#f!cest

head thrown back in complete amusement as the table erupts in utter laughter upon recalling stories from earlier years. goblets of wine half full, utensils against porcelain plates and a fuming aerion across from you and maekar— rolling his eyes when valarr merely adds onto the ongoing jest against him.

‘’i remember quite vividly even now— was his name not ‘bright boy’ before it was ‘brightflame’?’’

daeron cackles which causes aerion to instantly hit him upside in the head. the entirety of the table lighting up in laughter, even your father maekar beside you— sporting an unusually lighter expression in front of every other amused targaryen. it goes on, the jesting and collective recollection of memories from the past. chewing on a piece of roasted potato, eyes glancing around before furtively placing a hand on maekar’s lap. back straightens up slightly at your touch, he gazes for measurements first then sets the goblet down and takes your hand beneath the eyes of everyone else. you ease at that, content even if it meant the need for covert.

as quickly as suns past, it had been an entire moon and a half since you’ve arrived in the keep with your family, a fortnight when the blissfully disguised affair bloomed in connection to maekar— your father.

nights spent in hushed moans and uttered oaths of sentiment beneath the safety of his covers; the four walls of maekar’s own chamber offering a sheltered space for each to voice the tenderness carried in beating synced hearts. if he adored you before, worship would be the proper description now as his arms pull you into his embrace, falling into slumber just until he murmurs how you’ve completely bewitched him.

giggling as his hand tugs you into a secluded hall after a particularly tensive meeting with the small court; feet attempting to catch the rhythm of his walk towards the edge of the hall where maekar corners you with a smirk— hand cupping your waist before he leans down to your still giddy smile.

‘’does this amuse you, dearest? seeing me at the ends of my wits?’’ lips murmuring against yours curled with humor, hand holding onto his chest now as you slowly nod. to that, maekar returns the amused look you sported, whispering again.

‘’cruel girl you are.. what shall i do with you, hm?’’

‘’..a kiss would be recommended— midnight is far too long, i crave you now, please.’’

maekar humms to the sound of your silent pleading, chest warming in true adoration you have entirely taken him with— kissing you for a second, pulling away for space at the sound of footsteps. inhaling deeply into composure as he turns to the source of interruption, clearing his throat upon catching sight of your uncle baelor— face unreadable.

‘’brother. sire requests our presence in the court chamber at this instance.’’

your eyes lands away with a look akin to a child caught between acts worthy of retribution, ears picking up the sound of the brothers leaving you with a pounding heart.

their father daeron occupies the seat just ahead of the council table, setting his goblet with a nod to his sons for their own proper seats.

‘’lord redwyne has sent a raven with the subject of proposal.’’ daeron speaks, regarding the two who sat across the other.

‘’did he now? what— has the supposed marriage between his daughter and some tully boy diffuse?’’ maekar slumps against the wood of his seat, much irritated upon the interruption of having you.

baelor eyes him with an acute look, fingers circling the band he wore before lifting his brows in an almost pull of mirth.

‘’no, brother. it has not.’’

‘’what now then? he’s a new a babe to send off in wish that one of our boys to take? mine own are not an option— neither are yours, valarr or matarys.’’ maekar scoffs with a look of insouciance, rather bored of the subject already.

‘’it is not his daughter at the end of the offer.’’ their sire quirks with the same calmness that reflected baelor’s— this odd tranquility furrows maekar’s brows.

‘’then whose hand does he wish to take from our blood?’’

silence that topples between the four walls of the chamber and over the three men plummeted maekar’s heart to his stomach in a sickening count. an instant scoff of disbelief rang almost like laughter before he sat straight with a deep clawing glare.

‘’she is of age—‘’ baelor attempts before his brother’s answer cuts him off before end.

‘’out of question.’’

‘’twenty and one, your daughter and she’s yet answered a single proposal. this is a disgraceful picture for her and for our family, maekar.’’ his sire argues but he was already sporting an even more guarded grip.

‘’she is my daughter. i will decide when she’s to marry—‘’

‘’and when do you plan that is?’’ maekar’s eyes land on his brother from across who regarded him in a glint of pressing tone. he squints slightly when a corner of his soul tugs hims with a faint warning, the kind you feel when the wheels of your fortune meets the primrose path. gripping his tunic without breaking gaze, he leans forward into baelor before uttering in a shade of possession:

‘’the affairs of her does not need neither your concern or father’s— but mine own.’’ he underlines with certainty that baelor can not help but to feel the crack of his neck with a restrained ragged sigh, watching his brother march out of the council chamber, leaving only the slam of closing wood and a lingering feeling of utter bitter spite in baelor’s chest.

the rise of moon over the realms brings an even somber bubble to maekar that pops upon hearing the sweet startling noise from yours when he drags the lock on your door. silk nightshift hugging your form he can not but find himself burying his head to the curve of your neck, arms holding you in proximity before your ears picks up his heavy sigh. that alone softens you into maekar’s preferred tone of speaking— his silver hair brushed gently by fingers.

‘’what troubles you, my heart?’’

he inhales, tightening embrace answering your question without word, and you’d allow it— allow him for the kind of comfort he rarely demands. the bed adds onto maekar’s ease, still mute with closed eyes you could have mistaken it for slumber; still brushing his hair feebly while your lips whisper against his temple in soft pecks. it’s only when you feel fingers pulling down a strap of your silk that announces his very conscious state, lips wrapping around the expanse of your breast that it slips your mind out of worry in replacement of a faint moan. maekar sucks on the pillow of your chest, mewling when he tugs you even more with his own small grunts. he does so for however long he desire, realizing quickly he regresses upon sensing your gentleness— in which maekar’s able to be anything but a man baring anchored shoulders.

limbs tangled in a sort of twisted innocence in rest that night. the gods above watch how one brother dreams of you with a curated motivation in subtlety while the other has your arms around in true affection— they flip a coin instead.

the keep is much hotter now that summer settled in complete much to your despite, eyes rolling and quite irritated as your maiden ushers a shawl to drape over barely covered shoulders— shrugging it off with a sigh that she quickly nod her head to in obeisance. the gardens were no alcove from the beaming heat that takes over the realm. hearing voices as you near, catching sight of your cousin valarr picking from a tray of delights served by a maid.

‘’is it cherry pastries you still flock to?’’ a smile on your face as you pick up a small bar of sugared apples, humming in content as he returns your gaiety through words.

‘’when has it changed? i am a man now with preference to childlike flavors.’’

that causes you to laugh, taking more of the apple to bite before both feet lead towards a walk.

‘’betrothal treats you well, i see.’’

‘’kiera is lovely.. she is, without demands.’’

the sea breeze surrounds your lungs in freshness, a kind wind blows in relief gesture from the torturous almost sun save from the clouds. you nod your head to valarr’s words, a small smile curls your lips to response— glancing at him.

‘’that pleases me, cousin.’’

‘’i wish to say the same for you.. soon, i hope.’’

it’s there, the implication of both the reminder of age and stationary responsibility to have your hand taken for some lord of the realm to kiss and to devote and possibly express what you could only grimace in thought— sickening contrast to the man you had in head.

you merely glance away and decide the lemon bars on the tray were much easier to digest in flavor instead of valarr’s innocent words— both of your heads turning at the sound of a familiar voice.

‘’my son.. leave me with her.’’ baelor nods, both the maid and your cousin following while you slowly chewed the pastry— wide eyes watching them inching away.

‘’your grace.’’

‘’uncle. that is twice now.’’ he humms, beside you by the overlooking part of the greenery.

