Summary: The ceremony ends, the feast fades, and the expectations of the court settle in almost immediately. An heir.
By the end of the night, Baelor Targaryen has heard the word enough times to know exactly what everyone expects of him. Fortunately for the realm, it’s exactly what he wants too.
A/n: sorry this took so long to write 💀 I just started classes again so I have to focus on that for a bit, but I’ll try to keep updating whenever I can.
also… please ignore the ending. I still have no idea how to write proper endings apparently (·•᷄ࡇ•᷅ )
@oldermanslurt
The pressure started weeks ago. Letters from allies hinting at stability. Counselors talking about the fragility of alliances and old lords remembering what happens when an heir takes a long time to arrive.
Days later, as you crossed the gardens you heard how two knights debated about how long it would take to announce a pregnancy. One bet that before winter.
You didn't interrupt them, but that night when you were alone in your room, the thought didn't leave you.
You didn't mind the idea. I turned you on.
The pressure of the kingdom coincided with something that Baelor already felt. I wanted you and I wanted what could arise between you.
For him you had always been different.
Someone sacred.
Something in you forced him to treat you with an almost religious reverence.
In the weeks leading up to the wedding, the image he had of you slowly began to crack.
It didn’t destroy it, but it did transform it.
When you crossed paths in the corridors, he would look away a second later than was proper. He offered you his arm with perfect formality, though his fingers were slow to let you go.
Sometimes he remembered too late that the two of you were not alone.
When you dined together out of duty, if your dress left your collarbones bare, his jaw would tense almost imperceptibly. He still saw you as something sacred.
One afternoon, Baelor overheard two ladies speaking in hushed voices about how beautiful you would look while pregnant. The image formed in his mind with an unexpected intensity.
Your belly growing
An heir.
His.
With your smile and his temperament.
…
The morning of the wedding arrived.
And Baelor’s anticipation did not show. He was calm.
But beneath the heavy fabrics, his breathing was deeper than usual.
Not because of the vows.
Not because of the ceremony.
But because of the night that would come after.
For your part, while the servants adjusted your dress, a septa reminded you-with rehearsed sweetness, almost false-that some princesses were fortunate enough to conceive on their wedding night.
You smiled and nodded.
You were not naïve. You knew what they expected from you. And if you were honest with yourself, you also knew what Baelor expected.
You thought of him. And of the way he would look at you when it was finally just the two of you, with no witnesses.
When you would finally be his wife. The woman who would share his bed. The woman who could give him children. The woman he could touch, love, and long for without rumors surrounding it.
The ceremony was held beneath a high dome, where the light streamed through the glass and gave the place an almost magical feeling.
The air smelled of incense.
So many eyes upon you that it felt as though every breath was being watched. Your families, nobles, lords, knights… all gathered to witness the same thing.
The union of two houses under a single vow.
And even if it was not necessary to say it aloud, everyone knew it was the beginning of something more.
His grip on your hand was firm but warm. His thumb moved slightly over your skin as the septon began to recite the words.
The vows echoed beneath the great dome.
Promises of loyalty, protection, and union before the gods.
When the moment came to seal the marriage, the eyes of your now-husband briefly drifted toward your belly.
It was something subtle, something that went unnoticed by everyone.
Even he could not be certain when that thought had begun to take shape and claim his mind. Perhaps it was in the conversations at court.
Or what those two ladies had said that day. Or when he saw you smile and noticed that brightness in your eyes.
The great feast began as evening fell. The tables stretched across the entire hall, covered with fruit, meats, bread, and countless goblets of wine.
Laughter was loud, echoing through the room. The toasts were even louder.
“To a long and happy life together,” you heard a lord shout as he raised his cup. “And to the inevitable heir who will arrive very soon.”
The hall erupted in laughter and clinking cups.
Baelor did not laugh.
But his gaze found yours and held it. Long and intense.
As if the lord’s words were far more than a joke. You had heard those same words all day: heirs and lineage.
When the night finally wore on and everyone withdrew, the castle was almost silent. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of the wind.
The bridal chamber was lit only by the fire in the hearth. Baelor closed the door behind you. Finally alone: no rumors, no watchful eyes, and no witnesses. Only the distant sound of wood burning.
For a moment, neither of you said anything. You stood in the center of the room while Baelor simply watched you. Then he approached with calculated slowness and placed his hands around your waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Did you notice?” His voice came out calmer than usual. More intimate. “Did you notice they only talked about the same thing all day?”
One of his hands left your waist and moved to your belly with restrained desire.
“As if it had been easy to ignore the looks and whispers…” you said with a sigh, letting his touch relax you.
Your comment seemed to amuse him, because a slow smile formed on his lips. “Heirs,” you whispered, looking toward the fireplace.
“They said it as if it were our obligation… but to me it isn’t,” Baelor replied, pulling you closer to his chest. You lifted your gaze back to his face, holding his eyes and silently urging him to continue. “I don’t see it completely as a duty.”
The silence that surrounded you was not uncomfortable. There was calm, but also so many things held beneath it—hunger, desire, desperation, and love.
“Soon we will have children,” he said. Not like an order, nor like a political promise. “Many, if you agree.”
He said it with a desire that had been growing for a long time, fed by every comment and glance from the court, by the anticipation of each day leading closer to this moment. One of his hands left your waist and moved to your cheek, gently caressing the skin. His gaze was resolute. Baelor was not a man of hesitation; when an idea formed in his mind, he did not rest until he achieved it.
“And now that you are my wife,” his voice lowered, almost inaudible.
“I see no reason to wait.”
He did not say it like an order, nor like an obligation.
He said it with certainty, as something he truly desired and longed for.
His fingers slowly moved up to the clasps of your dress. You raised an eyebrow slightly and let him continue. The fastenings began to loosen beneath his fingers, allowing the heavy fabric to slacken slowly.
“I thought the prince would have more patience.”
“I have been patient for weeks.”
In his eyes there was something darker than his usual calm. The last fastening of the dress gave way. The fabric slipped from your shoulders. Baelor did not look away for even a second. His hands returned to your waist. The sudden change in temperature made you exhale softly.
“And now?” you asked with a teasing softness.
Baelor slowly shook his head, letting his eyes wander over you before returning to yours. “The truth is, now I don’t feel much like continuing to be.”
Without waiting much longer, he lifted you with ease. The gesture was unexpected but certain, as if he had already decided what would come next.
“I’ve waited through the entire ceremony,” he murmured against your ear. With determined steps he walked straight to the bed. He set you down gently on the sheets, leaning over you, one hand at your neck and the other braced at your waist. “And the whole feast.”
His lips found your neck, kissing slowly before descending along the curve of your collarbone.
“My prince…” you breathed against the curve of his neck, your hands gripping his doublet tightly.
Baelor let out a low exhale, as if hearing that from your lips carried more weight than any blessing spoken during the ceremony.
His hand remained at the back of your neck as he leaned over you again, his lips returning to your neck before slowly descending once more along your collarbone. With a deliberate hand he began to trace your body until he reached the start of your hips, stopping just short of where you needed him most. He pulled back slightly to look at you, and without breaking eye contact murmured: “I want to taste you.”
His warm breath made you shiver. “Yes… please.”
Deliberately, he began trailing down your body with wet kisses, leaving small bites along the way, marking every inch he found. He didn’t waste time -he buried his head between your thighs, pressing his nose into your folds, kissing your entrance. His tongue slipped out and lapped up all your wetness in one long, slow stroke.
The sudden contact made you bury your head in the pillows and let out a high-pitched moan. Baelor spoke against your folds, his words muffled by your heat. You lifted your head to look at him -and he was already staring back, pupils so blown wide there was barely a trace left of his signature blue.
“Baelor…” Just saying his name was enough to push him over the edge. His jaw clenched, and he spread your thighs wider, exposing you completely to him. He opened his mouth over your entrance and, without hesitation, let his tongue plunge inside -without waiting for your walls to adjust. With both hands gripping your thighs, he deliberately rubbed his nose against your clit while devouring you like a savage.
The sounds spilling from you were so sinful that if a septon heard them, he’d mistake your moans for desperate prayers and Baelor’s name for blasphemy.
With every skilled flick of his experienced tongue, he felt you clench around him -and let me tell you, it was driving him insane. He was hypnotized.
The only thing in his mind was you and your dripping entrance.
“So sweet,” he growled against your lips. The sudden vibration shot up your spine, making you arch hard against his face. You reached down and tugged at his hair, but the sudden movement caught his attention. He smiled up at you, flashing his fangs. He pulled his mouth away from your entrance for just a moment, shifting all his focus to your clit-sucking hard, making your grip on his hair tighten as you bit your lip to stifle a moan.
“Let me hear you,” he murmured, then sucked again, harder, making your face twist in pleasure.
“S-someone might h-hear us,” you managed between gasps, biting your lip so hard you thought it might bleed.
“Then they’ll know you’re finally mine, my sweet girl.”
And as if your body and mind had stopped obeying you, you reacted without thinking -letting a high, desperate moan tear from the depths of your throat.
“That’s it…”
Maybe it was a contest to see who could make the filthiest sounds: you, moaning helplessly beneath him… or Baelor, answering with primitive slurps and licks.
With one hand still tangled in his hair, you forced his head down harder against your core. He happily accepted the invitation, gripping your thighs and -without even pausing to breathe- thrusting his tongue in and out. Again and again, curling it, hitting the roof of your cunt, making you see stars.
“So beautiful,” he managed to mumble, his tongue sliding up and down your folds, teasing you mercilessly. Then pushing back inside, the sharp tip of his tongue grazing your most sensitive spots.
You were so lost in pleasure that when he pulled away for a few seconds, a loud, frustrated whine escaped your throat. You were about to protest -but he didn’t make you wait long. He returned to your core, this time bringing his fingers along.
Long, slender fingers, marked by years of dedication to battle, training, and the sword. From now on, there would be a new dedication claiming his attention: you.
