his undoing
pairing: baelor 'breakspear' targaryen x daughter of a noble house! reader summary: tensions have been brewing between you and the prince, it is only fair that he does something about it. warnings / contents: 18+ (minors please dni!), smut under the cut! big unspecified age gap (reader is around her early twenties), virginity loss, praise kink, breeding kink, baelor talks you through it, dacryphilia, dubcon (if u squint), coaxing, mating press, doggy, slight p eating, soft dom baelor, brief mentions of blood, tiny tiny plot- more on smut! word count: 2.6k a/n: hellooo! it's been too long since i've written a piece that's as long as this. i do apologize for disappearing, life has a way of distracting you ;w; anyway, i come bearing gifts!!!!! esp for the akotsk baelor targ fans! enjoy °༄ !
Like a moth to a flame.
The sound of droplets followed your steps throughout the castle, hushed and quick. You didn’t set a concrete plan as to what you were about to do; you only rushed with an autonomy you could not quite understand.
There is a tender ache in your chest whenever you lock eyes with him, no matter the distance. May it be across the room, the height of the steps, or the damning closeness of dining tables during feasts. It is wrong, you convinced yourself it was.
It had to be. Who were you compared to the heir of the Iron Throne, the Hand of the King, the future of House Targaryen– Baelor Breakspear?
You were restless, your mind giving up on itself and recounting all the tiny moments you shared with him.
The way he had greeted you– weeks ago, when your father had shipped you off to the Red Keep like some peace treaty– with the Prince’s warm hand bedding your own, and his lips leaving a burning kiss on your knuckles.
The way his hand had clasped on the back of your waist, a reassurance that ended up as a dance during one of the feasts held in his name. His hand had traveled to the side of your waist then, his eyes remaining on you even after the songs had ended.
When you found him in the library, nose-deep in books that keep the history of Westeros. The way his fingers had caressed the pages then, with such reverent care. The way he shared a smile with you, acknowledging your presence in the room.
It was maddening. You thought him oblivious.
You halted at the near half of the steps, trying to catch your breath and give your mind some clarity. The candelabra you held nearly left its pattern on your palm from the way you gripped it so tightly. You assessed yourself, setting the candelabra down and putting your hand on your beating heart.
“My lady?”
You thought yourself mad, now even more so than ever, for materializing his voice. You let out a breathless chuckle, shaking your head in disbelief. “You terrorize my very mind, and now make yourself known?” You say quietly, turning your head away from the voice.
You then hear footsteps, ones that grow increasingly loud behind your back.
“I fear I do not know what you speak of.”
You feel his touch on the small of your waist.
Your eyes snap open.
“My lady?” The voice of your lady-in-waiting brings you back to your mind. You look at her, puzzled at the sudden change of setting. “Were they bad dreams again?” She speaks softly, setting a pillow on your back to help you sit up, “You were mumbling.” She looks at you, handing you a goblet of fresh wine.
“I-” You start, your hand instinctively reaching out for the cup, “I was- he was-” you try to make your words known, but you fail fairly quickly.
“His grace has asked your companionship during a council meeting as a cupbearer,” she helps you up, her hands familiar with the routine of your nightgown, “To assure your House that there is no ill will.”
The council meeting went by quickly. Talks of peace treaties between Houses and trades across the seas, all for ensuring the stability of the Kingdom. Baelor, ever the observant one, took it upon himself to note the gown you were wearing.
A playful light blue color, surrounded by gold accessories and white accents, topped with a bare corset that accentuated your figure.
He lost himself at the sight, taking in a deep breath without any intention to do so. He linked his hands together, his fingers fiddling with the rings he wore.
You thought it a nervous habit, one he does when faced with long talks of peace and courtly duties.
You were completely unaware that you were his undoing.
He gulped out of his cup, one for composure, another for focus. He gulped it like a man with thirst, a drop of wine spilling its way out of the corner of his mouth.
You stepped forward with more wine, pouring it into his cup with practiced ease. He freezes, picking up your scent by the decreased distance between you. “That is quite enough now.” His voice wakes something inside of you, a feeling similar to desperation.
He taps your hand gently, and you retreat the wine with a nod.
Later that evening, you took to the castle gardens after you had dismissed your lady-in-waiting.
The night was cold, and you found yourself clutching to the fabrics of your gown. You breathed in the cold, welcoming it with your warmth.
You hear leaves crunching, accompanied by steps that seem to weigh royalty.
You turned, immediately greeted by his eyes.
“I think it best for you to be at your chambers at such time, my lady.” His hands are behind his back, his voice laced with regality.