‘’apologies.. it slips my mind at times.’’ swallowing the citrusy on your tongue in reply.

for a few heedless moments, baelor takes in your features beneath the sun, eyeing exactly the beauty you emitted without effort; touched by the light, kissed by the wind and enveloped by the blue of your gown. you do not notice, much occupied with the lemon bar you finished by sucking fingertips clean to savor— unbefitting for a regal member but so thrilling for his deviant flutters.

turning your gaze to him, shying away in realization of your action— laughing softly before smoothing the fabric of the gown. unaware that he was devouring you entirely in his mind.

‘’you are pleasant in the eyes, niece.’’

you blinked with slightly parted lips, stunned by the suddenness of compliment from your uncle— whom had been recognized as a man of honesty.

‘’..that is twice now, uncle.’’ mirroring his previous words with jest, your arrival in the keep flashing in both heads causing a collective genuine chuckle out of the two. baelor swallows the abhorrent thoughts in replacement of a hand lifting to brush a few crumbs away from your lips.

‘’i’d like for you to join me in my readings. i find your voice soothing for aid in regards to books— perhaps you may learn a thing or two.’’

the lilac eyes he holds himself back from kissing follows the movement of his hand after, he sees how they flash with hesitation. so before you could utter a response of possible decline, he takes it upon himself to decide— using his power in his favor, walking away after one finality.

‘’after supper, my study.’’

and supper arrives, the whole of family once again in a meal where light conversation flows in an attempt to grasp at normality above all the surrounding tragedies of shadowed whispers— baelors eyes never strays from you for long, itching the end of the gathering but remains calm regardless. meanwhile, maekar remains mostly silent, saving himself from even a chance of vexation because he can not— will not admit the truth of ire stringed from how his brother had taken in look when they’ve last spoke in the council chamber. then the gods seemed to decide which brother attains favor when everyone begins to stand and baelor nods his head to you— maekar already piqued darkly upon your marches beside his brother out of the banquet.

‘’..whose name they deemed ‘realm’s delight’ far before it veered into much dimmed light upon the following events of her brother’s own usurping.’’ you read aloud in tone that rises goosebumps in climbing to baelor’s spine— he sleeves them in the way his fingers grip the quill in writing.

‘’go on.’’

‘’princess rhaenyra targaryen was king viserys’ first born child— thus earning her inheritance of both the throne and the title ‘queen’ which sparked controversy throughout the realm. it is said that her husband, daemon targaryen, her father’s brother and her own uncle that set the crown upon her head after the passing of her predecessor.’’ eyes scanning line to line beneath the flickering light of the candles swaying, lashes fanning in soft blinks before your turned your head upon baelor’s low murmur:

‘’our ancestors— the two, did you know?’’

slowly, you shook your head yes with returning low response.

‘’yes.. i have read in a book before— aerion’s interest in our ancestry helps for he’s taken with dragons.’’

‘’that he is.’’ baelor continues to write, dipping back to ink before setting it aside to lift his gaze across to you— two colors, but one prey.

‘’tell me what you think of them.’’

‘’of rhaenyra and daemon?’’

‘’of their marriage.’’

it’s charging, the air around the room, baelor’s look does not offer aid in any manner— so you bestow your eyes back to the page with a whisper, almost.

‘’..i suppose i know too little to form my own sayings.‘’

‘’tell me.’’

you glanced back to him after his persuading, inhaling sharply with a small nod.

‘’..i’ve read their marriage of old valyrian tradition. how it is done with their blood conjoined through a kiss before the gods— that it seals their souls for eternity.’’

‘’and what of them?’’

‘’..i am not following, uncle—‘’

‘’their relationship.’’ he sets in clear, head tilted slightly as baelor regards you with the patterned thrilling look that sets you uneasy.

‘’..we’ve certain particularities in contrast to the other houses of the realm. they say we’re closer to gods than to men for our dragons.. only our features left now.’’

‘’that is right. and the other factor that excludes us— name it for me.’’

the furrow of your brow reminds him of maekar, softer than a scowl but still guarded like his brother was— it makes baelor grip the rings on his fingers slightly, lips wet from licking.

‘’..we marry within the family.’’

he humms, allowing you a second to breathe away from the eyes that chained you to the seat across from his— it is momentarily, for he rises from his own and circles around to stop until to grasp the curve of your jaw where it meets the skin of your neck. baelor reminds himself of constraint, lacking slightly but there nonetheless.

‘’i want you here again in the morrow. and the days that follows— your company is necessary for my thinking. you wish to help your uncle, do you not?’’

‘’but my responsibilities to my younger siblings—‘’

‘’the maidens will help.’’

‘’and of my station? i am a princess—‘’

‘’you are, and by being here will shape you so.’’

‘’but my father—‘’

there it is. the very reason he can not stomach hearing from your lips he desire.

baelor’s a half-second flash of restraint, exhaling the bile of envy in his throat for a show of practiced quietude that he performs by caressing the cheek of yours.

‘’my brother will not be deprived of your care, niece. but i demand you here not as your uncle, but as your prince.’’

to that you stared back in a state of shielded shock, unable to control the broken gasps of air, nodding instead for careful stepping.

‘’understood, your grace.’’

‘’good. now rise, i will walk you to your chambers.’’

it’s less and less moments together, more and more increasing irritability maekar handles each day that he senses what he deems can not be. baelor, his own brother, it seemed has grown a sort of not-so-unpremeditated habit to tear away the strings of his sole column left— his last drop of elation where glass is now marked inch by inch by a hand that is not his own. it’s unpleasant, both feeling and sight to have you stripped away by his own brother— and maekar is reaching the sharp edge of his forbearance. specially now that an entire week had been stolen from him in your embrace.

a view into those days could have maekar’s dagger near pressing baelor’s throat in utter dominion: eyes swallowing every movement of your breathing chest, lips that reads the words written in pages and temple kissed every night he sends you off to your chamber. baelor furtively take great pleasure in having your company to himself— much aware that his time was ticking both from above the gods and with his own brother.

it is not as if baelor’s subtle advances had not meet acknowledgement, in fact, it is the latter. a rather revolting indulgence in your part for his stares rend you always in flushed skin, his tracing touches that prolongs with unencessity welcomed through fluttering blinks and his inconspicuous whispering met with your own prudent ones— curiosity is what you’ve named it, a dip below dark murky waters. all innocent, as you’d described: but you are a smart girl, far too wise to distinguish that this curling interest is fleeting while maekar was lasting. how noble.

it does not take long until maekar’s first retaliation to pursue, a short away from utterly forgetting his own self retained poise if he was to be nicked another day from his beloved.

it’s comical in this sort of setting, having both brothers unknowingly step into the garden where you stood admiring the collection of swaying petaled beauties with an apple to snack. you’re far too drawn in both the taste of sweet and the lulling atmosphere a sunny day offered in your preferred locale to note that maekar steps foot before his brother could in your direction— face almost vigilantly veiled until he speaks:

‘’i have seemed to find you much taken by my daughter these days.’’

‘’i require her assistance in between sittings in my study. a way to prepare her for stationary demands.’’

‘’she needs not devising this early, nor a time soon to come. it is unnecessary for she is far from regal duties much like ours.’’

‘’it is not what i said—‘’

‘’but your fucking implication of her time is. her siblings requires her more—‘’

‘’do you speak for your children or for your own?’’

baelor cuts quite sharply with a reciprocated indignation, both their eyes mirroring a sort of ill-tempered provocation for the other to speak what remained a mere scalding veracity of collective impulse to grasp what belongs entirely to no one but merely favors a side more.

your eyes take in the suffocating measure between the two as your steps break their momentary quiet rivalry. maekar’s fast with a hand on your wrist, pulling you for him until baelor takes the other for the same reason.

‘’i— what is the matter?’’ you voiced at the two men who continued such childlike childishness as if you were a toy to possess. they do not reply for a second, only cold stares sent to themselves until baelor breaks first:

‘’let us be on our way for my study.’’

