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21 Currently in my HOTD/AKOTSK era (Jace and Baelor my beloveds) Still in my Derry Girls and Joseph Quinn era The Eddie Munson era is slowly coming back (it never left) I still like Genshin,HSR,THG, and Marvel stuff I still don't know what else to put

[tarpauline]

I uninstalled love and deepspace because as a f2p girlie it was difficult to earn diamonds to pull and I tried to distance myself from it so I wouldn't feel the urge to redownload it.

But now they decided to release cards based on different romance movies and they gave Zayne Pride and Prejudice. My favorite LADS li has a card inspired by one of my most favorite movies of all time.

*sighs* I guess it wouldn't hurt to play it again just this once.

[tarpauline]

*SPOILER WARNING* (Kinda)

I mentioned some events but I didn't specify them but the last thing I mention in the post might be a spoiler in a way so just to be safe I put a spoiler warning (I honestly don't think it is a spoiler but still people might say that it is idk I always overthink), so you have been warned.

Starting my day immediately wanting to check tumblr for new HOTD fics since the first ep of season 3 is released today but then I got reminded of what's to come. THAT battle being the first episode and a CERTAIN character, that is low key one of the reasons I finally watched the show, dying in that said battle.

You know what? Maybe I don't actually want to check anything related to HOTD for the next (idk how many) weeks to come until the season finale. If I postpone it then that dreadful battle won't happen therefore that character won't die 😌

That being said can anyone recommend any Jace fics that might be released during the time of the release of all episodes? I may be avoiding the tags but I wouldn't want to miss any fics about my man.

[tarpauline]

I haven't even finished watching HOTD nor have I started AKOTSK...and I'm already being pulled in by another series (The Pitt) all because I saw another hot man too old for me (Dr. Jack Abbot)

[tarpauline]

So there's been an angsty fanfic series idea stuck in my head for quite some time now involving hotd/akotsk characters x oc/reader (haven't decided yet)...👀

Jacaerys and Baelor specifically... And also one with Valarr/Daeron/Aerion...and maybe even Harwin

Low key thinking of actually writing it but knowing myself I'll most likely overthink and become lazy and not even finish a single chapter...but I just wanna share this out there in case a miracle happens and by that I mean I actually start writing shit...👀

[sem-ra]

Professional Boundaries

━━━━━━━━━━━━━⊱༒︎ ☽✧☾ ༒︎⊰━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Modern!Baelor Targaryen x reader

You work remotely for a high-performing consultancy firm, and you absolutely do not have a crush on your infuriatingly charming manager. Baelor Targaryen does not flirt with employees. He simply welcomes challenges. Unfortunately, you keep giving him one...

♡ = smut

✦ Part 1 ♡ ✦ Part 2 ♡ ✦ Part 3 ♡ ✦ Read on ao3 ✦

Extra Chapters

✦ Brothers in Balance

━━━━━━━━━━━━━⊱༒︎ ☽✧☾ ༒︎⊰━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[tarpauline]

The way I ate this series up the past few days 😩😭

Definitely added this one to my favorite fic series list and now I'm off to read the modern!Maekar series to complete the Modern AU A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms Literary Universe

[sem-ra]

Professional Boundaries - Part 3 (ModernAU!Baelor Targaryen x Reader)

Masterlist ✦ Part 1 ✦ Part 2

Summary: Conference mode: on. That includes professional distance, shared glances, and a team that is definitely starting to notice.

But behind closed doors, restraint snaps, jealousy surfaces, and Baelor finally says the words neither of you can take back. Or even want to.

Word count: 10K (it was supposed to be shorter, but I just could not stop!!)

Tags: 18+/MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT, Modern AU, power dynamics, age gap(reader is in her late 20s, or early 30, Baelor in his mid-40s), established relationship, explicit smut, unprotected sex (p in v), vaginal fingering, oral sex (f receiving), some angst, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, corporate lingo, best friend Lyonel, English is my second language, proof read only once this time, maybe this part can be read as a standalone? 

Please let me know if I've missed anything!

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, setting, or story of A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. This work is a fanfiction created for enjoyment and non-commercial purposes only.

Author's note: I just wanted to say thank you for all the love you have shown this series! It just makes my heart melt whenever I see the likes and I read your reblogs, tags, etc. For all my stories and ramblings really. I am not sure if there will be another part in this series for now, but I will always be happy to answer your asks and requests about our beloved Baelor. 

I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I did writing it :)

The report file was still open on your laptop. 

It glowed quietly on top of the kitchen island, displaying rows of numbers, a comment thread left open, ditched halfway through answering. Everything was paused, everything completely abandoned in favour of something far less professional.

Your back pressed against the cool marble as Baelor leaned into you. One of his hands braced on your hip, the other cradling the back of your head, pulling you closer like distance was an inconvenience he refused to tolerate.

You inhaled sharply when his thigh pressed more deliberately between your legs. A soft sound slipped from you, swallowed by his mouth as his hand guided your hips, encouraging the movement. The friction felt delicious against your core.

“This is your fault.” You murmured against his lips, your fingers threading into his hair, nails grazing his scalp.

“My fault?” He asked, his voice low and sounding almost amused. He kissed you again, deeper this time, his tongue chasing yours, like he had nowhere else to be.

This was the real trouble now. Not the work, or the secrecy.

This… The way months did not dull anything between you. If anything, they sharpened it, made everything more instinctive, more consuming.

You taught yourself control. Or at least, something that resembled it.

At the office, it was a series of small, deliberate choices. You trained yourself not to hold his gaze for too long. You kept a careful distance in meetings, choosing seats that made it inconvenient for him to look at you. You address him like everyone else does, never softer or lingering.

But control was not always perfect. There were still times when it… slipped.

A few weeks ago, he stood too close behind you, reviewing something on your screen. He stood close enough that you felt the warmth of him, his breath near your ear as he spoke in that low tone. You did not move and neither did he.

Until Lyonel cleared his throat loudly and deliberately, as he sat down next to your desk. And just like that, Baelor stepped back. Composure restored.

Another time, you were in his office. The door was half-closed, serving as a reminder, as a silent warning to behave. You sat too close, both of you pretending it was necessary. It almost worked.

Until he said your name in that quiet and familiar way, and the air shifted. You were out of that room in under two minutes after that, his office door firmly shut.

Lyonel only grinned when you returned to your desk. 

Though he found your predicament amusing, he still helped you and Baelor keep things hidden. 

He helped in the way he would casually redirect conversations when someone lingered too long near Baelor's office while you were inside. The way he pulled Duncan into completely unrelated discussions at exactly the right moment. It was as though he was part of some unspoken operation, designed entirely around the two of you not getting caught.

His help was subtle, efficient and deeply appreciated.

But here, at home, those rules did not exist. There was no space that needed to be maintained, no one watching, no one interrupting, no Lyonel clearing his throat like a warning bell.

Baelor did not hesitate to reach for you here. And you did not hesitate to meet him.

There was no hesitation when he pulled you closer. You existed in each other's space, constantly and naturally.

Work still lingered in the background. Laptops stayed open, deadlines discussed, reports were half-written.

But the moment he looked at you a certain way, lust clouding his mismatched eyes, that was it. 

You fold for him. 

Because when he said your name here, he never held back. And neither did you.

Which was how you ended up like this, pressed against the kitchen island, moving against his thigh, your breath catching as the pressure built, moaning loudly in his mouth.

“Take what you need dearest.” He murmured, mouth trailing along your neck, his grip tightening at your hip. “Use me…”

“Baelor…” You whimpered. 

You were so close, his thigh damp with your slick. You tilted your head back, giving him more space, and he groaned against your skin, his restraint thinning with every second.

And then, a sharp chime cut through the air.

You both froze, as you recognised the Outlook sound coming from his laptop.

You let out a quiet, breathless laugh, your forehead falling against his shoulder. Baelor sighed, something between annoyance and resignation, before pulling back just enough to glance at the screen.

“Do not…” You begged lightly. “Ignore it.”

“I would…” He said, already reaching for the trackpad. “If it was not marked as high priority.”

“Everything is marked as high priority in your inbox.” You pouted, earning a soft laugh from him.

You leaned back slightly as he shifted enough to read properly, but this time, he did not just adjust. He stepped away entirely. 

The loss of contact was immediate and noticeable. The space between you returned all at once, abrupt and unwelcome. His hand slipped from your hip, and the absence of it lingered far longer than the touch itself.

You watched him as he scanned the email, his expression changing. His posture straightened, his focus sharpening, the version of Baelor Targaryen everyone else saw sliding back into place.

Professional. Composed.

“Is it that bad?” You asked quietly, leaning one hand against the island, trying not to sound as affected as you felt.

“It is not something we can ignore.” He answered, already scrolling.

You stepped closer to glance at the screen. The subject line alone told you enough.

Global Strategy & Leadership Summit - Lannisport

You skimmed the details over his shoulder.

A full day conference, with senior leadership panels, cross-firm collaboration sessions. Competitors, partners, everyone who mattered in your industry, in one place.

And at the bottom of the email you saw the confirmed attendees. 

Baelor Targaryen.

Lyonel Baratheon.

Duncan Tall.

And you.

“I thought our attendance was still under discussion?”

“It was…” Baelor replied. “It is not anymore.”

You let out a quiet breath, leaning back again, your mind already shifting gears.

“This is high visibility.” You murmured. “External stakeholders, rival firms… Everyone will be there.”

You straightened slightly, instinctively smoothing your clothes, grounding yourself in the routine of composure. It felt necessary now, like putting something back into place.

“We will be watched.” You concluded.

“Constantly.”

“There is no room for mistakes.” You said. “We will have to be more careful.” 

Baelor watched you for a moment. “We already are.”

“Oh please!” You snorted. “We try and barely manage it.”

His mouth curves into a small smile, neither agreeing or disagreeing with you.

Silence settled between you.

“There will be more eyes on us.” You whispered.

“I am aware.”

“We cannot slip…” You continued. “Not even a little.”

Baelor held your gaze, steady and unwavering.

“Then we will not.”

Baelor stepped closer, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. He wanted to calm you down, to serve as an anchor.

“We will manage.” He murmured, thumb lightly brushing over your skin.

Your eyes locked to his, as you pressed your cheek against his palm. Neither of you moved.

After a moment, he leaned in. And kissed you again.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

The car ride from the airport was uneventful in a way that only your team could manage. 

Duncan sat in the front seat, shoulders slightly hunched, scrolling through his phone with the kind of focus that suggested he was only half-aware of anything else around him. Lyonel, on the other hand, was boisterous. He was talking loudly, joking, pulling you into conversation as you sat in the middle.

Baelor sat on your other side, quiet and composed. He was looking out the window like the city outside was far more interesting than what was happening in the car. 

And yet, his knee brushed yours every now and then. It was just lightly enough to be accidental, and just deliberately enough not to be.

You caught his gaze more than once, always from the corner of your eye. And every time, without fail, Lyonel would say something. He would pull your attention back, redirect you, like he could sense the moment before it tipped into something noticeable.

It was honestly almost impressive.

When you arrived at the hotel, you realised that it was impossible to ignore it. It was all glass, marble and warm, golden lighting that made everything feel expensive.

People were already everywhere. Clusters of early arrivals, conversations flowing despite the conference not officially starting until the next day.

The hall was full of strategists, overachievers, people who liked to be seen.  

Your kind of people.  

You paused just slightly at the entrance, looking around and taking it in.

“God, this is so excessive.” You murmured as you looked at the ceiling.

Duncan, stepping up beside you, let out a low whistle. “Yeah, this is very excessive.”

“They are definitely charging per breath in here.” You added, as you started walking.

“And neither of us can afford it.” Duncan agreed.

Lyonel smiled faintly. “You both sound surprised. Where else did you expect this massive-ass conference to be held?”

“We are not surprised!” You said, chuckling. “We are judging.”

“Ah!” He nodded. “That makes more sense, it is more on brand for you.”

You rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to stick out your tongue at him. This was not the place or time.

The four of you approached the front desk, Baelor naturally stepping ahead to speak with the receptionist and handle the check-in.

It was smooth, and within moments, four keycards slid across the marble counter. 

“Your rooms are all set.” The receptionist said with a polite, practised smile.

You reached for yours at the same time Lyonel did. He tried to catch a glimpse at your room number and frowned when he could not. 

“What?” You asked, brow lifting. 

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Tell me he had the sense to book your rooms as far away from us as possible.”

“Lyonel-“ You hissed, heat immediately rising to your cheeks.

“You heard me.” He continued, entirely unfazed, a grin tugging at his mouth.

Before you could respond, Duncan appeared at your side. “What are we talking about?”

“Nothing!” You said immediately.

“Room logistics.” Lyonel said at the exact same time.

Duncan's eyes narrowed. When they did, it was never a good sign. 

He looked at you. Then at Lyonel. Then, briefly, over your shoulder, where Baelor stood a few feet away, speaking to the concierge but very clearly listening.

“Right…” Duncan said slowly. “What room are you in?”

You hesitated just a fraction too long before answering, glancing down at your keycard. “1201.”

Lyonel hummed beside you. “All our rooms are on the twelfth floor then.”

Baelor rejoined you then, slipping back into place like nothing had happened.

“We are all set.” He said, his gaze flicking briefly to you before settling on the group. 

Duncan gave a low chuckle, adjusting his grip on his suitcase. “I am scared to touch anything in this place.”

“You will survive.” Lyonel said gingerly.

Baelor ignored them, continuing smoothly, “We will regroup for dinner. Seven o'clock. Restaurant downstairs.”

You nodded. “Sounds good.”

There was a brief pause as everyone gathered their things, the moment naturally breaking apart.

But as you turned toward the elevators, you felt it. That brief, almost imperceptible brush of Baelor's hand against yours.

Gone as quickly as it came, like it had never happened at all.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

Dinner was as normal as you could expect. 

You sat across from Duncan and beside Lyonel, who occasionally would nudge your foot under the table every time your attention lingered a second too long on Baelor. You were not going to lie, it was annoyingly effective.

Meanwhile, Duncan was quiet most of the time, not withdrawn, just more observant than usual. You caught him watching you and Baelor more than once, and you wondered if he was trying to piece together the conversation he had walked into earlier.

Baelor gave him nothing to work with. He remained composed, engaged in conversations, entirely professional. He spoke about the next day's schedule with ease, outlining sessions and dividing responsibilities.

“You will cover the morning forums with Lyonel.” He said, glancing at you briefly. It was just long enough to acknowledge you, not long enough to mean anything to anyone else. “There are two panels worth attending. Strategy and operations.”

You nodded. “Got it.”

“I will take the leadership track with Duncan.” He continued. “We regroup in the afternoon. Networking should be done after, at the cocktail party, selectively.”

“And that means avoid half the room.” Lyonel concluded.

“Correct.” Baelor said evenly.

“And the other half?” You asked.

He looked at you. “Proceed carefully with them.”

Now, if anyone was watching, they would have seen exactly what one could expect. They would see an efficient team, focused and set on getting the most out of the conference. 

But everytime you spoke, everytime you laughed at something Lyonel said, or responded to Duncan, you felt it. 

That quiet, unwavering awareness. 

Baelor's eyes and consciousness on you. Not obvious of course, never obvious. But constant.

By the time Lyonel suggested another round of drinks, you were already at your limit and decided to excuse yourself..

“I am turning in.” You reasoned, pushing your chair back slightly. “It is going to be a long day tomorrow.”

Duncan gave you a small smile. “That is smart.”

Lyonel stood just enough to pull you into a brief hug, leaning in slightly.

“Please behave.” He said under his breath, a grin tugging at his lips.

You rolled your eyes, smacking his arm lightly. “You are insufferable, you know that.”

“And you love me for it.” He responded easily, letting you go.

Baelor did not move, nor did he react.

“Good night.” You said, smiling a little, your gaze flicking to him for just a moment.

“Good night.” He replied, voice even.

Nothing in it, nothing anyone could question.

By the time you got to your room, you told yourself that you were just tired. That it was just exhaustion from travelling and the anticipation of the conference.

And not the tension sitting just beneath your skin, sharp and restless.

Oh, who am I kidding, you thought, kicking off your shoes before falling face-first on the bed with a soft thud. 

A loud sigh escaped your lips.

You had thought you had your feelings under control. That the rules you followed at the office would hold here too. 

But your mind, your heart, knew better. This was not the same. This was not the office, with its careful rules. This was something else entirely.

And that he was too close, too present. 

You felt it everywhere, under your skin, in the way your breath would not settle, in the restless pull drawing you toward him even when he was not there.

You wanted, no, you ached, to touch him. To close whatever space remained between you. To feel his hands on you again. To press your mouth to his and forget, just for a moment, every rule you forced yourself to follow.

You wanted to stay close to him, to be held by him, to exist in that quiet, consuming space where nothing else mattered.

And more than anything, you wanted to hear him say your name. Not the way he had done so all day, controlled and somewhat distant.

But low, familiar, like it belonged to him and only him.

God, you were thankful at least Lyonel was here with you, to serve as a buffer, as a distraction. A much necessary one.

There was a knock on the door, sharp enough to startle you. You pushed yourself up, heart already picking up, feet padding quickly across the floor as you rushed to open the door.

You did not check who it was, because you did not need to. You already knew, you felt it.

You opened the door and saw Baelor standing there. Whatever mask he wore at dinner, it was gone.

“Baelor…” Your voice dropped slightly. “You should not be here.” 

“I know…” He sighed.

But he did not move.

You stepped aside and that was all it took. He entered and the door clicked shut behind him. The air between you shifted instantly, heavy.

“It has been a long day.” He said, as if that explained everything.

“It has.” You agreed softly.

“I needed to see you…” He added, quieter now. “Alone, away from the rest.”

Something in your chest tightened at his words. You too felt the same.

Baelor exhaled softly, like he had been holding it in all evening. His fingers reached up and moved to the collar of his shirt, undoing the top button with practiced ease.

You watched. You could not not watch. Your eyes followed the small movements, the way his throat shifted as he swallowed, the way his shoulders loosened, just slightly.

Your pulse raced, thundering in your ears. Heat pooled low in your stomach

“You are staring, dearest.” He murmured, a small smile on his lips.

“What else am I supposed to do?” You replied.

A flicker of amusement crossed his face, gone just as quickly. Then his expression shifted, into something heavier, hungrier. 

And your chest tightened at the sight, a trembling breath escaping you.

He crossed the distance in a few long steps, one hand came up to your cheek, warm and steady. The other slid to your lower back, pulling you flush against him.

You did not resist, you did not think. You met him halfway, your lips finding his with a force that knocked the breath from you both.

The kiss was everything that was held back all evening. It was immediate and consuming. His mouth moved against yours with purpose, his hand tightening at your back as he pulled you closer, like even this was not enough. You gripped his shirt, grounding yourself as his tongue brushed against your lower lip before slipping inside, deepening the kiss.

It stole the air from your lungs.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing harder now.

“You are trouble.” He murmured.

You smiled faintly, breathless. 

“You would not have me any other way.” You whispered against his lips.

A quiet huff of laughter left him, warm and soft and entirely yours.

“No. I would not.” 

His thumb brushed along your cheek, and then he kissed you again. Slower this time, like he was savouring it. Like he had all the time in the world now that he had you like this.

He pushed you slowly towards the bed, his hands removing your clothes piece by piece, leaving you only in your bra and panties. His gaze rakes over you, hungry and appreciative of every part of you, of every curve. He shrugged his shirt off as you reached for his belt, fingers trembling slightly with anticipation, unbuckling it and sliding his pants down his hips. His cock sprang free, thick and half-hard already. 

Baelor stepped out of his clothes before guiding you toward the bed, his hands unclasping your bra with practiced ease. He tossed it aside and cupped your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they hardened under his touch. A moan escaped you.

“Shh…” He whispered, a teasing smile curling at his lips. “The walls are thin here, my dear. We would not want Duncan and Lyonel to hear how desperate we are for one another.”

You bit your lip to stifle a soft moan as he lowered his head, mouth closing over one nipple. He sucked gently, tongue flicking the sensitive peak, as his other hand kneaded the other breast. His free hand slipped into your panties, fingers tracing your slit. A groan escaped him as he found you already wet. He circled your clit slowly, building the ache without rushing, then pushed two fingers inside your pussy, pumping them in lazy strokes. 

"I need you to be quiet now." He breathed, lifting his head to watch your face. "Or I will stop."

The threat made you clench around his fingers, but all you did was nod, pressing your lips in a tight line. Baelor withdrew his hand to strip your panties down your legs, before laying you down and settling between your thighs. His cock nudged your entrance, the head slick with pre-cum as he rubs it along your folds. 

"You are such a good girl for me." He praised you softly, entering you bit by bit. “My beautiful, amazing girl, taking me so well.”

Your walls stretched around his thickness, gripping him tightly as he filled you completely to the hilt. A whimper escaped you, as he started moving with shallow thrusts, pulling out halfway before sliding back in, his hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm. One hand braced beside your head, the other covered your mouth lightly when you moaned too loudly. 

"You must breathe through it." He said, voice a husky whisper, eyes locked on yours. "Feel how deep I am? Every inch just for you." 

He ground against your clit with each forward push, the friction sparking pleasure that builds steadily in your core.

You arched up to meet him, nails digging into his shoulders, but he pinned your hip down, controlling the pace. His thrusts deepened gradually, cock dragging along your inner walls, hitting that sensitive spot inside. Your skin was slick with sweat, the room filling with the wet sounds of him fucking you slowly and intimately. 

"That is it, take it quietly." He whispered, leaning down to nip your earlobe.

The words pushed you closer, your body trembling as your release coiled low in your belly. He sensed it, rubbing your clit with his thumb in firm circles while maintaining those unhurried strokes. 

"Come for me…" He commanded softly, thrusting deeper once, twice, before you shattered around him, walls pulsing. You bit his palm to muffle your cry as waves of release crashed through you.

Baelor groaned quietly, his rhythm faltering as your walls clenched tight around his cock. He buried himself to the hilt, cock throbbing as he cummed inside you, coating your depths. He rode it out with gentle rocks of his hips, then collapsed beside you, pulling you into his chest. 

"You are perfect, my amazing girl." He whispered, kissing your temple. "Even when you were trying so hard to stay quiet."

You could not help but laugh, content in his arms.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

Stiffling a yawn, you slipped into your seat next to Lyonel, exactly as planned. He was your buffer, your very intentional and necessary buffer.

“Well, well…” Lyonel whispered, as he settled in, glancing at your tablet. “Look at us. Model employees, attentive, taking notes, not causing scandal.”

You shot him an amused look, barely managing another yawn behind your hand.

He looked at you from the corner of his eye, studying. “Why do I have the feeling you did not sleep at all last night?”

You crossed your legs, straightening your posture. “The beds were… uncomfortable.”

“The beds… sure.” He hummed, grinning and nodding knowingly. 

Duncan slid into the seat on Lyonel's other side, followed by Baelor. 

Truly, you tried to not immediately look at him, focusing on an imaginary speck of dust on your shirt before you glanced at him. He was already looking at you. He nodded in greeting, composed as ever. But there were faint shadows beneath his eyes.

You noticed them, for you were the reason he had them.

Lyonel noticed too, of course he did. He nudged your knee cheekily.

You ignored him.

You sat through the opening remarks, posture straight, expression composed, in full conference mode. 

So was Baelor.

To anyone watching, you were just part of a high-performing team, focused, engaged, exactly where you were supposed to be. But if anyone was watching you closely, they would notice the way your gaze drifted to each other. Not often, not long, but enough.

By mid morning, you already spoke up twice. Once during a Q&A portion. The second time when someone approached Baelor after a session and you ended up pulled into the discussion.

That was when it started.

“Have you considered transitioning to a more senior leadership role?” A recruiter from another company asked you.

“I am quite happy where I am, thank you.” You smiled politely.

“I find that hard to believe.” The woman smiled, her tone polite but pointed. “I think you are being underutilised.”

You could feel Lyonel's eyes on the back of your head, watching everything like it was live entertainment.

“We could offer you more autonomy.” She continued. “And frankly, far better compensation.”

You let out a polite sigh. “That is flattering but-”

“Think about it.” She interrupted you smoothly, pressing a card into your hand before you could finish. “We would make it worth our while.”

You accepted it. Because not accepting it would say more than you wanted it to.

As she walked away, Lyonel leaned in slightly.

“Well, that's one offer. Let's see how many you collect by the end of the day.”

“It is not a game, Lyonel.” You said, slipping your card into the pocket of the tablet case. “And I am not collecting anything.”

“Hmm… we will see.” He winked.

Later, you were certain Lyonel jinxed you because they would not stop approaching you.

By early afternoon, you were approached three more times by different companies, offering different pitches, but with the same underlying message.

We want you. 

You can do better. 

Come to us. 

And each time you handled it the same way, polite, measured, and noncommittal. Each time, Lyonel watched on with quiet amusement.

“You are going to start a bidding war if you are not careful.” He teased as you walked toward the restaurant for lunch.

“I will do no such thing.” You retorted. “I am not encouraging any of this! I am not giving them any indication that I want to be approached.”

“They know you, and your work.” Lyonel said matter of factly. “They would be idiots not to approach you.”

As you were about to say something, you felt Baelor before you saw him. It was that subtle shift in awareness, the conversations around you blending with background noise.

“There you are.” You heard him say, his voice enveloping you like a warm hug.

You turned towards him, unable to stop the small smile gracing your lips as he approached you with that controlled, composed calm. Duncan walked next to him, his tablet amusingly small in his hands.

“Was it a good session?” Baelor asked, tone neutral, but you knew by now, recognised the edge, the need to pretend.

“It was very productive.” You replied, still smiling.

His gaze dropped from your eyes to your tablet, which you clutched against your chest, and then at the cards peeking from the pocket. His smile dropped a little.

It was quick, anyone else would have missed it.

But you did not.

And neither did Lyonel.

“She has been very popular.” He said almost proudly, nudging your shoulder. “She might leave us for greener pastures if we do not know how to keep her happy.”

He looked pointedly at Baelor.

Duncan chuckled, oblivious. “Can't blame them.”

“Oh, no, no.” You said quickly. “I am not going anywhere.” 

Baelor said nothing. 

But his jaw set, just slightly, and there was something sharper in his gaze now. Controlled, but unmistakable.

You barely stopped yourself from reaching for him, from closing that distance.

From reminding him that they did not matter. Only he mattered.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

The rest of the day followed the same pattern.

But now, every time someone stopped you, Baelor was somewhere nearby. He never interrupted, or was close enough to make it obvious that he was looking out for you. He was being professional, exactly like you both had agreed.

And yet, when your eyes met across the room as you were mid-conversation with yet another recruiter, it lingered. Just long enough that something unspoken passed between you.

It was not anger specifically, not exactly. It was something sharper. It was possessive.

You looked away first, pulse quickening.

By the time the closing remarks were given, you were tired, your social battery was gone, completely drained.

“I cannot believe we still have the cocktail party in an hour.” You murmured, heels echoing softly down the hall as you walked to the elevator.

“Come on, it will be fun!” Lyonel smiled, the perfect social butterfly.

You groaned. You would rather be anywhere else.

In your room, away from everyone. Curled into Baelor's arms, his hands on you, his mouth- 

You cut the thought off quickly. 

The elevator doors opened, as you stepped inside, you glanced back down the hall. Baelor stood at the far end, speaking to someone, posture straight, expression composed. Almost as if he did not look at you possessively the whole time.

Lyonel followed your gaze, then smiled to himself.

“Let's see how he behaves…” Lyonel joked.

You did not answer. And your pulse raced.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

You smoothed the fabric of your dress for what felt like the hundredth time, turning slightly in the bathroom mirror to check. The dress was black and elegant, nothing too bold, nothing inappropriate for a work event. But it hugged your body just enough to show off a little.

You were about to put the finishing touches for your makeup when the knock came.

Rushing to open it, you moved as Baelor stepped inside.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

His gaze found you instantly and stayed. It moved slowly, deliberately, from your shoulders down to your waist, then back up again, as if committing every detail to memory. There was something unmistakably intense in it. Hunger, yes. But layered beneath it, darker, tighter…

Possession. The same look he had earlier in the day.

It made your breath catch.

“I just need a minute.” You said, going back to the bathroom mirror, suddenly hyper-aware of him behind you. “My makeup-”

“You look beautiful, dearest.”

The words were soft, but they carried weight. You met his eyes through the reflection.

He stepped further in, closing the space between you, his chest pressing against your back. 

“So beautiful…” He continued, voice lowering, “That it will make it very difficult for anyone in that room to remember themselves.”

Your hand stilled mid-motion.

“Wait… What is that supposed to mean?” You turned to face him fully now.

Baelor tilted his head slightly, as if considering how honest he should be. 

“It means…” He said, measured. “That you will draw attention. The kind that lingers. And the kind that invites.”

Your brows pulled together. “Invites?”

“Yes.”

Something sharp flickered in your chest.

“Do you… do you think I wanted them to approach me?” You asked, your voice tightening.

His expression did not change much, but something in his jaw set. “You did not seem to do much to deter them.”

The words landed heavier than he probably intended.

“Are you even hearing yourself right now?” You blinked at him. 

“Dear, all I am saying-”

“You know exactly how that would look if I 'deterred' them!” You interrupted him, frustration rising. “At a work event? In front of clients? Colleagues? It would reflect badly on me. On us.”

“I do not care about them-”

“Well, I do!” You snapped, the words sharper than you meant them to be. “Just because you have the power not to care, I care. I have to care. This is my work too, Baelor. I do not get to just… push people away because it makes you uncomfortable…”

“That is not what I am asking of you.” His voice was low, but frustration clouded his eyes.

“Well, it sounds exactly like what you are asking.” 

A brief silence fell between you, thick and charged.

“Do not make me feel bad for other people's actions,” you said, more quietly now, but no less firm. “Do not make me feel bad for doing my job.”

His expression shifted then, the edge in it faltering. “No. No, never, that is not what I meant.”

“Well, it sounded like it.” Your voice cracked slightly at the end, betraying you.

You turned away quickly, blinking hard as your vision blurred. Your hands came up instinctively, fanning beneath your eyes, careful not to ruin what you had just finished.

God. Not now, not before this.

Behind you, Baelor exhaled, slower this time. Regret threaded through it. He said your name softly.

“Please believe me, I did not mean-” His hands came up to your shoulders, gripping them tight.

“I know…” You said quickly, though your voice trembled. “I know you did not mean it like that.”

But it did not change how it felt.

“Can we please go now?” You asked, not quite looking at him. “I do not… I cannot talk about this right now.”

There was a pause, before he pressed a kiss to your temple.

Then, came a quiet: “Of course.”

By the time you arrived at the bar, both of you slipped on practiced composure like second skin. Polished, effortless, untouchable to anyone looking in from the outside. Inside, the lights were warm, the music low, the room already alive with conversation.

“I am going to the bar.” You said simply, not quite looking at him. “And then find Lyonel.” 

You did not wait for a response, you just walked away.

Your body still felt tight, like it had not relaxed from the argument. It was unlike you and Baelor to fight, really fight, but this… this was different. It was not just sharp words, it lingered.

Because you knew he did not mean it. But it still hurt.

The bar became your refuge more than anything else.

You leaned against it, drink in hand, letting the noise of the room wash over you. The conversations, laughter, the soft clink of glasses. It grounded you, dulled the edge of everything still twisting in your chest. It was easier to focus on that than on him.

“Trouble in paradise?”

You sighed. You did not even have to turn to know it was Lyonel.

“Please don't…” You said, your voice softer than you intended, barely holding steady. “I am not in the mood Lyonel.”

He slid into the space beside you anyway. 

“What the hell happened?” He asked, tone shifting into something more serious now. “What did he do?”

“It is…” You started, then stopped, shaking your head slightly.

“It is not nothing!” He said, concern in his eyes. “I know you… I can see that you are barely hanging on.”

That did it. You swallowed, then told him quietly about what Baelor said, and the implication behind it. The way it settled under your skin, sharp and unwelcome.

Lyonel's expression darkened slightly as he listened. “He is so fucking insecure…”

“What?” You turned to him, caught off guard.

“Well, yes.” He said plainly, as if it were obvious. “Number one, you are younger than him. Number two, you are amazing, really brilliant at what you do. Do not even try to argue that. You could walk into half the companies in this city and they would fight to have you.”

You frowned slightly, but did not interrupt him.

“I think…” He continued, more measured now. “Baelor got used to the idea that you would always be there. At work, and in your relationship. That he never had to question it.” A small shrug. “And today, this conference and the recruiters shook that.”

You did not say anything, because part of you… understood.

“I am not excusing him!” Lyonel added quickly. “God no! He handled it badly. Very badly. But…” 

He hesitated, choosing his words more carefully now, “I think he is just scared to lose you.”

You let out a slow breath, staring down into your drink. Lyonel's explanation did not fix everything.

But it… shifted something.

“And for what it is worth.” Lyonel glanced  over your shoulder. “He looks like a man who just realised he said something incredibly stupid.”

That made your chest ache more, because you already knew that. Because you saw it in his face before you walked away.

Even now, even standing apart, you and Baelor were not really separated. It was like an invisible thread stretched between you, pulling your awareness back to him no matter how hard you tried to focus on anything else.

You felt it first, then your eyes glanced behind. And there he was, across the room, already gazing at you. The distance between you suddenly felt too small and too wide at the same time.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, slowly, he started making his way towards you.

Lyonel followed your line of sight, then huffed a quiet laugh. 

“Ah, that is my cue!” He grinned, stepping back slightly. 

He gave your arm a brief squeeze as he passed. “Call me if you need me.”

And just like that, he was gone. 

But, you barely registered him leaving, because Baelor was there now.

Close enough that you saw the tension still sitting in his shoulders, the restraint in the way he held himself. Close enough that the rest of the room dimmed around him.

Neither of you spoke immediately.

“I am leaving in fifteen minutes.” You said, your voice softer now, stripped of the earlier sharpness. “I cannot handle being in this room anymore.”

Your eyes met his mismatched, steady, but there was something unguarded in his now, something that asked. Not quite forgiveness, not that. But something close to it, a chance.

You understood that. “Will you come with me?”

Then he nodded. “Of course, dearest.”

A while later, you almost made it out unnoticed. Baelor was speaking to a few people before following you.

Just as you were about to reach the exit, somebody called out to you. 

“Leaving already?”

You turned, a polite smile already in place. One of the recruiters from early in the day stood in front of you. It was obvious that the alcohol had loosened him up. 

You did not appreciate the way he leered at you. 

“Just calling it a night.” You said curtly. 

He stepped closer than necessary, confident and persistent. He seemed the kind of man who was not used to being turned down. He circled you, placing himself between you and the exit. 

An involuntary shiver crossed your spine.

“Shame…” He said, gaze lingering. “I was hoping we would get a chance to talk properly.”

“We talked.” You replied evenly.

“No, not really.” He countered. “Not the way I wanted to. without… interruptions.”

You shifted slightly, creating space. “I definitely am not interested.”

It should have been enough. But it was not. 

“Come on!” He said, smiling and softer now, like that made it better. “Do not be like that.”

“I am not being anything.” You said, the edge creeping in your voice. “I said no.”

He smiled like he did not hear you. Or worse, like he did, and chose to ignore it.

Your patience snapped. “I am going to leave now.”

You moved to step past him. But he did not let you. He stepped in front of you, blocking your path. 

“Move!” You hissed at him. 

“I do not think so.” He smirked. 

As you were about to shove him, you felt another presence behind you. 

“That is enough.” Baelor's voice cut through, cold and final. 

The man looked at him, more than mildly irritated. “We are in the middle of-”

“No.” Baelor said, stepping beside you. “You are not.”

There was no raised tone, no outward aggression. But there was something in the way he stood, close, unyielding, unmistakably between you and the other man, that shifted the entire interaction.

“She said no.” He said with a finality that left no room for argument. 

The man hesitated, glanced between you and Baelor.

Something in Baelor's expression must have settled it.

“Right…” He muttered, stepping back. “Did not realise.”

“You do now.”

And just like that, it was over. The man slithered away, leaving you with Baelor. 

Silence lingered for a moment after he left.

You did not move at first. You just stood there, forcing yourself to breathe slowly, evenly. In the way that if you controlled that, everything else might follow.

Baelor was already watching you. There was something different in his expression now. The sharpness from earlier had dulled, replaced by something tighter. It was a mixture of unease, regret and worry.

