I just love reading

FKA kmblue. © All Rights Reserved. 40+ yrs old. Marvel writer. New to AKOTSK/GOT fic but a long time reader of the series. Retired hockey, the Pitt, and Top Gun Writer. Princess. 18+ Minors DNI

[princessphilly]

Masterlist

All fics are copyrighted by kmblue/Princess Philly c.2011-2026

I do not give permission for anyone to feed my fics into generative AI, copy my fics, anything else that threatens my rights, etc.

Marvel fics

Hockey Fics

Top Gun Maverick Fics

Other Characters (Ari Levinson, Nick Fowler, Captain Syverson, etc.)

A Knight of The Seven Kingdoms

The Pitt

[jagiellonczyk]

Bertie Carvel as FINN KIRKWOOD in Babylon S1.E2 Maze Hill (2014)

[ohmylul]

Mmmmmmmmm Finn.

[princessphilly]

He can lick--- *redacted*

[king-baelor]

BAELOR BREAKSPEAR ⋆ A KNIGHT OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS

[princessphilly]

Hey

I’ve been super busy as fuck at work because our food in the USA is infected and it’s making people sick

I don’t know when things will calm down

If I liked something you posted, I plan to read it when I can and then reblog

[sintaera]

Look, not to be mean or anything, but you really are despicable for writing Baelor the way you do. You should be ashamed of yourself. Your writing isnt even that good.

First of all, I am proud of being a despicable woman, I am human and I understand most have opinions, but your anonymous vibe makes me think your words are quite despicable and it is isn't and not isnt. If you want to name and shame, then please make sure you are perfect.

[princessphilly]

Everyone got something to say on anon but won’t say it under their real tumblr. Fuck you, anon

Keep writing @sintaera

[beardedmrbean]

[theman]

I GOT A FUCKING RAISE THE POTATO WORKED WTF

[tattooedzombigirl]

This potato works. Every. Fucking. Time.

[imanutcase-10]

Then bring me luck

[thirddeadlysin]

the day after I posted this last time I was notified that I was selected for a really cool mentorship gig and got an unrelated glowing review at work

[icantbearsedtothinkofone]

Hey Potato, cure my -ing cold so I can have a good time while away.

[dduane]

Here's the potato. Make what use of it you will. :)

[princessphilly]

✨🌼🌷💗 this is the you are amazing award. send it to ten bloggers you think are wonderful or just take a moment to bask in your own awesomeness! ✨🌼🌷💗

[princessphilly]

As I get closer to celebrating my 15th tumblr anniversary, I really think I’m going to go back to my roots and do song fic requests with some of my favorite songs. People will get to select a song and fandom. Each day will be a different fandom (hockey, the Pitt, asoiaf, marvel, seb stan/chris Evans non marvel characters, Henry cavill, TGM)

@buckets-and-trees @biteofcherry @thezombieprostitute @heathercollinsmd @helcnsharpe @thereverie25 @apinchofm @chara-hugs @newlibrary @itsjuliak5 @hiimana @navybrat817 @notaccurateornice @pucksalotguys @ildico-the-golden @princessmisery666 @angryschnauzer @spine-buster @darklydeliciousdesires @fallinallincurls @ginghampearlsnsweettea @jobean12-blog @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @kittieshauntedmymemories @kurlyteuvo @littlefreya @lc-birdie @vonalyn @v-wie-was @withahappyrefrain @whoeverineedtobe @hangmanssunnies @hockeynascarfan91258

[hussyknee]

How long have you been on Tumblr?

Over 16 years (before 2010) (toddlers in the dawn of the ant colony)

16 to 14 years (2010-2012) (livejournal and Myspace refugees)

13 to 11 years (2013-2015) (you used to follow thebootydiaries)

10 to 8 years (2016-2018) (era of Russian bot conspiracy)

7 to 3.5 years (2019-2022) (post sex ban to Goncharov)

3.5 years or less (2023–2026) (Twitter refugee)

Voting ended onJul 15

Rebagel for science pls.

[ildico-the-golden]

might i interrupt whatever you are doing to bring you HD Bertie?? (i was in the middle of a DnD session and i collapsed lol)

[ildico-the-golden]

@ohmylul

[ohmylul]

LOOOOOOOL.

[princessphilly]

As I get closer to celebrating my 15th tumblr anniversary, I really think I’m going to go back to my roots and do song fic requests with some of my favorite songs. People will get to select a song and fandom. Each day will be a different fandom (hockey, the Pitt, asoiaf, marvel, seb stan/chris Evans non marvel characters, Henry cavill, TGM)

@buckets-and-trees @biteofcherry @thezombieprostitute @heathercollinsmd @helcnsharpe @thereverie25 @apinchofm @chara-hugs @newlibrary @itsjuliak5 @hiimana @navybrat817 @notaccurateornice @pucksalotguys @ildico-the-golden @princessmisery666 @angryschnauzer @spine-buster @darklydeliciousdesires @fallinallincurls @ginghampearlsnsweettea @jobean12-blog @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @kittieshauntedmymemories @kurlyteuvo @littlefreya @lc-birdie @vonalyn @v-wie-was @withahappyrefrain @whoeverineedtobe @hangmanssunnies @hockeynascarfan91258

[hellallamerican]

a ton of people have unexpectedly followed me over the last 2 days so here is my rent-lowering gunshot:

the american south is the most racially diverse and poorest region of the united states, and any political sentiment that treats the south is stupid or expendable is inherently racist and classist. a lot of y'all are racist and classist. the south is also the heart of american culture. argue with a wall. you cannot deny that everybody in the entire world does not emulate artists from atlanta. there is vested interest in keeping the south poor and uneducated BECAUSE this is the most racially diverse region in this country. if you actually give a fuck about progress, you would fight for the south, not mock us.

