother, when he’d stormed into her chambers as soon as Aegon had taunted him with news of the raven from Driftmark. 

But it was the same each time, excuses of repairing relations and making amends, commands for you and Aemond both to grow up – to make sacrifices for the realm. 

Was I ever more than a lamb raised for slaughter? That question has kept you up for more hours than you care to admit. Now, watching in the mirror as a man who is not your betrothed brings you to heel on the morning of a day you have mourned for years, the dam inside you finally bursts – you are tired of bowing to duty. 

“Aemond, please!” You gasp, nearly crying as the fog in your mind finally lifts, “Please, take me, please!”

He pauses at that, the fingers on your aching bud stopping as his eye flicks up to yours. His eye is studying, calculating while he looks over you — there is a terrible relief in being finally, truly seen. “Is that what you wish?” He hums, chuckling when you pant as his fingers circle your dripping entrance, “To be filled with me, little one?”

You’re nodding before he’s even finished the question, desperate whines spilling from you as he slips his hand from between your legs, only long enough to loosen the ties at the front of his trousers.

“I’ll breed this sweet cunt,” he grunts, the arm around your waist moving to hook securely around your chest while the other grabs at his length, positioning it at your entrance as you hold your skirts out of the way in a trembling grasp, “Give you a pure Valyrian babe, just as you deserve.”

All of the air is knocked from your lungs as he pushes into you, spearing you on his cock in one swift motion. Your fingers abandon your skirts to instead claw helplessly at the arm draped over your chest, knees nearly buckling as Aemond pauses long enough for you to adjust. 

“Gods!” You whimper as he sets a punishing pace from the outset, though the harsh thrusts feel like paradise after being deprived of his mere presence for so long. Your head droops forward as he snakes a hand around your hip to begin rubbing at your pearl yet again, lucid enough to know that the two of you are operating on borrowed time. 

“You have always been mine, all of you,” he gasps, watching as your bodies writhe together in the mirror. After a moment, he growls and grabs at your neck, forcing your head up until your eyes meet his. “That’s it, sweet girl,” he praises, leaning forward to kiss and nip at your neck and shoulder, “You’re mine, you’re mine…”

You nod as best you can as he chants the words again and again like a prayer, pushing his length in and out of you in time with each one, until your mind is nothing but a cacophony of mine, mine, mine. 

“I-I’m, Gods, I’m – Aemond!” You all but sob, the knot in your stomach that had been pitifully winding itself for weeks finally about to unravel as your cunt tightens around him, his grunts and growls in response only pushing you further to the end. 

“Do it,” he commands, redoubling his efforts on your bud, his other hand scrambling frantically to grasp at your stomach, “Let go and I’ll breed you, I’ll give you a babe, our babe, little one. Let go for me, let go.”

His muttered command sends shivers down your spine and you’re powerless to do much else other than obey and your eyes squeeze shut and your lips part as a harsh, shuddering cry is knocked out of you; fire seems to ignite every cell within you as you pulse around his length. Your knees buckle when your high washes over you, Aemond’s grip around your waist the only thing keeping you upright. 

“Good girl, good girl,” he murmurs, the sound of his voice just barely cutting through the rush of blood in your ears. A handful of thrusts later and he stills against you, growling and squeezing you to within an inch of your life as he fills you, cock twitching. 

You both still for a moment, harsh pants filling your chambers as you catch your breath. You whine when Aemond finally pulls his softening length from you, though he shushes you sweetly before leading you to your vanity chair and sitting you down. 

“I don’t want to marry him,” you whisper suddenly, sniffling softly as tears sting the back of your eyes, “I don’t w-want to, Aemond, I –”

“Shh, shh,” he says softly, gently cupping your cheek and angling your face up toward his, “There’s nothing we can do to change today, as much as it pains me. Were it possible, I would gut him in the Sept and stake my claim to you then and there, Gods be damned, I –” 

He pauses, cutting himself off with a harsh sigh, “I will have you, I swear it. I will not fail again.” 

Were it any other time, the dark shadow that lingers behind his words would give you pause, would frighten you as they have before. 

