[aliasares]

masterlist

chaptered fics:

⟣ a knight of the seven kingdoms

kin (baelor targaryen/niece!reader)

- ch. 1, ch.2, ch.3

oneshots:

⟣ game of thrones

spitshine (roose bolton/captive!reader)

blurbs:

⟣ a knight of the seven kingdoms

accidental pregnancy (baelor targaryen/exhibitionist!reader)

[aliasares]

Kin, Ch. 3

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, Ch. 2

Word Count: 6.8K (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, implied fraternal sexual abuse, 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, implied masturb4tion, implied v4ginal fingering, dubious morality, bodily fluids, implied orgasm denial, flashbacks, light angst

A/N: it's been a minute but here's chapter 3!! my apologies for the great delay, this one much took longer and in a way, i like it all the more because of it. i rlly hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did writing and rewriting it into oblivion <33

TAGS: @sacha1slytherin ; @lov3blond777 ; @noone1233nobody <333

"Does the entirety of the Reach need to know my son is a drunken fool?"

Daeron, damp in the hair and tired, sat in a chair too small for his stature. His back slouched forward in a way that further forbade his eyes from going above ground.

Aegon sat next to him, black-on-red from head to toe, even more guilty in the face than Daeron. The sadness that crossed his face yesterday was amplified and you weren't near enough to soothe him now. His feet dangled off the edge of his seat, and even in that, there was hesitation. He knew what he had been called here for.

Whispers of the puppeteer incident slithered around Ashford and through the cracks of the castle, and likely beyond the reach of what the crown could grasp. Some of it was factual recounting of the event and other parts—factual, still, but of a more threatening sort. Talk of the Targaryen dragon being publicly slain did not, in any way, favor your family and it took a fool not to see that. That would be the only problem to resolve—the talk itself, for if that were to quiet down, no other issue would arise. For there were no dragons anywhere in Westeros anymore. But the memory of your ancestors spoke for your house in ways your grandfather often struggled to contain. Dragons remained the family symbol, even if their fire had long been extinguished. Long before you were but a mere incident of a conception—one too quick after Aerion. A strain on your mother's health, as your father had told you once, a long time ago.

He now paced in the space between the chairs and around the fireplace in the center—Aerion sat on your left, right across from Aegon, and perhaps for the worse. Your head hung low next to him, but not out of the shame your brothers shared. And by brothers, you obviously meant Daeron and Aegon, and not the one next to you—the primary reason for this gathering, and the least burdened by what you've felt your entire life. No, your shame pressed down at your neck like the yoke your maid used to carry water into your chambers with. Even now, being here felt as if Aerion was smearing his bloody knuckles along the lines of your face again. You had to stand and answer, formally, for what he had done and what you had failed to prevent. This was not the first time you had to answer for him. Other times, your father had been lenient, the truth of the situation clear to him. But those times were in Summerhall, where home was. And for most of it, where your mother had been there with him. He had been less kind ever since. Especially to you.

It only felt appropriate that you acted as guilty as you felt for your own existence, despite it not being your direct responsibility. There seemed to be a pattern with that in your life. In the past few years, you had wondered whether your father ever tried to see it through your eyes. A sense of clarity beyond his spiraling grief for your mother. Two sons and two daughters came after you, the gap between you and Aemon a clear indicator that the realm had acquired other concerns at the time—more rebellious ones. But more than that, it reminded you of the existence of life, intentional life, beyond your accidental one. It couldn't put you further apart from your siblings. And it was that particular alienation that made your fingers reach for what was in this very room the night before. Could something unwanted ever know what the opposite of it felt like? Could it only yearn to reach, to belong, because it was all it had ever longed for? What did deliberateness mean for someone so indeliberately brought about? Was someone ever deliberate when it came to you?

Everything that had followed you your whole life had been at the hands of someone else. An error, a slight misjudgment. And yet, somehow you were the biggest mistake of all. Unconventional in birth, in being, in beauty and bent of mind. And now, another person, one that the gods had not dealt the same cards to, had felt the fire your face couldn't heal from. An innocent, as most who came in contact with Aerion were. You did not care about the dragons. But you had to care about who cared. Because even with no fire-yielding beasts around, getting burnt was not impossible. Not for you and clearly, not for others.

So, answer, you will.

You were the blood of the dragon and when that was concerned, all needed to answer for it. Guilty or not.

“…stayed here. Plenty more where that came from.”

