Summary | In the quiet of the Red Keep, a daughter and her mother, Alicent Hightower, confront the years of distance, longing, and unspoken desires between them. Amid whispered apologies and hesitant touches, they explore a forbidden intimacy, discovering comfort and vulnerability in each other’s arms.
author's note | I'm not very confident about smut.. but I hope you enjoy reading it!
！warning ！ mother!alicent x daughter!reader so if you'll be uncomfortable with this, please don't read it. targarcest—incsest—fingering. • 1.7k word.
The Red Keep had gone quiet in that peculiar way it only did at night. When the torches burned low and even the walls seemed tired of listening.
You were sitting on your bed, a book resting loosely in your hands, its pages long forgotten. Your eyes traced the same line over and over as your thoughts wandered far beyond the words, drifting into places you hadn’t meant to visit.
You barely noticed when the world returned to you—only the soft, tentative knock at your door pulling you back, right then and there.
Alicent Hightower stepped inside without waiting for an answer, her green dress whispering against the stone floor. There was something different in her tonight. No sharpness, no reprimand, only a tired stillness she didn’t bother hiding.
“I hope I’m not intruding...” she said, though her eyes had already found you, lingering as if this room were the only place she could breathe.
For a moment, she simply stood there.
Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, fingers tense, as if she were waiting for you to say something, anything.
You set the book aside and shifted to sit upright, finally meeting her gaze.
“Is something wrong?” you asked, even though you already knew the answer.
So many things were wrong.
Alicent had lived her life as if walking on thorns for as long as you could remember, every step careful, every breath measured. Since Aegon had taken the throne, that tension had only deepened, settling into her bones.
And yet, despite the years, you had never quite managed to give yourself fully to this family. Something had always felt misaligned.
You were different.
You had never truly felt like you belonged—not when whispers of duty replaced affection, not when childhood ended abruptly and you found yourself thrust into the heart of politics before you had learned how to want anything for yourself.
While everyone else spoke of war with certainty and conviction, all you had ever wanted was quiet.
Alicent let out a slow breath before walking toward the bed, careful not to sit too close as she settled beside you.
She said nothing.
You could see the exhaustion in her face—the kind that went deeper than sleep—but you still didn’t know how to offer comfort. Some nights she came only to sit beside you, saying nothing at all. Other nights, she stayed awake in the corner of the room, watching the candlelight flicker until dawn.
You allowed it.
Perhaps she felt some kind of peace here—or perhaps that was just another lie you told yourself.
“I’m tired.”
At the sound of her voice, you lifted your head. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. The strange intimacy of the moment left you tense, unsure.
Your gaze drifted to her hands resting in her lap.
You hesitated, then slowly reached out.
Alicent startled at the touch. It was clear she hadn’t expected it. Her eyes lifted to your face, searching, while you quickly lowered your own.
She took your hand in hers, warm skin against your cold hand. Her thumb moved gently, absentmindedly tracing over your knuckles, and you swallowed.
“You’re cold,” she murmured softly.
“You always were.”
Your brows knit together slightly—you understood the implication beneath her words.
“You didn’t want to warm me when you had the chance,” you said quietly. “Don’t blame me now.”
Your voice was tired, but the edge in it was unmistakable.
Alicent offered a sad, fleeting smile. She knew she had failed you—especially you. You hadn’t been an unwanted child, not truly, but she had always struggled to give you the tenderness you deserved.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “It won’t mean much, I know, but…”
Her words faded, leaving the space between you heavy with things left unsaid.
For a while, neither of you spoke. Your hand slowly began to warm in her palm, and just as you were growing used to it, she lifted her free hand—hesitant, careful—and reached toward you.
She stopped just beside your cheek.
She didn’t touch you yet.
Instead, she searched your face, waiting—quietly—for permission.
You met her gaze, swallowing hard before placing your hand over hers.
Alicent didn’t hesitate after that.
Her touch settled gently against your cheek.
She stepped closer. As if wanting to feel your soft skin more clearly, she leaned into you, closing the distance between your bodies. Her eyes were glassy; the look beneath her lashes drifted to your neck, then lingered on your lips.
“I didn’t mean to push you away…” The words slipped from her mouth with effort. “I love you. Believe me, I do. But— I don’t know how to show it to you anymore.”
As if that weren’t enough, the kiss she pressed to your forehead became the final blow. Your vision blurred with tears, making it hard to speak; your throat had tightened into a knot. She wiped a falling tear away with her thumb, then followed it with a gentle kiss. You weren’t uncomfortable with the attention, but it frightened you all the same—you didn’t want her to ignore you again in the morning.
