💋🐆

Never in your wildest dreams had you believed your soulmate would be someone like him.

It had always been a whisper of fate in the back of your mind, something distant and unreachable. You had long since accepted that you would never be important enough to stand beside a man like him. 

And yet, when your family was summoned to Dragonstone, when you stood before him for the first time, your heart nearly stopped.

Because Jacaerys Velaryon was looking at you like he already knew.

His gaze had lingered before he greeted you with practiced politeness. You bowed, keeping your hands carefully hidden, forcing yourself to breathe through the overwhelming weight of realization.

It wasn’t possible.

It couldn’t be.

And so, you decided right then and there, he could never know.

Fate might have chosen him for you, but Jacaerys Velaryon was a prince. His life was not his own. His duty was to his family, to the realm. And you? You were no one.

So you hid your mark.

Every day.

Every moment.

Long sleeves, gloves when necessary, and you careful positioned your arms when in his presence. You made sure that not even the smallest part of the inked name could be seen.

And Jacaerys, ever the gentleman, never once questioned it.

But there was something in his eyes, almost as if he knew.

It wasn’t until weeks later, when a storm raged outside Dragonstone’s walls, that everything cracked.

You had been caught in the downpour, the skies splitting open as you ran toward the castle, drenched to the bone. The halls were quiet, candlelight flickering against the stone walls as you hurried toward your chambers until you turned a corner and crashed straight into him.

"Oh-!"

Strong hands caught you before you could stumble back, warm despite the chill of the storm outside. You blinked up, breath catching as you met his eyes.

Jacaerys Velaryon.

His dark curls were damp from the rain, his brow furrowed in concern, his grip firm yet gentle as he steadied you.

"You should not be out in this storm," he murmured, voice softer than you had ever heard it.

"I was just-" You tried to pull away, but his hands lingered.

And then his eyes dropped to your wrist.

Your bare wrist.

The rain had soaked through your sleeves, dragging them down just enough for your secret to be exposed. For the first time, Jacaerys saw the name inked into your skin.

His name.

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. His grip on you tightened, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

"Why have you been hiding this from me?"

Your heart shattered at the hurt in his voice.

"Jace, I-" You hesitated. "You are a prince. You are meant for so much more than me."

Pain flickered across his face. Then, something darker.

"Is that what you truly believe?" he asked, voice quiet. "That you are not worthy of me?"

Tears burned in your eyes. 

Yes. That was exactly what you believed.

But then, Jacaerys did something you never expected.

Slowly, he reached up and unfastened the cuff of his tunic, rolling his sleeve back until the inside of his forearm was exposed.

And there, carved into his skin, was your name.

Your breath caught.

"I have known my whole life," he whispered, tilting his head, watching you. "And I have waited for you just as long."

Your hands shook. He had known. All this time. 

And yet, he had never pushed, never confronted you, never demanded an answer.

"Why did you not tell me?" you whispered.

A soft, breathless laugh escaped him, as if he could hardly believe the question. As if the answer should have been obvious.

"Because I wanted you to choose me."

You shattered.

Because you had chosen him. From the moment you saw his name on your wrist, you had chosen him.

And so, without another thought, you moved forward your hands gripping at his tunic, pulling him down as his lips met yours in a kiss that stole the air from your lungs.

Jacaerys responded instantly, arms wrapping around you, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go. His lips were warm, soft yet powerful, as if he had been waiting forever to taste you.

And perhaps he had.

Perhaps fate had written this story long before either of you was born.

When you finally pulled away, your forehead rested against his, both of you breathing heavily, smiling.

"No more hiding," he murmured, brushing his thumb over the mark on your wrist. "You are mine, and I am yours. Always."

And with his arms around you, his lips against your skin, you knew he was right.

You were meant to be his as much as he was meant to be yours.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

once you were both in the warm water, after a long tense silence where he looked more like he was about to lead a council meeting than enjoy a simple bath with his beloved wife, a gruff “come here” left his lips. his strong arm wrapped around your waist and pulled your back flush against his chest before you could even react. not that you minded. you loved the contrast of his rough skin against your softness, and the way his battle-hardened hands traced your side with surprising delicacy, gliding up and down, slowly rising higher until they brushed the curve of your breast.

though his touches were still innocent —for now— his lips pressed against the sensitive skin of your neck and the warmth of his breath made heat bloom across your body, having nothing to do with the steam rising from the water.

