Hello, this is Visions in Crimson, you can simply call me Vis or whatever nickname catches your fancy (I love nicknames đ ). I am twenty five, but generally behave like a kid in a candy store. And I use a lot of emojis everywhere.
Anyway, I decided to make a Masterlist of my works - because why not đ¤ˇđ˝ââď¸ and I hope yâall enjoy it! (Some of these contain triggering topics, please see the tags before you start reading).
Public Discord
The Vampire Diaries
Fanfiction
Klena:
Irresistible
Make It Holy
Wedding AU (Being developed)
Elejah:
Baby Itâs Cold Outside
Klaus/Elena/Elijah:
The Monsters In Her Heart
A Little Wicked
Short Stories
Kolena:
Difference
Elejah:
Cosmic Love
Klena:
I See You (From The Shadows)
Letâs Start Some Rumours with @amandamonroe
Sheâs A Special Girl
The Wolf
One Shots
Klaus/Elena/Elijah:
The Monster In Her Head
Klena:
Slow Dance With The Devil
Whatâs Love (Got To Do With It)
I Hate You, I Love You
Unholy
Painted Red And Purple
Monsters
The Violent Delights (Have Violent Ends)
Elejah:
Youâve Put A Spell On Me
Heart And Soul
Devastation
In The End (It Will Be Just Us)
Miscellaneous:
Jackson Square - Klamille
Addicted - Klefan
A New Deal - Klonnie
The House of The Dragon
Fanfiction
Lucemond:
Fireplace Ashes
Through His Good Eye
Stained Scarlet
Daemyra:
Dynasty
Young And Beautiful
One Shots
Time After Time - Daemyra
Enemy - Daemond
The Great War - Daemyra
Marvel Cinematic Universe
Fanfiction:
Saving You, Saving Me
One Shots:
The Night Changes - Kate/Yelena
Pod Of Whales - Steve/Tony
You Canât Run (Or Hide) - Steve/Reader
Be Mine For Now (Or Forever) -Steve/Bucky
Late Night Needs - Steve/Bucky
Your Scars Are Mine - Steve/Bucky
Shadow and Bone
Fanfiction:
Dark Paradise - Darklina
Harry Potter
Drabbles:
The Eve
3:07
Petrichor
Suits (TV Show)
Tender Is The Night - Harvey/Mike
Prompts Invited:
I am now accepting prompts, do check the specifics here.
Have you been okay? Doing well? We miss you here! âĽď¸âĽď¸âĽď¸
Hey friend đ So, I had a breakdown at work and was advised rest for a couple weeks. I went to join back, but they donât take me, cause psychiatry wouldnât give me a clean bill of health. So, now Iâm just at home, studying and working on my dissertation.
Pairing: Baelor Targaryen x f!Targaryen!Niece Reader, Aerion Targaryen x f!Targaryen!Sister reader (forced and one sided)
Chapter 1/10
Summary : You'd been bound to Aerion, your older brother, for your entire life. He'd promised you he'd make you his wife, promised you a fate worse than death. A fate bound to him, the cruel prince. No lord, nor your father can protect you from Aerion.
No one, except your uncle.
Made of honour and duty, Baelor Targaryen is the only one Aerion fears. A plan starts to form in your mind when you reach King's Landing, to seduce your uncle.
Feelings however, get in the way.
Tags: Depictions of sexual abuse in the first chapter, groping, sexual abuse, forced oral (male receiving), Slow Burn, Manipulation, Power Dynamics, Age Difference, Older Man/Younger Woman, Incest, Targcest, PTSD, healing, more tags to be added
Note: Reader suffers from endometritis and anemia
You lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling until your eyes glazed over. The door creaked when night was deepest, the chittering of insects starkly audible. You swallowed roughly as he stepped inside, his footsteps sounding loud in the quiet night.
Each night, he came to you, each night, you stayed frozen.
His footfalls came closer to you, growing louder in your ears.
âSister,â Aerion whispered, and you clenched your jaw. His fingertips grazed your chin, before dipping into the curve of your neck. Sliding down the swell of your breasts. His fingers pinched your nipple, and you bit your lip. Tears swam in your eyes, blurring the canopy over your bed as his hand moved further south, resting over your cunt. âMine,â he whispered into the night, the possession clear in his voice. Your heart raced with fear and just like every night, you whispered to him.
âAerion,â your voice shook, just like it always did, and he leaned down so his face was hovering above yours, âdonât.â
âWhy not?â
âLetâs wait until weâre married,â the words were poison, but you swallowed the poison, just as you did every night. His hand rose, away from your body, but you held in your sigh of relief, not wanting to startle him, not wanting to make him change his mind.
âIt wonât be too long now sister,â he said and dread settled over you like a shroud, it truly wouldnât be too long. âYouâll be mine in all the ways, and together, we shall bring the blood of the dragon to its former glory,â his fingers caressed your lips, and you swallowed roughly before he leaned closer. Closing the gap between them to press his lips to yours.
The kiss was dry, and you moved your lips against his, lest he become angry. He pulled back after a while, and leaned to press his lips to your ear.
âHow sweet you taste sister, I shall savour it until next time.â His pulled back then, before stepping away. He walked back towards the door, leaving you alone.
You let herself relax then, knowing that you were safe for the night, but there was no telling what would happen the next night. No telling how long you could hold Aerion at bay.
On the morrow, your father asked after the sleep in your eyes, and you shrugged. As you all broke your fast, Aerion next to you, he spoke up.
âMust be nightmares, you get those, donât you sister?â
âYes, nightmares,â you agreed wholeheartedly, for he was a nightmare.
âNightmares,â Maekar scoffed, âshould we get the maesters involved for this too?â You almost flinched at the words, but could hear the concern beneath them. You had always beenâŚ.different. Ever since youâd bled, you would bleed for days on end. Your maids told you they never bled so much or for so long, and the maesters told you that you lacked blood. It was why you were never allowed to venture too far from Summerhall. Had never seen Kingâs Landing beyond your early childhood. Indeed, you could scarcely remember it.
But that was to be remedied soon. You were to leave for Kingâs Landing in a weeks time, for your grandmother had demanded your presence, and while your father was gruff, he couldnât refuse his mother. Or his queen.
She had insisted upon seeing her granddaughter after all your years away at Summerhall.
âNo, father,â you responded, and he let out a small breath. Across from you, Aegon threw a grape at Aerion, and your brother froze. Maekar interceded before things could get out of hand, and you wondered why he couldnât intercede on your behalf.
*Because he didnât know*, a treacherous voice whispered in your head. Because while Aerion was the wild one, the cruel one, he had only ever been kind to you.
His touches, his possession of you only ever stayed between the two of you, though you thought your father suspected something. There was a time, long before Aerion would come into your chambers, when he was kind, not cruel.
He would walk after you then, caring for you, talking your ear off about everything he had done.
Then, your mother had died.
And slowly, you watched your beloved brother turn into your most hated brother. He started talking of dragons, of Aegon the second and Heleana, siblings tied together in the tradition of their house. Of Aegon the conqueror and Visenya. He began obsessing over dragons.
And you.
It had started scaring you, but despite his unkindness to others, he wouldnât be publicly unkind to you.
In your chambers however, he would pull back your hair, silver and smooth and straight, and lament over your eyes. They were not of house Targaryen, he would say, not violet like his.
âItâs the only thing about you that isnât Valyrian,â he had commented before suddenly stripping you of your gown. You gasped, hands rising to cover your chest, but he pulled them back down.
âWhat are you doing?â You had asked fearfully as he tweaked your nipples, as he pinched your pearl, and grazed your cunt lips with his fingers.
âSeeing whatâs mine,â he commented as he encircled you, swatting your bottom, âif only you had the right eyes. Perhaps I should pluck them out. The only disappointing thing about you will be gone.â
âNo!â You exclaimed, but Aerion simply laughed. There was no evidence of a jest in his face.
You were drawn out of your memories by Daeron slumping back in his chair, asleep from the drink. Aerion wrinkled his nose, his hand over your thigh underneath the table. Your father couldnât see it, and you could never say it. Could never tell him how unlike the dragon you were. How you remained frozen as your brother groped and fondled you.
How you said nothing when he would shove his member, hard and aching, into your mouth, telling you you were born to suck his cock, finishing inside you and warning you not to waste a single drop.
You hated it, but you did as was bid, unable to tell your father what a disappointment you were.
How easily you were broken by your brother, not when the two of you appeared closer than ever. Not when you swallowed everything he did to you, unlike the dragon you were supposed to be.
Shame had settled into your heart, shame at not being able to stop him, shame at your helplessness.
The blood of the dragon turned cold in your veins.
You finished breaking your fast, retreating to your chambers, guiding your maid in packing your things.
Just one more week and then you would be at court. Would be in Kingâs Landing, without your brother. Aerion had been incensed when heâd learned only you were to go, but your father had quickly taken control of your brother. Had told him the invitation was only for you.
Your father preferred to stay at Summerhall anyway.
You only pitied the silver haired whore your brother would find to use in your absence.
Once your trunks were packed, you sat at your window, embroidery in hand. You barely paid it any mind, instead gazing out the window at the gardens. How you longed to go out, and feel the sun on your skin, but instead you were trapped in your chambers, the maesters declaring you too weak for the sun.
The rest of the week passed in much the same way, until it was time for you to go. The night before you left, Aerion had marked bites over the swell of your breasts. Just so you could remember who you belonged to.
It was more than you could bear, crying into the night after he left.
Your journey started at dawn, you, your maids, more than a dozen household guards along with two Kingsguards and riders making up the party. The knights were honourable, but your father had sent a sellsword too, a killer. You stayed on the road for three days, staying the nights in inns and spending the days in carriages.
But it was the your first true taste of freedom. The sun upon your skin, the wind in your hair. The itching, cloying sensation under your skin gave way to something freer, something you felt in the loosening of your strings, in the way your chest expanded more, as though breathing for the first time.
The first night, you were sure Aerion had tracked you somehow. That he would come to you again, but even as you laid awake the whole night, nothing happened.
You were away from Aerion.
When dawn came, you rose without having slept a wink at night. Waiting for something that never came. You allowed a smile to break, and it enveloped your whole face. Aerion could no longer get to you, not until you remained in Kingâs Landing and he remained in Summerhall.
You just needed to remain in Kingâs Landing for as long as possible.
You dressed for the day without your maids help, lest she see the mark blossoming on your breast. It was no ordinary love mark, it had turned purple, had mottled, and there was teeth mark around it. You averted your gaze from it.
No more.
Not until you were in Kingâs Landing. Not until Aerion convinced Maekar to let him wed you. And then, this little freedom youâd found would be taken from you too.
The days journey proved better than the last, with you falling asleep in the carriage. That night was much the same, except that you could sleep. For the first time in years perhaps, you slept soundly, undisturbed. Dreams did not haunt you, and neither did reality.
The third day culminated with you reaching Kingâs Landing. After that, it took only the time between the sunset and the moon rise before you were in the Red Keep.
The castle was unlike anything youâd seen before, beyond compare. A page announced your presence, and a footman helped you descend, and there they all stood, the rest of your family. You recognised the King and the queen by age, and by their crowns and bowed deeply.
Queen Myriah moved towards you, her eyes kind and searching, her hand landing softly on your cheek.
âGranddaughter,â she said, her voice steady, her eyes fixed upon her own. Those traitorous eyes that werenât Targaryen enough.
âGrandmother, thank you for summoning me,â you said genuinely, for she had brought you away from hell.
âOf course, come, I shall make the introductions,â you feel into a deep curtsy when she introduced you to the King, wondering if, perhaps, he would find your eyes wanting. Your sallow skin an affront, your too brittle nails an insult.
Then you were introduced to Prince Baelor, the Hand of the King, and your stomach swooped. He looked nothing like your father, his eyes were mismatched, one blue and one brown, his mouth set in a line before he smiled warmly at you. His nose was crooked, as though broken before, and his brown hair was scattered with salt and pepper, as was his beard.
âPrincess,â his voice was warm, and he took your hand, placing a small kiss on your knuckles. You almost flinched. A new fear rose in you. What if found you as Aerion found you? If he found himself wanting you as Aerion did. But the moment passed, and he relinquished your hand at the appropriate time, his lips and fingers not lingering. âIt is good to see you after so many years.â
âYou too, my Prince.â
âI very much doubt you remember meâ, there was good humour in his voice, and you felt your cheeks warm.
