It can snow in Hell, right? I wonder what Alastor’s reaction to seeing the first snow there was, since he’s from New Orleans and it doesn’t usually snow there.
To Strike True and Draw Slow-Chapter 6: The Shape of Control
Summary
The court begins to notice what Baelor refuses to name. Aelora pushes, Baelor holds the line—and something between them sharpens into something dangerous.
Not loudly. Not through proclamations or declarations, but in the quieter ways power always revealed itself—through watching, through whispers, through the careful noting of what was permitted and what was not.
And what, precisely, Baelor Targaryen permitted had begun to shift.
Aelora felt it before anyone said it outright.
Eyes lingered longer when she entered a room now. Conversations dipped—not fully silenced, but altered, redirected. Servants bowed a fraction deeper. Lords measured their words more carefully in her presence, as though uncertain whether she stood alone or… beside something far more dangerous.
She understood why.
She simply refused to behave accordingly.
The training yard was loud that morning—steel against steel, the rhythm of practice strikes echoing against stone. Dust clung to the air, kicked up by boots and movement, sunlight cutting through it in golden streaks. Knights shouted corrections, squires scrambled, and somewhere near the far edge Matarys laughed like he had discovered something endlessly entertaining about someone else’s suffering.
Aelora stood at the edge of it, watching.
Not hidden.
Never hidden.
“You are going to make them nervous if you stare like that,” Valarr said, stepping beside her without ceremony.
“I am observing,” she replied lightly.
“That is worse.”
She glanced at him. “You say that like it is a flaw.”
“It is, here.”
Her gaze returned to the yard. “Then perhaps this place requires improvement.”
Valarr’s mouth twitched—almost a smile, quickly suppressed. “You speak like someone who has never had to survive it.”
“I have survived worse than disapproving lords.”
“That is not what makes this place dangerous.”
Aelora tilted her head slightly. “No?”
“No,” Valarr said quietly. “It is what people believe they are allowed to do when no one stops them.”
She considered that.
Then—“And who stops them?”
Valarr did not answer immediately.
His eyes shifted—not to the yard, but beyond it.
Toward the entrance.
Aelora followed his gaze.
Baelor had arrived without announcement.
Of course he had.
He did not move like other men. There was no unnecessary motion, no wasted energy. Even stillness seemed intentional in him, as though he had decided precisely how much of himself the world was permitted to see at any given moment.
And yet—
His attention found her immediately.
Not searching.
Knowing.
Aelora held his gaze.
Did not look away.
Did not soften.
Valarr exhaled slowly beside her. “That,” he said under his breath, “is who stops them.”
Baelor stepped fully into the yard, and the energy shifted.
Not dramatically. Not enough for those who did not understand him to name it.
But enough.
Knights straightened. Movements sharpened. Laughter quieted—not gone, but contained. The rhythm of the yard adjusted itself around him like something instinctive.
Control.
Aelora watched him move through it.
Measured. Precise. Untouchable.
Until—
He stopped in front of her.
“You should not be standing this close,” he said.
She blinked once. “To what?”
“To this,” he said, gesturing faintly toward the sparring men. “You will be hit.”
“I would move.”
“You would be too late.”
“I doubt that.”
His jaw tightened slightly. “That is not confidence. That is inexperience.”
“And yet,” she said, folding her arms, “I remain uninjured.”
“For now.”
A pause.
Then—
“You came to find me,” she added.
It was not a question.
Baelor’s expression did not change. “I came to assess the yard.”
“You have done that.”
“I am still doing it.”
“And yet,” she said softly, “you stopped here.”
Valarr, somewhere behind them, made a quiet sound that might have been a laugh and might have been a warning.
Baelor did not look away from her.
“You enjoy drawing conclusions.”
“I enjoy noticing patterns.”
“And what pattern do you think you see?”
Aelora stepped slightly closer.
Not enough to be improper.
Enough to be deliberate.
“You do not like uncertainty,” she said. “And yet you keep returning to it.”
Silence stretched.
Tighter now.
Baelor’s voice, when it came, was lower. “You mistake attention for interest.”
“And you,” she replied, just as quietly, “mistake distance for control.”
That—
Landed.
He did not react outwardly.