His hand lifted slightly, hovering near your arm, like he wanted to touch you but was not sure he was allowed to anymore.

“Are you alright?” He asked quietly.

You nodded, even if it was not entirely true. “I will be.”

His jaw tightened, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. “He should not have-”

“I was handling it.” You said gently, cutting him off before he could spiral into it.

“I know.” But he did not sound convinced. His gaze flickered briefly toward where the man had been, then back to you. “But I could not just stand there and watch it unfold.”

There was something raw in that, something instinctive and protective.

Your eyes softened, the earlier hurt easing just a fraction. 

“Thank you…” You whispered, the words quieter than anything you had said all evening.

His expression shifted immediately.

“Of course, dearest. Anything for you.”

Neither of you said much after that.

Not in the elevator. And not in the hallway.

The silence was not empty. It was heavy, filled with everything you did not say yet. He walked beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, but he did not touch you.

It was as if he was holding himself back, as though he did not trust himself not to reach for you.

The moment the door to your room closed behind you, something snapped.

The distance between you disappeared as you both reached out for one another. 

Baelor's hand came up to your face, warm and steady, his fingers brushing along your cheek like he needed to reassure himself you were really there. He exhaled deeply, like he had been holding his breath all evening.

“I did not like that.” He said quietly. “The way he spoke to you…”

“I know.” You murmured, leaning into his touch, your nose brushing softly against his. “Neither did I.”

“He would not listen.”

“I know.”

His forehead came to rest against yours, grounding. For a moment, neither of you moved. You stood there, just breathing the same air, sharing the same space again without resistance.

“I did not… I do not like the way they look at you.” He admitted.

And there it was again, that edge. That honesty he only allowed himself when the world was not watching.

You smoothed your hands over his chest, feeling the tension still coiled there beneath your palm.

“They can look…” You said softly. “And they can chase…”

Your fingers curled slightly in his shirt.

“I do not care about them. I never did, I never will.” You continued. “I care about you. Only you, Baelor.”

His breath hitched, just slightly.

“I am sorry…” he whispered. “For earlier. God, I should not have said that.”

You did not answer immediately.

“I know what this means to you…” He continued, his voice low and careful. “Your work. Your reputation. I would never want to undermine that.”

You exhaled slowly, your hands still resting against him.

“Then do not…” You said, just as softly. “And do not punish me for how other people act.”

His gaze softened, something heavier settling in it now. It was understanding, yes, but also something deeper. 

“I am not used to…” He started, then stopped.

“Used to what?” You asked quietly.

He looked at you then, fully, without deflection. His mismatched eyes locked on yours.

“I am not used to wanting something this much…” He admitted. “And not being able to control it.”

The honesty in it caught you off guard.

You searched his face, the last sharp edges of your anger fading.

“You do not get to control everything…” You said gently.

His lips curved faintly, though there was no real humor in it. “I am beginning to understand that.”

For a moment, you just looked at each other.

“You will not lose me, Baelor.” You said, the words firm. “You will not, not if I have a say in it.”

Something in him broke after you said that.

“I cannot stop thinking about it.” He said, voice rougher now, looking anywhere else but your eyes. “I do not want to hold you back. I do not want you to resent me one day for… for limiting you.”

His hand tightened slightly where it held your face.

“But the thought of losing you…” He shook his head faintly, like even saying it was too much. “It makes me lose my mind, my senses. A life without you…” 

His voice dropped. “It is not worth living to me.”

“Baelor…” you breathed, startled by the weight of it, by how true it sounded.

His eyes lifted fully to yours. There were no walls, no restraint.

“I love you.” He said.

The words settled between you, heavy and undeniable.

“I love you.” He repeated, softer this time. “And I need you like I need air… like I cannot breathe without you being close to me.”

Your chest tightened, something warm and overwhelming spreading through you.

“I love you too.” You said, the words coming easier than you expected. “God, I love you too, Baelor. I… I do not think I can do this without you either.”

And that was it, whatever restraint he had been clinging to all evening slipped away completely.

His other hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer, like he could not bear even an inch of distance anymore.

And when he kissed you, it  was the first time that it felt… different.

Not because it lacked intensity. If anything, it was deeper and more passionate. But something in it had shifted. The tension that always coiled beneath the surface, the restraint he held onto so tightly… it was gone.

In its place was something slower, softer and certain.

His lips moved against yours with a kind of care that made your chest tighten, like he was not trying to claim or prove anything anymore. He only wanted to feel you. 

One of his hands held you there like you already belonged, as though he did not need to fight for it anymore. 

You felt it in every movement. In the way he kissed you deeper, but did not rush. In the way he lingered, as though memorizing the shape of you all over again. As though this, you, was something he refused to take for granted anymore.

And then he paused, giving you the space to pull away if you wanted to. As though he needed to know you were choosing this too.

Your fingers tightened in his shirt and you leaned into him instead, closing that small distance without hesitation.

A quiet answer. And a promise.

And something in him softened even further at that.

The kiss deepened again, unhurried. His breath warm against yours, his touch deliberate in a way that made everything else fall away.

Baelor's hands slid up your back, pulling you closer until your bodies pressed flush against each other. He broke the kiss just enough to murmur against your lips.

“You are everything to me…” His voice was low, reverent, sending a shiver down your spine. “So perfect…”

You felt the heat building between you, that tense pull of wanting him so badly it ached. His fingers traced your form, before finding the zipper of your dress. He opened it slowly, giving you time to stop him if you wanted. But you did not. 

You arched into his touch, and he unzipped you, letting the pool down around your legs, exposing your skin to the cool air.

“God, look at you…” He whispered, eyes dark with desire as he drank in the sight. 

His palms cupped your breasts gently, thumbs brushing your nipples over the fabric of your bra, until they hardened under his attention. His hands unclasped your bra with practiced ease and leaned down, taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking softly while his tongue swirled around it. A moan escaped you, as the sensation shot straight to your core, making your thighs clench.

“Baelor…” You gasped, your hand moving to the back of his head, pulling him closer. He hummed in response, the vibration making you moan. He lavished the same attention on your other breast, nipping lightly before soothing with his tongue. 

“So responsive, my beloved girl…” He praised, his breath hot against your damp skin. 

His hands moved lower, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your lace panties, tugging them down. He helped you step out until you stood bare before him. The vulnerability made your heart race, but his gaze held no judgment, only adoration for you. 

Slowly, he pushed you towards the bed, gently helping you lay down. He parted your legs slowly, groaning at the sight of you. You hissed as the cool air kissed you slick folds.

He knelt slowly, pressing kisses along your stomach, down to your hips, then your thighs..

“You are so beautiful here too…” He said, his voice thick with emotion. “Wet and ready… All mine…”

His hands gripped your thighs, parting them slightly as he nuzzled against your mound. He pressed a soft kiss on each thigh before his tongue flicked out. He licked along your folds, slow and deliberate.

The tension coiled tighter inside you, every stroke of his tongue building the pressure. He circled your clit, sucking gently, then harder when you whimpered. 

“That is it, my love…” His voice was muffled against you. “You taste so sweet…”

His fingers joined in, one sliding inside your wetness, curling to hit that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. He added a second finger, stretching you tenderly, pumping in rhythm with his tongue. You rocked against his mouth, chasing the pleasure, your breaths coming in short pants. The tenderness in his movements contrasted the passion surging through you, making it all the more intense.

You moaned his name loudly, teetering on the edge of your release, when he pulled back, making you whine loudly at the loss of his tongue and fingers.

“Baelor, why?”

He stood, quickly shedding his own clothes. His cock sprang free, painfully hard, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. 

“I need to feel you…” He covered your body with his, kissing you deeply as he angled his tip at your entrance. “Tell me you are mine.”

The words coax another moan from you, your walls fluttering around as he slid in. 

“Yours…” You breathe, voice trembling. “All yours, Baelor. Only yours, my love.”

He groaned loudly at that, fully burying himself into you, your walls welcoming him with a tight, wet grip. He paused, forehead resting against yours, letting you adjust to the stretch, to the intimacy of being joined so completely.

He began to move, slow thrusts that built a tender rhythm. Each slide in and out sent waves of pleasure through you, his cock hitting deep. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his back to pull him closer. You met each of his thrusts, nails digging into his back, the tension winding tighter.

Baelor increased the pace, hips snapping harder. He kissed your collarbone, your breasts, murmuring praises between breaths.

“Feel how well we fit?” He groaned against your neck. “You are mine, and I am yours…”

His mouth claimed yours in a searing kiss, tongues tangling, breaths mingling, as he drove into you with loving force. One of his hands slipped between you, thumb rubbing your clit in firm circles. 

“Look at me…” He urged softly. “My love, my beautiful girl, I want to see your eyes when you come undone… ”

The praise washed over you, fueling the fire in your veins. You clung to him, as his pace quickened thrusts turning more insistent.

Pleasure built relentlessly, your walls clenching around his thick length, the slick sounds of him fucking you filling the room. 

“Come with me, love…” He whispered, voice strained with his own approaching release. 

“Let go, I have got you. Such a good, perfect girl for me.” 

His words tipped you over, your orgasm crashing through you in waves, walls pulsing rhythmically as you shatter silently, body arching into his. His name slipped from your lips softly, more breath than sound, and he answered it the same way. 

He followed moments later, burying himself deep with a muffled groan against your neck, spilling inside of you. He thrust into you gently, drawing out every aftershock, until you were both spent, trembling in each other's arms.

“You were exquisite.” He whispered, kissing your cheek, lingering there as if he could not quite pull himself away. “My love, my everything…”

The words settled over you, warm and steady, carrying only truth, only feeling.

He drew you closer against him, your body fitting into his like it always had, like it always would. Wrapped in his embrace, the world seemed to fall away.

No noise, no expectations, no watching eyes.

Just the quiet rhythm of your breathing, slowly syncing together. The lingering warmth of everything you just shared humming between you. He pressed another soft kiss into your hair this time, more instinct than thought, like he needed the contact as much as you did.

And you let yourself sink into it, into him.

In that quiet aftermath, there was no rush to move, no need to speak. Only the soft, unspoken understanding between you.

You were there. He was there.

And in this moment, in this fragile, perfect moment, nothing else in the world existed beyond the two of you.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

The next morning carried a different kind of energy.

The lobby, which had been all sharp edges and quiet judgment just the day before, felt looser. Conversations were softer, and laughter came easier. It was as if everyone had collectively agreed to let their guard down now that the conference was over.

You spotted Baelor immediately.

He stood at the front desk, finishing up the check-out, voice calm as he spoke with the receptionist, effortless and controlled.

Until he looked at you.

Your steps slowed just slightly as his gaze found yours, and for a moment everything else faded. There was warmth there in his multicoloured eyes. Something softer, so soft that it did not belong in public spaces like this.

You felt it settle low in your chest, blooming into something warm.

He gave you a small nod in greeting. As if he did not spend the early hours of the morning with you tangled in the sheets, whispering your name like it meant everything, making love to you as if it was the last thing he would ever do.

“You look… well rested.” Lyonel's voice broke through your thoughts as you came to stand beside him. It was too light, too knowing.

You did not even look at him. 

“Please do not start.” You begged him.

He laughed. “I am not starting anything.”

“That is what you always say.” You groaned, your eyes drifting back to Baelor despite yourself.

“You seem happier.” Lyonel hummed. 

“I always am.” 

“No, not like this.” He countered, looking at you fully. “And no, before you argue, I do not think it is just a post-conference glow.”

You turned to him, horrified. “Oh my God!”

He grinned. “What? I am observant.”

“You are insufferable!”

“And yet…” He winked, “Always correct.”

You huffed, setting your bag down atop your suitcase, but your attention was already elsewhere.

Back on Baelor. And as if he felt it, he turned.

The smile he gave you was softer, unguarded in a way that made your stomach flip. And this time, he did not hide it.

Patience, his eyes seemed to say.

And something warm, fluttering and impossible, spread through you.

You were so caught in it, you did not notice Duncan at first. Not the way he slowed, not the way he looked at you. Then at Baelor. Then at Lyonel. And back at you again. You missed the exact moment it clicked.

But you did not miss-

“Holy shit!”

Both you and Lyonel turned toward him, startled. It was then you realised why he said that.

“Duncan-” You started, already too late.

“So it is true?” He asked, staring at you. “You and Baelor?!”

Before you could say anything, Lyonel interjected.

“You know what?” He asked, shrugging lightly, “This might actually be for the best.”

You shot him a look, shocked at the betrayal. “Lyonel-!”

But Duncan was not looking at him, he was still looking at you. “You are serious?!” 

You pressed your hands briefly to your face, mortified. 

“Yes.” You finally admitted.

He let out a short laugh, somewhere between disbelief and vindication. “You and him?”

“Careful now…” Lyonel added, entirely unhelpful. “She is very sensitive about this.”

“I hate you.” You grumbled, still hiding behind your hands.

Duncan ignored you both. “How long has this been going on?”

Letting your hands fall to the side, your gaze went towards Baelor, who was still at the reception desk, with his back to you. He was completely unaware of the conversation that was happening.

“For a while now…” You admitted.

“I knew it.” He whispered. “I knew something was happening between you too.”

At Lyonel's snort, he turned sharply to him. “And you were trying to run reconnaissance.”

“Hey now!” Lyonel laughed. “I was helping my friend.”

“And you knew people were talking?” He gasped at you. “What I was asking about you?”

“I did.” You smiled sheepishly.

“And Baelor…” He nodded his head towards him. “Does he know I suspected something?”

“Yeah…” You nodded. “I might have mentioned it to him…”

Duncan dragged a hand down his face. “Good thing he did not fire me.”

“He is not like that!” You defended Baelor immediately.

Duncan put his hands up in surrender. “Alright. Alright.”

“Incoming.” Lyonel said, grinning wildly while nudging you. 

You turned, seeing Baelor walking towards you now, his gaze on you.”

“This is going to be fun.” Lyonel chuckled.

“For who?” You asked, though you knew the answer.

“For me.”

“Of course.” You muttered.

Baelor stood close to you, close enough that you felt it again, that quiet pull between you. His gaze searched yours instinctively, before shifting to the others.

“Ready to leave?” He asked.

“Yes.” You replied.

There was something different, because this time when your eyes met, you did not look away so quickly. You did not have too. You did not have to pretend.

Baelor noticed, something shifting in his expression, subtle but unmistakable.

But before he said anything, Duncan snorted.

Baelor's gaze snapped to him instantly, sharp and assessing. “Is there something amusing, Duncan?”

Duncan froze and you could see the panic rising in his eyes.

“No…” He stammered. “Just… everything makes sense now.”

“Does it?” Baelor arched his brow.

You reached out, brushing his arm lightly in an attempt to calm him down. 

Before anything could escalate, Lyonel stepped in.

“Alright!” He said brightly, clapping his hands together once. “Now that we all know, and no longer need to pretend, can we please stop with the performance?

“What?” You blinked.

He gestured vaguely between you and Baelor. “The distance you are pretending to hold, the restraint you are pretending to hide. It is exhausting and I am tired.”

“You are tired?” You asked in disbelief.

“Deeply.”

“Lyonel-” Baelor's eyes narrowed.

“Oh do not worry.” He cut in quickly. “Both of you were professional, great performances all around. Truly award worthy.”

You were about to snap back when he smiled softly at you.

“I love you.” He said. “You know that. Ride or die.”

Your irritation faltered.

“And I am happy.” He added. “That you are happy. That you found something real.”

The warmth in his voice caught you off guard.

“But I am also thrilled…” He continued, his grin returning, “That I no longer have to pretend I do not see it.”

Heat rose instantly to your cheeks.

“Come on, Dunk!” He said, grabbing Duncan's arm. “Let us see if the taxi arrived, before they start being sentimental.”

And just like that, you and Baelor were left alone. His hand found yours without hesitation this time. Not hiding, no careful distance now.

His fingers laced with yours, squeezing gently.

“It was bound to happen.” He said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“I know.” Sighing, you admitted.

You looked at him then, really looked at him. And whatever had been carefully contained before… was not anymore.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and absentminded, but grounding, familiar.

Yours.

“I meant what I said last night.” He added quietly.

Your breath caught. “So did I.”

Something softened in his gaze at that. This was no longer the controlled version of him, not the one the world saw.

This was your Baelor.

He stepped closer, just enough, pressing his forehead against yours.

“I love you.” He said it again.

And this time, you smiled widely.

“I love you too.”

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[sem-ra]

Professional Boundaries - Part 2 (ModernAU!Baelor Targaryen x Reader)

Masterlist | Part 1

Summary: You thought remote work was dangerous, but turns out shared office space was worse. Proximity is a different battlefield, and today, he can see you, hear you, but not touch you.

This was supposed to be professional.

Word count: 9K

Tags: 18+/MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT, Modern AU, power dynamics, age gap(reader is in her late 20s, or early 30, Baelor in his mid-40s), established relationship, explicit smut, unprotected sex (p in v), vaginal fingering, exhibitionism if you squint, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, corporate lingo, best friend Lyonel, English is my second language, proof read like 2 times 

Please let me know if I’ve missed anything!

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, setting, or story of A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. This work is a fanfiction created for enjoyment and non-commercial purposes only.

Author’s note: Did I sit down after work and actually finish this properly because I was busy the entire previous week with life and could not write as much as I wanted?? Yes I did, and we call that proper adulting hahah I love modern Baelor with all my heart, that I could not stop myself from writing part 2, even though that was not the plan! No self control in this house hahahh 

If you enjoyed the story, please like, comment or reblog :)

P.S. Be on the lookout for part 2 of “In the Shadows of the Red Keep” later this week (finally, I know hahah)! And potentially a modern Maekar one shot that’s been languishing in my drafts, it just needs a bit of a polishing…

You should not have arrived at the office with Lyonel. That was your first mistake. You knew it the second you slid into the passenger seat of his car and shut the door. You knew that this was going to be a complicated day from the start.

Lyonel adjusted the mirrors like he was preparing for a battlefield.

“This is ridiculous.” You muttered, fastening your seatbelt.

“What is?” He asked mildly, pulling away from the curb.

“The dramatics.”

He glanced at you. “You mean the part where I am saving you from walking in with your manager-slash-”

“Finish that sentence and I am getting out of the car.”

He grinned. “I am being a good friend. Optics matter.”

“Optics?” You scoffed. “Since when do you care about optics?”

“Since my best friend decided to enter into a relationship with our manager.”

You smacked him loudly in the arm. “Lower your voice!”

He winced, rolling his eyes. “Who is going to hear us? We are alone in a moving car!”

“You are still loud.”

He laughed freely, as he usually did. “Relax. I told you it is better if we walk in together. Definitely less suspicious than you arriving alone. Or worse… with him.”

Crossing your arms, you turned to look at the moving road, before checking your reflection in the visor mirror. “We were never going to arrive together.”

“Mhm…” He hummed, unconvinced. “Sure.”

You glared at him. “We are professionals, Lyonel.”

“You are terrible liars, that’s what you are.” He corrected you.

The office building came into view, growing larger, and Lyonel turned into the underground entrance of the parking lot.

The company had announced a “trial return”, one mandatory in-office day a week, and your team had been ordered to go in this week as one of the first. The announcement had been drenched in corporate phrasing, with words such as visibility, leadership presence, and team cohesion. All of which translated into one thing: be seen.

Lyonel parked and turned off the car, then looked at you pointedly. “Be honest with me, are you really okay?”

“Of course.” You did not sound that convincing, even to your own ears.

“You sure? Because you checked your reflection in the visor mirror four times now.”

“That is just normal.”

“No. That’s spiraling.”

You exhaled sharply, unbuckling your belt. “I am not spiraling.”

“You are walking into a building where the man you have been-”

“Lyonel!”

He held up his hands. “Fine. You are walking into a building where your very professional superior happens to have very unprofessional… feelings for you.”

You pressed your lips together to stop the reaction that threatened to betray you, not looking at him.

He studied you for a second, softer now, his hand squeezing yours. “Are you sure you can do this?”

You did not answer immediately, because that was the problem. You were not sure. For the past few months, Baelor had not just been your manager.

He had been yours.

The relationship was still new to feel addictive, still unfolding in quiet moments between work calls, dates and early mornings, you and him still learning about one another. You worked from his kitchen island, laptop open while he moved behind you, brushing a hand over your waist as if it were second nature. He knew how you liked your coffee during the day, and you knew how his voice sounded in the morning when he had just woken up, low and rough, his arm heavy and possessive around your waist.

Remote had made this period manageable, easy, and safe. It was easy to simply turn off the camera to compose oneself, easy to hide the stolen kisses. But being in the office was different. There were no controlled camera angles, no safe distance. And there were witnesses. 

You sighed for like the tenth time as Lyonel led you to the elevator, pressing the buttons for the last floor, smoothing the imaginary wrinkles along your collar..

“Can you try and relax a little?” He asked, looking at you from the corner of his eyes.

“I am relaxed.”

“For your information, you adjusted your shirt three times since we parked.”

“It is called being presentable.”

“I am saying it again, it is called spiraling.”

You shot him a look, but your eyes drifted back to the mirrored elevator doors anyway. Your reflection stared back at you, a silk blouse on your frame. It was structured, but soft enough to move when you did. Its color was a deep red, almost wine toned. 

It happened to be Baelor’s favorite colour on you. Not that you had chosen it for that reason, obviously. It just was a good colour on you.

As you smoothed the invisible creases, you noted how the black pencil skirt sat perfectly at your waist, clean lines, and knee-length. Paired with black heeled shoes, you looked elegant without being dramatic. 

“You look fine, your hair has not moved an inch.” Lyonel said, before adding softly: “You are overthinking it.”

“I am not.” You disagreed. You did not want to look fine, you wanted to look unaffected.

“You are going to be fine.” He bumped your shoulder affectionately, while looking at the numbers climbing. 

You could not help but look at your reflection again, when the doors of the elevator opened.

“And stop looking guilty.” Lyonel muttered as you stepped out in tandem. “You are starting to look like someone who left his apartment today at 6am.”

“Keep your fucking voice down.” You hissed, as you passed a row of, thankfully, empty desks.

His eyes widened, a grin spreading across his face. “You did?!”

Heat crept up your neck as you shushed him.

Yes, you had gone to Baelor’s last night, for dinner and to discuss how you would handle your day in the office, the boundaries, the distance and the professionalism required from both of you. The discussion had dissolved within minutes of it starting. It had been impossible to sit close to him at the dining table and talk about restraint when his hand kept drifting to your thigh, when your mouth kept finding his. After dinner you had soon found yourselves sinking into his couch, lips locked in a heavy and passionate kiss, his fingers pressing and prodding your entrance as he brought you to your release twice before sinking in you. You were supposed to go home after, but you did not, unable to find the strength required to separate yourself from him.

Lyonel made a low, knowing sound but mercifully let it go as you settled at a desk near Baelor’s office, close enough for collaboration, far enough to appear coincidental.

“You know, I never thought I would see the day Baelor Targaryen would risk HR.” Lyonel said, chuckling, as he started up his laptop without sitting down.

“He is not risking anything.” You replied too quickly, busying yourself with organising your desk while standing.

Lyonel hummed, unimpressed. “And even if people suspect…” He went on, screen flickering to life. “They're far too professional to say it.”

And that was the fragile safety net, that was the unsettling part, because no one had said anything. But you knew they looked, not in an obvious or crude way, just the awareness. They noticed the way your debates in meetings edged a little too sharp, a little too personal. The way his gaze found you instinctively, and the way it sometimes lingered.

Now the open office held that same awareness, only sharpened by proximity, harder to ignore.

As if summoned by thought, the door to his office opened and Baelor stepped out.

He was wearing your favourite shirt on him, a dark grey tailored to perfection. He looked immaculate, expression composed, authority in every line of his posture. But there was a faint crease between his brows that was not there last night. You noticed it immediately, heart clenching. Was it the stress of hiding? The strain of keeping distance? The effort of pretending nothing had changed between you? Probably all three.

His gaze scanned the room first, noting the next batch of arrivals, before it found yours, lingering half a beat too long, warmth behind his mismatched eyes. Not enough for proof, just confirmation if one knew to look for the signs. 

“Good morning Baelor.” Lyonel said smoothly, far too smoothly for your liking.

“Lyonel. Morning.” His tone was even, neutral, his gaze flickering to Lyonel before he looked at you again.

“Good morning.” He almost smiled softly, when your name escaped his lips.

“Good morning Baelor.” You replied steadily, giving him a small smile back.

You were grateful Lyonel did not comment on the microsecond pause before Baelor tore his eyes away from you, and back to the room.

“Team meeting in 20 minutes, in the main conference room.” He announced to the floor. “Be prepared."

The moment his office door shut, Lyonel leaned toward you.

“Seriously…” He murmured. “The tension between you could power the whole building.”

You elbowed him without looking at him, eyes still fixed on the office door.

But he was not wrong, as you had felt it too, that shift in the room when Baelor was present, the way the air seemed to tighten whenever you spoke to one another. The way your pulse refused to settle.

Oh, this was going to be a problem.

Even with his door closed, you were aware of him, of the distance between you, of the restraint humming beneath your skin. It felt sharper, more deliberate, like both of you were holding a line that was never meant to be drawn in the first place.

You were not just trying not to touch him, you were trying not to react to the fact that you wanted to. Subtlety was something you and Baelor had not been good at when you were alone. Conversations had a way of drifting closer, heated discussions had a way of ending with hands where they should not be. Both of you were incapable of occupying the same space without touching.

It was simply how the two of you existed around one another.

Both of you were fundamentally incapable of occupying the same space without touching. There was always some unconscious reach for the other, a hand at the small of your back, your fingers brushing his arm, shoulders leaning together as though the distance between you was an inconvenience that needed correcting.

And now, surrounded by other people, every instinct you had was screaming to do exactly that. But you could not.

Twenty minutes later, the team was gathered in the main conference room. It had glass walls, frosted halfway up, with a long oak table stretching beneath suspended industrial lights. The city spread wide behind Baelor at the head of the table. The room had minimal decor, clean lines, everything was precise and controlled, like him.

Except today, the control looked tighter than usual. Baelor was sharper with everyone, answers were clipped. His corrections were immediate, he did not waste words, and did not have patience for imprecision.

There was also something unyielding in Baelor’s eyes, a severity that had not been there last night, and it made something twist painfully in your chest. You wanted to smooth it away, wanted to brush your thumb over that crease between his brows. You wanted to drag your fingers through his hair, press your palm against his temple the way you did when he overworked himself. You wanted to make it go away. But, again, you could not, so you had to concentrate on the meeting.

It began cleanly enough, the team touching on metrics, KPIs, and projections, slides flickering in measured rhythm. You sat three chairs down from him, not close enough to raise eyebrows, yet not too far either. Lyonel had very deliberately taken the seat between you, as if he was a physical buffer to your tension.

But then, the moment came, when you pushed against the data. His data. 

You leaned forward slightly. “The retention numbers in Q1 are inflated.” You said calmly. “If we isolate the repeat contracts from legacy clients, the growth is not as strong as it appears.”

The shift was immediate, a few heads turned towards you. Baelor’s eye flickered to you in a calm and controlled manner. 

“They are not inflated.” He replied evenly. “They are contextual.”

“Yes…” You agreed, unflinching. “But presenting them without separating those categories could mislead the board.”

The air thinned. Baelor’s posture was composed and perfectly measured on the surface. But his eyes were anything but. Underneath, they were a raging storm, testing. The same look he had given you across muted video calls when you challenged him just to see how far you could push. The same look that had unraveled into something far less professional once the meeting ended.

“Don’t.” Lyonel murmured only for you, a warning, a reminder that you were in the office, and it made this even more dangerous. But you ignored him, because if you could not touch Baelor, could not close the distance, could not let your hands say what your body had grown used to saying, then this was what you had left. The challenge, the push. And because his gaze on you was enough to drown out everything else. 

Even Lyonel’s muttered “I swear to God” beside you.

“Are you suggesting-” Baelor asked, voice calm but edged. “That I misrepresented data?”

A lesser version of you might have backed down, but you held his stare. “I am simply suggesting clarity would strengthen your argument.”

The team shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

And then, a corner of his mouth twitched, barely there.

“Noted.” He said. “Revise the slide for the board deck. Add the separation.”

The resolution was clean, professional, and the meeting continued on.

But something electric had passed between you, sharp, dangerous, intimate in a way no one else would understand. And when the meeting ended, he did not even look at you.

Nine minutes after you made your way back to your desk, your Teams notification chimed. Your stomach dropped the second his name lit up your screen.

Baelor: Come to my office, now.

The message was brief, direct, the same as it always was. You stared at it a second longer than necessary, as if that might slow the way your pulse had started to race. There was no buffer now, no way to pretend you were in another call, no convenient excuse.

It was just you, and the fact that he wanted you in his office.

You closed your laptop with more composure than you felt, ignoring the way Lyonel’s gaze slid toward you, sharp, perceptive, entirely too aware.

You stood, smoothing your shirt, schooling your expression into something neutral. Measured steps carried you across the floor, but your heartbeat refused to cooperate, thudding hard enough you were certain it showed.

You knocked once.

“Come in.”

His voice was controlled. Far more controlled than you were used to.

Baelor was already standing when you stepped inside, shirt loosened at the neck, sleeves rolled up to show the tension on his forearms. 

His office was quiet, dark wood shelving lined the walls, neat rows of reports and awards behind him. A wide desk positioned deliberately between him and the city skyline, a couch next to it. There were no glass walls, no visibility from the corridor. It was private and dangerous. 

The office smelled like him, making your knees tremble. 

He moved past you, shutting the door with a heavy click. And then you heard it, the unmistakable sound of the lock turning.

“Is that necessary?” You asked, placing your laptop on his desk, your voice barely steady.

He did not answer immediately, instead he walked towards you in measured and deliberate steps.

“If we are going to have this conversation…” He stopped in front of you. “Then yes.”

Instinctively, you pressed yourself at the edge of his desk.

“You think I did not see it?” He murmured, his eyes, one brown and one light blue, roaming your face. “How you looked at me after you challenged me?”

“You know that’s just me being confident.” You whispered back, our gaze flicking between his exposed neck, lips, and eyes.

His gaze held yours, searching, sharp. There was no anger in it, only heat.

“You were provoking, darling.” He said quietly. 

Your lips parted slightly. “I was not-”

“And you knew exactly what you were doing.” His jaw flexed.

The air between you thickened. He stepped closer, close enough that you felt the warmth of him without being touched. Your body reacted instinctively, pulse thudding in your throat.

“You looked at me…” He continued, voice low. “Like you wanted me to break.”

Your composure wavered for half a second. “I was just making a point.”

“You were testing my restraint.”

“So?” You asked, breathless. “It is not the first time I have done that.”

“There’s truth in that…” He closed the remaining distance, his body pressing against yours. His thigh slotted between your legs, his warmth enveloping you. 

“But this is an office, dear.” He continued. “With our entire team on the other side of that door.”

Your eyes flitted to his lips, your tongue darting out to wet yours. “Then unlock the door Baelor…” You whispered. 

The challenge hung between you. But instead of stepping back, his jaw tightened, a second of a decision passing through his eyes. He finally touched you, his hand settling firmly on your waist. Giving you a little bit of room, he turned you slowly so you faced the desk, the movement deliberate, claiming space rather than rushing it. Your palms met the polished surface, cool against heated skin. Your heart thumped loudly against your chest at the implication. A low whimper escaped you as he pressed himself against your back, his hard cock settling between your buttocks, and his hand settling back to your waist. 

You knew this was wrong, so wrong, but you could not stop yourself. And you did not want to stop him.

His other hand came up to your neck, craning your head gently to look at him, his thumb caressing your jaw, his presence consuming your senses.

“If anyone knocks…” He was trying to keep his voice under control. “You compose yourself immediately. Understood?”

You nodded, body tingling with anticipation as his thumb caressed your lower lip.

“Use your words, darling.”

“Yes…” You sighed.

His other hand travelled from your waist to the zipper on the side of your skirt. He swiftly pulled it down and shifted the skirt lower, gaining more access to you. He cupped the heat between your legs, groaning softly. Heat flooded your face, your head falling back on his shoulder as you felt your dampened panties press against you, his fingers pressing hard. 

“Baelor-” You groaned, embarrassed at how wet you already were for him, without him even having touched you.

His hand at your neck tightened in warning.

“Careful…” He pressed a kiss to your neck, his fingers deftly moving your panties to the side. His trembling breath ghosted your neck as his middle finger parted your folds, gathering your slick arousal along the length of it. He hushed you gently as you swallowed a moan, his finger circling your clit in slow, languid strokes that made your thighs tremble. The pressure built with each pass, his touch teasing the sensitive nub, flicking lightly before rubbing in firm circles that sent sparks of pleasure up your spine.

Every sound felt amplified, the rustle of clothes, the shift of breath, the scrape of your nails on his desk.

“My beautiful girl… You just had to push me in public.” Baelor whispered heatedly. “You just had to challenge me.”

“And you respond…” You closed your eyes, concentrating on savoring his fingers on your clit and staying quiet. “And you like it every time I do that.”

A quiet, almost amused exhale brushed against your skin, and he pressed a kiss and licked a hot trail up your neck.

“Yes…” He admitted, adjusting his hand to slide his middle finger deeper, pushing it inside you with a deliberate thrust. The intrusion stretched you just enough to make you gasp, your walls clenching around the single digit as he began to pump it in and out, slow at first, letting your wetness coat him fully.

This was different from all the other times he has fingered you. The tension was higher. There were no screens, cameras, or distance protecting you, just a locked door.

His hand moved from your neck to breast, squeezing it tight. Your head fell forward, slack, your hips bucking against his hand, chasing the friction. A second finger joined the first, and Baelor scissored them inside you, stretching your entrance wider. The wet sounds of his fingers sliding through your slick walls filled the air, obscene and barely muffled, making your cheeks burn hotter. He curled them upward on the next thrust, hooking against that spot deep inside that makes your knees buckle. His thumb found your clit, pressing and rolling it in tandem with the thrusts. You bit your lip hard to stifle the moan building in your throat, your body arching back into him. He groaned as your ass rubbed against his hard cock.

“You will be the end of me, my dear…” 

His eyes darkened further as he felt you tighten around his fingers, your walls fluttering and gripping his fingers like a vice. You were so close, the coil in your belly winding tighter with every plunge of his fingers, deeper and faster, his thumb grinding against your clit while his digits twist and stroke that sensitive inner wall. 

He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear, breath ragged as he whispered. “That's it darling… take it quietly for me.” 

The command pushed you closer, your slick dripping down his hand, coating his wrist.

Suddenly, a muffled laugh passed outside in the hallway. And reality crashed back in all at once. Baelor’s restraint snapped back into place. He stepped away abruptly, withdrawing his fingers from you with a wet pop that made you whimper in frustration. You both stood there like that for a moment, in the silent aftermath.

You turned to look at him, lips parted and chest heaving, trying to steady your breathing. Though his restraint was back, his eyes betrayed him completely. They were dark and heated with the remnants of what had just happened.

Without a word, he stepped closer. He helped you adjust your clothes, smoothing the worst of the wrinkles with careful hands. You stood still while he did that, steadying yourself with one hand on the edge of the desk. His hand lingered briefly on your waist, giving it a squeeze before he stepped back. After he was sure you were presentable, he focused on himself, rebuttoning his shirt where it had come undone and running a hand through his hair to tame the worst of it. 

Soon there was almost nothing left to betray what had just happened here. Except the faint warmth still lingering between you.

“Next time…” He said, executive composure back in place. “Do not challenge me like that in front of everyone.”

Your legs felt unsteady as you stood straighter, your walls throbbing emptily from your denied release.

“And you…” You said softly, grabbing your laptop. “You will have to consider whether you actually want me to stop.”

Before he could answer, you leaned and pressed your lips to his cheek. You then crossed the room, unlocking the door and walking out.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

Another team meeting followed a couple hours later and it barely ended without disaster.

You spoke only when necessary, keeping your tone measured. You did not look at him unless you had to, and even then, it was only brief and professional. But every time you shifted in your chair, every time you leaned forward to make a point, you felt it, the way his attention tightened, snapping back to you like a wire pulled too taut. He did not show it, but you could feel the strain in him anyway.

A new disruption arrived just past noon. The elevator doors opened, and the energy across the floor shifted almost instantly.

Maekar Targaryen arrived.

