a place for my fanfiction related nonsense ✒️ RaeTheReader on ao3 ✍️ Writing Prompts and Writing Prompt Events 🥳 followers will get sneak peeks of fics via multimedia bits 👀
The irony of this new breed of self-righteous AI hunters on AO3 is that they're all just copy and pasting peoples fics into AI detectors, which are all operated by AI and therefore THEY are feeding people's work into the algorithm without their consent and in some cases no doubt circumventing the locks people put on to avoid getting scraped...
Don't copy and paste anyone's AO3 work into third party websites, you're not the good guys in this situation?
Normalize leaving unhinged comments on ao3 fics you like. I'm tired of being the only one brave enough to write "I am chewing on this fic" in the comment section. Be weird. Authors will love you for it
“I want to write a fic about this but I don’t think anybody will be interested in it” ummm hello excuse me ma’am what do you mean you don’t think anybody will be interested in it??? YOU. YOU ARE INTERESTED IN IT???? write it because YOU are interested in it and YOU want to write about it. fanfic writing should always be first and foremost about YOUR enjoyment, not other people’s.
So this started out as a think piece but very quickly got out of hand. It's now a one shot that's taken several days, the smut went from tasteful and suggestive to down right unforgivably filthy, and it switches between tenses repeatedly. I couldn't make it stop doing that. Sorry and enjoy?
I keep thinking about Baelor in a cold political marriage, who has is heir and spare and hasn't been permitted into his wife's bed since. And he's no raper, he'll not force her, even if he wanted the company of the dornish hating harpy. Marry into the marches, they said, it'll unite the dornish and the stormlands, they said. Yeh right.
And Baelor has felt the consequences of a king that doesn't keep to his marriage bed. He'll not take a mistress, nor sire a bastard. Not even a tumble with a discrete maid or an even more discrete stable boy. He'll keep to his marriage vows, and never touch another, and be seen as a man of honour for it.
His right hand will suffice.
It's Maekar whose spitting mad about it.
Furious that Baelor would deny himself anything, but most of all pleasure and pleasure shared.
You're a dragon, he would spit at him, why do you leash yourself like a fucking mutt! Take what you want, damn you, and fuck the courts opinion! Other men whore themselves through unhappy marriages all the fucking time.
But Baelor cannot be like other men. He has too much responsibility. And too much to prove.
So his right hand will suffice.
~~~~
Dyanna would sit through many an angry rant on this subject over the course of her marriage to Maekar.
Maekar, whose worry over his brother's health and happiness, he could only express as rage.
After all, Maekar and herself had been a love match. He could never understand Baelor depriving himself of the joy they themselves experience everyday.
And so Maekar would pace and seeth before the lit hearth, firelight dancing along his silver hair, reflective of the dragonlords temper burning within him. And he'll pace and seeth until Dyanna catches his hand as he passes her, and she pulls him to sit next to her on the daybed, and he'd burrow his head into her shoulder and neck still grumbling his worry and love for his favourite brother.
And this pattern will repeat itself every time the two families are in the Redkeep at the same time, every time they visit Baelor on Dragonstone, every time he visits them at Summerhall.
And so it falls to Dyanna to come up with an idea.
~~~
The first time, they are visiting Dragonstone, and they are due to leave for home in the morning.
Maekar storms into Baelor's solar as if it was his own, earning him one of Bealor's soft, exasperated looks, which quickly morphs into bemusement as he is grabbed by the scruff of the neck and hauled out from behind his desk and moved into the comfy armchair before the fire.
Dyanna follows her husband through the door, carrying a pitcher of wine, and a tray of Dornish finger foods, and a plan.
"Sit there, shut up, and enjoy yourself," Maekar snapped in that brisk way of his, that to the casual observer would come across as anger, but Baelor knew well enough it indicated nervousness.
He tuned to his goodsister and raised a brow in question. She answered him with a mischievous smile.
"You can leave if you want, of course. We just want to do something nice for you, that's all," somehow her smile became more mischievous, "something to keep to warm on the cold lonely nights here." She finished with a feather light kiss to his temple, handing him a goblet of wine, and plucking a stuffed date from the plate of food and presses it to Baelor's lips.