âNo, indeed I do not, but you must not blame me my Prince, I could barely remember anything other than milk then.â He let out a short laugh, before nodding and stepping back.
Some warmth seemed to seep away from the space between you. Then, you were introduced to Valarr, his eyes the same heterochromatic as his father, his smile just as easy. There was a streak of silver in his brown hair, and he was just as warm as his father. Matarys was the same, just younger, and just as courteous.
You wondered if perhaps your own father had become so gruff for his children did not listen to him. For Aerion and Daeron and even little Egg had run him ragged. If concern for you was the reason he was hardened so.
You remembered the first time you had gotten your blood, bleeding for twelve days, your parents sitting vigil at your bedside, as you groaned in pain unlike you had ever felt before.
Perhaps, your uncle wasnât as gruff because he hadnât had to do as much for his children. Although you did know that your aunt Jena had passed away in her second childbirth.
As you walked in the Red Keep, you admired the architecture. The high ceilings, the paintings. The grandiosity was unlike anything you had experienced at Summerhall. Your grandmother escorted you to your new chambers, telling you that you were expected for supper in some time.
You nodded, and then you were left alone. There was a four poster bed in one end of the room, near a window, showing you the view of the training grounds. A side table with freshly cut fruit, and you popped a grape in your mouth before your maid entered with a dress for you.
You nodded to her, readying yourself, as though readying for battle.
The Unrelenting Shadow (Baelor Targaryen x Niece!reader)
A/N: This message had me thinking insane thoughts so I just had to write a fic for it yâall.Â
Summary: Prequel to Sorely Mistaken (but both can be read as standalones) - how you managed to convince your (reluctant) uncle Baelor to marry you.Â
Word count: ~10.5kÂ
Tags: 18+/MDNI, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, (significant) age gap, younger!reader (20s), Targcest, canon typical incest, jealous!Baelor, angry!Baelor, kissing, nothing much else, never proofread, (please let me know if I missed any)Â
Disclaimer: I do not own any âA Knight of the Seven Kingdomsâ characters. I do not claim to own any of the âA Knight of the Seven Kingdomsâ characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so.Â
Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)
You had known for a very long time that you would settle for no man less than your Uncle Baelor. Well, frankly, you would settle for no man other than your Uncle Baelor. It was his own fault, really. He should not have been such a good example for you, should not have cherished you so much.Â
Just the week before, he had found you drinking tea all by your lonesome, a little sad that no one was available to sit with you in the afternoon and share a cup and conversation. Rather than rushing along (despite all the work that awaited him in his study), he stayed, sat with you, allowed you to pour him a cup and put a little piece of cake on his plate. He had watched you with a satisfied smile, happy that you were looking at him with such big beaming eyes, and had even allowed himself to be wooed into narrating some particular bits of history that you had inquired about.Â
And it was that moment that had cemented it for you. You would have him. You wished to be married, and you wished to have a family, but it had always weighed on you that you would be torn away from the one you already possessed upon your wedding. You did not want to go anywhere else, did not want to love anyone else. Only your people, and only him.Â
So, you had decided then, that Baelor was the man for you, and that if you could not marry him, then you would not marry anyone. But you knew this would be a challenge, knew that there would be pushback from every direction, and you would have to be careful and firm in all your actions. The first part of the plan, of course, was getting Baelor.Â
âUncle Baelor,â you greeted happily, breezing into his study late in the afternoon. You knew he would not be meeting with anyone at this time, it was usually his alone to go over the decisions of the day, to prepare for the day after and to answer any letters that needed responding.Â
And that was exactly how you found him, elbow on the desktop, head resting in his hand as he wrote carefully on the parchment. He looked up as you entered, his face softening and a smile appearing there. How could he expect you not to love him when he looked at you in that way?Â
The room was cozy and warm, and it had once been your favourite place in all of the Red Keep (barring the gardens). There were bookshelves along all the walls except where there were windows and the hearth. It was always the most lovely temperature, and it always smelt like old books, parchment, ink, and Baelorâs spicy Dornish scent. You often wished you could drink it up, absorb it, keep it inside you and be happy forever knowing it was there with you.Â
âDarling girl,â he greeted in return, voice jovial, beckoning you in and gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk. You closed the door behind you, ever the polite guest, and took a seat, folding your hands in your lap.Â
You were wearing your best dress, knowing you needed all your power behind you. It was red, a deep luscious red that was almost impossible to find in velvet. The sleeves began off your shoulders, and were simple swathes of fabric with a long cut down the middle so they fell away from your arms and sort of hung there in orbit. The dress was form-fitting, following the curves of your breasts, cinching a little at the waist then draping over the curve of your hips. It was not overly layered so it fell simply over you after that, grazing your feet.Â
It was not just your dress that was done up so beautifully. It was you. Your hair was pulled back just enough to expose your neck, drawing the eye to the lines there, braided at the back of your skull then let loose. Your lips were more red than usual, courtesy of your beloved ladyâs maidâs handiwork, and kohl lined your eyes, darkening everything to seductive points.Â
You wore jewellery he had gifted you at various points of your life, the earrings a dark gold wired around a large drop-shaped ruby. The necklace was simple, also a dark gold decorated with rubies, sitting beautifully along the plane of your chest, and if you closed your eyes and thought very hard, you could almost feel his fingers grazing the skin there as he put it on you.Â
You had seen the look he gave you before you sat down, the quick flit of his eyes, the once-over. He had noted the dress, the jewellery, the hint of your cleavage and the lines of your hips. He had chosen not to linger though, but that was alright. He would have plenty of time later.Â
âTo what do I owe this impromptu visit?â He asked, leaning back in his seat and giving you his full focus. You tried to sit up straight, to keep a hold on your confidence when your body craved to bow a little, to make yourself small.Â
âI⌠wished to speak with you about something,â you said quietly, hesitating more than you wished, trying not to physically wince at yourself. Your hands trembled a little but you simply clenched them tighter together, reminding yourself that this was everything you wanted, and you would not stop until you had it.Â
âDo go on,â he said softly, as if he could tell you were nervous, and you smiled, allowing yourself that boost of confidence before glancing back up at him and setting your jaw a little.Â
âFather says I must marry, and the time has come for me to choose a suitor, and I have decided it will be you. I want none but you.â You told him all this firmly, sticking your chin out a little as if in defiance. Your heart pounded a little, and you could see his mind working a mile a minute behind his eyes.Â
Baelor had not moved an inch, had not reacted an ounce. His face remained the same, that serene look of thought, and he stayed quiet for a moment before leaning closer, resting both elbows on the desk. He reached out a little, waiting for you to put one of your hands in his. He gripped it gently, used his other hand to stroke over the top, and smiled softly at you, a little pained.Â
âMy darling girl, you know it cannot be,â he told you, smiling that sage, all-knowing smile as he watched your expression drop into a petulant pout. You huffed through your nose, ripping your hand from his grip and crossing your arms over your chest.Â
âWhy ever not?â You asked him, but the back of your mind began blaring all the reasons you had thought of earlier, all the things that would not make it as simple as you would wish it to be.Â
âDo not be difficult now, you know as well as I.â And he raised one eyebrow at you, leaning back in his seat, just a little slumped with relaxation. âYou are far too young to be chasing a man of my age. I am older than your father. There is no shortage of young males who would make far more suitable candidates for your hand in marriage.â You clicked your tongue, pouting and sinking lower in your seat.Â
âThere are women far younger than me married to men far older than you,â you responded, âmen far uglier than you too,â you added in a low voice, and it made him smirk a little, shaking his head at your antics. âAnd you say there are many young males who are more suitable, but all the ones I have met are horrendous, ugly, and have a superiority complex that does not befit their station.âÂ
âPerhaps you have not known them long enough,â he reasoned, ever reasonable, âor you expect far too much of them for their station in life.âÂ
âIf I do, it is your fault. You have shown me what could be,â again that low grumbling voice, the one that only just caught his ears but made him smile.Â
âBut you know those are not the only arguments. You are a smart girl, you have proven that time and again.â You preened at his words, feeling yourself flush hot, and he continued. âYou are my niece, and I will not do a disservice to my brother, to your father, by going over his head and agreeing to a proposal he has not approved.â And there was the raised brow again, the knowing look, and you shrunk in your seat a little.Â
âHow do you know he has not approved?â Baelor scoffed at you, the expression on his face unchanged. âFine, he has not, but that does not mean anythingâŚâ your voice just became quieter and quieter as you spoke, until you pursed your lips and glared at the desktop.Â
He could see you pouting, and it made his chest clench. He sighed, long and low, and stood from his seat, coming around to take the one beside yours. He reached over and gently brought both your hands to his lap, holding them firmly to make sure you could not pull away this time, to make sure you looked and paid attention.Â
âSweet girl, you are kind and lovely, and beautiful beyond belief. You will surely have a long line of suitors behind you if you only announce your intention. Do not waste your time with me. I am too old, I am your uncle, and your father will not be happy with this decision.â He tried to smile comfortingly, and looked you in the eye, caressing the back of your hand.Â
All you wanted was to burrow into his arms, to sit in his lap and be engulfed by him, but you know he would only stop you if you tried, and you would not suffer such humiliation. You nodded, mumbling a âfineâ, and averted your eyes to your lap. Baelor placed a hand on the back of your head, caressing you there affectionately before standing and rounding his desk once more. You stood as well, nodding toward him then walking out, far quieter than when you had entered.Â
Baelor watched you go, twisting the ring on his index finger around and around. Once the door closed behind you, he closed his eyes and let out a long sigh, shaking his head at himself. It was necessary, he told himself. He needed to be the voice of reason, give the sage advice. But some small part of him could not help but feel sad, feel a pull in his chest that went the same direction you had just taken out of the room.Â
You went straight back to your room, throwing yourself on your bed with a huff and a pout, your eyes beginning to burn with tears. You pressed your hands to your face, took shaking breaths in.Â
You had expected it, yet you were still upset. You knew it would not be that easy, but you had hoped anyway. In an ideal world he would have instantly said yes, of course, it was all he longed for. He would have swept you off your feet and into his arms, would have kissed you and caressed you and instantly gone to your father and told him. What happened was not⌠that.Â
You sat up on the edge of your bed, kicking off your slippers and bringing your legs up so you could pull your knees to your chest, and you allowed yourself to think. This could not be how your pursuit ended. You would not accept it.Â
If he had so many of what he called âsoundâ reasons to deny you, then you would just have to make him desire you so much that those reasons became inconsequential. You knew deep down that he wanted you, that he was only denying himself because he believed it to be right. The way he looked at you proved it. It had to.Â
You wiped your tears and nodded to yourself, getting up and going to the washing bowl in the corner to begin wiping away the kohl that had run down your cheeks. You rang the bell to call for your ladyâs maid, and stared at yourself in the vanity. You had work to do.Â
Your wardrobe was vast and never-ending, and your maid had distinct instructions to ensure your entire collection of summer dresses was available to you. They were your best, your brightest, and your most enticing. They would be necessary for the days to come.Â
You chose a pretty pink one for the next day, something soft and feminine and fluttery. The âsleevesâ were just two strips of fabric that hung from your shoulders, your arms bare, the neckline almost dangerously low-cut. You wore pearls in your ears and along your neck, pinned them like twinkling stars in your hair.Â
You spent the day between the library and gardens, gathering compliments like flowers for a bouquet. You smiled bashfully at each, bowed your head timidly and thanked whoever it was, the picture of grace. Each one fed your fire, straightened your spine with confidence.Â
At dinner time, you arrived last. Everyone was already seated, and you breezed in through the door, a pretty smile on your lips as you apologised for getting caught up in chatter with your ladyâs maids.Â
The room was cool, tinged orange from the hearth and candles, the balcony doors left open and the thin white curtains fluttering in a breeze. The same one which caressed your arms and made goosebumps begin prickling along the skin.Â
There was only one seat free, and you silently thanked both mother and maiden for the way your lot fell. It was near the head of the table where Baelor sat. To his left were your father then Aerion. To his right was Valarr, and then a lovely empty seat just for you. You beamed, quickly seating yourself as your father grumbled.Â
âYou have left the lot of us hungry,â and though he glared at you, you simply smiled and blew a kiss at him. He was a grump, your father, but a loving one, and he had an endless amount of patience for you.Â
Baelor watched you with careful eyes, the swathes of skin that his eyes hungrily ate up, the curve of your breasts and your bare arms and even the pretty dress, so light and airy that he knew with one strong rip the entire thing could be on the floor. Even your hair, beautiful and draped in pearls, made something inside him churn.Â
âWell, I have already apologised, and I am sorry,â you responded, happily nodding in thanks to the servant that filled your cup and stepped away. âOh, here, I know you enjoy these most Valarr,â you shifted the plate of herbed potatoes in the boyâs direction, beaming at him when he thanked you and smiled.Â
Baelor watched the interaction, eyes careful once more, his hands clenched around his own utensils.Â
âMh,â Valarr swallowed around a bite, turning to speak in your direction though he focused on his plate, âyou look lovely today cousin, very beautiful.âÂ
Baelor watched you preen at Valarrâs compliment, your shoulders lifting a little as you smiled with such joy. You brushed your hair over your shoulder and leaned forward to grasp your cup and sip wine, the red staining your lips, the view of your breasts far too enticing. He feared the fork would bend under his fingers.
