[aliasares]

masterlist

chaptered fics:

⟣ a knight of the seven kingdoms

kin (baelor targaryen/niece!reader)

- ch. 1, ch.2;

oneshots:

⟣ game of thrones

spitshine (roose bolton/captive!reader)

blurbs:

⟣ a knight of the seven kingdoms

accidental pregnancy (baelor targaryen/exhibitionist!reader)

[aliasares]

hi🥹 i was just wondering if you were working on a part iii of kin?

hi! yes, i am, thank you for asking! i did sort of put it out there that the subsequent parts will take longer to release, because i’m unfortunately quite busy at the moment and i refuse to put out a chapter i haven’t perfected just for the sake of it. so hopefully, if you find the patience to wait a little longer, i’d be more than thankful. it’s being written as we speak!

[redhydraarts]

If i have to NOT make an ASOIAF oc I’ll genuinely die- Maelysan, Maekar’s eldest daughter. Her design and story were HUGELY inspired by @aliasares’s fic Kin which btw is genuinely incredibly well written and you should read it NIOW!!

[aliasares]

cw: slightly coercive!reader, guilt play, baelor getting corrupted!!!

thinking of how baelor would be very particular about handling privacy around your pregnancy, and how it came to be, despite you being formally wed to him.

considering that you’d likely be much younger, it’d be paramount that he is convinced you’re mentally ready for it. therefore, even if you were already wed, you probably wouldn’t get pregnant right away. he wouldn’t be one to get easily swayed by the council into making you constantly push out heirs either. if you did end up doing it, it’d likely be because you wished it to be so.

and certainly, that would come about at some point—likely in the first trimester of your first (for now) pregnancy. he’d advise against all trips for you once you hit the second trimester, but you did come along with him on diplomatic missions until then. it could be the fact that you’re away from the red keep and constantly meeting new people, or the fact that there’s a light bump across where your gown had been purposefully widened, but it does something to you.

people get starey. you began noticing a particular pattern of recognition in most whom you met for the first time—a glance at your face, followed by a brief one to your belly, and then one, much more bashful, towards baelor next to you. it’s not lost on him either, though he never explicitly shared it with you. royal custom calls for any pregnancy to be announced as soon as it is known, and yours hadn’t been, even with you being at the end of the first trimester. it was a sort of superstition baelor had about keeping quiet about good things until they’re safe to be spoken about.

so when a noble or two would look down and connect the dots, all he would do is stare right back at them until it became clear that this is your business alone. of course, he somehow has a way of doing that without being seen as impudent, but it did make you wonder where the line for that truly lay, even with a well-beloved man as he was. especially when you’d glanced sideways at him once and all you could see in his stare—his chin lowered the way it usually was when he was cross—was the same look that had been thrown your way once upon a time when your tongue had become loose in his ear, telling him that nothing would be hotter than for him to get you pregnant accidentally.

it had been in your mind since before you were his betrothed. the idea of carrying his child felt almost exhilarating, and not because you were that excited about motherhood. it was the sole thought of what would need to happen in order for you to get pregnant by him. that there needed to be a certain thing he does inside you that would ensure that. and for him to do so, he’d have to fuck you first—and fucking you was a thing you wanted him to do, badly.

of course, all you could do before the wedding was imagine it and stifle all the fire along your cunt with two fingers or one of the hard pillows on the chaise lounge in your chambers. you wondered what he would feel like. how long, how thick he might be. whether he was as muscular beneath the robe as it made him look. you figured he’d be gentle but you could never really know with a man, especially with a targaryen. an older one, heir to the throne at that. such power did breed proclivities for certain behavior in some.

what you came to find out was that he was as methodical and principled as he was completely drawn to the opposite of all that. a perfect prince, with a perfect new wife—it is only natural that someone of such grace and honor will wed the bride first, then plan to get her pregnant after. baelor knew the order of things all too well. and he had kept it once, with his first wife, which was part of what had got him in people’s good graces. he was spotless. impeccable.

so he did a lot to keep you at bay. not because he disliked you or found you overwhelming—gods, no. quite the opposite. you were insistent on spending time with him during the engagement period and he wasn’t daft. and you weren’t exactly into custom as much as he had been taught to be. you weren’t much for holding back on him either. but he was older, and it was his responsibility not to fuck you when you had kindly asked him to—“bedding ceremony practice,” you’d called it. baelor had dismissed it the first time. he wanted to do good by you.