The company’s chief legal counsel, the family’s enforcer, the man who had dragged them through hostile acquisitions, regulatory investigations, and more than one lawsuit that should have buried them. If Baelor ran strategy, Maekar protected the empire.

And the empire belonged to the Targaryens.

Before you saw him only in press photos, at galas and board announcements. Now you had seen the occasional candid picture in Baelor’s home, where his trademark scowl was replaced by a softer look, sometimes even a smirk. But in person he was sharper, taller than you expected, wearing a tailored charcoal suit that probably cost more than your monthly rent. He moved like the building answered to him, which, technically, it did.

Conversations dimmed as he stepped onto the floor, people straightened instinctively.

“Baelor!” He called, ignoring everyone else.

Baelor’s office door opened almost immediately.

“Brother.” Baelor greeted, smiling, stepping forward and clasping his sibling’s shoulder in a brief, firm gesture.

Maekar glanced around the floor. “Back in the fucking office, huh?”

Before Baelor could respond, Maekar’s attention shifted and landed on you. You did not realise you were staring until that exact second, with Duncan and Lyonel just behind you, them also pretending not to be watching. Maekar was not looking at you in a crude way, but openly curious. The way one studies a variable they did not account for.

Beside him, Baelor’s posture shifted subtly. His back was a little straighter and he moved a fraction closer.

“This the new associate?” Maekar asked, looking at his brother briefly before returning to you.

“Not new anymore.” Baelor replied evenly, introducing you. “She also leads our strategy.”

“I’ve heard.” Maekar said, his eyes on you, calculating. “Impressive work.”

“Thank you.” You answered smoothly, aware of Lyonel practically vibrating with interest behind you.

Maekar studied you for a moment, then his blond brows lifted slightly as he glanced at his brother.

“Fucking hell.” He murmured under his breath.

“Office. Now.” Baelor said sharply.

Maekar gave a short laugh but followed him in without argument.

Inside, he dropped onto the low couch with a groan, stretching out like he owned the room, silent. Baelor knew that silence. He’d watched it level men twice his size across negotiation tables, in courtrooms, in boardrooms moments before Maekar dismantled them piece by piece. He remained standing behind his desk, shoulders squared, expression severe.

“So…” Maekar began conversationally. “That explains a few fucking things.”

Baelor’s eyes narrowed, the faint crease between his brows deepening. “Why are you here, Maekar? You or your team are not scheduled to be in the office today.”

His brother didn’t miss a beat. “You have been… different for the past three months.”

Baelor’s gaze lifted, unimpressed. “Have I now?”

“Yes…” Maekar leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “For months, you’ve been… off. Shorter fuse, more controlled than usual… which, for you, is saying something. I assumed it was pressure.”

“It is pressure.”

He huffed a laugh. “Yeah… Not the kind I fucking thought.”

Baelor’s mismatched eyes hardened slightly. “Say what you’re implying.”

Maekar studied him more carefully now. “At first I thought it was stress. Then I thought maybe you were working some angle and just not looping me in yet.” He exhaled through his nose. “Did not cross my mind it would be this. With her.”

Baelor’s voice dropped a degree. “I advise you to choose your next words carefully Maekar.”

“Fuck me.” Maekar's mouth curved. “So there is something.”

Baelor exhaled slowly, controlled, unable to hide it from his beloved brother. “There… has been something.”

“For how long?”

“Long enough.”

Maekar barked a quiet laugh and leaned back into the couch. “I have never seen you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Unsettled.” He said. “Like you are on the verge of losing control.”

That got a reaction out of Baelor, subtle, but there, a tightening in the jaw.

“This has never happened to you.” His younger brother continued, gesturing vaguely around the office. “I have seen you in real crises. Clients threatening to pull hundreds of millions, deals collapsing at the last second. You do not blink, you always stay calm!”

“And?” 

“I have never seen you this distracted Baelor!” 

Blue eyes held his gaze, the word lingered in the silence between them. Baelor moved around his desk with deliberate calm and sat down, folding his hands as if that settled the matter. “You are exaggerating.”

“Am I?” Maekar countered easily. “For fuck’s sake, the second I looked at her, you moved.”

“I did not.”

“You did!” He smirked. “Subtle, but you moved half a step closer. Like you were anticipating something.”

Baelor’s expression did not change, he said nothing. And that silence was louder than denial.

“You know what the funniest part is?” Maekar continued, standing and stretching. “I walked onto the floor not knowing anything. And within thirty seconds I knew something was there. And not because of her.”

He pointed squarely at him. “Because of you.”

Baelor did not react, but he did not deny it either.

Maekar watched him for a moment, then huffed a breath. “And why the fuck did you think bringing this into the building wouldn’t fucking affect you?”

“It does not.” Baelor replied evenly, adjusting his collar. He ignored the way his mind betrayed him, reminding him of the way you felt around his fingers. How both of you nearly unravelled. “It is contained.”

“Contained?!” His brother scoffed loudly. “You cannot stand to be in the same space without looking like you are calculating how fast you can clear it.”

That earned him a glare. But he was not wrong. At home, Baelor controlled everything, the pace, the distance between you, when to close it, when to let it burn. There were no interruptions, no witnesses but the four walls of your homes. Here, he heard your voice across the floor, watched other people lean in when you spoke, and saw you smile at someone else.

And he could do nothing about it.

Maekar’s expression shifted, the mockery fading into something more perceptive. “You are taking this worse than you thought.”

“I am fine.”

“Liar. You are possessive.” Maekar corrected. “And you hate not acting on it.”

Baelor sighed. “It is not about that.”

“No?” Maekar stood and stepped closer to the desk. “Then what is it about?”

It was the fact that he had meant what he told you from the very beginning. He did not do things halfway. Not work, not loyalty, and certainly not desire. So when he had told you he wanted you, he had meant it with the same certainty he applied to everything else in his life. What he had not expected was how quickly this would grow into something else, something heavier. What had started as tension and mutual liking had deepened before he fully realised it was happening, until your presence became something constant. And something necessary.

Now the thought of you not being close to him, especially when you were within reach, felt wrong in a way he had not anticipated. And Baelor Targaryen did not like discovering things he had failed to anticipate.

Maekar watched his expression carefully before exhaling and rubbing a hand down his face. “You should have told me. I am your brother.”

“And If this goes sideways.” Maekar added more practically. “I am the one who gets to clean up the mess.”

Baelor held his gaze, offense flashing in his multi-coloured eyes. The implication sat wrong with him immediately. You would not do that to him, and he would never do that to you.

“It will not go sideways.” He said with certainty, because Baelor knew himself, and now he knew you too.

Maekar's expression was unreadable as he weighed the certainty in Baelor’s voice. After a moment, he gave a short, decisive nod. “Right. We’re leaving.”

“For what?” Baelor’s eyes furrowed.

“For a drink.”

“Maekar, it is noon.” He replied exasperated.

“Exactly.” Maekar said, fixing his suit. “You need air. And I need to determine whether you are about to implode or just experiencing feelings like a normal human being.”

“I am not imploding.”

“Well, you are so fucking close that I am not gambling on it.”

Baelor hesitated only a second before reaching for his own jacket. As they stepped back onto the floor, his gaze found you immediately. You were seated at your desk, composed, focused on your screen, a faint smile curved your lips at something Lyonel said. 

Coming back into the office had been meant to prove something, that he could manage this, manage his thoughts and needs for you, compartmentalize whatever existed between you two.

Instead, it was proving the opposite.

Maekar smirked faintly, shaking his head. He reached for Baelor’s shoulder and both headed towards the elevators.

“Drinks and lunch.” He said as they entered it, the elevator doors closing. “You are buying. And you are explaining how the most controlled man I know let himself get this far gone.”

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

The afternoon dragged, not slowly but painfully. Time had slowed down to a crawl, thickened into something heavy and uncooperative, every minute stretching until it felt almost deliberate, almost hostile. 

Every email took twice as long to read. Numbers blurred together, every data impossible to concentrate on. You typed the same sentence three times before deleting it again, irritation simmering beneath your skin.

Across the floor, Baelor had not left his office since returning from lunch with Maekar. Not even  once. The door had opened when he came back, closed behind him, and that had been it.

You could feel it. His restraint, his discipline, his deliberate choice not to step out, not to walk past your desk, not to invent some thin excuse to call you in, not to look.

It should have relieved you, but instead, it did the opposite. There was something intoxicating about it, about knowing that the same tension clawing under your skin was likely coiled just as tight in him. The thought that you could affect him like that, especially that much, sent another sharp spike of heat through you.

A chair rolled closer. Lyonel stopped beside your desk, coffee cup in hand, glancing at your screen.

“You have opened that spreadsheet three times now.” 

“I am reviewing it.”

“Oh please!” He scoffed immediately. “You are just staring at it.”

You did not answer, pretending to work, scrolling through the file.

Lyonel leaned back slightly in his chair, studying you with quiet amusement.

“You know…” He said thoughtfully. “For someone who claimed she would be fine, you look about one message away from spontaneous combustion.”

You shot him a look, but that was all the confirmation he needed.

His grin widened. “He has not messaged you?”

“No…” You sighed.

“That’s worse for you isn’t it?”

You hated that he was right. The entire day felt like being suspended midair. Every time someone walked into Baelor’s office you had to physically stop yourself from looking up, every time the door opened your heart kicked hard against your ribs.

Eventually Lyonel pushed himself up from his chair.

“Come on.” He murmured. “I just have to show you the view from the terrace.”

You frowned at his enthusiasm but followed him anyway, as the look on his face suggested this was not about showing you the view. He had to tell you something.

The terrace was quiet when you stepped outside, afternoon light spilled across the concrete, the air crisp and cool against your skin. For a moment neither of you spoke.

Then Lyonel lowered his voice. “Duncan asked me something earlier.”

Your stomach tightened and heat rushed to your head. “What?”

“After the morning meeting.” Lyonel glanced at you. “He asked if you and Baelor have something going on.”

“Fucking hell…” You covered your face with your hands, voice muffled. “He did not.”

“He did.”

You dared to look at him between your fingers. “What did you say?”

“I laughed.” Lyonel replied calmly. “Told him he watches too many K-dramas. Said if you were sleeping with Baelor you would at least negotiate us a bigger coffee budget.”

“That is not funny.”

“It worked for now.” He shrugged. “He backed off.”

You exhaled slowly, lowering your hands. The tension still coiled tight in your chest. “What else did he say?”

“Nothing.” He said too quickly.

“Lyonel.”

“Alright, alright.” He scratched his beard with mild irritation. “He said the eye contact during the meetings was intense.”

You opened your mouth to argue.

“He also said-” Lyonel continued, interrupting and watching you carefully. “That Baelor looked like a man trying very hard not to cross the room.”

The words landed harder than they should have, panic seeping into your bones.

“Relax.” He said quickly, squeezing both your shoulders, grounding you. “I denied everything. Told him when two competent people challenge each other in meetings it does not mean they are sleeping together. If that were the case the entire company would be in chaos.”

He paused, then added more quietly: “But if Duncan noticed… people are definitely starting to get suspicious.”

Your voice dropped almost to a whisper. “We were careful.” 

Your mind betrayed you immediately, flashing back to the office earlier, Baelor behind you, his hand between your thighs, the way you had barely kept quiet.

Lyonel gave you a long look.

“You were careful remotely.” He corrected gently. “In here? You are trying, but both of you are fraying at the seams.”

You swallowed.

“Thank you for telling me.”

“Of course.” Lyonel’s tone softened, smiling as he squeezed your shoulders again before letting his hands fall to the side. “You know I always got your back.”

You both stood there for another moment, the quiet stretching between you.

“Just so you know… He is taking it worse than you are.”

Your head snapped towards him. “What?”

“I have known the man for years,” Lyonel said. “He is controlled to a fault. Today?” He huffed a quiet laugh. “Oh, he’s definitely not operating at full capacity.”

You did not respond, because you already knew, you already noticed.

You and Lyonel returned inside after a few minutes of silence, walking back toward your desks as if nothing had changed.

By the time 5pm rolled around, the office began to empty. People started packing up their laptops, the murmur of end-of-day conversations rolling across the floor. Goodbyes, complaints about traffic, someone promising drinks somewhere else.

The energy that you had felt all day did not leave with them. On the contrary, the quieter and emptier the office became, the more the tension felt in your chest.

Lyonel lingered by your desk, already packed.

“You coming?” He asked casually. But the look on his eyes showed that he already knew your answer.

“I will leave in a bit.” You said, and looked up at him smiling. “I need to finish something.”

“Sure. You need to finish… something.” He snorted and nodded. He then squeezed your shoulder. “Do not do anything I would not do.”

You narrowed your eyes at his back, as he walked away. “That eliminates very little!”

Lyonel looked back at you, winked and stuck his tongue out before disappearing inside the elevator.

The office grew quieter, emptier, a handful of people left finishing up their tasks. You waited a few minutes, long enough that it would not look suspicious. You pretended to send emails that you did not care about, your pulse refusing to slow down. 

The entire day had been a test of endurance. It felt like walking through fire, not being allowed to move to a safe haven.

Finally you stood, making your way to his office. You knocked once before pushing the door open.

Baelor looked up immediately, watching you as you stepped inside and closed the door behind you. 

“I just wanted to confirm some projections with you before I go.” You explained, entirely too formal.

His brow lifted high, and he leaned in his chair, head tilting to the side. He watched you with quiet intensity.

“Hmm…” He murmured. “Is that so…?” Your name rolled off his tongue, dangerously intimate.

“Yes.” You swallowed, the lie thin and obvious.

Baelor stood, coming around his desk and stopping a few steps away from you. Close enough that you felt the heat radiating from him, but still not close enough to touch.

“You could have sent an email.”

“You know me.” You shrugged lightly, offering him a smile. “I prefer clarity."

That almost-smile appeared on his mouth. The silence between you was heavy, no team, no witnesses around you anymore. Just the two of you, in his office, separated from the rest of the world.

“You’ve been avoiding me all day, Baelor.” You said quietly.

“I’ve been maintaining appearances." He whispered back, his multicoloured eyes roaming your face. “Like we were supposed to from the start.”

You stepped closer. Your fingers drifted to the front of his shirt, toying with one of the buttons. As if the gesture was purely harmless. 

“Is that what you are calling it?”

He sighed, and brushed a strand of hair away from your face gently, the touch lingering. “You have no idea what today required of me, dearest.”

Your eyes lifted to his.

“And what makes you think it was just you?”

For a moment something raw flickered across his expression, and then his hand slid to your lower back and pulled you flush against him.

Your breath caught, your hands resting on his chest. After an entire day of distance, the sudden closeness felt almost overwhelming, the familiar way your bodies aligned without thinking.

“You think this was easy?” He murmured. “Watcing you across the floor, listening to you talking to other people, you challenging me brazenly, not being able to-”

He stopped himself, his eyes on you, burning.

“Not being able to do what Baelor?”

His hand flexed against your lower back.

“This.”

And the distance finally disappeared. The kiss was not gentle, it was deep, passionate, carrying the weight of the entire day. 

One of his hands cradled the back of your head, tilting your head. The kiss deepened, hungry in a way that made your head spin. It had been less than ten hours since your last kiss, but how much you had missed this! The way he tasted, the way his hand slid instinctively along your back as if he was waiting all day to do exactly that. You pushed him back until he was pressed against the hedge of his desk.

“This is a bad idea…” You breathed against his lips, but your fingers tightened in his shirt, heat spreading across your lower stomach. “This is not us being careful…”

He hummed in agreement, but did not slow down at all.

“People are noticing…”

At that he parted from your lips, eyes lidded, forehead pressed against you. 

“And you still came in here…” His gaze darkened.

“Yes…”

He chuckled, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your jaw. “Such a good girl.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your belly as his breath fanned hot against your skin. Then, in one smooth movement he turned you, guiding you back until the desk pressed against your hips. His fingers deftly found the zipper to your skirt, opening it. Both of your hands pushed it down. You let it fall between your legs and Baelor moaned at the sight of garters on your thighs, the thin straps fastening just above them, holding your stockings in place.

He moved to lift you onto the desk as if the decision had already been made hours ago, amplified by what he just saw. He stepped between your open legs, hands sliding down to your thighs, gripping them firmly. Your legs crossed behind him, pulling him closer, the hard ridge of his erection pressing insistently against you through the fabric of his pants.

You whimpered, the sound muffling as he captured your lips again. His tongue brushed against yours in a heated dance, sucking lightly before plunging deeper. You felt your walls clench at nothing, as he mimicked with his tongue what you both craved. Your nipples hardened against your bra, aching as you arched into him, desperate for more.

His fingers swiftly worked the buttons of your blouse open, exposing your neck first and then the lace of your bra. His lips trailed lower, kisses trailing down your neck. He gently sucked at the pulse point on your neck, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp softly. 

“My confident girl, so responsive…” He murmured approvingly, his hand cupping one of your breasts, squeezing it. “Look at you now, melting for me. That is exactly what I adore about you.”

The words wrapped around you like velvet. He dipped his head, mouth closing over the swell of your breast, before flicking his tongue against the fabric covered nipple, until it peaked hard. With his hand on your other breast, he pinched your nipple softly. You arched into him, your hand going to his hair, holding him in place, the heat between your legs growing insistent.

“Baelor…” You whispered, half a plea. He abandoned your breast, moving to claim your mouth again as his fingers traced the line of your lace panties, before brushing against the damp crotch. Both of you groaned at the contact, and he pressed his fingers, rubbing slow circles over your clit through the thin barrier.

“Already so wet for me…” He praised, his hand slipping beneath the fabric. Two fingers parted your lips, sliding through your slick before circling your entrance teasingly. Your breath hitched as he pushed one finger inside, followed by a second immediately after, stretching you with a deliberate curl that hit that sweet spot within. He pumped them slowly at first, building the pressure just the way you liked it, his thumb pressing firmly on your clit, following his movements. The wet sounds of his fingers moving in and out filled the office, obscene against the hum and small chatter outside. You moaned against his lips, barely able to stifle it. 

“You are taking my fingers so well.” He breathed, his mouth returning to your neck, nipping and soothing with kisses. “You are dripping down my hand love. Imagine if someone heard you like this, saw you like this.”

Your walls clenched around his fingers at that, pleasure coiling tighter, and he groaned. Your hips bucked involuntarily, chasing your release, and he rewarded you with a deeper plunge of his fingers crooking them to stroke that deep spot over and over.

“Please… Baelor…” You gasped, voice breaking as your orgasm was building fast. Your thighs were trembling as you gripped his arm for support.

“Come for me darling.” He hummed. “Quietly now, show me how good you are.” 

The command tipped you over the edge, and you buried your face in the crook of his neck to muffle your cry. Your walls spasmed hard around his fingers, your body shaking in his hold as your release crashed like a wave.

Baelor worked you through it, slowing his movements until you were limp against him. He withdrew his fingers with a slick pop. A blush crept up your neck as he brought his fingers to his lips, sucking them cleaned, eyes locked on yours with a possessive heat.

“You always taste so sweet.” He said, his voice rough. “But let’s see how careful we can really be.”

With a gentle push, he spun you around, his hand guiding your body to bend over the desk, your hands baking on the polished surface.

Baelor pressed his body along yours, his chest heaving against your back. His cock nestled firmly between your buttocks, separated by the thin layer of your panties. He rocked once, twice, letting you feel him.

“Do you feel what you do to me?” He whispered, his mouth close to your ear. “What you have done to me the whole day?”

With deliberate slowness, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, and dragged them down, the cool air kissing your heated skin. You stepped out of them swiftly, spreading your legs wider instinctively. Baelor hummed in approval, dragging your wetness and release between your slit. You pushed back against his hand, wanting more, and he chuckled, the sound low and affectionate.

The soft thud of his belt unbuckling hit your ears, followed by the rasp of his zipper. His pants shuffled down just low enough, and he pulled his hard cock free, the head already leaking pre-cum. He rubbed the blunt tip up and down your lower lips, coating himself, teasing your entrance with shallow dips, making you whine. 

“Tell me, darling.” He coaxed, his other hand firm on your hip. “Have you ever thought about being fucked like this?”

“So many times…” You whispered, feeling it would be pointless to lie to him. So many times, before and after you had begun your relationship.

He groaned at your answer. “So have I.”

Aligning himself, the head of his cock breached your entrance and he pushed in with a slow, controlled thrust. You mewled at the delicious burn of you stretching around him as he sunk deeper, until he was fully buried to the hilt. Your inner walls fluttered, gripping him tightly, and you both moaned at the fullness. 

After a moment of letting you adjust, Baelor began to move, pulling out almost to the tip before sliding back in. Each thrust dragged his cock along your sensitive walls, the ridge of him catching that spot that made stars burst behind your closed eyes. He covered your body with his, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you steady, his lips to your ear. His other braced on his desk. Your head rested against his shoulder.

“You are so greedy, taking me so deep…”

Pleasure coils within you with every plunge, his pace building gradually, your hips meeting his erratically. The desk creaked under the force of his thrusts, the items on it shifting slightly as his hips met yours in rhythmic slaps. He reached down between your legs, fingers finding your clit, swollen and slick. He began to rub in tight, firm circles, the added stimulation making you clench hard around him, your low moans spilling out unchecked. His thrusts deepened, hips snapping forward to bury himself fully in you each time. You feel every ridge, every pulse as he fucked you. 

“My beautiful girl…” He whispered, kissing and nipping at your neck, groaning. “Challenging me all the time, and yet earning this reward. You are everything…”

The coil within you snapped without warning, your release ripping through you, thundering in your ears. Your walls convulsed around his cock as you cried out his name, body trembling between him and the desk. Your release soaked his length, and Baelor groaned deeply, pace faltering for a second before he redoubled his efforts, whispering praises against your shoulder. After a few more deep thrusts, he moaned your name as he reached his peak, slamming deep one final time. His cock pulsed, his cum painting your walls deep. He continued to grind against you, prolonging the bliss.

He held you through the aftershocks, his body a warm shield over yours. Carefully, he eased out of you, a soft groan escaping your throat, a trickle of his own release leaking down your thigh, but he did not let you go. Turning you in his arms, he cupped your face, thumbs brushing gently against your cheeks. His mismatched eyes searched yours, dark and affectionate.

“You were magnificent darling.” He whispered. “Absolutely flawless, taking me like that. Giving me everything.”

The praise landed low and warm, settling deep within you, his voice still rough around the edges in the way you loved. Baelor leaned in and pressed his lips against yours, moving lazily against your mouth. It was nothing like the kisses that he had given you today, now there was only softness. Tongues brushing in gentle and lazy swirls, the kind of kiss that lingered because neither of you felt like pulling away.

Eventually you did, although reluctantly. 

As always, Baelor helped you put yourself back together. There was a practised ease to it now, smoothing creases, quietly fixing what the two of you had so thoroughly done. His fingers were careful and almost reverent as he brushed the wrinkles and adjusted the collar of your blouse. 

You leaned back against the desk, breathing slowly, basking in the afterglow, watching him adjust his shirt with an almost calm demeanour. His composure was already returning, every movement precise and unhurried, as if the last half hour had not happened.

“This…” You sighed, tilting your head slightly. “This was very dangerous.” 

Baelor’s mouth curved faintly. He walked back to you, reaching up, smoothing a stray strand of hair back into place, fingers lingering.

“You were the one that walked into my office.” He replied calmly.

“And you could have not kissed me.” You said, nuzzling against the palm of his hand. “You could have sent me back out.”

His gaze flicked to yours, soft and affectionate.

“You know I would never do that.”

The office fell still for a moment, the fading light outside casting long shadows across the floor. On the other side of the door, the floor was empty now, only the distant hum of the air conditioning breaking the silence. 

“If Duncan notices again…” You said, lowering your voice. “We are going to have a problem.”

Baelor leaned back to look at you. “He will not say anything.”

“And if someone else does?”

A quiet beat passed. 

“We will deal with it.” He said simply.

The calm certainty in his voice should have reassured you, but instead it made your stomach flip in a way that felt suspiciously like anticipation instead of dread.

“We should get going…” You said, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“Yes.” Baelor agreed, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. “Let’s grab dinner.”

He glanced at you, eyes warm with amusement. “I suddenly feel very hungry.”

You laughed softly, before pressing another kiss to his lips. “I wonder why.”

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[sem-ra]

Professional Boundaries (ModernAU!Baelor Targaryen x Reader)

Masterlist | Part 2

Summary: You work remotely for a high-performing consultancy firm, and you absolutely do not have a crush on your infuriatingly charming manager. Baelor Targaryen does not flirt with employees. But he does welcome challenges. And unfortunately, you keep giving him one.

Corporate, Teams messages, even late at night, and the kind of eye contact that should come with its own HR disclaimer.

Word count: 12K (damn, i really went overboard with this haha)

Tags: 18+/MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT, Modern AU, power dynamics, age gap(reader is in her late 20s, or early 30, Baelor in his mid-40s)  explicit smut, masturbation (f), unprotected sex (p in v), oral sex (m and f receiving), vaginal fingering, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, corporate lingo, flirting through Teams chat, best friend Lyonel, English is my second language

Please let me know if I’ve missed anything!

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, setting, or story of A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. This work is a fanfiction created for enjoyment and non-commercial purposes only.

Author’s note: Did anyone ask for this? Nope, but I just had to write it hahaha Did I go overboard? Absolutely! This started out as a drabble while I was outlining and drafting the next chapters of my other two stories, after I saw this pic of Bertie Carvel. And then whenever I tried to write the second chapters for ‘The Lady of Summerhall’ and ‘In the Shadows of the Red Keep’, my mind kept going to this, because in this house we cope with modern AUs and smut! And apologies for the corporate lingo in some places!

So, yeah, here you have it! I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I did writing it :)

From a young age, you had always been exceptionally good at managing your crushes.

Not avoiding them, that was never realistic, but containing them. Filing them neatly into the corners of your mind where they could not and would not interfere with productivity, judgement or even dignity. You believed that such feelings could be controlled. And you were always successful in that endeavour.

Until the manager at your new job turned out to be the infuriatingly charming Baelor Targaryen.

Now, let's be clear, you did not develop a crush on him. What you felt for him was professional admiration, entirely reasonable and appropriate. Baelor was composed, precise and unnervingly competent at his job, and anyone would respect that. So what if your stomach performed an inconvenient somersault every time he said your name during a meeting? That was a perfectly normal reaction, a biological response to authority and competence. It had absolutely nothing to do with the measured cadence of his speech, or the confidence in his voice, or the way his mouth sometimes curved when you challenged him, or the fact that he was a very, very handsome man, objectively speaking.

Truly, none of this would have been an issue if Lyonel Baratheon had not insisted you apply for the job in the first place.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

It had been a Sunday, both of you enjoying the remnants of your brunch, and you were complaining to Lyonel for what felt like the hundredth time about your current job. 

“I think you are just bored.” Lyonel said, stirring his coffee with an exaggerated calm.

“I am not bored.” You retorted, sipping your own coffee.

“Oh please!” He said. “You reorganised your team’s work process for fun.”

“Not for fun! It was inefficient.” But he didn’t hear you, continuing on.

“You built a performance tracker no one asked for.”

“Well, they use it now.”

“You are just proving my point.” He laughed. “You have been complaining about this position for months now. I think you just need a change of pace.”

At that, he opened his phone and after finding what he was looking for, he slid it across the table to you. 

“You know I am not looking for a new job.” You said.

“Just read it!” He said, exasperated. “I think that it’s just what you need! And you get to work with yours truly.”

You took the phone, ignoring how he wiggled his brows, and skimmed through the job listing: Senior Strategy Associate in a competitive consultancy, high pressure, high visibility, remote work.

“Who would I report to?”

Lyonel hesitated, just slightly. “Baelor.”

You narrowed your eyes immediately, leaning on the table. “As in Targaryen?”

“As in Targaryen.”

Baelor Targaryen was a legend in his field. Not in the loud, self-promotional way some senior executives tried to be. He did not post LinkedIn essays about leadership philosophies or speak in rehearsed soundbites. He just… won. Campaign pivots, that other firms had declared unrecoverable? He turned them around in a quarter. Clients that were impossible? He retained them. He had built a reputation on precision, strategic recalibrations so clean they felt surgical. People did not describe him as creative, they described him as dangerous.

“I think you’d like him.” Lyonel said casually.

“If I apply, I will apply for the job Lyonel. Not to date him.” 

He rolls his eyes. “That is not what I meant.”

“That is exactly what you meant.”

Lyonel grins, ignoring her remark. “Do you want to know more about him?”

“Fine.” You folded your arms, leaning on the chair. “What is he like?”

“Composed.” Lyonel mused, scratching his beard in thought. “Irritatingly controlled. Intense. He listens more than he talks, but he likes to challenge people. Push them to their maximum potential.”

He took a large sip of his coffee. “He is very much a ‘I have a five-year strategic vision with a colour coded spreadsheet’.”

“That just sounds like he is very competent.” You remarked. “He is, after all, one of the best in his field.” 

“Understatement of the year.” He smiled wide. “He also hates mediocrity. And he detests yes-men.” 

Your brow lifted. “So that made you think of me?”

“Immediately.”

You kicked him under the table, ignoring his yelp.

“Look…” He added, rubbing his hurt leg. “You need someone who pushes back. And he needs someone who won’t fold. It’s like the perfect alignment.”

You sighed, changing the topic before he could push you more. But later that night, you applied. Mostly because you refused to let Lyonel be right about you being bored. And partly because you wanted something new.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

The first couple of weeks at your new job were spent completing the onboarding and training courses. Your first one-on-one meeting with Baelor was scheduled for a Thursday morning, for thirty minutes, the calendar invite simply reading ’Introductory alignment’. It was perfectly timed with when you completed the onboarding process, and just before the team meeting in the afternoon.

You joined the meeting a minute earlier, wanting to make a good first impression. And also to make sure that the background was blurred, and that you looked good on camera.

Baelor joined exactly at 9am sharp. You told yourself you only noticed out of habit, assessing punctuality, presentation, authority, which was normal, professional.

The crisp grey shirt fit him too well to ignore, structured and intentional, the kind of detail that suggested control rather than vanity. His hair was styled with the kind of precision that looked effortless, and his beard, neatly trimmed, threaded faintly with grey, only made him more handsome in a way that felt unfairly deliberate.

You mind catalogued all of it automatically. You reasoned with yourself that it was all because it was your first impression of him, an assessment of his leadership presence. That was all.

But then, he looked directly into the camera. The heterochromia was subtle at first, very easy to miss unless the light caught it the right way. But when it did, the difference became unmistakable, one shade deeper than the other. Not dramatic enough to feel mystic or theatrical, just enough to feel arresting. You felt your attention linger a second too long on them.

It was just nerves, you told yourself. Anyone would be a little hyperaware of a new manager, or new expectations, or new dynamics.

It had nothing to do with the way he held himself, or the steadiness of his gaze, or the small smile he gave you, or the quiet confidence in the simple act of saying: “Good morning.”

Yeah, nothing at all.

“Hello.” You smiled back at him, ignoring how clammy your hands felt.

“Welcome to the team.” He said, as if you had always been expected. “I am happy that you decided to join us. We are very much looking forward to your perspective.” 

You ignored the way your stomach involuntarily flipped the more you listened to his voice. It was just nerves, you told yourself again.

“Happy to be here.” You said to him instead.

He spent the first few minutes talking about the company, the team he led and that you would be a part of, before turning the conversation back to you.

“I would like to understand your long-term objectives.” He said, looking at his notes before returning to look at you through the camera lens. “Where do you see your skill set expanding and where do you expect friction?”

You blinked. “Friction?”

“I believe that if you are not encountering resistance…” He explained calmly. “You are not operating at your edge.”

You felt yourself lean forward slightly. “I do not mind going against the resistance if I believe, and I know, that my position is correct.”

“I assumed you wouldn’t.” There was a small pause, and the faintest shift in his expression. Approval perhaps? Or at least, you hoped it was that.

He continued by asking you about your previous projects, challenging a few of your conclusions here and there. He was neither aggressive or dismissive in his line of questioning, everything felt deliberate. When you explained why you had pushed back against a former team lead at your old job on a campaign positioning, Baelor listened without interrupting.

“And did you win?” He asked, his voice melodic, with an almost teasing lilt.

“I wasn’t trying to win.” You replied.

“That wasn’t my question.”

You held his gaze through the camera, feeling goosebumps trailing from your neck to your spine.

“Yes.” You answered.

The silence that came over you was measured, not awkward at all.

“Good.” He finally said, making a note of something. “You will not find much tolerance for mediocrity here.” 

“I do not do mediocre work.” You replied evenly, not feeling the need to diplomatically dress it as something else.

There was another pause, and his eyes found yours again.

“Good.” He repeated, quieter this time.

The call ended after precisely thirty minutes, and you sat there a moment longer than necessary. There had been nothing inappropriate, flirtatious or personal. It was just a manager meeting and assessing a new hire. And yet, the way he had said ’Good’ the second time, something lingered.

Before you could give it some more thought, your Teams chat pinged with a new message.

Lyonel: So?

You stared at the message before replying back.

You: He seems competent at his job Lyonel: That’s not what I meant

You ignored him.

Your first proper team meeting began at exactly 1:00 pm later that day. Baelor appeared on the screen without much fanfare, sharply on time again with the same crisp grey shirt, dark hair perfectly in place.

“Good afternoon all.” He said, voice even, measured. “Before we begin, I’d like to introduce our new team member.”

Your name sounded different in his voice, a faint blush covering your cheeks.

“She joins with a competitive strategy background. I expect she will challenge us in useful ways.”

There was that word, challenge. And he didn’t look at his notes when he said it. He looked directly into the camera, at you. There was something… assessing in his gaze. You straightened instinctively, smiling.

“Welcome!” A few voices chimed in and you recognised Lyonel’s voice easily, your eyes naturally searching for him in the grid.

The meeting moved on after, the team going through updates efficiently. When there was silence, it was always intentional, when someone rambled or went off course, Baelor redirected them with surgical politeness.

During the entire meeting, you remained aware of him. You could not deny it, you thought, he was a handsome man. Not in the effortless or careless way of someone who relied on it. His attractiveness and charm were precise, composed posture and controlled expressions combined. He was the kind of man who was aware of the space he occupied and how he chose to fill it carefully.

You pushed these thoughts to the back of your mind, focusing on the meeting. They were irrelevant, you told yourself, entirely irrelevant.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

By the fifth week, you understood the rhythm of the team. What Baelor expected from the team was structure, clear outcomes, arguments backed by numbers and not just instinct. He also preferred to give his opinion last, which usually meant that everyone adjusted to his opinions. 

The meeting that morning was about repositioning a major client campaign. You listened to everyone’s thoughts, took notes. The keywords being thrown out were risk mitigation, conservative rollout, with at least two team members echoed variations of the same caution.

You felt everything was played safe. Too safe actually.

Baelor hummed, before summarising. “So, we’re talking about phased release and controlled messaging. No deviation from the tested framework at all?”

A chorus of yeses followed. Pursing your lips, you decided you had to speak up. And just before you did, there was a small tightening in your chest. The friction he had asked about in your first one-on-one came to mind.

“If we do that…” You said evenly. “We will lose momentum by Q4.”

The silence that followed your statement was heavy. Baelor’s eyes shifted to yours immediately, no hint of annoyance, just curiosity.

“Explain.”

Inhaling deeply, you noted how he did not move on the defensive, or dismissive stance. He took your opinion as a challenge, not defiance, just as Lyonel had told you.

And speak of the devil, a Teams message flitted at the top right corner from him.

Lyonel:  Go get them :)

Pulling your presentation slides, because of course you had prepared one just in case, you shared your screen. 

“As you can see from the data gathered from the last two quarters, it shows response spikes during higher-variance content cycles.” You explained. “Instead of adapting, we are proposing to react to this volatility by ignoring it.”

A few people shifted in their chairs. One of the analysts frowned slightly. Baelor didn’t interrupt you and leaned back on his chair.

“If we slow the release…” You continued. “We signal uncertainty. And our competitors will exploit that.”

After that, you canceled your share screen, letting the argument stand. Baelor tilted his head, looking at her directly. You noticed Lyonel’s eye brows had shot up, and you knew it was not because of your words. But you decided not to focus on that, waiting for Baelor to say something.

“So, you are suggesting an accelerated rollout?” He asked, his eyes intensely on you.