Your eyes had a layer of gloss over them that made your father's shoes blurry. It was only when they screeched against the stone floor that you properly snapped out of it.

Maekar was already looking down at you by then.

"Are we boring you with discussions about the reputation of the family you happen to belong to?"

It was as if the attention being turned to you was cue for Aerion to bare his canines your way. You didn't even need to look to feel him on your side. He had you attuned to him like a lute strung too tight. A string of his own forever on your face.

"Where the fuck were you?" Your father exclaimed.

The conversation from last night was repeating all over again. And stopping it, whether you or Baelor did, would give a hint that you've already discussed this, just the two of you. Not that there was anything wrong with an uncle and his niece having a one-on-one. Especially when said uncle bears a huge responsibility for what went down.

But then again, no one expected you to be close to him after not seeing him for years. If anything, it would be more natural if you weren't. So you stuck with that. And so did he.

"Yeah, where the fuck were you?"

Aerion echoed your father's question, and somewhere in his frustration, Maekar did not register it at all. His eyes were glued to your face with ferocity that only the Seven above knew how you managed to earn.

You were somehow taking this lighter, even with Aerion teething at your side. It certainly hurt much less coming from your father. You had grown accustomed, as absurd as it was. And he had made you feel deserving of it. So it worked in its own ways, even if deep down you were hurting in your own way.

But a certain someone in that room, you hadn't grown accustomed to. And yet, he made you feel deserving all the same, just of different things.

That certain someone, however, was now looking straight at Aerion. And no matter how much he was reveling in your scolding, the corner of your brother's eye could not ignore the stare of his uncle, who did not give him the advantage of paternal subjectivity. He was as much an uncle to you both. And Aerion thought him as uptight as his dear little sister next to him.

Nonetheless, he persisted.

"Father, in fact, I went out looking for her," Aerion began musing. Daeron's eyes did a 360 inside his skull. "She hadn't been anywhere near the castle all day. And that's when I stumbled upon that atrocity of a show. Complete slander, more like." He paused, his hand extending sideways towards you. "Had she been more easily discoverable…"

"Oh, spare me, please." You retorted instantly, near laughing at whatever this attempt at deflection was.

Aerion glanced at you, and briefly at Baelor, who sat in his desk, as he had the night before. His forearm was propped on the edge of it, chest leaning forward asymmetrically. There was more of an intent on listening rather than talking, even if frustration was deeply set into his features. Maekar was in his right to question your brothers—you, not so much. It truly settled in him that his behavior last night was a big transgression. Something you likely hoped he'd be the last person to do to you. And yet, he had done it. In more ways than one.

"You will not move from this castle until we leave this godforsaken tourney," Maekar spat out. "Neither will your brothers." He gestured back to Daeron and Egg, before his gaze settled on Aerion, hard.

You had looked off to the side, mind deep in the ridiculousness of it all.

"There will be a formal council tonight," Baelor finally spoke, ever impartial. "Only Aerion's presence is required."

Daeron had turned to look at his uncle then, but was dismissed with a brief nod.

"Your chambers will be comfortable enough." Your eyes moved along the floor in front of you, a few short blinks being all the reaction you allowed yourself. "Wandering the castle is not forbidden, but I encourage you to keep to your rooms. We can't risk anymore word spreading, false or not."

The sound of Aerion's leathers shifting against the wooden chair he sat on disrupted whatever equilibrium Baelor's words always brought about.

"Food will be brought to you, unless a joint meal is required. We don't have many days left in here, let us not make matters worse."

There was something conclusive in that, and your father's movement towards your uncle seemed to confirm it. You stood up, eyes following his step in the small of the solar. The expression on both their faces right now was the closest to any physical resemblance they could share. Exhaustion and irritation in equal amounts. You hadn't realized how long you had been looking their way for, until you felt a hand on your shoulder. Daeron's, gently urging you out along with Aegon by his hip. Baelor had but spared you a sharp glance, one of perplexity, his eyes more verbal than he was. Your intent focus on your father while the two conversed had caught his attention, and if it wasn't for Maekar leaning with his back turned to you, he would've noticed as well. Daeron certainly did, and soon enough, you felt his hand wrap properly around your shoulder, turning you around.

Your uncle's eyes remained on the back of your head for a second more, while his brother poured unheard of profanities in his ear.

——

The cicadas were exceptionally loud that night.