“And you, your grace–?”
“Baelor.” He insists.
“Baelor,” you sound it out, cautious and unyielding, “you must rest.”
“I could not find sleep.”
You nod.
He closes the distance between you two with a stride, his figure undeniably real and close. “I–” you start, your eyes shying away from his, “Don’t.” He hushes, his hand reaches out, the tip of his fingers tracing the outline of your throat.
He keeps his eyes on you, the back of his fingers now gently caressing the plush of your cleavage.
“You reside in my thoughts,” he whispers, “and through my actions.”
He tips your chin up, wanting to maintain eye contact before inevitably crashing his lips on yours.
He breaks away.
A beat.
“Do you want to stop?”
You cannot. You do not want to. Not now, not ever.
Not when he has his lips attached to the side of your neck, his hands at your back, grounding you with him.
Not when he has you backed up against a garden wall, with his hands traveling down your gown.
You retired to his chambers by his idea. Who knew that something so sweet would be Baelor Breakspear’s unbecoming?
“You entice me.” He grunts, setting you atop his lap, “You, my fire,” he kisses you, his hands running through your back and unlacing your gown, “You hold my passion.” The gown falls and pools around your hips, revealing you bare in front of him.
He stares. He takes all of it in and commits it to his memory, “You are my undoing.”
His thumb glides through the pit of your stomach before lowering itself on your cunt.
“M-My prince, I am-” You panic, “I have not done this.” Your hand catches his wrist with the shake of your head. He looks at you with a gaze that seems like worship, “Let me guide you.”
He sets you down on the bed made of silk and feathers before undressing his tunic. “I have longed for you.” He lowers his head down to your mound, his breath fanning against your skin. His fingers trace through your folds, “This,” his finger rubs a circle against it, “is where I will lose myself.” He looks at you for any trace of discomfort before proceeding, “And here,” his finger pushes through your entrance, “is where you will feel me.”
“It may hurt,” he cautions, slowly pushing more of his finger inside of you, “yet you take me well.” He praises, his other hand reaching up to cup your breast, “Tell me, my fire,” his tongue lands on your slit before tasting you, “do you long for me too?” he asks, eyes now focused on you. “It– it is wrong.” You whimper, overwhelmed by the new feeling. He rises, detaching himself from your sweet lips. He leans forward, holding your chin up to look at him, “That is not what I asked.” You let out a labored breath when he sets his thigh between your legs, his piercing mismatched eyes looking at you with pure wonder.
“I.. I do.” You stammer out, shying away from his gaze. “I find myself waiting on you,” blood rushes to your cheeks, “so that I may set my eyes upon you.” You now look at him, his gaze remaining still on you, “So that I may meet my desires,” your hand reaches out for his, “but even now I know not what they mean.” His hand meets the expanse of your body, visiting the plump of your breasts down to the curve of your waist. He nods, a small smile revealing itself on his face.
He pulls away, undressing the rest of his cloths. You feel yourself melt at the sight, mouth slightly agape in fascination. He reaches for you, holding you by the waist and setting you on top of him.
He takes a nipple into his mouth, his teeth lightly grazing on the bud. Your hands find themselves on his short-cropped hair, your body leaning towards him a bit more. His hand cups your other breast, his fingers playing and pinching the nipple with skill. You start to let out sounds you have never made before, and lose yourself to his touch.
When you let out a whisper of his name, his eyes open and look up at you.
His cock grows impossibly harder, the length of it resting just by your stomach.
“You will take me,” he whispers against your breast, “As I will you, as my lady wife.”
He props you up slightly, lining himself up to your entrance. “Cry to me,” he kisses your sternum, “I am here, I will ground you.” With that, he sank you on his cock, the feeling burning its course through your whole body. He lets out a groan, his eyes shutting and letting the feeling wash over him. Tears escape your eyes, your arms melting on his shoulders. You lean forward, your head just by his cheek. He tuts, his palm cradling the back of your head, “You are beautiful.” He lets you adjust to his length, his body keeping both of you still, “You are good.”
A rim of blood displays itself on his cock when he moves you upward. You wince, your thighs trembling. “Look at me.” He commands, you do as you are told. He sinks you down once more, his lips pressing gentle kisses on your tear-stained cheeks.
“You can take it.” He reaffirms.
“You will, won’t you?” He asks, his lips attaching to the crook of your neck.
You whine, nodding obediently, “Yes.” You hold on to the blade of his shoulder.
“Pretty thing.”