Now, though, they settle over you like a warm blanket – there is a safety in this fear. Aemond, for all his faults, is nothing if not determined. 

Whatever surety had settled within you only an hour before is swiftly and sharply pushed from your mind as you exit the carriage and climb the many steps up to the doors of the Great Sept of Baelor, unsteady even with Aegon at your side. 

By the grace of the Gods, Aemond had managed to slip from your chambers, and supposedly from the Red Keep, unseen by all except your lady’s maids, and they had all been sworn to secrecy long ago. Once he had gone, they filed back in and had blessedly made no mention of the intrusion as they bustled about you yet again – quickly braiding your hair through the prongs of your tiara and securing your cloak to your shoulders. 

They knew better than to ask about the sapphire clasped around your neck, or about the mess of rubies on the floor.

Your eldest brother, however, had not been so forgiving; his dark eyes had narrowed the moment you were seated together in the carriage. “Today, sister? Really?” He had teased, a dangerous spark in his eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you had grumbled, clenching your legs together as you sat. 

“Hm,” he hummed, chuckling softly, “Maybe I’ll soon be mother’s favorite after all.”

“We stand here in the sight of Gods and men to witness the union of man and wife,” the septon’s booming voice fills the Sept as you stand together with Jacaerys, your hands in his, “One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

You try your hardest to keep your eyes trained to his, to keep your lips crooked into a smile, but all you can focus on is the two stares practically searing your flesh. 

Alicent’s face swam in your vision, the way her cheeks had paled when she had caught sight of the jewelry clasped around your neck, at the guilty look in your eyes. You can feel hers boring into you now and you have no doubt her jaw is clenched, her fingers bloodied and raw. 

The other stare makes your skin prickle, much as it did on the night of your betrothal feast. You keep inwardly scolding yourself, again and again, as your eyes lock with Aemond’s every few seconds as he stands at the base of the steps to your side. 

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity,” the septon continues, gesturing to you and Jace, “Look upon one another and say the words.”

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” you recite together, all the while you desperately try to ignore the hollow, aching pit slowly opening itself in the very center of your chest.

“I am hers and she is mine,” Jace murmurs, dark gaze fixed solely on yours as he squeezes your hands, a terrible longing in his stare, “From this day, until the end of my days.”

“I am his and he is mine,” you say, each word feeling like a knife being twisted in your gut, “From this day until the end of my days.”

The septon gestures once more for the two of you to step closer together; it takes all of your restraint not to gasp when you feel a rivulet of Aemond’s spend leak down your thigh as you do. 

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” Jace says softly. His warm hands cup your cheeks before he leans in but when your lips touch, all you see is sapphire.

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[soulofapatrick]

Safe in your Arms - Alec Lightwood x female reader 

Summary: You can’t sleep so you slip into bed with Alec

Words: 1.7K 

Warnings: none really 

Notes: This is written from female pov (my pov) however can be read as gender neutral so will put this story in both male and female reader 

Y/N’s POV

The darkness presses in around me, suffocating and heavy. Another sleepless night grips me tightly, refusing to release its hold. With a sigh, I rise from the bed, the covers slipping off my like unwanted shackles. 

Padding down the familiar corridors of the Institute, my footsteps echo softly against the stone floors. The hushed whispers of the night greet me, a comforting presence in the solitude. Each door I pass I hesitate, unsure who I’m looking for comfort in. 

I barely pause outside Clary’s room as we’ve never seen eye to eye so I continue on, finding myself outside Izzy’s door. The familiar, faint scent of jasmine wafting though the air. She's always been a source of strength and support, but tonight, the idea of seeking refuge in her embrace feels somehow... wrong, too intimate. I can't quite put my finger on it, but something holds me back, a silent voice urging me to continue my search elsewhere.

Jace’s door looms ahead, a silent invitation beckoning me to seek shelter within his presence. For a moment, I hesitate, my hand hovering over the door handle as memories of shared laughter and whispered secrets flood my mind. But then, with a heavy sigh, I pull away, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down upon me like a leaden cloak.