The second brow raises to join the first, but he accepts the morsel, chewing carefully as he watches her sway towards his brother, who had settled into the armchair opposite him.
And promptly choked on it, as Dyanna sat on Maekar's lap, legs spread on either side of his and her dress pulled up to expose her lower legs.
He coughed to clear his throat and took a large gulp of wine before placing the goblet back into the table beside him. He watched transfixed, unable to speak, as Maekar loosened the ties at the back of her dress, allowing the back to fall open and down her shoulders to rest at her elbows and reveal the ling line of her smooth back.
He felt like he couldn't breath, couldn't look away, as Maekar placed a kiss on Dyanna's bare shoulder, and then they were kissing in truth.
His fingers dug so hard into the arms of his chair that they turned as white as Maekar's own skin.
And it was a lovely contrast, the dark, Dornish planes of Dyanna's back, and Maekar's large pale hands that spanned the width of waist and ribs as he held and moved her.
Their joining was hidden by layers of silk skirt, but the movements, the sounds, were unmistakable. Dyanna's quiet gasps and Maekar's muffled groans rang in Baelor's ears like war cries.
Baelor wasn't sure he was breathing.
Dyanna's whole body shakes as she peaks, her legs spasming and twitching, and Maekar catches Baelor's eyes for just a moment before he too is burying his head into Dyanna's bosom to muffle he curses as he spills deep inside her.
All three of them sit, panting, for a while. And then Dyanna and Maekar are tidying themselves up, and are wishing Baelor a good night and sweet dreams, and are gone from his solar as if they were never there at all. But there were there, and Baelor is so hard it hurts, his smallclothes are wet and stuck to him where precome is running from his slit like a river, and he has to prize his own hards open from where they had seized closed around the arms of the chair so he can touch himself. He might die if is does touch himself.
It barely takes a touch at all for him to spill harder than he has since before his wedding night.
And the long, lonely nights are warmer.
~~~
The second time, Baelor, Jena, and the two boys are visiting them at Summerhall.
Jena has barely left her rooms, except for what property dictates, and she has their sons spend the evenings with her and sleep in her rooms. And so Baelor is free to spend as much time as he wants with his brother and his family, staying late into the evening each night to talk.
Dyanna's belly is swollen with their fourth child, and she tires easily. And so when the two brothers sit before the fireplace in Maekar's solar, she curls up next the Maekar on the lounge chair and rests her head on his shoulder to listen to them talk. To hell with property, her feet hurt, and she's tired all the time, and it's not like Baelor hasn't seen more of them than this before. She'll sit how she wants, thank you very much.
But the thought returns to her, night after night, and she watches how Baelor never looks at her untoward, unless it's very late at night and the wine has flowed, and she and Maekar are pressed up against each other as if they could fuse into one being. Only then does a flash of heat cross his eyes, quickly suppressed but acknowledged.
And this pregnancy has driven her wild with need from the start, so the idea comes to her and stays.
And so, the next night, after Jena and the children retire and the three of them move once more from the family solar to Maekar's private one, she drops her loose dornish dress from her shoulders and allows it to pool on the floor around her feet, and for the firelight to cast a glow across her naked body.
It's Maekar who chokes this time, hacking coughs to get the wine out of his lungs, and Baelor freezes, still as a statue, or as still as a sandsteed ready to bolt.
"You don't have to stay. But I have a need, and I thought perhaps you might enjoy another memory to take home with you."
"Gods woman," Maekar spat, face flushed from coughing and from the shape of his wife in his sights, "warn a man before you do that."
"Do you have any other objects?" She asked imperiously, eyebrow raised and jaw set defiantly.
Maekar hesitated slightly, before turning to his brother with a nervous look in his eyes. "I- I will never understand why you won't just take something for yourself. But if you won't, I'd like to give you this. And I know you won't touch, but something for you to watch and remember. Something good."
Baelor was still frozen in place, wide eyed, and Maekar backtracked, "Or we can forget the whole stupid thing, we'll go, Dyanna put-"
But Baelor walks past him to sit in his chair, crosses one ankle over the other, and waves a hand imperiously as if to grate benevolent permission for them to get on with it. And normally this exact behaviour is what sets Maekar off, but even he can see that Baelor is as nervous as him.