His fingers moved against you perfectly, rubbing those sensitive spots and stretching your walls, leaving a satisfying burn. Just when you thought you were already losing your mind, he began thrusting them fast and methodical, tenderly caressing your ridged inner walls. Then he changed his rhythm, pumping roughly -and right then, he started abusing that poor sweet spot inside you.
“My sweet wife.”
“Let everyone hear how sweet you are for me.”
He joined his mouth to your swollen clit again, this time grazing it lightly with his teeth, earning a hiss from you. He sucked until his cheeks hollowed, filling the chamber with indecent sounds.
You looked down again and noticed your wetness smeared all over his beard and nose. He began licking your clit carelessly, making your hips jerk away instinctively. You tried to speak, but your voice broke when he pinned your hips to the bed and kept devouring you.
"B-Baaelor," you whimpered, clutching the sheets beneath you.
“Yes, my sweet girl?”
“I-I think I’m going to come.” All you could do was throw your head back and lose yourself in the sudden wave of pleasure. Both hands gripped his short hair tightly, his name spilling from your lips like honey. “B-Baelor, I’m…”
He murmured something against your folds, but you had no time to process it before his mouth sealed over your clit like a suction cup, sucking hard while his fingers thrust with calculated precision. As he drew out your orgasm, his fingers slammed against your G-spot over and over.
From so much stimulation, tears formed at the corners of your eyes, and you bit your lip against the overwhelming intensity -your heart pounding in your ears, your toes curling painfully.
With a few more thrusts, your orgasm crashed through your body without resistance, a huge tingle blooming in your core. While you put on a show, Baelor caught every drop of your sweet nectar, wasting nothing.
If you hadn’t been trying to push him away by his hair, Baelor would have stayed right there: moving his fingers, prolonging your climax and overstimulation, pushing you toward a second orgasm.
“Stop…” you whimpered, trying with all your strength to push him away. Don’t get me wrong -you wanted more, but you needed something bigger.
“You did so well, my darling,” he said, caressing your sides gently, never breaking eye contact with your glistening eyes.
“I want you,” you said, biting your lip softly and cupping his jaw.
“I’ll give you everything you want…”
“Undress,” you ordered, releasing his jaw and relaxing back against the bed.
Who was he to question such a command from his beautiful wife?
Baelor took his time removing each layer -so many layers that you grew impatient. Your eyes were glued to his movements. His hands moved firmly, untying what was needed, letting the garments fall to the floor beside the bed. The light outlined every line of his body: broad shoulders, defined chest, marked abdomen that flexed slightly as he moved. When he reached his shirt, he didn’t take it off completely -he just left it open, not bothering to remove it. The fabric fell to the sides of his torso, framing the firmness of his chest and the soft tension of his abs. All of it framed by the happy trail leading down to his pronounced V.
His cock was long but not overly thick; the rosy tip glistened with precum, veined so prominently you could already imagine feeling them inside you.
Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pressing to bring his cock flush against your folds.
“Please…” you whimpered, barely rocking your hips. You didn’t even know why you were begging -the word simply melted on your tongue and fell between you before you could stop it.
Baelor tilted his head, pressing one hand to your abdomen while the other gripped the base of his cock. “Look at how you open for me… I didn’t think you’d be so needy…” he said, his tone dripping with amusement.
You rocked your hips harder, a frustrated cry escaping you -you couldn’t take his teasing.
Without another word, with one smooth thrust, he slid his cock into your slick entrance. The sudden intrusion made your mouth fall open in a silent scream, the bed dipping beside you as he leaned over you.
He crashed his lips against yours in an open, hungry kiss. One hand went to your thigh, gripping it to give himself better access.
Soon he was fucking you with slow, long, deep thrusts, making your breath catch in your throat. Your head fell back onto the pillows, your back arching.
He fucked you slow and precise, as if he wanted your walls to mold perfectly to his shape.
“We need to have a child,” he commented, not waiting for a response, propping his forearms on either side of your head so he wouldn’t crush you completely -but his weight fell over you deliciously: enveloping you, covering you, enclosing you in a cocoon of heat and muscle.
You were so lost in pleasure that you barely processed what he said -you just nodded, joining your lips to his and moaning into his mouth when his tip brushed your G-spot.
“So good for me.”
“We won’t waste time -you’ll be filled with my heirs tonight,” he said, kissing your cheek and thrusting harder and faster. The new rhythm made your hands wrap around his shoulders, your nails leaving crescent marks.
You knew that, as husband and wife… and future queen, the duty of producing heirs weighed on both of you. But it didn’t feel like a burden. Not tonight. The idea of carrying something of his in your womb, merging your bloodlines and perpetuating his legacy, didn’t scare you. On the contrary, something inside you ignited at the certainty.
One of his hands slid down to where your bodies joined, large, calloused fingers finding your swollen clit. His thumb rubbed slowly at first—precise circles that contrasted with the brutality of his hips. Then he sped up, syncing with every thrust.
“Look at you…” he gasped against your neck, lips brushing the slick, salty skin as he pressed open-mouthed kisses there, tasting the sheen of sweat and desire that coated you both. His voice was wrecked, low and reverent, each word vibrating straight through your core. “So beautiful… so perfect taking everything. Filled with me. Filled with my children already.”
His thumb pressed harder on your swollen clit, rubbing merciless circles with ruthless precision -fast, unyielding, the calloused pad dragging over the oversensitive bundle until sparks exploded behind your eyelids. At the same time, his cock slammed against your G-spot again and again, the thick ridge of his head bullying that spot relentlessly. You could feel the obscene bulge of his tip pressing outward against your lower belly with every deep thrust, a visible claim under your skin, as if his body was already carving space inside you for the heir he kept promising -demanding- with every roll of his hips.
“B-baelor…” you sobbed his name, voice shattered and raw, tears of overwhelming pleasure spilling freely down your cheeks, hot tracks that cooled against your flushed skin.
“Look at me,” he murmured, almost pleading, his tone cracking with something desperate and achingly tender beneath the lust.
You forced your heavy lids open. When your tear-blurred eyes finally locked with his, the blue was nearly swallowed by black—pupils blown so wide they looked feral, yet the expression behind them was pure, raw adoration. His breathing came in harsh, uneven pants that fanned across your face; the regal composure he’d worn during the ceremony, that mask of princely calm, had shattered completely. Sweat beaded on his brow, dark strands of hair clinging to his temples, and for a heartbeat he looked almost vulnerable.
Like a man staring at the only thing that could ever undo him.
He pressed his forehead to yours again, noses brushing, breaths mingling in the scant space between you. The intimacy of it stole what little air you had left; it felt like he was trying to crawl inside your soul the same way he was already buried inside your body.
But when he spoke again, his voice was still thick with that unshakable devotion, every syllable a vow carved into your skin.
“My wife… my heir… my blood.”
The words weren’t just spoken -they were branded. A sacred oath wrapped in filthy need.
He sped up without warning, hips snapping forward with bruising force, the wet, obscene slap of skin on skin echoing through the chamber louder than your broken moans. “You’re going to come with me, aren’t you?… You’re going to stay so full… clenching around every drop so nothing escapes… And then
The orgasm didn’t build gently; it crashed into you like a brutal, unstoppable wave. Your walls spasmed violently around his length, fluttering and clenching in frantic pulses, sucking him deeper, milking him with greedy, rhythmic contractions that dragged a guttural groan from his throat. You screamed his name over and over—raw, shattered cries that bounced off the stone walls—as white-hot pleasure ripped through every nerve, your toes curling painfully, thighs trembling uncontrollably, tears streaming faster as your whole body seized in ecstasy.
He followed you over the edge with a broken growl, burying himself to the hilt one final time. Hot, thick spurts flooded you, pulse after pulse, painting your insides until you felt impossibly full, the warmth spreading deep and claiming every inch. His hips jerked erratically through the aftershocks, grinding against you as if trying to push even deeper, sealing every last drop where it belonged.
His thumb pressed harder, rubbing mercilessly while his cock slammed against your G-spot again and again. You could feel the bulge of his tip in your lower belly with every thrust, as if he were already claiming space for what was to come.
“B-baelor—” you sobbed his name, voice broken, tears of pleasure rolling down your cheeks.
“Look at me,” he murmured, almost pleading.
When your eyes met his, his breathing was ragged. The serenity he’d shown during the ceremony was gone.
For a moment, his forehead rested against yours again, as if trying to regain some of the composure he’d lost.
But when he spoke again, his voice was still thick with the same devotion.
“My wife… my heir… my blood.” As if the words themselves were a vow.
He sped up, hips slamming against yours with wet, obscene sounds. “You’re going to come with me, aren’t you?… You’re going to stay so full… And then I’ll put another child inside you. As many as you want. As many as your perfect body can take."
The orgasm hit you like a brutal wave. Your walls clenched around him, sucking him in, milking him, as you screamed his name over and over.
Baelor groaned and buried himself to the hilt, spilling hot, thick spurts inside you. He stayed still for a moment, breathing heavily against your mouth, as if the entire world had narrowed to that point where your bodies remained joined.
Without a word, he lowered slowly, staying inside you with reverent care. The position was pure missionary, intimate to the point of pain: his chest crushed against yours, arms surrounding you as if afraid you’d slip away, forehead pressed to yours while his hips rocked just enough for you to feel every inch of him pulsing inside. It was rawer, deeper. It was him giving himself entirely, as if staying inside could bind you to his soul forever.
“You did so well, my dear.” He kissed your eyelids, your cheeks, the trembling corner of your mouth -each kiss a silent vow. His hips stilled completely, but he didn’t pull out: he remained buried deep, thick, hot, throbbing, sealing his seed in your depths. The wet heat felt alive, constant, a sticky, tender reminder of what he’d just promised.
Slowly, with a gentleness that contrasted the earlier ferocity, he slid to the side without breaking the connection. He turned you with him until you were spooning: your back pressed to his broad, sweaty chest, his arm around your waist, his large hand covering your belly as if already protecting what would grow there. And he was still inside. Deep. Motionless. Filling you completely.
