Feral
Baelor “Breakspear” Targaryen x Reader
Warnings: Alpha!Baelor, Omega!reader, Targcest (Targaryen!reader), a/b/o dynamics
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics
Summary: He told you that he could smell the change in you, could smell your body calling him and begging him to claim it.
♱
Prince Baelor was watching you again.
Those dark eyes of his always seemed to be watching you these days, and while it was not something you particularly minded, you had never been one to enjoy too much attention, and while he was one man, having the attention of the heir to the throne was the attention of one man too many. You picked at your food, appetite long lost, in the hopes that it would bore him and his gaze would stray elsewhere.
Deep down you knew this hope was futile.
The dark-haired prince did not seem to find interest in any interesting thing you chose to do but instead in you. You supposed that you could be staring into a goblet of water and you would still find his deep gaze on you. Were you any other woman, you would have been flattered, but as it were, you hated attention, and you almost chuckled at that.
The gods certainly had an interesting sense of humor to place you into perhaps one of the most attention seeking houses in Westeros. You guessed they could not help it if you believed like Aerion believed, that dragon blood ran through their veins—your veins. Perhaps that was why you hated the attention so much, only half the amount of dragon’s blood coursing through you unlike Aerion.
Your brother never missed an opportunity to remind you that you were a mere halfling, only half as worthy of calling yourself a Targaryen and even less so because you were a bastard. That was a word that stung less in your adulthood, and you remembered hearing whispers of it growing up, eyes stinging as if the word was a blade meant to harm you.
You accepted now that it was a descriptor like any other—an insulting one, but a way to describe you and categorize you nonetheless. Not everyone said it with the same vitriol that Aerion carried when he said it, and your eyes found his just as he was on your mind. He ate obnoxiously and pointedly, and you swallowed down a sigh at his ever persistent attempts to get some sort of reaction from you.
“I have had my fill,” you suddenly said, standing. “I think I will retire for the night.”
You did not linger to see if your father was okay with that, hurrying to make your exit and find sanctuary in your chambers. The feeling of a dark gaze still heavily weighed on you as you made your way down the corridor, and you desperately wished that you were none the wiser to your uncle’s watchful eye.
“She is well past maturity,” you heard him quietly say one day. “Do you not find it worrisome?”
Your father’s response had been immediate.
“Of course it worries me,” the other man had almost snapped. “...but our house is no stranger to the odd late bloomer or two.”
The white-haired man was being nice, of course, recalling only one Targaryen to ever live well beyond their sixteenth name day with no presentation in sight. You were well beyond your twentieth and yet you still walked around with no presentation in sight. No heat, no rut nor anything to classify you, and when these thoughts plagued your mind, you would think on Aerion’s hurtful words and perhaps the truth in them.
You did not belong.
There was something wrong with you.
He all but uttered it the first time your father brought you home, introducing you to your siblings whose hair was just as white as yours. An eighteen year old halfling bastard with no scent, and years later nothing had changed, and you had the nerve to hate attention. Attention was all you drew, but not once had it ever been from him.
Prince Baelor—your uncle Baelor—had never been anything but kind to you from the moment your existence was no longer a secret. Where one brother regarded you with borderline contempt, and the rest took a moment to get their footing about how to take your sudden presence, the dark-haired Targaryen welcomed you immediately. You were far from naive, knowing that he most assuredly had an opinion or two about his brother and his parentage of you, but if he did, you never heard it.
For years prince Baelor had only ever made you feel comfortable and like family.
Now, all he ever did was watch you.
In the years that you came to know him, you recognized that he was an observant man. Perhaps that was why he was so different—so kind—because he was always watching. Watching the things people said, watching how they reacted, and watching and seeing what people tried to hide. Only you had nothing to hide, and yet he watched you as if you did.
As if he was waiting for you to reveal it.
“Prince Maekar demands your presence at supper tonight.”
Your chambermaid stood at your bedside with an even expression, though her eyes betrayed her. Your father could behave unkindly at times, and there was no doubt in your mind that the brunette before you had been on the receiving end of said behavior. You hated that whatever treatment she endured was because of you, but it was not enough to pull you from your chambers.
For days now you felt unwell.
…and that was what you told her…again.
“Yes, I made that clear to him, but he is insisting and…made it a point to remind me to tell you that it is not up for discussion.”