You had grown used to life beyond your own back in Summerhall, all sorts of creatures living outside and beyond the castle. But the weather there was capricious, and so, not one particular insect stuck around long enough to bother you.

The Reach was near enough, but vastly different in climate. Far more consistent and agreeable, even in the bugs that adorned your windowsill—their song making all this a tad bit more bearable.

You could certainly do without the corner spiders, though.

A thud behind you made the hairs on your body come to life.

"Fuck—" You exclaimed, turning around instantaneously.

Nothing unusual was happening behind you. Your door had come ajar, Aerion's foot kicking at the loose plank on it, watching it go back and forth with an almost irritation at his own boredom. He appeared unfazed in contrast to the startle he had caused you, which, funnily enough, was an excellent demonstration of how things between the two of you tended to go. Locks weren't a thing in here, at least not in these particular chambers, and his presence had made you realize that in seconds. A couple of days in.

"Absolute fucking hovel of a place." He kicked at the board once more, gentler this time, before properly infiltrating your room.

His eyes, tight and pale, moved along the total of three objects around the room before settling on you. It appeared as though whatever was brewing under the surface at this very moment, as there always seemed to be something brewing under the surface with Aerion, had likely very little to do with you. He had just returned from the evening council your uncle had mentioned earlier. The restlessness in his body was a familiar cue that he was pissed off, your eyes dropping to his left hand briefly—a slight shake in it. He needed an outlet.

Tag, you are it.

"Where were you that day, really, sister?"

The door behind him was wide open and he did not care to close it. His frame filled its place and function. Except this door had a knack for locking you in.

Aerion never did stand still for long, even in confined spaces as such. Especially, in confined spaces as such.

His eyes were on you, but his hands were fiddling together, the left picking at something on the right, turning it over, despite him not looking at whatever was bothering him there. The leather adorning your feet creased as you shifted.

"I looked for you." He glanced around the upper half of the room, his face tight like lightning waiting to strike you down.

"What business is that of yours?" You replied, the tiniest bit of resistance felt in it.

His pale blues returned to you at that. It was all it took for you to retract it all right away.

"The stalls. I was around the stalls."

There was a severe lack of enthusiasm in your voice now, and it was almost as if he fed off of it. The fine job Aerion had done at tuning you to his liking seemed to be the only thing bringing him some resemblance of joy in the last couple of years. You had thought of it times over, how different he had remained in the few memories you had from when you two were younger. How he had felt the same age as you back then. He acted older than you now, and in that, wanted you to be younger for him. Often, however, it seemed the other way around for you. Were you able to get rid of the fear he had instilled in you, perhaps, you would've been the older one not only in your head, but in your act too.

You liked to think that if your mother had never passed, things wouldn't have got this bad. And in your heart, you understood Aerion in ways your father didn't let you understand him. He stood alone in his grief, and had permanently locked you out of it. Not even a loose plank there for you to peek through. Your brother had done the opposite. With his hands on you, and his tongue all in your ear, he was there feeling it all with you, all these years. That was his way. Empathy could be a cruel accomplice to the cruelty we allow from the people we love.

"Around the stalls," The latter word faltered into an almost-chuckle. "Yeah? I went around the stalls. That's how I saw that joke of a…" He trailed off, reigniting his own anger, before snapping back into place.

"You weren't there." There was a particular quietness to the way he had said that. It made your face twitch involuntarily. He noticed and like moth to a flame, Aerion moved closer, visibly entertained, "I haven't even laid a hand on you."

You stood your ground for as long as the size of the room allowed it. Once he was near enough, you pivoted to the left, only to be met with the same movement from him, blocking you between himself and the window sill behind you.

"Nuh-uh." His head inched the opposite way, to the right, where your bed lay. Your eyes moved up to his, in an attempt to read how far he was going with this, but you were only met with a hand at the back of the nape.

Aerion wasn't particularly imposing in his build, near the same height as yourself. But he was agile, and very much one with his body. Something you couldn't say about yourself.

He applied strength when he wanted things to go his way, but always managed to teeter on the line between steering you and causing you visible harm. And in ways, that made things both easier and harder for you. Nothing tangible to complain about, but also, nothing for your father to have to come between. A bittersweet middle ground that worked for Aerion and somewhere along the way, had begun working for you too. No one knew the exact extent of your relationship beyond that particular accident years ago, and in ways, that had been the worst of it. All else seemed to pale in comparison.