âThank you cousin, that is very darling of you,â you responded, placing one hand on his arm softly, squeezing for a moment as you smiled. Baelor put down the utensils and swiftly gripped his cup of wine, forcing himself to sip slowly.Â
Valarr smiled in your direction, just a curl at the edge of his mouth, and you flitted your eyes over his face, leaning a little closer to him as you looked away. Baelor tore his eyes from the scene and looked over at Maekar instead while reaching for the plate of cubed meat. He did not realise he had reached for it at the same time as you until you giggled and grasped the meat fork before he could.Â
âPatience, Uncle,â you teased, your lips curved into a smirk as you leaned forward to reach and began doling out a portion for yourself. Again his eyes were drawn to the curves of your breasts, the teasing line of your cleavage, as if beckoning him to press his face there and be lost. He traced his gaze up your arms, to the lines of your neck, and it was rather ironic that he was actively losing patience at that moment.Â
He only looked at you with eyes as hard as stone, his mouth set in a firm line, waiting until you had finished before taking the plate and doling some out for himself. You just smiled at him, bright and beaming and so infuriating that Baelor wondered if he was vibrating in his seat with rage. He forced himself to look away.Â
âOh, cousin,â you suddenly spoke up, frowning a little at Valarr, âyou have something on your face.â You gestured in the direction of your own cheek and he instantly reached up.Â
âHere?â He asked, rubbing just under the spot, and you shook your head, giggling a little before grasping your napkin in your hand.Â
âAllow me,â you laughed, reaching forward and swiping slowly at his cheek with gentle hands. Baelor watched on, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth hurt.Â
âHe is a man, foolish girl, let him do it,â your father grumbled, glaring at you from across the table. You just scoffed, shaking your head and turning away from Valarr after you finished removing the tiniest spot of grime, patting his cheek once to let him know you were done.Â
âI was only helping him,â you huffed, returning your fatherâs glare before refocusing on your plate. You would not look at Baelor just yet, would let him stew in his anger.Â
âThank you, cousin,â Valarr told you quietly, waving for your cup to be refilled as you smiled at him.Â
Baelor stood abruptly, his knife and fork left on the table as he tossed his napkin over his plate.Â
âI shall retire for the evening,â he grumbled, sounding more like Maekar than himself at the moment. âEnjoy the rest of your meal.âÂ
When the door closed behind him, everyone looked around at each other in shock. Uncle Baelor had never done that before.Â
âWhat the fuck is his problem?â Maekar asked, frown deepset as he looked at Valarr who just shook his head, shrugging and looking back at where Baelor had walked out.Â
It took far too much effort for you to suppress your smirk and act as if that had not been all your own doingâŚÂ
Maekar raised his head at the knock on his study door, a frown already settling into place on his face. He was not expecting anyone, and he was required at a council meeting soon, so no one should have been bothering him.Â
âEnter,â he called, leaning back in his seat as the door opened and in you walked. Though he did not smile, his face softened, and he did not grumble or groan as you came over and leaned down to peck his cheek before settling into a seat across from him.Â
âI have a favour to ask, Father,â you told him happily, sitting low in your seat as he did and interlacing your fingers over your stomach. âWould I be allowed to play cupbearer at this next meeting of yours?â You asked it so sweetly, as if there was no ulterior motive.Â
âWhat?â Maekarâs frown deepened, one eyebrow raising in question. âWhat possessed you to request this?â You shrugged, feigning disinterest.Â
âI have nothing much to do this afternoon. My lessons have finished, and I do not wish to embroider any more, my fingers are sore from the needles. I thought perhaps you would all prefer to have a cupbearer, and I could busy myself.â You shrugged again, pursing your lips as if it did not mean much at all.Â
Maekar hummed in thought, staring at you as if examining for some answer on your face. It was odd to be sure, but you had made odd requests before. And you were right. He was sure everyone at the table would appreciate a cupbearer, a trusted one anyway. There was always the worry of a pageboy spying on royal matters and no one wished to invite that into the chamber.Â
âAlright, you may, but if you spill even one drop on anything, you will never be forgiven,â he pointed at you, making sure you understood how serious he was, then softened as you beamed at him and nodded, skipping over to him to press another kiss to his cheek in thanks. âCome along now, we must be there soon,â and he led you out of the room and to the chamber they used for their meetings.Â
You schooled yourself a little as the doors opened and you followed your father in. You could not look too excited to be there. Most of the other council members were already seated when you entered, the masters of something or other dotted around the table, headed by your uncle who, despite the lack of a reaction, watched you intently as you walked in.Â
âMy daughter has generously offered her services as cupbearer for the day, be thankful Sers,â your father said as a simple introduction, waving in your general direction as you smiled and headed for the side of the room where the wine jug rested on a side table. Most of the men nodded, greeted you with a quiet âprincessâ, then refocused on the table.Â
Baelor adjusted himself, sitting up a little straighter as he allowed his eyes to traverse you for the quickest movement. You were wearing another provocative dress. Did you only own dresses made to torment him? It was a pretty green this time, like fresh leaves or grass, and had an abhorrently low neckline once more. The sleeves only started below your shoulders, and draped loosely down your arms. The bodice was far too tight-fitting to be appropriate, and the skirts flared a little at the waist. Elegant, beautiful, and far too enticing. He seemed to think that about you far too often.Â
Baelor cleared his throat and forced his eyes away from you, seating himself a little more comfortably and lacing his hands together as he rested them on the table in front of him. One of the men had begun to speak, most likely about budgeting for the new roads project he wanted to initiate for Kingâs Landing.Â
âUncle,â you whispered quietly, standing just beside his chair as you leaned down to fill his cup with wine. He did not acknowledge you, attempting to keep a tight hold on his restraint. Your breasts brushed his arm and shoulder when you leaned down, and he swallowed harshly, suddenly feeling boiling hot. He nodded in thanks, his body stiff and he forced his eyes to remain on the man that was speaking. Then you leaned away, moving past him, and he felt he could breathe once more. This could not go on.Â
Despite his best efforts, Baelorâs eyes returned to you over and over again. He simply could not keep them away. When you stood in the sunlight streaming in from the window for a moment, squinting a little, you seemed to be glowing. Your hair was a halo, your dress was made in the light of the gods, and your entire being seemed to be silhouetted with something otherworldly. He could not look away.Â
You meandered around the table, jug in hand, filling cups as needed. Though it was rather boring when you allowed your ears to focus in on the matters at hand, you found your entertainment in watching Baelor. You could tell he was put off by your presence, twisting his ring around his finger like the motion was necessary to keep him alive. His eyes flitted to you any time you moved, and though he attempted to tear them away soon after, it would happen again and again. Even the slightest movement, a little sway in your spot in the corner by the window would cause a quick flick toward you. That was entertainment enough.Â
He looked bothered, a little clipped in his answers to the lords at the table, and his hands constantly fidgeted, clenched in his lap, on the armrests, the edge of the desk, or twisting his rings relentlessly. You wished to sit in his lap, to grasp his hands in yours and soothe the agitation, to press those fingers to your cheeks and your neck and all over your body. Alas, you could not. Not yet anyway.Â
It was a relief for him when the council finally ended, the opportunity for escape from your pretty eyes blinking innocently up at him as if you were not fully aware of what you did to him. Even when he blinked he saw you in that dress, your chest so close to his face as you refilled his cup, the expanse of your chest and the tantalising promise of something he could not quite see. It would not do.Â
That evening you were not late to dinner, but you were still the last to arrive, breezing in just behind Aerion as everyone else settled into their usual seats. You smiled, greeted everyone, and sat down beside Valarr once more, the perfect viewing spot for Baelor.Â
It was barely a moment since you entered and he already felt tortured. You were a pretty dress in pale blue, something soft and light, a little bit more modest than the other things you wore, but still beautiful and perfectly enticing and walking the border of appropriate. And Baelor believed your sudden disinterest in him made everything ten times worse. Perhaps it would have been fine if you still looked at him with your bright eyes, with that special smile of joy you reserved for him. You once looked upon him the way a flower looks at the sun, once turned straight to him for advice, praise, care, anything and everything. Now, since he had refused you, you barely looked in his direction after the required greeting one owed the crown prince. He despised this sudden feigned disinterest.Â
Though Aerion usually sat beside your father, Egg had taken that spot, so Aerion was relegated to sitting on your other side. Despite your immensely low interest in your brother, you knew this had worked out well for you, another opportunity to provoke a rise from Baelor. You believed this would be stronger. Aerionâs reputation preceded him, and he could anger anyone, even your uncle.Â
âWhat do you think of my dress, brother?â You asked, turning to Aerion with an innocent look on your face, your features open and waiting for a response. He frowned at you as he turned away from his plate, hands still cutting the meat as he gave you a onceover.Â
âPretty, I suppose,â he mumbled around his food, quirking his eyebrow a little at your sudden interest in his opinion. You had never shown it before. âThough you would look better in your house colours,â he added, turning away from you to refocus on his food once more. But you simply smiled, leaning into his arm and bumping him there with your own.Â
âHm, but you still said I was pretty,â you said in a jovial voice. You glanced at Baelor out of the corner of your eye, noticed that his eyes were already on you and Aerion, and you attempted to hide your smirk as you looked down at your plate.Â
âI think you look lovely,â Valarr told you quietly, smiling conspiratorially as he leaned in close to say it. You beamed at that, patting him softly on the hand as he leaned away again and picked up his cup.Â
âYou are a sweet thing,â you said in response, ensuring that you were just loud enough for Baelor to hear. It would only matter if he heard.Â
Baelorâs eyes finally left you, refocusing on his plate. His jaw was clenched, his hands tight around his utensils, but he appeared to be attempting a look of serenity. You did not accept it for a moment.Â
âWould you reach down and pass me the potatoes, brother?â You asked Aerion, smiling sweetly at him in the hopes he would do your bidding. He grunted with annoyance but did as you asked, reaching over and snatching the dish from the table and placing it in front of you. âThank you, dear,â you told him, leaning over and pressing a quick peck to his cheek.Â
Aerion paused and looked at you, one of his eyebrows raising in question. Why the fuck were you behaving this way? You were like a frivolous girl again, pressing kisses and kindness all over without a care in the world. He did not catch the grimace passing over Baelorâs face, the tightening of his hands.Â
The rest of dinner passed with little fanfare. You settled some more, hoping not to be too obvious in your motives. You only wanted to incite Baelorâs jealousy, not cause Aerion or Valarr to think you whorish or infatuated. It was a subtle art, really. You deserved to be praised for the planning and subtlety with which you worked.Â
There were moments where you patted Aerionâs hand, teased him about his hair being mussed and fixed it for him, and though it could be construed as a little odd (you rarely ever showed an interest in your brother), you believed you played it off well. And Baelor watched it all, slowly chewing on his food and swallowing it as if it offended him. He took more wine than he usually did, and you enjoyed yourself immensely.Â
When supper had finally come to an end, everyone excused themselves to whatever separate pursuits they wished. Baelor had an attendant draw a bath, sitting on the edge of his bed and watching the water steam as the man poured it into the tub. He dismissed everyone, groaning a little once the door closed. He tossed his clothes off quickly, wanting nothing more to be out of them and in the water. It had been a challenging day, and he needed to sit and think.Â
He settled himself fully in the water, leaning back and sighing as the hot water caressed every inch of him. His arms draped over the edge of the tub and he allowed his head to fall back against the lip as he closed his eyes.Â
But there was still an agitation under his skin, something writhing there, and it had your name. Even with his eyes closed he could see you as clear as if you were standing before him now. Your pretty smile, so enchanting that he was sure if you had batted your eyelashes, Daemon Blackfyre would never have mounted his rebellion. He saw your hair, gathered up on your head and secured with pins, the sleek lines of your neck and shoulders. He saw the curves of your breasts, tantalisingly peeking out from the top of your neckline, the perfect size, the perfect shape. He wished to see them bare, to see you splayed out on his bed and ready for the taking.Â
Baelor grunted at himself, shaking his head to rid the thoughts, but they would not go. He brought his arms down into the water and sighed. He could allow himself these thoughts here, in the privacy of his own head. If there was some place, it could only be this one. He closed his eyes once more and allowed his mind to wander.Â
He had been buzzing with anger at the dinner table, at the sight of your hand caressing the top of Aerionâs head. At least when you flirted with Valarr he could forgive it. His son was good, objectively handsome, and if somehow the two of you decided to marry then Baelor would have no objection (other than the pain in his heart, but he would learn to swallow it). But Aerion⌠this he could not abide.Â
Aerion was everything you were not. He was cruel where you were sweet, rough where you were soft, and he could not imagine you chained up to him. He did not even want to imagine you offering that boy your smiles and good graces, let alone touching him with your pretty hands.Â
Your pretty hands⌠the heat of Baelorâs ire turned in a different direction, picturing your soft hands caressing his shoulders. He could imagine you here with him, sitting just beside the bathtub and caressing his head, running your fingers over the skin of his shoulders and down to his chest. He could feel you caressing his stomach, could feel the heat building there, pressing the rush of blood down into his cock. He groaned softly under his breath, his hand dipping under the water to grip himself. He could almost feel your hands there, if he tried hard enough with his imagination.Â