“Yes.” Your pulse echoed in your ears. You convinced yourself it was the nerves that you went against Baelor and the team. And not because he was looking at you like… that. Well maybe it was both. Thank God your voice was steady at least.

“What you propose comes with higher exposure risk.”

“But with higher engagement probability.” You were quick to reply.

“Are you comfortable carrying that risk?” He asked after a moment.

Your eyes narrowed. The phrasing was deliberate. You knew what was coming.

“Yes.” You finally answered.

The room suddenly felt warmer. Heat spread through your neck.

“It’s a substantial gamble.” Baelor said calmly.

“It’s a strategic decision.” You replied, just as calm.

His captivating eyes did not leave your gaze. He studied you in that same assessing way from your first one-on-one, except this time there was something sharper behind it.

Your phone started vibrating with messages, but your focus was solely on him.

“You are proposing deviation from established protocol in your fifth week.” He said.

“I am proposing growth.”

A ripple moved through the team, subtle, but there. 

After a fraction of a second, his mouth curved. Not in a smile, not quite that. Approval maybe?

Baelor looked around the virtual room. “Any thoughts?”

There were a few cautious ones, a few predictable ones. He listened, nodded and took notes, deliberating. Then he looked back at the camera, at you.

“We will pilot y/n’s model,” he said, his word final. “Limited segment, full metrics tracking. If performance dips below baseline, we revert immediately.” 

He did not break eye contact as he added: “You’ll lead it.”

Your pulse jumped again, and you felt light headed. “Understood.” 

The meeting moved on from that, but something had shifted. It was not just that he had sided with you, but it was the way he had done so. Public and deliberate, trusting you with something high-visibility instead of barring you from it.

After the call ended, you stood up to go to the kitchen, to grab some water. You finally checked your phone, not surprised that it was Lyonel who spammed you with messages.

Lyonel: Didnt take you too long to challenge him in a full team meeting Oh my god! He did the thing!! The posture!!! You: What are you talking about?!

His replies came in very quick succession.

Lyonel: The posture The lean The head tilt That is his I am intrigued pose I’ve not seen him do that in more than a year You telling me you did not notice that??

Of course you had noticed, but you did not think it was a big deal at first. But now…

You: You are making this bigger than it is. He was just being a competent leader Lyonel: Yeah just… a competent leader

You were about to reply to him when you heard Outlook ping with a meeting invite from your manager.

Follow-up: Campaign Acceleration Pilot in 15 minutes. When you joined, he was already there.

“You anticipated resistance.” He said without preamble. “You came prepared.”

“Yes.”

“You enjoyed causing friction.” It wasn’t an accusation, instead Baelor said it more as a conclusion.

You held his gaze. “I enjoy showing my competence.”

He had that almost-smile again. “Be careful.” He said.

“Of what?” You asked, slightly confused. Wasn’t he the one who always pushed for this?

“Of winning too quickly.”

Your stomach dropped. “And why is that?” 

“Because,” He said, before taking a deep breath. “It changes the way people look at you.”

The silence that followed was different from the others. It was thicker, no longer just professional, no longer safe, no longer hidden behind corporate talk.

“And how do you look at me?” You asked before you could stop yourself.

He did not answer immediately, but he didn’t deflect, didn’t change the topic.

“With interest.” He said at last.

That could be a professional answer. After all, he could just be interested in your career progression, as a manager would and should be. But it was ambiguous enough, for the voice inside your head to go that dark and dangerous route, to that dark corner of your mind.

Truly, you thought, it was undeniably intentional.

“Execute the pilot. Send projections by Thursday.” He said abruptly and the call ended.

Leaning back in your chair, you just sat there, your heart steady, but your mind not. Because that had not been flirting. But it also was.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

The second time you contradicted him, it wasn’t planned.

The discussion was about reallocating the budget after early pilot results, your pilot results, and Baelor proposes tightening the expansion until the next quarterly review. You impulsively challenged his cautious and controlled plan to delay the expansion, interrupting him and arguing that hesitation would kill momentum. He methodically dissected your argument, asking you to outline worst case scenarios and reputational risks. In the end, he did not concede to your answers, did not endorse them. He set a condition, send him with a full risk breakdown by the end of the week, making approval contingent on proof. 

You were searching for some reports for his ask, when a private Teams message came in nine minutes later after the call. Your eyes widened, as you opened the chat window. He had never reached out by direct message before, he preferred emails and meeting invites to chats.

Baelor: Well argued. But you should not have interrupted me.

Your ears thrummed, still staring at the screen, longer than necessary. You started typing a reply, deleted it, then typed it again.

You: Thank you. And I am sorry for doing that  But was I wrong?

You would not let it go so easily. Three dots appeared immediately, disappeared and then reappeared.

Baelor: No. But you challenged me in front of the room.

And there it was, the line that wasn’t quite a reprimand, but it was something sharper than just feedback. You pursed your lips as you wrote your reply, hitting enter before you could regret it.

You: The numbers needed to be clarified. Baelor: You could have waited.

Your jaw tightened as you typed your reply.

You: And just let the assumption stand?

A longer pause from him this time. The three dots appeared almost instantly, stopped, reappeared…

Baelor: You assume I would not have corrected it. You: Respectfully, I wasn’t trying to undermine you

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly, stopped and returned.

Baelor: I know. If you were, I would have handled it differently.

Your stomach flipped at that. It was not a threat, but a simple fact. You typed before you lost your nerve.

You: I just don’t wait when I’m certain Baelor: I’ve noticed.

Your pulse stuttered, but you did not get a chance to compose yourself when the next messages hit the chat.

Baelor: It is one of the reasons I keep you in the room. Next time, let me finish the sentence. And then challenge me.

No don’t, just later.

And that was it. You closed the chat window, pushing yourself to forget what he wrote and focus on the reports. He did not reach out to you for the rest of the day, no emails or meeting invites. But the boundary felt less like a wall now, and more like a line drawn in chalk.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

It was close to midnight, and you were still up finishing that risk breakdown he asked for. You still had a day before the deadline was up, but you had gotten so honed in on it that you just had to finish it. You emailed it to Baelor and went to take a shower.

When you came back to your home office to grab something, you saw a notification on Teams.

Baelor: I expected you to send that tomorrow.

You stared at the timestamp, 11:47 p.m., and he was still online.

You: You asked for it at the end of the week

A pause, then:

Baelor: Most people interpret that differently. You: Well, I am not most people

The reply came faster than it should at that hour.

Baelor: No. You are not.

The three dots appeared again, lingering longer this time. Your breath was caught in your throat. What was he writing?

Baelor: Your downside modeling is thorough. In section 3, you assumed a 12% volatility ceiling. Why not 15?

You exhaled slowly. Of course he read the report already, and of course the message was going to be about that. And not something else, something that would make your stomach flutter.

You: At 15% the narrative collapses regardless of pacing

It took him three seconds to reply.

Baelor: Good. You think ahead.

It was not praise exactly, but it was recognition. You closed your laptop five minutes later, your mind still very much awake.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

The observation came up casually. You were halfway through your brunch, at your usual table, Lyonel watching you with an expression that meant that he had already decided on something and was waiting for you to catch up to it.

“Do you know what’s worse than the posture?” He asked.

You groaned, embarrassed. Every time Baelor did the posture during a call, which lately it had been every time you spoke, Lyonel would ping your phone.

“Do you have to mention it every time we hang out?” You complained. “And there is nothing worse than the posture.” 

“Oh there is.” He leans over the table. “He lowers his voice when he talks to you.”

You look at him for a second, before laughing loudly. “No, he doesn’t!"

“Yes, he does!” Lyonel leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Everytime he addresses the team, it’s one tone, controlled. The standard issue.” He tilts his head a bit. “When he talks to you though? It drops.”

“You are just teasing me now.” You tried to deflect.

“I am not.” He retorted, offended at the insinuation. 

“You are projecting.”

“I am observing.”

You shook your head, taking a sip of your coffee. 

“You really didn’t notice?”

“No.” You hated how you sounded, so uncertain.

Lyonel did not push you further. He just smiled, his eyes teasing. “Oh you’ll hear it now.”

Rolling your eyes, you replied. “I will not.”

But when you had to review a recorded meeting, a routine procedure for you, you remembered his words when Baelor’s voice filled your headset. Even through them, his voice carried that steady, measured tone: composed, deliberate, never rushed. Then, you reached the segment where you had challenged his position about reallocating the expansion metrics. He had been mid-sentence when you interjected. You noted how he turned towards his camera, his mismatched eyes serious.

“Explain.”

Your stomach tightened, rewinding the recording a bit, playing it again. When he was addressing the team, his voice was firm and with clear authority. When you interjected and he spoke to you… It was definitely lower.

You straightened in your chair, skipping ahead and finding another moment, later in the meeting, when you clarified a data point.

“I understand your position.”

There it was again, lower, quieter. Intimate was not the right word, but it was closer than anything else.

Your pulse drummed in your ears. You skipped ahead again, this time to a moment where he addressed another analyst.

“Duncan, walk us through the variance.”

Baelor’s voice was a higher register, firmer. But when he addressed you?

“Y/n, what would you adjust?”

There it was again, the subtle drop, as if the air changed when he spoke to you. You paused the video, staring at the frozen frame of his face.

You are imagining this, you told yourself. You just want to hear it, because you are walking that tight rope between professional admiration and unrelenting crush. It’s nothing! You’d never notice it if it wasn’t for Lyonel. 

Blushing furiously, you shot the culprit a text.

You: I hate you Lyonel: ?? Oh you heard it, didn’t you?

When you left him on read, he texts again.

Oh my god. You did hear it!!!

You typed back slowly, biting your lip.

It’s probably unintentional.

Immediate reply.

You know that’s worse, right?

You sighed sharply. That was the problem, because if it was intentional, it would be a choice. But if it’s unconscious…

You played one last segment, not knowing what you were hoping to achieve.

“Good…” Baelor said in response to your analysis. Again lower, measured.

Stopping the recording, you pressed your hands to your eyes, trying to ignore the warmth that spread below your stomach. There was no denying it, when Baelor spoke to you, the room disappeared from his voice. 

This moved beyond theoretical now, as voice was harder to control, harder to fake, harder to justify. And when the next meeting came, you knew exactly what you were going to listen for.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

You were in bed, phone dimmed, doom scrolling mindlessly before sleep when the notification appeared.

Baelor: Are you awake?

There was absolutely no reason why he should be asking that. And you really should not reply, it was after work afterall. But your fingers did not listen, as they opened the chat and replied.

You: Yes

The typing indicator appeared immediately.

Baelor: Revising the expansion deck. Quick question. If we reframe the pilot as controlled disruption, does that weaken your original argument?

You propped yourself up against your pillows.

You: Only if you position disruption as instability. Call it evolution instead?

Three dots appeared, disappeared and reappeared.

Baelor: You are good at this.

Honestly, his compliments were starting to feel addictive. But this one settled differently. Maybe it was the hour, the quiet, suspended feeling of being awake when the rest of the world was not. Or maybe it was the way the conversation had narrowed, stripped of meetings and agendas and witnesses. The chat window felt smaller somehow, more intimate, like the world outside it did not exist, leaving only the two of you and the glow of the screen.

You: That’s why you hired me

This time the pause stretched, long enough that you wondered if you overstepped.

Then:

Baelor: I hired you because you are capable.

Followed by:

I keep you because you are exceptional.

Your pulse quickened in a way that has nothing to do with career validation. There was pride there, sharp and bright, but threaded through it is something more dangerous. Because the “I hired you” was business, the “I keep you” was not.

Baelor: And because I like watching you work.

Heat climbed up your neck before you could stop it. Because liking your work was one thing, liking watching you do it was something else entirely.

The chat went still after that, and you sighed softly. You set your phone down on your stomach, the quiet pressing in around you.

His last three messages replayed in your mind, not as text, but in his voice. Especially the way it dipped when he spoke to you, subtle, controlled, as it always happened.

You closed your eyes and saw him, his expressions, immediately. The steady eye contact through the camera, the slight tilt of his head when you made a point he had not anticipated, the almost-smile he gave you whenever you challenged him and refused to back down.

You turned onto your side in a huff. This… crush was getting ridiculous. He was your manager, your boss. You had prided yourself on the way you managed your crushes, on your ability to control your emotions, on never blurring the lines.

But…

I keep you because you are exceptional.

You shifted under the sheets, restless, annoyed at yourself, annoyed at him. At the way his last messages burrowed in your mind, under your skin, making your blood sing. Your thought about his gaze, the way lately lingered a second too long in meetings. The way his voice lowered whenever he spoke to you, the way he said your name.

You really should not think about that, you should not imagine how your name would sound like on his lips if you were alone in a room. But your body did not care, heat pooling down between your legs, heavy and impossible to ignore.

You breathed slowly, deeply, trying to think about anything else. And failed spectacularly at it, because your mind betrayed you immediately, conjuring an image of Baelor leaning closer than necessary, one hand braced on the desk beside you, close enough that you would feel his warm breath upon your neck, close enough that his voice would not need to carry, close enough that his quiet, measure control would slip, just slightly.

This moved beyond professional admiration, or seeking to impress him, or earning his approval, or enjoying the intellectual sparring. This was about want. And you wanted him, plain and simple. Not just hypothetically, not just intellectually, but physically as well. That thought alone sent another wave of heat through you, and you pressed your thighs together instinctively. 

“Fucking unbelievable…” You whispered into the dark. But you did not stop thinking about him. 

You imagined the way he would look if that composure fractured, if he stopped choosing restraint, giving way to raw need. Your breath quickened, your hand sliding down the covers, past the waistband of your panties, fingers ghosting over your swollen clit.

You moved slowly at first, testing the edges of your fantasy, dipping into the wetness between your thighs before pressing two fingers firmly against your clit. You imagined his strong hand gripping your waist, thumb tracing your lower lip. You envisioned the way he would say your name when no one else was there to hear it, the way his lips would feel on yours, crashing against yours in a hungry kiss. The way his fingers would feel in you, stretching you, filling you.

Your back arched slightly before you could stop it, a curse falling from your lips. You slid one finger inside your tight heat, pretending that it was his claiming you. 

You bit your lip to stifle any sound threatening to escape, as if Baelor could somehow hear you through the silence of the night, sense your secret through the darkness. As if he would know exactly what he had done by ending the conversation the way he did.

You imagined him being there in the room with you, eyes locked on you, guiding you through your pleasure, voice low with approval, praising you. 

“That’s it…” His voice echoed in your mind. “Just like that…”

The thought of his controlled gaze snapping, hunger flaring, as he saw the power he had over you, how completely you yielded to him, sent a sharp pulse through your body.

You did not take long to reach your peak after that, your hips bucking into your palm, your fingers moving faster, your soft whines and gasps filling the room, as waves of your orgasm crashed over you, your body shuddering in release.

Spent, you laid there, chest heaving and breath uneven, staring at the ceiling, reality slowly seeping in.

This obsession was going to be a problem, you thought. Because tomorrow, during the calls, you knew exactly what your body would remember, how it would react, when Baelor says your name.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

You could not pinpoint exactly when it started. Or perhaps you could, but you did not want to admit it. After that night, after lying in the dark with his voice in your head and your body still warm from it, something switched.

Sweatshirts and simple blouses disappeared from the rotation, substituted with tailored blouses and shirts that fit just a little too well. Your hair was styled every morning now, nice and neat. A subtle, but deliberate lip colour was on you before any meeting, not bold enough to invite comment, just deliberate enough to matter.

This is normal, you told yourself, you had always been polished. Baelor set a standard for the team, in work and presentation so you had to reflect that. That was professionalism.

It had nothing to do with how aware you were of the exact moment he joined a call. Nothing to do with the way his eyes lingered on you a second longer than necessary whenever you spoke. Nothing to do with the quiet drop in his voice whenever he said your name. And it certainly had nothing to do with the memory of how easily your body responded to the thought of him.

It was just about standards, you told yourself, about presence. You were allowed to look good. 

Adjusting the collar of your shirt, you clicked on the one-on-one meeting link. Today, you had decided to wear a dark red shirt, the fabric having a subtle sheen, and the open collar framing your neck and collarbones. A delicate gold necklace rested lightly against your skin.

You felt good, you knew you looked good. And you tried, very hard, to ignore the somersaults your stomach did while you waited for Baelor to join the call.

By the time he did, you had composed yourself somewhat, greeting him with a smile. He returned it, greeting you in a polite and professional manner. Then his gaze shifted, first to the shirt, then the curve of your neck, lingering just enough to make you conscious of every detail, that smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Your breath hitched, and you barely heard him for the first moments of the call. But still, you told yourself that it was not anything more than him noticing your shirt.

You wore it again the following week. It was an ordinary Tuesday, and it was the usual team during the call. Yet, there was no reason for your pulse to spike but it did. You told yourself it was because the quarter was intensifying, and leadership visibility was increasing. Of course it was not about Baelor, not him.

When the meeting began, it was the usual routine, team updates, forecast adjustments. You tried your best to focus. Lyonel pinged you on Teams instead of your phone, because he knew you would ignore his texts. 

Lyonel:  Why are you dressed like ur about to negotiate a merger?

You still ignored him, keeping your attention on the meeting. Midway through the meeting, someone asked you to walk through the revised projections. As you spoke, you noticed Baelor’s eyes dip, from your face, to your collar, and then back again. Subtle, barely noticeable if you had not been watching him. Your mind screamed: You imagined it, it was nothing, you are projecting…

When you shifted slightly, he looked away. He had stopped, it had been a conscious decision.

When the meeting ended, your Teams pinged. You assumed it was Lyonel again, but your breath caught when you saw the sender.

Baelor:  Your revised projections were well structured.

You were about to reply, fingers hovering over the keyboard, when another message followed.

Baelor:  The dark red suits you.

Your heart lept. For a second you stared at the screen, re-read the message. The words seemed harmless, casual even. But your body reacted before your brain could compose something rational.

You had told yourself it was not about him, you had told yourself you just liked looking put together. But he had noticed. Not the updates, not the projection, not the work. You. And he wanted you to know that he had noticed.

You swallowed and forced your fingers to move.

You: Thank you

A perfectly simple and neutral response, but your heart was anything but. Now, it’s no longer just the posture, or just the tone of his voice when he addressed you directly. It was a pattern.

The late night messages, lingering eye contact, compliments that stepped half an inch beyond necessary. 

Patterns were harder to deny, harder to dismiss as coincidence, harder to explain away as nerves, harder to pretend you were not participating. You leaned back in your chair slowly, heat spreading low and steady.

You could not lie to yourself anymore. He was watching… And you did not mind, because you wanted him to.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

It was 12:03am when your phone lit up. You knew who it was, who had texted, before you even looked.

Baelor: You were right about scaling.

Your stomach flipped, that quiet, familiar drop that had nothing to do with work or analytics. You stared at the phone screen for a moment, before quickly replying.

You: Metrics came in? Baelor: Yes.

A moment passed.

Baelor: You were confident before the numbers justified it.

Your throat tightened slightly. You could almost hear the way he would say it, calm, measured, faintly impressed.

You: That is part of the job sometimes

A longer pause this time, you watched the typing indicator appear, disappear, return.

Baelor: No. That is instinct. And you trust yours.

The words settled low and warm in your chest. He was not just validating the outcome, he was validating you. Silence stretched between you, charged and deliberate.

You: And you? Do you trust yours, always?

After a long pause, the three dots flickered, then vanished.

Baelor: I trust my instinct most of the time. But sometimes it is influenced… by certain details.

Your pulse jumped and your fingers twitched.

You: Details? Baelor: The kind that are not on a slide deck. The kind that cannot be measured.

You bit the inside of your cheek, as you replied. The screen suddenly felt closer, more intimate.

You: I am not sure what you mean Baelor: You do.

Your chest tightened, your mind flailing. He’s joking, you thought. He is being professional, just joking. Keep it clean. Be calm. Focus on slides.

You: Care to clarify? Baelor: I could. But… I think you like discovering some things on your own.

You did not know whether to type or just stare at the words, letting them sink in. Instead you replied:

You: And here I thought we were talking about work Baelor: We are. Mostly. But… work is not just what happens on a slide deck. You have noticed, have you not?

This whole conversation had nothing to do with the pilot, nothing to do with projections or ceilings or controlled disruption anymore. It was unmistakable now, and you both knew it.

You: I am not sure what to say… Baelor: Say nothing. Just think.

You blinked at the screen, his words lingering, teasing, deliberate.

Baelor: Confidence is rare. But restraint is rarer.

The digital glow of the screen felt like the only light in the world. Your pulse was racing now, the heat in your chest warm and insistent. This was about him, and you, and the way a single line of text could make your heart trip over itself.

You: It is late, you should sleep Baelor: I could say the same to you. But I suspect neither of us will.

You forced your fingers to move.

You: Goodnight, Baelor. The reply came less than a minute later. Baelor: Goodnight, Y/n.

The next morning, Lyonel did not even bother to greet you when he sent over two images by text. It was a screenshot of your Teams’ status from last night. And another one of Baelor’s.

You: You tracking my status?  His too?! Lyonel: I’m observing patterns You: It was about work Lyonel: At midnight? You: YES Lyonel: Mhmm, midnight chats with your manager

You did not respond. Because that was the problem, it was about work, and slides, and projections and risk ceilings. But it was also:

I hired you because you are capable.

I keep you because you are exceptional.

And because I like watching you work.

And those were not comments about slides, they never were.

You: It was not like that

You did not immediately send it, because you are not sure what part you were defending. The content of the conversation from the night before, or the way you felt breathless every time when his typing bubble appeared. Or the way your body reacted before the rational part of your mind could. Or the way midnight had started to feel like something to anticipate.

But you knew one thing with uncomfortable clarity, that if tonight your screen lights up again, you would look, and you would respond.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

This meeting was not part of the routine Baelor and you had. It was sudden, adhoc, framed as performance alignment but not you knew it was not just that. He had been acting very strict in the previous two meetings, brows furrowed. He had been short with other team members, and definitely had acted differently towards you.

You joined first this time, and he entered a minute later.

“I’ve reviewed your revised projections.” Baelor jumped straight into the main topic of the call, no pleasantries. “You expanded the risk ceiling again.”

“I refined it.” You retorted.

“You escalated it.”

“Because the data supported it.”

His jaw shifted slightly. “You are comfortable increasing exposure without full predictive modeling.”

“I am comfortable recognizing momentum.” Your voice had risen an octave, and you were breathing hard. 

Baelor leaned forward, forearms resting on his desk. “You interrupt me in meetings.”

“I thought you liked a challenge.”

“You assume I would allow it every single time.”

“And here I assumed you respected competence.”

His mismatched eyes sharpened, the air tight. “You enjoy testing me.” He concluded.

“And you enjoy it when I do.” You were not going to let him forget it.

That stopped him in his tracks. Not because your assessment was wrong, but because you said it outloud. He studied you, not anymore as a manager evaluating an employee, but as something else, something more deliberate.

“You are very confident in everything you do.” He tilted his head when he said that.

“Of course.” You all but huffed. “I have to be.”

“And you think that gives you liberty to do as you please?”

“I think my results so far do.”

He looked long and hard at you, before saying quietly. “You think this is about results?”

“What is it about then?” You ask, ignoring the way your hands got clammy and your voice trembled at the end.

Baelor’s nose flared, as he leaned towards the camera more. 

“You push me in public.” His voice was dangerously low, sending goosebumps down your spine. “You challenge every controlled decision I make.”

“And you respond every time.” You said.

His gaze to your lips, lingering. The silence that enveloped you was no longer part of the corporate world, it was charged, dense, warm. 

“If the circumstances were different-” He began, his mismatched eyes back to yours.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. But he stopped, he did not continue. Yet you did not let him get away with that.

“Different how?”

Baelor exhaled slowly, like a man choosing restraint by force. 

“You are ambitious.” He said instead. “And ambition can blur lines.”

“That is not what you were going to say.” You almost whined.

His jaw tightened. “You are pushing it. You are testing boundaries now.”

“I was not aware you set them!”

Your room felt smaller, as if he was in there with you.

“Careful…” He murmured.

“Or what?”

He held your gaze steady now, another deep and slow exhale coming from him.

“Or I stop being patient.”

“You think I want you to be patient?” The words left you before you could stop them.

He inhaled sharply at that, something raw flickering in his expression. “No, I think you do not.”

And that was the closest either of you had come to naming it. His eyes softened for a fraction of a second, and you could see it clearly, the confession forming. The line neither of you would be unable to uncross.

But then the steel returned, and he stepped back, the distance rebuilt.

“Send me the finalised projections by six.” He said, voice restored to the executive calm. The shift was surgical.

When the call ended moments later, your hands were not steady at all. Because you finally had the confirmation that both of you were in the same boat. And that he wanted to say it. But he was choosing not to, for now.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

The following Monday, an HR email went out, inviting everyone for the yearly party, to celebrate the company achieving excellence in the past year. It was mandatory attendance for leadership and selected teams to attend in person, one of them being yours.

You had no chance to digest the fact that you had to be there in person, when Lyonel called you immediately.

“No.” He said.

“Hello to you too.” You sighed. “It’s just a company event.“

“It is not just a company event.” He corrected you. “It’s weeks of unresolved tension, in a physical location.”

You tried to sound unaffected. “Everything will be professional.”

“Oh really?” He asked dryly.

Before you could reply, you heard the Teams notification sound. “I have to go.” You told him, opening the chat.

Baelor: You will be attending.

Not a question, but not an order either. Just confirmation.

You: Of course Baelor: Good.

It landed differently now, because the both of you knew that remote made it manageable, remote made it abstract. The party was going to be anything but that.

Lyonel texted you, because he knew why you had ended the call.

Lyonel: If he lowers his voice in person, I am going to file a report to HR

His message almost made you laugh, almost. But something electric hummed under your skin.

For the first time since this what you had considered to be a harmless crush, there will be no screen, no digital barrier.

You would share the air. And the unfinished sentence would hang between you.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

The party was louder than you expected. It had been organised in the restaurant on the highest floor of a glitzy hotel a town over, with rooms paid for you and anyone who travelled to attend.

It felt weird seeing people in close proximity, no screens to buffer anything, no one frame in small rectangles.

You were wearing a silk dress in your favourite colour, a cocktail in your hand as you spoke to Duncan. You told yourself you would not look for him. But you still noticed when he appeared.

You saw him before he saw you. He was across the room, wearing a black suit, tailored to perfection, a black turtleneck beneath it. His hair was styled masterfully, and his beard trimmed.

He was real, so very real, real height, real presence. Not framed in a rectangle, not compressed by speakers.

Your stomach flipped in ways it had never done before, your throat seizing.

You looked away, telling yourself that you will not seek him out, even if it meant fighting against every fiber of your being. You continued to talk to Duncan, or at least tried to.

But you did not have to wait long, because within fifteen minutes you felt it. The subtle gravitational pull of someone entering your orbit. And when you turned, he was there, close. Not touching, not close to cause any scandal, but close enough.

He greeted everyone, saying your name last, his voice lower, sending shivers across your spine.

“Baelor.” You said in return, trying to keep yourself under control.

“You made it.”

“So did you.” 

Something akin to amusement crossed his features. Before any of you could speak, colleagues passed around you, someone clapping Baelor on the shoulder, someone complimenting you on your pilot results.

When your eyes returned to him, a blush crept in when you saw that he had been looking at you. You stood like that for a long moment, the space between you felt separate from the rest of the room.

“So this is you outside of Teams?” He said, sipping his whiskey.

You laughed, a little breathless. “Disappointed?”

“Not even a little.”

The words settled between you, heavier than they should’ve been. He held your gaze, unflinching, like he was curious how long you would let him.

“I did not realize you were this tall.” You said before you could stop yourself.

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “You did not realize a lot of things.” His voice had a teasing lilt.

You took a sip of your drink, trying to be calm. 

“Hmm.” He made a sound after noticing your drink.

“What?”

“That’s unexpected.” He replied.

“What is?”

“That.” He pointed at your drink with his. You took a long sip, not moving your eyes from his.

“You disapprove?” You smiled a little.

His gaze drifted slowly from your eyes, to the glass and back. The corner of his mouth lifted into that almost smile.

“Not at all.”

It didn't feel like you were talking about the drink anymore.

Across the room, Lyonel was openly staring at you like he was watching a live disaster unfold. You ignored him, or at least tried to. 

You were pulled into different conversations, separated. But the pattern from remote work and calls continued here too.

Every time you moved across the room, you became aware of him again. Every time he laughed at something someone else said, his eyes found yours afterward.

After a while, you slipped out to the terrace for air. Your body felt warm, your pulse unsteady, your mind hazy from being in his presence, from having to be in control. Exhaling, you press yourself against the railing, staring at the city skyline. 

You heard soft footsteps trailing behind you, stopping just a little away.

“You have been avoiding me.” Baelor said softly.

You did not turn to face him, cheeks ablaze. “I was networking." 

He stepped beside you, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat emanating from him.

“Is that what you are calling it?” He asked, amused. “Well, you have been networking in the opposite direction of wherever I was.”

You fully turned towards him, a small smile on your lips. “You are imagining patterns.”

“Am I now?” He asked, voice husky.

The city lights flickered in the silence that came over you. There was no audience here, no grid of face, no corporate pretense to hide behind. Baelor stepped closer, his mismatched eyes gleaming under the light, his expression unreadable.

“I think I’ve been patient long enough, don’t you think?” He asked quietly, his gaze dropping to your mouth.

Your breath faltered, realising what he was saying. You realized that he was close, close enough that if you leaned forward just slightly more…

Baelor said your name, his voice sounding like a plea and a warning.

You did not give yourself time to think. You stepped forward, closed the distance and pressed your lips firmly upon his.

The kiss was not chaste, nor careful, nor tentative, weeks of restraint collapsed into it. Baelor’s hand slid behind your neck, pulling you closer, groaning in your mouth. Your hands grabbed onto the lapel of his suit, whimpering when his mouth pressed harder against yours.

His other hand gripped your waist, anchoring you there as if he had already decided you were not going anywhere. The kiss deepened, his tongue prodding your mouth, and your thoughts scattered, your knees threatening to follow.

You felt the shift in him, how his control thinned at the edges, his composure gone, replaced by hunger. He pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, his hand resting at the base of your neck, as if letting you go required a decision he did not want to make. 

“This…” He said, his breath ghosting against your lips, voice rougher than you had ever heard it. “This is exactly what I was trying to prevent.”

“Do you regret it?” You hated how your voice trembled, scared at his answer.

“No…” He groaned. “And I am done pretending I do not want it.”

He captured your lips in another kiss, which was slower, deeper than before. When he pulled away again, his eyes were almost black with hunger. His thumb brushed along your jaw, your lips tingling and swollen.

“Come with me.” He said, the words hovering between a plea and a command. Your heart was pounding so hard, so loud, that you were sure he could feel it, hear it. You looked at him, feeling the restraint that was barely holding, the choice sitting between you.

“Yes…” 

He studied you for one final moment, making sure he heard you right. Then nodded.

You left separately. He went out first, smoothing his hair and suit as he walked away. You followed five minutes later, ignoring the way Lyonel’s eyes widened from across the room, ignoring your phone vibrating as you neared the elevators.

You were certain your heart was about to leap from its cage as the elevator doors closed, his hand wrapping around yours. The air was tense, and thick, but he did not kiss you, he did not touch you otherwise. 

When you reached his floor, he all but dragged you across the corridors. And the moment the hotel room door was shut, he was on you.

This kiss was nothing like the ones before. It was deeper, hungrier, stripped of any restraints. Weeks of charged glances, sharp exchanges unravelled in seconds. He backed you against the door with a soft thud, his hands on your waist. You pushed the jacket off of his shoulders, moaning as his tongue touched yours,before he dove it deeper into your mouth.

He bit your lower lip, spurring you to grab his shoulders, pushing him towards the bed. And he let you.

“Off…” You mewled into the kiss, breaking it so you could remove his turtleneck before diving for his lips again, like a drowned man would dive for air.

His hand cupped your breast, squeezing it firmly, sending a jolt straight to your core.  You moaned low, trailing hot, open-mouth kisses along his jaw and neck, tasting the salt of his skin. With a gentle shove, you pushed him to sit on the bed. He watched you with a dark, measured focus as you stepped between his knees. You continued kissing him, lips brushing against his collarbone, continuing your descent until you reached his belt, nipping at the skin above it.

“You do not have to do this.” He said, his voice in a gravely rumble. One hand rose, cupping your face as your fingers worked his belt. His thumb dragged across your lip in a slow and deliberate stroke that made your pulse race. You parted your lips and captured the thumb between them, giving it a soft, teasing, lick before sucking it. He hissed sharply at that.

“I want to…” You said, releasing his thumb with a soft pop. “I really do…”

With his help, you pulled his pants and boxers down, shoving them aside. His cock sprang up, standing proud against his stomach, precum leaking at the tip. The sight of it, the size of it, made your mouth water. 

Wrapping your fingers around the base, you dragged your tongue along him before guiding him past your lips, his taste blooming on your tongue. The effect you had on him was immediate. His composure frayed just enough to show you the edge of it. His hand moved to your hair, not forcing, not controlling, just holding, steady and warm against the back of your head. His thumb stroked in silent encouragement.

You continued, taking your time with him, savouring every inch, your head bobbing in a steady rhythm. Heat spread through you like wildfire at his sounds, thighs clenching instinctively instinctively. 

“That’s it…” He moaned, his head tipping back in a groan. “Take me deeper…”

You obeyed without hesitation, took him deeper until the head bumped the back of your throat, your jaw stretched. A muffled moan escaped, the sound humming along his length. He made a sound that was something between a moan and a sigh, fingers curling in your hair as he pushed you down, jaw tightening, hips shifting instinctively before he reins himself in. You felt the shift in him, the way control becomes effort.

“You look very good on your knees…” He murmurs, voice rougher now. “Have you been thinking about this?”

You did not answer directly, letting the swirl of your tongue and the hollow of your cheeks do the talking instead. The sound he made this time is lower, less controlled, his fingers flexing in your hair, not pushing, just grounding himself. Just before he lost the last of his restraint, he stopped you, tugging you off with a firm pull, his cock slipping free from your lips with a slick pop.

A glistening strand of saliva stretched between your swollen mouth and his cock. You looked up at him, eyes hazy, utterly drunk on him, his voice, his taste, his presence consuming every sense.

Using the grip on your hair as leverage, Baelor pulled you up into a kiss that was almost punishing in its intensity, his mouth claiming, his breath uneven, all teeth and tongue as he devoured you. He broke away to pull your dress off, a satisfied sigh escaping him at the sight of your dark red lingerie.

His hands cupped your breasts possessively, thumbs brushing over the lace. He dipped his head, pressing hot kisses at the top of your breasts, before he shoved the fabric down, freeing on to the cool air. You back arched as he captured your nipple between his fingers, pinching with just enough pressure to draw a gasp from your throat, rolling the hardened peak until it ached deliciously.

One of your hands slid against his hair, tugging him closer, a silent demand for more. Baelor chuckled against your skin, kissing up your neck before slotting his lips against yours.

His other hand slid down your body, deliberate and unhurried, tracing the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips, until it found the heat between your thighs. His palm pressed flat against you, moaning as he felt the damp fabric. With a swift motion, he hooked his fingers into the waistband and dragged them down, you kicked them off eagerly. His middle finger delved between your thighs, parting you slowly. You moaned into his mouth as his finger coated itself in your arousal. He exhaled slowly against you, his finger circling your entrance teasingly, clearly pleased by what he felt.

Looking at you through heavy-lidded eyes, he said. “Sit on my face.”

That was not a request. It was an invitation laced with command.

Your breath got caught in your throat, not from shock, but from the certainty in his tone. He was not asking out of impulse, he was testing whether you would yield the way you had been daring him all this time. You whined softly as he removed his finger and hand from you, and he leaned back on the bed, mismatched eyes never leaving yours. Desire burned in them, tempered by a deliberate patience.

“Come here.” He adds, softer now, but still having that authoritative edge. You hesitated just long enough to let him see the effect he had on you.

Then you moved. 

His hands found your hips, guiding you with a firm grip. His thumbs dug into your skin, as if etching the texture of it into his memory. The shift in power is immediate, you were above him, but he was the one in control.

“Trust me.” He murmured against your skin, his breath warm as he pressed a kiss on your inner thigh.

You did.