he had this thing in his chambers, something he had overheard when he had been younger and more carefree, as much as someone like him could be. king daeron’s kingsguard had broken the news accidentally, about “reinforcements” when brothels weren’t available. baelor never did go to brothels. but the ways of the kingsguard had spiked his interest, because they required no other person’s involvement. “a folded pillow, you see, just in half. the ones in me mum’s chamber were too hard for it,” the man—still vivid in baelor’s memory—had spat a laugh to another, pearly white cloaks streaming down their backs. “you fold it in half, yeah? and stick your cock in. some oil or grease in there. nothing like a cunt but it works.” a young and impressionable baelor never did try the technique until he was about six-and-ten, hormones overtaking even the most tame. he never made a habit of it and since marrying his first wife, had abandoned the act altogether. but it had been a few good years alone. and he didn’t think highly of his own sexual gratification, but gods, if you could see just what he was doing in the tower of the hand. he liked to think it was a concern of lack of practice. didn’t want to disappoint his new wife, a young one at that, full of life and stamina that he needed more of an effort to maintain, or so he thought. whenever he didn’t have any urgent work, whenever he remembered to, the hand of the king pumped himself behind the desk in his chambers enough so he could stick his cock inside one of the soft, feathery pillows on his bed. his fingers strained inside the rings that adorned them as he held down the arrangement from opening up on him, the way he’d hold a lady’s lower back. your back. sticky noises came from where the base of his cock—tan and hairy—rocked back and forth into a few too many drops of lavender oil. just the thought of underperforming with you in a couple of weeks had him painting the pillow whiter than he had found it, over and over, and gods be good, he was sick of himself.

but lucky you. baelor wanted to do so good by you and you were very convincing that doing good by you involved doing you good. he had been against the idea. going back to his chambers blueballed to preserve some false sense of honor wasn’t the problem, certainly. the problem was that he was gradually growing more and more convinced that the feel of your cunt around him was more a need than a want. you had thoroughly made it so. a seductress so skilled, all you ever did was never stop talking about premarital sex and he was embarrassingly hard and leaking for it.

he hadn’t been far off.

there was something catlike about how willingly you had bent over for him about a week before you were to be wed. the way your cunt had glistened impatiently, both holes on display for him, all the while you looked at him over your shoulder. words weren’t needed, but you had urged him to “open you up” that night.

baelor had hated the way you put it but his cock twitched all the same.

of course, the rest of what happened didn’t occur with you in that position. a traditional man, he was—plowing his betrothed, chest to chest, hoping the gods look away this once because he just couldn’t wait the six days left.

that’s what he told himself.

it most definitely wasn’t about how much you were enjoying yourself. whispering all sorts of profanities against his neck, calling him “honorable for breaking you open preemptively so you didn’t struggle on your wedding night.” his face had been priceless at that. you certainly reveled in the breakspear part of his list of titles.

you weren’t inexperienced, but you liked to think your cunt anew when you had been introduced for the first time. sole conversation and good manners had apparently acquired a primal effect on you then.

“let it leak a little before you part” was what he had heard about a few strokes before he had done precisely that. you didn’t think he would. if anything, you only figured it out when the lines around his eyes had deepened, neck shaking with strain as his hand seemed to reach between the two of you. to no avail. baelor’s eyes had flickered up to your face, wide and beautiful in brown and blue, so incredibly sorry to have done exactly what you had begged him to do the whole time.

your only regret was that you couldn’t push it out for him so he could see what he had just done to you. the rest of his spend went somewhere along your knee. and you were keen on keeping the little he had given you inside.

wedding was imminent. and so was getting lawfully filled up that same night. the most impatient bride.

when the maester had confirmed your pregnancy, baelor didn’t figure to ask for the date of conception, for he thought it unnecessary to know. but the maester had said it anyway, with a glance between the two of you that neither one had seen in the face of the realization that had dawned.

the maester had spoken none of it to anyone and the pregnancy was not to be revealed for a bit, so you both could sit with the news by yourselves for a while. but none of that changed the fact that the exemplary man at your side had got you pregnant on the first try—without trying. something about that had made your brain mushy and your husband was a terrible liar, so both of you were quick to fuck again right after the visit to the maester. lots of talk about fertility had been had that particular day.

particularly when baelor had you right on the little bit of wall between two of the windows in his chambers, enough to keep you covered, though no one could really peer this high up. hands on the wall, back arched just like you had shown him you can, his chest on your back caging you in. his hand rested flat on your lower belly which felt all the more perverted with the knowledge you had now. he had slowed down at the end, bottoming out several times in long, slow thrusts, before he filled you up nice and proper, his breath ragged against your nape.

all of that had only confirmed it for you. being pregnant—being pregnant on accident, that is—was enough to get you slick between the legs. more than that, being looked at, the way you had been by countless lords and ladies at that point, only seemed to deepen it. you would pull their brains apart if it meant that you’d get a glimpse into their imagination. likely more than a few had imagined their future king’s cock pistoning in and out of your pretty cunt and no one ever explicitly told you, but it was bloody obvious, and decently spoken of, that you likely had succeeded on try number one. whenever that may have been.

so the thought remained. down the line of several more kids. all of westeros just couldn’t keep up. and you loved being in their mouths and minds for it.

[aliasares]

I’m so sorry I’m this is tmi. -but omg the ch2 of the baelor fic….

Had me flicking my 🫘 and LET ME TELL YOU…

I saw fucking 🌟 STARS 🌟

I’ve literally never cum so hard on my fingers and it was from rereading those lines

You ARE SO GOOD WITH WRITING HOW ARE YOU DOING THIS

But PL EASE I NEED MORE LIKE IT!!!