[battlecrazed-axe-mage]

The linked article

[lastweekseyeliner]

so ive worked in childcare for a bit now. during the pandemic, the place i worked started a day program for kids whose parents needed to return to work. turns out the school district uses memorization and cueing, and when combined with online learning that read all the instructions to them, overwhelmingly the kids aged 5-9 just... couldnt read.

i brought in a bunch of my books from childhood, and we started having one-on-one reading lessons with the littles. then i went out and bought about fifty more books secondhand. first step was covering the pictures so the kids couldnt guess what the words said and had to actually TRY reading them first. second step was making a list of new words for each kid so we could learn about those words, what they meant, and if the kids were old enough, some of the etymology behind them (because if you can recognize latin root words, it's easier to make connections for pronunciation later on eg. unicorn -> universe).

the kids HATED this. reading was previously the easiest class and now it was really, really hard. but reading class had also previously been the most boring class; their books were ten pictures with a single sentence on the opposite page. we got through it by taking turns reading books the kids picked out from my collection- they would read one sentence or paragraph, then i would read the whole page complete with funny voices, then it would be their turn again, etc. it turns out that if kids are motivated to hear the rest of a good story or a lot of information about a topic they love, they're more willing to struggle.

the kids improved so rapidly that i honestly almost cried a few times from how proud i was. one little girl (kindergarten aged) went from being unable to sound out the whole alphabet to reading goodnight moon by herself in two months :'>

all this, though, was NOT my job. my job was to keep the kids on task during their online schooling and prevent them from killing each other or starving. i am not a teacher. the school system was failing these kids to the degree that outside individual reading lessons were necessary, and school systems across the US are still doing this!

if you are a parent or teacher or childcare worker, PLEASE check to see what your kid is being taught. ask to see examples of lesson materials. raise concerns about the importance of phonics over any other reading strategy. join the pta, go to school board meetings, send emails- just make sure your kid is actually learning to read.

[biteofcherry]

Black Diamond - Intro

Raymond Smith x female reader; Dom!Raymond Smith x submissive female reader

summary: Raymond runs a an exclusive BDSM club, aside from certain other business. He cares deeply and firmly about the proper treatment of club's members and the rules. When you don't get what you need, he takes it into his hands to provide.

warnings: None in this chapter. BDSM. Risk aware consensual kink. Power exchange. D/s dynamics. Stern type of Dom. Each part of the story will get its own warnings.

word count: 1.2k

Author's Note: This is merely an intro to an expanded universe of the Ruby Garden. Raymond runs Black Diamond in England. He first co-owned it with Ari. For a change, the intro is all Raymond's pov, but future parts will be the typical Reader focused.

There's also guest appearance of another staple Dom at the Black Diamond - Simon "Ghost" Riley 🤭

Though Raymond valued the peace of his actual home, stepping through the ornate gates of the Black Diamond estate brought a similar sense of coming home. 

The faint scent of leather, warm resins and cardamom that was a fragrance customized for the club and used in small amounts to entice rather than overwhelm. Surfaces were polished to perfection, allowing a near mirror reflection in the black marble and black glass. The same luxurious, dark aesthetic sprawled further into the club, with only the shades of members’ clothes bringing a splash of colour. 

Raymond’s office was also dark, but less glamorous and more old fashioned with the oak wood, deep green suede of the armchairs, and rusty gold ornaments.

He didn’t expect Simon to change anything while he was gone, but it surprised him how not a single note of his trusted stand-in and friend’s persona could be felt in the office. 

Simon was sitting behind the desk when Raymond entered. As usual, in all black: black t-shirt with sleeves stretched around his bulging biceps (which gave many submissives wet dreams), black cargo pants, heavy boots. And the skull-printed balaclava mask.

Simon might have been officially out of the military, but Raymond knew his team worked black ops still. It gave him much needed secrecy, while also adding to his brutal aura in the club. 

“The place wasn’t blown up and Dicky Ricky’s body isn’t crucified at the gates,” Raymond gave a short round of slow claps. “Seems you weren’t as bad at minding the club as you threatened when I asked you to do it.”

“It was no fun. Everyone was scared and behaved themselves.” Simon shrugged, standing up.

Though Raymond didn’t ask him to, he moved out of the boss’ chair and took a seat in one of the armchairs on the opposite side of the desk. 

“Which is also ridiculous-” he stretched his legs out, hooking one ankle over the other- “You’re more dangerous than I am.”

“Our appearances serve the both of us, just in different capacities.” Raymond said, taking his place. It felt almost as good as sinking into his favorite wing chair at home.

Spending the last four months abroad, dealing with sensitive business and securing particular alliances, wasn’t all that bad. Food in some places was divine; Americans really knew how to properly make a steak. The thrill of balancing threats and diplomacy rejuvenated his bones. And some conversations were truly pleasant to have.

Like meeting with an old friend and former co-owner of the Black Diamond, Ari Levinson.

“Not that you ever needed additional oil to your fuckin’ Greek god glow, but what creamy subby sucked you this mornin’ that you’re relaxed like a trooper post a first fuck after years in the trenches?” Raymond snorted, glancing at Ari over the rim of his glass. 

Ari laughed, that easy, booming laughter of his that dropped panties and somehow made other men feel like grinning for no damn reason. 

“My sub.” He replied with a cheeky smirk, very pleased with himself for that revelation.

Raymond paused before taking another sip of whiskey. He studied Levinson for a second then shook his head. 

“Levinson settled down with some good girl, huh?” Raymond smiled knowingly.

Ari wasn’t against relationships. He was far from a cynic who didn’t believe in love. But his charming, playful demeanor veiled a deep intensity of a merciless Dominant. Not many submissives could handle that beyond two consecutive scenes. 

“Who said she’s a good girl?” Ari grinned, his eyes twinkling with delight.

Raymond burst out laughing at that.

“You got yourself a brat!” 

“The brattiest of them all,” Ari’s smile didn’t cease, instead turning into unveiled smugness. 