My fingers ghost over Simon's door, the thought of seeking solace in his company tempting yet ultimately unfulfilling. We may share a bond forged in battle, but there's a divide between us that I can't seem to breach. With a sigh, I move on, the ache of loneliness gnawing at my heart with each passing moment.

And then, finally, I find myself standing outside Alec’s room, the door a silent barrier between me and the solace I seek. With a hesitant hand, I push the door open, the soft creak of hinges breaking the silence like a whisper in the night. 

Inside, the room is bathed in a gentle glow, the moonlight filtering through the curtains casting shadows across the floor. Alec lies asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. For a moment, I simply stand there, drinking in the sight of him. Gone is the usual tension that seems to etch lines into his features during the waking hours. Instead, his face is softened by slumber, his expression serene and unguarded. The furrow of his brow, which often accompanies his deep concentration or stern demeanour, is smoothed away, replaced by an air of tranquility.

A small smile graces his lips, a sight so rare it’s almost surreal. It’s a stark contrast to the usual scowl that seems to be his default expression during the day. In this moment of vulnerability, his true essence shines through, a gentle warmth that draws me in like a moth to a flame. 

I find myself captivated by the peacefulness that radiates from him, the subtle rise and fall of his chest a soothing rhythm that lulls me into a sense of calm. It's as if all the worries and burdens of the world have been momentarily lifted from his shoulders, leaving behind only the purest essence of who he is.

In this moment, Alec is not the fierce warrior or the stoic leader. He is simply Alec, vulnerable and human, a reminder that even the strongest among us need rest and respite from the battles we face.

And as I gaze upon him, a small smile tugs at the corners of my own lips, mirroring the one that graces his face. I hesitate for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest, before I gently lift the duvet and slide into the bed beside Alec. The rustling of the sheets stir him from his slumber, his eyelids fluttering open blearily as he tries to make sense of the intrusion. 

“Wha—?" His voice is thick with sleep, the words trailing off into a soft murmur as he blinks owlishly at me. Confusion dances in the depths of his eyes, but there's also a hint of warmth, a flicker of recognition that warms my soul.

“What are you doing Birdie?" he mumbles, his words barely audible in the stillness of the room., the nickname he’s given me sending a shiver down my spine. Despite the grogginess that clouds his mind, there's a note of curiosity in his voice, a silent question hanging in the air between us. 

"I couldn't sleep," I confess quietly, my voice barely more than a whisper. "And... I needed to be near you.”

Alec’s expression softens at my words, a silent understanding passing between us. Without a word, he shifts around in the bed, making room for me to settle beside him. The duvet envelops us both in its warmth as we find our positions, his body fitting against mine like two puzzle pieces finally coming together. 

We settle into our newfound arrangement, a sense of peace washes over me, a warmth that seeps into my bones and drives away the chill of the night. In Alec's arms, I find sanctuary from the storms that rage within me, a refuge from the chaos of the world outside. And as sleep begins to claim me once more, I find solace in the knowledge that, for tonight at least, I am not alone. 

As the first rays of dawn  filter through the curtains, I gradually awaken from the depths of sleep, the heaviness of slumber clinging to my limbs like a comforting embrace. The warmth of Alec's presence envelops me, his arm draped protectively over my waist, anchoring me to the present moment.

I can feel the weight of his body pressed against mine, a comforting solidity that grounds me in reality. His unruly black hair tickles my cheek, a stark contrast to the softness of his lips pressed against my shoulder where my shirt has slipped slightly.

Alec emits a soft snuffle in his sleep as I gently begin to scratch his scalp, the motion soothing both him and me. His breath is warm against my skin, a gentle rhythm that lulls me back into a state of tranquility. 

He shuffles around as he begins to slowly slip from sleep, his brilliant blue eyes fluttering open, revealing a sleep-ridden expression that tugs at my heartstrings. There’s a softness in his gaze, a vulnerability that I've rarely seen in him before. And as his eyes meet mine, a flicker of recognition dances in their depths, as if he's just now realizing that I'm here, lying beside him. 

For a moment, we simply stare at each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air between us. And then, slowly but surely, a small smile tugs at the corners of Alec's lips, a gesture so tender and genuine that it sends my heart soaring. 