Pretty pleeeaaseeeeeeee only if u want to and im so sososoososos sorry if this made you uncomfortable it wasn’t my intention-🦎

😭😭😭😭😭😭 im glad you enjoyed it in full capacity! this is a great compliment, thank you 🫶🏻

[aliasares]

you’re literally one of my favorite writers omg i appreciate u so much u don’t even know 🤍🤍

this is so sweet, thank you so much 😭 i appreciate you even more

[aliasares]

YOU’VE DONE IT AGAIN. THANK YOU THABK YOU THANK YOU. Kin is everything I could ever have hoped for in a Baelor fic, and more. You are an angel. No pressure, but I am absolutely foaming at the mouth for another chapter.

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! <3 the next chapter will likely take a bit longer to write and publish bcs im quite busy at the moment, but it will be up at some point nonetheless! thank you for sticking around to read kin 🫶🏻

[aliasares]

hoooooo boyyyy that ch 2 was amazing !! i adore the dom sub undertones of baelor and reader’s relationship. telling her to be quiet and praising her when she is. dom baelor is so perfect🥵 the emphasis on his rings was a delightful addition because i’ve been fixated on his hands since the moment we saw him fiddling with his rings for the first time and love that it’s been included so perfectly😩 for some reason baelor taking reader’s coat to cover the gap between the door and the floor was so hot? who knows why but i loved that lmao. baelor getting himself off right in front of her with eye contact ?? and we know it must be overwhelming for reader because those interviews with bertie where he makes intense eye contact with the camera/viewer ? ugh soooo good👌baelor keeping her mouth open, gripping her with his fingers. basically manhandling her head in a way to keep her from seeing him getting off. fuck me that’s so good. him just breathing against her cheek like.. you write sensuality so well !! it’s subtle moments like that that really sucks you in and makes it feel more real. i cannot wait for when baelor gets reader off👀

on a less sexy note but i must say it lol.. i love the little moments reader has had with maekar and egg. there’s real depth and complexities there that feels very seamless and fits right in with the targaryen family dynamics. i’m interested to see reader and aerion interacting. maybe even with baelor close by if aerion makes a sexual comment towards reader. i’d love to see baelor reacting to that and the fallout after something like that but that’s just the depraved freak within me loool.

i LOVE this fic so much !! thank you for sharing it with us❤️

thank YOU for reading it and enjoying it so much, as well as for the lovely words!! im rlly glad you liked the second chapter ❤️

[aliasares]

Kin chapter 2 was stunning and absolutely beautifully written. Like I’ll take 50 more. But no truly your writing has legit inspired me to write after the longest of writers block.

thank you so much!! <3 i’m so glad you liked it, because doing the first chapter justice is my top priority and in all honesty, it’s quite intimidating doing a chaptered fic for the first time. i’m so happy to hear you’re feeling inspired to write again yourself, it’s the biggest compliment! thank you again 🫶🏻

[aliasares]

Kin, Ch. 2

Summerhall has always had a history of not being able to keep things contained. This was no different.

Pairing: Baelor Targaryen/Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Other chapters: Ch. 1

Word Count: 5.4K (you can also read this on AO3)

CW: 18+ ONLY, dark content, explicit sexual content, afab reader, not entirely canon compliant, canon-typical violence, targcest, uncle/niece incest, implied emotional incest, second person pov, emotional/psychological abuse, power imbalance, age difference, unresolved emotional tension, introspection, isolation, scars, past child abuse, dysfunctional family dynamics, body dysmorphia, self-esteem issues, self-hatred, dissociation, trauma, shame, guilt, finger sucking, oral fixation, hand & finger kink, self-lubrication, masturb4tion, dubious morality, bodily fluids, implied orgasm denial, flashbacks, light angst

A/N: i cannot thank you guys enough for the immense love kin has received over the past two weeks <3 i hope you enjoy!

TAGS: @sacha1slytherin ; @lov3blond777 <333

Say your fortune.

The voice which rang in your ears the previous evening appeared to have embedded itself in your mind. The gravel with which it rolled against your side had been accompanied by a putrid smell, which made sense once you saw the mouth it belonged to. Most of what could be seen inside of it was black, and whatever hadn’t blackened yet was a yellow that reminded you, to your dismay, of the field outside of your chambers in Summerhall. Though, the scent was vastly different.

The woman on your left was hooded, near your height, but far from your age. A soft tan glazed her skin, visible even in the dark. You hadn’t heard her approach, likely because you had a hood drawn over your head as well. Or more so—over your face.

Don’t linger now, you are the same as I.

The words snapped you out of it.

It was not like you hadn’t seen rotten teeth in your life, but there was something else there that glued your eyes still. An anomaly beyond what could be seen on her face. Or anywhere, for that matter. Your eyes drifted up to hers, or where you figured they’d be, but the black of her hood had long preceded you. Her fingers reached towards your hair. Your feet kicked up dust behind your cloak in an attempt to evade all touch. The sole implication of what she’d said made you recoil further, turning away so not even a little could be seen from your maiming. The gesture earned you a crooked smile in return.

Many a man would pay fortunes for these silvery locks you hide away. Makes one wonder why.

A pause. You could see her gesture to the people around in your peripheral.

Others certainly do.