‘’i wish your company in a walk.’’

the gods above were surely laughing at how pathetically ruined it begins at the ends of these men as brothers, it does not help that you’re regarding them in such keenness that it resembled a mother— their mother’s disapproving gaze upon catching them battle as boys. how completely entertaining. but alas, their mother may have preferences in her children, with baelor— but you were not myriah in any concern.

freeing your wrist from your uncle’s hold, maekar pulls you with him with haste in steps. clasped hand around the tiny of your wrist much gentler now that distance takes in place from his brother baelor and diminishing towards his chamber.

baelor stood with an eery shade of calmness, kneeling for a second to pick at the fallen apple of yours before he rises back to his posture— thumb tracing the proof of you before he takes it upon himself to bite exactly where your lips had pressed. filthy, bitter musing while he allows the sweet flavor to seep through with sordid telling of what his rotten craving intel’s— a sickening view for anyone to see but he cares not, only watches you gone with another man. such description to express, but ‘brother’ was no longer pleasant for baelor to whisper.

the wood of the doors creaks in a groan mimicking maekar’s when his lips meets yours in a kiss, hand already stripping you of fabric the second the lock takes in place. and you kissed him back with the same tone of hunger, days of deprivation completely tipping over the glass of rimmed need that spills entirely in moans like yours when he sets your bare form atop of the sheets— head descending into peppering your skin with his lips just until he meets your core with a growl.

and your moans, gods above help maekar from utterly descending into madness like a true targaryen. his tongue was relentless in ways he knew you’d enjoy, perhaps a tint more selfish that it seemed as your pleasure was his own to feel. fingers pulling at his silver strands, back arched into a familiar curve while his hands fondle with your breast and grip onto the softness of your hips. obscenity in show of true perversity— both you and maekar.

two highs, he notes. two before you pushed at his shoulders with a whine akin to sobbing— glossy pleading gorgeous eyes and tinted cheeks and kissable lips entirely melting him into a man too captivated by his beloved to refuse. pretty pretty face of yours cradled by his hands, a smile on his wet lips before his kisses you again in a light of benignity.

‘’my sweet girl— you have beguiled me truly.’’

the positions switch and so does your hunger, because one second you were wanting more in a state of submission, the next he was beneath you in bare giving— holding onto his broad shoulders you so wanted in vile honesty. maekar’s head digs into the pillow when you sheath into him, his moan urges you to move your hips out of sheer lust fueled by time stolen from both of you having this feeling again.

it’s filthy, it’s prurient, it’s indecent, lewd and absolutely raw the sounds that both of you produced. wet slicks from where you connected emitted a kind of pleasure that’s dizzying in an unearthly feel. maekar’s greed possess him by pushing you into the sheets, back into him while he fucks his cock into your needy cunt— moans mixing in an unholy melody. an arm to balance himself while the other wraps around to grip your turned blissed face to his.

‘’did he touch you? baelor, did he—‘’

‘’no! not more than a kiss to my head!’’ you mewled, feeling the entirety of his thrusts deepening at the question— you welcomed it with wetness. his hips against the curves of your ass sets him ablaze, losing himself in the pleasure your body offered willingly.

‘’and you enjoy them? tell me—‘’ his groan rumble from his chest to your pressed back, eyes closing in complete pleasure and perhaps.. truth. because indeed you had not mind them, maybe even liked the attention your uncle showered you with but baelor was not your father; he could never be in any sense that exists— and so you shook your head with a whimper.

this undoes maekar’s last possessive control, marking your shoulder and neck with his bites before you feel his warm hand press against your womb— his next murmur sending a sick permitted shiver in the crevices of your being.

‘’i ought to fill you with a babe, shouldn’t i? reminder enough that it is i you desired first.’’

such perversion compels ruin to both of your sweaty forms, his chamber a witness to the exact certainty on which maekar fills himself into your flesh in white oath that he renews with more fueled lust that leads to more sinful rounds.

syncing hearts and panting echoes the walls when he slithers your form close, lips loving on the flushed pretty skin of your expanse until they meet your parted lips in a single whisper— paralleling a jagged reminder.

‘’you will always return to me.’’

because maekar may not have felt the loving caress his brother reveled in during their youth, he may not have received the equal footing caused by his features as boys— but he loved his brother baelor regardless. enough to pardon the mistreatment, but insufficient in regards to you.

maekar does not need knowing, not when it is bliss he feels at the ease of your arms around his form after the particularity of your acts that bounds you to his soul unneeded of words.

but the other brother recalls exactly how you’d allow his lips to near yours one night before the doors of your chamber. baelor relishes to the memory of the hesitance you showed when he takes almost the feel of ownership maekar must sense in his chest every night at the kisses shared. it’s devine, the look on your face upon pulling away just a feather from baelor’s lips— loyalty to your beloved father far too anchored in the depths of your true heart. yet, he keeps it safely in the corner of his mind. baelor replays such souvenir while his hand wraps around his own cock seeking for relief. but you were merely a lady grown, and such pursuing from a man may not have taken roots, but it surely has sprouted into a kind of thought in shades of hedonism.

the gods must be truly delighted now as the coin lands on their final virtue: a bitten apple is saccharine to hands it falls ripen to— and you were nothing but maekar’s sweet girl and baelor’s fragrant resolve.

fin.

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it is easier to believe that your mother had left for a particular reason other than the very truth of it, plain and cold, merely a soul taken away from a body where a family of mourning children, seven to be exact, and an even more grieving husband— a widow now, is left behind. many moons have passed, perhaps more than your fingers could count. if you could remember it correctly, it was your ten and ninth name day, just a few fortnights before she was taken away. it matters not regardless, because it all felt constricted and tensed within the walls of your home since.

daeron has succumbed to the lulling of wine and liquor to void his already empty chest but troubled mind, aerion cascading through the days with his new interest in regards of matter in a much cruel taste, aemon sent to the citadel by your grandsire to have him as a maester, your sweet sisters daella and rhae all clinging and dependent to their elder sister, much like egg— all three in desperate need of a loving hand that nurses their fragile hearts. you were there, as much as an elder sister could be; born third out of seven, you had been the warmth that seemed to remain the family intact.

taking it upon yourself to look after the younger ones once you’d turn twenty and one, a sympathetic smile sent to daeron when days are harsher to him and patience longer than your duty as a sister commanded in regards to aerion’s growing depth. it all fell naturally onto you, at the very manner you’ve slowly patched the wound of lacking a mother for your siblings through sweet and gentle demeanor.

it is quiet in most days that befell summerhall. serene almost, specially now that spring has arrived— which meant one of many things, gatherings and events are soon to be held.

the walls had began to warm from many months of cold, metaphorically speaking in between. in ways that matter, you find yourself content to see how your family was much melodic, not any more bonded— it seemed impossible, a dream merely, for that kind of ambition. but, your easiness and motherly like touches and tending had overcome the collective grief that once loomed over the now tightly knitted family— and for that maekar adored you.

silent, of course, in manners that he allowed himself to express. you were his sweet girl, shy and kept mostly to herself but the true personification of a fresh breath of air that soothes your aching flesh after being confined in the desolate state he’d wallowed himself in. he prides in glory of the very fact that he’s at least one proper child from the contrasting likeness of his others— he loves them all, but you, his sweet summer born girl, he favored the most.

a hand around his arm in quiet walks around the garden together during middays, an ear listening to your spoken words when situations weighed the slopes of your shoulders, cold gazes that softens slightly at the sight of yours on his across meals or council meetings, caressing your head with a small grunt of gratitude upon seeing your efforts for the family and in rare occasions— he’ll allow himself to your arms when his title demanded more than he was capable of giving.

