this blog is a collection of obsessions, moods, aesthetics, and fictional men who would absolutely ruin everything (including me).
i write about intensity â about devotion, desire, power, and the kind of love that feels consuming rather than comforting. stories that linger. dynamics that haunt. men who feel larger than life. women who stand at the center and refuse to shrink.
expect fanfiction, series brainrot, fashion as expression, and reminders to choose yourself â with a touch of chaos.
someone needs to explain this to me: why did emma dâarcy accept the role of rhaenyra if sheâs just going to ruin the character and not respect her as sheâs written in the book, doing whatever she wants (ie the kissing scene with myseria), all while admitting sheâs not comfortable with the idea of playing a feminine character? why donât condal, hess, or anyone else ever say no to her â when they do it to the other actors? what the hell is going on with this show?
I know it can be taboo to do a real person x reader fic but WOOF WOOF BARK BARK I loved your Diamonds and Desire fic so much!!! I have been keeping an eye out for any more Bertie x reader fics and have not seen any. Would you consider writing more for that? Maybe a fictional version of him when he was single and doing a show, meets reader on set or at the stage doorâŠ
Summary: In the shadowed halls of the Red Keep, you, the bold and unyielding lady Lannister, refuse to shrink before anyone â even the Hand of the King. When Prince Baelor Targaryen corners you after you openly challenge him, anger and dangerous desire collide in a heated confrontation that leaves you both burning.
Additional tags: fem!read; no use of Y/N; +18; MDNI
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The Red Keep never truly slept.
Even past midnight, torches flickered in the stone corridors, casting long shadows that danced across ancient tapestries. You moved through them with the quiet confidence of a woman who had long since decided she would never shrink for anyone.
Not even for the Hand of the King.
You had felt Prince Baelorâs eyes on you for weeks. He watched you like a man studying a blade he both desired and distrusted â too sharp, too bright, too unwilling to bend.
Tonight, you had finally pushed him past his limit.
During the small council session, you had openly challenged his proposed tax reforms on the Westerlands, your voice calm, elegant, and cutting. Several lords had shifted uneasily in their seats. Baelorâs jaw had tightened, but he had said nothing at the time.
He chose to speak now.
You were walking back to your chambers when a strong hand suddenly closed around your wrist and pulled you sideways into a narrow, dimly lit alcove. Your back met the cold stone wall as Prince Baelor loomed over you, tall and broad-shouldered, his silver-gold hair catching the torchlight like molten steel.
His violet eyes burned with barely contained fury.
âYou have grown bold, Lady Lannister,â he said, his voice low and rough. âDangerously bold.â
You lifted your chin, refusing to cower even an inch. Despite the significant difference in height, you met his gaze steadily, your expression composed but unafraid.
âBoldness is often mistaken for danger by those who prefer blind obedience, Your Grace.â
His grip on your wrist tightened, firm but not painful. He stepped closer, crowding you against the wall until the heat of his body pressed in. You could smell smoke, leather, and steel on him.
âYou spoke against me in front of the council,â he growled. âYou undermined my authority with that silver tongue of yours. Do you have any idea what kind of game youâre playing?â
A slow, elegant smile curved your lips.
âI spoke the truth,â you replied smoothly. âIf the truth undermines you, perhaps the flaw lies not in my tongue, but in your plan.â
Baelorâs jaw clenched hard. He moved even closer, until his chest nearly brushed against yours. The air between you grew thick, heavy with anger and something far more dangerous.
âYou are a widow playing at power in a court that devours women like you,â he said, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. âYou smile and charm and whisper until lords forget their own minds. You refuse to lower your eyes. You refuse to yield. Do you truly believe you can continue this without consequence?â
Your heart raced, but your voice remained steady, laced with velvet challenge.
âI have already survived one husband and the games of this court, Your Grace. I will not shrink simply because the Hand of the King finds my presence⊠inconvenient.â
Something dark flashed in his violet eyes.
He braced his free hand on the stone wall beside your head, effectively caging you in. His face was so close now that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. The tension was suffocating â furious, electric, and undeniably sexual. Your bodies hovered just short of touching, yet the space between you felt alive with heat.