Alec brushes the hair out of my face, his touch gentle, his fingers singing against my skin as if committing the moment to memory. I can feel the intensity of his gaze as he studies my face, his eyes searching for something, perhaps an answer to the question that lingers between us. 

And then, without warning, he moves forward, his face hovering just inches from mine. My breath catches in my throat as anticipation coils within me, every nerve in my body on edge with anticipation. 

And then, finally, his lips crash against mine in a kiss that sends shockwaves coursing through my veins. It’s everything I've ever imagined and more, his lips soft and plump against mine, fitting together with a perfect symmetry that feels like coming home. He rolls us from our sides so he’s leaving over me, his weight above me feeling right, perfect almost, as if we were always meant to be in this position. 

His kisses are a revelation, each one tasting of warmth and longing, a tantalising blend of sweetness and desire that leaves me breathless. I can feel the heat of his body pressing against mine, his warmth seeping into my skin and sending shivers racing down my spine. 

With every touch, every caress, I lose myself in the sensation of him, the feel of his lips against mine, the brush of his fingers against my skin. He smells of sandalwood and strawberries, a heady combination that fills my senses and leaves me intoxicated with desire. 

In this moment, with Alec pressed against me, every nerve in my body tingles with anticipation. It's as if the world around us fades away, leaving only the two of us in our own little universe, bound together by the intensity of our connection.

But, just as our passion threatens to consume us, a quiet knock at the bedroom door shatters the fragile bubble we've created. Alec lets out a quiet groan, his head falling to my shoulder in frustration before he clears his throat and calls out, "One second!” 

As he climbs out of the bed to open the door slightly, I sit up, the sheets rustling around me, betraying the fact that Alec's not alone. My heart races with a mixture of excitement and apprehension, unsure of what awaits us on the other side of that door. 

And then, as Alec peers out into the hallway, his expression unreadable, I catch a glimpse of blond meaning it’s Jace standing in the corridor, his presence casting a shadow over our moment of intimacy. With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I realise that our time alone together may be coming to an abrupt end.

Alec hisses something to Jace before closing the door and turning back to me, his eyes raking up my body, blue eyes darkening before he’s shaking his head and asking, “Breakfast?” 

“Clothes then breakfast?”

“You can wear some of mine, then breakfast.” 

“Deal.” 

The Shadowhunters Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

[yandereunsolved]

The self aware ones of aemond, aegon and cole made me think. What if? What if the Hotd cast, show or book, are sentient and reader suspects about it but pretends to be dumb, making comments that can be innocent to downright filthy with no filter.

Reader: *sees Rhaenyra and her dragon on episode* she and her dragon looked like kitten when smiling and an angry feral cat when pissed.

-

Criston: *fighting Aemond scene on screen*

Reader: imagine giving the element of suprise punching him in the face

Aemond: *proceeds to punch Criston square in the face*

-

Friend: Rhaenyra age like fine wine, right?

Reader: *staring intently at the screen* my head between her thighs

Friend:....

Reader:....

Rhaenyra: ....

Friend: what-?

Reader: what?

Ya know? Like Reader is going along with the flow and being a gremlin about it🙂

Reader trying to watch HOTD with the yandere self-aware characters in it:

I love you platonically anon. You always have the best thoughts. I would respond quicker, but I want to savor the thought like a slowly cooked pot roast.

Have some more random scenarios I thought of—

Reader: watching that one scene of Aemond. "Smash."

Aemond: "???"

Reader: Still trying to act like they don't know the characters are self-aware. "I would really want to have intercourse with Aemond. He wouldn't be able to walk the next day."

Aemond: struts out proudly.

Aegon II thinking: So all I had to do was show you my cock and you'd be in love with me!?

—

Reader: "I wonder what Daemon would look like as a blonde?"

Daemon: comes in the next scene with blonde hair.

—

Reader: "I want to cuddle Helaena so badly. She looks like such a good cuddler."

Helaena: "Aww..." tears come to her eyes.

—

Reader: "You know what? I'd fuck Cregan."

Jace: "Me too."

Reader: "What?"

Jace: 0-0 "..."