and in return: you’d find yourself by his side most hours of the day, eagerly listening to his commanding tone towards men. reminding your sire to relieve himself from unnecessary burden by visiting him in his study with a tray of warm tea with his preferred biscuits and fruits. often times your feet walks the dark path merely lit by torches towards the wing of his chamber at midnight, shyly whispering if he may allow you to be held just until he’s fallen back asleep.

and who was maekar to deny his sweet girl of such simplicity? your father adored you, more than his words could ever form upon sentences. so he merely nods, making space into the warmth of his bed and holding your trembling closely into his embrace as you had wished.

it’s all innocent, a fatherly affection every once in a while but, he is a man, a widowed lonely man— and the blood of the dragon runs thickly into the very veins of his being. so, it would be a lie if he were to deny that he’s grown fonder of you more than anyone, that he has not acknowledge how you’ve slowly grown into a young lady basking in womanhood as if you were always meant to be one, and it would most certainly be unlike him to brush off how he’s taken notice of your shy gazes and bashful demeanor towards him.

but he stalls, tells himself it is befitting and a true sin in every sense of the word to regard your own blood— let alone your daughter, in such light.

sooner or later maekar receives a raven from his brother baelor; an invitation to have the family reside back to the keep for the following months of summer— wishing to be complete in disguise of their father’s last wish, before baelor ascends the iron throne.

the sounds of arriving carriages and horse hooves instantly draws a fond smile to baelor; even more as the sight of his brother dismounting his mare and the rest of the family catches his eyes.

‘’brother. i’m pleased you’ve arrived. was the weather kind?’’ baelor’s low voice greets him with a hand on his shoulder.

‘’the mud whiffs of dead meat and muck— i’m exhausted as it is, fuck me.’’ maekar grunts in return which causes his brother to smile, reminding him of when they were boys.

the younger kids rush to their uncle, all eager to see him after months, perhaps almost two and a half years of being away. daeron and aerion merely nodding in respect and acknowledgement to their uncle until your lilac flowy gown catches baelor’s eyes— standing beside your father with a small look of diffidence. no longer the chatty silver haired girl he once knew.

baelor’s hand lands on your arm with a warm two-toned eyes, admiring his niece with an approving look before smiling.

‘’you’ve grown, niece. much fitting into your features now.’’

you merely nod in return, holding your hands together by the front before glancing to your father for the proper footing— his gaze merely observing both you and baelor.

‘’thank you, your grace.’’

‘’uncle.’’ he corrects, humming as the whole of you make your way into the keep, all escorted into proper chambers just before supper.

the long table is gathered in the finest of wines and freshly cooked meals to indulge, stomach filled with both and a case of laughter as the entirety of targaryen family makes up every seat before your grandsire daeron— whose face you could not read beside a knowing pleased look that his own blood bonds once more over an easy meal. normal, almost, had things been handled properly. it’s quite easy to fall back into comfort within the walls of the keep, your own body remembering steps and turns before your mind could conjure a proper direction to lead. often times than not, you seem to find yourself by the gardens overlooking the great sea; both your younger sisters and egg giggling behind before falling into laughter once you begin to chase them in playfulness.

it had been a fortnight since your arrival.

and despite being away from summerhall, your father seemed to carry the lingering heaviness of an unspoken burden— never leaving, as much as you wish to carry it for him. it aches your quenching heart, you see, to see sight of the man your entire being faintly devotes to, be so solemn even in company of his nuclear family. out of the goodness of your heart, or perhaps.. the sprouting ache that tingles your soul in ways that it shouldn’t, you fall back into care of tending after him— unable to help yourself at all.

sat beside him during meals to nudge the untouched greens on his plate, a small goblet of water placed beside his bed at night with warm tea, seeking him into serene walks by the gardens for reprieve after a particularly heated meeting in the council, your gentle hands massaging the blade of maekar’s shoulders while quietly listening to him converse with your uncle baelor in the privacy of the hand’s tower— all a gentle reminder that he had someone to worry for him, his sweet girl.

‘’must you be so taken by their proper sayings, father? i do not appreciate the intensity of you after these meetings.’’ your soft voice catching his ear as you both walk by the halls of the keep, towards the garden with looped arms.

‘’i am a prince, and these foolish men are to be reminded so. i do not need you to add onto my thinking.’’ his grunt reply to you, still irked by the conjured meeting.

‘’of course not, i merely wish to aid you from so.’’

‘’then allow me to walk with my heart in peace.’’

his reply had caused warmth to your cheeks more than the sun has brushed it with; made you gaze away in true bashfulness before falling into steps beside him by the breezy gardens— hands tightening around his arm before you both sit by the bench. his words ring still in the cranium of your head, perceiving it in secret perversion of selfish desire.

two fortnights now, since your arrival at the keep and since then, maekar had grown an itch. the sort that does not leave your skin, but revels even more at the scratches. steadily digging it’s roots into that scarred soul of his with a forbidden kind of caress that he attempts to growl away at each flash of pure immoral thorough. he’s in the edges now, what he had deemed a mere fleeting sinful thought upon seeing you be so.. motherly towards his children and be so tender towards him with your batting gaze and oh-so-benevolent touches had ripen the fruit of poison in his dark soul. he adores you, he does— truly, he repeats to himself in an almost persuading tone. but it is temptation what you are.

the knocking on his chamber door merely grasps his attention from the book he gripped, usual scowl drawing into his features. feet into the direction before jerking it open to catch sight of you in a crimson colored silk as your nightshift beneath the lace robe, eyes that mirrored his in color were painted in a pleading kind of shade before your lips utter:

‘’may i come in, father? i find myself unable to catch rest..’’

‘’it is past midnight, daughter. this is not summerhall.’’ his words carried meaning which you carefully caught onto, and you were well aware of it’s meaning— because indeed, it was ill looking to have a daughter visit her father past the hour of the owl. it raises concerns.

yet, maekar closes the door behind you after with a sigh, incapable of turning the only source of joy he finds himself in possession of.

‘’what is it that you want?’’ his turns to you with a stern look, softness gazing beneath in reason of your painstakingly look of shyness.

‘’..i wish to rest abed with you. the walls of the keep is much too cold in my chambers.’’

‘’have you a problem now after fortnights of stay?’’ fingers fidgeting on the seems of your silk, his eyes following after which he quickly regrets because seven hells— if one other man sees the sight of you..

‘’..please, father.’’ too soft, too mellow to add onto your pleading eyes but corrupting clothing. his feet stepping back to bed with a grunt, shaking his head from both you and your childlike request, or so he says. a farce over the wicked flutter of his tainted soul.

you follow quietly after, taking his blunt but plain noise as acceptance. he was never a man of too many words anyway. falling into the warm sheets and settling beside him. he continues with his reading, burning the midnight oil with your sweet self now to accompany him. he feels your gaze dragging across the turn of his face, the movement of his fingers into the pages and the way his chest automatically breathes.

‘’have you come here to stare or would you take rest now as you had told me so?’’

question as simple to answer, yet you were anything but the word. because instead, you gathered the courage to move closer until your limbs press against his beneath the blankets and the fur. cheek resting onto his shoulder with your hand holding onto his arm while the other slowly brushes the tips of your fingers onto his beard with a slow murmur:

‘’i see why mother was so taken with you..’’

the statement alone carried questionable intentions that dripped in your secret desire, no longer holding your tongue as his eyes meets yours over the dim light of the candles.

‘’and you mean what by so?’’

ignoring his question, you continued to brush his beard instead, raising yourself slowly to press a longing kiss to his shoulder first, then to his collarbone, up to his neck and jaw before his hand grips your own to halt with a scowl.

‘’what the fuck are you doing.’’ a statement of his own now, no longer a question due to the evident significance of your actions.

your hand wraps around his wrist, staring back into his clouded eyes with your lust glazed pair—no longer bothering to hide before the hand on his arm cradles his cheek.