“always so clever, getting your way. infuriating woman,” he growled quietly against your neck, leaving a barely there kiss before continuing. “i will ensure you learn the manners you lack. turn around.”

this man is nothing like his father. aerion does not hesitate. the moment the suggestion leaves your lips, he casts an impatient glance at one of his servants and dismisses him with a lazy flick of his hand. “you heard my wife, or have your ears failed you?”

when the bath is ready, the water is scalding, just the way he likes it, but rose petals drift across the surface for your pleasure. it is clear the servant worked desperately to avoid his wrath, for no one in the seven kingdoms knows what punishment aerion would inflict on anyone who disappointed his beloved lady.

aerion makes sure you undress first, his intense gaze following every movement of your hands as they loosen each lace of your dress. he watches hungrily as the fabric slides from your shoulders and pools at your feet. his eyes devour every inch of bare skin before he ensures your pretty eyes are fixed on him when it is his turn. he makes a show of it, undressing slowly, solely for your attention on his body.

once you are both in the water, nothing can distract him from your presence. the water ripples softly as he shifts, a dangerous smile curving his lips. “come closer. or do you fear i might bite?”

you crawl forward on your knees, far too used to his taunts to flee like any sane person would, and settle into his lap until his hands grip your hips and pull you flush against him. heat coils low in your belly as his cock, already hard from the moment he saw you naked, settles between your folds. your soft walls clench around nothing in anticipation and his fingers dig into your skin in warning and frustration. “not yet. do you want it, my sweet?” he whispers darkly against your parted lips, tilting his hips forward to tease your entrance with his girth. “you will have it when i say you may have it. wash me first.”

okay now, this sweet, sweet man. daeron may be a little wine-tipsy when you suggest the idea, but he sobers up quickly at the implications. he’ll have you all to himself — every inch of your naked skin, just for him. his cheeks flush as his mind begins to wander even before anything has truly begun. when he snaps out of his daze, he’s quick to prepare the bath with you, dismissing the servants early with an eager wave of his hand. “gods be good, wife. don’t blame me if my hands start wandering.”

water poured, oils settled, and now you’re both sinking into the warm bath together. his hands move slowly but purposefully as he pulls your back flush against his chest, tilting his head to rest his chin in the crook of your neck. he nuzzles against your damp skin with that familiar lopsided smile, desperately touchy, craving your closeness more than he’s ever craved wine.

you feel his body leaning heavily into yours, loose-limbed and warmer than the water surrounding you, comforting in that way only daeron can be. he’s unusually talkative when he’s this relaxed with you. his lips brush against your wet skin as he rambles through half-formed stories he can barely remember, the words soon melting into soft, affectionate praises. his hands wander upward from your belly, brushing over the curve of your breast before settling gently around your throat, thumb resting on your pulse point. no pressure, just feeling the steady beat of your heart beneath his touch.

“you cannot even begin to understand how lucky i feel, my pretty lady,” he murmurs reverently, eyes falling shut. “i don’t want this to end.”

baelor is the very picture of knightly restraint when you first suggest the idea. yet your gentle insistence proves far too convincing, for he has always had a weakness for fulfilling your every whim, no matter how improper it might seem. he ensures the door is firmly barred and the servants are well away before he begins preparing the bath himself with quiet devotion. he knows exactly which oils you favor and which you do not, the precise warmth you prefer in the water — every detail tended to with the careful attention only a husband as devoted as him could offer.

he remains perfectly respectful once you are both in the water, keeping a courteous distance that lasts all of ten seconds. the moment you lean back against him he lets out a deep sigh and wraps his strong arms around you, drawing you close. his calloused hands are gentle yet sure as they glide over your skin, washing you with reverent care while he murmurs soft praises against your temple. the way he studies and adores every inch of you makes you tremble beneath his touch.

though he wishes dearly to keep the moment chaste and loving, the sight of your body wet and flushed undoes him. what begin as innocent caresses soon linger longer — over the curve of your breasts, the dip of your hips, the soft skin of your inner thighs. “forgive me, my love,” he breathes, voice low and rough with restraint. “i am only a man.”

your smile and teasing about how quickly his ‘proper’ manners were forgotten only make him chuckle. you press your body more firmly against him, silently begging for more of those big hands roaming over your slippery skin. he presses his lips just below your ear, his breath growing heavier and more ragged. “what else could you expect, my lady?” he murmurs, a hint of warm amusement in his voice. “it is only natural for a devoted husband to lose his composure when faced with a wife as beautiful as you.”

valarr agrees to your bold suggestion without hesitation, a beautiful smile curving his lips the moment the words leave you. the idea had crossed his mind before, yet he had always held back, wanting you to come to him willingly and not simply because he was your husband. this meant you desired him as fiercely as he desired you. “if my lady desires a bath with her prince,” he murmurs warmly, “who am i to deny her?”

the bath is prepared with great care. he summons only the most trusted servants when he hesitates over any detail, determined that everything be perfect for you — fragrant oils, flickering candles, scattered rose petals. whatever you might wish for, it is yours. he takes his time helping you undress, his touches soft yet confident, savoring every inch of skin revealed.

once you are both in the steaming water, he quickly draws you between his legs, your back resting against his chest. his presence is strong and warm behind you, and the obvious pleasure he takes in the moment makes you feel utterly safe and desired. one of his hands settles low on your belly, fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin as he speaks in that soft, velvet voice, telling you how sweet you are, how lovely you look, and how greatly he is restraining himself from touching you even more.

valarr possesses excellent control, but it frays beautifully the longer you remain pressed together. you can feel him hardening against your back. he swallows thickly and begins teasing you with slow, deliberate touches, fingers gliding along your thighs until you squirm against him. only then does he give in. “do you enjoy this?” he whispers hotly against your ear, his middle finger sliding deeper between your thighs until it presses against your entrance, drawing a twitch from your hips. “do not worry, my dear wife. we have all the time we need. the water may grow cold… but the night is still young.”