A break in her expression betrayed what her words did not, and you swallowed, guilt consuming you. There were many suppers and such you chose to miss due to your tense relationship with your brother, but for once, you really were sick. You knew that your father would not believe you, and yet you could not muster the strength to obey him.
Truthfully, you worried about just what was wrong with you.
You heard nothing of a deadly illness passing through the small folk, and as it were you were hardly one to leave the keep. Even still, you found your stomach twisting into knots at times so badly that you thought you would be sick. Two nights in a row now you awoke covered in a thin sheen of sweat, bed damp and body hotter than it has ever been.
Not only did you not want to be around your family, you were afraid to be, and just as you were about to reiterate that you did not feel well, there was a knock on your chamber door. You exchanged a glance with the other woman before she answered it, and something in your gut stirred at the familiar voice.
You were sitting up and swallowing down any bad feelings just as Baelor brushed past her. His eyes were on you immediately—like always as of late—and you resisted the urge to avoid his gaze. With a small nod from you, your chambermaid left you and the silence in her absence felt incredibly heavy. You pretended not to know why as he approached you.
“You do not look ill,” was the first thing he said to you.
A reply was on your tongue, but it was momentarily forgotten as he stopped just at your bedside where your chambermaid once stood, and your lips parted. A scent surrounded him that you had never smelled before, and it stumped you for multiple reasons, but most of all for how good it smelled. The dark-haired man was standing over you and looking down at you with the slightest curve to his lips as if he thought you were acting like a disobedient child yet again.
…and the entire time all you could focus on was the scent that invaded your senses.
“I assure you, uncle” you said after some time, finally gathering your thoughts. “I am.”
“My brother already has much to deal with where Aerion is concerned,” he hummed, reaching out and touching your cheek. “He does not need any trouble from you.”
It was the faintest of touches, and yet your whole body felt as if it was lit aflame. A brief sudden urge filled you to lean into his touch, and the thought was so uncharacteristic that it broke you out of whatever mental fog you found yourself in. Leaning away from him, you cleared your throat, and when you chanced a look at him, Baelor was staring down at you as he had been for months now.
Waiting.
He always looked as if he was waiting.
For what? You did not know, and telling yourself that you had enough problems without making any up, you swiped your tongue between your lips to speak.
“I know I have cried wolf many times before, but I am entirely serious when I say I have not felt well,” you told him, gaze pleading as you looked up at him. “Please get that through to my father. He always listens to you best.”
The handsome prince looked down at that with a fairly quiet chuckle.
“Only when he feels like it, I fear.”
Before you could respond to that, he continued.
“Come to dinner tonight,” he hurried to elaborate before you could refuse. “Appease him and plead your case, and I guarantee he will let you be for at least a few days more.”
His expression was comforting, and his soft eyes held a command there that you did not want to go against. Baelor had always made you feel safe and heard, but there was something different about it, now, and the calmness that washed over you in his presence desperately made you want to listen to him.
You did not have time to linger on that, watching as he offered his hand to you, and you took it without thinking. His palm was rough, the hand of a skilled knight, and you did not hate it. You never had, but in this moment, the roughness appealed to you in a way it never had before. The feeling against your soft palm made you curious, and before you could press that curiosity, he was pulling you to your feet and letting you go.
“I will send for your chambermaid,” he told you, but your mind was somewhere else entirely. “Your father has already been angered by one of his children today.”
You watched him go, and you watched her replace him, and still your mind remained on the feeling of his hand in yours. You felt as if you could have held it for the rest of the night, and the thought made you frown. It was not unheard of—especially in your house—to find comfort with one’s own blood, but you were not raised in the Red Keep nor Dragonstone or around any Targaryens before your eighteenth name day. These feelings did not feel natural to you, and doubly so because they were coming out of nowhere.
Your uncle Baelor has always been a safe space for you, and now…
Now something stirred in you that felt like a little more than mere comfort.
The walk to the dining hall was long, the walk to the table even longer, and somehow dinner felt even longer than those torturous walks. You sat across from your uncle, and if you did not know any better, you would have sworn he was right beside you.
The scent of him reached you from all the way across the table, and there were times you had to physically harm yourself to bring your mind back to the present instead of his hand in yours and his comforting gaze holding yours and his presence in your bedchamber. The thoughts made your skin warm, and yet even after you forced such thoughts away, you were still warm.
Hot even.