The hand gripping the back of your skull was hot. It drove you forward enough until your knees touched the side of the bed, before he released you. "Sit down."

When you'd resisted by planting your feet on the floor, two of his fingers gathered as one and pressed at your left temple, hard and forceful, and almost dismissive in nature. When all you did was falter and take each probe to the side of your head like a champ, it left Aerion no choice but to flatten his palm to the side of your face, pushing you down on the bed properly.

"Always so fucking difficult."

It seemed as though your resistance alone had made him spit venom in your face.

When you'd scrambled back to some resemblance of a normal seating position, he bent forward, hands coming to brace him against his knees, face leveled with yours.

One of his hands came up and lightly slapped at your left cheek, "Hey." Your face turned away briefly. The feel of your jaw tightening under his hand was winding him up like a music box, and when you'd rolled your eyes up to the ceiling, his fingers clamped on each side of your face and turned you to him.

His own eyes stared back, like a mirror. Aerion had vast love for himself, but he hardly loved any of his features on you. He had no problem pushing them around your face, if it meant his were the better and cleaner for it.

"If you weren't so cripplingly hideous to look at, I'd think some fool out there was desperate enough to stick his cock in you."

There was no spot on your face left unchecked under his frantic gaze.

"Is that it?" Aerion's brows jumped up, "Were you out there getting fucked in the hedges all day?" His grip on your face tightened, thumb pressing into the scar on your right. "Father would be thrilled to know all about it. You leave home once and go buckwild." He released your face with a shove.

His feet carried him away from you briefly, before he turned back theatrically, hand on his chin. "No, no, that can't be." Aerion's eyes raked over your seated figure. "You've still got that gait when you walk, like you're shouting at everyone that your hole's still intact." His hand mused beside his face. "It's gonna take ten cocks, getting rid of that."

Your eyes were somewhere between his knees and navel, devoid of any particular feeling. All that wandered behind them was the image of what he was describing. This wasn't the first time your brother had expressed his keen preoccupation with your intimate life, and it likely wasn't going to be the last. There was no right answer with him, because that was not what he sought out.

A year after your maiming was the first time he had been crude beyond that boundary, and it had only expanded since then. Aerion had left his fingers in your cheek and refused to let go. And every subsequent moment in your life that threatened to go beyond him, he had to make sure to remain immortalized there. By force, if need be.

He was still the only man you had seen bare. It was a name day gift, according to him. The opportunity to look at cock and see what you will inevitably come to know. No matter how much he spat in your face, Aerion thought about you getting it on more than anyone should think of another person. Let alone a brother of a sister. He knew it would happen one day, despite the ugly mug you were sporting in his eyes. And the good brother he is, preparation had to come from him.

That's how you rationalized it. Your brother likely never did think that deeply of what he was doing. He never touched you. Never forced anything beyond that. But he had shown himself to you on several occasions, whether partially or fully. Aerion had pride in himself, and having you see him like that was as much about ego as it was about all else. He could be bare. You couldn't. You didn't want to. And he wanted you to.

And as long as he had been the only man whose cock you had seen and whose body had irreversibly, and visibly, changed yours, he wouldn't stop thinking about who would come after, and take all of that from him, and more.

Heavy footsteps echoed near.

Too near.

Aerion looked to the open door, and you followed. A thick glob of saliva struggled to get past your throat.

One of Lord Ashford's servants had scurried away when Baelor stopped outside the arc of your doorway, whatever conversation the two of them were having being over in seconds.

"Oh, fucking great." Aerion murmured, eyes switching to you as he straightened up slowly without backing away. Baelor followed his movements, the blue and brown of eyes falling on you. He was equally mortifying and safe right now—mortifying as a witness, safe in the presence of a perpetrator. Both simultaneously, in a third way. You didn't dare look away.

"It's late, Aerion." Tone ever so even. Voice ever so calm, even when his nerves were strained. The politest way to tell his nephew to fuck off back to his quarters.

"Yeah, it is." Aerion returned the stare, more brazen than he should've allowed himself to ever become. Sizing his uncle up like he had no business being here this late either.

Baelor didn't move at first. His feet only carried him inside moments after, and whatever had pushed him in, was serious enough for him to close the door behind himself. Something Aerion hadn't had the courtesy of doing.

His eyes fell on you again.

Aerion felt almost insulted at it. "Can a brother not visit his little sister, uncle?" He mused between the two of you.