Figures that the submissive, who not only could survive Ari’s type of fun and punishments, but also provoked him to go hard on her, would be the one to catch his interest permanently. 

Raymond himself didn’t allow bratting in scenes with him. He dealt with brats in the club, if it was needed, catering to their need of being tamed. However, he himself held harsh discipline. Without violence, too. There were elegant methods to teach a submissive to follow rules and scrape their throat from begging for mercy.

“Any issues?” Raymond’s gaze slid from Simon’s covered face to the single file on the desk, then back to the man again. 

“No issues. No problems. A riddle.” Simon put his hands behind his head and lounged.

“A riddle?” Raymond arched a single brow, not impressed by his friend’s apparently happy mood now that he could push whatever dire situation on him. 

Simon recited a name. Your name. 

“A newbie submissive. You approved of her membership right before leaving.” He explained. “A good girl. Quite shy and not much confident at first, but bravely participated in anything I directed her to do. It’s clear she approaches every game at the club with fear, but she doesn’t back out. She’s determined.”

“What’s the riddle then?” Raymond opened the file and flipped through the first few pages with basic data and contracts you signed. 

“Lack of response from the Doms.”

At Simon’s words, Raymond’s gaze flew up in surprise. 

Usually, anyone fresh caused ripples through the club. Like a new, shiny toy the others could play with. Of course, it all depended on the person and their energy. Not every dominant had to be interested in a new submissive. Just like a submissive wouldn’t be interested in all the Doms. 

“She doesn’t draw interest. When she approaches a Dom herself, which we’ve been practicing a few times, she gets politely declined. Or, on occasions, politely welcomed, but the scene lacks what she needs.”

“And she’s fucking smart.” Simon continued, his tone sharpening with offence on your behalf.” Smart enough to know that when I order her into a scene with someone, it’s because I organized it, not because someone asked for her. Her pride hurts, but she agrees anyway.”

“She’s not a brat.” Raymond tapped a page with the list of your kinks. “Why don’t they want her?”

Simon sighed and changed his position. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and leveling Raymond with a look.

“One, I think quite a few of our Doms need to be put in BDSM summer school to be reminded that a scene works for both parties, not just to get their own kicks. Two, she’s physically responsive, but her emotional walls need scaling. None of the fuckers put any effort in that. Not even to break her shell with a proper spanking, so she could get some emotional release.” 

“So she’s a little icy and instead of melting her, they crush her to refill their own glass.” Raymond’s jaw tightened, the blue of his eyes turning colder. 

His gaze scanned your lists - kinks, soft limits, hard limits. Without taking his eyes off the files, he grunted at Simon:

“Be a good lad and share with the class what’s been bouncing in that skull of yours when it comes to solving this riddle.”

“Well-” Simon’s face was mostly covered, but even without seeing it, Raymond knew the fucker was smirking.

“-since she hasn’t met you, with you being gone and all, you paying her some attention would be genuine. Besides, those lazy plonkers would definitely start noticing her then.”

[jobean12-blog]

I think Simon has a fabulous idea….also this is the first time I’ve read this character and naturally you have me hooked! 😍👏🏻

[princessphilly]

I agree! I’m excited for the Black Diamond

[juneinthemeadows]

to be felled by you pt.iii - baelor targaryen x fem!reader (18+)

part i, part ii / read on ao3 / fics masterlist

summary: The sweltering summer heat wakes you early–but that just means you and Baelor have more time for each other in the morning.

author notes: 1400+ words of pure filth. technically part. iii, but it can be read as a stand-alone!

content notes/warnings: explicit sexual content, baelor targaryen x reader, baelor targaryen x you, plot with smut, pregnancy, pregnant sex, fingering, pinv sex, dirty talk, soft dom baelor, oral sex, choking, spanking, hair-pulling, sleeping naked, older man x younger woman, no use of Y/N, no beta read

word count: 1.4k words

dividers by @saradika-graphics and @strangergraphics

You could feel the heat of the sun hitting your bare skin even at this early hour in King's Landing.

Stirring, you hugged the cool bedsheets to your body, hoping the feeling of them might lull you back to sleep. But the air was already heavy with summer's warmth; you decided to just rest your eyes instead.

Baelor had suggested you go to Summerhall, where it was more pleasant at this time of year. You would be able to rest better there, he said. And he was probably right, but the idea of going to bed and waking without the feeling of his body next to yours...

That you might feel the first flutters of your child without him by your side...

The thought broke your heart. So you stayed in King's Landing.

A sweet warmth rose in you, and you placed your hand under your heart; you were not so far along, but the curve of your belly swelled a little more day by day.

Suddenly, you felt a hand over yours and Baelor's stubble against your shoulders. You smiled as he held you close, even despite the heat.

'Good morning, my love,' he murmured against your skin.

'Mmmm,' you turned your face so you could kiss him. There was something nice about waking early because of the summer: you could spend some more time together before Baelor had to leave to tend to his duties.

Some of these mornings were spent slowly, sunbathing together; he called for fresh fruit, and you broke your fast together.

Other times, he devoured you instead.

Those days, you could feel his passion even before you opened your eyes; he only reached over, and you already knew he woke up with his cock hard.

At first, he tried to hold back, afraid he'd hurt you or the babe. But you wanted him, too: seeing him desire you like that ignited a need that you suspected was enhanced by your pregnancy. You won't hurt me, you said to him, as you begged him to fuck you.

This morning, his hand gently caressed the small mound under your heart.

'How are we today?' he asked softly.

'Resting so well. Still no sign from the babe,' you shifted your head to see him, 'It's strange. Shouldn't it be...'

'I'm sure it's alright. It's early still,' he reassured you as he kept stroking your belly with his knuckles, 'Don't worry.'

You sighed, knowing he was right, but you couldn't help it. In some ways, you knew you wouldn't truly relax until you brought the child into the world. Baelor must have seen that in your eyes because he planted a kiss on your lips.