Yours would be smaller, less able to grip him, but you would try, and that would be what made him hot under the collar. You would smile softly at him, happy just to be there with him, to be able to feel him, and you would lean in close so your lips brushed his mouth as you began to stroke him. His own hand mimicked what he wished you to do, gripping himself tight at the base then stroking up and down. He tried not to move too quickly, imagining that you would be a little hesitant, that you would not know how exactly to do it, but would be eager to perform.Â
He could see you blinking slowly at him, licking your lips, leaning in so close that your nose bumped his. He could feel your mouth against his, your hand tightening at the tip of him. Balor muffled a groan, his head leaning back further as his hips moved a little and the heat inside him built and built. He could feel it pressing at his stomach, could feel it pulsing in his cock. His breaths came out sharp and heavy, his entire torso heaving as he stroked himself until it built into a sharp point inside him and he came with a loud grunt.Â
His cock shook, his entire body going rigid, his hips stuttering, and everything felt far too salient for a few moments. Though the heat began to dissipate and his limbs felt slightly less sensitive, he kept his eyes closed. He did not want to open them and face the shame of what he had done. To see that he was alone, finding self-pleasure at the thought of his nieceâŚÂ
It had been a few days of this torment. You continued to return as a cupbearer for council meetings, an unrelenting shadow over Baelorâs shoulder. Sometimes he drank quickly so you would be forced to hover at his shoulder, away from all the other lords, and other times he barely took a sip because he wished not to be reminded that you were there, watching him as he tried not to fluster.Â
Your behaviour remained the same at dinner, little flirtations with Valarr and even Aerion, small things that made the wine turn sour in his mouth and the beef chewy between his teeth. Oft an image flashed in his mind of him walking over and hauling you onto his shoulder, plates and cutlery left haphazard, your legs flailing a little as he smacked a hand down onto your arse and promised you a long night of repentance. But he could never do such a thing, and so he was forced to sit there, stewing his own ire as you smiled and flirted and ignored his presence.Â
That was the worst of it. You smiled still, were jovial as ever, but you ignored him. No longer did you come into his office, seeking him out for a cup of tea or a moment of chatter. No longer did you push food in his direction silently, hoping to get him to look at you with thanks. No longer did you even look at him more than to simply greet him as one was expected to do with the crown prince. It bothered him like nothing else.Â
Baelor sighed as he thought of all this, looking out of his window and noting what a lovely day it was. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and if dragons had still existed, he was sure they would all be out for a fly. He too needed to be outside, if only for a moment in the gardens to breathe in some of the fresh air and resettle his thoughts to be able to focus on matters of the realm. No longer could he allow himself to be distracted by you.Â
Baelor walked out of the tower, through the Keep, and down the paths that led into the gardens. He slowed himself as he hit the foliage, smiling within himself at the sight of the greenery and the dappling of the sun. This was exactly what he needed.Â
He followed a curve in the path, and came upon the little stretch of grass, one tree for shade near the opposite end to where he stood. He could hear the water from the sea swishing over the border of bushes, and it was only after he continued down this path that he realised someone was sitting under the shade of the tree.Â
Were the gods against him? Had he done something to invoke their wrath? He believed he had only ever acted with honour, so why was he being punished in this way?Â
You were sitting there under the tree, a blanket laid out on the ground to protect your dress, and an assortment of sweets and snacks splayed out on napkins in front of you. There was a book on your lap, and your head was bowed as you read from it. You were sitting to the side, leaning on one hand, legs bent against yourself, as you gently placed a strawberry to your lips. The fruit stained your mouth red and shiny.Â
You were wearing a silky red dress, some new fashion from Dorne he was sure, for the ladies of Kingâs Landing would never be caught so scandalously. The gown had sheer sleeves, some thin netted material that exposed your arms but coloured them red. The rest of it was silky and shiny, thin as anything with nothing to fill out the skirts so it lay shapely against your legs. You wore a bodice that laced up the front, a darker red than the rest of your dress, the line clearly denoting your waist. Your dress was basically a night chemise but longer in length. How could you be wearing such a thing out of your own chambers?Â
Baelor watched you smile a little at whatever you had just read in the book, watched you lean forward to pick some other treat up, allowing him a straight look down your chest and the curves of your breasts. His heart stuttered in his chest, that familiar irritation, anger, heat, combo rising within him once more.Â
You held a creampuff delicately between your fingers, eyes still on your book as you brought it up to your mouth. You bit into it without thinking, the soft pastry giving way between your teeth, and the cream squirting out onto your fingers. Some of it dropped onto your chest, and he heard you make a little huffing sound as you sat up a little straighter, pulling the treat away from your mouth as a frown contorted your features.Â
Baelorâs mind felt swollen, his head felt too full of anger and heat and something else beyond his capabilities. All he could see in his vision was red and you, you and red. He had already inched closer without realising, and now he walked over, his head filled with his rage. When you looked up and caught sight of him, you stood up as well, your eyes brightening instantly.Â
âHello, Uncle,â you spoke, but before you could say anymore, he backed you into the tree, pressing so harshly into your space that you fell back against the trunk, the roughness of it biting through the thin fabric of your dress. You gasped, mouth dropping open as you looked up at him.Â
His jaw was clenched, hands in fists on either side of you, pressing into the tree. His chest heaved, brushing against your own, and he was glaring down at you, jaw hard and eyes ablaze. You trembled, hands fisting tightly at your sides. You had never seen him in this wayâŚÂ
âWhy do you do this to me?â He asked, his voice a low hissing thing. âWhy do you torment me so?âÂ
You could not answer, your eyes blinking up at him in shock. Your neck felt hot, your chest tight, and you quivered violently, feeling his hot breaths against your mouth.Â
âYou act like some seductress come upon us from the streets of silk, flirting and caressing. Yet now, when confronted with your own actions, you remain silent?â You had never seen Baelor so angry, vibrating with his rage. His mouth was curled with anger, his brows knitted with his frown, and he hit the tree trunk by your head a little, his frustration curdling. That same hand came down and pressed to your stomach, fingers slipping up under the bodice and hauling you up to the tips of your toes, yanking you closer to him. âAnswer me.âÂ
You could only gasp again, slippers scrabbling a little against the ground. Your entire bodyweight settled on the place where his hand clenched in the cloth and raised you up. He did not even bat an eye, still with strength. Your entire body was flushed with heat, your hands shook and could not decide if they should come up and rest on Baelorâs shoulders to steady yourself. You blinked at him, rendered dumb. Your lips parted and closed then parted again, your breaths shaking as they brushed along his neck and chin.Â
âIâŚâ and that was all you could breathe out, his eyes frantically bouncing between yours, as if looking for an answer in either one.Â
Then, without warning, Baelor hauled you close again, bent his head a little, and licked along your chest where the cream had spilled and you had not wiped it away. His tongue was hot, a little rough as all tongues are, and the wet feeling of it moving over your skin made you sigh shakily, eyes fluttering. The air was cool on it after, a shiver running through you, and he kept his head bent there so you could not look at each otherâs faces. He breathed heavily, tasted the sweetness on his tongue, the essence of your skin, and his hand tightened on your bodice.Â
You could not quite comprehend your own being, could only feel the heat in the pit of your stomach, the saliva now drying on your skin, the tremble in your limbs, and him. You could smell him, the clean scent of his skin and the spicy Dornish scent he wore. You could feel his chest, firm and strong against your breasts, could feel his lips graze where he had licked and the ticklish hairs of his beard.Â
Slowly, Baelor set you down, steadying you as your feet landed fully on the ground. Then he pulled back a little just to look you in the eyes, there was something there, something haunted and angry and hot and full of fire. He unhooked his hand from your bodice, then turned swiftly on his feet and walked off back into the Keep, leaving you there panting and forever changedâŚÂ
You spent the rest of your day in that spot, curled up on the blanket and staring out at the blue sky, occasionally moving so you could feel the sun on you through the leaves of the tree. You stayed in the spot where he had lost control, where he had touched you. You smiled freely, dazedly, like someone who had just been slapped across the face and enjoyed it. You giggled to yourself, feeling warm and shocked at the remembrance of his tongue dragging across your skin.Â
This was everything you had wanted and more. This was what you had wished for when you first left his study, when you sat on the end of your bed and cried. You had imagined his face, anguished and so desperate for you that he could only be angry. And now you had itâŚÂ
You sighed happily, brushing your hair back and gathering all your treats and your book. You left the blanket lying there, asking one of the guards in the hall to have someone collect it when they could, and you ventured back to your chambers.Â
When the time for supper finally arrived, you were quick to get there. You decided not to change for dinner, hoping the gown would provoke the memory for Baelor, would set him on edge further, but as the time passed and your father and brothers arrived, and even Valarr too, Baelor did not.Â
âFather has taken supper in his study,â Valarr informed the table as he arrived, settling down beside you and offering you a sweet smile. âHe says he would like to finish his work for the day and does not wish to be disturbed.âÂ
Everyone began eating, unbothered by Baelorâs absence, but you could not help but to feel grumpy. You frowned throughout dinner, pushed the food around on your plate, and paid neither Valarr nor Aerion any of the attention they had become accustomed to over the past few days.Â
âAre you well, sister?â Aerion asked, glancing at you with one raised eyebrow, but you simply scoffed and rolled your eyes and mumbled a âfine, thank youâ to force him away.Â
Once supper had been eaten and everyone was dismissed, you hurried out, trying not to seem like you wanted to break into a run. As soon as you hit the hallway you took off, being careful not to slip but hurrying in the direction of the Handâs Tower. Baelor would not be able to ignore you so easily.Â
You took the stairs two at a time, out of breath by the time you reached the top, and when you opened the door, your frown deepened. He was not at his desk. The hearth was cold, and the papers were organised. He had clearly not been there for some time.Â
You slammed the door behind you and went back down the steps, trying to be a little slower this time. You did not want to be drenched in sweat and disheveled when you saw him. You wanted to look effortless and pretty, wanted him to be tortured as he had been earlier, to be unable to fight himself.Â
You strolled your way to the wing where his chambers resided, ensuring your hair had settled again and your dress was smoothed out over your legs. You paused at his door, taking a deep breath before knocking lightly. At first there was no sound from behind the door, no response, then,Â
âWhat is it?â It was low, grumbled, and you repressed your smile. He was in a mood.Â
You slipped inside, closing the door softly behind you and raked your eyes over his chambers. There was a large four poster bed at one end of the room, clean red and white sheets still unrumpled. There were doors to open onto a balcony, and large windows beside them, hidden behind thick velvet curtains. On the other side of the room was a hearth, lit yellow and orange with a fire. There was a lovely red rug in front of it, two chairs facing toward each other and the hearth, and a little table between them.Â
Baelor stood behind one of the chairs, grasping a jug of wine and pouring from it into a cup on the table. His body was facing toward the door, waiting for whoever was at the door to enter and say their piece. And you could not breathe.Â
He did not wear a shirt, only a pair of loose trousers. You could see his broad shoulders, thick arms, the smattering of greying chest hair, the lines of his abdomen, the thick chords of muscle. You feared your saliva may begin to drip from the corners of your lips as you traced your eyes over him. His skin glowed in the firelight, and the urge to trace your tongue over the muscle visible just above the waistline of his trousers was far too hard to push away.Â
You blinked, ensuring your mouth was closed as you stepped further into the room, slowly making your way over to where he stood. He put the jug down, looked at you, and his eyes flared. He grasped the cup, tipped it against his lips and drank three long pulls from it before putting it down and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.Â
âYou were not at dinner,â you began breathily, trying to hold a semblance of pretense, hoping if you started off light this would go in your favour.Â
âI informed Valarr of my whereabouts,â he answered simply, standing tall and looking at you.Â
âYes,â you responded quietly, âyou did.â Your eyes could not help themselves, traversing over his chest and stomach again.Â
âWhy have you come here?â He asked, crossing his arms over his chest, looking down at you with eyes of stone, and you stepped a little closer, holding your hands together in front of your stomach, moving your fingers against each other.Â
âI wished to speak with you,â you told him quietly, bowing your head a little then looking up at him from under your lashes. You watched his throat bob with a swallow. âAbout your torment.âÂ
He let out a long, slow, breath, raking his eyes over you, stopping at the spot where he had licked you before returning his gaze to yours.Â
âDo you not mean how you torment me?â He asked, raising one eyebrow, the fingers of one of his hands moving a little against his side. You smiled a little, shook your head, and stepped closer again. You gently rested your hands on his forearms, stroked your fingers there, and you felt his breath shake a little.Â
âNo,â you dragged out teasingly, âI do not. I mean how you torment me.â Both of his eyebrows shot up his forehead, a scoff falling from his throat. âDo not act so shocked, Uncle, it is true. You tormented me first.â He did not say anything but he continued giving you that disbelieving look. His ire was beginning to rise. Instead of continuing with what you were going to say, you pressed yourself tight to him, wrapping your arms around his torso and leaning back away from his arms as he uncrossed them, his body tense. âHow do I torment you?â You whispered, voice soft, slow, seductive. The same words could describe your eyes as you looked up at him. Baelor leaned down so his face was closer to yours, so the tips of your noses brushed just a little.