Your eyes had begun scanning the line above the tents, a particular shakiness in your pupils. You could walk away from this; it wasn’t like you had agreed to being her client. But it was your sixth time making a full circle around the meadow, where you had spent the entire day, engaging, as you’d call it. Or more so, evading. And there were just some things you couldn’t hide from in a crowd of people, beneath a cloak and a tight face. So your feet had planted you next to her, and something in you figured that less eye contact meant less… fortune being thrown your way.

A soft exhale left her, something close to a chuckle. Not the good kind.

Then again, you have always been… careful. Immaculate.

That seemed to land. And she didn’t need to see the queer look on your face to know it. Besides, what better timing to strike an opponent than when you’ve already worn them down? Her step shifted closer to yours, which, on the contrary, couldn’t move for the life of you. A finger flicked back a blonde strip dripping out of your hood.

Seemed quite painful, the way you got that. Does it still hurt?

A brief flash of her teeth seemed to be the only response to the way your eyes had widened. An array of screams a few tents down snapped your neck a moment later, your company gone with it. Whatever had just happened concluded in the most convenient of ways, and not for you, anyway.

What you’d seen after that made your reminiscing end abruptly, your eyes shutting close. A confinement to all—you, Aerion, and the newly-found little Aegon—had been mandatory the following day. Your father had been out for most of the day, Daeron still unaccounted for. It was clear why all of this was enforced, but it didn’t bother you any less. Aerion could do fuck all and you still had to bear some part of the consequences, despite not participating in it. Despite bearing a consequence at all times as is.

The sun had begun setting now. Your feet had acquired an ache and a callus or two after the rounds you’d made yesterday. And if Ashford Castle hadn’t seen your face much the day before, it had become sick of it now. An entire day spent within four stone walls.

A breeding ground for thoughts you did not dare revisit. A tight proximity to someone you hadn’t seen since—that being a very conscious effort on your end. The dullness in your ankles was a small price to pay for a full day outside, while he had been, to your knowledge, inside. A brief jousting event had taken place midday and the thought of him on the dais had made you terribly interested in spices—a booth on the opposite side of the jousting grounds. That was all before the atrocity of that evening.

It concerned you now how easily you grew tired. How comfortably immobile Summerhall had rendered you. Yesterday had been the most movement you’d had in years.

And it once again all came down to hiding, even here.

——

Yesterday’s cloak that had graced your chair all day now hung bent over your left forearm. It smelled of smoke mostly, and the hem of it was adorned with crusted mud droplets.

Stone echoed flat beneath you down the dim halls of Lord Ashford’s keep. Torches kept the walls from closing in on you, but the place still felt suffocating. It had already seen too much.

There wasn’t any particular spot for the maids to gather, but despite the hour, you hoped you’d run into one who could rid you of the cloak. The sensation of the muddy rim bouncing off your lower leg as you walked made your jaw lock.

“As you will, Your Grace.”

Soft footsteps neared a closed door on your left. You halted before your frame could come into it, Egg slipping through the small crack in it before closing it shut. A sense of relief washed over you both when you registered one another—you needed to see his little face more than he would ever know. Your head inched ahead towards a crevice and he followed along as you both rounded the corner.

An advantage your little brother had at his age was that he could fit in almost all elements of architecture that were not intended for little kids, or any other size man. He had found a block of stone, moved the candles on it off to the side and lifted himself to sit there, while you leaned on the opposite wall, cloak sandwiched between your crossed arms. “How’s it going in there?”

His eyes would melt the stone beneath your feet if they could. “Ser Duncan did not do any wrong,” Aegon’s voice was quiet, strained with something close to sorrow, “I don’t think uncle sees it that way.” You didn’t bother asking him where he had gone off to with this Ser Duncan. Not with a face like that on him. He had learned to hold back his tears and you didn’t like the idea of that.

Your mouth thinned out, eyes dropping to where his feet were dangling above the floor.

“I think you need to trust that he will try to make the best decision possible, even if the situation is difficult.”

“What if he doesn’t?” Aegon had replied almost immediately, eyes lifting up to meet yours, big and glossy.

Your heartbeat stuttered, a breathy “What?” leaving you.

“If uncle makes a mistake?” A sob seemed to clog his throat, and whether that sob ever made it out into the open largely depended on what you said next.

What you could do was look back at him and pray he doesn’t see in his sister a worse evil than Aerion had been to you both. A fraud who pretended to know all the answers, and still, at that moment, gave her little brother none of the ones he sought.

Wood creaked to the left, a door opening again. Aegon perked up physically, though his face continued to carry the same concern, one too heavy for his age. His feet touched the ground instantly and he walked off to where you’d both come from.

You, however, remained for a couple moments longer. At least until any and all voices ceased to carry down to you—one tiny, one bigger. Only then did you move, cloak slung over your right arm now. The door from which Aegon had come out was fully open when you reached it. A salty swipe of your tongue across your bottom lip held the confirmation you never gave your little brother moments ago. The sole proof of your fraudulent nature. How it stank of dirt and rot where you stood, and how little the grimy cloak in your arms had to do with it.

One step. Two.

A third one would be asking for a whipping.