'What can I do for you?' he breathed softly.

He took his fingers and, with a featherlike touch, he ran his fingertips along your side; you slept naked because of the heat, and your skin felt especially sensitive these days. You shuddered.

'Hmm...' you sighed softly. It escaped your lips without warning: you couldn't help it when he caressed you like that. His fingers were barely touching you–just the tips of them glossing over your body–but the light tickle woke a hungry feeling in you.

'Is that good?' he asked of you, and you nodded. His hand ran along your spine, and your body trembled under it.

He'd do this for as long as he could, watching and marveling as your body, out of your control, chased the movement of his hands like the disturbed surface of water. He'd listen as long as he could to your sighs that grew from pleased to desperate; he denied you his full touch as long as he was able to.

It amazed you when you first realized what this did to you. He barely had to touch you, and by the end, you were writhing and moaning from just the soft brush of his fingertips on your skin. When he couldn't hold back any longer, he spread your legs and stared at the wet mess your cunt had become.

Perhaps it was the pregnancy that made you more sensitive; you couldn't know. You pressed your thighs together as you felt the slickness grow between them now.

Baelor pressed his mouth to your ears.

'What am I going to see when I open you up?'

His knuckles were brushing from your waist back up to your neck. You whined softly at the sensation.

'I'm already soaked for you–' you uttered, fingers digging into the pillows. You could feel his hardness pressing into your back; he hid it better, but this had an effect on him too. It was only a question of time when he broke.

'Don't even have to touch you to make you act like this,' he whispered in your ear.

His hand trailed lower and lower, then rested on your backside.

You angled yourself, beckoning him to feel between your legs; he moved his fingers there. You were drenched, and his fingers running against you made an obscene sound. You could feel his hot breath against your neck as you pushed yourself to him.

'Is that all you'd like?' he inquired, already knowing the answer.

'No...'

'What else then?'

'You...' you could barely form the words. Heat rushed to your cheeks when you thought of how quickly he could undo you.

'Ask nicely,' he put up a good fight, but you could hear that his breath was ragged, and he was pressing his hips to you. You loved knowing how much he, too, needed you.

'Please fuck me, Baelor,' you breathed, 'make me yours again...'

He tore himself away from you, rolling you onto your back. Hovering above you, he kissed you greedily. Then, he moved his mouth lower until he reached your breasts, and when he took them in his mouth, you let out a cry. You were so sensitive, dull pain mixing with pleasure. He stayed like that for a while, licking and kissing your nipples, making you sob when his teeth grazed your hard peaks.

When he had had enough of teasing you, he straightened up and ran his hand over your belly. You knew he was looking at it; the evidence of what he'd done to you. His caress was gentle and so soft, but the desire in his eyes and his painfully erect length gave away how turned on he was by the sight of his pregnant wife.

You conceived that day in Ashford, when he finally came back to you; you were so caught up in relief and spending all your attention on nursing him back to health, you didn't even notice. After a few weeks at Ashford, you all went to Summerhall for Baelor to finish his recovery. It was there that you realized, but you dared not tell him till more time had passed and you were back in King's Landing; you did not wish to tempt fate.

In truth, you were still scared sometimes that you'd wake from a dream.

But as you lay there under the gaze of your husband, you couldn't think of that now. His eyes shifted lower from your belly to the sight of your glistening cunt. You held your breath as he leaned down, and when you felt his stubble between your thighs, you threw your head back.

The teasing from earlier and the combination of his tongue on you had you rutting on his face soon, and with your release still on his beard, he flipped you around so you were on your knees now.

He already knew you liked to be taken this way; passionate, sweet, devoted at first, then rough. You knew he wouldn't get as harsh now that you were with child, as before: when he'd grab your neck as he pumped into you from the back; when his fingers would tangle in your hair, holding you in place for him; when his hand would meet your ass in loud strikes. You loved knowing that the man who held you tenderly could also treat you like that.

Now he held back, but still gave you what you wanted. He fucked you from behind slowly, hands digging into your ass. You hoped they would leave a mark; you loved the signs on your body that you were his. The proof of his claim on you in your womb; the marks of his fingers digging into your ass that he'd kiss afterwards. They would never be enough for you.

He soon came spilling onto your stomach, and you thanked the summer heat for rousing you and gifting you these hours before everything else-duty, the Realm, and business called.

These mornings when your husband was yours alone.

[juneinthemeadows]

to be felled by you pt.ii | baelor targaryen x fem!reader (18+)

read pt.i here! / fics masterlist / read on ao3

summary: Months have passed since your wedding, and you've settled into a peaceful life with Baelor. It's only at the tourney in Ashford that you realize how much he truly means to you

author notes: pt.ii for the wedding night fic, which you can read here :)

content notes/warnings: explicit sexual content, baelor targaryen x reader, baelor targaryen x you, plot with smut, arranged marriage, pinv sex, oral sex, clothed sex, post-canon fix it, because it is THAT tourney, it's gonna get scary for a second but I promise it will be ok, light angst, yearning, canon universe, universe-typical violence, short descriptions of the trial, but nothing too crazy, mention of tanselle's broken fingers :(, older man x younger woman, no use of Y/N, no beta read

word count: 2.5k words

dividers by @saradika-graphics and @strangergraphics

There were days when you thought it was all a trick of the light.

Baelor was attentive and caring; he was often kept by his duties, but when he couldn't dine with you, he always made sure to send word of it and tell the servants to leave a bouquet of flowers at your bedside.

He adorned you in beautiful silks, even if he himself avoided flashy attire. He was endlessly mindful of you and his boys, even when his attention was constantly needed at court; you felt a deep affection for him because of that. You loved how kind, considerate, and gentle he was.

The only thing you loved more was when he pinned your hips down and ate you, making you come over and over again on his tongue.