âYou dare ask me how?â His voice was as low as yours, though it was angrier, sharper. âYou prance yourself in front of me in your indecent dresses, flaunting yourself at me as if you do not expect me to react as a man does. You flirt with every man in your grasp, offering your pretty smiles to those who do not deserve them, wasting your sweet words. How am I to feel if not tormented, girl?âÂ
You shook in front of him, swallowing harshly, the heat inside you unbearable. His eyes, brown and blue, so pretty and so close. You splayed your hands over his ribs, your fingertips pressing into his back. His skin was smooth, disturbed by the smallest of scars here and there, but you loved the feel of them, the feel of him.Â
âDo you understand now how I felt when you refused me?â You asked in a whisper, lips parted and brushing gently against his as you spoke. âDo you understand now how I felt all along? I have watched you be kind, be gracious, be so incredibly handsome that I could not breathe. And then to have you refuse me was the worst torment of all.â Your face contorted a little with pain, and his mirrored it. He did not want to see such a look on your face.Â
He was moving on instinct now, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb running over your cheekbone.Â
âDarling girl,â his voice was softer now, pained, and you blinked as tears began to gather. âI would marry you on the morrow,â and your heart hurt worse somehow. Everything inside you clenched and you closed your eyes, leaning closer to him as the both of you shifted a little. âI would marry you this evening if you wished it. I would return to the past and sew my own lips closed if it would protect you from such torment. But you know as well as I that my refusal had nothing to do with my love, or my desire for you.âÂ
You nodded, because you had known, but you could not accept it. You would not. You tilted your head and gently kissed his palm. You rubbed your hands on his ribs, gripping him a little tighter and pushing yourself closer to him so your stomach pressed tight to his.Â
âBut do you see? Your refusal caused us both pain. Do all those other reasons matter when you desire me and I desire you? I do not wish to be tormented in such a way again, not when we can overcome all those reasons you stated.â Your eyes were full of hope, bright and sweet as you looked up at him.Â
He caressed your face again, truly looked in your eyes and allowed himself to feel everything. You in his arms, your face in his hand, your warmth, your softness⌠it was all he had wished for. It was all he wanted. He leaned closer, lips pursed, and brushed his nose along yours. He brushed his lips to yours, the barest graze, and both of you let out trembling breaths.Â
âI will ask you only once then,â he whispered, looking you right in the eyes, a blur of colour. âAnd think long and hard, my girl. Do you wish to wed me?âÂ
And you shivered in his arms, licking your lips and nodding frantically, your hands tightening on his back.Â
âYes, Uncle,â you whispered, âyes.â
âTruly?â And though he had said he would only ask you once, he could not help himself but to make sure you were sure.Â
âTruly,â and you sounded as though you would cry.Â
He could take it no more, pressing his mouth to yours like he was having his first drink of wine. His lips were soft, his mouth hot and wet, and you moaned against it, clutching him tightly as he kissed you with fervent desire. You clutched him so tight your nails left crescent marks in his back.Â
âI love you,â you mumbled against his mouth, drunk and dazed.Â
âI love you endlessly,â he responded, and then dipped down to kiss you again.Â
âFather?â You stood nervously in front of his desk, hands clasped behind your back as you twisted back and forth. He raised one eyebrow as he looked up at you, tapping his quill against the desk as he waited for whatever absurd request you had for him. You only ever asked to speak with him if you had some request that required convincing.Â
âOut with it then,â he grumbled, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.Â
âYou must not be angry,â you prefaced, raising both your eyebrows at him, and his frown became suspicious.Â
âThat is a tall order considering the behaviour of my children,â he replied, waiting for you to continue. You sighed and nodded, chewing on your lip for a moment.Â
âI wish you to ask Uncle Baelor if he would be betrothed to me,â you blurted out, your entire body tense as you blinked quickly at him.Â
Maekar did not move. His face did not shift. Nothing happened. He just blinked at you for one moment, then two, then, out of all possible reactions, he did the one you least expected. He laughed.Â
âThat was a good jest, my girl,â he said through giggles, leaning back as he guffawed. He wiped at the corners of his eyes, and even slapped a hand to his thigh. âWell done.â You were quite sure you had never seen your father laugh so heartilyâŚ
You stared at him, eyes a little wide, and when he finally noted that you were not laughing with him, it ceased abruptly. He sat up straight, smile falling from his face and a fiery glare beginning to burn in his eyes. This was what you had expected.Â
âWhat the fuck are you playing at, girl?â He spat, standing up to his full height. âWhat the fuck do you mean you wish me to ask Baelor to wed you? What sort of farce is this?âÂ
You cowered a little, clasping your hands tightly, and nodded. You would not back down. You looked up again, met your fatherâs eyes and steeled yourself.Â
âI mean what I say, Father. I wish to marry him. I will have no man but him. And I can guarantee you that if you request it of him, he will accede.â Your jaw was clenched, your face set in hard stone, mirroring Maekar. You could practically see the smoke billowing from his ears.Â
âI⌠I cannot fucking believe this.â And he truly did seem out of breath. He walked swiftly to the door, threw it open and walked out. You jumped a little and chased after him, taking three steps just to match one of his long strides.Â
He made his way to the tower of the hand, up the stairs, and slammed the door open. Baelor, not one to jump, simply looked up from where he sat behind his desk. First Maekar entered, red in the face and quivering with rage, then you, flushed and out of breath, panting as you stood behind him, eyes wide with fear.Â
âWhat the fuck is the meaning of this?â Maekar began angrily, glaring at his brother then turning to look at you as well. âWhy has my daughter just come to me suggesting she be betrothed to you?âÂ
Baelor made a little âahâ noise, nodding and sitting back down. He gestured to the seats in front of his desk, and you took one quickly, hoping to rest your legs and catch your breath. Maekar refused, instead choosing to stand behind the chair and glare at his brother. Baelor sighed, nodding again, and then laced his fingers together as he set his hands on his desk.Â
âBecause she wishes to wed me, and I wish to wed her, brother,â he answered, attempting a small smile. Maekar gripped the back of the chair tightly, glaring so harshly at Baelor that you wondered if your uncle would begin to sizzle.Â
âHave you two been conspiring? Has something fucking untoward occurred that this must be done to save face?â His words were harsh, sharp, full of confusion and anger.Â
âNo!â You exclaimed quickly, turning to look at your father with wild eyes. âHow little do you think of me, Father?â Though your words hit him, his anger was not soothed, a harrumph leaving his mouth as he paced a little where he stood. âI love Baelor,â you said softly, a tone that truly did bely love as you gazed in his direction for a moment, eyes bright. âI love him, and he is the only man I wish to give my hand to. It will be him, or no one.â
Baelor looked at you as well, a small smile pulling at his lips as he reached over the desk and gently held your hand with his own. Maekar seethed, quickly reaching down and yanking your hand from Baelorâs grip and holding it in his own.Â
âNo!â He yelled, glaring between you two, almost shaking with it. His face had gone entirely red and you could not stand it.Â
You reached over and grasped both of your fatherâs hands. You forced him to turn and face you, to look into your eyes as you smiled gently, soothingly.Â
âFather,â you began, voice quiet but firm. âYou care for my happiness, do you not?âÂ
Maekar stayed silent, as if that would be his revenge. But when you did not continue and simply blinked up at him, he grumbled and nodded, jaw shifting a little.Â
âWould you be happy if you knew I was happy?â And again you waited for him to respond, watched him sigh long and low, his eyes closing as he nodded. âThen will you allow this? Because it will be this that will make me happy for all eternity.âÂ
Maekar did not say anything, just kept his eyes closed and shook his head, allowing you to continue holding his hands. You waited patiently, your eyes not leaving his, and Baelor too watched him, anticipation alive under his skin.Â
âThis fucking family,â Maekar grumbled under his breath, before he finally opened his eyes and looked between you and his brother. He nodded, once, sharp, and pulled his hands from your grip.Â
âYou may wed him,â he gritted out, then glanced in Baelorâs direction. âBut seven help me, if I hear anything I should not as her fatherâŚâ he did not have to finish the sentence. You nodded, beamed at him and stood to hug him tightly, forcing him to return the embrace. He pressed his cheek to your head, breathed in your hair, and even lay a small kiss there. That was how you knew he meant what he said.Â
When Maekar pulled away, you jumped a little, clapping your hands girlishly and going around the desk to wrap your arms around Baelorâs shoulders, resting your head on top of his for a moment.Â
âWhat did I just fucking say?!â Maekar yelled, swiftly turning and walking out of the room.Â
It would be just under two years later when Ser Duncan would sit at the dinner table with you all and cause a ruckusâŚ
Pairing: Baelor Targaryen x f!Targaryen!Niece Reader
Summary: You'd been bound to Aerion, your older brother, for your entire life. He'd promised you he'd make you his wife, promised you a fate worse than death. A fate bound to him, the cruel prince. No lord, nor your father can protect you from Aerion.
No one, except your uncle.
Made of honour and duty, Baelor Targaryen is the only one Aerion fears. A plan starts to form in your mind when you reach King's Landing, to seduce your uncle.
Feelings however, get in the way.
Tags: Slow Burn, Manipulation, Power Dynamics, Age Difference, Older Man/Younger Woman, Implied Sexual Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Incest, Targcest, more tags to be added
Pairings: Baelor âBreakspearâ Targaryen x Reader
Summary : Your father wants you to ensnare some young lord or Prince, but your attention is caught by Prince Baelor Targaryen, an impossible feat, no matter what your heart desires.