Baelor didn't necessarily return the attention—Aerion was far too transparent for him to engage in whatever banter he was fishing for. It was clear to him from the get-go that something was happening in here, and him intervening felt near inevitable. As had many other things since his arrival in Ashford.

His hands moved to the back of him, his chin tipping up, gaze long-averted from you.

"In the context of what happened, it leads me to believe that whatever your visit entails, Aerion, it could concern other members of the family as well." Baelor finally spoke, his body angling towards his nephew.

Aerion as if perked up at that. "In certain ways, yes," he began, turning slightly towards you. "Should I tell him?"

It felt as if the entirety of royal fleet had tied simultaneous knots in your stomach. Baelor had only looked at you, his face a blank canvas for you to interpret as you may in your state.

Finally, you looked off to the space between them, a different kind of safety there. "There's nothing to tell, truly."

"Oh, but I truly think there is!" Aerion had countered immediately, slowly stepping closer to your uncle. His hand hesitated briefly, as if reaching to put it on Baelor's shoulder, but ultimately, thought better of it and just remained close. "That," he pointed to you, both of them now looking your way. "And can you believe it, uncle? But that— your niece has never…" Aerion turned to look at Baelor, fishing for the look he expected on his face, one of pure discomfort, the implication clear enough to not need completion. Your uncle had averted his gaze to somewhere ahead on the ground.

A shaky breath escaped you. "Aerion…" Your voice had regained some resemblance of strength for the first time since he had entered.

"Did I say something wrong?" Aerion turned to you. brows furrowing in mockery then back to Baelor, and then back to you again. "It's the truth of it. You. Haven't. Been. Fucked, little sister?!" His voice had gone up octaves, and the enunciation was brazen beyond boundaries.

"Enough." Baelor spoke. "Aerion, you'd be wise to go to your quarters." When Aerion hadn't budged, his uncle's eyes moved to him. "Immediately."

There was clear resistance in Aerion, but mostly, just boredom with the reaction he had failed to elicit. He moved past in two strides and pulled the door open, jaw tight as he moved past and out the frame, leaving the door open. Baelor turned around and closed it softly, eyes sharp after Aerion somewhere down the hall.

When he turned back around, you had straightened from the bed. His eyes glanced over you, not lecherous in any way, but rather concerned.

For a wee while, neither of you had any idea what to say to the other. The only thing that registered for Baelor immediately was how unshaken you were by the bit that he witnessed. He suspected the topic of conversation wasn't any different before his arrival. And your lack of reaction only pushed him to believe this likely happened regularly back in Summerhall.

But there was also something else.

None of what had happened in front of him tonight erased what had happened between the two of you the night before. In fact, it related tightly to it. Baelor knew somewhere in him Aerion's words to be true, though he hadn't put particular thought to it. What coincided with him more was how his role in your life, however minor before, has been consistently shifting and reshaping itself beyond recognition in the short stay that has been this mess of a visit. Too fast for comfort, too intense, even for a man seasoned. Engaging with you in the way that he had was in no way positive. He was not contributing with anything to the life you seemed to have learned to endure at the hands of your brother, and partially, your father. And the patience you had with them both, now in this room, and earlier in the solar, only made it clear to him that you were more predisposed to being taken advantage of than you were aware of.

And in his turning-over of the whole situation, Baelor couldn't help but see this to be Maekar's doing long before Aerion put a knife to your face. He had bred it into you. And Baelor wasn't the sole beneficiary.

When word of your birth had first reached the Red Keep, the first girl born to Maekar and Dyanna, Baelor had been delighted. He had vivid memories of his youngest brother's face as a newborn, and yours had as if been redrawn with full accuracy from his. What could be seen in Daeron and partially in Aerion, bits and pieces of Dyanna, were completely absent in you. It was as if Maekar had made you all on his own, though Baelor never did say it out loud. After your birth, your mother had needed a longer period for recuperation due to how tumultuous the pregnancy had been. Your uncle did not know the full details, and your father had been too shaken to disclose them at the time. All he suspected was that Dyanna had almost died in labor.

And when she had passed away years later, though the cause was never confirmed as singular by Maester Melaquin, Maekar largely suspected it to be related to your birth, as Dyanna hadn't struggled with the subsequent births of your siblings.

He did not resent you, Baelor was sure of that. Rather, he had a particular fixation on you that, for a man of his level of expressiveness, could only be recognized by someone who had grown up in close proximity to him. Maekar's temperament did not hold him back from being loving. That was certainly not the case. He had his misjudgments and some of them reflected in his parenting, but it all came from a good heart, and ultimately, it is all that mattered.