Most evenings, when he returned late from his study, he lay down in bed quietly so as not to wake you, and by the dawn he was gone again. Whenever that happened, you found fresh roses on the table with an apology scribbled in his own handwriting. As you made love to him, you always hoped that in the morning he would wake at your side, but he couldn't. Your feverish nights were quenched by the cold light of the day.

Each evening, you hoped it would be one of those when he came back to you like a famished man; when you could tell that his work had worn him down. He placed his hand on your waist gently and left it there as he watched you sleep. You could feel his restraint, the taut muscles in his hands as they radiated heat against your skin; the way his thumb rubbed slowly; he didn't want to wake you.

But you were always awake, waiting for him to come back. So when you could feel him pull away as he decided to let you rest, you turned around and pulled his lips to yours.

Something about those late hours broke down your inhibitions: his and yours. No words, just your tongues entangled, your teeth clashing, messy, heavy, passionate. His usual poised demeanor gone, fucking you like your being was the nectar to his thirst; like he never wanted to let go.

But he always had to, when morning came. A pang of sadness hit you each time the sunlight kissed your face, and you knew that his side of the bed was long cold. You could smell the fragrance of freshly cut roses before you opened your eyes.

You arrived at Ashford Meadow on a dewy morning.

Maekar had been grumbling about the trip for days, but you understood why it was so important. It was always long-talked-about whenever the Targaryens visited country lords; you yourself had heard all the rumors and stories long after the feasts and tourneys. This one already proved to be interesting. You had been preparing yourself for weeks to support your husband's house in any way you could.

When Aerion impaled Ser Humfrey Hardyng’s horse, you thought it could not get any worse. Baelor went into damage control; you didn't say it, but you despised Aerion for it. He didn't understand the implications of his actions. You felt rage as you watched your husband pace his room at night, thinking of how to right his nephew's wrongs.

'It is late. Go to bed without me, dear wife,' he told you, and you bid him good night.

So when Aerion broke the finger of that puppeteer girl and then demanded the head of the knight who ran to her rescue, you wished you could strike him. You asked the Gods for forgiveness for your thoughts.

After a long night of discussions, Baelor returned to you in a heavy mood. You sat up when you heard him walk in.

'What of the knight?' you asked.

He sat beside you and placed his hand on yours. You expected him to say something horrific. That he'd be executed. The Targaryen house would never recover from such an action; Aerion had no idea what he had done.

'There will be a trial at dawn,' he murmured, absentmindedly stroking your hand.

'With Aerion and the hedge knight?' that was not much better. The knight was much taller than the prince and seemed strong, but there was no way he could stand a chance against Aerion's training. Your heart lurched at the thought of seeing him killed.

'It will be a trial of seven,' Baelor said, eyes looking off into the fireplace.

You knew of it. It was an old Andal custom; the knight would be dead in the morning if he could not find six men to fight by his side.

Baelor was still staring at the fire as he said the next words.

'It is in the hands of the Gods now.'

But when dawn came, it seemed that Ser Duncan had, after all, mustered supporters. It sent a message of a loud truth: the people were not blind. They saw unfairness when it was in front of them. The crowd around the knight was essentially the embodiment of the Targaryens' weakness. Something you knew that people like Aerion would never understand.

So when Baelor donned Valarr's armor, you knew he had no choice but to. There was still a way to right Aerion's wrongs. It was the correct thing to do.

So why was there a pit in your stomach as you watched your husband with his sword at his side?

'I know I am causing you worry by doing this. Forgive me for it,' he said to you.

'If you think it is right, Your Grace,' you whispered. Your throat was so tight you could barely get the words out.

He looked at you then, eyes with a glint of sadness that you hadn't seen before. He asked, tenderly:

'We've been married a while now. Must you still call me that?'

From the moment he saw you, Baelor swore to give you a happy life.

His heart sank when he saw the young, sad girl whose father paraded her out like a horse at the fair.

He wouldn't ask you to love him: he didn't feel he had the right to. You, young, beautiful–how could he, a widowed man, way past his prime, ever be a worthy match for that? You deserved to be loved by someone full of life; someone who could give you their days and nights, like you deserved.

Instead, you were stuck in a dark castle, with barely any familiar faces by your side. He noticed the way your sworn knight looked at you even back at your ancestral home: it filled him with envy, and that made him ashamed. What right did he have to feel like that? The betrothal was political. He could not ask you to give your heart to him if it belonged to another.

So when you said that you did not love your knight, a selfish relief filled him, and its emergence gave way to something else too. Did you even want him? How could he live up to the affections of a young man? He felt filthy for wanting to touch you, but he burned for it. At all times, he tried to keep the feeling locked inside, but when his mind quieted at night and his exhaustion from the day unwrapped every want in his heart, he could not stop himself from thinking of you.

He remembered the way you fell apart in his hands on your wedding night. He remembered the way you felt around him; your mouth on his, whispering his name: Baelor.

You only ever called him that when you lay together. He felt guilty, like he earned it only by playing a dirty game. But he couldn't help it. Each time you pulled him in–just as he forced himself to push away–he tried to draw those words from your mouth, over and over again.

His name.

Because he knew that in the morning, it would be back to Your Grace.

Please, just let it be over...

You thought, as you watched Aerion walk away from the poor knight. Ser Duncan lay in the mud, motionless. The prince turned to Lord Ashford and yelled:

'He's dead!'

Lord Ashford was ready to sound the horn–at least it would put an end to the horrific scene. Several participants lay injured; many were still fighting. You watched as Baelor, alongside Lyonel Baratheon, took on Maekar. Beesbury, Hardyng, and Daeron all lay unmoving.

End it already...

But just then, a high scream and shocked gasps from the crowd; everything happened fast, as Ser Duncan crawled to Aerion and began to strike the prince.