When he pulled you down toward him, his focus was absolute. His hands splayed across your thighs, holding you in place,  while his tongue delved between your folds, parting them with a slow, deliberate stroke. A loud moan escaped your throat, your hand moving to his head, your fingers threading into his hair for support. You had thought about his tongue on you so many times over sleepless nights, but you were never prepared for it to be this divine. His lips sealed around your clit, sucking gently before his tongue flicked against it, making you see stars. 

“Oh fuck, Baelor…” Your cries filled the room, your hips grinding instinctively against his mouth.

“That’s it.” His voice was muffled, the words vibrating against your slick skin. “You don't have to hold back with me.”

With one hand he grabbed your hip ferociously, pinning you in place, exactly where he wanted, while his other hand explored and teased your folds. As his tongue circled your clit with relentless precision, his fingers prodded your entrance, one finger slipping in easily at your wetness, the second following soon after. He crooked them upward, syncing the motion with the pressure of his tongue, hitting that sensitive spot deep within. You could not help but moan brazenly. Every reaction you gave him, each gasp, each shudder, drew a quiet, satisfied sound from his chest, low, approving.

And when your fingers tightened in his hair, when your breathing turned uneven and broken, he tightened his grip more, ensuring you stayed locked against his mouth.

“That is it…” He said again, moaning. “Let me feel you…”

The control in his voice is what undid you. Your hips jerked wildly, chasing your release, his name chanted like a fervent prayer, your walls clamping hard around his thrusting fingers. He did not relent, lapping and sucking through your release, his own groans mingling with yours.

Finally, you clutched his hair, tugging him away from your throbbing core, your hips lifting away from his glistening mouth. He allowed you to move, but not before dragging his tongue along your folds one final time, pressing one last deliberate kiss to your inner thigh, slow and possessive.

Baelor sat up immediately after, pulling you into his lap. Your bodies pressed together seamlessly, skin to skin, heat to heat, his hard cock pressing insistently between your thighs. His hands trailed up your spine, then back down again, deliberate and claiming. Your eyes met his, heavy, with lingering heat, before capturing his mouth in a hungry kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“You did so well.” He whispered. 

“I need more Baelor… please…” You begged, rolling your hips, seeking his length.

“Tell me what you need.” He ordered gently, his lips grazing your neck, tongue tracing the junction where it met your shoulder, sucking it gently.

“I… fuck me… Baelor, please…” You moaned, pressing your lips on his forehead in desperation.

He shifted, rolling you onto your back beneath him, reclaiming the upper hand without breaking eye contact. He settled between your thighs, his hard cock nudging against your entrance, coating itself in your wetness.

“Still confident?” He asked, trailing his mouth along your jawline.

You nodded, breathless.

“Say it.”

“Yes.”

His control finally fractured, and he claimed your mouth in a fierce kiss, like he was done waiting. Like every restrained meeting, every late-night message, every almost-confession had been building to this exact moment. And when he entered you, it was deliberate and unhurried at first, inch by inch until he buried himself fully inside you. He watched the way your face contorted in pleasure, a low groan escaping him as your walls stretched around his length.

His forehead rested against yours as he began to thrust, one arm braced beside your head. He set the rhythm, deliberate, unyielding strokes that built gradually, his hips snapping against yours with increasing force. You could not help but arch up to meet his thrusts, cries spilling out as you clutched his shoulders, the pace intensifying with each collision.

The sound of his hips meeting yours filled the room, his grunts accompanying your moans and whimpers like a raw harmony. His fingers dug into your hip hard and tight, and you were sure it would bruise.

“You are doing so well…” Baelor praised you, his breath fanning your lips. “You are taking me so well… like you were made for me…”

Words failed you, your mind blanking as the thick drag of him filled and withdrew from your core. Baelor chuckled lightly, very pleased with your reaction, your surrender, moaning deeply when your walls clenched tight and warm around him in response. He angled his hips sharper, driving deeper to strike that hidden spot. His free hand slipped down to rub your clit in firm, circling motions that matched his deep thrusts.

Heat built steadily through you, coiling tighter with every deliberate movement, every whisper, every brush of his touch. Your breath hitched and your heart raced, a rhythm that seemed to echo his own. 

“Baelor…” You gasped his name, teetering on the edge of desperation and release.

Climax ripped through you, intense and all-consuming, your body quaking as you clenched around him, leaving you trembling and breathless. 

“You are so perfect…” Baelor said, riding the wave of your release with you. “So flawless…”

His composure frayed as he pursued his own peak, his control slipping. He moaned at the tightness around him, his breath turning uneven, his rhythm faltering into erratic thrusts.

A few more powerful strokes and he came, spilling deep inside of you, your name a ragged chant on his lips. You stayed like that for a while, his body heavy and comforting atop yours, trying to catch your breath. He kissed you tenderly then, his thumb brushing your cheek, murmuring and praising you.He pulled back just enough to brush his fingers lightly over your skin, tracing the heat still lingering along your arms and shoulders. 

His voice was low, grounding you when he asked. “Are you okay?” 

When you nodded, he let a small, almost imperceptible smile touch his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. The two of you drew in sharp breaths, and you moaned lowly when he eased his cock out from you, the sudden emptiness making your inner walls flutter desperately around nothing.

His fingers combed through your hair soothingly, before going to the bathroom to fetch a towel and run it under warm water. Returning, Baelor knelt beside you, dabbing the towel gently against your sensitive folds, every movement filled with deliberate care, a contrast to the fire and intensity you had just shared. He finally joined you under the covers, his heat enveloping you, your bodies shifting together, limbs entwining, tangled in sheets that would not stay in place. 

He kept you close, hand resting possessively at your hip, thumb tracing absent patterns against your skin.

“You are,” He said quietly into your hair. “Exceptionally dangerous.”

You smiled against his chest, pressing a kiss just above his heart. “You started it.”

A low hum of disagreement passed through him.

“No.” He replied. “You did.”

The sheets are half twisted around your legs, the air thick and warm and still humming with what you had just done. Baelor stayed exactly where he was, not rolling away, or reaching for his phone. You lifted your head slightly to look at him. His hair was a mess, his beard still slick with your release, his breathing finally steadying. But his eyes, when they met yours, are clear, focused.

“You are being very quiet.” You whispered.

“I’m thinking.”

“Hmm… dangerous.” You snuggled close to him.

A faint chuckle escaped him. “Yes.”

There was no awkwardness, no embarrassment between you. Just a charged stillness that felt almost more intimate than what came before.

He moved slightly, rolling you more fully against him. His palm slid up your back, slow and deliberate, like he’s mapping you by touch alone.

“You surprised me…” He said quietly.

“Well, that was the intention.”

His gaze sharpened, his fingers grasping your chin, making you look at him. “No. Not that.” His thumb traced your lower lip. “You trusted me.”

The weight of that landed heavier than anything else tonight.

You did not joke this time. “I would not have come upstairs if I did not.”

Something changed in his expression then, almost imperceptible. His dominance softened, not disappearing, just settling into something steadier. He brushed his nose lightly against your temple.

“You should know…” He said, voice low, “If we continue this… I will not be casual about it.”

Your pulse jumped, eyes widening a little. “That sounds suspiciously like a warning.”

“It is.”

He leaned back just enough to look at you fully.

“I do not divide my attention easily. And I don’t compete.”

“Are you staking a claim?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yes.”

The honesty in which he said it stole your breath. He kissed you then, slower, less urgent, like a seal pressed onto something neither of you intended to undo.

You slid your hand slowly up his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palm.

“So you are not going to pretend this did not happen on Monday, are you?” You asked quietly.

A soft, amused exhale escaped him, his eyes warm. “Absolutely not.”

Your blood sang at that, at that confirmation, not knowing how much you needed it. 

“You do realize…” You said lightly, though your voice was not entirely steady. “This makes work infinitely more complicated.”

“I am aware.”

“And?”

“And I have decided it is worth it.”

The certainty in that answer was almost more dangerous than his touch had been. Then his hand tightened slightly at your waist.

“Come here.” He murmured.

You were already pressed against him, but he pulled you closer anyway, tucking you beneath his chin. His fingers threaded lazily through your hair now.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks.

Outside, somewhere below, the city moves on like nothing monumental just shifted. But it had, because this was not just physical. This was weeks of tension turned real.

“You should sleep.” He said softly.

“Is that an order?”

“It is care.”

You huffed indignant, but did not stop the wide smile that spread on your lips.

And when the lights finally dimmed and the room fell quiet, he kept one hand anchored at your waist like he expected you to stay.

You had already decided that you would.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

Come Monday morning, you were back in neat squares, screens aligned, everything professional and composed.

Baelor’s voice cut through the grid, low as he called your name. “Your thoughts?”

You held his gaze through the camera, long enough to feel the pull. You smiled at the subtle shift that came in as he leaned in and tilted his head.

“I think we should be bold.”

A faint smirk flickered at the corner of his mouth. “I agree.”

As the meeting moved on to other topics, a notification blinked in the corner of your screen. Your stomach fluttered, every nerve alert, you could not ignore the way he seemed to unravel you with just a message.

Baelor: We need to discuss boundaries at work. You: We do

Three dots lingered, before the message came.

Baelor: Dinner tonight? You: Yes, I’d love that

You stared at the chat, smiling widely. Across the grid, you did not notice Lyonel’s camera had fully turned on, and he was watching you like he could read everything before you even typed it, a big grin on his face.

You did not need to pretend it was professional anymore.

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[baldwinhearts]

Hello! Loving your Baelor fics.

Could I please request one with him where the queen is pregnant and she is super horny and Baelor obliges.

HEAVY WITH WANT (+18) — baelor targaryen

gif credits: @gameofthronesdaily

Summary: In the quiet months of your pregnancy, your desire burns hotter than ever. King Baelor Targaryen — ever the devoted husband — is more than happy to ease your aching need, night after night, with patient hands, reverent mouth, and unrelenting stamina.

Additional tags: fem!read; no use of Y/N; pregnancy; +18; MDNI

A/N: i hope you love it, anon! 🩷

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The royal bedchamber smells of cedar, amber, and the faint metallic sweetness that clings to your skin these days.

You’re six moons along — round, heavy, glowing in that way the maesters call “radiant” and you mostly just call inconvenient. Your breasts ache constantly, your hips feel like they’ve been pried wider, and between your thighs there is an almost constant, throbbing heat that no amount of cool cloths or quiet breathing can dull.

Tonight it’s unbearable.

You pace in your thin shift, barefoot on the cool flagstones, until Baelor steps through the door. He’s still in his black-and-red tunic, hair slightly mussed from council, the faint scent of ink and steel clinging to him. The moment he sees your face — flushed, eyes glassy, lower lip caught between your teeth — he knows.

He closes the door. Bolts it without a word.

“My love,” he says, voice already lower, rougher. He crosses the room in four long strides and cups your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. “Tell me.”

You don’t bother with pretty words.

“I need you,” you whisper. “Now. Again. I can’t—gods, Baelor, I can’t think of anything else.”

His eyes darken instantly — not with surprise, but with hunger. He’s seen this look on you every night for weeks. He’s learned exactly what your body demands when it’s making his child.

He kisses you once — slow, claiming — then guides you backward until your thighs hit the edge of the bed.

“Lie down,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Let me take care of you.”

You do, easing yourself onto the furs with a small grunt — your belly makes every movement feel monumental now. Baelor kneels between your parted thighs, hands gentle but sure as he lifts the hem of your shift and bunches it above your swollen stomach. The sight of you — round, full, glistening between your legs — makes his breath hitch.

“Gods,” he breathes, reverent. “Look at you.”

He starts slow — always starts slow when you’re like this, because he knows how sensitive everything is. His big hands stroke the taut skin of your belly, thumbs circling your navel, then slide up to cup your breasts. They’re heavier, darker at the tips, and when he brushes his thumbs over your nipples you arch with a sharp cry.

“Sensitive?” he asks, already knowing.

You nod frantically. “Please—”

He lowers his head and takes one nipple into his mouth — gentle suction at first, then firmer, tongue flicking, teeth grazing just enough to make you sob. His other hand rolls the neglected peak, tugging lightly, and you’re already rocking your hips, chasing friction that isn’t there yet.

“Baelor—”

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your skin, switching breasts. “I’ll give you everything you need.”

Only when you’re whimpering, thighs trembling, does he finally move lower.

He spreads your legs wider — careful of your belly — and settles between them. His hands grip your thighs, thumbs parting your folds so he can see how swollen and wet you are.

“Fuck,” he groans, the word torn from him. “So ready for me.”

He doesn’t tease tonight. He lowers his head and licks a long, slow stripe up your slit — tasting how desperate you’ve become — then seals his mouth over your clit and sucks.

You scream.

He eats you like a starving man — tongue lashing, lips sucking, two thick fingers sliding inside you and curling against that spot that makes your vision white. Your hips buck; he pins them with one forearm across your lower belly, holding you still while he devours you.

You come fast — embarrassingly fast — thighs clamping around his head, fingers twisted in his hair, crying his name as your cunt flutters and gushes around his fingers.

He doesn’t stop.

He keeps licking — slower now, lapping up every drop — until you’re shaking, oversensitive, begging.

“Baelor—please—inside—I need you inside—”

He rises immediately, shucking his clothes with rough efficiency. His cock is flushed dark, leaking steadily, veins standing out. He strokes himself once, twice — eyes locked on your swollen, dripping cunt — then notches himself at your entrance.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says, voice strained with restraint.

You shake your head. “Never too much. Please.”

He pushes in — slow, careful — stretching you inch by inch. You’re so wet, so ready, that he slides deep in one smooth glide. You both groan, him at how tight and hot you feel, you at how perfectly he fills you.

He starts to move — long, deep thrusts that drag against every sensitive place inside you. His hands cradle your belly protectively even as his hips snap harder, faster. You can feel him everywhere — the stretch, the pressure, the way his cock nudges against that spot on every stroke.

“Gods—you feel—” he breaks off, voice wrecked. “So good. So fucking good carrying my child and still begging for my cock.”

You sob — half pleasure, half overwhelm. “Harder—please—don’t hold back—”

He doesn’t.

He fucks you with controlled power — deep, relentless, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. One hand slips between you, thumb circling your clit in tight, ruthless strokes.

“Come for me,” he growls. “Come on your king’s cock while you carry his heir.”

You shatter — screaming his name, walls clamping down, milking him as you gush around his length. He fucks you through it — hard, possessive — until he buries himself deep and comes with a broken groan, spilling hot and thick inside you.

He stays there — still hard, still pulsing — and lowers himself to kiss you slow and filthy, tasting yourself on his tongue.

When he finally pulls out, he gathers you against his chest — careful of your belly — and strokes your hair.

“Better?” he murmurs, lips against your temple.

You laugh weakly, still trembling. “For now.”

He chuckles — low, dark, satisfied. “Good. Because I’m not finished with you tonight.”

And he proves it — again and again — until the sky outside pales and you’re both boneless, sated, and utterly spent.

[baldwinhearts]

Hello! Would you mind writing a Baelor X reader fic where she is his wife and he’s very sweet to her and obsessed with her? He talks her through it when they have sex and he wants to get her pregnant

THE DRAGON'S DEVOTION (+18) — baelor targaryen

gif credits: @alterofbeacon

Summary: Baelor Targaryen is utterly, reverently obsessed with you, his wife. Every night he takes you slowly, talking you through every touch, every thrust, every shudder — guiding you to ecstasy while whispering how much he loves you, how beautiful you are, how desperately he wants to see you swollen with his child.

Additional tags: fem!read; no use of Y/N; +18; MDNI

A/N: i hope you enjoy it, anon! 💛

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The royal apartments are quiet tonight, save for the low crackle of the fire and the soft rustle of silk as Baelor closes the bedchamber door behind him.

You’re already in bed, propped against the pillows in nothing but one of his old linen shirts — the one he wore yesterday, still carrying the faint scent of leather and steel and him. The hem barely reaches mid-thigh; your legs are bare, the sheet pooled around your waist. You’ve been waiting for him since the council adjourned, heart tripping every time you heard footsteps in the corridor.

He sees you and stops. For a moment he just looks — eyes dark, reverent, like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

“My love,” he says, voice already rough with want. He crosses the room slowly, shedding his doublet as he goes, then his belt, then his tunic. By the time he reaches the bed he’s bare to the waist, breeches still on but unlaced, cock already straining against the fabric.

He climbs onto the mattress, careful not to jostle you too much, and settles between your parted thighs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, hands sliding up your legs, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. “Every time I see you like this, I can’t breathe.”

You smile, shy even after months of marriage. “You say that every night.”

“Because it’s true every night.” He leans down, kisses the inside of your knee, then higher, higher, until his breath ghosts over your cunt. “And because I still can’t believe you’re mine.”

He kisses you there, soft, open-mouthed, tongue tracing the seam of your folds. You sigh, fingers threading into his dark hair. He licks slowly, savoring, like he has all the time in the world.

“Relax for me,” he whispers against your clit. “Let me taste you. Let me make you feel good.”

You do, thighs falling wider, hips lifting just a little. He groans — low, pleased — and slides his tongue inside you, fucking you with it while his thumb circles your clit in slow, steady strokes. You moan, soft, needy, hips rocking against his mouth.

“That’s it,” he praises, voice muffled. “Just like that. Let me hear you. Let me feel how wet you are for your husband.”

He keeps going, tongue and fingers and lips, until you’re trembling, thighs shaking, moans turning to little sobs. “Baelor—” you gasp. “Please—”

He lifts his head, lips glistening, eyes blown black. “Please what, sweetling?” he asks, kissing the crease of your thigh. “Tell me. Use your words.”

“I want you inside me,” you whisper. “I want you to come inside me. I want… I want your baby.”

His breath catches — sharp, almost pained. “Gods,” he says, voice wrecked. “You have no idea what that does to me.”

He moves up your body, kisses your belly, your breasts, your throat, until he’s braced above you, cock heavy and leaking against your entrance.

“Look at me,” he says softly.

You do. He holds your gaze as he pushes in, slow, careful, letting you feel every inch. You gasp — nails biting into the hard muscle of his shoulders — but there is no pain, only the exquisite stretch of him filling you completely, only the overwhelming sense of being claimed by the one man who has always known how to make you feel whole.

He bottoms out, hips flush to yours, and stills. “You feel so good,” he breathes. “So perfect. So warm. So tight around me.”

He starts to move — slow, rolling thrusts that drag against every sensitive place inside you. “Breathe,” he murmurs. “Just breathe for me. Let me take care of you.”

You nod, eyes locked on his, and he keeps the rhythm steady, deep, loving.

“Touch yourself,” he says. “Rub your clit for me. Let me feel you come around my cock while I fill you.”

Your hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen clit, circling fast. He groans, hips stuttering.

“That’s it,” he praises. “Good girl. Make yourself feel good. Make yourself come all over your husband’s cock.”

You’re close — so close — thighs trembling, moans turning desperate.“Baelor—”

“Come for me,” he says, voice rough with restraint. “Come on my cock. Let me feel it. Let me feel you milk me.”

You shatter, crying out his name, walls fluttering, clamping down, pulsing around him. He keeps thrusting, slow and deep, fucking you through it, drawing out every aftershock.

When you’re limp and trembling, he leans down, kisses you tenderly, and whispers against your lips: “I’m going to come inside you now. I’m going to fill you up. I’m going to give you my child.”

You nod frantically, tears in your eyes, and wrap your legs tighter around his waist. He groans, hips snapping faster, and buries himself deep. He comes with a broken moan of your name, cock pulsing, spilling hot and thick inside you, filling you until it leaks out around him.

He stays inside, still hard, and lowers himself over you, careful not to crush you.

He kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, soft, reverent. “I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”

You smile, tears slipping free, and pull him closer. “I love you too,” you breathe. “I want this. I want your baby.”

He kisses you again and starts to move inside you once more.

The night is long. He takes you again and again — gentle, then harder, then gentle again — whispering love and praise with every thrust, every touch.

When dawn finally creeps through the curtains, you’re both exhausted, tangled in the sheets, his hand resting protectively over your lower belly.

He kisses your temple. “If it happens tonight,” he murmurs, “I’ll never let you forget how loved you are.”

You smile, sleepy, sated, and curl tighter against him. “Promise?” you whisper.

He kisses you softly. “Promise.”

[idksmtms]

the marriage mart thoughts...

A/N: I got so many requests for a part 2 for The Marriage Mart but I just could not commit myself to a full part 2 fic. So instead, enjoy me just rambling on about what I think might happen and some of the reactions that I think other people might have. 

Here's the original fic: The Marriage Mart

Word count: 3.6k (I’m so sorry, I do not know what happened…) 

Trigger Warnings: 18+/MDNI, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, (significant) age gap, younger!reader (20s), marriage, pregnancy, lil smutty mention, just general stuff, never proofread, (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: I do not own any ‘A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms’ characters. I do not claim to own any of the ‘A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms’ characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. 

Ok, so, Baelor has just secretly proposed to reader, wanting first to know what she thinks of this situation. I imagine that despite everything she said to him earlier, he was still really apprehensive to do it, and was scared that she would somehow have changed her mind and would call him old and unsuitable. But then she says yes and practically throws herself in his arms and they kiss and it’s perfect and she’s wearing his ring (that does not fit because of his big ASS hands) and that’s that. So, continuing on from there. 

I don’t think they tell anyone that first night. Baelor probably tells her that he will handle everything from then on, and she need not worry. They hush up and go back to the dinner and sit separately but just watch each other from across the room all lovey dovey and trying to keep their secret. I think Baelor would have loved to have danced with her, but they both know that it would look so weird that the Crown Prince is dancing with one of the maidens for his son, so they just have to not. 

The next morning, the first thing Baelor does is call Valarr into his study, sit him down, and tell him everything. I think he would be really civil and lay it all out for Valarr and basically be like “I have met a maiden, and I understand that it may be difficult to accept, but I have found happiness and I wish to have it again.” And Valarr is probs a bit like, “um, ok, what??” and Baelor tells him all about you and how you have charmed him and he would like to believe that despite the age difference, you seem to love him too, and he wants to have experienced true love for real in his life and he wants it with you. Valarr is a bit like “um, ok, bit weird that she’s so young, but I love you and I want you to be happy, so go for it dad.” And it’s a little awkward, but they’re both ok with everything and they leave it there. 

Valarr wasn’t going to choose you anyway (no offence) but he’s just shocked that his dad has, after such a long time, shown interest in a woman and wants to get married. But overall, he’s happy his dad is happy and that’s all he cares about! 

Ok, as for the reactions of other people, your family is just in plain shock and doesn’t know how to handle the news. After talking with Valarr, Baelor has your father brought to him and in plain terms lays out that he is in love with you and wants to marry you. Your father is already shocked that the Crown Prince wants to meet him, then he is completely blind-sided by the question. He asks how that was even possible, and Baelor just simply tells him that you guys have met and he thinks you’re beautiful and your personality should be cherished and he wishes to do that. He is super kind and says everything he thinks a father in your father’s position would want to hear to know their daughter will be well taken care of and happy. He also says that your father should ask you if you wish to marry Baelor. If you refuse then that will be that, Baelor will not force you, and he lets him go. That’s definitely the thing that comforts your father the most, knowing that Baelor wants you to say yes, not force you into a marriage just because he is a royal and can do whatever tf he wants. 

Your father comes back to you guys and you’re looking at him with big hopeful eyes. He tells your family what has happened and everyone is completely shocked. They’re all like “when tf did you even meet him???” (I’m almost imagining that scene from Pride and Prejudice (2005) where Mr Darcy is sitting outside the house and Jane and their mother are watching him and just being in shock that he and Lizzy are suddenly getting married lol). 

Your father asks you if this is something that you want, and tells you what Baelor said about making sure that you are happy with the decision, otherwise he will happily step away, and it makes you love Baelor even more (you did not think that was possible). You’re basically jumping at him and being like “yes! Please! Yes! I want to marry him, I want that more than anything!” 

So your father goes back to Baelor and says yes, you are very happy with the idea and you want nothing more and that makes Baelor smile a lot and he says he is happy as well. Your father and him discuss stuff (Baelor is def not accepting a dowry or any of that shit, all he wants is you, but he agrees that your father can re-swear allegiance and make a pact to always fight for the royal family if he really wants to give them something). 

Oh, also, Baelor has def gone and spoken to his father about it (King Daeron is absolutely ecstatic, he wants his son to be happy and knowing he has love in his life is all that matters. He says he can die happy now, and he also says he really wants to meet you so Baelor says he will def get that arranged). He tells Maekar and everyone then as well, and Maekar is just like “excuse me, what now?” and just really shocked. Can’t decide if he wants to laugh because Baelor is taking a wife young enough to be his daughter, or is still stuck in shock because he never thought Baelor would marry again after Jena. But overall he is def happy for his brother because he can see that he is truly happy and in love this time, and Maekar is just happy with that. 

Valarr and Matarys know already so they just congratulate their father again, and Egg is really happy for his uncle (and also so happy that there will be someone even a little motherly around because he really misses that…). Aerion is just like “um, excuse me, what if I wanted that maiden?” (he did not, he just loves to cause problems, and everyone tells him to shut tf up). He’s also fine with it though because it means another person to manipulate, and your wedding feasts will mean more fun for him so he’s happy. 

Basically, the entire family’s reaction is that this is crazy and unexpected, but Baelor is so kind and good that they all want him to be happy and have a good wife with him. 

You and Baelor still sneak away all the time to meet with each other, but it gets considerably harder to be alone now that everyone knows you will be married. There always seem to be witnesses and the quiet moments you had together when you were first meeting were gone, but that was ok because you could always find that same feeling when you were with each other, even if there were people around. 

In the days since the announcement, Baelor took you on walks in the gardens and everyone saw you walking arm in arm and were like “awwww but also omg” and it was just general shock and awe. You guys just stare so lovingly at each other and talk about the lives you want to live together and how you’re so excited. Baelor loves that you’re just so smiley now and always so happy to be with him, and it makes him feel so fresh and cared for again. 

When he tells you about meeting the King, you get so nervous and freaked out, and you don’t know how to act anymore. He just hugs you and calms you down and tells you that as long as you are yourself, the King will love you and it will be alright. 

You wear your best dress and take Baelor’s arm and he walks you in and you’re so surprised because the whole family is there and you feel like you’ve been thrown in the deep end. But you just hold onto Baelor’s arm and smile and try to get through it. Valarr is super nice here and really comforting because you guys have already met and if you’re not attached to Baelor, he comes to be with you and talks to you and calms you down. 

You speak with the King for a little while, and he asks you all sort of questions about your life and your home and your family, and you are happy to talk with him and gain your confidence back throughout. He is really nice and smiley and he keeps telling you quietly about how happy he is that his son is happy, that he hasn’t seen him this expressive in a long time. He tells you about how it is important to have a partner when you become a ruler, someone who gives you strength and is always there for you to go to at the end of the day. He tells you how he was worried for Baelor because he is so strong and so self-assured and so well-adjusted to become the ruler, but he was alone and he did not want ruling to take a horrible toll on him. 

You guys are just sat together near the head of the table while everyone else in the family talks (Baelor has gone over to speak to Maekar about something so he isn’t with you then) and you just sit with the King who is actually just this nice old man who wants his son to be taken care of. You guys just smile at each other and he pats your hand and you feel so happy and so lucky to love Baelor. 

Maekar is very grumpy and sassy (like he always is) but he takes a liking to you as well because you’re just a nice person. Like you don’t say things unnecessarily, and even if you do, you’re funny and sweet and you make Egg laugh so that’s all that counts. He’s not exactly the chattiest and sweetest guy on the planet, but he’s not mean to you and that’s enough. 

When the realm finds out the news, I’d like to believe people are generally happy. The crown always gives out free stuff and holds festivities for royal weddings so everyone is def rejoicing about that, but they’re also happy because they all know that Prince Baelor is the best of the Targaryens and to see him find happiness again is really nice. And they all know that he is def marrying you for love because, no offence, your family is not that rich and not that high status, so realistically, y’all could not offer the Targaryens anything they want… 

The best gift Baelor gave you before your wedding was absolute free reign with your wedding dress. You could do whatever you wanted, spare no expense, and you were literally melting at his feet when he told you. He was just so happy to see you happy that he would literally do anything for you. He also knew how much you loved getting unique and fun dresses so he thought this would be good for you. 

You literally went offfff with your wedding dress, I’m talking pearls and jewels, and the finest fabrics money can buy. I can’t remember where I said reader’s house originates from (I think it was like Tully area or smthn) so I’m thinking you found a way to meld water designs and dragons. Maybe like water inspired draconic details, so like shiny blue and silver scales on the train of your dress, waves in the shape of wings on your back, and just mixing your two houses together in every possible detail. 

When you walk into the Sept for the wedding, Baelor definitely forgets how to breathe for at least the first half of the ceremony. You are crying happy tears by the time you get to him (he’s a little worried that you’re sad or upset but you can’t stop smiling so he’s like ohhh ok) and he is literally just open-mouthed and out of breath.

He doesn’t think he’s ever felt that way before. Like yes he loved Jena, and he had been relatively happy on their wedding day, but he had not fallen IN love with her, and he had never felt this intensity of emotion with her. He would def describe you as his true love. 

He just holds your hands so tightly during the ceremony and you guys stand way closer than needed, and when you do all the cape exchanging, he’s just so gentle with you and he literally never takes his eyes off you, not for one second. Everyone can tell you guys are madly in love and it just makes the vibe so nice and lovely. 

The kiss is so sweet! A little salty because you’ve been crying, but he just cups your face a little and you guys give a chaste little kiss (you are not going to be making out in front of everyone, both of you would like to keep a shred of dignity) and it is actually just perfect. 

During the feast, you guys receive everyone coming to congratulate you and it’s just really nice vibes and every time someone goes away, you glance at each other and just smile and feel so giddy. He makes sure you eat as much as you could possibly want and that your cup is never empty. He pays attention to you before anyone else, even if he’s in a convo, he def has one ear kept personally for you. He holds your hand under the table the entire feast and he constantly leans over to whisper stuff in your ear and it’s just so cute and giddy!!! 

Oh and also, I can see your little siblings absolutely sobbing and screaming when they find out you’re getting married and you’re leaving home. Like even before the wedding they’re so upset with you and it takes you forever to convince them that you’re happy and that they’ll come visit you all the time. And then even at the wedding, your littlest brother comes and just sits in your lap and glares at Baelor because he’s taking you away from the family, and your younger sisters all stand around you with pouts and also glare at Baelor because how could he do this???

And bless him, he’s so charming and sweet and kind that by the end of the night, they’re all climbing all over him and making him promise that he’ll have lots of cake any time they come to visit y’all. 

I am not going to go into the wedding night very much, but I will say this: imagine the most soft and intimate sex possible. Like he is just draped over you and looking straight into your eyes for the first little while, and then when it gets a little closer, your faces are just pressed to each other’s shoulders and you’re just feeling EVERYTHING and making little noises in each other’s ears and it’s just so intense that aaaa. Like you guys barely talk the entire time, he just says small comforting things to you but you barely talk because you’re so connected and you don’t need to say anything and just ehrfuberfyueb. 

Anyway. Moving on. After the marriage, I can def see a beautiful honeymoon period where they are just so lovey dovey all the time and find it so difficult to be separated. Alas it must be done. But it’s ok because you have so much to keep you busy as the future queen of the seven kingdoms! You have to learn everything about the Red Keep, remember everything you were once taught in lessons by your own Septa, start reading up on all the royals at court and their families, and make sure you remember every little detail about everything! 

You have a whole host of ladies trying to become your best friend now, and you need to be respectful of all of them and their husbands. You need to be regal and kind but not a pushover and you need to make sure you are careful about everything you say because everyone in that castle is a fucking vulture. 

Baelor is more than happy to help with all the history stuff though! In the evenings he reads to you from huge books about the noble houses of Westeros and points out the families that you always meet and helps you understand and remember whatever he can. Or if you’re attending a large dinner when some congregation visits, he’ll whisper in your ear about whoever is coming to greet you or who has just greeted you or whatever information you need really. And whenever he does that, you just look up at him with these big loving eyes and call him your saviour and literally nothing makes him feel as good as that does. 

You guys also slowly form your own routine after the marriage. Of course it takes a little bit of adjustment because you two have had your own life routines for so long that moulding them around another person is a little strange, but you settle in well. You guys always have dinner together, no question about it, whether it be at a large feast or just a private little thing between you two, it is non-negotiable to miss it. 

If he has to continue working in the evening, you come sit with him in his study and find something to do for yourself, or even just doze off on the chaise he’s had put by the fire just for you. It’s the small things that matter, that even if you’re not talking, you’re able to be around each other and just find comfort in each others’ presence. 

In the evenings you guys go back to your chambers together as well, neither of you likes to be there on your own because it is your shared space. You technically have your own chambers, as you’re supposed to do, but they are basically never touched because you and Baelor just cohabit in his rooms. 

Of course there’s always little things that other people do that annoy others, it happens to everyone, and the thing that always gets you, is that it feels like any time you’re really tired and just want to wash your face and freshen up, Baelor is using the fucking washing bowl. You get so annoyed at him about that because you just told him you were going to wash up, and he’s just standing there washing his hands and face. You’re not angry but just irked and usually it makes him smirk because he kinda loves to see you be annoyed, it’s very cute. 

But he’s also usually shirtless when he’s doing this so like… annoyed as you are, you’re happy with the view. You love coming over and running your hands down his back when he’s doing it because it makes him hum and purr like a cat and you fucking love that shit. 

The thing about you that annoys him the most, is that you’ll say you’re ready, or you’ll say that you only need five minutes to finish getting ready, but you always take longer than that. Like you’ll be saying “I’m ready! I’m ready!” but then you’re sitting there on the edge of the bed putting your slippers on. He always shakes his head and just sighs before helping you put your shoes on and kissing your leg. 

Anyway, you guys are so lovey dovey and cute, that it is absolutely no wonder that within the first year of your marriage, you’re announcing you’re pregnant. Baelor kinda can’t believe it. I mean, he’s really happy, and he’s even happier that he gets to have a child with you, but he was also happy with just Valarr and Matarys so he had never worried about that stuff. 

You’re absolutely beaming and excited about being pregnant. Like even on the shit days when you’re vomiting and can’t get out of bed and you feel like a whale, you’re just so happy to have a baby and he’s so happy that you’re happy. You best believe Baelor is the best husband to have around when you’re pregnant, because he won’t do anything to annoy you (on purpose anyway) and will make sure you have every possible thing you could want. 

And everyone in the palace is so happy that you’re pregnant because they fucking love having little babies to spoil all the time, so you’re being treated like an absolute queen as well. It’s weird and great and lovely and just yay! 

I def think you’re having a baby boy first, because for a little while, you need to be outnumbered in your little family. Like for the first few years after he’s born, Baelor teases you all the time that you’re surrounded by men and that you’re the lone flower in a pack of dragons. But then you give him like 3 daughters straight so… girl dad!Baelor agenda is never dying in this house. 

Anyway, I thought I wasn’t writing that much and was just gonna ramble for a bit but this is so fucking long… I’m sorry y’all. 

I might see if I can fully write some of these scenes into a fic as a thank you for sticking with my dumbass… 

[idksmtms]

The Marriage Mart (Baelor Targaryen x Reader)

A/N: back at it again (falling in love w/ age inappropriate men…) 

Note: I know intersex mingling is not a thing in medieval-style environments, but I just wanted my younguns to be allowed to have some fun like we are :((( 

Edit: Got way too into this, and now its fucking long and I want Baelor more than ever… 

Edit 2: I wrote a continuation drabble/kinda p2 here!

Summary: The call has been sent out to all eligible maidens that Prince Valarr, second in line to the throne, is beginning his search for a wife. However, it is not Valarr with whom you forge a bond… 

Word count: 12,768

Trigger Warnings: 18+/MDNI, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, (significant) age gap, younger!reader (20s), a little angst (personal insecurity expressed by reader), never proofread, (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: I do not own any ‘A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms’ characters. I do not claim to own any of the ‘A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms’ characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

Baelor silently signalled to the Kingsguards to stay within the great hall as he made his way to the door and slipped out while everyone busied themselves with preparing for the dancing portion of the evening. He had a dagger dangling from his belt, and he was experienced in the battlefield. If a threat were to arise in the few minutes he spent away, then he could surely handle it himself. 

And he only needed a few minutes, just a handful where he could sit in the quiet and close his eyes and think of all the time that had passed, how Valarr was so grown now, and how he hoped Jena was proud of the man their son was becoming. 