‘’i feel for you in ways i should not.. i can not help myself no longer, father.’’

maekar quickly sits up with the same grip on your jaw, scowling even more despite the curling on his sternum that your confession brought.

‘’you are mine own daughter— this is nonsense.’’

‘’is it? am i not of your own blood— the very same one we share that earned us a certain reputation since the beginning of our dynasty?’’

his tightening grip earns a whimper from your throat, blinking slowly in attempt to plead for reprieve— only gaining a sneer from him instead.

‘’do not lesson me of our history, girl. i will not have this.’’

‘’…do you not ache for me even in small, father? or have my eyes deceive me of your own deviance?’’

a sharp inhale greets maekar’s collapsing lungs, inner turmoil of his buried sordid impulse being shed to light as your gasped words slowly peels his honor away. so at his answer, of lack thereof, you move closer just until the hand on his wrist falls to hold onto his thigh— moving closer when he does not react and merely stared back in complete puzzlement over his own clouded judgement. taking his hand on your jaw into your own, cautiously leading it to the expanse of your bare skin. lips parted in quiet gasps as you revel in the feel of the sprouting perversion from the act— taking his touch to free your shoulders of the lace robe, eyes urging him to do so. and when he does, you moved closer once more, now only in the crimson of your silk that bled like your shared blood in reflection of the faint flame the candles offered— fingers shedding maekar away from his own linen, until he’s in nothing but his tunic.

when he remains quiet, befitting of him entirely, too occupied with the tethering control he has left over his morals, you dip your head to pepper his chest with fleeting kisses that ascends to his neck with nips that leaves littles ragged breaths exiting maekar’s nose. when you reach the side of his lips with the sweetest press from your own that you prayed was sufficient enough to reveal your unshed obscenity— you pulled away to catch the fire in his violet gaze.

‘’do you burn for me as i do for you, father?’’

and the gods seemed to listen to the harrowing prayer of yours because the moment the question reaches it’s end, his lips were on yours in complete hunger that he no longer deprived himself of feeling. calloused hands trembling at the unrestricted permission to explore the silk like of your pale skin that he’d dreamed of more than admission could be uttered. laying you down so gently it almost felt like agony to not be devoured in untethered corruption. no— gods no, maekar will take his time with you, he will take his time with his sweet sweet girl. slow and certain , just until you comprehend exactly the amount of misery he suffered under his false discipline as both a father and a proper man.

so he does the same, showering your snow skin with kisses that burned away at the leaves of the sprouted tree of your a-normality while his hand slowly caress beneath the silk, stopping just a moment to take in your already ruined look with a finger hooking at the thin strap. his other hand caressing your cheek with the back of his fingers, brushing away your hair before whispering:

‘’my sweet girl. tell me what you want.’’

‘’you. it’s you i want, father.’’

‘’maekar.’’

he glares, humming in response as he corrects you while his thumb traces the shape of your cheek in saccharine affection. tugging you free of fabric, bare beneath him as he had always desire before leaning down to eventually kiss you again, positioning himself in between your legs until he’s greeting your inner thighs with the same treatment— taking his time selfishly despite the pleading mewls of yours.

and when his tongue flats against the pearl of your being, hands pressed against your womb and squirming hips, a wonton moan leaves your lips that urges him to do more— to make you feel more with his tongue through soft sucking, eventually losing himself into your taste that he fucks your core with his tongue. and he does so for however long he wanted, a finger joining his mouth to pleasure your slick cunt while he abuses your little bead— grunting at the sounds of your pleasured cries and feel from your tugging hand on his hair.

once, twice and three highs before he rises from your trembling legs from utter spent by the abuse his mouth had caused. admiring how flushed and corrupt you breathed beneath him. somehow, he smiles at the sight of you leaning up to kiss him again— tasting yourself from his tongue. hands tugging away at his tunic until maekar presses your back against the sheets once more.

then, he pulls away just enough to line his cock against your core, watching your pretty blushing face first before moaning together when he enters your tight warm flesh— forehead falling to yours as he halts for a second, which causes confusion to your face, easily brushed away as he cradles your cheek with a look of pure fondness.

‘’my sweet girl— look what you’ve done to me.’’

with one final whisper, maekar takes you in slow and deep thrusts that began to grew hastily in need. the four walls of his chamber humid now and echoing the unholy sounds of your skin together, his grunts and your mellow cries of pleasure. his hands were everywhere as much as his mouth was. not leaving an inch untouched, unmarked and unburned by him.

your back now against his chest as he flips you over without pulling away, no— he wouldn’t allow even a moment of waste at the feel of your slick. thrusting faster against your much smaller form that draws even more earned sweet gasps for him, hand gripping onto the blankets and holding onto his arm wrapped around your hips.

‘’you feel me, don’t you? am i pleasuring you enough, sweetling?’’

to that you mewled even more, his perverted words whispered in the shell of your ear and relentless thrusts only leaves you truly limp against his hold with soft cries.

‘’tell me, i want to hear you say it.’’

trembling lips whimpered in curled melodies again, mixing with the ungodly sound of you both joined. you glanced back to him with teary eyes of unfiltered pleasure that threatens to submission— if you already weren’t.

‘’y-you do! feel so full of you!’’

maekar’s smile was evil, fucking into your sopping cunt deeply at the confirmation— until you’re both left panting in the chase of your high which had arrived first. cunt contracting around his cock tighter in greater pleasure until he eventually bites down against your bare shoulder with a growl, his own high painting your flesh inside in white ropes of possession.

he held you close to his chest, brushing away your tussled hair with patient hums at the whines that remained even after moments of calm after. he allows you to bury yourself into his own marked chest, whimpering for more proximity if there was any left possible— to that, maekar merely kisses your temple. fond of you entirely before falling into slumber from exhaustion with one last murmur.

‘’my heart.’’

it’s utter bliss after that night, especially now that the veiled longing had gain it’s stepping in reciprocated acknowledgement— concealed before the looks of the others, a giddy feeling in both yours and maekar’s chest. having each other at the hour of the owl, away from prying eyes and spying ears as the roots of your sweet gentle sin began to bloom in flowering adoration.

it’s all so easy to shallowly regard as a proper relationship between a father and a daughter for everyone else, but baelor— your uncle baelor, the very heir to the throne is not just anyone. you know, you should have known, as much as maekar had in the same position.

because when everyone else is too occupied with conversation during meals, baelor sees the lingering looks you cast upon on your father. he catches the joined of your hand to maekar’s beneath the table. he takes note of the way his own brother seemed eager to end the day, or the lightening of his shoulders when you had passed the council chamber for a visit.

too perceptive for his own good, or perhaps, it is to be considered a blessing more than a curse— because now.. baelor was certain with a final thought. he was not displeased with the debauchery of your amoral relationship, he was envious.

fin.