He would go as far as to say you were annoying him on purpose because it amused you, because you loved it when he had enough and shut you up, and it didn't matter how he did it, whether he stuffed your mouth full with his cock or had your face buried in the pillows as he fucked that cattiness out of you, both of them were wins in your eyes.

But you hardly linger around him now, you barely even speak or meet his eyes for longer than a second anymore, and whenever you shared a bed you’d sleep turned away from him, never clinging to his back like you often would, he used to complain about it but now he missed it, missed your warmth.

He let this go on for days, hoping that he was overreacting and your mood would pass on it's own.

But the final straw was when he came to your shared bedchambers at the late hours — and you were not there.

Without a second thought he stomped to your old bedchamber, the one you quickly abandoned for his own at the very start of your marriage with the cheeky excuse of 'In the north we don't have separate bedchambers and if you truly care for me as your wife you would never let me sleep cold and alone.'

 And what of him?

You would let him sleep cold and alone?

He found you awake still, pacing around before the hearth and wringing your hands together with a frown, you seemed stressed like you had the weight of the world on your shoulders.

And out of all the dresses and jewelry you had worn, there was nothing you wore better than your smile. To see it gone for so long is unsettling.

That frown didn't suit you at all. The panic-stricken expression you gave him before you turned away from him was even worse.

"Why are you here, Maekar?"

Maekar?

What happened to my love? my darling? my dragon? my flame?

Even dragonman or maemae were preferable, at least you would be smiling then.

"I was tired," he walked up to you, his body joining with the flames of the hearth in warming you, still you don't turn.

"I came to our chambers, and was met with an empty bed with my wife nowhere in sight, care to tell me why that was?"

 Silence.

"Look me in the eyes when I speak to you." Maekar said, voice low, gentle, and lacking the commanding tone one would expect.

Slowly, you turn, when you finally face him you kept your eyes trained on the ground between you, what little space there was of it.

Maekar lays a hand to the small of your back, pressing you close, and he uses the other one to raise your chin up gently between his two fingers.

Still, you struggle to hold his gaze.

"What's wrong?" Maekar asks. "You used to make this a game, remember?"

One of the ways you found entertainment (at his expense) was to seat yourself on his lap, hold his face in your hands and say 'whoever looks away first loses'. What does the winner get? nothing. He knows that because he won everytime, since you couldn't keep it together for five seconds before giggling at his squished face.

Finally, you break your silence.

"You will be upset with me."

Maekar is unsure what heinous thing you could have done to make you so worried — so worried that you would behave like this, that you would avoid him for so long when you used to act like being separated for longer than two hours was an unforgivable crime.

You were blowing things out of proportion, he can't imagine you doing anything that would truly upset him.

"I will not." Maekar said. "Tell me."

You hesitate.

"Out with it." Maekar said, restless and eager to move on from whatever was keeping you from him.

"I'm with child." You confessed, hand bunching at the fabrics at your stomach.

The air leaves his lungs.

"What?"

You turn away from him again.

He's told you way back when you were only his betrothed that he does not plan for a seventh, and you, watching his children run him ragged understood why he wouldn't want for more.

You were content with it, you were content with being the stepmother, it came with all the benefits with none of the pain of childbirth, but what were you to do when you began dreaming, of having one of your own with your beloved's pretty amethyst eyes and molten silver hair?

Nothing is what you did, but here you were. Pregnant despite all you've done to prevent it from happening, you couldn't find it in yourself to be happy.

Wouldn't he hate you for it? For not having the nerve to drink moon tea? For hesitating to tell him? For wanting to keep it?

"I told you that you would be upset with me."

"You stupid girl." Maekar said angrily, making you flinch.

He grabs your wrist and pulls you back against him, holding you even closer and pressing his cheek atop your head.

"I am not upset, not in the slightest." He said. "I am however, offended, that you think I would ever be."

You pull away and look up at him in shock.

"You said that you didn't want another child." You said, confused.

"Yes," Maekar said. "but I only said that because I didn't want to scare you, to go from being childless into a mother of six with a seventh on the way in the span of a few months is not something any young maiden finds herself dreaming of."

"But are you sure you want this? We don't have to–" He shuts you up with a kiss, his beard that always had you in awe of it's strange softness felt rough against your skin from the way he pressed his lips to yours — you loved when he kissed you like that.

Unfortunately, you could only hold your breaths for so long, you pull away, breathing heavily.

"Never ever suggest anything like that," he breathes out. "of course I want it."

Maekar comes down for another kiss, his fingers pulling the hair at the nape of your neck, curling himself into you. Again, your lungs betray you both, and you pull away.

His breaths warms the side of your face as he nuzzles at your temple, the tip of his nose fluttering along softly against your skin.

"And don't you ever leave me like that again," he pants against your ear. "never, do you understand?"

You nod frantically, always helpless to him when he spoke to you like that.

"Good." Maekar says, sweeping you off your feet and cradling you in his arms, forcing a surprised laugh out of you. He carries you to the abandoned bed.