You began to feel faint as you watched the scene unfold; hit after hit, it seemed Aerion was barely moving now... but as Ser Duncan dragged him in front of the stands and Lord Ashford walked closer, you saw the prince's mouth move. In the next moment, the horn sounded, and you felt like a stone fell from your heart.

Just as you looked over to see Maekar's mace fling, and knock Baelor to the ground.

The next few days passed under unbearable strain.

For the first few nights, the maesters were discouraging of Baelor's condition: they didn't tell you, of course. Just that the prince was in the best hands possible; that they were doing everything they could and that soon they would know more. But you saw the way they whispered when they didn't notice you were around the corner. You saw how they pulled Valarr aside. You saw how Maekar avoided you.

After a couple of days, they let you stay with him, and from then on, you did not leave his side. The first time you carefully placed your hand on his, the coolness of his skin frightened you. It was unlike the warmth that usually beamed from his touch–you were terrified that it was a sign of him slipping away.

Those hands that held you as you trembled in front of him, confessing the secret that weighed on your heart on your wedding day. Those hands that comforted you as you realized you were not going to be sent home. Those hands that you felt on yourself when he returned to your bed after a long night, melting into your frame like you were one and the same.

They now lay by his side, motionless; if not for the soft rise of his chest, he looked...

No, no, no.

It couldn't be. Not like this.

All you could think of was the last thing he said to you:

Must you still call me that?

You wished you didn't. You wished you had told him you wanted him to return. You wished you had called him what your heart truly yearned for.

'Baelor...'

Almost inaudibly, you whispered. As the sweet word left your mouth, you felt everything in you give in.

'Baelor, don't leave me, please...'

You laid your face on his cold hand, unable to keep yourself sitting up straight. Your tears covered his skin; your shoulders shook as you heard Valarr whisper to the maesters at the door:

'Leave her be.'

You wished it made a difference. You wished you had some sort of proof that if you said something to him now, he'd hear it. Most of all, you wished you knew it was the last time you spoke with him on the morning of the trial: you wouldn't have said something so stupid and meaningless. You would have said his name. You would have thanked him for the home he made for you. You would have said you loved him for it.

'Baelor...'

Gods know how long you were like that: the hot tears cooled on your face, and a blunt lull came over you. Exhaustion began to pull you under when you thought you felt a soft motion against your face.

At first, you thought you were dreaming.

But then you felt it again. The faintest quiver of fingers, and then the weakest sound broke the silence. But you could make out the words:

'Dear wife...'

The relief that everybody in the castle felt was unimaginable.

You were still reeling from the fact that you thought you'd have to bury your husband. Now he was back with you, albeit weak and still bound to bed, but with every coming day, the maesters let him walk around in his room for longer.

You held his hand as he took his first feeble steps; you wanted him to know you were there. That you wouldn't leave.

It had been weeks now, and you expressed your apologies over and over to Lord Ashford, who insisted that the prince would be welcome as long as he needed. You felt sympathy for the poor man and his daughter; to have a name day celebration clouded by so many misfortunes...

'What's on your mind, my love?'

Baelor sounded much more like himself these days. With each day, he regained his strength; he was now lying on propped-up pillows, hands resting on his abdomen as he watched you with your book on your lap.

You closed your book and reached over to hold his hand.

'I pity Lord Ashford. And the girl. I keep thinking of how they must feel... two funerals...'

And then you too, almost... The thought still sliced through your mind from time to time.

'We must thank them for their kindness once I am well enough to leave,' he murmured, as he ran circles on your hand.

'We will. But for now, you must rest, Baelor,'

He smiled at that, and you did too. His name was not a stranger on your lips: you were done treating it as such.

'Come kiss me,' he beckoned, and you leaned closer to his face.

You planted a chaste kiss on his lips, but as you pulled away, you felt his hands on your face as he drew you back. His eagerness surprised you; his tongue pried your mouth open, and you sighed at the sensation...

'Baelor...' you chuckled, but kept kissing him. Oh, how you missed him like this...

Then you felt his hands slip into the front of your dress, grasping your breast. You let out a laugh and whispered:

'The maesters will kill us!'

'Then I will be glad to die in your embrace,' he was kissing you with fervor, 'please, I need you...'

You felt warmth pool between your legs at his words. You looked over your shoulder to make sure the door was closed. He helped you onto him; there was no time to get undressed.

You both laughed as you fumbled with your hands under your skirt, finding a way to push your smallclothes aside, but then you did, and your breath hitched at the feeling of him against you.

He was harder than you've ever felt him be.

You sank down on him, and he let out a groan.

'Shhh...' you giggled, but you could hardly hide your panting as you began to ride him.

You were nervous you'd hurt him, so you rocked slowly. He still didn't seem to be at his full health, but his hands gripped your waist like he was never going to let go.

'Baelor,' you panted softly.

'Yes, my love,' his breath was heavy, his eyes burning with desire as he looked up at you.

'Don't ever leave me again,' you whispered, and cradled his face with your hands as you leaned over him.

'Never.'

[juneinthemeadows]

to be felled by you | baelor targaryen x fem!reader (18+)

update: pt.ii now out! / read on ao3

summary: It's your wedding night with the prince, and you're terrified he'll find out you're not a maiden

author notes: There's some plot before it gets to the explicit part. If you're into that, great! If not, this is the heads-up :)

content notes/warnings: explicit sexual content, baelor targaryen x reader, baelor targaryen x you, a sprinkle of sworn knight x reader, plot with smut, wedding night, arranged marriage, reader is not a virgin and stressed about getting found out, fingering, pinv sex, voice kink, dirty talk, soft dom baelor, mention of moon tea, canon universe, some period-accurate misogyny, alcohol, older man x younger woman, no use of Y/N, no beta read

word count: 2.6k words

dividers by @saradika-graphics and @strangergraphics

It's a great honor. You should be happy.

Those were the words that rang in your ears. You sat at the table laden with all the realm's delicacies; the scent of spilled wine mixed with the suffocating cloud of sweat from the dancers.