With you, there was an extra layer to all of that. If you had resembled Dyanna in any way, perhaps it would've been easier to assimilate. But you didn't. You were the exact copy of your father in every way. The one that looked most like him of all his children. And his treatment of you reflected how poorly he dealt with being mirrored.

But in there, within nature's jab at him, Maekar had become so woven into you, and you into him, that the lines between the two of you were blurry to all those around. And most of all, to the two of you. And Baelor had seen that. He'd seen it in the way you'd react to the slightest mention of him. And in the way you couldn't tear your eyes off him in the solar, after he had been most unjust to you. It was unspeakable, and yet, Baelor was a man that had the emotional complexity in him to see it for what it was. It pulled at him like an anchor, and it came right from the core of you.

"Do not mention that to him, but when he was around your age, your father was just as brooding as you." Baelor spoke up, as if on the verge of telling you a bedtime story.

It felt unnatural.

"Please, do not speak of my father." You had replied quietly, face contorting. "It feels dirty."

Baelor didn't fully realize it, but the twitch in your brow reflected on his, and at last, you were both alone together, fully in the repercussions of it all. Your eyes moved to the door behind him before you'd walked off to the inner fold of the room, where the wooden flooring had creaked under you two on the first day here. Baelor did not follow instantly, but rather just looked at you. Silence took over again for a short while.

"If you've come here looking for something similar to…" You had trailed off, but Baelor knew exactly what you were referring to. "After all you heard from Aerion just now, I'd rather just go back to Summerhall on my own overnight."

"It is not what I am here for." Baelor replied immediately. "I was not headed for your chambers."

You took in the words, eyes on the ground, his on you.

A sharp inhale preceded you, "Why not?"

The turn of the question was enough to perplex you both. He glanced down to your hands, regaining himself.

“Have you not the slightest idea of the guilt I feel each day since?”

"You get to come from your guilt." A raise in your voice made his knees jam into left side of your bed. "I don't." There was clear frustration within you, in the way you had stepped forward, the way your finger had drawn itself into your own chest. You had struggled with looking directly at him thus far, and right now, all of that had disappeared.

Baelor glanced at the door, and its lack for a lock, and walked to where you stood, righteous in your anger. His hands reached up right away, each one coming to the sides of your face, settling there for a brief second, before he dropped them away.

It was more than enough to slacken you.

"We can have it out now." An averted gaze to the bed you slept on every night, the bed he'd leave you to return alone to, made him almost gag. "I don't—I-I don't need to, I-" The hesitation in your voice was a near stammer now. Your eyelids were peeled so far back behind your eyes that he could see more white in them than blue. From the look in your eye, and how faraway it was from Baelor, it appeared as though what you spoke of was coming to life in your head. You just had to blink it all away. "I don't need to come." A smile shriveled the scar on your right. No sign of happiness behind it. "Doing it would be enough for me. It WOULD be enough for me…" The cold of your palms reached for him, but you didn't know how to touch him on your own. And most of all, you trembled beyond any coherent attempt at initiation.

"Just let me have it."

A mere whisper between you now, those last words were a cup of Dornish red overflown. Baelor looked away, his jaw loosening beneath his beard. He blinked away whatever panic was settling in him now, and looked back at you. His left hand immediately cupped half of your face, while the right brushed all of your hair away and remained on top of your head, framing you in. Almost like a father to a child.

His eyes danced between your two, searching for sign of life that did not involve convincing him to fuck you. His hand moved back and forth several times, smoothing the silver of your hair. An attempt to soothe you, while he himself was very visibly unsettled.

"This is not acceptable."

"I believe it is clear to us both, that." You glanced sideways again, eyes rimmed with a red underline.

"I should've never put my hands on you." Baelor's eyes were nearly as wide as your own, like he could pour it into your head with just that alone. "Are you hearing me?"

Your eyes returned to him, brows furrowing forward, pushing your gaze down to his mouth. "But you did." Your face contorted yet again, and this time, it was more severe than all others. A sense of disgust overriding the tight facial restraint you held all these years. "I want you to keep doing it." A mewl of a voice.

The hand atop your head descended to the back of it and Baelor used it to pull himself closer to you, his chest cushioning the right side of your face. His lungs deflated against you, a heavy exhale leaving him as he wrapped his other arm around you.