âYou test me,â he whispered harshly, eyes flicking down to your mouth for a fraction of a second. âEvery time you enter a room. Every time you speak. Every time you look at me like you know exactly what you do to me.â
Your lips curved into a taunting smile.
âAnd what is it that I do to you, Prince Baelor?â
His grip on your wrist flexed. For one breathless moment, it felt as though the air had been stolen from the alcove. His gaze darkened, pupils blown wide with a volatile mix of fury and hunger. You could feel the raw power rolling off him â the dragon blood fighting against the honorable knight he tried so hard to be.
He wanted to kiss you.
He wanted to punish you.
He wanted to break you.
And still, you did not look away.
Baelorâs breathing grew heavier. His jaw worked as he fought for control. The hand on your wrist trembled slightly with the effort of not pulling you closer.
âYou play a dangerous game, my lady,â he finally said, voice rough and strained.
You tilted your head slightly, letting your eyes drift slowly over his face before locking back onto his intense violet stare. Your voice came out soft, taunting, and completely fearless.
âThen perhaps, my prince⊠you should stop watching from the shadows.â
For several long, charged heartbeats, neither of you moved. The tension coiled tighter, a live wire ready to snap.
Then, with a low, frustrated sound deep in his chest, Baelor released your wrist as if burned. He stepped back sharply, putting sudden distance between your bodies. His chest rose and fell rapidly, fists clenched tightly at his sides.
He stared at you one final time, raw hunger and fury burning in his eyes, before turning on his heel. Without another word, he walked away down the shadowed corridor, his broad shoulders rigid with barely leashed control.
You remained leaning against the cold stone wall, heart hammering wildly in your chest. A slow, satisfied smile curved your lips as you watched the future king disappear into the darkness.
Summary: After becoming king, Baelor Targaryen marries you, a sharp-witted Lannister lady for alliance. The marriage begins icy, but when he starts seeking your advice in the quiet hours of the night, respect turns to closeness⊠and closeness turns into something deeper.
Additional tags: fem!read; no use of Y/N; +18; MDNI
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The marriage was forged in necessity, not affection.
After the chaos of the Trial of Seven and the sudden death of King Daeron II, Baelor Targaryen became king. The realm needed stability, gold, and strong alliances. Your father, Lord Tybolt Lannister, had pushed you forward with the cunning of a lion, and Baelor had accepted.
You became Queen of the Seven Kingdoms at six-and-twenty â only one year older than his daughter, Princess Valaena.
At first, everything was cold.
Baelor was courteous but distant. You shared a throne, not a bed. Conversations were polite and brief. His daughter watched you with wary eyes, the tension between you two thick and uncomfortable. You had taken her motherâs place. The awkwardness never quite left the room.
Until the night he first summoned you to his private solar.
At first, your nightly visits were strictly for counsel. Baelor would be bent over maps and letters, the weight of the realm on his shoulders, and he would ask for your thoughts. You were hesitant in the beginning.
âI am not sure I should speak on these matters, Your Grace.â
âYou are the Queen,â he replied firmly, violet eyes steady. âYou will.â
You were good at it. Sharp. Observant. You saw things others missed â the subtle greed in certain lords, the growing unrest in the Riverlands, the clever ways gold could be used to soothe old wounds. Baelor began to respect you. Truly respect you.
The conversations grew longer. Warmer.
One night, after you had been standing for a long while, he looked up from his desk.
âYouâve been on your feet too long. Sit.â
You hesitated.
He patted his thigh once. âHere.â
Your heart pounded as you slowly crossed the room and lowered yourself onto his lap, stiff and awkward. Baelor simply wrapped one arm around your waist and continued speaking about the latest tax proposal as if it were perfectly normal.
You barely breathed at first.
But night after night, it became your ritual. You would talk politics, strategy, and the burdens of the crown while sitting on the Kingâs lap. Gradually, you relaxed against his chest. His warmth, his steady breathing, the low timbre of his voice â it all began to feel safe. Intimate.
The tension with Princess Valaena slowly started to ease as well. There were careful conversations in the gardens, small shared smiles, moments of hesitant understanding. It was still messy â she was your stepdaughter and nearly your age â but healing had begun.