As the doors shut behind him, Baelor let out a long sigh and felt his body relax as he began strolling down the halls of the Keep. The sconces were lit, casting warm orange light over the halls, and a gentle breeze blew through the space. He had not walked far when he reached a balcony overlooking the gardens and the sea beyond. 

Baelor paused when he noticed a shadow standing at the very edges of the firelight, turned out to the view. When he stepped closer, he caught the folds of a dress, elegant sleeves and a silky fabric, and he recognised the shadow as a woman. He walked onto the balcony, clearing his throat. 

“Might I help you, my lady?” He asked quietly as he made his way closer to you, brow furrowing. Why were you here all alone, far from the great hall and the action? 

You did not jump at the sudden intrusion, just turned to face him a little before your body went rigid and a look of dumbfounded surprise crossed your face. You straightened up a little, wiped at the soft skin under your eyes, and clasped your hands tightly together in front of you as a hot flush spread under your skin. 

“I… your grace,” and you began curtseying but Baelor simply held his hand up to stop you, waiting patiently for your response as you readjusted in your place. “I do not require aid,” you told him quietly then let out a long sigh and turned your head back up to the sky. You let out a sad little chuckle as Baelor stepped closer, the furrow of his brow deepening as he looked at you. “I wanted to see what the night sky looked like in King’s Landing,” you whispered, “if it was different to the sky we have at home.” 

The smile on your face was intensely wistful, and when you glanced back at Baelor, it only grew a little. “I know it is presumptuous of me to think about such things, we have only all just arrived in King’s Landing and the prince may never even look at me, let alone choose me to be his bride, but I thought in preparation… it may be nice to know what the sky looked like at least.” You shrugged, a pathetic little movement. “And even if it is not the prince, if it is some other nobleman who takes an interest and is satisfied with my dowry, I shall need to get used to a new sky.” 

Baelor was standing at your side now, and he felt incapable of tearing his eyes from you. You wore your hair pulled back, and your face was clean and youthful, Valarr’s age or perhaps a little younger. You wore a velvet dress in the dark blue of a night sky just before dawn, gold trimmings on the hems and gold slippers just peeking out at the bottom. It fell at the tops of your arms, exposing sloping shoulders and a cut of your chest. But it was your eyes that truly brought him in. The eyes of a young woman who thought too much, who carried a soul too heavy for anyone to bear. 

When Baelor still did not respond and the silence felt too stretched, you sucked in a deep breath and laughed a little bashfully, blinking and looking around as if you had only just returned to the earth. You continued to chuckle as you pressed your fingers to your cheeks for a moment, checking for any escaped tears before looking back at him. 

“My apologies, your grace,” you sighed as if exasperated with yourself, rolling your eyes exaggeratedly, “you have caught me in a moment when I am not only wistful but unbearably talkative.” You smiled brightly at him, and though it did not seem insincere, it hid a great deal. “Perhaps some music and cheer will fix me,” you added, bowing low and quickly dismissing yourself before you made any more a fool of yourself in front of the heir to the throne. Once you had passed him, you made a face at yourself, berating and angry and resisting the urge to slap a hand over your eyes. 

Baelor turned to watch you walk away feeling as if he had just been blown over by a strong wind and was still sitting on the ground trying to catch his breath. He could still see you standing next to him, bathed in the silvery light of the moon and tinged at the very edges by the distant lit sconce. He could see your lashes flutter against your cheeks as you blinked quickly and the puffy quality to your eyelids, the shine of recently dried tears. 

He felt as if he had intruded on something, and it was not a feeling he often experienced. You had been having a moment to yourself, an introspective scene which you had most likely hoped no one would come across. And he had only been looking for the same, a breath of fresh air outside of the buzzing hall full of people clammering and clawing for one purpose. Though he had not expected the maidens to wish to escape, why shouldn’t you? 

But there was something about you, perhaps your beautiful dress or your pretty smile, that seemed to have lodged itself beneath his ribs… 

Baelor’s eyes drifted away from the Lord as they walked through the gardens, hands clasped behind their backs as a Kingsguard followed close behind. The meeting was necessary, a discussion on grain production and stores, but both men had been sequestered within the Keep all morning and had decided that a taste of fresh air was a necessity. 

The Lord was explaining… something. His hands were moving as he spoke in a low voice, but from the moment they had entered the gardens and Baelor had heard the distant voices, his focus had drifted. He looked up and spotted the different little clusters of people dotted all over the grounds. 

A group of elderly women, most likely grandmothers and aged aunts, were seated around a table under a gazebo, pots of tea and cups deposited in front of them as they chattered, occasionally laughing a little too loud or hacking a cough. There were other gatherings, fathers and brothers of the potential brides mingling amongst each other, waited on by maids and servantboys. The young ones had made their own cluster though. 

Baelor found Valarr at a table near the edge of the gardens, just in front of a patch empty of bushes that allowed a view out to the sea. Usually Valarr would be inside with him, sitting through every meeting and counsel and hearing that Baelor had to sit through in preparation to become the heir to the Iron Throne. Or perhaps he would be in the training ground, practicing his skills with the idle Kingsguard, or even just expelling his rage at a straw practice dummy. But Valarr had the week to choose a bride, which meant he was relieved of political duties and would not find peace if he chose to train. 

The table was populated with both ladies and lordlings of a similar age to Valarr, all speaking amongst themselves with small smiles on their faces or loud boisterous laughter. Baelor could not fault them, this was one of the few times the men and women were allowed to mingle, though he was sure there was a Septa fuming at the sight. He allowed himself a small smile, feeling soothed at the thought of his son at least enjoying himself a little despite how much the prospect had daunted him before. It was only then that Baelor caught sight of you. 

You were sat across from Valarr, bordered on either side by other young ladies. Though your chair faced toward the table, to the other people surrounding you, your head was turned toward the sea. You blinked slowly, as if a part of you was in tune with the calm of the water, but the moment was over in a flash, and one of the young women said something in your direction that made you laugh, your head leaning back and eyes squinting prettily. 

You were wearing a dress in a dark emerald green, a shiny fabric embossed with a darker pattern he could not make out from the distance. There was gold embroidery on the sleeves at your forearms, and like the dress from the evening before, it was draped precariously at your upper arms, leaving your shoulders bare to the sunlight. You wore simple jewellery, and your hair was pulled back from your face and into an intricate set of braids. You looked elegant, lovely. 

Baelor watched you listen to the conversation being passed around the table, your eyes flitting to Valarr as he spoke, and his son’s eyes flitting to yours as you responded. Someone at the table scoffed, the boy beginning to speak over you. You simply pursed your lips, leaning back in your seat and guiding your hardened eyes to the tabletop. Baelor knew Valarr would rectify the slight, would politely bring you back into the fold, but you seemed to forget the insult quickly as the woman to your right gently pressed her hand to your forearm and shot you a look that plainly told you that she had noticed, that this was not a new occurrence. Baelor swallowed both his laugh and his smirk. 

You let loose a long sigh, leaning back in your seat and placing your hands in your lap as you began looking around. It did not take long for your eyes to land on Baelor, standing still now on the path that wound around the gardens and back to the Keep, his eyes on you over the Lord’s shoulder. You went rigid when you noticed his attention, though you attempted to act as if no change had occurred in you. You turned your hands over and pressed your palms to your lap, and your lips parted as you tore your eyes away from him. You cautiously crept your gaze back in his direction, but your eyes flitted away when you noted that he was still watching you. 

Your chin lifted a little, and you adjusted yourself in your seat to be higher, your spine straighter, and Baelor smirked, finally tearing his eyes from you to allow you a second of respite. You were sweet, attempting to look more respectable as the Crown Prince watched on. When Baelor looked back, Valarr too had noted his presence and stood from his chair, lifting a hand to wave in his direction. 

“Excuse me for a moment,” Baelor told the lord, walking off before the man could utter a word in response, offering Valarr a pursed-lip smile as he neared. 

“Father,” Valarr greeted, bowing his head a little. The men and women at the table all stood to greet the Crown Prince, a chorus of “your grace” echoing around him. He could not pick out your voice. He smiled at them all, his gentle princely smile that made him a favourite of any who met him. 

Your head stayed a little bowed as Prince Baelor stood with his son, and you only looked up in quick snatches. Your entire body was hot with a blush as you remembered the way you had spoken to him, the way he had looked at you as if he could not quite make out if you were real. The more you thought about the way you had behaved in front of him, the more mortified you became. 

Baelor gently clapped Valarr on the back, asking how his son fared and then directing the question at everyone around him. They were all bright-faced and starry-eyed, beaming at the chance to speak to the Crown Prince and happily responding. Your response was whispered, hidden again in the humdrum, but Baelor’s eyes were already on you, watching your lips move as you bashfully glanced between him and the table. He offered you a kind smile, and refrained from directing any more of his attention toward you. 

You took to watching the Crown Prince instead as he focused on Valarr again and spoke in quiet tones with him. He had immensely straight posture, and an easy elegance to his every move. His hair was short, shorter than most men, but he kept a dignified beard over his cheeks and chin, sprinkled with white like snow on distant hilltops. His eyes were beautifully mismatched like his sons, but darker, more hidden and mysterious - perhaps a sign of age and experience. He wore black all over, but his doublet was thick and soft-looking, just begging to be touched… you bit your lip and looked down as a heat began pulsing under your skin. But your eyes caught sight of the rings adorning his thick fingers, his thumb absentmindedly twisting the one on the middle finger of the same hand, and you felt too tight in your stomach and chest. 

You glanced out at the water again, hoping beyond hope that a servant would come by with wine or ale and you could quench the sudden thirst in your throat. You rubbed your palms along your dress and when you gathered the courage to look back, Prince Baelor was facing the table again, nodding in farewell. 

“Goodbye,” you said quietly, and you were sure he would not hear over the other voices, but he seemed to look right at you and nod one more time, small and private, just for you, and suddenly you felt a pathetic lightness all over you… 

As the evening descended on King’s Landing, the Keep was full of noise as everyone readied for another night of feasting and dancing. The festivities were to go on for a full week until the announcement of Prince Valarr’s betrothal, and all parties could not contain their excitement. 

People filed into the great hall slowly, fathers daughters, mothers and brothers, and the tables began to fill up. The royals themselves only entered after a hefty crowd had gathered, walking up to their table on the raised dais and offering nods to the nobles who caught their eyes. 

Baelor sat at the centre of the table, at the centre of attention. To his right was his brother, dour-faced and constantly annoyed by something or other, not even waiting until he had fully sat down to grab his cup of wine and begin gulping from it. On Baelor’s left were his two sons, his pride in human form. Sometimes he could not quite believe how much time had passed and how quickly they had grown. 

Baelor watched as the platters of food were brought out and passed around, first to their table, then all down the hall, serving boys and girls running up and down with jugs of wine and ale, filling cups as loud and boisterous chatter and laughter echoed up to the ceiling. He sipped from his wine as he leaned on the arm closest to his brother, listening to the man grumble about some mischief his youngest had been up to. But Baelor’s attention was not on him. 

It was not easy to pick you out of the crowd, with the constant bobbing of heads and moving pieces, but once he found you, he could not stop seeing you. You were sitting somewhere in the middle, neither highborn nor lowborn, bordered on either side by brothers and sisters, facing your parents. He was sure he had met your father or brother at some point, perhaps at a tourney or some council or other. They looked familiar, but not familiar enough to elicit a clear memory. It frustrated him more than he would ever admit. 

You wore a beautiful dress coloured the orange of a sunset, layered with thin and shiny material. Drops of amber hung from your ears and though your hair was simply pulled back off your face, thin gold threads ran through and shined in the light. A small orange lily was tucked behind your ear and you were smiling and laughing as one of your younger family members attempted to clamber onto you and snatch it from your hair. He could not hear your laugh but a pang of longing hit him. 

As the evening carried on, Baelor’s focus did not shift from you. Valarr did not notice his father’s silence, Baelor had always been more quiet and thoughtful than most men. Maekar noticed his brother’s silence, his distant gaze, but chose not to question it. 

You were fascinating to him for reasons unknown to himself. Yes, of course you were pretty, but there was an endless train of pretty women in his life, and he had not batted an eye for a long time. Perhaps it was how much of a contradiction you appeared to be. You were thoughtful and intriguing, then cut yourself down as if whatever you said was of no value. You were willing to speak and not shy when you did, but then you held yourself back and allowed yourself to be spoken over. How could a person be both? 

When the tables were pushed back to create space for dancing, and the band began playing from their place in the corner, everything became muddled. He could no longer see you, and his interest in the event dwindled. When Valarr stood to ask a maiden to dance, Baelor quietly excused himself and made his way to the door. Just as he pushed it open and slipped through, he noticed the orange fabric of a dress peeking just slightly from around a corner. His heart thudded in his chest and he followed the path to find you, back pressed to the wall, head leaned back and eyes closed. You were humming quietly to yourself, but paused and became tense when you heard his footsteps. 

Baelor cleared his throat, hoping not to jolt you, and watched your eyes slowly peel open and your body go a little rigid again. But this time he smiled softly, walking a little closer with knowing eyes that made your skin feel hot and your chest rise and fall a little quicker than before. 

“My apologies,” you quickly breathed out, as if you needed to jump and say the right thing first. Then you winced, bowing your head as you realised how utterly stupid you sounded. 

“Whatever for?” Baelor asked, eyes a little wide in surprise as he stopped a few feet in front of you. You looked up at him through your lashes from where your head was still bowed, and smiled apologetically. 

“I do not know,” you sighed, and when Baelor chuckled, your hands tingled and you felt something clench inside you. You straightened up a little and pressed yourself harder into the wall behind you, hoping the sensation would ground you. 

“I would advise not to apologise when it is not needed,” he told you sagely, and you nodded, smiling softly. 

Silence fell over the two of you, and felt it like a pinch all over your body. You glanced around, twiddling your fingers behind your back, before looking at Baelor again. 

“At least I am not crying this time,” you told him out of the blue, a wry smile on your lips. But when his brows only furrowed and his head tilted in confusion, you felt the hot flush of embarrassment strike you. “Uhm,” you cleared your throat, “unlike last time, when you found me,” your voice quietening as you spoke. 

“Ah,” Baelor nodded, a polite smile on his lips, and you felt like slapping yourself for ruining the moment again. “I too am glad of the fact,” he finally said, “it is not pleasant to see a pretty young woman crying.” 

Maybe you had actually slapped yourself and not realised. Why did you feel like you had just been struck and you could not comprehend it? Your eyes were wide, lips parted just a little, and you were looking right at his face unabashedly for the first time. A soft breath whooshed past your lips and your hands clasped together in front of you. 

Baelor’s smile widened a little at that. How were you so obvious in your reactions? Maybe it was with age and experience that he was able to read people so well, but it was as if he could see your thoughts play across your face, plain as day. You smiled at him, but your lips pulsed as if you were unable to hold the expression. 

“Why were you so tearful?” He asked, clasping his hands behind his back as he leaned a little to be closer to you in height. You pursed your lips and looked away from him, trying to think quickly of something better than the truth, but then you sighed, dropped your head a little and shook it before looking back up at him with that same sad smile of before. 

“The same sentiments I expressed that evening,” you shrugged, moving your lips against each other a little. “It is not that the thought of marriage upsets me, or that I am against the idea of moving to a far off place to live with my husband. Every woman of course has a healthy fear of either of those things, but it is not something that haunts me. It is…” you paused as you felt the tears burn behind your eyes again and a lump began to thicken inside your throat. “It is rather stupid,” you shook your head, but Baelor took a step closer, his face contorted in a small frown. 

He reached up and gently pressed under your chin with the side of his index finger until your head was lifted once more and you were forced to look him in the eye. He did not say anything, just allowed you the space to continue, and you felt the first tear trickle down your cheek. 

“I am afraid that I cannot be loved,” you whispered, your face contorting a little as the pain in your heart unfurled and spread through your limbs. “A husband is meant to be the person who loves you for who you are, faults and all, whether that love is built before or during the marriage. I fear that I will be married, or I will be courted, and I will fall in love, but I will not be loved, and it will all be my own fault because I am not good enough to be loved.” 

The tears streamed down your face, your eyes squinted shut, your voice going small and watery, and Baelor felt your pain within his own skin. He felt it in his chest, in his gut, filling his head. He cupped your face and wiped your tears away with his thumb as you looked up at him, your chest and lips shaking as you sucked in breaths. You were not sobbing, but you would start soon. He just continued the soothing motion and after a moment, you leaned forward and practically fell against his chest, hiding your face there. You wrapped your arms around his torso, splaying your hands over his broad back and clinging to him the way the drowning cling to air. 

At first, Baelor could not move. He looked down at you, at your trembling shoulders, and allowed himself to wrap his arms loosely around you. He stared at the wall in front of him as you breathed slowly against his chest, and his eyes drifted closed, absorbing your warmth as you relaxed in his grip. 

How long since he had comforted in such a way? How long since he had held someone, since someone had held him? His breaths came out as slow and shaky as yours. 

The two of you stood there for a long few minutes more, and when you pulled away, you had a small pursed-lip smile on your face. Baelor unfurled his arms from you, keeping them diplomatically at his sides, and you clutched your hands tightly together in front of you. 

“Heh,” you let out a small, awkward laugh, and rubbed at your cheek nervously. “That is twice now you have been witness to my tears. Far more than necessary.” He could practically see you begin to shrink in on yourself, and something wild and desperate inside him wanted it to stop at once. “Uhm,” you cleared your throat, “I apologise again, my prince,” you said quietly, “I should not have… I should not… I just should not.” 

Even the embarrassed smile had dropped from your face now and you looked small and sad, like a child shamed for something done with good intentions.  

“Did I not just advise you to refrain from apology when unnecessary?” He asked you quietly, one of his eyebrows raising as you pursed your lips and nodded bashfully. 

“Yes, your grace,” you whispered, continuing to wring your hands. Baelor reached down and gently gripped them, stopping the movement. He could feel you tremble in his hold, but he kept on, softly rubbing his thumb over the backs of your hands until they relaxed. 

“You do not find me insolent?” You asked him innocently, looking up at him through your lashes again as brightness began to return to your eyes. 

“Not one bit,” he smiled, the soft and caring smile he reserved for those closest to his heart. 

“Truly?” You asked, and your own smile was returned, a cheeky lilt to your words. He could see the sparks dancing in your eyes and the smooth movement returned to your body. Though he still held your hands, you gripped them back a little now, and your spine straightened just that bit further. 

“Truly,” and his smile widened too, matching yours. 

You felt at peace now, something that had slowly gathered within you from the moment your tears had ceased and he had continued to hold you. The inside of your skull felt smooth and soft again, without the constant pulsing tension that had been unknowingly plaguing you. 

He had watched you cry, had heard your deepest fear and a truth you scarcely liked admitting to yourself, and he had stayed… Not only had he stayed, he had listened and comforted, wiped your tears and simply given you the space to be. That meant far more than anything he could say. 

And now you felt light, like the weight was lifted and the good parts of you that others always appreciated were allowed to be appreciated by you as well. You felt like the girl who laughed freely at family dinners and giggled with her friends, who spoke her thoughts with care and wanted them to be expressed precisely the way she wanted. You felt whole, and all because of something so simple… 

You smiled up at the prince and then unfurled your hands from his grip, feeling a little shy at the way he continuously watched you. You reached up and plucked the lily that had managed to keep its place at your ear. It had been a little squished and wilted when you had pressed your face to his chest, but you carefully placed it in his palm and curled his fingers around it. You lifted his hand until it rested over his heart, then at the last moment, leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the back of his hand. 

“Thank you, your grace,” you whispered, then you slipped out from between him and the wall and swiftly went around the corner and back into the Great Hall. 

“Father,” Valarr nodded, closing the door behind him as he ventured into Baelor’s study at the top of the Hand’s tower. Baelor had been sequestered all morning, reading through petitions and letters and something that was both a petition and a congratulatory letter. Though he had managed to focus on occasion, there were moments where his eyes stayed on one word far too long simply because his mind had gone back to the previous evening to recreate the feeling of you kissing the back of his hand. Baelor smiled at the sight of his son, watching Valarr fall into the seat across from the desk with a long sigh. 

“How do you fare?” He asked, and Valarr blew a breath upward to force the hair from his eyes. He shrugged, looking again like the child he had once been, before straightening up and nodding. 

“As well as can be,” he told Baelor, “spoilt for choice yet without passion.” He clasped his hands together between his knees then leaned forward, his back curling, before looking up at his father. “I fear I have met a hundred women, but do not know any well enough to propose marriage.” 

Baelor smiled sympathetically at his son and nodded in understanding. It had once been that way for him too, but he had been lucky to find Jena. He was sure Valarr would find someone too, and he did not mind if it took him some time. 

They conversed a little on some of the maidens, a Lannister lady with pretty golden hair and a Hightower girl with a quick wit, but nothing further than that. It was then that a name hit Baelor, completely out of the blue from the recesses of his mind. He continued looking at the papers in front of him, though he did not read a word, and casually asked Valarr, “what do you know of Lord Blanetree’s daughter?” Valar’s brow furrowed as he racked his brain, tilting his head a little. 

“Uh,” he dragged out in thought, ignoring the raised eyebrow look his father shot at him as he did. It was undignified. “I believe he has many children, with four daughters at least, but with a large gap between. The eldest is twenty and something but her first younger sister is only just ten and three. I believe you met the Lady Y/n at my table a day past,” his eyes lit up then as the memory cleared. “Yes, she sat across from me in the emerald dress. She is rather well spoken, if a little reserved.” 

Baelor lifted his eyes to Valarr, your name running in his head again and again. So that was who you were, the eldest daughter of a minor house, reached marriageable age yet unmarried, burdened by your position and your mind. Your name sounded soft and sweet in his head. 

“Do you wish me to focus my attentions on her?” Valarr asked, looking quizzically at his father, but Baelor almost jumped in his seat. 

“No, my son,” he answered soothingly, “I will not influence your decision in any way. It is your right to choose, and you shall have it.” And Valarr smiled gratefully, nodding in thanks. He soon stood and made his way back to the door, citing the possibility of finally being able to train in peace, and left. 

Baelor leaned back in his seat, parchment forgotten on his desk. He spun his ring around his finger, over and over and over. He knew your name… 

You were wearing a yellow dress. The beautiful soft yellow of sunshine and daffodils, a simpler dress than any other he had seen you in, with minimal embroidery and embellishment, cut off just at the ankles to expose your matching silk slippers. 

Baelor could see you in the distance as he walked down the hall, keeping a leisurely pace as he prolonged his return to the tower after a meeting with the King. You leaned on the stone railing and looked down over the inner courtyard, draped not in sunlight but the pale indirect shine from the sky. 

The dress you wore was thinner than others, made for summers, and he could see the outline of your body where you bent to lean, where your curves naturally pushed out and created your silhouette. He averted his eyes to your face. 

As he came closer, you turned your head in his direction, chin resting in your hand. You straightened up when you noticed him, but you were no longer rigid. Something softer had taken you over, the energy he had seen in you when you had interacted with your younger siblings at the feast. You were smiling, and he could not help himself but to offer it back to you. 

“Your grace,” you greeted, curtseying and then lifting your chin to ensure you met his eye. 

“Lady Y/n,” and you felt your skin heat. You had never heard him say your name before, and his silky voice wrapping around the letters made your spine tingle. Your smile widened unabashedly before you could contain it once more, and it only made his eyes dance. 

“Will you accompany me on my journey back to the Hand’s tower?” He asked, gesturing ahead of himself with a flat palm. You nodded enthusiastically, twirling to face forward and falling into step beside him. 

“Have you had a busy morning?” You asked him, clasping your hands behind your back as you walked at his side, matching his leisurely pace. You could tell that he slowed his stride to ensure your shorter legs would not disadvantage you, and your chest filled with warmth. 

“Nothing more than the usual,” he answered simply, and you nodded, letting out a little ‘ah’. “How has your morning fared?”

“As well as could be,” you said, mimicking his tone of simplicity, but when he raised an eyebrow and smirked at you a little, you giggled and bumped his shoulder with yours. You went rigid, realising what you had done, your face falling and your steps faltering, but when Baelor continued smiling at you, you simply laughed breathily and regained the straightness to your shoulders. “One of my gowns gained a tear while my sister played dress-up with my things, so I spent the morning teaching her how to sew it up.” 

Baelor’s eyes softened as he gazed upon you, and he could not tear himself away. Some of your hair fell forward onto your face, and his hand flexed with the need to push it back for you. He was sure you would make a wonderful mother some day, if the way you handled your younger siblings was anything to go by. He could imagine you with a babe in your arms, a child that was your spitting image, but perhaps inherited his own hair or his eyes. He could see a toddler running between you two, clutching to your skirts then toddling to his father… Baelor looked away and cleared his throat a little. 

“I do not wish to bore you with talk of dresses though,” you added, sighing a little. 

“You do not bore me,” he told you quietly, “you could not.” 

You felt the heat building in your chest, burning in your cheeks and at the tips of your ears. You looked up at him, lips parting a little, but it was too late for anything else as you had arrived at the door to the tower of the hand. 

Baelor stopped just outside, turning to face you fully. He reached up and tucked the strand of hair behind your ear, nodding in satisfaction, then bid you a quiet goodbye and left you standing there on uneven footing. 

The Crown Prince did not attend the dinner that evening. You felt the disappointment in your core. You waited and waited for the seat to be occupied, for the moment you could look up and watch him walk through, his long steps measured and his broad shoulders passing easily. But Valarr and his younger brother, and even Prince Maekar and his sons appeared, and the feasting and revelry began, but there was no sign of your Crown Prince. 

Your family could tell there was something that had subdued you. You poked at your food and barely smiled at anyone, huffing sadly every few moments, but not telling anyone why. You felt a little stupid being so upset over something like this. He did not owe you his presence, and he was a prince of the realm, hand of the king, he was far busier than you could ever comprehend being. But… you still wanted to see him, still wanted him to look at you the way he did… 

When the revelry began, you slipped away like clockwork. You did not want to stay in that room when you knew he was not there. An agitation you had never felt before seemed to be awakening in your skin, slowly and without naming itself. You walked slowly through the halls, savouring the cool air, on your hot skin. The lit fires shivered a little, casting long shadows on the walls, and after a few turns, you could not quite recognise where you had ended up. 

The smallest spark of fear was lit in your heart at the unfamiliar tapestries and the doors that all looked the same. You had never ventured too far from the Great Hall, and now that you had somehow taken leave of your senses, you could not quite remember what path you had taken to end up here. 

You rounded another corner, and instantly your heart lifted again at the sight of two Kingsguard posted outside a large door at the end of the hallway. You let out a sigh of relief, beginning to walk in their direction, but just as you reached the halfway point of the hallway, a voice stopped you. 

“My Lady?” A low question from your left, and you turned your head to look out onto a large balcony. The Crown Prince sat at a small table, his body facing out to the view but his head turned to look at you. He must have heard you coming. A jug of wine sat on the table in front of him and he clutched a cup in his right hand. 

Your lips parted, your body stopping short in surprise, and a little choked sound left you. You turned between him and the distant Kingsguard, and then took quick steps to reach the balcony. You paused just in front of him, not realising that your gown brushed his hand on the armrest. 

Baelor was mesmerised by you, there was no other way to put it. You seemed to appear out of thin air, but it was only the colour of your gown hiding you until you hit the light. He had first thought you were dressed in black, something thick that almost absorbed light, like his own clothes. But when you had stepped closer, he realised it was indigo, a dark indigo like that of a midnight sky during a thunderstorm, the lightning flashing. It lacked embellishment, relying on its colour shining in the lights of the fires. 

“Your grace,” you greeted breathily, your eyes still wide, and before he could ask what you were doing near the private Targaryen chambers, you continued on quickly. “I lost myself in thought, then I lost my way, I-” you dropped your head, your chin hitting your chest. “I did not mean to intrude on you.” 

Your relief was palpable, but Baelor could also see the apprehension, the worry that you had made your way to somewhere you were not supposed to be, intruded on something that you were not supposed to intrude upon. 

You were happy to see him, there was no doubt of that fact, but he had clearly avoided the feast and stayed himself here because he wanted to be alone. You would never forgive yourself if you had forced yourself in his company when you were not wanted, even if inadvertently. 

“It is alright,” he responded, smiling softly at you, and your shoulders loosened a little. He gestured to the seat next to him, the one that stood to your other side, and you hesitated for a moment, before ultimately deciding to sit down anyway. “You lost your way?” He prompted, and you nodded. 

Though Baelor did not mind company, and he did not mind solitude, he had required it that evening. It had been a long time since his mind had felt so jumbled about something, and it had nothing to do with the grain production of the realm, nor the new bridge being requested for a river just outside of King’s Landing. It was you.

He had known that if attended the feast, he would have spent his night watching after you, would not have thought a single thought that was not about you. But he could not allow that, not when so many other things began to crowd his mind and he found no peace in his bed at night. 

He had taken his jug of wine, his single cup, ordered the kingsguard to stay at his door, made his way to this quiet haven overlooking the gardens and the sea beyond, and simply allowed himself to think freely. 

Baelor thought about the way he had disregarded his own cautions and touched your hair anyway, had allowed himself to be swayed by the unexplainable desires of his that seemed to appear out of thin air when you were around. But then… then his thoughts had darkened. 

You were young, far too young still, and you had no business spending your time with a widowed old man like himself. You should have been dancing with the boys in the hall like you had done the other night. You should have been sitting with Valarr and flirting and smiling bashfully, all the things young people did and believed they were the first to do. It was Baelor’s own fault for encouraging you, for allowing you to behave in such a way with him. He should have been stopping you, not falling to his own weaknesses. 

And he felt rather selfish too, a sickening feeling that he had no business feeling as hand of the king. But he did. You were here for Valarr, or at the very least, to be betrothed to some young man who still had his own life ahead of him to live with you. It was selfish of him to be taking up so much of your time, to be enjoying it so and wishing that you spent all of your moments, waking or in sleep, with him. 

There was something else there too, a kind of betrayal of Jena. Though it was true, they had not been married for love, and perhaps he had never fallen for her the way they spoke of in tales, but he had loved her in a way. They had shared a life together, shared children together, would it be a disservice to her to feel so for you? Because now when he looked upon you, when he saw you smile softly and look out at the distant night sky, as your hair draped tantalisingly over your neck and the sleeve of your dress dipped a little low over your shoulder, he understood what the old bards said of falling in love inexplicably. 

“...rather hot, is it not?” You asked, turning your head to look at him, big eyes blinking. The pause was too long, and when he focused back on your face, he cleared his throat a little. 

“I drifted, my lady, and for that I apologise. What was it you asked, dearest?” And you flushed hot then, your insides clenching and your mind suddenly running far too fast for your liking. 

“I… um…” your mouth opened and closed, “uh, I simply said that the Great Hall gets far too hot once the dancing begins.” 

“Indeed, it does,” he responded, smiling kindly, though there was still that preoccupied quality to his eyes. “Would you like some wine?” He asked then, glancing between you and the jug. “There is only one cup, I fear, but there is no harm in sharing.” He poured more wine into it then placed it on the table in front of you. You gulped, nodding in thanks and picking up the cup. You placed it to your lips and took a long slow sip. The wine was sweet and without any tang, smooth like nothing else you had tasted. You were sure this was the kind of wine that made drunkards of men, the kind that you would only have the opportunity to taste in a place like the Red Keep. 

Baelor watched you sip from the place where his mouth had been only moments before, and he turned away, closing his eyes tight. It was a form of torture this, he was sure of it. 

When you placed the mug down again, you looked at him, at the way he was gazing out at the water again, and you frowned a little. You were not sure if it was appropriate to ask, but you could bite your tongue no longer. 

“My Prince,” you said quietly, and he turned to look at you, his eyes soft, as they always were when he looked upon you. It made you feel warm inside. “Do you wish me to leave you be? I do not pretend to know what weighs on your mind, but I am aware something does. I would not want you to hate me because I could not tell I was unwanted somewhere.” 

Your voice was earnest, not the small and self-depricating thing he had once heard. You were sincere, saying such things out of care for him rather than woe for yourself. He felt his heart clench and loosen in his chest. He truly looked at you, allowed himself to get lost in the moment. 

Baelor reached up and gently pressed his thumb up where your lower lip pouted. The droplet of wine that had dangled there splayed onto this thumb, and he slowly rubbed it along your bottom lip until it had disappeared. 

Your breath stuttered over his hand, a soft fluttering thing like a bird’s wings. You stared at him with wide eyes, frozen, mesmerised, incapable of anything but breathing. You felt the liquid heat in your veins. The urge to press your lips to his thumb, to perhaps even bite it a little, flashed through you, and you blinked slowly, as if truly contemplating it. Baelor brought his hand back down and gently tapped your cup as if to tell you to drink more, returning his eyes to the dark patch where the sea called out. You sipped eagerly, your breath heavy. 

“I could not hate you, even if you tried,” he finally said, smiling at you again as if he had said something simple, something of no consequence. “You are right, something does weigh on my mind, but it is good for a mind to remain heavy. Sometimes it is good to simply hold what weighs the mind down, but do it in the company of someone else.” 

You almost felt tears prick at your eyes at the way he spoke, so soft and wistful, as if he had learned this from experience, as if there had been a time where he had been forced to carry burdens alone. You wished to take the weight from him, even if for a moment, but his words had touched something in your soul, had called to mind the moments where he had found you and made the weight bearable. So you nodded, smiled a watery smile, and poured more wine into the cup before passing it back to him. 

Something had shifted after that evening. A new part of you had been woken up and refused to be quieted. You felt antsy before the feast. All day you had spent sequestered in your room, pacing back and forth until your feet hurt and your only choice was to throw yourself on your bed and scream into your pillow. You had felt a nagging sense of guilt since the evening before, something deep in your gut that battled the light and fluttery feeling in your heart. 

You could not stop thinking about Prince Baelor. From the moment you had first encountered him, from the moment he had allowed you to hug him and had wiped your tears with such care… he would not leave your head. If you closed your eyes, you could picture him perfectly. His dignified expression and the warmth of his eyes… oh you were lost. 

When there was even the merest mention of his name in your vicinity, your heart began to thud and your palms became covered in a light sweat. You felt lightheaded and desperate. You felt pathetic. 

Though you only had smiles to offer when you thought of him, only had warm feelings in your heart at the idea of him, there was also this toxic mix of guilt and anger. A nagging guilt that you were betraying someone by loving him, whether that be his son or his dead wife. He was not the reason for your stay at the Keep, and yet he was the only reason you cared about. 

But you were angry too, the irrational kind of anger that you knew was unjustified but you clung to because it was easier to feel. You were angry at him. You were angry at him for being so kind and gentle, for being so handsome and honourable, for making you fall in love with him… 

You stood in front of the mirror as a maid laced the back of your dress. You waited for the pull, the tightening, and then leaned forward and said “tighter”. If you were to look your best in any dress, it was to be this one. The gown was made of dark red velvet, with long bell sleeves that draped down to your thighs when you stood straight. The hem was rather long too, covering your feet, and you bedecked yourself in gold to match it. You looked dipped in blood. You looked almost Targaryen… 

You walked into the Great Hall surrounded by your family, but your eyes first went to the raised dais. The royals had already arrived, sitting in their various positions, sipping from goblets of wine. You could see Valarr smiling and joking with his younger brother, saying something in his ear that made the younger boy almost spit his drink. Though it was not likely, if Valarr were to choose you, you thought you could be happy with him. 

When your eyes landed on Baelor, purposefully taking your time to reach him, to savour the moment you would finally lay your gaze on him, you felt your breath hitch in your chest. He was already looking at you, as if he had been waiting for the moment you walked through the door. His eyes dragged down your body, and it felt as if with each inch he covered, another part of your body left your control. It took everything in you just to keep walking to your seat. His face did not betray much, and you hated that he was so good at remaining stoic, but for a singular moment, you could see the fire burn in his eyes, and it made you hot under the collar. 

You tore your eyes away as you reached your seat, and made a promise to yourself that you would avoid looking his way. He already haunted your dreams, you need not let him haunt your waking moments too. 

You kept your eyes on the table, or on your plate, and happily on your siblings when they bothered you for attention. Though it was slow, eventually it did become easier not to keep taking peeks at the royal table, at the man who had not torn his eyes from you for even a moment. 