Still, you gave in. As her kisses traced every part of your face, soft and unhurried, you closed your eyes and let yourself surrender.
Alicent leaned toward you. Without realizing it, your body stretched back slightly; as you tried to pull the book that brushed your hand from behind you, it slipped from your fingers and fell to the floor. The sound made your eyes flutter open—only to find her hovering over you. Her touches were so slow, so careful, as if she were afraid that even the smallest sudden movement might make you pull away.
You reached up in return, letting your hand rest against her cheek before sliding down to her neck. Taking courage from the contact, she leaned closer. When her lips brushed your chin, you held your breath, your chest tightening with anticipation.
“Let me show you,” she murmured. “I’ll make up for every day I left you without affection.”
You answered only with a small nod. Still, she studied your face for a moment longer, as if making sure—really sure—before lowering herself to you. When she exhaled softly against your lower lip, you were certain every hair on your body stood on end.
She kissed you softly at first—once, then again—testing you. When she noticed your lips parting in quiet invitation, she deepened the kiss, slow but certain. One of her hands continued to caress your cheek, while the other found your wrist and gently pinned it to the bed, not forceful, just enough to keep you there with her.
The moment she pulled away from your lips, she moved to your neck. She breathed you in, as if memorizing your scent, then tugged lightly at your silver hair to clear space before pressing more kisses along your skin. You didn’t know if your body was this sensitive because no one had ever touched you like this before—or if it was simply her, something uniquely hers.
When she slipped a small bite between her kisses, testing you, a soft whimper escaped your lips.
“Alicent—”
The way you said her name was the last thing she cared about. Without waiting, her hand slipped beneath your nightgown; as her fingertips traced along each of your thighs, she memorized every shiver she drew from you. She lingered at your inner thigh, watching the way you shifted your hips, silently asking for her touch.
Then her fingers found the fabric of your underwear. She paused there, over your clit, and began to stroke you slowly, deliberately. You could feel yourself growing wet—warm, hazy, your thoughts slipping out of focus.
The teasing wasn’t enough; you wanted more, and she knew it. She didn’t make you wait. She nudged your underwear aside, her middle finger gliding down until it met your heat, and she moaned as if she were the one being touched.
“I’ll take care of you,” she murmured. “My beautiful girl.”
You gripped the sheets beneath your hand. Between her touch and the way she spoke, the knots twisting in your stomach finally began to loosen.
She eased her finger into you slowly, patiently, as if she were teaching your body how to open for her. While she did, she made sure no part of your face or neck was left untouched—soft kisses, lingering presses of her lips, each one grounding you a little more in the moment. When she added a second finger, your body reacted before your mind could stop it, tightening around her.
“Shh… it’s alright. Don’t tense,” she whispered, her breath warm against your skin as she placed a kiss just beneath your ear. “I won’t hurt you.”
You focused on breathing—slow inhales, careful exhales—letting your body relax under her guidance, trusting her enough to make it easier.
Her movements found a steady rhythm, unhurried but deliberate. When you became aware of the soft, telling sounds between you, a sharp wave of sensation rushed through your head, threatening to pull you apart. Her thumb didn’t neglect you, drawing slow, knowing circles on your clit that made your thoughts dissolve.
A broken sound escaped you before you could stop it. Alicent immediately captured your mouth with hers, silencing you with a kiss that was both possessive and tender. As much as hearing you like this made her wet too, she didn’t want anyone else to hear you. This was only for her.
After a while, her fingers kept their rhythm; when she sensed how close you were, her movements grew surer, more confident. You couldn’t even find the strength to speak then—pleasure drowned out everything else. With her kiss sealing your lips, a low, muffled sound slipped free as your body finally let go, easing into the feeling.
Only when she was certain you’d settled did she withdraw her hand. Her gaze lingered first on your spent body, then on your face.
“Would you like me to stay here tonight?”
You nodded without a second thought. Alicent answered with a small, fond smile, bending to place a lingering, wet kiss along your inner thigh.
“Come,” she murmured softly. “Let’s get you cleaned up, my darling.”
Summary | With the king’s mask finally gone, new eyes begin to linger—along with quiet whispers that stir unfamiliar jealousy. Yet in the soft intimacy of shared moments, Baldwin reminds you that healing did not change his devotion, only deepened it.
author's note | It's been almost a year since I last wrote. I may have shortcomings, or it may not be good enough. but enjoy reading<3
！warning ！ fem!reader. just fluff. no use of y/n. at that time, act as if a cure for this illness has been found. | 0,9k word.