Note: This is set before the events of AKOTSK, so no spoilers. No use of Y/N, No description of reader, except that reader is northern.
A/N: Iâm not sure how this turned out, but hereâs part two of I Wanna Know You. Part three is in progress.
i/ii/iii
The nights were long and cold, and you had to make do with them. The north was as unforgiving as it always was, and you were plagued by memory. In the moons since you had come back, you had told yourself you would easily forget him. That you would go back to your embroidery and hosting and it would be enough.
But it wasnât.
Instead, you had dreams of him.
The crown prince.
You dreamt of the night you had first met him, of what it wouldâve been like had he placed his hand over your arm, pressed his lips to yours. Youâd never been kissed, and you wondered how it would feel. If it would be like how you had imagined it or something different.
You dreamt of him in the training yard, where he would take your hand in his own, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. He would ask you what you truly meant when you called Lord Arryn the wrong man, would ask you who the right man was.
There were other dreams too, ones where he would be on top of you, his hands between your legs.
You didnât know what exactly happened there, but whenever you woke up from such dreams, there was a tingling sensation and a wetness between your thighs.
There was an ache in you that you couldnât relieve.
One day, after you returned from tea with your sister, the two of you speaking of crops and grains, the hard lines of Winterfell much more comforting than the courts of Kings Landing, your brother in law visited. He had brought good news, the kind that made your fathers eyes light up.
The Starks had invited you all to accompany them for Prince Daeronâs nameday hunt.
Which meant-
You could scarcely hide your pleasure, but your father mistook it for something else. Waiting until your brother in law had left, he started scheming of ways to send you closer to the lords of the realm. This time his eye on Stormâs End and Lord Baratheon.
You sighed but didnât say anything, surely Lord Baratheon would want nothing to do with you. But you would see Prince Baelor again.
You couldnât stop thinking of him, and every time you thought of him, a smile would grace your lips. Even your mother commented on it, talking about how excited you were to go to the hunt. You capitulated on it, buying silks to spurn into gowns, red and black, the Targaryen colours. Making your maid learn the southern styles of doing your hair. Embroidering gifts you would never give. You werenât arrogant enough to think that you could draw his attention, or even hold it, but you knew you wanted to look pretty. Wanted to smile.
For him.
The day dawned early when you were to leave, your family settling in the carriage, talking excitedly. When you stopped at an inn in the middle of the day, Lord Stark himself came to speak to you all, and you could see your fathers disappointment when Lady Stark joined him too.
The ride was bumpy, and you were nauseated by the time you reached the inn, but you bore the journey. As you drew closer to the woods, your stomach turned, butterflies fluttering in the pit, and soon you had arrived. Your presence was announced by a page, much after the Starks had been announced, and you disembarked the carriage, eyes flitting about as you tried to spot him.
The servants had already tended to your tents, and you were lucky enough to have one for yourself. You werenât sure how long the hunt would go on for, but you were all invited to sup in the royal tent. You had your maid scrub you in the bath, enrich your skin with oils, before dressing you in a red gown. The neckline was scooping, designed to draw attention without attracting scandal, and you had her apply the rouge to your cheeks as well as your exposed neck. Applied kohl to your eyes and lip paint.
When you emerged from the tent, your father smiled at you, proud that you had made effort, and discreetly showed you where Lord Baratheon was in the crowd. You followed his eyes, finding the loud lord, and wondered if your âcharmsâ would even work on him. You moved to the royal tent with your father, and there the younger Lord Stark introduced you to the many lords of the realm.
You wondered what your brother in law had done for your father to gain such attention from the Starks.
Then, you spotted him.
Your breath seemed to be caught in your throat, your heart speeding up as you noticed his straight back, his steely posture. The pin of the hand shone on the lapels of his doublet, and he was conversing with someone whose back was to you. He raised his eyes suddenly, and caught yours.
You froze, the voices around you dimming, and then, to your horror and immense surprise, he began making his way to where you all were standing.
âLord Stark,â his voice was deep, just as you had remembered, rumbling in the space between you, and you all feel into a deep curtsy. When you rose, you noticed his eyes, blue as the sea, brown as the bark of woods. They flitted towards you, before landing towards the others. âI trust your journey was pleasant.â
âIt was Your Grace,â Lord Stark replied, some unknowing look in his eyes. But then, you didnât know Lord Stark so well, it could be nothing. âWe are all looking forward to the hunt.â
âYou flatter me, you hunt wolves the size of men on the regular,â a laugh threatened to bubble up your throat and you cleared it. His eyes drifted to you again at the sound, before he inclined his head. âLady Penwood.â
Your eyes widened, you hadnât expected him to address you directly in front of everyone, but he had done so.
âYour grace,â your voice was low, and your fatherâs eyes were boring into the side of your skull, no doubt, his mind was filling with questions and ideas. âThank you for having us.â You looked up into his eyes, and everyone else seemed to fade away.
You had dreamed of him, the way Targaryens dreamed of dragons.
Though, you supposed, you had dreamed of a dragon too.
âWouldnât want it to be dull here, my lady,â he replied, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks and neck.
Lord Stark cleared his throat, and introductions were made, after which the Prince bade lord Stark to follow him to meet his father.
Then, your father turned towards you as your mother left to find the other ladies.
âHow do you know Prince Baelor?â There was a mad, hungry gleam in his eyes you recognised, and you felt your stomach twist.
âI met his grace at Prince Aegonâs nameday tourney,â you replied, dreading whatever he would say next.
âWell, why didnât you say so? Itâs obvious heâs drawn to you.â
âDrawn to me?â You whispered, wondering if your father was seeing things. If he had wished for an elevation in ranking with such ferocity that he was seeing the potential of it where there wasnât any. âThatâs ridiculous!â
âThatâs why we have been invited to the hunt,â he surmised and you shook your head.
âThe Starks invited us,â you insisted, the idea that the Prince could want for your company was treacherous, and sent your heart in a frenzy.
âThe Starks have never truly cared for us before this,â he hissed, and you looked around you to see that no one was listening in. âThis is because of you. We shall speak of this later, but talk to the prince while weâre here.â You wanted to shake your head, but for once what you wanted aligned with what your father wanted, although for different reasons.
You spent the day in denying yourself what you wanted then, for you knew what your father was doing. A small hunting party left from the tent, but you sat with the ladies. Your sister and you were invited by Lady Stark, and you sat conversing, eating fine food. Your eyes would flint to the Hand, where he was seated with his father and his brother Maekar, and occasionally, his eyes would meet yours too.
You noticed the curve of his nose, as though it had been broken before, noticed his high cheekbones and the salt and pepper of his beard. At supper, you were seated with the Starks, close to the Prince, and your fathers words came to your mind.
You were sweet on the Prince, but you had never thought him to be sweet on you.
The supper itself was a grand affair, of game, lamb stews and wild fresh berries. You preferred the grapes and the wild berries, staining your fingers red. You looked up to catch the prince watching you with something different in his eyes, and for the first time, you considered that your father could be right.
But then-
You looked down, your hunger suddenly leaving you and after the supper you excused yourself, went back to your tent.
Everything felt wrong, and you washed your face. Bade your maid to help you into a simple gown, remembering the look of pride your father had given you in the afternoon.
Just as you had finished dressing, your father entered the tent.
âWhat are you doing?â He asked as you set your hair tumbling down your back.
âWhat am I doing?â You repeated hollowly.
âThe heir to the iron throne is sweet upon you, and you hide, what is the matter with you?â
âNothing is the matter with me, I simply do not think Prince Baelor is inclined towards me.â
âHe is,â your father insisted and you scoffed, anger rising.
âI wonât do it,â you claimed, eyes stinging slightly.
âDo what?â
âWhore myself at your whim! You would have me throw myself at whatever lord or Prince you want just so you can become important-â
âAnd would you not be important? The queen of the realm, thatâs what you will be if you can-â
âEnsnare him? Trick him?â You questioned, chest rising and falling with anger, breathing hard. âI wonât do any such thing.â
âYes, you will,â your father replied, incensed at you, âeveryone knows the Princess died years ago, itâs only right that he marries again. He is old, and like all old men, he is besotted with a comely young girl, why not take advantage of it?â
The words were like ice water, like taking a swim during the winter in the north. They seemed to shiver down your back, and you felt sick to your stomach.
âDonât talk about him like that,â you managed to say, âheâsâŚ.,â you remembered the way he had spoken to you, asked after your fears, understood your need to be away from Lord Arryn, his eyes weighted in concern, âkind. Heâs simply kind. That is all, he isnât sweet upon me. He wants nothing to do with me,â you said, trying to convince yourself, though your fathers words were already taking root inside you.
âEven if he doesnât, it is worth a try,â your father implored.
âNo, it isnât,â you insisted, because it wasnât. You didnât think you could bear it if you attempted to flirt with him only to be rejected by him. âPlease, I have a headache, weâll talk of this later.â
Your father didnât look like he was done, so you turned away from him. He left eventually, and only the household guards were left outside your tent. Fat tears slid down your cheeks as you thought of what your father had bade you to do.
To trick prince Baelor, ensnare him, he who had been nothing but kind to you. Your father had thought you had been doing it when you had dressed prettily. A simple, innocent gesture turned mercenary in his thoughts. Had the prince thought so too? He knew, had an idea at least, of what your father was like, you were sure that if you went to the prince and spoke to him, he would think the same of you.
And you couldnât bear that.
It was better to stay away from him.
You stayed in your tent, refusing to meet the others, but when it came time to sleep, you couldnât. You blinked blearily at the canopy of your tent, but the events of the day kept coming back to you. You couldnât explain why you had been so upset that the prince might feel the same for you, but you didnât want it. You didnât want him to engage with your mercenary parents and your manipulative sister.
He deserved better than that.
An honourable Stark or a golden rose that could bring trunks full of dowry. Anyone, anything better than what your family was.
And you, well, your fate was still undecided, but you wouldnât trick him. Not when he was the only person who had ever showed you any concern.
You sighed, tossing in bed, before you threw off the covers, suddenly too hot. And then you pulled them back when it became cold. Eventually, you rose from the bed, your feet touching the velvety surface, before slipping into your sandals, and went to the entrance of your tent. The guard there was asleep, and you sighed, thankful for the Kingsguard on the other end who were wide awake.
You walked out of the circle of tents, towards the trees, deep into the woods. Your fingers brushed the petals of flowers, their colours indiscernible in the darkness. The chittering of insects drew your attention, and leaned on the bark of a tree.
You froze then, as you heard footsteps behind you, feeling your breath quicken before you whirled around.
It was him.
Prince Baelor, still in his doublet, holding a candle aloft himself.
âYour grace,â you murmured, dropping to curtesy, but he simply shook his head.
âItâs alright my lady,â he said and you stood straight, suddenly hyperaware of your disheveled state. Let it be, you thought, let him see you without embellishment.
âIâm surprised to see you here,â you said, âat night, I mean.â
âI confess I saw you leave,â he admitted and your eyes widened, âI only meant to make sure you were safe.â
âIâŚ.thank you,â emotion swelled up within you at his concern for you, and you knew you were right in thinking that you couldnât trick him. âYou didnât have to do that.â
âIt is the middle of the night my lady,â he replied and you bit your lip softly. In the dim candlelight, you thought his eyes followed the motion.
âYes, it is, but I am rather used to woods, Iâm fond of them.â
âAre you?â He asked, his voice coloured with curiosity, and you couldnât help but think of how highly improper this all was. Clandestine meeting in the middle of the night.
âYes, the north has many woods,â you bit your lip again, before continuing softly, âwith wolves the size of men.â
âAre you mocking me, my lady?â
âI wouldnât dream of it your grace, itâs just that they donât exist.â
âYes, Iâm aware, but Lord Stark is a talkative drunk.â You pressed your lips together at his words and nodded.
âI see,â you moved back slightly to lean further into the tree, to look at him properly. His eyes were prominent in the candlelight, and you wanted to continue gazing in them for far longer than was proper.
âIâŚ.I do not know your name,â he said suddenly, âand it seems odd.â
âOh,â you felt yourself heat and murmured your name softly. He repeated it, and it sent a shiver down your spine. The way he said your name was different, it was kind yes, but there was a softness to it you had never experienced before. You wanted to hear him say your name for hours, and the thought of it plagued you suddenly.