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king’s landing had been your home for as long as you could remember. the city where your childhood had formed into memories and adolescence greets you fairly well, was solemn for a particular amount of time caused by a rather unspoken reason— your mother’s passing. ten and four when you were stripped away of a parent, your elder brothers sharing the sentiment of your loss, valarr and matarys. yet not once had you catch sight of your father baelor show an ounce of anything but the proper regal prince he was. it’s rather fascinating, how a man with so much demands that awaited him from his title and birthright, carry himself with the same grace and honor he was born into despite the loss of his wife.

the gardens were always your safe keeping at moments of kept solitude, the bitter reminders of womanhood eliciting you of how truly deprived you were of a caring touch. staring out onto the great sea by the swaying flowers from the breeze and glimmering waters, all while your fingers fidget with the rings around them— a habit you had developed since you do not recall when.

matarys was good, he held you steady when he sees you barely holding it together in pressuring predicaments, unable to do much more than hold your hand with a quiet look of empathy for his younger sister. it was enough for you, to hold onto his kindness while facing through the burdens of being the heir’s sole daughter. valarr on the other hand, was less present in truth— occupied with sharpening his swordmanship and expanding his knowledge of both history and politics for preparation in being the throne’s first in line once your father baelor ascends it. but he’s gentle, heart a mellow space for you to cry on when shoulders weighed more than you’d wish them to. his split colored eyes carried a sort of discernment that mirror your father’s both physically and metaphorically. he’d inherited it, you remarked, valarr and his true calm demeanor.

you had more than what most girls in the realm could ever form in ambitions: fine jewelry, numerous flattering gowns fabricated in luxury, a regal title and a castle over your head. what else could a young twenty and one lady permit a wish for more? is that not a sort of greed in branches of thorns? to desire more over what one already possess— is blasphemy almost, you believed it so. fear ringing the bones of your ribcage, you had began to dress in even more decent clothing, refusing your maidens suggestion of less fabric due to the hot summer days in the keep to help you cool— shaking your head away as she laces your almost blanket like gown before your neck bared the symbol of the faith of the seven.

it’s unnoticeable alterations at first, the gowns, your sudden interest in faith, demeanor much hushed from all the crying now, less dependent on your brothers— who had taken notice each shift of your demeanor. knees sore from spending most of the day in the surreal serenity of the sept, kneeled before the candles you had spent hours lighting along side the septas. lips chapped at the amount of whispering you had shared in prayer over crossed pleading hands and curled knees in utter devotion— wishing, begging for the gods to hear your prayers.

the subject of said latter? you are not certain. mayhaps you were, but despair often times drive your vicissitude to fruition— swallowing the truth that burned in place of enunciating them even to your own. but the verity of your aching soul? is the covet you’ve mistakenly woven into your flesh in regards to seeking comfort by the sole man you have not once received from. your father baelor.

baelor was a good man, a great son and an even greater husband to your mother— yet, these description fall spurious in the looking glass of actual fatherhood. perhaps to valarr and matarys he was, it painted an unpleasant feeling of alienation and an even anchoring state of hebetude within the already aching bones of your ribs that you had began to regard your own father out of jaundice. praying and praying and praying and begging to the gods for at least a response as to what could possibly be lacking of your end that he deemed unneeded of his affections. a harrowing cycle you’d predicament yourself into.

then the modifications were no longer subtle, reaching the end of the sharp blade they had created whispers among the walls of the keep that sooner reached your grandsire’s ears— immediately calling upon baelor to halt these implications of your becoming wish of a septa.

he stood by the window of his study in the hand’s tower, fingers turning his rings in circles before the sound of the chamber doors open to the pace of footsteps he has memorized in mind. the heavy closing of the four walls had enfold both you and your father who continued to watch the city from above. the bile in your throat had brewed awake at the mere sight of him, let alone surrounded in an unusual tranquility together. you mirrored him unconsciously, fingers fidgeting with your own rings while gazing down to the floor with your taciturnity. he turns at that, two-toned colored eyes regarding you and your befitting gown and headdress that resembled a septa more than a princess— more than his daughter.

baelor leans against the study table of his filled with political parchments, scrolls of alliances and heavy history books— fingers tapping against the dark wood that matches one color of his eyes that continued to take you in.

‘’do you wish for me to announce the reason i have summoned you? or to that will you be as furtive as well?’’ his low voice questions your fidgeting form before him.

‘’.i.. apologize for the bother i had caused, your grace.’’

your response has him intake a sharp air straight to the pounding lungs of his, standing up straight before stepping just until the front of you. his hand does not raise your tilted head, no— it does not. instead, it takes into hold the pendant of your necklace, the symbol of the seven which had caused him to whisper:

‘’when has your faith grown so strong that you forget your station, my child?’’ his thumb stroking the metal against his finger, the barely restrained scowl on your features had spoken more of your truest to him before your lips could utter:

‘’..i do not recall, your grace.’’

‘’father.’’ he corrects you hastily, lifting your head now to meet his carving gaze— the same ones you’ve been too captivated in your own deceptions while wearing the green willow to heed at how it had never strayed from your being in every room you bore with him.

‘’when had i lost you completely, my dear girl?’’ his question earnest, but the abnegation of his neglect was much too strong for you to falter at the softness his tone carried. features slowly etching to your buried anguish before you could ease them back to insouciance.

‘’..i do not have it in me to discuss such plain matters, father. i wish to leave.’’ you utter in true discomfort— not from his knowing looks but by the grace of your own distasteful conclusions about the man you had began to despise.

to that, baelor simply humms, brushing your fallen strand of hair back into your headdress before pressing a tender kiss to your temple— allowing you leave after, which you had hastily taken wordlessly. hands gripping your gown while your chest pants in a sort of swell that threatens the newly self-proclaimed essence of your being to collapse.

if baelor considered your spacious acts a kind of limiting rope between what little relationship exist between the both of you, he had not taken it upon himself to grasp that it was the shallow you’ve demonstrated— head deep beneath the direness of your own ensuring. you were even more distant now than he had wished, in such way that even meals were left with an empty seat of yours, confining yourself in the stillness of the sept or your chamber— with the same kind of act you’ve fallen comfort in: praying.

it was more intense, heated than the flames of the burning candle wicks before you as tears threatened to spill from your close eyes much like their wax. the septas worry over you, worry over the realms princess. at the severity of your continuous murmured prayings that flown like gospels they felt as if old valyrian tongue had resurrected at how eerily resembling it was to your whispered begging to the gods.

baelor permitted your unverbalized demand of expanse from the jargon of your station, from your grandsire’s repeating tirade for proper footing in place of your befitting behavior, and from himself. baelor also ceased the vile whispers against you with a look at the court members— stern and grim, a rare sight of expression the prince carried.

and thus so, a shift within the tides decided your prayers were heard and shall heave you from sin-like turmoil within the pores of your very soul— perhaps the gods might even be so kind to bless their devoted longing child more than what is sufficiently invoked through heavy cycled gospels. oh you have not much time before it arrived.

your usual attempt of escape from meals were put to rest upon baelor fetching you himself from your chamber— compelling you of not a word to utter, merely to have your chair not be so vacant with the family. your father then pays visit in the sept where he often finds you kneeled before the weeping wax in quiet murmuring of your lips against the skin of your joined hands— watching, never to hinder your shown of devotion. it is books after, ones that displayed the subjects of your interest finding space in your own chamber besides the newly tailored gown to your liking.

it irked you indefinitely, how sudden his presence tainted your supposed tightly knitted abhorrence by undoing so through paced and careful gifting affection. you loathe it, repulsed by the thought of not his attempts of cradling your fragile trust once more— but the sentiment it leaves you after each acknowledgement.

his back was to you once you’ve entered his study in the hand’s tower, broad and wide beneath the black of fabric he bore. the doors closes from the hand of the knightsguard, gripping your fingers behind your gown— the fresh one he had gifted you just a few nights ago. red and ivory, laced in the ends like he knew you would appreciate. baelor turns to you with the same piercing eyes that conveyed an unreadable tint.

‘’come, my child. i have something for you.’’

your feet slowly steps uncertainly into the direction of where he stood, fingers still fumbling the rings in your behind until you reach him. once you did so, he offers just a small velvet box, bearing a necklace of silver of valyrian steel with red garnets adorning the chain just before your eyes set onto the pendant: a dainty symbol of the faith of the seven. gasping softly at his gift, he takes it from the box before you turned for him, unneeded to be told. baelor’s hand brushes your pale hair revealing not just your nape but the skin of your chest where the necklace now lay rest against.

you glanced down to it with flushed cheeks, unable to comprehend the much too haste of your thoughts. he turns you gently, just to meet his gaze and it aches— how overwhelming it is to face the fruit of your prayers regarding you in every way you had earnestly crave for. baelor’s hand admires the gift against your skin, thumb lifting to caress your cheek so lightly it felt almost a kind of intimacy.