When the dancing began, you allowed yourself to stay for a little while. You stood to the side and clapped to the beat, and even danced one song with the elder brother of one of the ladies from the Reach. But after the twirling and stepping, your feet hurt and the music was far too loud, and the heat in the Great Hall had settled too much. 

You carefully picked your way through the crowd, discretely making your way to the door. Just before you reached it, you turned over your shoulder and looked back through the room and up to the Royal dais. You saw Baelor, met his eyes for a long moment, then turned and slipped through the door. You were not sure if you were posing an invitation, but you hoped he would come anyway. 

The cold air outside was fresh, and you made quick work of finding your way to the balcony where you had spent the first night of the festivities pondering all the great sadnesses of life. How far removed that seemed from the person you were now. You resumed your position at the railing, and closed your eyes to listen to the water. You could hear the distant whoosh of the waves and it instantly set you right once more. 

It was not long before footsteps echoed behind you, and though your body tensed, it was not unpleasant. When you turned around, it was as you had hoped, Prince Baelor making his way to you, his eyes gleaming even in the darkness, the barest upturn to his lips. You pursed your own to hide the smile that constantly threatened you in his presence. 

“Your grace,” you curtseyed. Your eyes were bright and something in him felt sharp and hot when you looked up at him from under your lashes. 

“My Lady,” he responded, but you felt like you were hearing his voice for the first time again, that silky softness that wrapped around your mind and made you feel like closing your eyes and shivering unabashedly. If only he would whisper in your ear like that all the time… 

“You have found me again,” you said quietly, hands behind your back, clenching tight together as if that might keep your sanity, might keep your thoughts poor and your decisions good. 

“So it seems,” and his voice was low too, slow and drawling, almost taunting. 

He had walked closer to you, standing so the toes of his shoes touched the toes of yours. Though there were hints of the food and wine from the hall still clinging to his clothes, you could also smell the deep scent of a cool perfume on him, an interesting mix to the tinge of smoke that always seemed to cling to a Targaryen. You tried to inhale long and discreetly. 

His incessant gaze was unsettling to you. How could he not tire of looking at you? How did he manage to interest himself enough with you, that not only did he look for so long, but his focus never wavered, and neither did his intensity? 

“Why do you gaze upon me in such a way?” You asked quietly, biting your lip a little and bringing your hands around to fiddle with them just in front of you, in the small space that was left between your bodies. 

“In what way is that, my lady?” But his tone suggested he knew the answer, that his confusion was feigned and he did it only to provoke you. 

“In that way,” you answered a little petulantly, nudging your head in his direction as if to indicate his own face to him. A small smile made its way onto his face, and you felt your chest and stomach clench with it. 

“You will have to be more specific my lady,” he responded teasingly, and your entire body flushed with heat. You had not realised that your feet had shuffled you closer, that your head was tilted even further back to meet his eyes and your hands were hovering just over his chest, waiting to be placed there. 

“You tease me,” you breathed out as he leant his head down close to yours, his eyes filling your vision, his nose grazing yours. “But you know well what I say.” You felt the hairs of his beard tickle your chin, felt the lightest graze of his cupids bow against your own. His breaths fanned warmly over your mouth. 

“I do,” he agreed, and then you were not sure how, but his mouth was on yours. Did he bend or did you lift? It did not matter, because his lips were warm and soft and he tasted of the sweet wine from Dorne, like bright red summer fruits. You felt hungry for him. 

You steadied yourself against his body, your hands splayed over his ribs, pressed into the plush fabric there. One of his hands gripped your waist, tight over the line of your corset, and the other cupped your cheek, pulling you tight into him. You could feel the line of his body, and you were sure he felt yours in return, your breasts pressing into his chest. You were pushed up onto your toes, and though you trembled a little, he kept you tight against him. His neck was craned a little awkwardly, but he was sure he would endure a lifetime of pain far worse if it meant you kept kissing him like that. 

Every thought he had carried in his brain before slipping out of his seat and making his way to you, was muddled and tossed about, some forgotten and some incoherent. He remembered your red dress, dark and provocative, begging him to follow you as you slipped through the door, but he could not remember the nagging feeling that had eaten at the back of his brain when he had seen you first. 

It was only when breath became a necessity that you pulled your mouths away. You did not stray far. Your lips brushed together, breaths heaving against each other. His beard still rubbed at your cheeks a little. Your chest filled. Your eyes were closed, and you swallowed, the inside of your skull still feeling like it was full of bees. You exhaled just over his chin. You tilted your head up a little, brushing against his mouth again, but when you leant in to kiss him once more, he spoke. 

“Stop.” 

You paused, eyes flashing open. Baelor’s were still closed, and though he still held you, it felt like his grip was loosening, as if reality itself was loosening its hold on you with it. 

“What?” You breathed out, and when Baelor finally opened his eyes, he could see yours, looking up at him, an incredulous sort of panic colouring you. Your hands trembled at his sides, and he clenched his eyes shut again for a moment as a flash of pain ran through him. 

He wanted to shake his head, to tell you that it was nothing, that he had only had a moment of weakness but everything was alright, and you should simply kiss him again. But… this was wrong. This should not have been done. And that was the truth of it: this had been wrong from the beginning. He should not have intruded on you, he should not have watched you, should not have seeked you out. You were not meant for him, and there were a million reasons for it. He was the elder in this situation, he was supposed to know better, to guide you. And he could not be responsible for guiding you into a life that you may one day resent. He would not survive it. 

He had not meant to get so caught up. When he had followed you, he had vowed to himself that it would be like before, without the touching, without the incessant desire. He had not meant to lose control. 

“Enough,” he whispered, and when he opened his eyes, they were hard like stone. You felt something cold curl deep in your stomach. You had never seen his eyes like that before, the eyes he used in council, on the battlefield, but never with you. 

Baelor pulled back, uncurling his arms from around you and pressing them at his sides. The air around him was far too chilly now. He took a deep breath in and shook his head. 

“Return to the Great Hall at once,” he told you, and your body went rigid. 

“My-” 

“Return to the Great Hall, at once,” and it was an order. 

You stepped back, hands pressing tight to your stomach. Your eyes filled with tears as you looked up at him, your lower lip trembling and your face contorted with anguish. Why was he doing this? Why did he kiss you then order you away? You opened your mouth, readying to ask him, but Baelor simply turned his back to you. You gulped, pressing your lips tight together to hold the sobs back. How had everything turned so quickly? 

Tears slipped down your cheeks and you nodded though he could not see you. Your steps were hurried, slightly unsteady as you practically ran away, and Baelor clenched his eyes shut. He could not watch you leave. 

Your dress was far brighter than you felt. Of course it was not the maid’s fault, how should she know your heart had been broken beyond repair and you felt like staying in your bed wearing mourning clothes? But you had been forced up and out of bed, told to leave behind whatever so saddened you and make merry with the other maidens, or perhaps find a moment in Prince Valarr’s company to endear him to you. You felt like doing neither, but you did put on the dress. 

It was late after lunch when you dared to venture out into the gardens for a walk and some fresh air. It was just before evening, a time when everyone had sickened of the sun and wanted rest before the revelry so retired to their rooms and shut their eyes. You chose it on purpose, hoping to avoid interacting with anyone. 

You still felt that sickening feeling of having the carpet ripped out from under you. When Baelor had kissed you, it was everything you had ever wanted, only for him to rip it away before you could get your fill. Your night had been spent sobbing, your entire body shaking as you curled up in bed and thought about the way he had dismissed you. He had not spoken otherwise, had not given you a single reason, simply expected you to leave. 

You wiped at your eyes as you looked out at the gardens, your feet carrying you slowly, happy there was no one around to witness your weakness. You reached a secluded spot, a bench between bushes with a view out to sea. You allowed yourself to stand there, staring out at the water and feeling the pain in your heart stretch though each limb. 

There were footsteps approaching, and you hoped they would bypass you entirely. If the person came your way, maybe you would be lucky enough that they would not ask any questions, would not realise you were standing there. It seemed luck was never on your side. 

Baelor had taken to the gardens for the same reason you had. He should not have been surprised to find you there. But when he strolled along the path and spotted you standing just in front of the bench, his breath had left him, and he was forced to come to a stop near you. 

You wore a beautiful pale violet dress, like lavenders or bell flowers. Your hair was loose down your back, the front strands simply pinned back to keep your face clear and nothing else. And your face… your beautiful face, with puffy red-rimmed eyes and a shine to your nose that made him ache. You should not have to look like that, full of such agony, and all because of him. 

Baelor stepped closer to you, and you clenched your eyes shut, as if you could blink him away, but when you reopened them, he remained there. He looked tired, suddenly more wrinkled around the eyes than the night before. You could tell he had not slept well. 

Your hands shook and sharp, shooting, pains wracked through you, reminding you constantly of what you had faced the evening before. You wanted to speak, to ask him why he had abandoned you so, but you could not bare to look at him. You began turning away, eyes clenched shut and mouth quivering with barely restrained whimpers and sobs, but he stepped closer again, gently reaching out and gripping your elbows to bring you to him. 

You shook your head, pressing your lips together, keeping your eyes shut, hoping he would leave you be the way he did before, ceasing to cause you pain. But Baelor’s own eyes were wet with tears seeing the state of you, and he could not leave again. He dragged a hand up your arm, over your shoulder, caressing your neck then cupping your face softly. 

“My lady,” he whispered, and his voice was hoarse, clogged, and you hiccupped a little, the sob staying caught in your throat. You wanted to pull away, and even moved back to do so, but he simply followed you. 

“What do you want from me?” You asked quietly, your voice a torn thing, as you finally opened your eyes and looked up into his piercing blue ones. “Why do you keep me here?” 

Baelor rolled his lips, blinking and looking away for a second as his thumb caressed the bone of your cheek. You could not decide whether you wanted him to continue or you wanted to thrash away. 

“I told you my fears,” you whispered, “and it felt as if they had come true last night.” Baelor clenched his eyes shut and nodded, pulling his lower lip back and biting it. He knew what he had done, knew how he had made you feel, and he hated himself for it. “Why?”

He was quiet for a few moments, listening to you breathe shakily, feeling it over his chin and neck, savouring the feeling of holding you again, something he had tossed away the evening before without thinking about how he would long for it every moment after. His fingers threaded through your hair behind your ear. 

“You are beautiful,” he began, and the smile on his face was sweet, genuine, pained. “You are young and beautiful and so full of life. Though I may not be on my deathbed, I am old, widowed, a father of two sons, and weighed down by what is expected of me from the realm. How could I justify to myself that a beautiful girl such as yourself could ever be happy being forced into such a situation? You may kiss me and have your fun, I will allow it for I am weak, but it cannot go further than that.” 

Baelor’s face was as sad as you had ever seen it. His eyes shined, the hand cupping your face trembling a little, and he seemed to become even more tired in your presence. You listened to his words with a frown, your lips parted, tears staining your cheeks, and your hands limp at your sides. 

“Did you think to ask me?” You responded, your body beginning to tremble as a white hot anger filled you. Your hands clenched into fists and you brought them up, resting them harshly against his chest.

“What?” He asked, voice a little breathy as his frown turned form anguished to confused. 

“Did you think to ask me how I felt? If I simply wanted to play with a prince’s feelings or if I- if I loved you?” You stuttered a little as the truth fell from your mouth, your body tightening. Baelor stared down at you, eyes unreadable. 

A moment passed and your face crumpled again, the tears anew and your mouth turning down at the corners. Your hands splayed over his chest then clenched into his doublet again. 

“I do not think you old or weighed down. I find you… I find you handsome,” you reached up and rubbed a hand over his beard as his eyes shined down at you. “Unbearably so. And kind, a man with a heart too good for this realm. You have comforted me like no other, have soothed me and made me happy, and all without trying.You are the first person who has truly listened to what I have had to say, and not tossed it asied. You make me feel… you make me feel real. You may be widowed, you may be a father, but those are not links on a chain. Those are things that make you the man you are, that endear you to me beyond what words can express. I could think nothing better than spending the rest of my life in your company. You would not be chaining me but freeing me.” 

Baelor cupped your face with both hands as you looked up at him, breathing heavily. It was the most honest you had ever been in your entire life. Your body thrummed with the truth of it, and you felt a little better simply for having said it. You dropped your head onto his chest, and allowed him to wrap his arms around you and hug you close. The two of you stood there for a long few moments, trembling in each others arms, eyes closed, absorbing what the other person had said. Finally, Baelor leaned back, cupping your face again and tilting your head up just so. 

“My love,” he whispered, pressing his lips to your forehead and leaving a long kiss. You felt light and airy, like a caterpillar turned butterfly, and you hoped he would lean down and kiss you on the mouth, rectify what he had done the evening before. But Baelor just pulled away, tightening his grip on your face a little, nodding at you, and then walking off down the path. You were too stunned to even call out. 

You had been left confused the rest of the day. After your moment with the prince, you had returned to your room, laying flat on your back on the bed and staring at the ceiling. You could not comprehend him, could not possibly gauge what went on in his mind. How could he possibly think himself burdening you by loving you? Perhaps he was mad. It would not be out of the ordinary for a Targaryen. 

When the evening had rolled around, and you were laced into your dress, you were still dazed. You floated through everything, not realising that you had been guided into the Great Hall, that you were sat at a table and there was food in front of you. You had not even bothered to check if the Crown Prince had made an appearance. The only time even a modicum of consciousness had found you was when you excused yourself and slipped from the room. 

It was purely on instinct, your feet finding their way to the fateful balcony. This would likely be one of your final nights here. It had become obvious that Prince Valarr had no interest in you, and you had done nothing to curry his favour either. But you would miss this balcony, this view, this softness that the world had in this particular place. 

You sighed long and low as you leaned over the railing, just managing to catch the shine of moonlight on the sea in the distance. Sometimes you wondered what it would be like to fly off the balcony and simply fall into the sea, never to be seen again. 

There were footsteps behind you, not loud but not someone trying to remain hidden. You had a suspicion of who it was, because who else would be in this place at this time other than Baelor? You could not quite decide if you wanted to see him. 

When Baelor stepped onto the balcony, he almost felt as if he had been transported back in time to the night he had first met you. You were standing almost as you had been before, looking out. You wore a dark blue velvet dress, a similar style to the one of before, with off the shoulder straps and bell sleeves. But where that one was embellished with gold, this one was stitched with silver, almost like the moon over the sea just behind you. 

You turned to look at him, and your face did not betray anything. He could not tell if you were happy to see him or upset. He did feel some guilt at the way he had left you, so quick and fluid, but he had needed to get away, to think for a long moment about the action that had entered his brain, and to speak with his son about the possibility. It had felt far too right. 

You opened your mouth, readying to speak, but Baelor just stepped closer until he was right in front of you, then got down onto one knee. He braced his forearms on his thigh, looking up at you with determined eyes and a small smile. Your breath left you, your hands coming up to press against your mouth as you stared at him. Your eyes blinked rapidly, your heart ran faster than a prize horse, but you were frozen to your spot, unable to comprehend what was happening. 

“My Lady,” he began quietly, the way almost all your conversations had gone since the day you had met. “Forgive me for causing you the distress I have done, it was not meant. Though I have known love, and marriage, I have never felt for someone the way I have felt for you. You are beautiful, and kind, and soulful. You do not love yourself the way you should, but allow me to do it for you.” Baelor twisted a ring off of his finger, the one he always fiddled with when in thought, and proferred it up to you. “I love you,” he finally said, and his voice lightened, like a bird flying from the ground and disappearing into the sky. “I love you with all the heart I possess. And if you love me the way you have expressed. If even a modicum of that affection stille exists in you, then all I ask of you is that you marry me.” 

Your entire torso shook as you sobbed into your hands, your eyes never leaving Baelor, not for one moment. You could not believe it. You could not. But there he was, the most powerful man in the seven kingdoms, kneeling for you. You nodded. You hoped you did. 

“I will never allow you to doubt my love again, not even for a moment. I will speak with your father on the morrow, announce the wedding as soon after if you wish it.” And then all you could do was nod, your vision blurring and neck aching. You laughed, loud and ecstatic and a little manic. Your tears, though hot and wet on your cheeks, for the first time carried only pure joy. You offered Baelor your hand, allowed him to slip the ring onto your finger, the band far too big, and then fell to your knees in front of him. He gripped you around the waist, hauling you into his arms as you trembled and giggled. 

“My prince,” you whispered, cupping his face in your hands as he beamed down at you. He pressed his forehead to yours, and you nuzzled your nose to his. You ran your thumbs over his cheeks, over his beard and let your hands rest against the sides of his neck. He clutched you tightly, keeping handfuls of the thick velvet of your dress. 

“My love,” he whispered, and then he kissed you until breath was no longer a concern.

[eden031]

As sweet as the sun

Pairing: Baelor „Breakspear“ Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: A wedding to Prince Baelor was not something she had ever hoped for and yet it had come her way.

Word cont: 4.2k

Warnings: SMUT, porn with plot, 18+, wedding night, loss of virginity, AGE GAP, reader is inexperienced, soft sex, mild breeding kink, oral sex (fem receiving), westerosi wedding traditions, fluff, this is written in 3rd person please don‘t kill me

A/N: Is this ooc? I don‘t know, but after Episode five I needed something soft and sweet, so that is what you get. I hope you have as much fun reading this as I had writing this :)

„M’lady?“ the voice of one of her handmaidens pulled her out of the bout of worry that had been plaguing her for the past few days. Their wedding was drawing closer and she was beginning to feel the nervousness return, the feeling she had been able to shake for most of her time in Kings Landing.

Of course nervousness came with marrying a man that could be her father in age, a man that was not only Prince of the Realm, but also Heir to the Iron Throne and Hand of the King.

It was not because Baelor was a cruel or hateful man, no he was kind, gentle and from what she could tell this far, going to be a good husband. Still simply the thought of wedding a man that was much older than her and had already been wed once made her stomach churn.

„Yes, Elora?“ she asked, setting down the embroidery she was working on, a small gift for one of husband-to-be‘s nephews, young Prince Egg. The boy that had kept her in good spirits during her stay in Kings Landing with his jovial and sweet nature.

„The seamstress would like to make the last adjustments for your wedding gown, m‘lady,“ the young handmaid spoke, standing in the door. The seamstress and her entourage were already waiting behind her, the dress wrapped in thick fabrics to protect it from any dirt or dust and of course, most importantly, the prying eyes of the court.

“Very well,“ she stood from the armchair, placing the embroidery on the table by her side. Slowly standing the room began to fill with the entourage of the seamstress and a few of the handmaids that had been assigned to her while she stayed at the Red Keep.

What followed was a flurry of people, fabrics and voices until she was clad in the gown she would wear on her wedding day. It was more beautiful and elegant than she had ever dreamed of. The bodice was partially set with pearls and gold, framing her like a piece of art, in the white fabric patterns that resembled scales were woven. With the white and the gold some of the fabric had been kept in a dark blue at her own request, a small piece of her home she could carry with her.

The seamstress spoke to her girls in hushed whispers while she looked at herself in the mirror. It was beautiful, truly befitting of a bride set to marry the Heir to the Iron Throne and yet it did little to ease her worries, her mind drifting away as the frey around her continued.

———————

Taking a deep breath she clutched her father’s arm tightly, the air of the city weighing her down, around the Sept commoners had gathered to catch a glimpse of the woman that was to become their new Princess. Her maiden cloak around her shoulders was a heavy reminder of what was to come, the pit in her stomach beginning to grow as her father patted her hand reassuringly, giving her a small smile just as the doors to the Sept of Baelor swung open.

Her walk down the aisle beside her father was slow, deliberate, her head held high as she set one foot in front of the other. Between the mother and the father stood the High Septon, together with Prince Baelor, his expression was unreadable, but did not look unkind. He was clad in black and red finery, silks and leather that made him look like a Targaryen Lord of the old tales she had so often read about as a young girl.

In his hands he held a cloak, black with their red dragon embroidered on it, golden threat woven through the motive and the edges. As her heart began to hammer in her chest louder than any other sound she had ever heard she took another calming breath. The words he had spoken to her when they had first met now echoed through her mind. ‘Do know that you shall never need to be afraid of me.’ Ascending the steps towards the septon and Prince Baelor she let go of her father, walking towards the two men. Slightly bowing her head towards the Prince and the High Septon she took her place beside the Prince.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection,” The High Septon spoke in a tone that reminded her of song. Slightly turning Prince Baelor gently unclipped her maiden cloak, but taking care to not let it fall like she had seen so many other husbands-to-be do, but rather gently pull it away from her shoulders, handing it to someone that must have appeared from the crowd just for this purpose. Carefully, but confidently he draped the Targaryen cloak over her shoulders, it was much heavier than the cloak of her own family. For a moment she wondered if it was because the burden of being part of this family was much heavier to carry than most others. Turning towards the Septon she held her head high, feeling the eyes of the masses on her.

“Your Grace,” the Septon addressed King Daeron, right at the head of the spectators, “Your Grace,” and his Lady wife, the Queen Myriah Martell, the woman that had been nothing but kind and gentle towards her, she had understood what it was like to be a stranger in the Red Keep. “My Lords, my Ladies, we stand here in the sight of Gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.” The Septon continued, his words rung through the sept, making the hairs on her arms stand. They intertwined their hands, lifting them towards the Septon, a ribbon of black and red tied around hands. The words of the Septon faded into the distance as she looked at the statues of the seven before her. It felt like they were pulling her away from this place, somewhere calmer, more gentle. The Septon recited prayer after prayer, song after song, asking the Gods to bless this marriage, still she was in a place far away from this Sept, far away from Kings Landing.

Feeling the ribbon around her hand unravel she snapped back into reality. She knew that if she hesitated when they were meant to say their vows it would cause a scandal for her family.

The septon recited a prayer and a song, again, it was more of a spoken song than actual music, but it was calming, soothing her nerves. It reminded her much of her childhood and the many hours she had spent training her voice with her Septa.

“Look upon each other and say the words!” The septon commanded. Turning to face the Prince she felt his different coloured eyes scan her face, a gentle, barely there smile ghosted over his features.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” she swallowed hard, Baelor gave her an encouraging nod, again almost unnoticeable, but he could probably feel the uneasiness simmering beneath her skin, the fear of doing something wrong, the fear of what was to come. “I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

Their voices blended together to one promise. She could feel the air around them becoming heavy, just like before a thunderstorm. The Sepron began another prayer, it was long and beautiful, sometimes he sang. Both she and Baelor waited patiently for him to finish the prayer. Once it was over, the Septon gave Baelor a court nod.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” The Prince spoke, his voice, just like the Septon’s, carried through the Sept. Her heart thundered in her chest, like the beat of a hundred horses’ hooves. It was almost like someone had stolen the breath from her lungs. Prince Baelor stepped towards her, his hands grasping hers, as he placed a gentle kiss on her lips, his beard slightly ticking her face as he kissed her. For a moment it felt like her brain shut off, but carefully she kissed him back, the feeling of his rough lips against hers sent a shiver down her spine. As they parted Baelor and her interlocked their hands, turning towards the crowd in the sept, who erupted in cheering and applause.

The Septon together with the crowd started singing another song, a song she herself had sung many times during the weddings she had attended, though this was now sung for her and her husband. The song ended, both of them turned back to the Septon one last time

“In the eyes of Gods and men, I declare you man and wife,” The Septon announced loudly. Everyone cheered again, a smile began to grow on her features as they slowly descended the steps of the great Sept, making their way towards the outside of the Sept, a carriage waiting for them, waiting to bring them to the grand feast that had been planned to celebrate their union at the Red Keep.

———————

The hall was filled with laughter and music. Couples danced as she sat beside her now husband at the head table, looking over the festivities. They had cut the cake together and feasted on the wine and fine meats that the tables had been laid in.

“Have you ever tried a date, my lady wife?” her husband asked, his eyes glimmering in the light of the fires surrounding them. For a moment he almost looked like a boy, holding the strange looking fruit in his hand. She could smell the wine on his breath, but it was not off putting, both of them had consumed a fair amount of the strong dornish red and arbor gold. Slowly shaking her head she eyed what exactly her husband was holding. It was small, fit into the palm of his hand easily, he could probably hold five of them and not have to close his hand at all. An oval shape, not smooth like an apple, but wrinkled, a deep, rich brown in colour.

“This one is dried! In Dorne they often serve them fresh as well, would you like to try?” He offered her one. Slowly reaching towards the date she smelled it, it smelled slightly sweet, but not overly so. As she took a bite she realised it had a pit, gently pulling the meat off of it she chewed. It was soft and chewy, the rich sweetness that reminded her of honey and something else more musky filled her mouth. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she continued to chew the fruit.

“These are heavenly!” she whispered, finishing the date, closing her eyes and savouring the taste in her mouth. A low hum escaped her as she continued to chew on the sweet fruit. Licking her lips she took a sip from the arbour gold, continuing to nibble on the meat that still filled her plate.

The festivities had been going on for many hours now. She was beginning to grow tired and restless, she had eaten well, drank well and fairly enjoyed herself with her new husband. She had danced with him, eaten with him, learned more about him during the feast, he made her feel welcome, told her not to mind his brother’s crass words or his nephews’ sharp scowls. Still the thought of the bedding scared her, not because of Baelor though, but rather the fear of the pain that she had been told about. Her mother had once told her that she should simply hope that her future husband would be gentle during the bedding.

Though as if someone had read her thoughts people started shouting about the bedding, the King waved his hand and the musicians started playing a bedding song. People began to rally, cheering and laughing.

Glancing at Baelor he looked just as displeased about the situation as her, however he simply smiled at her, nodding his head to rise.

———————

She stood in the chambers, now simply clad in her night shift and the intricate braids she had worn for the ceremony and the feast had come undone. Baelor stood on the other side of the room, watching her carefully, like he was more curious about her next move more than anything. The bed was luscious, soft sheets and embroidered blankets, gently feeling the fabric beneath her fingers she smiled. Though still the thought of the bedding scared her, drawing her hand away from the sheets like she had been burned she wrapped her arms around herself.

“Are you frightened, my lady?” Baelor asked in a soft tone. There was no judgement in his voice, simply curiosity and maybe worry.

“A bit,” she admitted, giving him a sheepish smile, “I hoped the wine would wash away my worry, but it does not seem that way,” she laughed slightly as Baelor came closer to her. He was only wearing a light tunic and his breeches, making him look softer in the low light of the candles.

“Have you ever been kissed before?” he asked, tilting his head to the side, slowly she shook her head, feeling like a little girl under his gaze. She felt a bit silly, though she knew that the Prince had already been wed once and had probably gathered some more knowledge in the regard of the pleasures of the flesh than she could have ever imagined until now.

Baelor lifted his hand, a crooked finger under her chin, as he stepped closer again, their heads close, she could feel his breath brushing against her face.

“May I kiss you, my lady?” he spoke softly, she nodded, astonished by his gentleness. Carefully he pressed his lips to hers just like he had done in the Sept. This time she pressed back gently, this kiss was longer than the one they had shared in the Sept and as they drew away she felt breathless. It felt like she was now drunk on him, his lips tasted of arbor gold and the sticky sweetness of the dates they had been nibbling on. Slowly they leaned into each other again, though this time after their lips met in stillness for a moment Baelor moved his lips slightly, it was gentle and slow, she mirrored him, trying to let go of the worry and lose herself in the taste of him. Their movement got more intense over time as Baelor’s hands found her waist, gently wandering up and down her sides, she placed a hand on his chest, Something warm started gathering in the pit of her stomach, sending tingles into her crotch, a strange warmth spreading through her entire being.

As they drew away both of their breathing was laboured and she could see a light flush on Baelor’s cheeks, a sight that made her smile. It was something she wanted to see more, the way his eyes seemed to have glossed over slightly, less sharp than they had been before.

His hands travelled up her nightgown, only ghosting over her breast as she looked at him, watched him, and enjoyed the way his feather light touch felt on her burning skin. He found the lace at the front of the gown, watching her intently as he gently tugged on the string, not enough to draw it loose, but to give her a chance to intervene if she did not wish for this to happen. As she nodded carefully he tugged again, harder, and the gown unravelled, pooling at her feet.

A quiet hum left his lips as his eyes raked over her naked form, something burning behind them she had not seen in the eye of men before. The Prince licked his lips as he stepped towards her again, pressing their lips together again, their mouths moving, his tongue sweeping her mouth from time to time, as his hands travelled from her neck to her belly, then her thigh, his touch was feather light, almost reverent as his kisses started leave her mouth and begin to travel down her body. First he placed open mouthed kisses on her neck, travelled to her shoulder. Unsure of what to do with her hands as she ravelled in the feeling of his hot mouth on her skin she began gently raking her fingers over his scalp. Though his mouth was working on her neck and shoulders his hands were travelling up and down her body, gently stroking her burning skin.

A shuddering sigh left her lips as Baelor gently bit, it could not be quite called that, but rather grazed his teeth over a sensitive spot on her neck. The heat in her belly and the tingling in her crotch only seemed to get stronger with every passing moment.

One of Baelor’s hands found her breast, gently cupping and squeezing it, running his thumb over the hardened nipple. At that gesture a sharp gasp left her lips, the feeling sending something that felt like a bolt of lightning straight down her spine.

Her free hand found the collar of Baelor’s tunic, carefully tugging on it. Something bold had awakened inside of her. Something that needed the man in front of her closer than he was.

“Hmh, eager, are we?” he murmured against her collarbone. Carefully pulling away he helped her rid himself of the tunic. As it fell to the ground she marvelled at the broad expanse of his strong chest. Flecked with dark hair and scars, she raked her fingernails over the skin, feeling the coarse hair beneath her fingers. A soft shudder came over the Prince as her fingers gently travelled down his chest and over his belly, finding the sensitive skin of the v disappearing below his breaches.

Gently he maneuvered her towards the bed, laying her down gently then climbing over her as he continued to kiss her feverishly, one hand teasing her nipples, the other supporting his weight above her. Her hands found their was back to his head and chest, gently exploring his form as he continued to kiss her.

Slowly but surely he travelled lower, closer to her center, with every kiss he stroked the heat bubbling in her stomach. Gasping softly, her hand left his chest and found a pillow, clinging to it for dear life as Baelor found his way between her legs, gently kissing the inside of her thighs, teeth carefully running over the soft flesh.

A slickness had gathered between her legs over time and the tingling had almost gotten unbearable. Whimpering softly her hand found her grasp on his hair again, carefully pushing him closer to where she needed him the most.

“Easy, darling,” he murmured, crawling backwards he grabbed her legs and pulled her towards the edge of the bed. He kneeled at the foot of the bed, now her lower half partially dangling off as well. Baelor placed her legs over his shoulders, his face close to her center, his breath hitting the sensitive flesh.

“Say if you wish me to stop and relax, my flame,” he murmured softly and before she could ask any questions she felt his tongue between her folds, lapping up the slickness that had gathered there. A squeak escaped her lips. Though she listened to him and relaxed, his tongue dragged through her folds in long, careful strokes, catching her clit from time to time sending jolts of electricity through her entire body. Gasps and moans spilled from her lips, as he continued his ministrations, his thick fingers finding their way into her, slipping into her with relative ease. Everything he did accompanied with small praises that never seemed to seize.

A coil started building in her stomach, her hand holding on to Baelor’s hair as best as she could as she ground against his face while his fingers expertly found the spongy spot inside of her and his mouth continued gently licking and suckling on her clit. Squirming slightly she suddenly felt like she needed to pee as the coil in her stomach tightened.

“Baelor,” she gasped, “Baelor I think I have to pee,” tears started running over her cheeks at the thought of this stopping. It was exhilarating, the pleasure she felt better than anything else she had ever felt before. A hum against her clit made her walls clench around his fingers.

“Good,” he muttered, “Just relax and let it happen,” he spoke and continued with his work, he was moving against her like it was the last time he ever had the chance to taste something. Listening to him she relaxed, it did not take long for everything in her body to tense and the knot in her stomach to rip apart. She shuddered, whimpered and mumbled something, she was not sure if it was a prayer or if it was Baelor’s name. White filled her vision as her entire body was flooded by a strange warmth she had never really experienced before.

As she gained focus again, she could feel Baelor stroke her thigh gently, looking at her from between her legs, sitting on the ground, giving her a gentle smile, his beard glistening with her slick as she looked at him with glossy eyes.

“Are you alright, darling?” his voice was hoarse, lighting the burning sensation again, sending tingles through her.

“Yes,” she whispered, nodding, trying to sit up, desperate to kiss him. He realized what she wanted to do and climbed back on the bed though he let out a soft groan. Gently Baelor kissed her, she could taste herself in his mouth and it was addicting, the burning desire returning. Pulling him closer she felt the hardness in his breeches, letting out a small squeak as it rubbed against her.

She could feel Baelor shimmy out of his breeches. Scooting higher up on the bed again, Baelor following her. As he kissed her again she started moving her hands and she found the hardness between his legs. A quiet gasp left her lips at his girth and the length she had only guessed earlier.

“I will take good care of you, I promise,” Baelor murmured as he gently nudged her legs apart. As Baelor fondled her breasts with one hand he moved the other towards his cock, “I promise to go slow,” he murmured. Against her neck, pressing more open mouthed kisses there. She could feel his fat head nudging her entrance, slowly pressing forward. Trying to distract herself she started pressing soft kisses to every inch of his skin she could reach.

“You are doing so good, my sweet,” he murmured as a quiet whimper, not quite pain, not quite pleasure left her lips.

He continued his movement. Slowly pressing further into her, taking deep breaths she relaxed and after sometime he was fully seethed inside of her. Letting out a quiet gasp as she felt him completely, a deep pressure filling her stomach she had never experienced before.

Kissing softly they stayed like this, the praises and encouragement had not seized the entire time and she could still feel the desire for him burning in her stomach. Baelor shifted his weight slightly and when there was no pain a quiet whimper left her lips, rocking her hips slightly to signal him that it was alright to move.

Baelor kissed her again, gently pressing another kiss to her collar bone as he started to move slowly, rocking his hips back and forth in shallow thrusts. Small whimpers left her lips as she scrambled for purchase, her hands finding his back, nails digging into the flesh. Slowly his thrusts became quicker and deeper, gasps and moans left both of their lips. Her name came from his lips like a prayer, one of his hands had wandered between her legs again, fondling her clit expertly, sending waves of pleasure through her. The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room as well as their gasps and moans, neither of them caring if the entire Keep could hear them. Her nails dug into his back, he continued to slam into her, murmuring under his breath.

“Will make you round with my child,” he murmured breathlessly, as he continued to push into her, their skin slick with sweat. She could feel her walls flutter around him, feeling that knot coil tight again, relaxing into him she moaned.

“Please,” she gasped as the coil snapped, Baelor pulled her into a kiss, everything around her went white again, her body twitching as the feeling of something warm, unlike before, spread inside of her. Both of them moaned loudly and gasped, the kiss breaking as Baelor practically collapsed on top of her.

She let out a quiet hum as she felt Baelor’s weight on top of her enjoying the pressure, she practically felt boneless as she gently ran her hand through his hair, looking at his back and seeing the red angry welts her nails had left.

After some time in which she stroked Baelor’s head and Baelor gently ran his hand over her sides, he slowly got up from the bed, his cock leaving her empty as he pulled out a quiet whimper left her lips. He walked over to the small wash basin in the room, dapping a cloth in the water. Coming back he gently cleaned her up, murmuring soft encouragements and praises as he cleaned himself and gently tucked her under the blankets, climbing in as well, wrapping an arm around her he pulled her against him, his warmth a comfort, but also the growing fondness for the man holding her were easily lulling her to sleep. Hearing the soft snores of Baelor beside her she drifted off to sleep in her marriage bed.

[lovebugism]

✶ — START OVER AGAIN !

summary: baelor loses his memory after the trial of seven. you help him remember everything he forgot, and he falls in love with you again everyday. (2.2k)

pairing: baelor targaryen / fem!reader

contents: fix it fic because i'm a widow in mourning, established relationship, implied age gap, angst, hurt/comfort, a bunch of fluff, canon divergence cw for spoilers for s1ep5, mentions of blood and gore

“Have I told you that I love you today?”

You think you’ve heard that question uttered more in the span of a year than any other — save for, maybe, “How is Valarr?” and “Any word from my brother?” The Trial of Seven had not been kind to any of the knights on that field that day, but least of all to yours. Baelor had suffered a blow to the back of the helm from Maekar’s mace that had not killed him, but had perhaps made him wish that he were dead.