†
For the first time in years, the kingdom looked at him not with fear, but with curiosity—and somehow, that frightened you more.
When word spread that a cure had been found for the king’s—your beloved husband’s—illness, there was no one happier than you. All those sleepless nights, the prayers you had whispered into the dark when no one was listening, had finally been answered. The kingdom rejoiced openly, bells and voices rising in gratitude, while Baldwin IV himself had long since lost count of how many times he had thanked God.
His body would take time to recover—to truly remember what strength felt like—but he was patient. He always had been. If it meant that one day he could walk beside you through the gardens, unmasked, unburdened by exhaustion, surrounded by flowers in full bloom… then he would wait years without complaint.
Unfortunately, one of his eyes had already been lost to infection, the damage beyond repair. To ease the wounds that still marked one side of his face, the servants would come from time to time, applying salves made from healing herbs. And it was there—precisely there—that the trouble began.
You would never call yourself jealous. Perhaps… protective. But no one could truthfully claim that he was not a handsome man.
His voice alone had a way of putting people at ease, and every time he addressed you as my love, something inside you softened, quietly undone. Even from behind the mask, his gaze had always spoken volumes without the need for words. And now, with his pale hair catching the light, you wondered how brilliantly it would shine beneath the sun.
The whispers traveled quickly through the walls. Each servant who passed spoke of how handsome the man behind the mask was, how the ointments applied to his wounds were little more than an excuse—how close they stood to him. You noticed every lingering moment, every unnecessary nearness, yet you said nothing. You didn’t dare.
“That will be enough. I’ll take care of the rest.”
You hadn’t even realized how sharp your voice sounded until it was already in the air. You had been watching for some time, and the servant—caught off guard—flinched at the sudden firmness.
“B–but, my lady,” she stammered, turning quickly and bowing her head, “it wasn’t finished—”
“Did you not hear me?” you said, unwavering now. “I will handle it. I would prefer to tend to my husband myself this evening.”
The servant didn’t argue. She bowed once more to the king, placed the cloth back into the basin, and left the chamber without another word.
When the door closed behind her, you exhaled slowly. Then, with measured steps, you moved toward the bed. Taking the cloth into your hand, you reached for his face carefully. Even knowing you wouldn’t cause him pain, your movements remained gentle—deliberate, soft, as though touch itself were a language only the two of you shared.
“Is something troubling you, my love?” Your gaze lifted to meet his. Without the mask, his voice sounded clearer—closer—and that calm, steady tone stirred something familiar inside you. You continued tending to the wound, careful not to give anything away.
“No,” you replied evenly. “As I said, I can handle it myself. I’m simply not certain why you need servants for something like this.”
A soft sound reached your ears, a quiet, amused breath that could almost be called a laugh. Wonderful. Now you felt embarrassingly transparent.
When his hand reached for yours, your movements stilled. The leather of his glove brushed your skin as his thumb traced slow circles against the inside of your wrist—unhurried, grounding.
“Had I known you objected,” he said gently, “I would have asked for you from the beginning.”
You exhaled, your composure finally wavering. “I’m sorry. It’s just—” You hesitated, then allowed the truth through. “When everyone looked down on you because of your illness, it angered me. And now, to see them crowd so close… as though they had always seen your worth.”
Baldwin IV listened to you in silence. As he tried to shift himself into a seated position from the bed, you moved instinctively to help him. With the distance between you closed, his hand reached for you once more, fingers threading carefully through your hair, brushing your ear before drifting down to your neck.
He was still afraid of touching you fully.
“My beautiful wife…”
Even those few words were enough to send warmth rushing to your cheeks.
“I know what’s happening,” he continued softly. “I see it. And the only thing I think of now is this—finding the strength to rise from this bed, and finally giving you everything we once only dared to imagine.”
A smile curved your lips. When he used to speak like this, there had always been a quiet sorrow beneath his words—a certainty that such dreams would never come to pass. But now, you both knew there was hope. And that hope was what he clung to.
He had already made peace with death. And yet, here he was, granted the chance to remain, to spend more time with the one he loved.
“I’ll be waiting for that day,” you whispered.
Your gaze lingered on his blue eye, catching the glow of the candlelight. You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the unmarked side of his cheek before pulling back.
Startled by the softness he hadn’t expected, your husband smiled—tired, but full.
He knew that when he was whole again, he would return that kiss a thousandfold.