You planted yourself right inside the frame of the door and let your eyes roam inside just enough to find him. His back loomed on the side of the desk, broad and black and pressed forward by thought and bother. What little you could see of his face all soon turned to you in a flash. His head promptly twitched away again, but that only appeared to show the slow speed of the brain when it dealt with unexpected appearances. A double take made him fully look at you.

You looked right back.

His tongue pressed lightly beneath his bottom teeth, his eyes tearing themselves away from you again with several hurried blinks.

Your cheeks hollowed out at that and whatever emotional self-preservation you had left in you made you look away to the large book spread on his desk. Not that you could see anything within. But it was less bothersome than looking at him while he actively looked where you were not.

The inside of your head boomed with possibilities of what to say, each worse than the previous. When nothing felt good enough, surrender creased your eyebrows together. A frustrated sigh marked the first sound inside this room in the last several minutes.

“Aegon’s very upset.”

His chin tipped downwards at the sound of your voice. His gaze remained there, a curtain for the rendering and reshaping that went on in his mind at all times. All the responsibility he had and how much of himself he needed to shave off to live up to it.

“He has no right to be,” Baelor replied, voice soft, despite. There was no malice. There could never be malice. “He lied to the man,” he raised himself off the edge of the desk gently, “brought him into this instead of coming to me.” A slight raise in his brows was visible even from where you stood. He didn’t near you. The least he could do was offer you his front and not his side, and that was precisely what he did.

Your insides twisted at the sole sight of him—the sensation a mixture of what had occurred yesterday, and what had occurred the day before it. If you didn’t feel bad for avoiding him the previous day, you did now. Because even if you had done your best not to see him, there was nothing else on your mind the whole time you circled the pavilions. What had happened clung onto your back like a malicious spirit, one that occasionally sneaked a long, bony hand down your underclothes, tainting you with its sinful fingers.

By the time your revelations had ordered themselves in your head, Baelor had crossed over and closed the door behind you. He didn’t stop near, didn’t look your way. His desk was where he was headed after, where duty awaited him between sandy pages. Still, you were inside the same space as all of it. All that weighed on him like stones in a satchel.

You weren’t sure if he had said anything while you had spaced out.

It made you all the more unsettled.

Standing by the door, staring at him like he owed you something. A guarantee that he didn’t hate you half as much as he hated himself. A sign that even in this mess of a tourney, he could discern between his professional frustration and what you had made him feel.

Your teeth bit into a raised patch of skin on your bottom lip and lifted it off. The taste of blood coated the tip of your tongue seconds after, but your teeth didn’t let up. Always more to dig in a wound.

“Aerion said you were there,” Baelor’s eyes were on the cloak in your hands, his head lightly tilted. He spoke like a glass overfilled, the liquid shaking at the brim.

“I heard screaming and rushed there with everyone else. He had already done all the damage by then.” The cloak in your hands rustled lightly as you put it down on an empty chair nearby.

“And the hedge knight?”

“He came shortly after.”

His nostrils flared from where he sat, fingers rubbing at his temples. They dropped to his lap promptly. “You’re telling me that you were there before Aegon.” The words were more a statement than a question. And from the way he spoke, your uncle seemed displeased—with you. Uncertainty made your feet grow cold. The ache in them threatened to return.

“I was—”

He blinked away your attempt. Rapidly.

“And you did not think to come to me.” His voice was firm, quiet as can be, but firm. You had never heard him talk like this before. “Aegon, I can understand, he is but a child,” a pause, his eyes dropping to his desk, “It doesn’t excuse him, but I can see why he didn’t know better. You, on the other hand—” Baelor looked at you then. It took you all the strength in the realm to not look away.

His chest heaved, almost imperceptibly so, but it made all the difference on a man so calm.

“You should’ve come to me.”

“I would’ve never made it in time—”

“It could’ve been prevented.” This marked the first time you had heard your uncle’s voice more elevated than the whispery thread he usually weaved. It was in no way shouting, but with the way he had inclined forward on his chair, this was no casual conversation either.

The bottom eyelid on your right twitched lightly.

Your tongue flattened against the roof of your mouth, eyes finally looking away from him. A short huff escaped you before you could think any better. The left side of your face quirked up. “I don’t think it’s fair, blaming me for this.”

Baelor’s gaze followed the turn of your face to the side.

“I’m not blaming you.” Your brows shot up at his words, half amusement, half an attempt to mask the same look you had seen on Aegon’s face minutes ago.

“Right,” you breathed out, looking at him again. Maekar had left the castle hours ago to look for Daeron, but you made sure he never stopped seeing his brother around, whether you were aware of it or not. Your brows had furrowed the same way his had done when he was cross. “Where’s Aerion?”

The slight rasp in your throat hit your uncle right where he was sat. Your voice wasn’t as quiet as his.

“I already spoke to him.”

You nodded at that, a smile appearing, one of bewilderment rather than any positive emotion. It was gone as soon as it appeared.

Something about that made his jaw flex beneath the beard. His eyes squinted your way in response. “You were out the entire day,” the emphasis on entire made it feel more personal than it should’ve. “You ought to carry some sense of responsibility, do you not?”

“Responsibility for what, exactly?” The pitch of your voice tipped so high, he swore at least one person in the vicinity of the room awoke. It was beyond late.