The two of you alone, secluded, with him talking to you of his concerns, of his dreams, of him taking your name repeatedly, it was something you wanted, your heart racing at the thought, but you knew you couldnât do it. You needed to protect him and his reputation from your fathers.
He said your name again then, drawing your attention, âI feel Iâve made a mistake,â he said and you thought you knew what his mistake was.
âA mistake?â
âYes, that Iâve misunderstood something that was said to me.â
âMisunderstandings happen all the time your grace, itâs nothing to concern yourself overmuch with,â you said but could see him frowning, his eyes crinkling in concern. He let out a sigh at your words and it seemed wrong. You wanted to ease his tension, to touch his arm, to look into his eyes and tell him he hadnât made a mistake.
Instead, you fisted your hand at your side.
You couldnât reach out, couldnât touch him.
âI thought I was understanding correctly,â he said finally, and your heart clenched, âbut it seems I was wrong. You arenât happy to be here.â
You felt your lips part and your chest rise and fall rapidly at his words.
âIâŚ.i do not know what you mean.â
âI asked Lord Stark to invite your father,â he confessed and you realised your father had been right.
âYouâŚ..did. I-â
âI can see I was wrong in doing so,â he continued and you swallowed around the lump in your throat.
You wanted to deny him, but you didnât. You couldnât. âWhy?â You asked, even though you had a suspicion of why he had done so.
âI wanted to talk to you,â he said and you stared at him in confusion.
âTalk?â
âYes, IâŚ.enjoyed talking to you that last time.â
âBut I only spoke of my problems.â
âYou spoke honestly, something I find rare these days.â
âIâŚ.â you trailed off, knowing you were being dishonest to him now.
âThere was more, but Iâve misunderstood you completely,â he frowned, his mismatched eyes narrowed in some indescribable emotion.
âMore?â
He let out a sigh and you knew that you were wrong. To put him through pain simply to hear him say what you wanted to hear.
âYou know what I mean,â he pointed out, and you intwined your hands together.
âDo you know what my father would do if he found us like this?â You asked softly, your heart hurting, but wanting him to see, to understand. Understand what he would be getting into. âHe would convince you to marry me to save me from scandal.â
âAs any father would,â he said.
âOther fathers wouldnât create such situations where a hasty marriage is required.â
âNo, they would not, but your father would, that is what youâre saying?â He asked, and you nodded.
âYes, andâŚ.â
âYou donât want that.â
âNo, I donât.â
His jaw clenched, and he lowered the candle somewhat.
âI see,â he huffed, âI donât blame you. You deserve better than a hasty marriage with a man twice your age.â
âIâŚ.â you couldnât understand what you were hearing, surely he wasnât talking about what you deserved. âI wouldnât think I was the concern.â
âNo?â
âNo, I-â
âI had originally planned on talking to your father directly, but you would do as he bade you to do. Even if it was against your wishes. Which is why I wanted to talk to you first.â You frowned, not understanding what he was saying.
âTalk to me about what?â
âWhether you would want me,â he said and you stared at him. His comment about being twice your age rang in your ears too, and he talked of it almost as though it was a detriment.
âWhy would that matter?â You asked, words tumbling out of your mouth. The realm didnât care what a young girl wanted, and your father had certainly never cared about what you wanted.
âWhy wouldnât it?â
âBecause it doesnâtâŚ.it never has,â it was one thing that you liked the prince, but it was no requirement. You had long since resigned yourself to not liking the man you would marry.
âYou shouldnât say that, your wants matter. You should fight for them.â
âFightâŚ.it is no use fighting. Things will never go my way.â
âEven then, you must fight for what is right for yourself. It is hard, but all things worth doing are.â
âIâŚ.why do you want me?â You whispered the question into the night, and he looked stricken.
âI told you, I like talking to you. You are honest.â
âNot entirely.â
âYou told me what your father would do if he found us like this, knowing that if he did, should anyone happen upon us, it would mean an elevation in rank for you. Yet, you warned me of it. That is no small feat. There is honour in that.â
âThat is what I mean, if you know what my father is like, why do you want me?â
âBecause you are not your father. Because I can see myself growing to care for you.â He stopped there, although it looked like he wanted to say more.
âButâŚâ
âBut what?â
âIâŚ.â
âTell me, my lady, what is it? What have you been dishonest about?â
âIâŚ.â You licked your lips, suddenly unsure. He knew what your father was like, he knew how mercenary he was and he still wanted you. He wanted you.
He *wanted* you.
The words rang in your ears, in your mind, and your shoulders sagged.
He wanted *you*.
âI want you too. Iâm not unhappy to be here, Iâm unhappy because my fatherâŚ.he wants me to trick you into a marriage. To trick you so that he can elevate his own standing.â
âYou want - and you donât want to trick me.â You shook your head, and suddenly felt two fingers at your chin, tilting your face up. âTell me honestly, what do you want? Not your father, not me, you.â
âI donât want to trick you. ButâŚ.I do want you. I want you, IâŚ.dream of you, I think of you all the time, IâŚ.my mother thought I was excited for the hunt because I couldnât stop smiling when I thought I would be around you.â
His eyes were wide, and you waited, wondering if youâd made a mistake, wondering if you shouldnât have said some of the things you had. Wondering if it was too much.
But the thoughts were chased from your head as he lowered his, leaning towards you. You knew what would happen next, and leaned up on the tips of your toes, your hands pressing into his sturdy arms, before your lips met.
It was the oddest, softest sensation you had ever experienced. But he moved against you, one hand holding the candle away from you, the other pressing into the wood of the tree as he seemed to cover you with himself. You felt your back press into the rough bark, ruining your nightdress, but you didnât care. Your hand steadied itself on the back of his neck, pulling him closer, his beard scratching against your cheeks.
You werenât sure how long you were tangled up, but when he pulled back, you shivered.
The two of you stayed that way, foreheads touching, breathing each other in.
Pairings: Baelor âBreakspearâ Targaryen x Reader
Summary : Your father wants you to ensnare some young lord or Prince, but your attention is caught by Prince Baelor Targaryen, an impossible feat, no matter what your heart desires.
Note: This is set before the events of AKOTSK, so no spoilers. No use of Y/N, No description of reader, except that reader is northern.
A/N: Iâm not sure how this turned out, but hereâs part two of I Wanna Know You. Part three is in progress.
i/ii/iii
The nights were long and cold, and you had to make do with them. The north was as unforgiving as it always was, and you were plagued by memory. In the moons since you had come back, you had told yourself you would easily forget him. That you would go back to your embroidery and hosting and it would be enough.
But it wasnât.
Instead, you had dreams of him.
The crown prince.
You dreamt of the night you had first met him, of what it wouldâve been like had he placed his hand over your arm, pressed his lips to yours. Youâd never been kissed, and you wondered how it would feel. If it would be like how you had imagined it or something different.
You dreamt of him in the training yard, where he would take your hand in his own, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. He would ask you what you truly meant when you called Lord Arryn the wrong man, would ask you who the right man was.
There were other dreams too, ones where he would be on top of you, his hands between your legs.
You didnât know what exactly happened there, but whenever you woke up from such dreams, there was a tingling sensation and a wetness between your thighs.
There was an ache in you that you couldnât relieve.
One day, after you returned from tea with your sister, the two of you speaking of crops and grains, the hard lines of Winterfell much more comforting than the courts of Kings Landing, your brother in law visited. He had brought good news, the kind that made your fathers eyes light up.
The Starks had invited you all to accompany them for Prince Daeronâs nameday hunt.
Which meant-
You could scarcely hide your pleasure, but your father mistook it for something else. Waiting until your brother in law had left, he started scheming of ways to send you closer to the lords of the realm. This time his eye on Stormâs End and Lord Baratheon.
You sighed but didnât say anything, surely Lord Baratheon would want nothing to do with you. But you would see Prince Baelor again.
You couldnât stop thinking of him, and every time you thought of him, a smile would grace your lips. Even your mother commented on it, talking about how excited you were to go to the hunt. You capitulated on it, buying silks to spurn into gowns, red and black, the Targaryen colours. Making your maid learn the southern styles of doing your hair. Embroidering gifts you would never give. You werenât arrogant enough to think that you could draw his attention, or even hold it, but you knew you wanted to look pretty. Wanted to smile.
For him.
The day dawned early when you were to leave, your family settling in the carriage, talking excitedly. When you stopped at an inn in the middle of the day, Lord Stark himself came to speak to you all, and you could see your fathers disappointment when Lady Stark joined him too.
The ride was bumpy, and you were nauseated by the time you reached the inn, but you bore the journey. As you drew closer to the woods, your stomach turned, butterflies fluttering in the pit, and soon you had arrived. Your presence was announced by a page, much after the Starks had been announced, and you disembarked the carriage, eyes flitting about as you tried to spot him.
The servants had already tended to your tents, and you were lucky enough to have one for yourself. You werenât sure how long the hunt would go on for, but you were all invited to sup in the royal tent. You had your maid scrub you in the bath, enrich your skin with oils, before dressing you in a red gown. The neckline was scooping, designed to draw attention without attracting scandal, and you had her apply the rouge to your cheeks as well as your exposed neck. Applied kohl to your eyes and lip paint.
When you emerged from the tent, your father smiled at you, proud that you had made effort, and discreetly showed you where Lord Baratheon was in the crowd. You followed his eyes, finding the loud lord, and wondered if your âcharmsâ would even work on him. You moved to the royal tent with your father, and there the younger Lord Stark introduced you to the many lords of the realm.
You wondered what your brother in law had done for your father to gain such attention from the Starks.
Then, you spotted him.
Your breath seemed to be caught in your throat, your heart speeding up as you noticed his straight back, his steely posture. The pin of the hand shone on the lapels of his doublet, and he was conversing with someone whose back was to you. He raised his eyes suddenly, and caught yours.
You froze, the voices around you dimming, and then, to your horror and immense surprise, he began making his way to where you all were standing.
âLord Stark,â his voice was deep, just as you had remembered, rumbling in the space between you, and you all feel into a deep curtsy. When you rose, you noticed his eyes, blue as the sea, brown as the bark of woods. They flitted towards you, before landing towards the others. âI trust your journey was pleasant.â
âIt was Your Grace,â Lord Stark replied, some unknowing look in his eyes. But then, you didnât know Lord Stark so well, it could be nothing. âWe are all looking forward to the hunt.â
âYou flatter me, you hunt wolves the size of men on the regular,â a laugh threatened to bubble up your throat and you cleared it. His eyes drifted to you again at the sound, before he inclined his head. âLady Penwood.â
Your eyes widened, you hadnât expected him to address you directly in front of everyone, but he had done so.
âYour grace,â your voice was low, and your fatherâs eyes were boring into the side of your skull, no doubt, his mind was filling with questions and ideas. âThank you for having us.â You looked up into his eyes, and everyone else seemed to fade away.
You had dreamed of him, the way Targaryens dreamed of dragons.
Though, you supposed, you had dreamed of a dragon too.
âWouldnât want it to be dull here, my lady,â he replied, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks and neck.
Lord Stark cleared his throat, and introductions were made, after which the Prince bade lord Stark to follow him to meet his father.
Then, your father turned towards you as your mother left to find the other ladies.
âHow do you know Prince Baelor?â There was a mad, hungry gleam in his eyes you recognised, and you felt your stomach twist.
âI met his grace at Prince Aegonâs nameday tourney,â you replied, dreading whatever he would say next.
âWell, why didnât you say so? Itâs obvious heâs drawn to you.â
âDrawn to me?â You whispered, wondering if your father was seeing things. If he had wished for an elevation in ranking with such ferocity that he was seeing the potential of it where there wasnât any. âThatâs ridiculous!â
âThatâs why we have been invited to the hunt,â he surmised and you shook your head.
âThe Starks invited us,â you insisted, the idea that the Prince could want for your company was treacherous, and sent your heart in a frenzy.
âThe Starks have never truly cared for us before this,â he hissed, and you looked around you to see that no one was listening in. âThis is because of you. We shall speak of this later, but talk to the prince while weâre here.â You wanted to shake your head, but for once what you wanted aligned with what your father wanted, although for different reasons.
You spent the day in denying yourself what you wanted then, for you knew what your father was doing. A small hunting party left from the tent, but you sat with the ladies. Your sister and you were invited by Lady Stark, and you sat conversing, eating fine food. Your eyes would flint to the Hand, where he was seated with his father and his brother Maekar, and occasionally, his eyes would meet yours too.