Your cheek leans in to his touch, your body finding itself perfectly fitted into his arms. “Baelor, please..” Your hands reach down to your mound, your fingers desperately finding where he had tasted you earlier, “More.”
He thrusts up into you slowly, stretching your walls out so that they may accommodate his girth. “Are you certain you know of what you ask, girl?” You look at him, your hands coming up to cup his face. Your eyes are glazed with tears, your lips plump and wet.
You are the very picture of perfection, he thinks.
You nod, an answer to his question.
“Speak.”
“Please, my prince.” You grow desperate, your hips moving with a rhythm you could not control. Both of your hands glide down his chest, a slick feeling pooling at your core. “I need you.” Another tear slips down your cheek, but this time his thumb catches it, wiping it away. He kisses the spot softly, reverently, with a care that makes you remember the time with his fingers on Gods know what book.
“You make a man mad.” he looks at you, hands flat on your back. “With your pretty tears and your honey-laced words,” he thrusts up, the tip of his cock bullying itself right to the deepest parts of your core, “And with this cunt.”
With one swift motion, he lays you down on the flat of your back. His hands find the back of your knees, pressing you down with his weight. His cock is at just the right angle, hitting a spot that makes your breath quicken and your eyes tear up.
He starts thrusting with renewed vigor, the once-gentle prince completely losing his composure and leaving him with only his primal instincts. “You have no idea–” he grunts, pushing you further down on the sheets, “Just what you do to me.” He locks eyes with you, looking all over your features. “You think I enjoy the games we play?” He asks, slamming his cock in you and keeping still.
“I-I know not of what you say.”
He lets out a laugh, mocking or genuine, you cannot tell.
“You make me lose focus,” he starts thrusting, each word paired with a motion. “You look at me with those eyes I cannot run from.” He shakes his head, allowing himself a smile, “Even in sleep, I see you.” His thumb moves towards your cunt, rubbing a sensitive bud. “I want–” he shakes his head, his cock unrelenting and heavy, “I need to see you full of my seed.” He reaches down, taking your lips with his. His teeth bite down on your lower lip, hard enough to make it bleed. To your surprise, his tongue glides on the metallic taste almost in haste, like an instinct he could not falter. “I can never escape you.” He pulls away, his cock leaving your core. He holds your waist, carefully turning you over to your stomach.
He lines his cock on your entrance, pushing the tip in before leaving a kiss on your shoulder. His hands find your hips, pulling you up with him before finally pushing his cock inside you.
You feel all of him then.
It was all so sweet.
His hands, kneading the soft curve of your hips.
His thighs, slapping against yours.
His words, ramblings that either make or break you.
He feels your walls clenching around him, a plea for release.
“Lose yourself to me.” He coaxes, his hands pulling you up to his torso. Your hand finds his shoulder, gripping it for support. “My heart.” He whispers, his lips ravaging your neck. He doesn’t stop his pace, obedient to what you need.
You feel it building at the pit of your stomach. His thumb rubs against your bud, bringing you closer to release. “Take it, my love.” He says against your neck, his thrusts chasing his own release.
You lose yourself, moaning his name with pure admiration.
He bites down on your shoulder, desperate for his own release. His hands move everywhere– your breasts, your stomach, before ultimately settling on your neck.
A grip, not too tight, but enough to make you understand that you are his. His lips move against your jaw, needy, desperate. All it took was the feeling of you closing in on him, an action done to relieve yourself from the overwhelming feeling of your release.
He breathes your scent in, his nose nudged on the crook of your neck. He delivers the final thrust, your name escaping his lips.
He spills his seed inside of you, his arms keeping you steady.
Both of you collapse on the silk sheets, arms tangled and bodies unbelievably close. His hands stay on you, not wanting to let go.
He pulls his cock out gently, earning a quiet wince from you. He moves, leveling his head in front of your cunt. He spreads your folds open, his eyes intently watching his seed drop from your core. He uses his finger to scoop some, pushing it back inside of you.
You nestle back into his arms, his hands patting you off to sleep.
“Nyke am ñuhor ao ñuhor nyke jēdrar.”
I am yours, my love.
targaryen divider by @feimingo, sword divider by @honeyluvsw ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ !
a/n: baelor has completely taken over my every thought ever since he graced my screen in akotsk- he's just sooooo hot uggghhh.. please feel free to correct me about any mistakes i made! i hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it! reblogs, comments, likes, or any kind of interactions are deeply appreciated!! xo, pearl!
no tag list just yet since most of my tags are for pedro fics! do comment if you want to be tagged in baelor smut though!