He felt your walls flutter softly around him -one last involuntary spasm of exhausted pleasure- and let out a low groan against your nape.
He kissed the base of your neck slowly, almost religiously devout, his hand staying on your abdomen, tracing soft, protective circles. His body heat wrapped around you like a living blanket; his breathing calmed against your hair, syncing with yours.
Exhausted, sated, your soul as full as your body, you closed your eyes. Baelor pulled you closer, as if even in sleep he feared letting go, and whispered one last time against your ear: “Don’t move. I want to feel you all night.”
His fingers traced possessive circles over your abdomen.
“Tomorrow we continue,” he murmured. “Night after night. Until you carry my heir… and many more until the maesters lose count of how many little dragons we've made."
A final, lingering kiss was pressed to the nape of your neck-open-mouthed, soft, almost worshipful-before his breathing began to deepen, to slow, syncing unconsciously with yours. His cock gave one last gentle twitch inside you, a quiet reminder that even in repose he was still claiming you, still marking you from the inside out.
And so you drifted into sleep: bodies joined in the most intimate lock, limbs entwined until it was impossible to tell where you ended and he began, his steady pulse echoing deep within you like a second heartbeat. The dying embers in the hearth cast faint, ruddy light across sweat-slick skin and tangled sheets, but neither of you noticed.
The night refused to end -not really.
Not while he was still inside you, warm and heavy and unyieldingly yours.
And somewhere in the quiet dark, between one slow breath and the next, you knew this was only the first of countless nights that would end and begin-exactly the same way.
Summary: You announce your pregnancy in front of the blood of the dragon… but the moment isn’t really about the heir. It’s about Maekar. About the way he looks at you. His daughter. And how sometimes love is too rigid to show itself gently.
Pairing(s): Baelor Targaryen x wife!reader. Maekar Targaryen x daughter!reader
A/N: This surprisingly took me longer to write than I expected. I don’t even know why. It’s not one of my favorites, and I feel like some parts came out a little rushed, but I really wanted to explore Maekar. He’s not cruel he’s just a man who doesn’t know how to handle the idea of losing his little girl to marriage, to duty, to fate. Anyway… I hope you like it.
The changes came without warning.
It did not begin with fainting.
Nor with the widening of your hips or the tenderness in your breasts.
It began with wine - the first time during a banquet.
The goblet had barely brushed your lips when the scent struck you like a charging horse. It had never been unpleasant before. Never to you.
But that night, something shifted.
The Great Hall blazed with torchlight and candelabras. The tables overflowed with roasted meats, ripe fruits, freshly baked bread, and countless jugs of wine.
Harps sang beneath skilled fingers. Goblets clinked. Laughter swelled and drifted toward the vaulted ceiling.
You were seated at Baelor’s left when it began.
A maid filled your goblet with red wine, and the aroma rose sharply to meet you. It was no longer familiar.
It was invasive.
Your throat tightened. Your stomach clenched.
You lifted the goblet slowly, but it had barely touched your lips when the scent struck again, harsher this time. You frowned and set it down faster than you intended.
Baelor noticed.
He always noticed.
“Too sour?” the prince asked quietly, without looking away from a lord whose name you could not recall.
“Yes” you replied, matching his tone, though you both knew it was not the truth.
He did not press you. But his attention left the lord entirely.
It settled on you. On the way you avoided looking at the goblet. On the way you breathed through your mouth instead of your nose. On the careful, measured rise of your chest.
He noticed how your hand slipped from the table and drifted unconsciously to your lap, gripping the fabric of your gown as your eyes closed briefly.
That night, when you were alone in your chambers, he poured wine again.
Deliberately.
The moment the scent reached you, you turned your face away sharply, a faint grimace crossing your features.
He said nothing.
He only watched.
And quietly moved the jug farther away.
…
Days passed, and the aversion remained.
The heat of every torch felt suffocating. Smoke from the hearths gathered in your throat.
One afternoon you sat beside Egg near the hearth, embroidering quietly among the ladies. The crackling wood had always been comforting. The scent of burning oak had once felt like home.
Not now.
The smoke lingered faintly in the chamber, and suddenly the air grew heavy.
Dense.
Your throat burned.
You breathed carefully through your mouth, trying to hide it. It was not enough.
The heat became unbearable - as though the flames had crept too close.
“Open the windows,” you ordered, your lips dry.
The ladies paused, startled. “Princess… it is cold.”
“I do not care.”
When the shutters were finally opened and cold air poured in, you inhaled deeply, relief washing over you.
“Do you feel unwell, sister?” Egg asked, studying your face. “You should see a maester.”
You shook your head. “The smoke suffocates me,” you answered softly, pressing a hand to your chest and offering him a small reassuring smile.
…
Hours later, Baelor invited you to walk through the gardens at dusk. The sky was clear, the air sharp with evening chill.
You were grateful for it.
With every step you moved farther from torchlight, from burning wood, from the murmuring stone walls of the fortress.
Baelor walked beside you, hands clasped behind his back, serene yet unyielding in presence.
You felt his gaze lingering. He was watching you.
“Aegon came to me unexpectedly today,” he said at last, glancing at you.
You lifted your eyes.
“Is everything well?”
“He said he kept you company while you embroidered.” He slowed his pace. “He mentioned the fire seemed to trouble you.”
You stopped entirely, the wind catching your hair.
“He said that?”
“He asked if you were ill. Said you looked pale. That you pressed your hand to your chest before the windows were opened.”
His eyes searched yours.
The wind moved softly between you.
You tried to step forward again, but his hand settled at your waist - firm, not harsh.
“Yes,” you admitted, avoiding his gaze. “The smoke irritates me. The wine unsettles my stomach. My sense of smell is sharper. My body does not feel the same.”
Baelor’s eyes flickered briefly to your abdomen before his hand rose to your cheek, guiding your face back to his. “When I saw you refuse wine at the banquet, I thought it fatigue. A passing discomfort.” He paused. “But Aegon’s observation is not coincidence.”
Your hand moved unconsciously to your stomach. “My moon blood has not come,” you confessed.
Baelor closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, there was no anger. No shock.
Only something controlled. Burning beneath composure.
“How long?”
“Longer than it should.”
He pulled you to his chest, holding you with restrained strength - as though embracing not only you, but the future pressing at the edges of certainty.
“And if it is only a delay?” you whispered.
“Then we must be certain.”
…
That same night, a maester was summoned discreetly to your chambers.
Candles burned low when the old man entered, robes whispering across stone. Baelor remained at your side, though when the maester began examining you closely, he stepped back and allowed him space.
The maester studied your face.
Your pulse.
The warmth beneath your skin.
“Princess,” he asked gently, “your moon blood has not come?”
You nodded.
“And sensitivity to scents? Nausea, perhaps with meats?”
“Yes.”
He placed a careful hand upon your lower belly, pressing lightly.
The silence was suffocating.
Baelor stood still as carved stone.
“The heat in the womb is clear,” the maester murmured. “The pulse is strong.”
He straightened.
“Prince. Princess.” He did not hesitate. “You are with child.”
The air caught in your lungs. Your hands trembled.
Baelor closed his eyes, one hand settling firmly upon your shoulder.
“Rest is required, my princess,” the maester continued. “Avoid strain. Strong scents. And wine.”
He inclined his head.
“Congratulations. The realm will rejoice.”
And then he withdrew, leaving you alone.
When they were left alone, Baelor moved until he was in front of you. I didn't speak right away, he just knelt down and held your waist.
"Thank you" he whispered looking at you from his position.
You felt the fear soaring. The wine. The nausea. The smoke.
Everything made sense.
"It's the work of both," you said in a low voice, taking one of his hands to your belly.
He let out a low sigh and held you tighter. He notice your insecure look.
"Valarr and Matarys won't take it badly, they will be happy. Valarr is very absorbed with his wife. His world revolves around her”
It's true, Valarr lived only for his marriage, in the novelty of sharing a bed and new responsibilities.
"And Matarys. He will feel happy. He will be delighted." He confessed with affection. He stood up, but brought both hands to your face.
Baelor kept talking but that feeling was still there.
It was not the reaction of Valarr or Matarys.
It was not the reaction of the kingdom.
It was your body.
The feeling made you feel like you were weak.
Something was growing in you without you planning it. You took one of your hands to your belly but it wasn't with tenderness, it was with insecure caution.
"Everything will change," you said softly.
You didn't talk about the family or the kingdom. You were talking about yourself.
You were about to become the center of an expectation.
"If something goes wrong..." you felt your voice break. "If this son... If I..." you didn't finish the sentence, there was no need.
Childbirth was a battle against time that all the women in your family already knew. A thought began to take shape quickly, you didn't want to pronounce it, it was dark, but it was inevitable.
What If baelor looks at you differently later?
What If you stopped being his future queen, his wife... to be only the mother of his child?
He surrounded you with both arms and attracted you with his chest. One of his hands went up to the back of your neck, caressing the area. He held you as if he was afraid that the mere thought would collapse you.
"Listen to me," he said in a low voice. He didn't seem angry, it wasn't an order. He seemed hurt. "I don't want you to see yourself with the eyes that the court sees you. I don't want you to think that your value is measured by what your body is capable of giving."
His fingers went down your cheek wiping the tears that you didn't know you had let out.
"If you feel fear, don't face it alone, in silence.” His forehead leaned against yours. "Say it to me. Trust me.”
You felt seen thanks to him.
"You are my wife before being the mother of the future prince."
His lips brushed your forehead with a reverent slowness. Then they descended to your temme, and finally to your mouth in a kiss that was not urgent or passionate. He was firm, warm, conscious.
His hand went down to your belly once again, but this time not with anxiety, but with calm.
"Now you just have to rest." He spoke against your mouth. His voice dripping with a tenderness that only let out when it came to you.
...
Days later you two made the decision to make the news public.