And so they stayed. Dyanna's back to Maekar's bare chest where he's opened his shirt, legs spread wide over his, and his large, long fingers doing unspeakable things between them.
And Baelor watches them from his own chair, hooded eyes dark and focused, he holds a goblet of wine to his mouth and watches them over the rim as he drinks, and he doesn't seem to blink.
Dyanna writhes like a viper on Maekar's lap, head thrown back onto his shoulder, he quite little gasps turning high pitched every time he pinches her clit, rough just like she likes it. He's three fingers deep in her, and she's dripping, and she watches Baelor licks a drop of wine from his own lips and wonders if he's imagining it is her slick.
She peaks with a squeal that will embarrass her later, and Maekar groans low and bites at her shoulder as he spills into his breaches like a green boy.
They both sat there, panting for breath, and then giggling as Maekar slumped them over so they were laying down on their sides. And then Baelor was standing. He offered them both a sip of wine from his own cup, and pulled the light throw from the back of the lounge over them both. And with a kiss on both their brows, he walked from the solar to his own room to take care of the state they'd put him in.
~~~
The third time, they are all in Kingslanding. And it is not so much expected as anticipated.
The celebrations for the naming of a new Hand had been exuberant. And Baelor had spent the whole thing looking serene and magnuminous and snug all at the same time. He kept using that imperious head nod that pisses Maekar off so much.
Slowly the feasts and the tourney puttered out and came to an end, and the lord's of the realm scuttled back into their strong holds to gossip and plot, and finally they could all breath again.
And Dyanna could hardly breath, as the solid, steady thrust of he husband moved her back and forth across the rug before the fire in the solar of the hand of the king.
Not a scrap of cloth on them, they lay there, Maekar rutting between her thighs, her arms around his shoulders, and Baelor sat behind his new desk, scribbling away at some parchment, pretending not to watch, while very much watching.
Maekar slowly started to speed up, his thrust deep and sure inside her, but starting to get faster and rougher, just the way she prefers. The deep sighs that left her had started to turn into little high pitched whimpers, and she buried he face into her husband's neck and scored her nails down his spine.
"Slower."
Both their heads whipped around to look at Baelor, who looked just as shocked as they did that he had spoken at all.
And Maekar slowed down his thrusts again, and Dyanna couldn't help but hiss at him in displeasure.
"Now now," he teased her, "you heard the lord hand. He wants us slower."
And slower Maekar went, a dirty grind and agonising pull, he trembled with his own restraint, and she couldn't help but thrash under him, desperate.
"Please," she gasped, not sure who she was asking, "please."
But Maekar seemed to know who to ask, "Baelor," he panted, not begging, never begging, but close, "brother."
"Stop."
A whine tore it's way out of both their throats, but stop they did. Trembling, quaking, gasping, held still by shear will. They looked up to the desk with begging eyes.
And Baelor walked around the desk to them, goblet of wine in hand, and offered them both a sip as he made soothing noises, and waited for them to calm.
"Now," he said, once they had settled, their shaking subsiding, "up on your knees Maekar, I want to see you both."
He encouraged him upright onto his knees, pulling Dyanna's hips up into his lap, still joined, and leaving her lying back on the rug. He clicked his tongue at Maekar, as he nudged his knees wider with his foot, and if Maekar had been any less cunt-drunk, he would have snarled at his brother for it, but as it was Dyanna could feel Maekar's twitch inside her.
Baelor walked back around the desk, and retook his seat. "Again, slowly."
And slowly Maekar went, the slow patient drag obscene, and the shine of her slick spred and squelched. Dyanna didn't know whether to bury her hands into the rug to hold on for dear life, or to hide her face in her hand, hide herself from the view of the long line of her body layed out, spread out, speared and stretched and moaning. No where to hide as Maekar's large hands pulled her hips up and down on his length, churning her slick into a pale froth for all to see.
They could see everything, gods, Baelor could see everything.
She buried her head into her elbow, where her hands were thrown up over her head, but couldn't help but peak at her husband's face. And oh what a sight. He face scrunched up in desperate control, flushed with pleasure, his eye flicking between her cunt, breasts, face and up to Baelor, a pleading look flashing across his eyes.