Then came the night everything changed.
You were discussing a complicated matter involving Dorne when Baelorâs hand gently stroked your thigh over your robe.
âYouâve become more than counsel to me,â he said quietly, voice rough with emotion. âI find myself thinking of you even when you are not here.â
He kissed you slowly, deeply, giving you every chance to pull away. You didnât.
Baelor carried you to his bed with careful reverence. He undressed you piece by piece, kissing every newly revealed inch of golden skin as if you were something precious. When you were bare beneath him, he settled between your thighs, eyes never leaving yours.
His fingers were gentle but sure as he touched you.
The first slow slide of two thick fingers inside your heat made your breath hitch. He moved carefully, curling them with exquisite patience, stroking that sensitive spot deep within you over and over again.
âOhâŠâ you whispered, stunned by how good it felt.
Baelorâs eyes darkened with quiet awe as he watched your face.
âDoes that feel good?â he murmured, voice low and tender.
You could only nod, a soft moan escaping as he continued the slow, deliberate rhythm. His fingers were thick, slightly calloused from years of wielding hammer and sword, yet they moved with such perfect, unhurried precision that pleasure built in heavy, luxurious waves. Every curl sent sparks of intense sensation through your core. It was so good â almost overwhelming in its gentleness. Your hips began to move on their own, chasing the pleasure.
He leaned down, pressing soft kisses along your neck and collarbone while his fingers kept working you open, stroking steadily, never rushing.
âYouâre so wet for me,â he whispered against your skin, voice full of wonder. âSo warm⊠so responsive. I never knew it could feel like this.â
The pleasure kept rising, slow and deep and devastating. His fingers curled just right, pressing against that perfect spot again and again until your thighs trembled and your breathing turned into soft, desperate whimpers. He never sped up. He simply stayed steady, relentless in his tenderness, drawing out every ounce of pleasure until you shattered around his fingers with a broken cry of his name.
Only then did he move over you.
Baelor entered you slowly, inch by inch, forehead pressed to yours as he filled you completely. The stretch was perfect. The fullness made you gasp. He stayed still for a long moment, letting you adjust, eyes locked on yours with raw emotion.
âMy queen⊠my wifeâŠâ he breathed, voice thick. âNot out of duty anymore.â
He began to move â slow, deep rolls of his hips that made you feel every inch of him. The pleasure was different now, richer, more emotional. Every thrust pressed against that same sensitive place inside you, building the sensation higher and higher. You clung to his shoulders, moaning softly with each gentle but powerful stroke.
Baelor kissed you through it all â slow, lingering kisses that matched the rhythm of his body. His hand slipped between you to circle your clit with the same careful attention, until the pleasure crested again, overwhelming and sweet. You came with his name on your lips, trembling beneath him as waves of bliss rolled through you.
Only then did he let go, burying himself deep inside you as he found his own release with a low, heartfelt groan.
Afterward, he held you close, your head resting on his chest as his fingers traced lazy patterns along your spine.
âI never expected this,â he whispered into the quiet night. âBut Iâm grateful for it. For you.â
You smiled softly against his skin, the golden lion and the dragon finally entwined, not just in marriage, but in something far deeper.
Hi !!! I would like to ask another Baelor 3some with another woman or man but I think if it's man he will get more possessive maybe just let him watch. Thank you I'm just obsessed with your Baelor 3some stories
POSSESSION (+18) â baelor targaryen
gif credits: @christophernolan
Summary: Baelor Targaryen decides to indulge in a dangerous game. In a semi-private chamber of the Red Keep, he fucks you hard while an Essosi pleasure man is forced to watch, bound, jealous, and unable to touch what belongs to the Hand of the King.
Additional tags: fem!read; no use of Y/N; +18; MDNI
A/N: finally here it is, @lightdragonrayne! đđ
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The chamber is not fully private.
Itâs a small, dimly lit solar adjacent to the Handâs solar in the Red Keep, the one Baelor uses for private meetings. The heavy wooden door is not locked, only barred with a thick iron rod. Anyone important enough could demand entry at any moment. Voices occasionally drift down the corridor from servants and guards. The risk is real, and it makes everything burn hotter.