‘’when have you grown so easy in the eyes, my daughter?’’

you glanced away instantly, unable to prolong contact with his piercing gaze upon hearing the words of innocent affection. baelor smiles to your expressiveness, brushing away strands to the curve of your ears before speaking lowly once again:

‘’i shall let you off for your prayers.’’ and you nodded, a tender kiss against the corner of your left eye before taking leave. heaving and trembling on your path towards the sept where your knees bruised in contact upon kneeling much too harshly from rush. lips taking in broken gasps in effort to still the pounding flesh of your heart between the rattling bones— unable to catch the words necessary for your prayers, hoping the thoughts were sufficient instead. but was this not what you’ve cried for? the labor of your devotion manifesting before you, yet upon so, you answer in disgraceful unappreciation?

shaking your head harshly as hot tears fall into your still flushed cheeks, eyes closed while your forehead press against your praying hands— chasing after air with gasps as the spine of you loom over with a certain kind of need that does not root from the habitual essence of your desire. it’s more. it’s grey, darker and digs into the crevices of what you’ve presumed was innocent. you weeped, you sobbed, you plead for mercy from the unbecoming of the fresh new wound of a much illicit itch— no longer understanding your own.

half a fortnight before you fractured into what you swore an oath before the gods. rising from the sept before your chest pants with adrenaline of choice you’ve fallen faint to, gripping the satin of your gown as your feet climbed the steps that led into the man you supposedly carried unforgiving for. hesitating first, always, then knocking before your mind could switch back to persuasion of solitude. it opens, of course it does— he’s known you by now, he’s always have like a loving sire would in regards of his children.

your lips quiver but remained sealed, eyes blinking up to him with an expression even your own mind does not comprehend— but baelor recognizes it without difficulty, permits you inside his study before he resumes the readings laid before him in the table. frozen in limbs for a few moments, the chair beside the open window was the target for your form; until his voice carries around the four walls enough to have your cease movement.

‘’come.’’ a single word he utters, and already, you nod your head in obeisance— contrasting the malice you regarded your father in only two moons ago. baelor takes your fidgeting hand in his, thumb soothing the smaller knuckles into ease before his eyes lifts to yours.

‘’you are much like me, i observed. entirely so i believe— only you possess much lovelier features from mine own.’’

you blinked back, still mute, incapable of finding your voice to respond, only listening until he rises from his seat— instantly towering over you. baelor takes your entirety selfishly, the hand on yours now commences a trail that followed a sparking path from your arms, into the slopes of your neck up to cradle his palm gently against your cheek— leaning subconsciously to the warmth it omitted.

‘’do the indignities of your childhood cause by my neglect truly rends you incapable of pardon?’’ he breathes, watching you carefully simmer the intent in your own pace. wordlessly, you glanced away and decide the pin on his clothing was much easier to gaze in contrast to his eyes. baelor rests his other hand to your waist now, thumb skimming the smoothness of the gown before murmuring:

‘’will you allow your father to make amends, hm, little dove?’’ eyes closing shut at the question and the fluttering endearment. rose hued lips parting not for response but to inhale sharp and quiet— that was enough for baelor to lean down and peck the smoothness of your flushing skin. temple down to the lashes of your eyes and into the curve of your nose and round of your cheek. your bottom lip finds refuge in between your teeth as he continues to shower you in utter affection: your jaw now and your neck next until the collarbone before.. the swell of your chest. he pulls away after to admire how affected you were from mere simplicity— despite knowing his actions were anything but.

panting and blushing under him and the flickering flames of candles surrounding you both in seclusion that bordered unethical intimacy. your eyes open to meet his darker ones, swirling with heat from what you wish reciprocated the sins you concealed. feeling it before your mind could conjure properly, his thumb traces the shape of your lips until he replaces it with his own— kissing you slowly as if anymore pressure would break his fragile girl.

his stomach curls at the sound you emitted, sweet sweet mewl for him to swallow before pressing your hips to his table. hands unlacing your gown to reveal the supple of your chest which he showers in the same tender affection. with that your head throws back with a gasped moan, holding onto his forearm.

‘’father—‘’ he tsks, pulling away to shake his head, kissing you again with a whisper.

‘’hush, little dove.’’

you nod, obeying any order he utters in fear of being deprived once more from the affection you’ve yearned for far too long. he kisses you as long as you’d demanded, offering every unuttered wish with earnest. your father is a patient man, he is, the realm subjects itself to it— but you’re much too enticing to prolong. facing the flat of his desk, bent over as he ravishes your neck and shoulder while your gown is pushed up to your hips as much as his trousers were pulled down. stroking himself firm in form first, spine curved for him in access.

kiss-swollen lip parts in what resembled the gasps that you’ve echoed in the sept, only this time, it’s much unholier in both the predicament and tone. baelor was not any better with the groan expressed at the at last feeling of condemnation— head falling to your shoulder blade as he slowly fucks himself into you. sobs threaten to draw out as his cock begins to ease you into mellow, head full of nothing but the unearthly feeling of pleasure he shares with you.

it’s filthy, corrupt and blasphemous, what you two indulged in. yet, morals were the last of thought to have because baelor begins to thrusts much harsher now, not enough to break you, but adequately to have your hand engulfed in his. and gods, the sounds and the sight of you together could cause the legitimacy of targaryen accusations.

your closed eyes open as you continue moaning deliciously at each slicked fuck his cock presses against your flesh— shaking your head until the ring on his hand catches your attention, resembling the gifted necklace that swayed on your neck. the thought merely makes you grip his hand harder with sobs now, so so overwhelmed at the blooming in your chest where a neglected wound once ached.

‘’father’s sorry, little dove.. will you forgive me?’’ he moans in your ear with matching impure thrusts that he himself feels the looming light of pleasure.

merely nodding your head for him, unable, incapable and helplessly ruined beneath to search for your voice outside of mewls. baelor bites his lips at the sight, his own ruin warning him of end— so turning your head instead, lips meeting his while you both swallowed each others cries of utter high. conjoined more ways now that you could have ever ambition yourself to wish.

baelor does not pull away, not immediately; instead, he buries himself to the hilt which pulls a whimper from you that he inhales within the kiss. parting for reprieve of air and for him to pepper your bare shoulder with gentleness, fingers brushing your hair away for space to press even more of his loving to your cheek. completely and entirely smitten for you— his pure white.

fin.

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⌞a/n⌝ so.. what do we think? may have taken a little longer than said but here is mr. baelor’s official version of the beloved taboo pairing you little filthy birds seem to flock to.. and who am i but your subject? anyway. thank you for the kind words and support i have received from mr. maekar’s fic! i am so full of inspiration at the moment so requests will come soon after!

modern!father!baelor is a very logical man in every regard of life, but most especially to what he considers very dear to him.

the surname reputation, the business and his family.

but most of all, his dear last born and only daughter after two boys. you.

to say baelor did not favor you is to deny every single affection he had shown from the cradle up until the age of twenty.

you had at the tip of your fingers what most could only envision as reality in the near future: a life of utter comfort and luxury without worry of neither finance and status.

some do not bat an eye to the rather interesting development of your closeness after the divorce was processed between baelor and jena's failed marriage of nearly three decades.

valarr and matarys had both decided to stay with you in your father's house in kingslanding instead of moving away with jena back near south— education purposes.

baelor's advances began after your twentieth birthday and exactly four years after the separation.

a hand in your thigh when watching a film together, a kiss to your forehead every evening before bed, one in the cheek when you leave for lectures or promenades with friends.