Every now and then, lords and ladies walked up to pay their respects, kneeling in front of you. In some ways, it worked out being stuck listening to their well-wishes and blessings: there was a lot on your mind.

It's a great honor.

Your handmaiden's words, as she braided your hair the day you were betrothed.

You should be happy.

Your cousin's words as she kissed you goodbye, with a glint of envy in her voice.

Do not dishonor our house.

Your father's last words to you as he walked you to the altar.

As the hours passed, you felt more like a convict waiting to be led to the gallows than a bride on her wedding day.

'Are you well, my lady?'

Startled, you looked to your right. The prince's hand was leisurely resting on yours; nothing too sentimental, but a gesture that sent the appropriate message for the room full of people.

'Of course, Your Grace,' you flashed him a reassuring smile, but had an unnerving feeling he wasn't convinced. Nevertheless, he didn't push it. He turned back to the lord who had strolled up to the table.

It was the most important night in the whole Realm. Prince Baelor, heir to the throne, took a new wife; you never thought it might be you.

But it just so happened that both your older sisters passed from fever. It left you with a dowry that rivaled that of the Lannisters, and the king wanted to unite his house with an ancient family.

Your father was elated. You always thought one day he'd ship you off to some old lord. It would be fine, you used to think, disappearing somewhere far. No one would pay you any mind ever again; no one would care what you did, or where you went, as long as you were there to warm your husband's bed. But this was different; married to the heir, you'd be watched forever.

If you knew, you would've been more careful; but you were so young, and thought that your life was going to end in some backwater keep with a lord thrice your age, who couldn't even see who he was screwing.

So when you found yourself in your young and handsome sworn shield's embrace, you let him have you. You just wanted to feel something, and the moment his hand brushed yours was like a dam that broke in you. You promised yourself it was just that one time, but one time became another, and another. You didn't recognize the person you were when with him. You were drinking in those nights like you knew they had to sustain you for the rest of your life.

You confided in your handmaiden; like she told you to, you reached carefully for a small knife by your plate. Making sure no one saw you, you tucked it into the sleeve of your dress. The cool steel resting against your skin was unsettling.

You shot a look over at the prince, making sure he did not see you just then. He was watching the crowd with a calculating gaze. You prayed–though you weren't sure who would listen–that he didn't notice the absence of your sworn knight.

You saw him last night. The hour was late, but you were awake, pacing nervously in front of the window. It was unwise, but you took him to bed.

A bit later, he donned his armor silently and turned to you:

'My lady, I will surrender my post in the morrow. I hope you can forgive me.'

You sat up, covering yourself with the sheets.

'You're leaving? Where?'

'Wherever they'll have me. I cannot serve under your new husband's banner. I've sullied my honor,' he said without meeting your eyes.

'People will talk... more so if you leave right before the wedding–'

'You will be queen one day. No one can touch you.'

'I am not queen yet!' you began to panic, 'Do you understand what they might do with me, if it's found out that–'

'Forgive me, my lady.'

He left, and like he said, by the morning he was gone.

It was when a quarrel broke out amidst a group of drunk men that Baelor signaled the servants and handmaids over.

They led you to Baelor's room: you'd never seen it before and weren't sure what to expect. Likely something grand, opulent.

To your surprise, when you stepped inside, you were greeted by a spacious but dimly lit room with sprawling bookcases. By the window stood a large table with candles that melted into mounds. In the middle was a bed covered in a rich golden duvet, and near it was a lit fireplace. It was actually somewhat... welcoming.

And it almost made you forget that you had to act fast. You hurried up to the bed and ran your hand under the mattress, looking for a dent. The silk sheets were pleasantly cool against your fingertips. You found a place where you could nicely hide the knife and find it later; you reached into your sleeve and pulled it out.

When you were sure the knife was neatly tucked in, you smoothed the blanket and turned to find Baelor standing in the doorway, watching you quietly.

The blood froze in your veins.

How long had he been standing there? How did you not hear him coming? Did he see... Gods, did he think...

'It's not what it looks like, Your Grace...' your voice quavered, and the ice in your veins morphed into hot mortification when you realized that your fate could turn even darker. If they thought you were trying to hurt the prince...

'Like what, my lady?' his expression was impossible to read. You had no idea what was going on in his head as he considered you. It was like he had a drape up, keeping anyone from seeing inside.

It was this expression that you noticed when you first met him in your home. Even then, as you walked with him in your gardens, you couldn't tell how he felt about the match. But he sounded kind; you noticed that too. It was one reason you felt less scared about the marriage.

Even now, as he inquired of you, you noted the soft edges of his voice. As if he wasn't questioning you about why you just hid a knife in your wedding bed.

'Do not fret, my lady. I think you to be smarter than to attack the king's heir with a butter knife,' there was a light jest in his voice, which you found strange.

What were you supposed to say? That you were going to wait till he was asleep to cut yourself and stain the sheets, hoping he wouldn't figure out you were not a maiden?

Just bring the guards and send me back to my father, you thought, and closed your eyes. There would be hell to pay once your family found out. You'd be better off running away.

He walked up to his table, where a pitcher of wine and two goblets stood.

'Come,' he said, and you did.

He poured you a cup first, then one for himself. He drank, and you followed suit. You weren't sure what else to do. After a bit of consideration, he broke the silence.

'I thought you seemed troubled since this morning,' he said as he examined the wine in his cup, 'at first, I thought it was just the nerves.'

Oh gods.

'After all, you've been put under immense pressure. Your lord father is a severe man. You have your entire house's name riding on your shoulders,' he was looking at you now, with that same calculating gaze he watched everyone with. You felt yourself bend under the weight of it.

'But I think there's something else burdening you, isn't there?' he asked.

You shut your eyes and awaited the accusation.