He glanced to the closed door behind you, his mouth parting, the sharp of his canines peeking below his upper lip, visible even from where you stood. For those who looked there, that is.

Baelor leaned back in his seat, a heavy exhale leaving him. His eyes dropped to your hands, one spread across your stomach as if you’d split in two otherwise. A ringed hand moved atop the desk, tapping softly on the surface several times, before he slowly got up. His feet swished along the wooden flooring, coming to stand on the side of the desk again.

Any movement in your direction made you seize up all over again.

“You must understand that this is part of what I do,” your uncle’s voice had quieted down again, “I need to know all perspectives on what went down.”

“You think that’s not clear to me?” It became clear, to him, however, that by the tone of your voice, he had likely wounded you without meaning to. Beyond what he had worried about and spun over in his mind again and again over the last two days.

However, what he said next was counterintuitive to his otherwise very correct assessment of the current situation. It was self-preservation at its best. He knew what all this meant, at least for him. And more than that, he knew it would’ve taken him a lot more to say it in any other scenario. You were the least likely to earn it from him.

“I advise you to keep your voice down.”

You were good. He knew that. So what he said made no sense other than self-servitude. Your father wasn’t here to hear you and if anyone else did, what business was it of theirs to question what the Hand of the King was discussing at this hour. In the solar of all places.

You were so good. You weren’t in the wrong to be angry with him. For what he’d accused you of and for what he’d done to you in your chambers that made you walk the same place like a lunatic just to avoid him.

You were good.

In that moment, in his own eyes, Baelor wasn’t. Beneath the skirt of his robe, he was straining the same way he had that night when you’d touched him. Only, this time, you hadn’t. All you did was stand up to him. Point a mirror in his face so he could look at how honorable he was being.

That was your only offense. Your only fault.

He was grateful that you couldn’t hear any of this in his head. That the only thing he could read on your face was the anger you were clutching at, to no avail.

“Did you say the same thing to Aerion? I’m sure he made a whole mess of your quiet,” you glanced around, dismissively mapping the room with your hand, “ideal.”

His words had no effect on how loud you were being.

Baelor’s feet shifted. His eyes drifted to the door behind you again, worry written all over his face. He blinked it away at the ground.

“The castle is sleeping.” A second warning.

“Fuck the castle.”

Your words made his eyes shoot right up at you. The way they had widened only came afterwards.

I said “fuck me”, not “fuck him.”

His brother’s words from days ago swam up in his mind. You were his little girl. In nature and nurture.

Two strides were all it took for him to get to you. Well, not exactly. Baelor passed you and reached for the cloak you had draped over the chair by the door. He dropped it and kicked at it until it had covered the small gap between the door and the stone floor, where shadows and light could dance for anyone on the other side.

It was only then that he got to you.

A momentum that only his frame and height could give him. A quickness you had seconds to brace yourself for, unsuccessfully.

Two fingers tapped your chin, an urging. A tap to your lower lip followed when you hadn’t given the correct response. His fingers stilled there, stretching the gummy feel of it out until your mouth parted for him. The rest of your uncle’s fingers moved to support your chin from below, or more so, keep it as he had forced it. Open for him.

One of the digits pulling at your lower lip flicked up and went inside your mouth, stopping at the roof of it. He pressed upwards with his nail, parting you wider, even though your lower lip had loosened a bit. He did it until your head tipped back enough for you to be able to see his face and hardly anything below it, unless he allowed it.

“That’s it.”

It seemed as though your form was perfect, because his finger turned with its soft part up against your palate, maintaining your mouth tipped up and open.

His eyes drifted between yours like they were the last threshold for him to cross. You stared back, breathing out against his intrusive touch. Your jaw only dropped lower. It was sign enough.

What you could not see beneath the line of vision he had enforced on you was a hand. One with several rings on it that moved swiftly beneath his robe and undid the safety of his pants. If your eyes dared drop, and they did, his finger only pushed your head backwards more, so you could see his face and only his face.

Baelor had wrapped a large, adorned hand around himself inside his underthings.

The realization only settled when your downward peripheral registered a back-and-forth motion. Nothing quick or obscene, not yet. A slow pull and sheath. A pace in its beginning stages. His eyes were on yours the entire time, and yours had nowhere else to be but on his—right back. A miniature twitch in your brows gave you away, and it made his breath hitch, but not without a slight increase in the speed of his hand.

It seemed as though your gaze was equally as intrusive as his was to you, because the twitch in his neck kept returning. He was trying not to look away from you. Baelor was wrong. Whatever shame he saw in your eyes, it was all his. Pumping himself in front of his niece, in front of her perfect little face. Maekar’s face.

And he had the nerve to lecture you about responsibility.

His eyes dropped to the raised line splitting your right cheek and you didn’t quite know what it was about the way his jaw had slackened then, but you knew that you liked it and if it were any other moment, you would have joined him with your own hand between your legs.

Now, all you could think about was the shine your cunt was accumulating by the second as you bore witness to your uncle with a fist around his cock just at the sight of you. Selfishly trying to indulge your own senses now would ruin it. He was showing himself to you—as much as his consciousness allowed him at that particular moment.