You felt different, not only because of the tiredness that now formed in your body when you climbed the stairs or walked more than you should, not because of the way that certain aromas still seemed very intense to you and stirred your stomach, but because something inside you was restless.
Your gaze shone like thousands of galaxies.
That's what everyone said.
Valarr's wife was the first to notice and mention it.
“You look radiant.” She had whispered next to you one day.
Radiant but also fragile and sensitive. And Baelor knew it very well.
Some nights you cried, overwhelmed by the happiness of life that grew in your womb. Others, the fire between your legs took you to look for it between whispers and urgent hands.
Needless to say, he couldn't sleep well and woke up very tired, but he knew perfectly well how to pretend he wasn't.
When you walked aimlessly through the corridors of the fortress you felt the looks. They didn't know it yet but they knew it. The court always sensed it. And you were very aware of what your belly meant.
Pressure.
Expectation.
Hope.
And continuity.
When you felt that you were alone, your hands instinctively went to your belly. Not with rejection.
Not quite.
But neither with the inventive tenderness that other women seemed to feel from an instant.
There was respect.
There was caution.
There was fear.
The birth.
The stories of Targaryen women who failed to survive.
Those who only left heirs and nothing else.
The stories of suffering that the walls of fortress contained.
And then there was your father.
Maekar. You didn't fear his anger. You weren't afraid of his silence either.
You were afraid that he would let you go completely.
If childbirth becomes a trial.
If your body fails.
If the kingdom murmurs.
If your father looks down.
And yet, when you closed your eyes, you knew it was impossible.
Because your father still saw you as a child.
That night when Baelor was fixing his robe in front of the iron mirror, you spoke.
"Everyone will believe that my womb belongs to them"
Baelor barely turned his face towards you. “They don't live what you live. Don't let that worry you."
“It's not that simple. If something goes wrong... it won't only be mine."
His expression tightened slightly. “You talk like you're waiting for a misfortune.”
This made you let out a dull laugh. "I don't expect it... but I know it can happen, you know it too. And I know perfectly well how everyone looks when something is not as it should be.”
He took a few steps closer, standing in front of you.
"Let them look. If something happens, I will answer for you.”
Your voice went down to a whisper. "I'm not worried about the kingdom.”
There was a silence.
"I'm worried about my father"
Baelor understood it immediately.
"Are you afraid that he’s going to stop looking at you anyway?”
“No… I’m afraid he’ll look at me with fear, as though I were no longer his daughter, but something fate might claim from him”
Baelor held your gaze, tilting his head slightly, a weary smile ghosting across his lips.
“I know my brother. Maekar may err. When he does not know what to do, he hardens - as iron does in the forge. But you are no danger to him. You and your brothers are the only things he has never known how to guard without severity.”
“There are times when his severity wounds,” you said softly, and your eyes shone despite your effort to master yourself.
“I know,” Baelor answered. He stepped closer then, closing the space between you, and with his thumb brushed away the tear that escaped despite your pride.
“It was never indifference. If he has failed you, it was through clumsiness, not cruelty. Awkward love is still love.”
There was no flourish in his voice. Only certainty.
And that was enough to steady you.
The banquet you had called was no great feast. No banners had been raised, no distant lords summoned.
Only blood had been bid to attend.
When you entered the Great Hall, they were already assembled. At the head of the table sat King Daeron. At his right hand, your father, Maekar, stern and unyielding as carved stone. Your brothers sat beside him in order, their presence a quiet wall of silver hair and watchful eyes.
To the king’s left, two places had been left empty.
Yours.
And Baelor’s. Farther down sat Valarr and Matarys, already observant despite their youth.
You felt the weight of their gazes before you even took your seat.
…
Dinner advanced without incident. Voices rose and fell in measured conversation, goblets were filled and emptied, knives moved across porcelain.
Yet you could not still your hands.
“Is the chair so uncomfortable?” Aerion asked lightly, resting his elbow upon the table, his gaze fixed ahead as though the question were of no consequence.
A few heads lifted.
Silence shifted.
You stilled at once and turned to look at him.
You did not answer.
Instead, you inclined your head slightly - and cleared your throat.
The sound was soft.
It carried all the same.
Baelor’s attention shifted immediately. He had been deep in quiet discourse with the king, but now his eyes settled on you, sharp with curiosity.
That small gesture was enough. Conversations faltered. Voices dimmed.
And, one by one, every gaze at the table turned toward you.
“A few days past, we sought the counsel of a maester,” you said, glancing at Baelor and silently urging him to steady the words with you.
Baelor remained at your side, his hand firm about yours.
He understood. And inclined his head. “We wished for certainty before we spoke of it,” he added, his gaze moving along the table - lingering a heartbeat longer upon Maekar.
You drew breath. “I am with child.”
The air shifted. It was not noise that followed. It was weight.
Valarr rose at once, as though the words themselves had lifted him.
Matarys’ eyes widened openly, emotion bright and unguarded.
Daeron smiled and bowed his head with respect
Aerion merely inclined his chin - though his gaze slid sideways toward your father with something unreadable in it.
The king was the first to speak.
He rose slowly.
“Then the blood endures,” he declared, raising his goblet. “My congratulations.”
Goblets followed. Voices murmured. But Maekar did not speak.
He was looking at you. Not at your joined hands. Not at your womb.
At you. His daughter.
The moment stretched.
His face revealed nothing.
Then his jaw tightened. Not in anger. In impact.
Without a word, he pushed his chair back.
The scrape of wood against stone rang louder than any toast.
Silence fell again.
“Maekar…” Baelor murmured, a warning edged beneath the calm.
But Maekar was already moving. He did not look to the king. Nor to Baelor. And he did not look at you again.
He left the hall without a backward glance.
The great doors closed behind him with a muted thud.
Aerion lifted a brow, faintly amused. Someone exhaled. Matarys looked between faces, uncertain.
“Give him a moment,” the king said quietly, his eyes resting on you.
But you were already rising. “No.”
You would not let him leave like that. Not after the words spoken between you not long before.
You left the hall with your heart pressing hard against your ribs.
The corridor beyond was cold.
It did not take long to find him. He stood upon the balcony. His back to you. Straight. Rigid.
As though carved from the same stone as the fortress itself.
When he felt your footsteps, he let out a sigh. “You should be celebrating.”
His voice was firm. Too firm.
“Not without you.”
His breathing became more thoughtful. Barely noticeable but you knew him. "I didn't leave out of anger."
"I know”
He turned around. His eyes were bright, although there were no tears.
“You're scared.”
The silence between you was harsh, and dense.
Maekar let out a rough exhalation, as if it were a humorless laugh. “I've heard thousands of stories of women who have died.” He said in a low voice. "Thousands of stories of men celebrating heirs while preparing funerals."
He let something be noticed in his gaze. A strange gesture in him. Vulnerability. "And now I'm supposed to smile. As if I wasn't thinking about all the ways I could lose you."
There it was, it wasn't disappointment. It was fear.
You were also afraid, but you couldn't let him notice it.
"I won't leave," you said, getting a little closer.
"You can't promise that," he replied immediately, letting the pain take control of his voice. "You can't promise that the gods won't demand a price."
"You are my daughter. And I don't want you to stop being one to become a mother." He continued. "I don't want the kingdom to look at you and only see the belly that carries the future prince."
He swallowed saliva and approached slowly. Raising his hand without hesitation and resting it gently on your cheek. "You are much more than that. And I'm afraid everyone will forget it."
You felt a lump in your throat. You didn't want to cry. "If so, remember it yourself." You managed to say.
Something in his eyes broke. They weren't tears. But if redemption. "I'll always be there to do it."
His thumb brushed your skin gently, but with unparalleled clumsiness, a gesture he was not used to doing in public.
"You got married, and in a short time you gave this news." His eyes went down to your belly and stopped there for a few seconds. "I don't want to chain you to me out of fear."
Maekar's posture slowly straightened. Return his composure but not the coldness.
"Let's go." He said in a firm voice. "I won't let them think I'm ashamed of the life you created."
He offered you his arm and together walked back to the living room.
When the doors opened, Maekar let go of your arm and he entered first.
Not furious. Not rushed.
Serene.
He went to his seat, but before sitting down he raised his glass.
“Congratulations. To both of you," he said clearly. "In a few moons she will become a mother, but she will still be my daughter."
Daughter. The word daughter resonated with you more than any other.
He sat down.
The murmur slowly returned, warmer this time.
But when you returned to your seat next to Baelor and the conversation flowed again, you noticed how Maekar did not participate immediately.
He held his glass without drinking.
Looking at the red liquid.
Listening to the laughter.
And at times he was left behind. Emotionally he was left behind.
Thought of you. In the girl who ran through the corridors.
The times he spoke to you severely and your eyes filled with tears.
In everything he stirred to say when he could. In everything that now time would not allow him to repeat.
Then his thoughts turned to the child yet unborn - a future prince, or princess.
Perhaps the babe would have your fire, and Baelor’s eyes. Or, if the gods were kind, your strength of form and Baelor’s patience, steady and unyielding.
He didn't seem angry. He seemed absent, thoughtful.
For a heartbeat, you hesitated.
Then you straightened your back, and the small movement drew him from his thoughts.
You smiled at him.
It was not wide, nor forced. Only small. Almost shy.
The same smile you had given him as a child.
His little girl.
He felt your gaze at once, and his eyes found yours without delay.
There was no smile upon his face.
Only something deeper. A weariness about the eyes.
And something else. Acceptance.
He gave the barest nod.
A small gesture - yet heavy with meaning.
Something unspoken. Something meant for father and daughter alone.
Then he looked away.
Not because he wished to. But because, had he held your gaze a moment longer, his composure might have fractured.
His eyes dropped to his goblet.
This time, he drank. Not in celebration. But in acceptance.
I just finished watching the last episode of akotsk and I can’t stop thinking about widow!reader comforting Valarr and Matarys, trying to keep her composure in the midst of a duel that consumes everything and a kingdom that is no longer the same.