You ate as best as you could, and contributed to the conversation enough to be deemed polite, and still…your mind and body were in two separate places. A heat was taking over you like no other, and the food that once satisfied you was making you feel even more sick. It twisted within your gut like a fist, and at some point you found yourself abandoning your utensils and the pretense of eating altogether.
Your brothers’ and your cousins’ voices blended together and faded into the background all at once, and you weighed the ramifications of abandoning supper early after all the trouble your father went through to get you here. You considered whether or not it was worth it, and just as you started to swallow down your discomfort and stay, you chanced a glance up.
Your gaze connected with a dark one—a familiar dark one—and you blinked at Baelor as he stared at you as he had many times before. Conversation flowed around you, but it did not touch either of you, and you felt trapped. You looked between his eyes as he stared at you, and your uncle did not break eye contact as he reached for his ale, bringing it to his lips and holding your gaze the whole time.
You did break eye contact, however. Your gaze falling to his throat, watching—transfixed—as the sweet liquor traveled down it, watching it bob as he swallowed. It hypnotized you, as did every move he made, and you watched him pull the cup away, your lips parting at the stray traces of drink on the pink skin. Movement pulled your gaze away from his mouth, and you suddenly found his fingers—and the way they stroked the rim of his cup—more interesting than anything going on at the table.
The gentle back and forth of them piqued your curiosity just as the rough feel of his palm did in your bedchamber, but unlike before, you could linger on it. Watching their movement made something pinch deep in your stomach that was unfamiliar to you, and you felt the tip of your tongue touch the inside of your bottom lip, wanting a taste of something wholly unfamiliar. You could not place it…and then the heat all over your body concentrated in one place…and your heart dropped…
Your eyes met his again, and there was a look of knowing in Baelor’s gaze that could not be mistaken for anything else.
An uncontrollable heat was growing between your legs, spreading throughout your whole body until you could feel dampness on your forehead. The air on the back of your neck felt entirely too cool, telling you that the light sheen was not just contained to your face. You wanted a myriad of things all of a sudden, but most importantly you wanted Baelor to stop looking at you like he knew exactly what was wrong with you…because he did, and now you did too, and you were stumbling to your feet and out of the dining hall without a glance back at your father’s irate baritone.
Your late presentation was all anyone was talking about.
At least, that was how your chambermaid told it. Through the fever and the pain of your first heat, she murmured to you about your father’s simultaneous relief and disappointment. Relief that there was indeed nothing wrong with you, but his unmet hope of you presenting as an Alpha like literally every single one of your siblings. You could just hear Aerion’s voice now, mocking your bastard lineage as the reason for the fuck up.
“I told you,” he would say in that low mocking tone of his, full lips pursed. “You are not right.”
It momentarily brought tears to your eyes, and you squeezed them shut as she held a cool damp cloth to your forehead.
You were always told that the first heat was the worst, lasting for far longer than any that would follow, and in those moments where you found yourself alone and sweating through your clothes, you wondered… Why you? You could probably count the number of times on one hand—possibly six fingers if you thought long enough—that a Targaryen presented as an Omega.
It was humiliating, and this was a thought that plagued you even as you stumbled down the corridor in the middle of the night to a scent that had not left your mind and senses for days. You knew where it was taking you, and you only wanted to be near him, only wanted to indulge in the smell of him as you fought through this misery.
You were in the worst pain of your life and your nightdress was so soaked in sweat that you looked as if you had gone for a swim in it, but the moon was high in the sky and the halls were empty of anyone to witness your desperate plight, and no one else was awake. At least, that was what you assumed, but your assumptions were incorrect as the familiar door was opened before you even approached it.
Baelor could smell you coming.
“You should be resting,” were the words to greet you as you stumbled into his arms.
He said this, but it did not stop the older man from twisting his fingers into your hair and pulling you against him, your nose pressed into his chest. You deeply inhaled, lashes fluttering and eyes rolling into the back of your head at his scent. It was the scent that triggered all of this, and it terrified you how he could smell like all of your favorite things at once.
“Do you wish for me to retire to my chambers?” you quietly wondered, lips brushing against his thin shirt as you said this.
You both heard and felt him deeply inhale, and you could feel his nose in your hair. It felt strange to just stand there breathing each other in, but you decided that you did not care when Baelor gently leaned your head back, his nose dragging along the expanse of your throat. All you could focus on was his scent and how much you wanted to suffocate in it.