And you were keen on meeting him right where he wanted you.

Aside from the stickiness between your legs, your mouth had begun to drool on and around his finger, which had maintained its deliberate position.

Baelor’s eyes followed one particular string of saliva as it spread down the corner of your open mouth. He didn’t reach for it, only added a second finger in, tilting your head up again so you opened wider. “That’s a quiet girl.”

His voice was all breathy now, merely above a whisper. Worked up more than he had been that night, all of which you had replayed in your mind over the course of the past two days.

When you’d let something close to a whine out just after, one from him followed as he glanced down to where his hand was and stilled. A vein popped on his temple and you could only guess he was squeezing himself as not to come. Or you hoped he was doing it, more like. You reveled in it.

Using his distracted state, you made an attempt to look below what was allowed, but Baelor shot it down quick by pushing up against your palate once more. His hand had begun stroking him again, and something about seeing him in his regal attire, all done up and proper, with not even the sleeves rolled back, doing what he was doing beneath the skirt, made your head spin.

He came closer. His shoulder, or what you could catch of it, was moving rhythmically again. The expression on his face was a delicious mixture of arousal, concern, and a third thing, close to frustration. With what you’d almost made him do just now.

Baelor came to stand in front of you, face to face. You could feel the motion of his hand near your navel, but his eyes were up and on your face. On your eyes and where they might steer again, and what he would need to do to correct that. Despite your curiosity, you had kept your mouth dutifully open in the meantime. Made his cock twitch, how good you were at following along, despite him barely uttering a word of instruction.

While his index and middle fingers propped your mouth as he wanted it, his thumb and ring fingers attached to each of the two corners of your mouth and pulled them wider. When you had made a sound in response, his slick hand rounded his tip, running a finger along the slit. The two fingers attached to your mouth’s roof slid further and felt up more of the ridges along the palate. It was his way of transmitting your mouth to other places, of imagining what it would be like to feel you there, but never allowing himself more than his own hand.

His gaze flickered to your cheek then. The scar pulled across your skin, the right side of your face much tighter than the other. Your right eye didn’t close half as much as your left one, likely because of the diameter of the scar and how it had healed. It was only then that he remembered—the possibility that he might be causing you pain, even years down the line.

Baelor lined his cock against his belly, still pumping himself as he got even closer to you. His mouth aligned with your cheek, and your eyes fluttered shut. You swore your feet would betray you any moment, both from excitement and the pain you had acquired the day before. He didn’t kiss you there this time. Just breathed you in with his mouth open, his eyes on yours from the side. Watching the way your lashes trembled, the way you stood so still while he did the unforgivable.

His fingers had relaxed lightly. You took the liberty of licking up into them, before closing your lips around them fully, sucking them in.

All you heard, and felt, was a rough exhale against your face before he pulled them out of your mouth and kissed you.

It was feverish.

The pool of saliva that had almost tipped over the edge of your mouth moments ago now flowed right into his own. He tried engulfing the entirety of you in one go, his lips dragging atop yours before you felt his tongue going in. It was sloppy and slow. And impossibly sensual. You wanted to believe your uncle hadn’t kissed anyone since your aunt’s passing. It made you all the more worked up, the idea that he had lost training in a way.

Your own tongue met Baelor’s and you enclosed his bottom lip, reveling in the sensation of how soft it was, while he had begun licking up into your mouth. He didn’t hold you. His hand continued to slide up and down the length of him, pausing here and there when it got too much. The position he had assumed reminded you of the one you had when he’d first hugged you that day. It was near endearing. His back was bent forward like he could not bear to part his mouth from yours. But he also wanted to keep touching himself and as much as you had seen him do, he likely still had some sense of bashfulness that made him not want to make you feel every move of his hand.

It was also incredibly hot to have him chase your mouth despite neither one of you really evading the other.

Baelor parted from your mouth for a bit, eyes dropping to where his hand was protruding beneath the skirt of his robe. This time around, your eyes dropped as well. He was close, evidently, from the way he was stilling every few pumps, but he still went on. It was better than any show you could see out there. Your pupils were wide and dark, full of want and something close to marvel. It was your first time witnessing male pleasure, let alone it being your dear uncle Baelor showing it to you.

“…out of his fucking mind.”

Your father’s voice echoed down the passage outside, along with that of one of the stewards, both likely returning after locating Daeron.

Baelor’s eyes shot up from his cock, as wide as you’d ever seen them, and in yours, he found an equal amount of shock. Your mouth parted, eyes falling back down below his waist again. He registered all of that, brows furrowing like he couldn’t believe what either of you were doing in the face of danger, despite the simultaneous quickening of his hand.

“He must be straightened out for tomorrow.”

You looked back up to him when Maekar’s voice rang again, just outside the door, before he disappeared down the corridor, and his voice with him.

Perhaps it was the combination of adrenaline, and the risk of being found with his hand down his pants and his niece along with him. Perhaps it was the sound of his brother’s voice and your face, Maekar's face, combined. Maybe it was just too much constraint for a man his age to take any longer.