You stayed like that for a little while, face to chest. Your back still stuck out sore behind the rest of you, subconsciously or not, and it fully dawned on Baelor that he had done nothing but make things worse for you. You stirred up in his arms soon after, still close and distant in equal amounts, pressing your face into him until he could feel the outline of your lips pressing hard against his doublet.

He shuffled enough to peer down at you, but by then, you had angled your face up, nose pushing up beneath the hair on his face. Your feet moved forward once more, settling between his own. No hand ever touched him. The only thing he felt was your mouth flattening against his neck as you withheld all other touch behind your back. The more your mouth worked against his skin, the more you leaning into him. And the more you did it, the more he could hear you breathing heavier and heavier. Chasing after him with your mouth, while your body but begged you to keep yourself apart from him.

The kisses were sloppy, and needy, and felt terribly good on a man so lonesome. Baelor's eyes were wide open, despite the pleasure he felt. The wet of your mouth moved into his beard before you settled there, nuzzling into it. Inhaling him.

"It's going to feel so good…" You spoke up into him, your breath warm against his chin. "Your cock in me. I'm all intact down there, I assure—"

Baelor took several steps back, leaving the space in front of you empty with want. He was completely delirious. And so were you.

He shook his head, eyes wide, himself unsure whether he was denying you or giving you the highest form of praise. One of his fingers came up waving in front of him, more of a symbol at himself than at you.

But you had gone far enough.

His back was almost fully to you as you moved to sit at the edge of your bed, bunching up your skirts. The moment he heard the sound of the fabric, Baelor turned around to see you spread in front of him, your feet propped up on the wooden frame of the bed. The fabric of your underpants had formed a bunched-up line that now sat wedged into your cunt, flattening your clit behind it. Thick, white hairs surrounded the sides. Your hand tugged up at the newly-repurposed item, though it was nothing new to you. That had been the only way you knew how to make yourself come, and you had done so for so long now, it almost did not matter that it had been Aerion who had inadvertently enlightened you about this.

The sheets beneath you creased as you moved your hips forward, grinding into the tight fixture of fabric. How truly wet your cunt was, was only heard in movement, and not fully seen.

Baelor managed a couple of seconds, staring right at your core with pure terror in his eyes. That particular sense of moral apprehension, even as he was looking at your cunt laid bare for him, made you want him all the more.

"No, no, nonono." He moved in two heavy, big strides that were likely heard by whomever was on the floor below, though you believed it to just be tunnels. His hand reached to remove your grip from around your underpants, untucking it from between your cunt, the back of his fingers lightly brushing across your clit in the process. You shuddered at the feel, hips twitching up into the air involuntarily. His head bent forward in response, eyes shut—the only sign that he had felt it too, and was holding himself back with all his might.

Baelor straightened up a moment after and fixed your skirts down, hooking an arm beneath each fold of your knees and lowering them gently.

His chest was heavy, and his eyes were as wide as yours had been just moments before. A hand ran over the bottom half of his face, a movement so distraught and unlike his usual practiced composure.

You had brought the heir to the Iron Throne to complete disarray.

And surely, the fact that your cunt was as blonde as the hair on your head did mess up something in him. And if you could make him pull his cock out, he would make use of your mouth so thoroughly, he wouldn't be able to look at himself on the morrow.

But your cunt was off-limits.

Baelor leaned forward over your seated form, eyes taking you in as much tenderness, as remnants of want. He placed a kiss atop your head, eyes shutting before he withdrew. "Try and get some sleep."

Your jaw slackened at his words and he took notice.

His eyes found yours immediately in instant reassurance. "I will see you tomorrow." He glanced around the room and back at you, "Not like this."

His feet were soon out the door, the loose plank on it flapping in his absence. It was only then that you fully settled into what you had just done. The promise of a tomorrow made his words impossible to follow.

A breathy smile crept up on your face, eyes wandering the floor in disbelief. Joy was a far-off concept for you. But in that moment, it was as near you had got to it since you could remember. And perhaps, you would realize down the line that it's not for the better. That the jittery feeling in your stomach would come at the expense of what you had none to spare. That you hadn't felt enough joy in your life to know how to recognize it when it comes.

But for now, this was enough to sustain you. And giving it more thought than necessary was sure to steal away whatever bit you had managed to secure for yourself.

So, try and get some sleep, you sure did.

[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