You noticed the curve of his nose, as though it had been broken before, noticed his high cheekbones and the salt and pepper of his beard. At supper, you were seated with the Starks, close to the Prince, and your fathers words came to your mind.
You were sweet on the Prince, but you had never thought him to be sweet on you.
The supper itself was a grand affair, of game, lamb stews and wild fresh berries. You preferred the grapes and the wild berries, staining your fingers red. You looked up to catch the prince watching you with something different in his eyes, and for the first time, you considered that your father could be right.
But then-
You looked down, your hunger suddenly leaving you and after the supper you excused yourself, went back to your tent.
Everything felt wrong, and you washed your face. Bade your maid to help you into a simple gown, remembering the look of pride your father had given you in the afternoon.
Just as you had finished dressing, your father entered the tent.
âWhat are you doing?â He asked as you set your hair tumbling down your back.
âWhat am I doing?â You repeated hollowly.
âThe heir to the iron throne is sweet upon you, and you hide, what is the matter with you?â
âNothing is the matter with me, I simply do not think Prince Baelor is inclined towards me.â
âHe is,â your father insisted and you scoffed, anger rising.
âI wonât do it,â you claimed, eyes stinging slightly.
âDo what?â
âWhore myself at your whim! You would have me throw myself at whatever lord or Prince you want just so you can become important-â
âAnd would you not be important? The queen of the realm, thatâs what you will be if you can-â
âEnsnare him? Trick him?â You questioned, chest rising and falling with anger, breathing hard. âI wonât do any such thing.â
âYes, you will,â your father replied, incensed at you, âeveryone knows the Princess died years ago, itâs only right that he marries again. He is old, and like all old men, he is besotted with a comely young girl, why not take advantage of it?â
The words were like ice water, like taking a swim during the winter in the north. They seemed to shiver down your back, and you felt sick to your stomach.
âDonât talk about him like that,â you managed to say, âheâsâŚ.,â you remembered the way he had spoken to you, asked after your fears, understood your need to be away from Lord Arryn, his eyes weighted in concern, âkind. Heâs simply kind. That is all, he isnât sweet upon me. He wants nothing to do with me,â you said, trying to convince yourself, though your fathers words were already taking root inside you.
âEven if he doesnât, it is worth a try,â your father implored.
âNo, it isnât,â you insisted, because it wasnât. You didnât think you could bear it if you attempted to flirt with him only to be rejected by him. âPlease, I have a headache, weâll talk of this later.â
Your father didnât look like he was done, so you turned away from him. He left eventually, and only the household guards were left outside your tent. Fat tears slid down your cheeks as you thought of what your father had bade you to do.
To trick prince Baelor, ensnare him, he who had been nothing but kind to you. Your father had thought you had been doing it when you had dressed prettily. A simple, innocent gesture turned mercenary in his thoughts. Had the prince thought so too? He knew, had an idea at least, of what your father was like, you were sure that if you went to the prince and spoke to him, he would think the same of you.
And you couldnât bear that.
It was better to stay away from him.
You stayed in your tent, refusing to meet the others, but when it came time to sleep, you couldnât. You blinked blearily at the canopy of your tent, but the events of the day kept coming back to you. You couldnât explain why you had been so upset that the prince might feel the same for you, but you didnât want it. You didnât want him to engage with your mercenary parents and your manipulative sister.
He deserved better than that.
An honourable Stark or a golden rose that could bring trunks full of dowry. Anyone, anything better than what your family was.
And you, well, your fate was still undecided, but you wouldnât trick him. Not when he was the only person who had ever showed you any concern.
You sighed, tossing in bed, before you threw off the covers, suddenly too hot. And then you pulled them back when it became cold. Eventually, you rose from the bed, your feet touching the velvety surface, before slipping into your sandals, and went to the entrance of your tent. The guard there was asleep, and you sighed, thankful for the Kingsguard on the other end who were wide awake.
You walked out of the circle of tents, towards the trees, deep into the woods. Your fingers brushed the petals of flowers, their colours indiscernible in the darkness. The chittering of insects drew your attention, and leaned on the bark of a tree.
You froze then, as you heard footsteps behind you, feeling your breath quicken before you whirled around.
It was him.
Prince Baelor, still in his doublet, holding a candle aloft himself.
âYour grace,â you murmured, dropping to curtesy, but he simply shook his head.
âItâs alright my lady,â he said and you stood straight, suddenly hyperaware of your disheveled state. Let it be, you thought, let him see you without embellishment.
âIâm surprised to see you here,â you said, âat night, I mean.â
âI confess I saw you leave,â he admitted and your eyes widened, âI only meant to make sure you were safe.â
âIâŚ.thank you,â emotion swelled up within you at his concern for you, and you knew you were right in thinking that you couldnât trick him. âYou didnât have to do that.â
âIt is the middle of the night my lady,â he replied and you bit your lip softly. In the dim candlelight, you thought his eyes followed the motion.
âYes, it is, but I am rather used to woods, Iâm fond of them.â
âAre you?â He asked, his voice coloured with curiosity, and you couldnât help but think of how highly improper this all was. Clandestine meeting in the middle of the night.
âYes, the north has many woods,â you bit your lip again, before continuing softly, âwith wolves the size of men.â
âAre you mocking me, my lady?â
âI wouldnât dream of it your grace, itâs just that they donât exist.â
âYes, Iâm aware, but Lord Stark is a talkative drunk.â You pressed your lips together at his words and nodded.
âI see,â you moved back slightly to lean further into the tree, to look at him properly. His eyes were prominent in the candlelight, and you wanted to continue gazing in them for far longer than was proper.
âIâŚ.I do not know your name,â he said suddenly, âand it seems odd.â
âOh,â you felt yourself heat and murmured your name softly. He repeated it, and it sent a shiver down your spine. The way he said your name was different, it was kind yes, but there was a softness to it you had never experienced before. You wanted to hear him say your name for hours, and the thought of it plagued you suddenly.
The two of you alone, secluded, with him talking to you of his concerns, of his dreams, of him taking your name repeatedly, it was something you wanted, your heart racing at the thought, but you knew you couldnât do it. You needed to protect him and his reputation from your fathers.
He said your name again then, drawing your attention, âI feel Iâve made a mistake,â he said and you thought you knew what his mistake was.
âA mistake?â
âYes, that Iâve misunderstood something that was said to me.â
âMisunderstandings happen all the time your grace, itâs nothing to concern yourself overmuch with,â you said but could see him frowning, his eyes crinkling in concern. He let out a sigh at your words and it seemed wrong. You wanted to ease his tension, to touch his arm, to look into his eyes and tell him he hadnât made a mistake.
Instead, you fisted your hand at your side.
You couldnât reach out, couldnât touch him.
âI thought I was understanding correctly,â he said finally, and your heart clenched, âbut it seems I was wrong. You arenât happy to be here.â
You felt your lips part and your chest rise and fall rapidly at his words.
âIâŚ.i do not know what you mean.â
âI asked Lord Stark to invite your father,â he confessed and you realised your father had been right.
âYouâŚ..did. I-â
âI can see I was wrong in doing so,â he continued and you swallowed around the lump in your throat.
You wanted to deny him, but you didnât. You couldnât. âWhy?â You asked, even though you had a suspicion of why he had done so.
âI wanted to talk to you,â he said and you stared at him in confusion.
âTalk?â
âYes, IâŚ.enjoyed talking to you that last time.â
âBut I only spoke of my problems.â
âYou spoke honestly, something I find rare these days.â
âIâŚ.â you trailed off, knowing you were being dishonest to him now.
âThere was more, but Iâve misunderstood you completely,â he frowned, his mismatched eyes narrowed in some indescribable emotion.
âMore?â
He let out a sigh and you knew that you were wrong. To put him through pain simply to hear him say what you wanted to hear.
âYou know what I mean,â he pointed out, and you intwined your hands together.
âDo you know what my father would do if he found us like this?â You asked softly, your heart hurting, but wanting him to see, to understand. Understand what he would be getting into. âHe would convince you to marry me to save me from scandal.â
âAs any father would,â he said.
âOther fathers wouldnât create such situations where a hasty marriage is required.â
âNo, they would not, but your father would, that is what youâre saying?â He asked, and you nodded.
âYes, andâŚ.â
âYou donât want that.â
âNo, I donât.â
His jaw clenched, and he lowered the candle somewhat.
âI see,â he huffed, âI donât blame you. You deserve better than a hasty marriage with a man twice your age.â
âIâŚ.â you couldnât understand what you were hearing, surely he wasnât talking about what you deserved. âI wouldnât think I was the concern.â
âNo?â
âNo, I-â
âI had originally planned on talking to your father directly, but you would do as he bade you to do. Even if it was against your wishes. Which is why I wanted to talk to you first.â You frowned, not understanding what he was saying.
âTalk to me about what?â
âWhether you would want me,â he said and you stared at him. His comment about being twice your age rang in your ears too, and he talked of it almost as though it was a detriment.
âWhy would that matter?â You asked, words tumbling out of your mouth. The realm didnât care what a young girl wanted, and your father had certainly never cared about what you wanted.
âWhy wouldnât it?â
âBecause it doesnâtâŚ.it never has,â it was one thing that you liked the prince, but it was no requirement. You had long since resigned yourself to not liking the man you would marry.
âYou shouldnât say that, your wants matter. You should fight for them.â
âFightâŚ.it is no use fighting. Things will never go my way.â
âEven then, you must fight for what is right for yourself. It is hard, but all things worth doing are.â
âIâŚ.why do you want me?â You whispered the question into the night, and he looked stricken.
âI told you, I like talking to you. You are honest.â
âNot entirely.â
âYou told me what your father would do if he found us like this, knowing that if he did, should anyone happen upon us, it would mean an elevation in rank for you. Yet, you warned me of it. That is no small feat. There is honour in that.â
âThat is what I mean, if you know what my father is like, why do you want me?â
âBecause you are not your father. Because I can see myself growing to care for you.â He stopped there, although it looked like he wanted to say more.
âButâŚâ
âBut what?â
âIâŚ.â
âTell me, my lady, what is it? What have you been dishonest about?â
âIâŚ.â You licked your lips, suddenly unsure. He knew what your father was like, he knew how mercenary he was and he still wanted you. He wanted you.
He *wanted* you.
The words rang in your ears, in your mind, and your shoulders sagged.
He wanted *you*.
âI want you too. Iâm not unhappy to be here, Iâm unhappy because my fatherâŚ.he wants me to trick you into a marriage. To trick you so that he can elevate his own standing.â
âYou want - and you donât want to trick me.â You shook your head, and suddenly felt two fingers at your chin, tilting your face up. âTell me honestly, what do you want? Not your father, not me, you.â
âI donât want to trick you. ButâŚ.I do want you. I want you, IâŚ.dream of you, I think of you all the time, IâŚ.my mother thought I was excited for the hunt because I couldnât stop smiling when I thought I would be around you.â
His eyes were wide, and you waited, wondering if youâd made a mistake, wondering if you shouldnât have said some of the things you had. Wondering if it was too much.
But the thoughts were chased from your head as he lowered his, leaning towards you. You knew what would happen next, and leaned up on the tips of your toes, your hands pressing into his sturdy arms, before your lips met.
It was the oddest, softest sensation you had ever experienced. But he moved against you, one hand holding the candle away from you, the other pressing into the wood of the tree as he seemed to cover you with himself. You felt your back press into the rough bark, ruining your nightdress, but you didnât care. Your hand steadied itself on the back of his neck, pulling him closer, his beard scratching against your cheeks.
You werenât sure how long you were tangled up, but when he pulled back, you shivered.
The two of you stayed that way, foreheads touching, breathing each other in.
Hi just wondering when you will release new chapters of any of your tvd fics?
My TVD fics are more plotted and require a lot of attention, so I generally write them when Iâm a bit free. Right now, Iâm drowning in academic activities, so itâll take a while, but the next chapter of Holy is half written. Iâll update it as soon as possible.
so @katherineholmes, @theqvynrand and i joked about a the pitt x akotsk discussion shortly after akotsk ep 5 aired and this little shite (q, i love you and i say this with all the love and affection in my heart) wrote us a the pitt x akotsk and lemme just say
oh my god i love you ... i fucking love you @theqvynrand