But something in him sharpened.
“You speak as though you understand me.”
“I do not need to understand you,” Aelora said. “I only need to see you.”
A beat.
Then—
“That is more than most manage,” she added.
The wind shifted through the yard, carrying dust and heat and the faint scent of steel.
Baelor stepped closer.
Now there was no mistaking it.
Not proximity for conversation.
Proximity for something else.
“You assume that is an advantage,” he said.
“I assume it is true.”
“And what you see,” he continued, voice steady, controlled, “does not concern you?”
Aelora met his gaze without hesitation.
“No.”
That was the problem.
Not defiance.
Not boldness.
The absence of fear.
Baelor studied her for a long moment, as if searching for something—hesitation, doubt, the slightest fracture in her certainty.
He found none.
“You should be careful,” he said at last.
“Of what?”
“Of what happens when you push too far.”
Aelora’s lips curved faintly. “And what happens?”
Baelor held her gaze.
Did not soften.
Did not yield.
“You find out exactly where the line is.”
The air between them stilled.
Not quiet.
Not calm.
Charged.
Aelora leaned in just enough to make the moment unmistakable.
“Then I suppose,” she said softly, “I will know when I reach it.”
For a heartbeat—
Neither of them moved.
Then—
“Aelora!”
Matarys’ voice cut through the tension like a thrown blade.
She stepped back before Baelor could.
Not retreating.
Resetting.
Matarys approached with entirely too much enthusiasm. “You are missing the best part. Ser Edwyn just realized he cannot actually beat someone half his size, and it is becoming deeply philosophical.”
Valarr followed more slowly, his expression thoughtful, watchful—tracking something unspoken between his father and Aelora.
Baelor stepped away.
Just enough.
Control, reasserted.
“We are not finished,” he said quietly, only for her.
Aelora’s gaze flickered—not surprise, not hesitation.
Recognition.
“No,” she agreed. “We are not.”
And this time—
When he turned away—
He knew.
This was no longer disruption.
This was escalation.
And somewhere, beneath the discipline, beneath the structure he had spent years building—
Baelor Targaryen realized something far more dangerous than disorder had entered his world.
A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble that's why it doesn't have a title. This is Venti x Fem reader smut. Minors Dni
Two small taps on your window pane nearing the beginning of the day. Eleven fifty pm that's when your favorite visitor knocked to be let in. Even with the near frequent routine, you still trudged across the freezing cold floor with sleep newly brushed from your eyelids. Though a smile couldn't stop itself from forming at the bright green and blue that met your gaze when you wrenched the frame up for him.
It'd been almost three weeks since his last arrival. Enough time for you to fear he'd grown a little bored of you. But now he was back, reaching for your hips near seconds upon entry. You promptly shooed him however pointing to the window before heading back to your bed. He quickly did as he was told just as soon molding his figure over yours.
"Windblume, tell me how much you missed your favorite bard." He hummed
His lips and tongue felt scalding to the touch sliding over your mouth like he always had. His hands clasping your cheeks, smoothing the warm skin beneath his palms. So gentle, teasing as though he hadn't left you high and dry for far too long. Your arousal searing at the faintest nudge of his hips ghosting against you. So much that you couldn't help it when you tugged his head closer with both hands.
He snickered when he managed to tug away from you, "Or maybe you don't have to."
The tips of his fingers sunk into the fat of your thighs splaying them far enough to slide your shorts and panties to the side. A single digit sinking into your aching heat forcing a shuddering breath from your lungs.
"Oh wow.. you're burning up." He remarked as if genuinely taken aback. "And you're so wet, I bet you want these off right?"
Relief slowly fell over your entire body as he inched your sleep shorts and panties slowly up your thighs discarding them with a small rustling noise. Soon after the same finger curved its way back inside. Nudging your sweet spot enough to flood your brain with color. Your toenails digging into the flesh of your feet for even the tiniest bit of purchase.
"Mm, how was your day?"
The floor boards groaned when Venti sunk down onto his knees. Arms curving between your thighs and around to wrap around your back for the perfect new position. His tongue settling flat between your lips easing enticingly over your hole and clit allowing for a small flame to be set alight in the pit of your core.