Maekar also carrying his own loss (and guilt).
It is the mourning that brings them closer: nightly talks, looks that meet and sustain the same pain. They offer an understanding that no one else could give them.
Between the expectation of the court and the weight of mourning, they begin to seek comfort in each other, with the silent need to go through the loss together.
Summary: When Maekar is forced to face his daughter's new reality, the old ties are put to the test... but they are not broken. Between duty, marriage and blood ties, the morning brings confrontation, vulnerability and an acceptance for which none was prepared.
Pairing(s): Baelor Targaryen x wife!reader. Maekar Targaryen x daughter!reader
Content: implied intimacy, father-daughter angst. protective father. family tension. emotional reconciliation. soft ending. mischaracterization of Maekar?
Link to pt3
A/n: I think this come out a little rushed, I didn’t liked it completely but, some of u were asking for a second part, and here is, I hope u like it. Also, I feel that the end isn’t the best so ignore that. Maekar is just a grumpy man afraid to losing his daughter :(
@donamarocas
The morning came without haste.
Before opening your eyes you noticed Baelor's absence, which you didn't question. Since you remembered that he had pending matters with the King.
You stayed a few seconds enjoying the tranquility of your room but the knock on the door took you out of your bubble.
“Come in" you said loud enough, so that the person behind the door managed to hear, sitting against the backrest, mentally preparing you to start the day.
The air in the room felt different.
The door opened gently.
Your trusted maid came in.
"Princess," she said with a small bow before leaving the silver tray on the table: perfumed water, a clean cloth and a small container with hot water.
The maid approached to run the curtains a little and the daylight covered your body, wrapping you in a cozy embrace.
You exhaled and got up slowly. The gesture was elegant and calculated after many years of repeating the same routine.
"I have prepared your red dress, princess" she announced slightly approaching you.
"Thank you"
With a settlement she began to help you prepare. She soaked a cloth with water and drained it before bringing it closer to your face, with an immaculate delicacy. As if she was afraid of breaking something fragile.
She began to untie the robe and carefully dropped it, took your dress and held it in front of you. The fabric descended gently through your body. She accommodated each of the fabric on your hips and waist, adjusted the laces on your back with a controlled firmness.
Then she untangled your hair, fearing not to throw it away and damage you. But you didn't care, your mind was far away.
You were thinking about what happened the night before. You knew you had to confront your father, look him in the face and without cowering. Facing him didn't scare you, you were scared of his rejection.
You had shared a bed with your husband - your right and your duty - and even so, under his gaze, you had felt discovered... exposed like a girl who has been caught eating dessert before dinner.
While she gently put the necklace around your neck, her fingers touched your skin carefully, almost maternal
"Ready princess..." she finally said.
"Your brother, Prince Daeron, requested your company at breakfast."
You looked at her slowly and she continued.
"The prince is waiting for you in the courtyard"
…
Your way to the yard was silent.
You walked alone, leaving behind the distant murmur of the rooms. The morning light filtered through the arches and painted the floor with shadows. Your steps were firm, measured, the echo of your heels kept you company.
The scent of flowers and daylight reached you before you entered the courtyard. Daeron was leaning over the fountain admiring the crystal clear water, his hair was messy, perhaps from sleep or because of the breeze that was running.
Upon hearing your footsteps, he raised his head and tilted it a little.
"I thought the princess didn't want to spend time with her brother..."
You didn't say anything and passed by his side, approaching the table and taking a seat.
"It was a long night..." you said without thinking much, analyzing what was on the table: fruit served with precision, juice, honey and bread.
Daeron fell on the chair in front of you and poured juice for both of you.
"Did Uncle Baelor give you problems?" He asked genuinely looking into your eyes.
"Not exactly..." you replied drinking some juice. "Have you seen our father?"
"Before you arrived he was keeping me company, and then he disappeared from my sight." He nodded grabbing fruit.
Your breathing became heavier but you tried to stay calm.
"Did he looked… angry?" You asked
Daeron looked at you carefully, studying your reaction
“He didn't look calm.” He said raising his eyebrows slightly. You let out a sigh that you didn't know you were holding back
"If he's upset, it will pass," he said after a moment, naturally. "Father has the habit of getting angry with the world before noon"
You took a piece of fruit, you brought it to your lips but you didn't taste it
The courtyard was full of soft sounds: the constant water from the fountain, the rubbing of leaves moved by the breeze. Everything seemed too normal for what was stirring inside you.
"Do you remember when he forbade us to ride without an escort." Daeron suddenly added, leaning back in the chair. "It lasted exactly three days."
The corner of your lips moved and you barely let a small smile form.
"You fell off the horse." He said in a humorous tone.
"The horse fell" you corrected.
…
Breakfast ended without anyone announcing it.
Leaving the copies half empty, Daeron got up first, stretching his arms before circling the table for one of his hands to touch your shoulder.
"See you later." He said walking away and disappearing through the corridors of the fortress.
He left you alone in the yard next to your thoughts.
You wanted to go after your father, your body wanted to go, you were determined, you wanted to talk to him before it was too late, you didn't move. Baelor's voice echoed in your mind.
"When I finish my duties with the king, I'll go for you and we'll talk to my brother."
The night before, before sleep consumed you both, he had asked you to wait for him, not to act on impulse. The tone of his voice was not demanding, it was not an order. It was a silent plea.
Baelor knew that his brother could be a little annoying, especially when it came to his children, who made him work more than the bill. But he also knew, that his brother had a weakness for you.
You were the light of his eyes, you were the one who kept him more sane - after your mother -, you were the one who managed to calm Aerion's mood.
He wasn't worried about what Maekar could tell you, he was worried about what you could say in the heat of the moment.
If you went with your father now, you would break the promise.
But you didn't wait.
You started walking through the fortress and when you saw a knight you asked him about your father's whereabouts, when he replied that he was in his quarters, you headed there.
Since you were a child you noticed that this part of the fortress was cold, and even years later it has not changed, when you arrived at the door of his room the corridor was silent, solemn.
Insecurity made you take a step back, but either way you knocked gently and entered without waiting for any answer.
Maekar was standing by the window when you entered. He didn't turn around, and didn't say anything.
"Father"
Before answering, he let out a small sigh and put his hands on the window frame. "I would know you would come." He said without looking away.
He didn't seem angry. You slowly approached a few steps, but you kept an adequate distance.
“Daeron said you were with him this morning.”
He nodded, still on his back.
The silence and the distance between you was getting denser.
"I'm not angry..." he finally murmured, breaking the silence. It didn't go unnoticed as the words came out as if it hurt.
He turned his face slightly, but didn't look at you.
"I couldn't get angry with you..." he added in a low voice. "I may be upset with myself, and maybe scared."
His words made your eyebrows furrow and doubt took hold on your face. Wasn't he angry with you?
"Scared?" You asked in a whisper
"I know what your duty is now, you are a married woman" He said after an uncomfortable pause. "I'm not a fool"
“I didn't expect to face reality change so quickly.” He said finely turning around, but he barely managed to look at your face. “I dislike what forces me to understand... you are no longer my little princess, which means that I will no longer be able to protect you from everything."
You didn't remember the last time you saw him so vulnerable, so helpless.
In his eyes there was resignation. Resignation to let go of a stage that will not return.
"I don't know when it was, when it happened..." he added looking at the floor. "I don't know when I stopped seeing you growing up."
It seemed that time had stopped. His gaze fixed on the floor and your own gaze did not leave him. You moved slowly and shortened the distance, the sound of your steps made him look up and try to get away, but you gave him no choice and you took his hand.
"That doesn't mean I'll stop being your daughter." You held his eyes firmly. "I've grown up, that can't be denied. Mother and you formed me. Maybe I don't need you to protect me anymore, because my husband is already there for that.”
“But I still need to know that I can come with you and meet you here."
Your words comforted him, his gaze softened and he slowly pulled you into a hug.
"No matter how much you grow up... you will never need permission to come to me."
For a moment you were silent, his chin on your head, and your deep breaths. He didn't let you go, although the fear decreased, he didn't want to accept it.
His hands slid from your shoulders until they let you go completely. You two continued chatting for a few moments until he changed the subject.
"Go" he said looking at the door. "I have to review some letters"
"See you later, father," you said heading towards the door.
When the door closed behind you, the corridor welcomed you with his usual coldness. But something changed, the air felt lighter after the hug.
You started walking without any destination and when you noticed a guard in the corridor you asked him. "Have you seen Prince Baelor?"
"No princess, not since the night before." He denied with respect.
You didn't let the restlessness tense you, because if he had business to attend to, so did you.
You went to the library, where the smell of parchment and melted candles welcomed you like every year before. A maester left texts in high Valyrian on one of the tables: fragments of old decrees, incomplete genealogies and old alliances.
You took a seat. You straightened your back and started reading.
It didn't take you long to find a rhythm, even if the words in high Valyrio came out with some difficulty, you repeated them again in a low voice, corrected your pronunciation and started again.
The day went faster than you thought and when you looked up, the light coming in was golden, announcing dusk.
You had practiced more than you should.
You closed the book carefully and got up.
When you go out, the warm, almost cold air whipped you carefully.
The echo of your steps accompanied you to your room, you expected to see your husband there, but it was empty, with barely the fireplace lit.
You sat on the edge of the bed and waited for the maid to arrive with your dinner.
...
While you were in the library, Baelor had finished all his duties when he walked to your chambers, when he arrived he didn't see you.
A restlessness began to form in his chest, he thought you were talking to Maekar, so he decided to go after you.
A firm knock resounded on the door of Maekar's room.
"Come in" he said without looking up from his glass.
The door opened.
Baelor came in.
He looked for you with his eyes but didn't find you, instead, he looked at his brother and decided that the best thing was to address the matter now.
"Brother," Baelor said carefully. Maekar looked at him. "The princess... did she come to talk to you?"