'Is it your knight?' his voice was lower now. There was a barely noticeable waver in it; was it from containing his anger?

You carefully put the goblet on his table, and descended to your knees.

'I beg your forgiveness, Your Grace. My lord father didn't know. It was not his fault,' you said with a shaking voice, and waited for the flood of his rage. To be cast aside; to be thrown out. To face the thunder that came next.

Except that it didn't.

'Rise, my lady,' he said, and poured himself another cup. After a bit of consideration, he asked:

'Are you with child?'

You shook your head.

'My handmaiden helped me source moon tea from the Grand Maester. I ordered her to. Please do not punish her,' before you could think, you told him. You could only hope he would have mercy on them.

'Does anyone else know?'

You shook your head again.

'Only my handmaiden and I. And my sworn knight. He resigned from his station this morning,' your voice was barely audible.

He stared into his cup just like before. A long silence, before he spoke again.

'Do you love him?'

Your eyes jumped to him: you expected him to sneer at you, to spit in your face, or, at best, dismiss you without another glance. But to this, you were unsure how to answer. You decided to tell the truth.

'I do not.'

He turned back to you.

'Why, then?,' he asked, with a small frown on his face. You could tell he was still studying you, but there was something else now, too. Puzzlement? Curiosity, perhaps?

You tapped your finger on the goblet, before you were able to answer.

'Because I wanted something for myself.'

The honesty of that surprised even you, but it was true.

Ever since you could remember, you felt a terrible dread hovering over your head; it felt like your life had ended before it could even begin. The first time you realized that feeling quieted was when your hands touched your knight's. It was after a tourney; he'd asked for your favor. He won, but was badly injured, and you visited him afterwards.

'Are you going to send me away, Your Grace?' you asked Baelor, waiting for the blow.

He considered you for a second, leaning against his table.

'Why would I do that?'

It was the second time he surprised you with something he said. You tried to read his face to see if he was perhaps mocking you, but it didn't seem so. He was genuinely asking.

'Because I am not a maiden. You married me believing you were getting a pure bride; I have deceived you,' you said, though it was strange you had to spell it out.

'That's not the reason I married you,' he said, with a strange level of calmness.

Everything about this conversation was curious. Seeing your frowning expression, he continued.

'This match was made because the king hoped to unite an ancient house with the crown. As far as that is concerned, you haven't erred. As for our personal hopes...'

He trailed off and fiddled with one of his rings, the one with the Targaryen sygil.

'It is my sincere hope that you can find happiness here. But if you wish to go home...' he looked into your eyes, and you were shocked to see his typical calculating watch gone. He seemed genuine.

'...If you wish to go home, there is still time.'

That, you didn't expect. You were so terrified of the prospect that it never crossed your mind that it would be presented to you as an option.

No, you did not want to go back home.

You walked to him; he watched you as you got closer, trying to read what you were going to say. He was always studying people like that: you noticed it from the moment you first met him. Perhaps as the Hand, he'd had to get accustomed to reading between the lines, planning moves as he spoke with lords. Trying to spot what someone's next motion might be, what they might say.

You were now in front of him; you felt his gaze on you. You stood there for a minute, in front of this invisible line. You wondered if he was going to move over it, when you realized: he was waiting for you to do so.

You reached your hand out and brushed it against his. You felt a whir in your ears at that touch; you'd been technically wed for hours but never been... like this.

He ran his fingers against your knuckles, then on your arm; you finally took the courage to look up at him. Your face was inches away: he'd kissed you before at the sept during your vows, but this was different. Then, thousands of eyes and the murmurs of spectators; this time, just the crackling of fire and the feel of his breath against your lips.

He closed the space between you, and you marveled at the softness. It made you smile. Your worries from earlier melted away as you went to rest your palms on his chest; he caressed your arm, planting soft kisses on your mouth.

You began to run your hand lower, and his breath hitched in response. He deepened the kiss, and you felt a pleasant jolt in your belly as his tongue entered your mouth.

'You said you wanted something for yourself,' he said between kisses.

'Yes, Your Grace...'

'Tell me what you want,' he breathed against your mouth, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

'Your Grace, I–'

'Baelor. Call your husband by his name.'

'Baelor...'

'Yes,' he said while he ran his mouth over your throat.

'Mm... Keep talking to me,' you said, shuddering at the feel of his stubble against your skin.

His voice was one of the first things you took notice of when you met him.

It was, in some ways, jarring when compared to his looks. He seemed serious, stern, intimidating even, with his ever-calculating gaze. So his voice held a tenderness you didn't expect: warm, raspy, dancing in a gentle but assured tone. When he talked, you felt... sheltered. That's what you noticed as you walked with him that afternoon, when he and his entourage arrived at your father's castle.

Now, hearing his words made your pulse quicken.

'Turn around for me.'

You did, and he unlaced your corset. When he hooked his fingers to remove it, you shuddered.

He had you facing him again as he ran his palm over your small clothes. He slipped his hand in, and you gasped at the contact. You could hear how wet you were for him already.

He studied your face as he touched you. Then, in a voice that sent a dull ache to your center, he said:

'Did he fuck you last night?'

Your mouth fell agape from the feeling of his fingers rubbing you, spreading your come, and from the question he just asked. Heat enveloped your face...

'I asked if he fucked you last night.'

Shame bubbled in you as you nodded–then cried out as he pushed two fingers inside you as a retort.

'Is that what you're doing on the night before you're wed?' his fingers pushed against that spot in you that made you buck against his palm.

'Fucking your knight in your bedchamber?'

'I'm sorry,' you pleaded, desperately digging your hands into the bedposts, as he worked on you with his hands.

'Could've come to me,' he said, leaning against your ear now, in a low voice, 'if you needed to be fucked so bad.'

That was all you needed; you came pulsing around his fingers, panting a string of apologies, over and over again. You pleaded for his forgiveness and promised yourself to him, as he made you his wife that night.