Youâre completely naked, bent over the large oak desk that dominates the room. Your breasts are pressed against scattered parchments and letters of state. Behind you, Baelor stands fully clothed except for his breeches pulled down just enough to free his thick, painfully hard cock.
Heâs the Hand of the King, and right now he is exercising absolute control.
On a cushioned chair in the corner sits the Essosi pleasure man â tall, dark-haired, bronze-skinned, and exceptionally handsome. His hands are bound loosely in front of him with a silk cord, as per Baelorâs strict orders. He is allowed to watch. Nothing more.
Baelorâs big hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise as he slams into your soaked cunt from behind in one brutal thrust.
âFuck, listen to that sloppy cunt,â he growls loudly, voice dripping with crude satisfaction. âSoaking my cock like a desperate whore while another man watches. Does it make you wetter knowing heâs staring at whatâs mine?â
You moan brokenly as he starts pounding you with deep, punishing strokes, the desk creaking under the force. The wet, obscene sound of skin slapping skin fills the room.
In the corner, the Essosi man lets out a low, frustrated grunt, his dark eyes fixed on the way Baelorâs thick cock disappears inside you again and again. His jaw is clenched tight, breathing heavy.
Baelor laughs darkly, never slowing his pace.
âHear that? Heâs jealous. He wants this tight royal cunt so fucking badly, but heâll never have it.â He leans over your back, voice dropping into a filthy whisper against your ear while still loud enough for the watcher to hear. âThis pussy belongs to the Hammer. To your husband. To the fucking Hand of the King. Say it.â
âItâs yoursââ you gasp, voice shaking with every violent thrust. âOnly yours, Baelorââ
âLouder,â he snarls, one hand fisting your hair and yanking your head back so the Essosi man has a perfect view of your face. âTell him whose wife you are while I ruin you.â
âIâm Prince Baelorâs wife!â you cry out. âThis cunt is hisâ only his!â
Baelor groans in approval and fucks you harder, hips snapping brutally. He reaches around and slaps your clit with two fingers, making you jolt.
The Essosi man shifts in his chair, another deep, jealous grunt escaping him as his cock strains visibly against his trousers. His eyes are dark with lust and frustration.
âLook at him,â Baelor mocks, voice rough and arrogant. âPoor bastard is dying to touch you. Dying to feel how hot and wet my wife gets when sheâs properly fucked. But he canât. All he can do is sit there and watch me breed this perfect hole.â
He suddenly pulls out, spins you around, and lifts you onto the desk. Spreading your legs wide, he sinks back into you in one smooth thrust, fucking you face-to-face now so the watcher has an even better view.
âWatch closely,â Baelor taunts the Essosi man without looking at him, eyes locked on yours instead. âWatch how my wife takes every inch of her husbandâs cock. Watch how she falls apart for me.â
His thrusts turn slower but deeper, grinding against your clit with every roll of his hips. His hand wraps around your throat â not choking, just possessing â while his other hand rubs tight circles on your swollen clit.
âYouâre mine,â he growls, voice thick with dark pleasure. âMy wife. My whore. My cunt. Say it again while he listens.â
âIâm yoursâ your wife, your whore, your cuntâ everythingâ fuck, Baelorâ!â
The pleasure man lets out a longer, pained groan, fists clenched, clearly suffering as he watches Baelor claim you so completely.
Baelor smirks, sweat dripping down his temple as he rails you harder: âThatâs right. Keep watching. Keep grunting like a dog in heat. This is what real possession looks like.â
He leans down and bites your neck hard enough to mark as he fucks you relentlessly, fingers still working your clit until your orgasm crashes over you violently. You scream his name, walls clamping down around his cock.
Only then does Baelor let himself go. With a deep, guttural groan he buries himself to the hilt and fills you with hot, thick pulses of cum, claiming you thoroughly while the Essosi man is forced to watch every second of it.
When he finally pulls out, Baelor keeps your legs spread obscenely, letting his cum slowly leak from your used cunt in front of their guest.
He looks over at the frustrated pleasure man with a cold, satisfied smile: âYour turn now. Come over here. Show me how hard you are, show me how much you want her.â