Maekar let out a dull laugh and drank from his glass. "Much before you"
Baelor didn't say anything and just let himself fall on a nearby chair. "I asked her to wait for me"
Maekar just watched him without flinching. "And she didn't do it"
Baelor could notice that there was a hint of mockery in his tone.
Silence took hold of them but neither of them stopped looking at each other, analyzing each movement of the other.
Baelor leaned over and rested his elbows on his knees, deliberately playing with his rings.
"What you saw last night was not a sin, brother"
Maekar did not respond immediately.
He turned the glass between his fingers, observing the red liquid. Like
If the wine will tell him all the answers.
"No," he finally said, "it's not"
“You two were lucky.”
The tone changed and Baelor's eyebrows furrowed.
"Lucky?" He asked incredulously, without stopping looking at his brother
"That I was the one who opened the door," he said firmly.
Baelor let out a bitter laugh and was going to talk but Maekar didn't let him.
"I know it's not a sin..." he repeated again. He was honest and admitted in a simple way.
He put the glass of wine aside and ran one of his hands over his face. "Baelor, you two are married, I know what that entails."
"Last night I behaved like a husband." He said slowly. "She behaved like a wife and you interrupted us."
Maekar let out a small sound of disgust and rolled his eyes. "Why wasn't the door locked?"
"Why did you dare to enter without warning?"
Maekar didn't answer and instead closed his eyes and sighed.
"I didn't want to see her that way. My daughter, my little princess"
The silence that enveloped them was not uncomfortable. It was honest. "I raised her to know the weight of her name. I didn't educate her so that one day she would stop needing me.."
Baelor looked at him intensely and without hesitation, he spoke
"Don't let her go completely. It’s my wife, but still your daughter" Baelor continued.
Maekar's expression faltered and he didn't answer.
"I'm not taking your place, brother. She shares her life with both of us.” He said softly.
“It's not the same.” Maekar commented raising an eyebrow, suspiciously.
"Every time I look at her I don't just see my wife, or the princess. I see the woman you and Lady Dyanna raised. The loyal, strong and intelligent woman."
He paused trying to accommodate his thoughts. "And that we share a room doesn't change the woman she is"
Maekar watched him attentively, trying to look for hesitation in his face.
He didn't find it, instead he noticed his brother's decisive and compassionate look.
"She will always be your daughter." He added in a low voice.
Maekar held his gaze for a few more seconds, then let out a low sigh.
"What a relief," he said, taking the glass of wine again, but he didn't drink. "I should thank you for reminding me that it's still carrying my blood."
Baelor's gaze softened and he reloaded on the back of the chair, without stopping looking at his brother. "You don't need to thank me"
Maekar barely arched an eyebrow and rolled his eyes elegantly. "How generous you are, brother."
Silence returned to the room but the atmosphere was no longer tense. There was acceptance.
Maekar played lightly with the edge of the cup.
"How reckless of her," he said ironically. "She should have consulted me before becoming a woman."
Baelor allowed a light smile to be signed on his lips. “She likes to do things her way.”
This made a small grimace escape from Maekar's lips. "She inherited that from me, I guess" He finally drank some wine and calmly put the glass aside again.
He sigh. “Reality is cruel.”
Baelor stood up calmly and watched him. “I still don't have daughters to understand what you feel.”
Maekar looked up confused but raised an eyebrow. "Take care of her"
“I always do it, brother.”
They shared a few more words and Baelor decided to walk towards the door, but before leaving he spoke.
“Maekar, next time, knock on the door.”
The younger brother let out an exhalation that almost sounded like a laugh.
Summary: The night before the Trial of the 7, was full of guilt and responsibility, and all that fell on Baelor. The decision that was coming was bigger than himself, bigger than his name, even bigger than his honor. Although he knew he had to be firm, that night he allowed himself to feel the burden. Not in front of the kingdom, not in front of those who had expectations about him. In front of his wife. For even men destined for honor bleed in silence.
Pairing(s): Baelor Targaryen x Wife!reader
Content: Emotional vulnerability, hurt/comfort, light angst, pre trial of the seven. oral male!receiving.
A/n: I wanted it to be just angst and comfort, but I got carried away and one thing led to another... yk…. This man made me go feral .
Btw not me getting all soft but damn… thank y’all sooo much for the love on my other fics, I can’t even explain how much that means to me, ily🤍😭
The decision was not taken lightly.
After Maekar, Aerion and Duncan left the room. For several moments everyone present remained silent. That someone appealed for a Trial of the Seven, was not a resolution. It was an unwritten statement.
By accepting it, Baelor not only understood that some would consider it fair. Others dangerous. It was a public act, an exhibition.
When he deigned to leave the room, he knew that the fire was going to expand on the dry wood. He didn't feel relief, he felt the weight of judgment.
The dawn would bring loss, pain and regret.
Baelor walked to his bedrooms, with only one thought in his mind: there was no turning back. Maybe he had made the right decision, but the final judgment would be in the hands of the gods.
…
The doors opened firmly, but without abruptness.
Baelor's figure entered, without saying a single word, without heading to bed, he don't look for you with his eyes, he just cross the room towards the desk.
He sat down with a low sigh, took a parchment that he had previously read, and opened it again.
He didn't read it, he just held it firmly.
Tense jaw, stiff shoulders, eyes like dagers.
From the bed, you noticed his mood and watched him in silence.
You knew something had happened, you didn't want to ask and stress him anymore, instead, you got up slowly and walked towards him, stopping behind his chair. Debating whether to ask or not, you noticed his heavy breathing.
"My love, what happened?" You asked softly, as if your voice was the trigger that would make him explode.
Baelor didn't look at you, didn't answer, didn't react.
Something is wrong.
Gently, you put your hands on his shoulders, you didn't put pressure and you didn't move them either, you just left them there for him to feel your touch.
Baelor exhaled slightly, left the parchment and with his, now free hand, placed it on yours. Clinging to your contact as if it were the only thing that would keep him sane.
"The Hedge Knight, requested a trial by combat..." he murmured in a tired voice. You didn't say anything, let him order his thoughts. "Aerion refused… and said that the best thing was a Trial of the Seven, so it would be in the hands of the gods"
He didn't say it with pride, but neither with anger.
You kept quiet and slowly began to massage his shoulders. Baelor let go of your hand and allowed the tension to leave the confines of his body. Your fingers slid from his shoulders to the base of his neck, pressing with slow, circular movements.
Baelor barely tilted his head, savoring the contact. Offering itself to you effortlessly.
You moved your hands away and circled the chair, standing in front of him, forcing him to look at you.
"You did what you had to do." you said softly trying to calm him down.
You didn't know if his action was the right one.
Seven lives depended on that decision, perhaps more. The weight of that thought pressed your chest, but you pushed it away. At that moment, neither the trial nor the gods mattered.
You just wanted to relieve the tension that clung to his body.
The prince clicked his tongue, and instead of continuing to stay upright, he leaned forward. With a slow, tired but gentle movement, he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his forehead against your abdomen.
He had no hidden intentions, it was a gesture of surrender.
When he rested his forehead against you, you slid a hand towards his head and your fingers sank delicately into his hair massaging it. Your movements were soft and constant. You were afraid to break the sudden calm.
The warmth of your body, the serene rhythm of your heart and the slight aroma of lavender that enveloped you ended up loosening the stiffness in his shoulders. He closed his eyes.
"Many things can change tomorrow," he said in a muffled voice against you.
…
An idea began to take shape in your mind. Maybe it wasn't the right thing to do because of the situation your husband was in, but you kept thinking about it.
There were other ways to relieve the tension.
Your fingers slowly descended towards his neck, caressing the area tenderly, soon you began to lower your hand and feel the curvature of his shoulders. You noticed how subtly his breathing became deep, reacting to your touch.
You walked away carefully, and the sudden lack of contact made him open his eyes.
He didn't say anything, he just followed your every move, and when he noticed that you deliberately knelt, he let out a sigh.
"You don't have to..." he said without finishing the sentence.
You didn't say anything and gently put your hands on his knees.
His breathing changed
Slowly you began to move your hands up his thighs until you reached his hip and deliberately drew random patterns.
His eyes didn't leave you and in his look there was not only tiredness, now there was longing.
As if his eyes said what was stuck in his throat.
You made eye contact looking for silent permission.
You got it.
You wanted him to relax, to forget everything about his mind and focus on what he felt, so you took your time to release his cock, still flaccid and began to massage it. He leaned against the back of the chair and from your position he looked imposing, even with his exhausted appearance, his presence could not go unnoticed.
The sudden change in temperature made Baelor let out a small hiss. His cock didn't take long to harden in your hands, you leaned over and began to leave tender kisses on the base. You looked at him fluttering your eyelashes, opening your mouth and letting his dilated tip slide down your tongue.
Handsome man with pretty eyes and an even prettier cock
He murmured something that you couldn't understand and as an answer you wrapped your lips around his circumference. Your warm and wet mouth welcoming him.
You love the way his veins throbbed against your tongue.
You took it with enthusiasm, but with delicacy, taking more and more of his inches, ignoring the burning that began to form in the back of your throat.
This action made his hips slowly lift and press deeper. His composure giving way, his breathing more agitated and his look hungry. He took a hand to the back of your head and you let him take control.
If the Trial of the Seven escaped his control. You would give him this moment in which, at least, he could control you.
It didn't take long for his grip to change to a demanding one. The way he held you, the way he fucked your mouth, chasing his own release, his chest rising quickly as you took it all like a good wife.
Baelor finally got to his release with a low moan, he made sure to stay inside until you swallowed every drop. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, breathing deeply, carefully came out of your mouth and when he looked at you again he stroked your cheek.
"Come here"
He said as he got up and, carefully, helped you stand up. You helped him arrange his clothes, smoothing the fabric with calm gestures, as if that small act returned everything to its place. He didn't allow you to move away, on the contrary, he pulled you to his chest, wrapping you in a firm but serene hug.