“All you have to do is command me, and you know I will struggle to disobey,” you breathed.
When his lips met the corner of your mouth, that was answer enough you supposed, but then he spoke, and his words traveled straight to the pit of your stomach, and you clenched down on nothing.
“Your father will be less than pleased…”
The cool metal of his rings against your warm skin soothed you as he kissed you, and you clung to him as he forced you to follow him inside of his chambers.
“Would you like for me to make you feel better?”
You started to nod, but Baelor interrupted you.
“Use your words,” he firmly told you, nipping at the place where your neck and shoulder met.
“Yes,” you pleaded. “Please.”
Every touch of his fingers on your skin soothed you, and Baelor seemed to understand that you did not want him to stop touching you. Ever. The fur on his bed made you feel even hotter, but it was of no consequence as he peeled your damp attire off of you, the cool air hitting your naked frame making you shudder.
The dark-haired prince was focused on soothing your heat, and he was only partially undressed when he pushed you to your knees, a hand on the small of your back while the other wrapped around himself. The slick between your legs was dripping down your thighs, and his thick cock stretched you out with ease because of it.
The noise you let out was unlike anything you ever heard escape from yourself, and with your forehead pressed to his bed and your fingers twisting into the fur, you could hear him using the time to completely disrobe. When you felt his bare chest pressed to your back, you could not hold back the soft mewl that climbed from your lips.
Baelor pulled his hips back until the head of his cock was just brushing against your folds before surging forward and filling you once again. You struggled to catch your breath at his pace, the hand on your back holding you down for him and keeping you in place to take him. Every push of his hips against yours soothed that fire within you, alleviating some of that discomfort deep within your gut.
You felt…animalistic.
Your teeth were sinking into your lip, and your nails were scratching at his plush bedding, and his Alpha pheromones were making you feral. You wanted to taste him and be as close to him as possible and be in him if you could. His face pressed into the crook of your neck as he rutted into you, and when his teeth grazed your skin, you could not swallow down your small yelp. It felt like a thousand bees in your neck, and you reached back to pull his head closer.
“I could smell the change in you,” Baelor calmly told you. “I could smell your body calling to me and begging me to claim it before you even knew what was happening.”
His words caused a shudder to travel down your spine, and he ran his hand down it as if he knew. When Baelor sat up, he forced you to your hands as well, and they shook as they struggled to keep you up as he continued to steadily thrust into you. The wet sound between your legs reached both of your ears, and you sighed when one of his hands gently twisted at your scalp again.
“You have always been so obedient for me,” he hummed.
You sighed a soft ‘yes’, weakly nodding.
“...always so agreeable, always looking to me for comfort,” he deeply said to you, a hand tracing over your sweat soaked skin. “Always looking to me to protect you.”
His cock stroked that fire in you, making it hotter and hotter.
“Even now, it was I who you ran to tonight to get you through your first heat,” his hand tightened in your hair. “...and it will be I who takes care of all of them. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” you breathed, recalling that he liked for you to use your voice.
“Do you understand what that means?"
His voice was getting closer, and you breathed another soft ‘yes’. Baelor’s nose grazed against your neck, followed by his lips, and when they parted, then his teeth. Your whole body shivered as they pressed into your skin, not enough to break it, but enough to make your heart skip a beat. Baelor did not ask nor did he warn you, and when his teeth sank into your neck fully, marking you and claiming you as his, your whole body convulsed.
Your arms gave out and you collapsed beneath him as you came around his cock, nails scratching and pulling at fabric as he fucked you through your peak. His entire frame pinned you between himself and the bed, and you could not stop gasping and moaning at the feeling of his cock sliding against your walls, the length of him covered in you, wet and glistening no doubt.
His facial hair scratched against your skin in the best way, and the ring on his finger was pressed so firmly against your hip that you knew it would leave a faint impression. Your toes curled as you struggled beneath him, eyes watering just a bit from the pain in your neck, and when Baelor finally pulled his teeth away from your skin, a gentle kiss soothed the irritated flesh.
You were still coming down from your high when he slowed his thrusts, fucking you gently and slow, and you leaned back into him in an attempt to get closer. One of his hands came around to your mouth, and you absentmindedly parted your lips to allow two fingers inside, sucking on them when he gently told you to.
His lips were at your ear now, and he deeply inhaled.
“Such an obedient thing you are.”