A heavy sigh trickled from your open mouth, "Oh~ the usual.. rude people.. dumb complaints and I had to deal with all of that for weeks with no one helping me get off." Even with the frustration seeping from your tone you could still feel the curve of Venti's lips.
"Mm, sowwy." He mumbled into your slit.
Your arms reach down to grasp at Venti's cape, back arching at the addition of two of his fingers stretching your already sensitive hole. He let out a little sigh grabbing his hat from atop his head to lay it far enough away so that it wouldn't end up on the floor. Electricity surfacing throughout your entire body at the suction of your clit between his lips.
"But it's always nice coming back to you aching for cock." He hummed, standing to slip his shorts down those pretty thighs of his. The sound of his shoes thudding against the floor filling you with happy expectation.
With a quick tap to your ass you flipped yourself around not even bothering to hide the arch of your back.
"I'd hate to leave one of my favorite followers unsatisfied." He cooed "I'll give you everything you need, just take it."
The way the two of you gasped was in near perfect unison. His dick slipping inside with ease. Prodding your sweet spots like you'd craved for the last two and a half weeks. "Oh~ you're so hot inside.. it's like a furnace.."
"Venti." Your fingers reached up to the back of his neck splaying in his hair. The shudder of his hips already so harsh.
Your thighs slapped against the bed when he pulled out pressing back in all at once, your pussy molding around his cock to tug him in even deeper. The pitch of his moans so broken and heavy that it had you trembling but also thoroughly elated. Flush with warmth throughout your body. Pure joy flooding your veins at being able to shake a powerful deity to a mess of putty.
Your arms splayed out across the cotton sheets beneath you welcoming every pretty pound of his hips. Your back arched akin to a cat in heat welcoming it all with eager encouraging noises and breathless gasps of his name. The creaks of the wooden frame beneath you growing louder as Venti brought a hand down to cup your ass. His knee digging firmly into the mattress as he shoved every inch of himself in just a little more. Just until your eyes were permanently glued to the back of your skull.
"I needed this.. I needed you.. so so much.." He pants
Your fingers knot in the sheets, "Why'd.. you stay away.. why didn't you c-ome.."
"I.. I can't tell you right now. I want to b..ut."
The sound of your sheets ripping fills your ears but you ignore it. Hoping praying that Venti might let his reason fall off his lips. Even if it's in the heat of his nearing orgasm you want him to confide. Just the smallest explanation would be fine..
"Windblume.." He drones in an almost pathetic whimper. Pulling the syllables from the word. "You feel too good, I want to finish inside.. please.. call me, say my name."
"Barbatos." You cry as he rams that spot that makes your skin melt.
He slides his body weight down till he's boxing you in. Forcing you to take everything he has in him. His moans right in the canal of your ear leaving a plethora of kisses scattering across the shell and lobe. One of his hands pulling itself beneath you to fondle your breasts.
"Say it again." He mumbles
And you chant it. Call it out like it's a prayer for his blessing. Needing, worshipping, desiring everything until you're finishing without warning trying desperately to fill your empty lungs with air while he continues his assault on your cunt.
The warning of his orgasm is muffled into your shoulder blade and he tenses around every bit of you. Choking on his own sounds a melody of your name and disorganized words falling off his lips. The remnants of his orgasm make you feel full and he continues holding you even after he's fully emptied his cock.
You dare to poke his forehead, heart pattering over the darkness of his normally light filled eyes. "Ven.."
"Mm this doesn't hurt does it?"
"Not yet but it will in the morning."
"I don't want to pull out yet.. it's so nice inside you.." He whispers, shifting his hips side to side.
You chuckle, "You just want an excuse to keep me full of your cum." You reposition enough to run two fingers over his jaw.
"Ehe~ two reasons."
You begin to notice the softness of his breathing and how much heavier he was becoming but you couldn't fully be bothered to push him awake either. "Stay here with me, Ven, don't leave." The palms of your fingers soothe hair back from his sweaty forehead and within enough time it does genuinely begin to hurt.
When you pinch his side he hums awake, pulling off just enough to pull his cock out immediately snuggling back into you. Half naked and all. It made you giggle, pressing comforting kisses to any exposed skin you could reach.