"Thank you... you didn't have to do it." He said softly against your hair.
"You looked overwhelmed"
"I wanted to help you... even if it was the only way I knew how to do it." You said hiding your face in his chest.
"Thank you," he repeated again with an exhausted voice.
Tiredness took over your bodies and they decided to go to bed. You two lay down in silence and he gently brought you to his chest. The candles ended up being consumed and you fell into the realm of dreams.
Baelor no. he didn't sleep immediately, he watched your defenseless body in the darkness but his mind was far away.
He had a duel with his own thoughts, with his duties and with the love he felt for you.
When dawn came, the air was different, tense, distant.
Baelor was not by your side, instead he looked out the window, immersed in his thoughts. He had an expression of a determined man, but of a defeated man.
He didn't need to look at you to let you know that something had changed. His breathing was controlled, as if he was preparing for something he hadn't confessed to you.
When he finally turned his head slightly, his eyes searched for yours just for a moment. It was enough.
He looked at you with love, but there was something else, he was saying goodbye.
Summary: When King Daeron proposed to unite his granddaughter with his eldest son in marriage, Maekar opposed it. He was not willing to allow his only daughter to marry out of duty and not out of love. But one night, unable to fall asleep, he understood it. Maekar understood that if he rejected the king's proposal, it would mean losing his daughter. They would send her away, without the protection of her House, and she would marry a noble lord who would only see in her an alliance of convenience. And although his heart burned when he admitted it, he knew that his older brother, Baelor, was the only one capable of offering him the protection and position that his daughter deserved.
Pairing(s): Baelor Targaryen x wife!reader
Content: smut, p in v, praise kink(kinda), age gap, reader is 18/Baelor 39, targcest, light exhibitionism, someone caught them having sex
A/n: lowkey I want to do a second part
link to pt2
After dinner, you climbed the stone stairs and you subtly noticed a presence behind you, when you turned around you saw Baelor.
His presence caught you off guard, during dinner he notified you that his duties prevented him from going with you to your shared room. As the king's hand, and heir to the throne, he has to be willing to such situations at all times.
"My prince, I thought you would be attending to the situation with the king..." you spoke calmly, waiting for him to accompany you on the road.
He just looked at you and raised his eyebrows without interest, "that was what was planned, princess, but the king felt sore after dinner. He proposed to resume business in the morning"
Although you tried to keep your composure and not allow the situation to be, to say the least, funny, a slight smile betrayed your lips. After all, King Daeron was your grandfather.
“I wonder if the deer was the cause of his misfortune”
Baelor didn't say anything, although he didn't hold back the smile that formed on his lips, Instead, he offered you his arm for support and began to guide you toward your chambers.
…
The prince pushed the door with a low sound, leaving only you in the safety and privacy of your chambers. The new routine was still recent for you: there was still something almost unreal about sharing every night that space that previously belonged only to him.
Without wasting any more time, you walked towards the cloakroom. Your fingers began to undo the clasps of the dress with leisurely, almost ceremonial movements. The fabric fell at your feet and, after a brief moment, you took the robe arranged on the bed.
Although you try to ignore it, that feeling was there, you felt him, you felt his presence a few steps away, you felt his gaze analyzing each of your movements.
You don't need to turn around to know that Baelor didn't take his eyes off you. There was something in the atmosphere, but you weren't able to break the silence.
When you finished holding the robe, you turned around and saw him there, irises of different colors moved from top to bottom over your body, he held the contact a second longer than necessary... and then broke it, as if he had an internal duel.
Would he follow his desires or ignore them like the other previous nights?
He crossed the room with sure steps, and poured himself a glass of wine, you admired the elegance of his movements. He took his time before sitting by the fireplace, the fire drawing warm shadows on his profile.
Now it was you who was watching him.
You noticed the barely perceptible tension in his jaw, the way he held the glass without drinking immediately. Something kept his mind busy.
You decided to imitate him. You poured yourself some wine and started walking towards him. The rubbing of your steps on the stone caught his attention.
"Don't drink too much," he warned in a hoarse voice, but with a hint of humor. "You might regret it in the morning."
You noticed something in his tone, he wasn't talking about wine.
"I trust that my prince's abilities will be enough to take care of me" You said as you sat in front of him, without stopping looking at him.
He didn't answer, instead he drank from his glass without taking his eyes off you.
You leaned just forward, leaving the glass aside without paying attention to it. The movement was subtle, almost innocent, but enough for the fireplace light to draw the curves of your silhouette under the light fabric.
His eyes went down.
One second.
Two.
Three.
They went back to yours.
His jaw tightened.
His eyes shone with hunger, desire and despair.
He was prepared to give himself like a devoted man to his wife
"Come here," he said, putting the glass aside and signaling you to come closer.
You obeyed him, you got up with a calculated slowness, and with determined steps you approached, when you stood in front of him, you slid on his lap. Instantly his posture changed, his hands went to your hip to give you comfort.
He didn’t take his eyes off you, he was like a dragon watching his prey, and he was ready to attack.
"If you want we can stop" He spoke sincerely.
Even in moments when desire and hunger controlled him, he ensured your comfort.
His words made your heart inflate, and you mentally thanked your father for letting marriage be possible.
"No..." you whispered and hid your face in the curvature of his neck.
"Sure...?"
You let out a sigh and moved your face away from his neck looking at him.
"Don't keep questioning," you said softly, approaching his lips, without connecting them.
He moved his hands gently along your back and connected his lips. Not in a hasty kiss, it was tender and gentle.
With agile fingers, he untied the robe and let it fall around you, grouping disorderly on your hips. You were with your back to the door and the light from the fireplace towards your skin shone.
He broke the kiss only to start leaving wet kisses along your neck, his fast hands did not hesitate to run through yourbody with hunger.
You whimpered slightly out of necessity, touching his covered chest.
"My princess..." he said against your ear which made a chill run down your bare back. He moved one of his hands towards the inside of your thighs, one of his fingers deliberately touched your clit.
"Y-yes, your princess," you said, hesitating because of the sudden contact. He applied more pressure on your nerve knot and you whined pathetically.
"That's what I wanted to hear" He said before staring his lips against yours, rubbing your clit with more pressure.
"Let me know how good I'm making you feel," he murmured against your lips.
"Let me hear your sweet voice again..."
"Yes, i-it feels very good" you said with a choked moan, as you arched towards him, your eyes closed with pleasure, completely ignoring the way Baelor's eyes shone when he heard your sweet voice.
He accelerated his movements and you let him know that the knot in your stomach was about to break. He didn't stop at any time, his gaze fixed on all the expressions you made, no matter how small they are, he would remember them forever.
Your release was there, a painful orgasm was built while you whimpered on his lap. With a choked scream you reached your climax, your walls contracted against nothing, screaming for something - or someone - to fill them. You collapsed on his chest.
"That's my sweet girl”
“I got you"
You wanted more, the flame inside you asked for more.
After catching your breath, you pulled way and looked at him with lascivious eyes. "Are you okay?" The prince asked, taking a hand to your cheek and stroking the area.
"I'm fine..." you whispered sliding a hand down his neck, slowly, feeling how his pulse responded to the contact.
"The flame still burns, my prince"
His eyebrow barely arched. "Its that so?”. Instead of answering, you put your lips together and you two shared a deep kiss. The hand you had free went down his chest to his hardness, and by pressing it lightly, you caused a sigh to escape from his lips.
With no time to waste, with a quick movement he released his cock from his confines. He moved his hips up and the contact made you tremble. He buried his fingers in your hair pulling your head back. Exposing your sweet neck, and between wet kisses he murmured against your skin "take everything you need from me, my princess"
His sweet words made you whine, lifting your hips enough to push his swollen tip against your slippery entrance. You sank slowly, letting a sharp gasp escape from your lips by the glorious intrusion. You took a few seconds to breathe and look him in the eyes, then slowly began to go up and down on his cock, carefully until you found a stable rhythm. You saw how his eyes looked at you with desire, he let out a sigh and held your hips
"You're taking it very well..." He praise you while watching your rhythm become more intense.
You looked for support on his shoulders and kissed his jaw while whispering "it feels good..."
Your pussy tightens around him, soaked and hot. He began to help you move a little harder, controlling every movement. One of his hands left your hip and lifted it to hollow the back of your head, pulling you forward in a scorching kiss.
…
The sound of meat colliding with the moans, made both ignore the presence that had entered the bedroom. Baelor had one of your nipples in his mouth when the figure spoke.
Baelor, with a quick movement covered your body with the robe that had been forgotten around your hip, you, on the other hand, stopped your movements when you recognized the voice.
Your father.
You froze and used all your strength to turn your face to the opposite side, trying to rest it on your husband's shoulder.
“For the 7 Gods!" Maekar spoke displeased, looking away.
Baelor, trying to control his breathing, closed his eyes for a moment and spoke "what brings you to our chambers at this time of the night, brother?"
You stuck to him more, trying to control your breathing, letting the heat of his body anchor you while you tried to relax. You didn't want to look, you didn't want to pay attention to what they were talking about. You wanted to disappear.
Maekar remained stiff at the door, his disgust evident in every part of his face.
"You would have done well to knock on the door before entering, so you wouldn't have witnessed us," Baelor commented mockingly. "Any important matter can wait for my attention until morning," he added, looking at him firmly, beckoning him with his hand to withdraw.
Maekar observed him, let out a sigh and made a grimace of disgust, turned around and before leaving commented on the air. "Disgusting," he said closing the door behind him, making sure to close it tightly.
The rumble made you sigh, feeling how your body slowly relaxed. Neither of you deigned to say anything until you broke the silence.
"When you entered... did you forget to close the door?”
…
"Maybe I was too busy thinking about my wife and forgot to close her."
The comment relieved the atmosphere and you kissed his neck. Baelor tilted his face slightly towards your ear and asked you in a low voice "my princess, would you like to continue." Laughing softly, with your bodies still joined, you moved away and wrapped your arms around his neck.