But Baelor spilled just moments later, thick, white liquid covering his long fingers and the rings with them. Or so you imagined. You could not see any of it. Your knowledge of the subject extended as far as to the books in Summerhall’s library and what they spoke of. How men who didn’t engage in intercourse for a while tended to ejaculate in greater amounts. Though, you could never be sure if that were the case with him.

You wanted to see his hand. His cock, likely still hard against him. Wanted to know how he did it to himself and what he liked.

Alas, all that was visible to you was the shine on his forehead and the way he didn’t blink once while the orgasm tore through him. The way he had to keep looking you in the eyes the entire time or else, jaw tight and mouth shut, nostrils working overtime to restore his ragged breathing. He had made no sound, and you could tell it was deliberate.

Chest still heaving, his hand came from beneath his robe and rounded his back before you could see anything. His other one reached up, hesitating before caressing both of your cheeks with his knuckles, one after the other.

He could do no more than that. The way his fingers stuck together now was evidence enough that he had overindulged.

The matter of your own pleasure remained at what he had given you tonight—a glimpse of him, the reality of seeing him pleasure himself in front of you—a man you otherwise would’ve never expected to do anything of the sort. He likely didn’t plan on it either.

Your cunt remained drenched long after you had walked out of the solar. Under the covers, you could feel it for the next hour each time you moved around.

And you didn’t let yourself anywhere near it. There was something in denying yourself what Baelor hadn’t, that felt more gratifying than any orgasm could right now. You wanted to feel the proof of what you’d seen and felt as long as you could. A reward of sorts. The occasional thought of almost being caught would reignite you twice before you dozed off, still slick between the legs.

But certainly, that wasn’t the end of it.

No amount of sleep could undo what had been done and no amount of shame could thrust you back into a before that no longer existed. Family was meant to grow together. See one another develop.

And what better person to see you through it all than your own kin?

[aliasares]

I don't wanna put anyone else down but ever since reading Kin I haven't been able to read any other Baelor fic. I feel like yours is so on point... so... him... am obsessed

thank you so much 😭 i’m so glad you find it accurate to his character and enjoy it so much! <3

[aliasares]

would you ever write anything with daeron? i would be so obsessed to see what you come up with!!

oh, definitely! i tend to get progressively more absorbed by a show and its characters after it ends, so while we wait for season 2, i think i’ll probably have written something for almost everyone. daeron’s very enigmatic (and pretty). it’s quite unfortunate that the show can only explore so much of him as a character, but that also gives me more room to work with him without too many canon constraints <3

[rabbithenoob]

I wanted to draw a scene from Kin, an excellent Baelor/reader fic from @aliasares.

I'm weak. This is the fic that unlocked my unhealthy obsession with Baelor, Maekar and who knows who's next in the AKOTSD world. All subsequent naughty content started with Kin!

[aliasares]

how are you feeling about the next episode😔😔 i’m actually truly dreading it i feel sick

just watched it. absolutely sick to my stomach but it was so impeccably done. i love how nothing bad happens to anyone in it ❤️

[aliasares]

I already wrote to you but I wanted to tell you that you are amazing again! I think I read Kin for the sixth time last night and thanks to that I dreamt about Baelor 😌!!

I am so excited for the next time you're feeding us with your writing!! I quite literally jumped when I read that you're gonna continue Kin lol

Please take care of yourself and don't stress yourself out! I wish you the best ♡

thank you so so much, you’re the sweetest! <33 i’m an avid dreamer myself, so i love that for you!! also, six times is insane 🤯 thank you! take care as well and wishing you all the best right back :))

[aliasares]

i legit stopped breathing for a bit when i was reading the finger sucking scene in kin and had to manually remind myself to start inhaling and exhaling again😭 it was so hot and some of the best sexual tension i’ve read in quite a while🥵 also the way you write baelor is so good because he’s still the baelor we know from canon but with an extra layer of (sexy) depravity that makes sense for his character and the story you’re telling. i also really like your niece!reader and the dynamic she has with baelor so far!! thank you for sharing your writing with us❤️

thank you for the kind words and for reading kin! i'm rlly glad that scene had its intended effect! i'm also very happy to hear you consider my writing of baelor close to his canonical personality - it's very important to me that he feels real and in-character, even in a situation like that <3

[aliasares]

one thing i found interesting in kin (besides how fucking good it is) is the underlying but somewhat constant comparison between the reader and maekar. i found it particularly interesting when you wrote about both of them seeing maekar in each other. could i ask you in what light does reader see her father? im not implying incest here (tho they are targaryens and baelor is her uncle👀) but i’m curious to know why reader constantly thinks about maekar when she is having her moment with baelor

i would particularly love to hear your opinion and expansion on this line: « What you could perfectly imagine, however, was your father’s face. The situation between your legs responded to the imagery like clockwork. »

thank you for the question! i really love this observation because you picked up on something that is very intentional.

the reference to maekar is deliberate and it connects to parts in both his daughter's and baelor's psyche. i prefer not to overexplain it at this particular point, because the story isn't finished yet and it will spoil the experience for yourself and others, but i'm really glad you noticed it - it's very much part of the psychological spine of the fic.

i'd love to revisit this question after i've published the full fic though!