She couldn't help but tilt her head back to look at Baelor. Baelor whose deep, controlled breaths were hot with hunger, and eyes fierce as he raked them over Dyanna, over Maekar, over the place where they were joined.
She could no longer trap the word in her throat. "Please. Baelor. Your Grace. A little more, let us, please."
Maekar groaned at her words, like all the air was being forced from his lungs, and Baelor's hands clenched on the edge of his desk.
"Oh very well then," he sighed, and waved his hand magnanimously, and did that fuck head nod and-
Oh but Maekar didn't care that his brother was being a shit. He bowed over Dyanna, one hand moving to her hair and the other her clit, and finally, finally, fucked her as hard and fast as his body would allow.
She slapped a hand over her own mouth just in time to muffle the scream he wrought from her, her legs started to shake and her eyes water. Her other hand scored red lines down her husband's spine.
Baelor clicked his tongue at them, as he walked around the desk to join them on the rug. "You're so rough with each other," he scolded teasingly, as he pulled his shirt up over his head and off, and undid the ties of his trousers.
And neither of them could hold in the strangled moan at him being so close and yet so far.
Maekar let out a gentle laugh, like he couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe it. "It's what we like. Are you joining us?"
"No. Carry on."
And oh, it didn't take much longer. Maekar powerful thrusts and rough slowed calloused hands, the taste of his sweat on her tongue where it dropped from his face onto her own, it all combined with the heat of Baelor's body just an arms reach and an ocean away, the smell of oranges and cloves from his soap, and his musk in the air that hit the back of her throat from where his smallclothes sat damp and stretched over the swell of him between the open flaps of his trousers.
It was all too much. It was just enough.
She peaked with a cry she couldn't stop, whole body spasmed with it, and she had to imbed her teeth into Maekar's neck to quite the sounds that would wake the whole tower if she let them out.
Maekar followed her swiftly, the strangling clench of her wet heat, the flood of her slick spilling out around him, her teeth in his flesh, and his brother's eyes fixed on them, he couldn't stop the tidal wave of his own release even if he tried. He muffled his own cries in the valley of Dyanna's breasts, even as he trembled uncontrollably. He soothed himself by sucking a kiss bruise right over her sternum, right where she preferred her neckline to sit.
She'd scold him later.
"Now you," she forced the words out between laborious pants, catching Baelor's eyes.
"Fair is fair," Maekar agreed, voice still muffled against her skin, but turning his head to watch his brother also.
Baelor shoots then a quiet smile, and peaks the wet cloth away from his flushed and dripping length. He can't suppress a whimper at the first touch of his hand, after denying himself so long. He lets himself lie down beside them, eyes squeezed shut, as he strangles his pleasure from himself as fast as he could. Like a hypocrite, chiding them to be slow and gentle, but he can't risk slow and gentle when it may break his resolve. He can't risk touching them, not like this, he has to hold himself to his oaths.
But even behind his eye lids the acts performed on his rug over the last hour flash before him, and release rushes over him in waves.
He makes a mess of himself and of his rug, and he'll huff about that later.
One single drop of his release lands on the swell of Dyanna's breast, right over her heart, like a shining pearl, and Dyanna can't look away from it. Maekar checks Baelor still has his eyes closed, he does and he's grinning at the ceiling as he comes down from his own high, and since Baelor's not looking, he retrieves the solitary pearl with the tip of his tongue, and why Dyanna gasps at him he plunges his tongue into her mouth to share it between them.
Baelor let out a breathy laugh, and eyes till closed, roles into his side towards them, and placed a kiss on Dyanna's bare shoulder. He followed it with another in Maekar's shoulder and a hand ran down the plane of his back.
Maekar's hips twitched when his hand rested at the small of his back, and Baelor's smiled at the feel of it even as Dyanna's breath hitched from where they were still joined.
Eyes still closed, he sighed, deep from his lungs, we withdrew his hand, turned away, stood, redressed, and walked back to the desk.
Dyanna and Maekar shared a look, sensing the moment was over, and put themselves to rights as quickly as they could. They each kissed Baelor in the cheek on their way out, holding close to him as they wished him sweet dreams.
And Baelor's lonely nights in the tower of the hand were lonely in a different way to they had previously been, but his pleasure would be deep and heavy with memory. And his right hand would suffice.