"My prince, excuse my indiscretion but, i couldn’t help but notice that you certainly liked that my father saw us.”
you commented delicately, squinting your eyes slightly. And you were right, while you had your head resting on his shoulder you felt how his cock hardened as he spoke briefly with your father.
Your words caught him off guard and he let out a bitter laugh "Certainly, I can't control what happens with that part of my body" he confessed holding your hips firmly.
You made eye contact and began to move your hips slowly. Small gasps left you and his grip on your hips hardened more and more. He saw you riding him as if you were only destined for that, his eyes went down little by little until he saw how your clit rubbed against his pelvis, whining while you felt so full, and nothing but with him.
"Do you imply that I enjoyed it?" He questioned, with a hoarse voice, as if he challenged you.
Your movements became more erratic and missed before trying to speak "Y-you didn't seem d-disgusted" you said in a high-pitched voice, drowning a moan. With his hands on your hips he hit you against him, his hips ramming deeper and deeper inside you. Your confession made his control hesitate, his movements became erratic, more desperate. The new rhythm sent electronic jolts down your spine.
He didn't want to confess it, but his brother's sudden intrusion fanned the flame inside him.
Your release was imminent, you were very close and Baelor noticed it by the way your walls suck him up.
"I-I'm close"
"Me too, my dear"
A hand left your hip to hollow the back of your head, pulling you forward for a scorching kiss, his thrusts never stopped and you tried the same his erratic rhythm despite the pain that began to form in your thighs. Your climax hit you hard and Baelor swallowed every sweet sound from your lips until he was also panting in your mouth.
The wet sounds of skin colliding took him to the limit and he also reached his release, his moan was a raw and deep sound as he filled you.
His forehead fell gently against yours.
Your hands, which at one time clung to his shoulders, now rested gently on his chest. You felt the accelerated heartbeat under your palm, just as messy as yours.
The silence that enveloped them was not uncomfortable, it was warm and reassuring. Only the agitated breaths could be heard.
He took you to the bed and delicately placed you on the sheets, which were still intact and cold in contrast to the heat that still ran through your skin. He leaned for a moment to move a lock of hair away from your face.
"Don't move," he murmured in a hoarse but affectionate voice.
He went to a nearby table and took a damp cloth. He returned immediately and, with patience, respect and delicacy, cleaned your skin between the legs, attentive to your every gesture, making sure not to exert too much pressure.
You watched him from the pillow, with your eyes still heavy but attentive, feeling how every touch as if it were a feather
When he finished, he put the cloth aside and took off the rest of his clothes before returning to your side. He slipped under the covers and, without the need for words, pulled you to his chest.
"We'll have to talk to my father..." you murmured, sleep gradually taking hold of you.
"Rest, I'll take care of my brother tomorrow" He spoke in a low voice, leaving a tender kiss on your hair.
✧ THE PRINCE KNOWS HOW TO PLEASE HIS WIFE — Baelor Targaryen
Summary: Since the prince and heir to the iron throne, Baelor Targaryen, married the youngest daughter of House Baratheon, the entire kingdom celebrated the union as a promise of stability and happiness. In everyone eyes, their marriage was happy. They shared discreet touches and whispers that only the walls of the castle could hear. Little did they know that, in her bedroom, the desire of the future queen burned with increasing intensity.
Pairing(s): Baelor Targaryen x wife!reader
Content: +18, smut, praise kink kinda, raw sex.
A/n: this is my fist ever post on tumblr, and English is not my native language so if u see any mistakes, please let me know. I hope you enjoy it 🤍
That night, you lay upon the bed, watching Baelor as he read beside the fireplace. His expression was serene, though the faint furrow of his brows betrayed his concentration.
A sigh slipped from your lips, and it did not go unnoticed.
“What occupies your thoughts, my dear?” Baelor asked, without lifting his gaze from the book.
“You, Baelor. I was thinking about you,” you replied, never breaking eye contact.
Baelor lifted his gaze and finally noticed your defenseless figure in the dim light.
He let out a soft chuckle. “Here I am,” he said gently.
“It’s not enough… not like this.”
Those words captured his full attention. He closed the book with care and rose. With steady steps, he approached the bed and took a seat beside you.
“Not enough…?” he repeated in a low voice, studying your face carefully.
His proximity burned away the last threads of your restraint. The warmth between your thighs grew alongside your impatience.
“I need you.”
Baelor did not answer immediately. Instead, he fixed his gaze ahead, and a slight smile curled on his lips as he remembered what had happened that morning, the image of you undone in his arms, pleading and trembling. He remembered the sweet sounds that escaped your lips while he pleased you with devotion, savoring you as though you were the most sacred feast.
He also remembered how time had slipped away between gasps and heat, forcing him to be late for a council meeting. The looks of curiosity and suspicion had not been long in coming when he finally crossed the doors of the room, but who was he to deny his wife’s needs?
“Were this morning’s attentions not sufficient for you, my dear?”
Without waiting for your reply, he looked at you and tapped his lap in invitation. You let out a restrained breath and, with graceful ease, shifted to settle yourself upon him.
The prince’s hands did not hesitate, sliding down to your waist, tracing every curve with deliberate slowness.
“Tell me what you need…” he murmured, drawing dangerously close to your lips.
You let out another soft gasp, stirred by the mockery hidden in his tone. You could hardly bear it, the way he prolonged your anticipation had you on the very edge of madness.
“Your touch” You didn't say much because apparently that answer was enough.
He joined his lips in a wet kiss claiming every sigh as a prayer. Your needy tone fanned the flame inside him and his hands began to explore your body urgently. You broke the kiss to leave kisses and bites of love along his neck and up his jaw. Your actions, made Baelor let out a small laugh at your despair and daring.
He kissed you again and gave himself the freedom to take you in his arms, you instinctively wrapped your legs around his hips, he laid you gently on the bed. With expeditious fingers he untied the crimson robe held your body, leaving your skin exposed to the light of the fire, ready to be marked and claimed by his lips.
He traced his hands through your body until he reached between your legs, opening them delicately but determined, and with agile and elegant movements, he began to superficially caress your nerve knot.
He was taking his time, his damn time, and you knew it very well. It was one of those days when he wanted to savor every moment. You, on the other hand, just wanted to take his face in your hands and force him to take you right there. But you didn't. You're not capable of that. You know that at any moment, these moments can come to an end.
But, no matter how much you love your husband, you couldn't hold it together
“I can't stand it," you confessed, with tearful eyes looking away because of the little stimulation you were receiving. Baelor sighed and took your chin in his hand and pulled him to kiss you. Slowly, he began to strip off his own clothes, he leaned over you and their naked bodies met.
He would be lying if he said he wouldn't love to spend the rest of his years like this, next to you, analyzing and touching your body. Savoring how your lip trembles slightly when it touches your waist. How your eyes shine when he catches you looking at him. How your body suffers from spasms when you can't stand it anymore.
He saw your needy look and said in a low voice "good things happen to those who are patient".
He decided not to make you wait any longer and aligned himself with your hole, and with a slow and deep thrust he filled you. The intrusion made your breath catch in your throat. You two had shared moments like this countless times before, yet each one felt as though it were the first. Baelor let out a low, guttural groan at the sensation of your body tightening around him. He gave you a moment to adjust to his size before beginning to move, slow but deep.
His mouth, so agile with words and so agile working on you, went towards your nipple, biting and kissing while the double stimulation made you moan more and more.
The prince got lost in your slippery and tight heat, panting and growling in a low voice at each thrust. His mouth went to the other breast, giving him the same attention: he bit, kissed and sucked the sensitive beak. His left hand again slid over to find your clitoris and began to rub slow circles on the bulge.
“Was this what occupied your mind during the day, my love?" You heard your husband's close voice, but you couldn't answer. Instead, you took him by the back of his neck and joined his lips to yours in a choked kiss of moans.
Every time you gasp and moan, his balls contract in need to reach his own release
You knew you were close, and you could feel that Baelor too, like the slow but calculated circles he drew on your clitoris were now more erratic.
Just by making eye contact Baelor knew, he changed his rhythm and began to ram with debauchery and need
He had his goal clear, to take you to the climax.
The change of pace made his cock hit that point inside you, making you see stars. Joining his mouth with your sweet spot of your neck, he could feel how your stops will vibrate and squeeze, announcing your imminent release.
"My sweet wife..." he said kissing the corner of your lips.
"Please... please... please" you cry in a low voice, although it was barely audible among so many moans and gasps.
“Show me how much you missed me" he whispered against your skin.
You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your lips brushed his jaw as your body tensed, getting closer and closer to climax. Baelor wasted no time and continued whispering praise and compliments in your ear, warm words that inflated your heart and lit up your skin.
You came with a choked scream, without warning. Your body trembled slightly between his arms while your moans remained in your throat.
Baelor held you at all times, muttering soft words. His lips found yours, kissing you with affection and passion, until shortly after his own release arrived. His own culmination made him cling to your body, tense body, breathing with difficulty. Still, you found comfort in his words. Even at that moment, while pleasure was still running through his body, his first thought was still you and your needs.
He collapsed on you and both remained silent for a moment, savoring their climax. He kept his mouth on your neck, leaving careless kisses in the area. Your fingers went up to play with his hair.
“Baelor" you said in a whisper.
“Mmhm.." he said against your skin, while continuing to leave kisses.
“Baelor" you spoke again, this time moving his head with your hands so that he would look at you
“Yes, my lady," he asked in a tired tone. You noticed that his eyes of different colors were cloudy, clouded with love and affection
“Thank you" you said genuinely, kissing him slowly.
Before answering, he decided to fall to your side and attract you to his chest. While his breathing calmed down little by little, his arm at no time loosened around you "you don't have to thank me". He finally murmured, with a relaxed voice. "You are my wife"
You slowly got up on his chest, letting your fingers calmly run down the line of his jaw. "And you, my prince, are my weakness"
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