I'm trying to hard reboot my brain by painting Princess Mononoke studies. I can't say if it will work, but it is a really nice way to meditate if nothing else 🌱
You've been purposefully provoking your husband in the hopes he'd have his way with you, but he doesn't necessarily fulfil your fantasy. Still, mission failed successfully.
Baelor Targaryen x Reader | 2k+ | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, pwp babes, brat!reader, soft dom!baelor, smug!baelor, smut (light somnophilla, dacryphilia, piv, temperature play, biting, spitting, slight overstimulation, breeding kink if you squint), baelor loves aftercare, fluff, they be cheesin heavy ngl, typos, etc.
A/N: head empty only getting fuckkkkkkkked by baelor (((: this gif it to thank for this depravity. thank you gifmakers everywhere. | cross posted on ao3
It was gods-know-how-late, but it was only now Baelor was retiring from his duties as Lord Hand. To say he was exhausted was an understatement, but there was a tingling in his body he knew he would not be able to quell until...
The bed dips as he rests his knee beside your form.
"Wake up, sleepy head," he whispers, hand rubbing down your back, breath hot against your ear.
... until he had you.
You moan, searching for the blanket he had pulled down to your shins, confused as to why you were being woken up. You turn your heavy head, your belly remaining pressed down on the soft cushions. You are annoyed by the sight of him undressing.
Baelor smiles softly, partially guilty for waking you, mostly pleased by how upset you looked in this moment.
"Not very enjoyable when it's you being bothered now, pretty viper?" he kisses your neck before pulling away to rid himself of his tunic.
You sigh, brows knitted as your barely-opened eyes close, "what time even is it?"
The left corner of his mouth quirks, "time for you to spread your legs."
You simultaneously groan and turn away. You pull the pillow over your head and reach for the blankets, pulling it up over your shoulder.
The sight amuses him, and admittedly makes his cock twitch. His difficult bride. Oh, how he loves getting you to beg in the end. He is undeterred by your disinterest, albeit how more genuine it is presently; he knows you well enough to know you still want him and he knows himself well enough to know when to stop.
He groans as his naked body is freed from the day's vestments. He sneaks beside you, under the covers, and wraps an arm over your waist.
You don't move. You don't speak. It is then he realizes how deep in sleep you must have been.
... no matter.
He pushes the pillow off your head and kisses your cheek, "you cannot truly expect no consequences to find you for what you did earlier today."
Silence.
He smiles against your skin, pushing the fabric off your sleeve, "cheeky thing ought to be bound and punished..."
You whimper when his hand rubs down your arse, his fingers slightly pushing the sheer nightgown between your thighs.
"... be glad then I am not a vengeful spirit."
Baelor grabs a fistful of skirt and pulls it up, humming in approval at the bareness of your bum. He squeezes the fullest part of your flesh before parting your legs. He doesn't wait and climbs between them, pressing his chest flush against your back.
He presses hard enough that your chest compresses. You groan in complaint.
He brushes your hair away and hums, "too heavy?" He pulls back, bringing you to your side. Soon, your nightgown is hiked over your breasts and he begins to kiss you there. He licks a stripe from your rib, up your nipple, teeth grazing you slightly along the way.
Your reaction is involuntary. Your breath hitches and your thighs squeeze.
Baelor is only encouraged. He pulls away, allowing you to fall back on your chest.
You sigh in relief, only to have your hips be lifted up until you're on your knees.
He has your weight in his arms, hands firm on your hips. You're limp and seemingly unresponsive, yet with a mere glance he can see the dampness of your cunt. He smiles, mouth falling into an open sigh. He pushes his knees beneath your slumping hips, his already half-hard cock twitching against your softness, causing him to give out an airy moan. He frees his one hand, working two fingers to smear your slick down to your clit.
He knows you too well, with just a few eager strokes, you cannot help how your toes curl.
He hums, feeling the weight of you shift, "cold, lovie?"
You don't respond.
He chuckles. He ceases the attention in your clit when his eyes catch the goblet by the nightstand. He reaches for it, dipping his sticky fingers in, humming at the feel of the cool liquid.
He keeps his fingers there until homeostasis then presses them against your clit. The sound of your squeak paired with how you grip the sheets make him moan a little louder.
"Baelor," you whine.
He leans down, peppering kisses on your spine, "well, you didn't say if you were cold."
You groan, finally opening your eyes to look at him over your shoulder, "Baelor."
He smiles at you, finding the mist in your gaze. He kisses you, "don't be upset, love."
You press your face and your elbows onto the cushions, "I'm very upset."
He sighs heavily, rubbing slow circles on your clit, "I know... and so wet too."
You moan, slowly beginning to rock your hips into him.
Baelor chuckles as he kisses your shoulder before repositioning himself. He finds a firm stance on his knees and feels his cock slap against your burning folds. He rubs your bum with one hand as the other grabs his heavy length, coating it with your slick while further stimulating you.
"Mmm, Baelor."
He watches your cunt flutter. He watches his cock glisten with your slick. He gives another heavy sigh, "you know," he pats your bum, "I really ought to put a babe in you."
You groan at the casual admission, turning your head to the side to hear his baritone more clearly.
"You have far too much time on your hands."
"Please, Baelor."
"Mmm, what's that?"
"Please fuck me."
His nostrils flare as he shakes his head, "such obscene language from such a pretty mouth."
Baelor swipes your lips with his thumb as you pant, and it is then your eyes begin to water enough for a tear to run down the bridge of your nose. You are undeniably desperate now, "please."
He leans down, covering his mouth with yours, nipping your lower lip, "hush now, darling."
