jacaerys velaryon ; the heir to the iron throne

3.1K 88 1
                                    

summary ; drabble requested by anon as part of my 1k follower celebration.

"🍉 #42 (types of kisses) with jace please 🙏🏾"
"42. Distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop the other person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead."

pairing ; jacaerys velaryon x reader

notes ; please this is such a cute prompt

━┉⠀❩⠀◗⠀●⃟⠀◖⠀❨⠀┉━

jacaerys has always been prepared for lordship and princely duties ever since he was a child.

his mother oversaw his success, oftentimes chiding him when necessary and pushing him to his limit. she always knew, deep down, the seven kingdoms would prosper under his rule. he was smart, articulate, and careful with his words – the only thing she was worried about, was his anger that was oftentimes a short fuse.

his mother, rhaenyra, who has now ascended the iron throne, named prince jacaerys of houses targaryen and velaryon, the rightful heir to the iron throne and prince of dragonstone.

when all the lords and their families swore fealty to him, when he was adorned in black, gold, and blue royal dressage, and when he had on the very golden chain his mother put on years before that, was when he knew it was getting real.

something that he thought was a fragment of his imagination – he, his family, and his kids being kings and queens, was now within his very grasp.

was he terrified? absolutely.

he would spend night and day, training, learning, and doing whatever means necessary to learn statecraft and politics. he noted that the north was often absent at court, that highgarden was the powerhouse of westeros, his brother lucerys would control the sea, and house lannister would be a vital backing to his claim – as they had more gold than the other houses combined.

day after day, jacaerys would be covered in bruises and welts, large contusions adorning his arms, torso, and legs. you were sure it was the work of ser erryk cargyll, the second-in-command queensguard sworn to jacaerys.

he was training too hard and it was evident in the way his aching seemed to share with you every time he entered a room.

"you work too hard, my love," you hum from your shared bed, the blankets tussled and half-strewn over your body. jacaerys hums in response, haunched over his desk. the table is illuminated by a cluster of white, half-melted candles, the wax beginning to gather at the base of the candleholder. the flames are enough to light part of the room and allow jacaerys to clearly see his writing.

"in a moment," he responds. his hands holding a quill and scribbling in contents of his paper. he hums in thought, tsk'ing himself when he makes an error, and smacking his lips when he realizes his mistake can't be corrected. jace throws down the quill, an irritated sigh leaving his lips.
that's your cue.

you get up and approach him, your hands touching his back gingerly before sliding up to his shoulders. you give them a reassuring squeeze, leaning over his shoulder to give his ear a kiss. he's picked up the quill, spinning it expertly in his hands as he grumbles out his incoherent thoughts.

"take a break," you whisper, your hands smoothing his wrinkled clothing that laid over his chest. you move to kiss his cheek and smile victoriously at the sigh of content that is paired with his closed eyes. you move around him and he reopens them, giving you a small, tired smile.

"i can't." you pout your lips, moving closer to kiss his cheek, his jaw, the side of his lip, and his cheekbone. you pull away and he almost grins – a breathless chuckle leaving him. convincing him was far too easy as he could never resist your touch, "alright then, only for a bit."

your smile matches his and you pull him towards your shared bed. he follows willingly, steps tired and sluggish. he surges forward with a newfound energy, hovering over you when you scoot back on to the bed, back against the sheets.

he gives you a few kisses, varying from your lips, your jaw, and your neck, his nose burying it's way into the crook. your hands move to unclasp the buttons to his coat, but he retreats enough to give you a friendly, chiding look.

"only for a bit!"

he won't be going back to his desk, you'll make sure of it.

DANCING WITH DRAGONS ;; a collection of imagines.Where stories live. Discover now