He spent nearly thirty days in a coma, surviving only on honey and water, which had turned him skin and bone. And then, when he finally woke, he spent several more days caught in a cycle of excruciating pain and deep sleep from the milk of the poppy he was prescribed. It took him a week thereafter to make sense of his surroundings in the Ashford Infirmary, and then another to put a name to your face — the woman who had not left his bedside since he woke, whose beauty he could only vaguely recognize.

His head injury had stripped him of his memories, the maesters said, and had prevented him from making any new ones. When the wound finally healed and the medicine no longer clouded his awareness, Baelor could remember only this: the birth of his son, the childhood he shared with his younger brother, and the love he had for you.

He could hardly use his limbs for a time, let alone rule the Seven Kingdoms, so Maekar relieved his brother of his duties. You did not return to your home in King’s Landing when you left Ashford. Instead, you made a new one in Sunspear, on a piece of far-off farmland, not far from where his mother grew up in Dorne. The warmth and the golden yellow sun brought the color back to his face, and made Baelor nostalgic for a time he can no longer remember now.

“Tell me again,” the man says with his head tipped back. He looks up at you as you stand beside his chair, raking the thin blade down the length of his neck. Heavy soap cakes onto the white cloth around his neck, along with the fine scruff you shave off his pale skin.

“I’ve already told you a thousand times,” you laugh. “I think I could recite the Dance of the Dragons better than most maesters at this point.”

The sound of your pretty giggling mixes with that of the rolling waves from the bright blue sea about a furlong away from the porch, and the distant bleating of goats being shooed away from the grape vineyard a mile or so up the hill. Everything smells like sea salt and citrus and soap and you.

Baelor knows he has a hard time remembering his home back in King’s Landing, but he can’t understand why he should care about anything other than the one he shares with you now.

“I should know it, I know…” Baelor hums in a soft voice that borders on melancholic.

He smiles softly to himself as his mismatched eyes dart over your face — memorizing the shape of your eyes, the curve of your nose, and the dip in your cupid’s bow — lest the merciless Gods take that memory away from him, too. He fights back a shiver while you sculpt his greying beard with a blade in your expert hand, taking care of him like you were made to do it, though he struggles to recall why.

“I just… I don’t understand why I don’t remember…” he confesses quietly.

You smile through the pang of grief in your chest and repeat the reminder you have to tell him most days. “Because you got hurt, my love. And the maester said it affected your memory.”

“I got hurt…” Baelor echoes, not quite a question, but not quite a firm statement either.

“Yes,” you nod, smoothing the edge of the blade down the milky white tendons of his neck. “You were defending Ser Duncan’s honor at the trial of seven—”

“Trial of seven?” the older man repeats with a furrow to his dark brows. “There hasn’t been one of those in over a century.”

The statement of fact makes you perk.

“Do you remember the last one?” you press gently, parting from his side to wash the blade off in the basin of warm water beside you.

Baelor thinks for a moment, blue-brown irises tracing the fluffy white clouds overhead as he fights to recall a deeply held memory. “It was… Maegor the Cruel,” he mumbles some moments later. “And Ser Damon from House Morrigen— They called him Damon the Devout…”

He turns his head to the side to flash you a soft smile, full of a quiet pride, as if he himself were shocked at having remembered. You meet his sheepish grin with a wider beam, “Aye, my love,” you nod as you return to his side, brushing the blade gently over his jaw. “That’s right.”

“Pity…” he hums in a monotone, folding his weathered hands across his stomach. “I can remember every battle recorded in the citadel, but not my own…”

“Ser Duncan was accused of hurting Aerion, your nephew, who opted for a trial of seven rather than trial by combat,” you explain, soft eyes flitting from Baelor’s attentive gaze to where you shape the edges of his grey beard. “And when Ser Duncan couldn’t find seven fighters, you stood up for him — like a true knight. And you fought gallantly—”

Baelor makes a noise of protest in the back of his throat.

“A gallant knight would remember fighting gallantly,” he protests. “And I can hardly remember what happened to me.”

“Perhaps it’s best you don’t,” you murmur warmly and turn away. “It was a brutal fight.”

Baelor’s soft voice follows you the short distance to the basin, where you drop the blade and rinse your hands. “Tell me,” he says with an audible, sad sort of smile in his voice. “Of how gallantly I fought, I mean.”

Even with your back facing him, he can see the way your shoulders tense, as if his simple plea were enough to take your breath away.

You swallow hard and fight back the distant nausea that always accompanies the bitter memories. You blink, and suddenly the basin of soapy water becomes bright crimson blood — and the white suds turn into the shards of Baelor’s bone and brain, from where you’d cradled his wound to keep his skull from falling apart. Even now, the scent of a salty sea and dewy grass washes away to the stench of copper you’d smelled in the barracks that day — when the blood was so thick in the air you could taste it.

You shake your head to physically remove the memory from your brain. Your answer is the repeated monotone you find yourself reciting most days. “You protected your men. All of them.” You clear your throat when your voice cracks. “It wasn’t until after it was over, when Aerion yielded from his injuries, that Maekar hit you with his mace whilst trying to get to his son. Hard enough to put you in a coma for a moon’s turn.”

“Of course he did,” Baelor hums with a strange fondness in his voice as he plucks the towel from around his neck, wiping the remnants of shaving cream from his skin. “My brother was always stronger than he realized… Even when we were boys…”

Baelor smiles at you and waits for you to look back at him. You never do.

You just keep dipping your hands into the water, like you’re trying to wipe something from your already clean skin. You’d gained a habit of that since the day you nearly lost Baelor — when you rubbed your hands raw in scalding water because you felt like his blood was still clinging to your skin there, long after it had washed away.

“Forgive me,” he says. “If my words pain you— I mean no offense.”

“Stop that,” you scold, features twisting in offense as your head snaps in the man’s direction. You close the brief distance between you to snatch the towel from his fingers, drying off your hands with a quiet smile. “I know you don’t, Baelor. You’re too kind for any of that.”

You sit gingerly across his thighs and dab diligently at the soapy spots he’d missed on his neck. Your soft lavender scent mixes with the spiced oils he’d bathed in that morning.

Baelor’s mismatched eyes soften with affection as he cradles your waist in a pair of wide, sturdy hands. “If only I could remember… Then you wouldn’t have to carry it all… And I wouldn’t be such a burden to you.”

You flinch, as if his words have found you like a physical blow to the stomach.

“You’re the furthest thing from a burden, my love,” you tell him, stern but no less soft with him. “I wouldn’t want you to remember any of it, anyway. I’ll happily hold the memories for the two of us…”

“You were there, yes?” he wonders then.

You nod wordlessly, not trusting yourself to speak.

“And you saw it?”

“I saw all of it,” you answer, slightly strangled by the burning tears you fight hard to blink away. Your glassy eyes remain on the towel in your grasp, lacking the strength to meet Baelor’s gaze. “I ran to you in the barracks when it was over… I didn’t let go of you for two days— they had to transport both of us to the infirmary together…”

You exhale a sharp exhale through your nose, as if you mean to laugh, though the smile doesn’t quite match the sadness in your eyes.

“Eventually, my body gave out from exhaustion, and Maekar carried me out,” you sigh. “I’m pretty sure I slapped him for it when I woke up, but… That might’ve just been a dream— I’m not sure.”

Baelor’s lip twitches in a faint smile, half-hidden beneath the cloth you press to his cheek. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs beneath it.

“For what?”

“You shouldn’t have had to see that— You shouldn’t have had to see me like that.”

“Perhaps not,” you shrug. “But you’re here now. And you’re getting better every day. And that’s all I really care about now.”

You drop the towel into your lap and cup Baelor’s bearded jaw in your soft palms, brushing the trimmed edges with your thumb. There’s a distinct sort of tenderness in the way you hold him, like you’re savoring the way he feels against you — his coarse scruff in your delicate palms, the warmth beneath his pale skin, the way his chest rises and falls beneath you with even breaths. Alive.

“Any word from my brother?” he asks, the third time that morning.

“Not yet,” you smile. “He was here three days ago to check in on you, remember?”

Baelor’s brown-blue eyes dart back and forth between yours, going glassy as he struggles to recollect the not-so-distant memory. He swallows hard, half-embarrassed, and shakes his head. “I… I think I’m having some trouble remembering…”

“That’s okay,” you tell him, scratching gently at his scruff. “That’s why I’m here. To help you remember.”

“And we’re…” he trails off, brows lowered in curiosity. “We’re married, yes?”

Your smile widens. You nod once, proud and visibly giddy. “We are.”

“You poor thing,” he scoffs a quiet laugh that mixes with your lighter giggling. “What did you do to the Gods to end up cursed with an old man like me?”

“Must’ve been something nice, I’m sure,” you lilt and curl your arms around his shoulders. Your fingers rake through his short grey hair, tracing lightly over the healed wound at the top of his neck, where the base of his skull dips in. “Considering they saved you for me… I wouldn’t exactly call that cursed…”

Your words trail off as the tip of your nose traces the bridge of his. You close the minimal space between you to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. When you pull away, you catch a flicker of something flashing across his face — like he’s seeing you for the very first time.

That was, perhaps, the only good thing to come out of all this, watching Baelor fall in love with you again every day.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you giggle.

“Have I told you that I love you today?” Baelor wonders, for the hundredth or so time that day.

“You tell me every day, Baelor,” you grin. “But I wouldn’t mind hearing it a few more times…”

You lean in to kiss him again — a longer and more languid thing this time. Baelor exhales a heavy sigh against you that fans across your cupid’s bow. He prays your kiss leaves a mark on him, like hot sealing wax on a love letter. He wants you to mark him with your touch — to burn him, to stamp him, to brand him — so that he’ll have something to remember this moment by, before it’s gone again forever.

[venmondiese]

UNTIL THE MORNING, YES.

✧ |summary: baelor's new needy wife doesn't let him sleep.

✧ |pairing: baelor 'breakspear' targaryen x reader.

✧ |tags: 18+, mdni, p in v sex, age gap marriage! slight dub-con (baelor is sleepy)

✧ |note: holy mischaracterization... sorry if it seems out of character for baelor... took me like 2 weeks to finish it..., i tried my best!!! not beta proofed <3

Baelor’s soft snores have annoyed you for the half hour you had been tossing in bed, uncomfortable and achy. You had always found comfort in sleeping in Baelor’s bed, leaving your own bedchambers unattended long enough that you had simply told the maids not to bother to make the bed every morning.

“Husband” one of your hands comes to shake him slightly by the shoulder, trying to get him awake.

He had come late to bed, as he so often does, making sure that he has done his duties for the day. He would read letters, answer matters of the realm, and be in the small council when needed. Baelor was dutiful, always learning and attending to anything that the realm needed. 

Yet he had made sure to fuck you properly, tiredly as he mumbled praises to your ear, kissing your neck softly.

Sometimes, you wished for him just to take a day off and be with you. Though the prospect of him being king was closer by day, even if Good King Daeron enjoyed good health. 

The little you see of him, the more you crave him. It was becoming animalistic at this point, if it weren’t for the fact that it would be improper just to get under the small council’s table and simply suck his cock until you got enough. 

Baelor lets an annoyed hum, trying to keep sleeping. 

“Husband” you insist.

“What…” he could barely articulate the words to make sense “Sleep”

“I can’t” you say in almost a whine. “Baelor”

“My love, this can wait for the morning” 

“I need you” you say once again, sitting up as he sighs yet keeps sleeping. “Badly” 

Usually he would have you whenever you asked, always gentle and loving, kissing you with a smile and complimenting you time and time again. But you knew he was exhausted, after all his duties he did without a single complaint, even lightening up his father’s work, so the Good King could rest and play with his grandchildren. 

He moves his head to face you, his eyes barely open. “What?”

“I have missed you” you say, sincerely. 

“Oh…” he says, moving slightly to pull you to his side, making sure his arm is wrapped around your back to accommodate you closer. “I know, beloved” he says, his tone drifting once again. “Let us sleep for now…” 

“But…” you try to complain, yet you’re met with a dismissive hum, as he returns to snore. You doubt he was even awake or would remember this conversation by morning

You nuzzle your head to his neck, his scent soothing as you try to get closer to him. If only it was that easy to sleep when having him by your side. 

As your hand caresses his chest, feeling the small hairs in your digits as you make circles trying to think properly, to convince your brain to sleep… yet something in you keeps you from slumber. 

“Baelor?” you try to ask, but he’s asleep once again. 

Your hand moves lower, pushing the covers out of your way, as your hand finds his flaccid cock and you have to accommodate against him, feeling horny all over again. You move your hand back, only to spit on it as your eyes feel dropping. Yet, as your body feels tired, your mind is more awake than ever. 

His cock takes its sweet time to harden, little by little, as your husband grumbles and tries to remain asleep. 

“Love… what’ye doin’?” He grumbles, a hand against his face, as he doesn't want to open his eyes. 

“I really need you” your tone is almost petulant, but Baelor was used to it (and he almost always encourages it)

“Now? Sweetheart, we’ve already…”

“But your cock” you whine, as you sit up, feeling his hand fall from your side as he groans slightly. “just a quick one… please, again?”

Baelor sighs, as he looks at you with that tired expression of his. “You are insatiable…”

He moves groggily, moving in between his legs. His cock was hard now, the fat head was leaking slightly as you took the girthy length on your hand before moving it to meet your cunt. You can see the dark hairs at his base, yet he kept them well trimmed, like he does with the rest of him.

Baelor moves lazily, unlike him in many ways. As he pushes inside, you can hear him groan, his throat raspy from sleep that came so hard for him these days… and having a young wife that wanted him every second. 

“Only Gods know how my wife got so much energy…” he murmurs, and you wrap your arms around his neck as you moan loudly. 

“I’m young and full of life” 

“That you are…” 

He moves his head down to press a kiss on your cheek, so tender and loving, as his hips thrust slow and deep. His cock feels so huge inside you, and it was certain for you that his girth was his best attribute (amongst many others not relevant now…)

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Your fingers curl, gripping his shoulder as he groans next to your ear, his forehead falling to his shoulder as he presses sweet kisses there. 

“You’re so beautiful, darling” He praises you gently, his hips thrusting with a steady rhythm, his cock providing the perfect friction that you loved. “And insatiable… I already fucked you before bed, and you wake me up for more”

His heavy balls make a soft thud every time his thrusting gets deeper and deeper. You grip his shoulders, already drooling at the thought of having his cock in your mouth as a simple wrench would do, not like a future queen with her husband. 

The small hairs on the base of his cock tickles your skin slightly, but you are too drunk on pleasure to care. You can hear the small noise the bed makes as it hits the wall, among the small creaks of the wood. 

“I’m going to fill you up” Baelor murmurs, planting soft kisses next to your ear. “Yes, my love?”

“Yeah, please, please… fuck”

His thrusts become more insistent at your pleas, shifting his angle just slightly. His bread scratches against your face as he kisses you everywhere. He wasn’t a vocal man, but he wasn't quiet either, as he groans and murmurs loving praises. 

Baelor’s cock throbs as you cum, whimpering against his glistening skin. His balls tighten, pumping ropes of cum inside her The praises that leave his mouth become a bit slurred, as he kisses your neck gently, hands gripping your hips still as he makes sure he empties into you correctly. 

As he rolls to his side of the bed, pulling you close to his hairy chest, you both try to catch your breath.

“Are you satisfied now?” he asks, that slight amusement on his tone as his fingertips caressing softly your arm as your hand comes to rest on his heavy chest. 

“Until the morning, yes”

[the-darklings]

♱ 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕.

pairing: baelor "breakspear" targaryen x f!stark!reader

and so the story goes: a dragon falls in love with a wolf, ice invites fire.

content warnings/contains: stark!reader (no physical description other than the fact you're barthogan stark's daughter); set pre-akotsk so no show spoilers, but post first blackfyre rebellion; strangers to lovers; implied age gap; protective!smitten!baelor; angst/fluff; mutual pining; falling in love; sexual tension; court drama.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ pinterest board | inspo tag & asks | ao3┊baelor/lady stark playlist | aerion/lady stark playlist

⊹ ࣪ ˖ word count: 90k┊next update: 29.03.26┊rated: t.

⤷ CHAPTER INDEX:

⊹ ࣪ ˖ one.┊two.┊three.┊four.┊five.┊six.┊seven.┊eight.┊nine.┊ten.┊eleven.

⤷ BONUS CONTENT:

DRABBLES/BLURBS/ONE-SHOTS:

(*) indicates smut

jealousy. ⊹ baelor/lady stark ft. lyonel

first meeting. ⊹ baelor/lady stark (baelor's pov)

a cooling hand. ⊹ baelor/lady stark

"you choose them. you always do." ⊹ aerion/lady stark

protection. ⊹ baelor/lady stark/maekar

just friends. ⊹ lyonel/lady stark

blackwind. ⊹ baelor/lady stark ft. blackwind

family. ⊹ baelor/lady stark ft. maekarlings + papa maekar

the bronze fury. ⊹ baelor/lady stark ft. verminthor (dragons survived the dance!au)

a hug. ⊹ baelor/lady stark

in another life. ⊹ lyonel/lady stark/baelor

always for you. ⊹ aerion/lady stark

a hedge knight. ⊹ dunk/lady stark (platonic)

meaning in death. ⊹ aerion/lady stark

the baby test. ⊹ baelor/lady stark ft. verminthor (dragons survived the dance!au)

a sick day. ⊹ baelor/lady stark/maekar

"your man." ⊹ lady stark ft dunk, baelor, lyonel, aerion, maekar.

hair. ⊹ maekar/lady stark

'come to bed.' ⊹ baelor/lady stark/lyonel

'come to bed.' ⊹ aerion/lady stark

house colours. ⊹ baelor/lady stark

'may i have this dance?' ⊹ aerion/lady stark

kiss goodnight ⊹ lyonel/lady stark

today with you. ⊹ aerion/lady stark

forever undone. ⊹ baelor/lady stark

stop before i kiss you. ⊹ lyonel/lady stark

where is my wife? ⊹ maekar/lady stark

modern!aerion ⊹ aerion/lady stark

the kidnapping. ⊹ daemon blackfyre/lady stark

wolf's wrath. ⊹ aerion/lady stark ft egg

beach day. ⊹ baelor/lady stark ft valarr && matarys

'i do not want it.' ⊹ maekar/lady stark (*)

can you put that out on me? / explicit version (*) ⊹ aerion/lady stark (modern au)

cracks and pieces. ⊹ baelor/lady stark ft aerion && maekar

devour me. ⊹ aerion/lady stark/daeron (LS born later au)

go back to pretending. ⊹ maekar/lady stark

what attracts them. ⊹ lady stark ft dunk, baelor, lyonel, aerion, maekar.

laughter. ⊹ aerion/lady stark ft egg

'you're playing with my patience.' ⊹ baelor/lady stark

currently accepting headcanon/drabble requests and discussions for this series, feel free to send something in!

P.S. I do not do tag lists, if you want to keep up with this fic, please bookmark this post or follow me directly, thank you.

[cosmictheo]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 | baelor targaryen

| gif credits: @valarrs-targaryen |

— summary: forced into marriage with baelor targaryen after the downfall of her family, daemon blackfyre’s daughter expects humiliation and cold duty as the price of peace between their bloodlines... but instead she finds a gentle prince determined to protect her dignity and win her heart through patience and compassion. — pairing: baelor targaryen x blackfyre!reader — word count: ~3k — content: targcest, pre-akotsk and post-blackfyre's first rebellion, young!baelor, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers-ish, slow burn, canon divergence.

A/N: I know this is a BIG departure from canon and the established timeline, but I fell so deeply in love with this concept that I couldn’t resist writing it, especially for young!Baelor. Please walk with me on this one 😭

Exile.

That's all you can feel as your chariot nears the Red Keep, a place you can hardly remember being in a handful of times, back when you were younger, and you had been raised, imprisoned within the castle's crimson walls.

You have fond remembrances of the gardens; it used to be your spot, your little hideaway from all the noise and crowds and formalities.

It's hard to believe, after everything that's happened, that you're coming back.

You stand where the eye does not reach.

Traitor, disloyal, unworthy. Usurper.

You had grown up hearing such words spoken about your family, in particular your father.

Blackfyre.

The name still hangs heavier than any crown ever could.

Since the downfall of the rebellion, you were forced to renounce your family name and pledge your allegiance to House Targaryen in front of King Daeron II, your uncle by blood. He had spared you, after all. Spared you and bound you to his heir so your father’s blood might never rise against the throne again.

Your father's demise, you believed, would somehow liberate you. It seemed like the perfect reason to seek forgiveness for his misdeeds and to distance yourself from the stain of your lineage, the burden of your name, and most significantly, the sins of your father.

But, on the contrary, for some reason, your life had deteriorated even further since the death of Daemon Blackfyre. The end of the rebellion had been sealed by arranging your marriage union with Prince Baelor.

To keep your remnant family from banishment to distant lands, your own hand had been the price.

The chariot comes to a halt in the courtyard, and for a long moment you do not move, hearing the herald announce your arrival, pronouncing your name.

From House Targaryen, he says. And the words rings so foreign to you that you scarcely realize he is referring to you.

Every time you hear that family name attached to your person, you are reminded that you are a traitor to the ghosts of your fallen brothers. Your father's shadow hangs heavy over you, black wings swarming around, crushing you under the weight of his own doom.

“They’re waiting, my Lady,” your attendant whispers softly.

Of course they are.

The crimson dress you have been forced to wear weighs like scale armor, a taunting reminder of the blood that flows through your veins.

“The Black Dragon’s daughter,” someone sneers from your right. “How dare she wears red?”

The ceremony goes by like a fever dream. The Septon recites sacred words about the union of two bloodlines, about peace and forgiveness, but to you they are nothing but empty words.

You feel Baelor's hand seeking yours to seal the pact; his touch is firm, yet surprisingly gentle. He does not squeeze, he does not claim, he only waits.

When your hands meet, a shiver runs through you, but you keep your eyes downcast on the embroidery of your own skirt.

You kneel when instructed and rise when told and you don't speak a single word to each other. The silence between you is an ocean deep and teeming with ghosts. Neither of you tries to pry the other into conversation, nor do you seek each other's gaze intrusively in the midst of the nobles cheering for a truce born of your own sacrifice.

“In the sight of gods and men, I hereby proclaim you husband and wife.”

The king inclines his head once in approval.

The Court claps even louder, sealing the union and sealing away the sorrow of the past behind it.

An hour later, the banquet degenerates into a torture of fake laughter and hypocritical toasts.

The mood becomes unbreathable, claustrophobic. Every time someone steps forward to congratulate the “Crown Prince and his new wife,” all you want to do is hurl insults and screams.

The Crown Prince.

Baelor... you had only heard of him. The image you had created in your mind is nothing like what he actually is. He has a dignified and charming presence, dark hair, and a pair of exceptionally gentle eyes that, when they're brave enough, fall upon you by his side, occasionally glancing sideways at you to ensure that you are physically still there.

He carries himself with quiet dignity, yes—but not cruelty.

Cruelty would have been easier, cruelty you understand.

The atmosphere in the Great Hall hangs heavy, with echoes of bitter memories flooding back, the sound of whispers of your name and the sting of venomous glances.

So many eyes.

Curious. Suspicious. Appraising.

As Lords Bracken and Peake surround Baelor to discuss matters of the Realm, you begin to feel truly suffocated.

Not thinking twice, you seize the opportunity. Your fingers dig into the fine satin of your dress, you lift your skirt just enough, and your feet fly over the floor.

You pass through the limestone archway, and instantly the clamour of political intrigue and your own marriage fades away, to be replaced by the rustle of the wind in the myrtle bushes and the sweet scent of summer roses. The Royal Garden feels like it did when you were but a child—comforting.

You freeze near a young oak tree, leaning your back against the trunk and focusing on steadying your erratic breathing. Your eyes begin a panicked, unconscious sweep of your surroundings, searching for an exit, a fence to climb over, a way to slip away.

Your lungs burn and your heart thumps in your ears as you stray from the main path and venture into the undergrowth until you come up against a fence of bushes, so tall and thick that it hides any view of the outside world.

Your fingers dig into the branches, looking for a place to hold on as you look up at the height of the massive shrubs, made to be unclimbable.

You quietly curse the weight of your gown and the tightness of your corset. You're figuring out how much it'll cost you to climb over to the other side without breaking an ankle or without messing up your hair—

“If you try to climb up there, I'm afraid the thorns of the hidden roses will ruin your hands before you reach the top, my lady.”

You flinch violently, releasing the branches with a huff of frustration, but you don't turn around just yet; you're too furious, too humiliated for having been caught trying to sneak away like a thief in your own home. And even worse, on your wedding day.

“Well, I prefer thorns to the forked tongues of the Lords in there,” you spit venomously, still with your back turned to him and gazing up at the top of the bushy wall. “And if you’re so keen on giving advice, you could start by learning not to stalk people in gardens. Go lick some Targaryen’s boots and leave me alone. I don't need another guard watching my every move.”

A tense silence falls over the garden, and you're waiting for a reprimand, an insult, or to be grabbed by the arm and escorted back to the castle.

But what you hear is a soft, humorous sigh.

“That's fair advice,” he agrees, and you can sense a hint of a smile in his words. “Although, technically, I'm not a guard.”

You turn slowly, head held high and fire gleaming in your eyes, ready to blast anyone who dares interfere with your escape plan.

“Look, don’t meddle in what doesn’t concern you—”

But the words die in your throat when you recognize him.

Prince Baelor stands before you, his hands interlaced in front of him gracefully. He doesn’t display the stern, triumphant expression you had braced yourself for. Much less does he have the sharp, judgmental tone he should have addressed the usurper's daughter with.

Your eyes widen as you realize, with a sinking feeling in your stomach, that you have just told the future king of the Seven Kingdoms to go lick some boots.

“I don’t want to meddle, but I’m afraid,” he adds with a slight tilt of his head, in your shock-stricken silence, “that I won't be able to have my own wife run away on our first day of marriage.”

The air gets stuck in your lungs, and the defiance you felt seconds ago falls apart in a flash, leaving you with cold chills running down your spine.

There are no guards around him, no White Cloaks, only him and his gaze, one that holds no offense or disdain, but rather sympathy and lighthearted humor.

“I... Y–your Grace...” you stumble, finally releasing the branch of the bush you were still clutching as if it were a weapon. Your cheeks, previously flushed with rage, now burn with crushing embarrassment as you give him an apologetic bow. “Do forgive me.”

Baelor steps forward to lend you a hand in helping you out of the undergrowth and flowerbeds and back onto the main paved path. You accept it immediately, avoiding eye contact as he carefully guides you by his side.

“Anyone would be overwhelmed in your situation, my lady,” he comforts you with his words and his gaze. Then, an eyebrow arches on his forehead, “but I never thought marrying me would cause such distress that you’d wish to run away.”

The ground beneath your feet seems to become wobbly as you walk beside him, and the warmth of his hand on yours is a puzzling contrast to the coldness you would expect from the man who helped quell your father's rebellion.

“It’s not... it’s not marriage that distresses me, Your Grace,” you assure him under your breath, your gaze focused on the tips of your shoes peeking out from under the silk. You feel your throat tighten, but your pride, though wounded, urges you to speak. “It’s—it’s this place. The walls seem to have grown since I was a child; they feel taller, more suffocating... and more red.”

“The Red Keep has that habit, it does,” he concedes, and for the first time you hear a tinge of weariness in his voice, but then he offers you a shy smile, tilting his head to seek your gaze. “But I’ve been told this was your favorite spot. I spent much of the morning making sure the gardeners didn't trim this section so much. I thought you might prefer a bit of... wild disarray, rather than the rigidity of the court.”

“Why are you so kind to me, my Prince?” you blurt out unexpectedly, the question spilling from your lips before you can hold it back.

Baelor’s eyes soften even more when they finally lock onto yours. Standing so close, you notice that each of his eyes has a different color, neither the purplish hue that characterized the other Targaryens, nor matching the dragon’s wrathful gaze. The sun of Dorne lingers beautifully in his complexion, with a sharp bridge of his nose, delicate lips, and expressive eyes.

The intensity of his stare alone sends a tingling sensation through your stomach, and you have to force yourself to maintain eye contact.

“Just call me Baelor,” he says, shaking his head dismissively. His smile morphs into a sheepish little grin, suddenly bashful now that you’re so close to him, looking up at him like that. “And you are my wife. You are more deserving of my kindness than anyone else in all the Seven Kingdoms.”

You had spent weeks building up a shell of resentment and fear, preparing yourself for a tormentor, but Baelor... Baelor is gentleness itself.

“Baelor,” you repeat in a whisper, rolling the name around on your tongue, tasting it. It sounds strange, less intimidating, but much more intimate.

He nods, and you notice how the tension in his shoulders also subsides as he hears you speak his name.

Together, you begin to walk slowly along the stone path, away from the fence you were trying to climbed over.

“I know you didn’t choose this,” he clears his throat, breaking the silence as he comes to a stop in front of a rose bush that exudes an enchanting fragrance. “I know my name is a reminder for what you lost. And I’m sorry about that, I really am. I wish it hadn’t been this way.”

You stand still and glance at him out of the corner of your eye, twisting your head to observe the bees buzzing around the flowers. As you watch the insects get lost among the crimson petals, it occurs to you that they move with a freedom you do not possess.

“You don’t have to apologize for winning, Baelor,” you eventually state. You turn a little to face him, keeping a safe distance. “My father chose his own path. I’m just… what’s left behind. And now I’ll have to pay for his mistakes for the rest of my life.”

“You are not your father,” he says quietly. “Just as I am not my own.”

You let out a brittle laugh. “You say that now. But the court will never forget. They look at me and see rebellion. Treason. They’ll be waiting for me to stab you in the back and betray you.”

“They look at you and see what frightens them,” Baelor corrects gently. “You are living proof that war ends. That enemies can sit at the same table. That blood does not have to answer blood forever.”

He looks like he’s absurdly trying to make this work.

“You are very good at saying the right thing,” you observe.

He smiles faintly. “I rehearse them in my head. Often badly.”

That earns the smallest curve of your lips.

Silence falls again, but it is softer this time, sess suffocating, more comforting. Somewhere beyond the hedges, a fountain trickles steadily as the bees continue their lazy orbit around the roses.

“If you truly rehearse your words,” you break the silence quietly, looking up at him sheepishly, “what did you plan to tell me tonight? Once the doors to our chambers were closed and the Lords were no longer watching us?”

The afternoon sunlight accentuates the Dornish tones of his skin as well as the sincere radiance in his two-toned eyes when they look back at you.

“I had rehearsed a speech about duty and loyalty,” he admits sincerely, breathing a sigh. “About how our families need this union to heal.” Then his fine lips twist into a frown of distaste. “Now I just want to let you know that you don’t have to be my wife in the way they expect.”

You look at him in utter disbelief, your eyebrows raised. In Westeros, an unconsummated marriage is a sign of weakness, a loophole that one’s enemies absolutely relish in exploiting.

“You're a future King,” you breathe, the shock finally overriding your caution. “The succession, the optics... the court would tear you apart if they thought you couldn't—or wouldn't—claim your prize.”

The word 'prize' tastes like ash in your tongue. It’s what you’ve been called in every hushed corridor of the Red Keep since you arrived.

“I am a Prince of the Blood,” he states, “And you are a woman who has lost her home, her name, and her family. I will not add your dignity to that list of thefts.” He pauses, his gaze drifting to the scuffed toes of your shoes—the evidence of your attempted climb. “If the door is locked from the inside, the court will assume what they wish to assume. Let them whisper. They have been whispering since the Redgrass Field; a few more rumors won't break the throne.”

You offer him a warm, genuine smile. “Thank you, Baelor”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Baelor replies, his voice light. “We still have to survive the rest of the evening. And the sun is setting. If we stay out here much longer, my father will send the Kingsguard to find us, and I’d rather not explain to Ser Gwayne why my lady wife has oak bark in her hair.”

You instinctively reach up, your fingers brushing against your temple. Sure enough, a small shard of bark is tangled in a stray lock. But before you can pluck it out, Baelor’s hand is there. His touch is lightning—brief, electric, and devastatingly careful.

He removes the debris and holds it up like a trophy before letting the wind take it.

He offered you his arm and this time, you don’t hesitate. You slipped your hand into the crook of his elbow, the fine fabric of his doublet smooth beneath your fingertips.

You stand by the foot of the massive bed, your fingers nervously twisting the silk of your skirts.

“You look like you’re waiting for an executioner, wife,” Baelor points out, unbuttoning the top buttons of his doublet to breathe more easily, exhausted in the aftermath of the overwhelming experience of the ceremony.

“I expected the executioner to have a less friendly face,” you reply quietly, forcing a small smile as your fingers finally release the silk of your skirt.

Baelor places his doublet on an oak chair and runs a hand through his dark hair, undoing the perfect composure he had maintained through the entire feast. Without the layers of heavy silk and state jewels, he looks less like a legendary prince and more like just a man.

“I’m afraid the only punishment awaiting you tonight is absolute silence and a bed that's too big for one person,” he responds, gesturing gracefully toward the bed as he walks over to one of the tables and pours water into two glasses.

You bite your lip, observing how he moves around the room with peaceful confidence in your direction, offering you one of the glasses.

“Baelor... the court is not naive. Tomorrow they will search for marks, they will search for that... ‘proof’ we spoke of. If the sheets are clean, your father will know.” You shake your head gently, taking a long sip of water. “Your enemies will know. They will say that you are not man enough to claim what is yours by right.”

“Let them say what they want,” he shrugs, unconcerned. “I’d rather they question my manhood than have me question my own honor. I won’t take by force what should be a voluntary act of devotion. You are not spoils of war, even if my father sees you that way.”

After taking a long sip of water himself, he draws a small dagger from his belt, its blade glinting in the candlelight.

Without taking his eyes off yours, he presses the tip against the palm of his hand. A small trickle of red blood, as vibrant as the dress you are wearing, flows from the wound. And with an uncanny sense of calm, he walks over to the bed and presses his hand against the white linen sheets, staining them irrevocably.

“There’s your proof,” he declares, letting out a sigh. “On the morrow, the maids will see what they want to see.”

You approach him quickly, your bare feet scarcely making a sound on the rugs as you dig through a small chest nearby, where you know the maids keep basic supplies. You find a roll of clean linen bandages and a bowl of water that had been left out for nighttime washing.

“My prince, let me,” you plead, carefully taking hold of his wrist.

He seems a little surprised by your initiative, but he doesn't pull his hand away. You sit down on the edge of the bed, right next to the stain he made, and invite him to sit down beside you. With a gentleness you weren't aware you could muster, you clean the wound with fresh water.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you murmur without looking up, focused on the crimson line across his palm. “It's quite a deep wound for a simple deception.”

“A prince must be willing to bleed for his people,” Baelor reassures you calmly, observing how carefully you wrap the bandage around his hand. “And you are my people now. My family.”

Your fingers brush against his warm skin as you adjust the knot of the bandage.

“Thank you, husband,” you whisper in gratitude, your hands cradling his in a tender embrace.

Baelor does not withdraw his hand; instead, he loosely closes his fingers around yours, holding them in a gesture that seeks to offer comfort. Only for a fleeting moment, because right after that, he's already pulling away from you, putting himself on his feet.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he soothes you, smiling sheepishly. “I’ve spent my whole life learning to be a good heir, a good warrior, and a good son. But I think I’d rather learn to be a good man for you.”

Then he explains that he will be sleeping on the settee by the fireplace, assuring you that you can have the bed to yourself, but you barely hear what he is saying, for you can only sit there gazing at him in silence, observing the subtle gestures of his body, the shifting expressions on his face, and the way his eyes linger on your face.

You can only sit there, watching him as though he were a riddle you had not yet decided how to solve.

He moves about the chamber with deliberate calm, removing the last of his rings and placing them carefully upon the table.

“You needn’t look at me as if I’ve grown a second head,” he points out abruptly, and you can notice a faint flush creeping up his neck beneath your scrutiny.

“I’m trying to decide,” you hesitate, “whether you are very foolish... or very brave.”

He pauses, considering that. “I’ve been accused of both before.”

“You would truly sleep there?” you ask, glancing at the narrow settee by the hearth.

“If it grants you peace, yes.”

Peace. That’s what this is all about.

Because peace is safe, peace is distant, it means space.

And you are not entirely certain you want him so far away.