One of your hands manage to find his scalp, and you desperately claw at him through a whine, "need you."
He kisses you, his fangs unable to resist the feel of your lips. By the time he is satisfied, your mouth is visibly swollen. His belly aches with something primal. He gathers some spit on his tongue and lets it drip out to you. You quickly bite your lower lip only to gather his dribble before it drops. You press your tongues together before finding a rhythm for a sloppy kiss.
"Are you ready for me, sweet girl?" he mutters between breaths.
You squeal, trying to pull him in, "beeeeeen ready."
He chuckles and straightens up, one hand pressing between your shoulder blades.
You groan when you feel him push his tip into your waiting heat.
"Have I left you in such deep want, my love?"
You whine, gasping for breath as he slowly pushes in.
Baelor groans through grit teeth as he bucks his hips— slow, deep, intent on feeling every inch of you. He screws his eyes shut for a moment, his stomach tensing when then looks and sees your curled expression.
"My poor wife," he rubs your shoulders then wipes a tear from your eye before it falls, "you needed me this badly?"
Your arm helplessly flails, not quite reaching him, "so bad, so bad."
"Forgive this fool's negligence," he grunts, pushing in deeper, more deliberately.
You barely make a sound with how winded he leaves you.
Baelor doesn't pick up the pace, but he does end up rolling you on your back and pushing your legs over his shoulders. Oh, how he loves the way you moan into his open-mouthed kisses, how he adores how wet he leaves you, all sweaty, all slobbering, all slick.
When you begin to breathe faster, he pulls back and pushes himself up on his arms, bracing himself by the sides of your head.
You selfishly seal your legs around him, so much so he hisses when he can barely move. He bites the crook of your neck in retaliation, but it only seems to make you lock your legs tighter around him and suck his cock deeper into your cunt.
He chastises you in High Valyrian, unable to contain his frustration. He kisses your jaw, "you have to let me go."
"No, please," you clutch his cheeks, weepy and delirious, both from sleepiness and his cock, a dangerous combination.
"I'm not going to leave," he rubs your thighs while trying to push them off him, "I just want to make you feel good."
"B-but I feel so good now," you whine, arms now wrapping around him in tandem.
He sighs, helplessly allowing your embrace... and then- "do you want me to force you off?"
"..."
He calls out your name.
Your cunt clenches in response.
Baelor groans, finding his answer.
So, it was. It doesn't take much of his strength to unlock your legs, but it does takes all of his remaining energy to thrust his cock in and out of you until you come undone.
His pace was only a few beats faster than when he started, as he was intent on savoring you, on driving you mad, and gods was it worth it.
By the time your orgasm built, his fingers found your clit and ensured the uncontrollable quake of your body. With a strangled moan, you reach your peak, your cunt gushing more than it already has, coating much more than his cock. Both your thighs were a mess and the sheets were an unwilling victim. He finishes in sync, his cock and stones taut as he releases all his pent-up tension and hot seed deep into your belly. He watches a creamy ring form at the base of his manhood. He is glad of it.
He wrings both your pleasures out until he physically can't bring himself to move. And yet, ever the dutiful husband, he has the mind to roll off you enough to watch his fingers rapidly rub your swollen clit and make you continue to tremor.
Your nails bite into his shoulders, hard enough to make him hiss, "B-Bael—"
"Just a bit more, sunshine," he kisses your jaw, "you can take it."
"I can't—"
"Take it."
"B-B—"
"Take it."
You whine.
"And some more."
Your nails drag down and break his skin.
His teeth clench, "jussssst—"
Your back arches off the bed.
"There," he kisses your cheek, "did so well f'me."
You gasp for breath.
He immediately clutches your cheek and mutters praises against your mouth, "such a good girl, my lover."
You whine, weepy and worn, "you hate me."
"I don't," he drags out lovingly.
"You do!" you whine some more.
He kisses you, "only enough to pull away to grab a towel to clean you up."
All hell breaks loose when Baelor does just that, and in such haste. Tears stream down your cheeks as you fail to keep him by your side. You feel the rawness of your legs as you bring them together. He only cares to clean himself because he doesn't want to get you dirty and is immediately upon you.
You have half the mind to kick him off when he tries to clean you up. You roll away from him as he wipes you down but he only meets your petulance with kisses on your skin. He is dazed and warm, unable to find fault in you after your lovemaking. He calls out your name as he cleans the evidence of him off you.
You only quit your wrangling when you accidentally elbow his jaw.
The collision makes you gasp and immediately turn to him, "Baelor."
He clutches his beard and shakes his head, "no, I deserved that."
You pout and whine, throwing your arms around him, "don't say that!"
He chucks the towel off, allowing you to pull him over you as you fall back, "but I made my sweet wife weep."
You sigh as he pulls back, only to brush your hair away from your tear-stained cheeks and swipe your still swollen lips.
"How could I ever get you to forgive me?" his forehead curls, his tone more genuine than it ought to be.
You look at your Baelor, the love of your life and shrug, "I fear you cannot."
He frowns, "but I shall perish in my guilt."
You sniffle and pout.
He matches your reaction to a tee.
You grumble and barely slap his cheek.
He manages to kiss your hand as it falls off.
"I should like an orange for breakfast," you sigh, tracing the curve of his nose.
He gives the faintest of chuckles and takes your wrist. "How many?" he mumbles against your pulse.
"Just one," you close your eyes, feeling exhaustion catch up with you.
Soon, it is, too, upon Baelor. He crumbles beside you, pressing one final kiss on your cheek, "you shall have it, my heart."
You hum, "you will feed it to me with your mouth."
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