no one questions the hand he possessively has at the low of your spine during attending galas or dinner celebrations with people of connection— often sending a respectful nod and smile to your direction along with a "your daughter's a beauty, baelor."

not once did your father's sudden difference in treating you rend a question of oddity in mind. how could one even put such intention to their own father's innocent display of affection?

baelor was in utter bliss. a life of no involvement with a woman he no longer valued, but instead was blessed the liberty of pursuing who carried his heart entirely.

everyday was ecstasy, until you displayed peculiar behavior towards your phone. lips curled with a smile while your fingers typed away in contact with gods forbid was a boy.

then you began coming home late; porsche newly given to you usually parked by the driveway when the clock strikes before nine pm, now clicked shut with your keys at quarter past eleven at night.

you'd been more seclusive these past couple of weeks: preferring the privacy of your own room, barely joining for meals on top of your unusual behavior.

father!baelor was not pleased by this, an argument arising between the two of you had caused a slight gap of tension in which he nearly collapse from rightful thinking when his dear daughter threatened to move out.

meaningless if anything, only to inflict fear to your father where you quickly learned just exactly the profound 'protectiveness' he had for you.

father!baelor made certain that you grasped the truth of his affections for you that very night.

how? well..

your head was as empty as your threat, thrown back with a curled moan at each thrust he fucked into your cunt. hand gripping your cheek in order to meet your eyes through the tears, smirking when you merely mewled back with a tight grip around his shoulder and bicep when asked a question:

'you really want to move away from father, hm?'

you shook your head no of course, pleading mercy with pretty glossed eyes while father!baelor continuously thrust through the third orgasm he had taken from you. lips on yours when his own arrives with a grunt of a promised reminder:

'you're mine. you'll stay with me— only with me.' he says so while his seed spills in white over your flesh from within.

and he does so in each intercourse you and him had in pursuit. whether it be in the kitchen by midnight where both brothers were in slumber of unbeknownst, in the backseat whenever father!baelor insisted in picking you up, in his study after a long day of work and in his bedroom— secretly having his way with you exactly as shared preferences were in carnal needs.

so to act surprised at the two lines of the test after a particularly harsh morning of gagging over the toilet bowl is to be ignorant.

positive. pregnant— what baelor reads before he pulls you into his arms with soft pats to the head and cooing of reassurance onto how he was going to handle it.

laying you back to your bed with a tender kiss and smile, phone already dialing his personal assistant in booking the nearest clinic for 'extraction' like the logical and reasonable man he was.. not knowing your eyes were in a darken hue of prevailing in watch.

what? you weren't naive, neither an airhead. no, if anything, you were his child— calculated and sly.

those acts of seemingly occupancy with a supposed 'boy' weeks ago? all a part of a scheme to have the sole man you have deemed worthy of you.. and father!baelor bit exactly at the bait like you knew he would.

smart girl you were. truly your father's daughter with how quick yet a new ploy in convincing father!baelor to keeping the child had formed in your head.

i’m foaming in the mouth right now, anon.. why would you telll meee thissssssss. gripping my hair.

there is nooo such thing as too taboo or too freaked out when it comes to one’s fantasies towards these men. i shalll indulge youuu!

- father!baelor does not believe his ears when his sweet daughter of his first comes up to his study in an unusual hour where she’s supposedly abed. dressed in a nightgown he’d gifted her from one of his visits in dorne— thinking the fabric would suit her lovely skin. the words spoken shyly with fidgeting fingers so afraid of rejection; father!baelor attempts to brush away the idea but gods, the pout on your lips and glossy teary eyes rends him incapable of not giving in. he’s protected you for years, adored you in ways a father would to his own kin and yet.. he questions himself when the innocence of your demand is greater than honor and morality.

- father!baelor revels at the flush your skin blooms to the feel of not just his touches but from his beard as well. it makes him happy that his sweet girl’s so so diffident beneath him while being deflowered— through her own choice. it’s fitting almost, how you’re a piece of his from being born to a young woman of allure now. it’s as if all remaining responsibility of being your supposed guardian takes leave of his senses upon feeling your flesh around his cock while he takes you from above. the gloss of utter trust and pleasure mixing in those eyes of yours makes him smile, especially with the weight of knowing he’s the cause.

- father!baelor kisses the column of your neck while his hips rocks into yours in strokes of promised care— unholy in the sounds your sin together creates. ‘’my girl.. my pure girl from when you’re born until now.’’ your little moans make him even happier, his sweet girl feeling good from his touches— what else could a father want? father!baelor promises himself that it happens once, just once to deflower you and show what it would be like with your betrothed. a lie, a great one because from then forward, almost each night, you’re laid under him with hands gripping onto his shoulder or his arm— cunt filled with his cock while he kisses away your tears. his sweet girl then, his sweet girl always.

then… we have mr. maekar.

- father!maekar is a lot more in control of himself in comparison to his elder brother when the moment you’d asked if he’d do the honor of taking your flower. it is an immediate no with a scoff, a reaction that entirely succumb your rejected self in seek of space— rotting in your chambers in tears, in repeated sobs with a broken heart. poor girl— what did you expect? that your father would say yes to such atrocity?

- father!maekar takes notice of your leave: how you’d arrive much later in meals, eyes never meeting his properly and how you’d somehow found comfort in the arms of your.. much unhinged brother. he’s uneasy, how could he not be? aerion’s nature is not a stranger to him— he’s aware of his rather befitting behavior found comfort in inflicting pain to others: both mentally and physically. he’d destroy you, father!maekar is certain and what else could he do?

- father!maekar is gentle, very, in fact so so gentle that your eyes resembling his in color were already in tears. he coos at them, brushing them away with the pads of his thumb while his hips rock onto your sopping cunt. ‘’you’re my sweet girl, aren’t you? so sweet from the moment you were given to me at birth.’’ you could only nod in return, much overwhelmed by the feeling of feeling full with his cock in your craving flesh— deflowered exactly how you had dreamed to be.

‘’you resemble your father in certain lights.’’

your eyes stripped away from the page when his interruption reaches your ears. baelor takes in the softness of everything belonging to you with an unreadable gaze, fingers circling the rings in motions of habit. a smile draws onto your lips unknowingly, the mere reminder of maekar sufficient for such reaction.

‘’…he is a man of looks, isn’t he uncle?’’

the tone of your words rend him uneasy, or perhaps it was the smoothness of falling instantly in pride from only a mention of his brother— he raises his brows insouciantly.

‘’i’m sure your mother would say the same.’’

an unintentional prob to the fragile holding of accord with maekar. his own words took it’s turn into squeezing a rather sensitive wound onto your smile, glancing back to the book atop your thighs before faintly answering:

‘’as would aunt jena to valarr.’’

the arrow cast without proper processing, immediate remorse crawling onto the pores of your brain— he chuckles to that, rising from his seat and into your seated form. head tilting up once he’s just before, chin taken into thumb and pointer finger for a hooded warning spoken in his usual reserve.

‘’speak no more of a dead name, my niece.’’

a nod, small yet ample of comprehension to his terms. he walks you to your chamber after, each night, almost a grown fond habit of his to pursue. a kiss to the temple— always, almost a reminder of cached aching he bears beneath propriety.

‘’good night, uncle..’’

you kiss the corner of his lips, closing the door behind in haste with fear of realization settling. it was innocent, you swear it to be, just a slight apology for the sharpness of your tongue. yet baelor remained in steel gaze to the barrier of wood, cracking his neck with an exhale before returning to his own chamber— head whirring with a kind of solipsistic regard.

two nearly three months since your arrival to kingslanding, three fortnights of sweet affairs with your father and equally of clandestine longing draped with immoral glaze to it from baelor.

the grass is much greener now at the time of the year. sea still as blue, flowers fragrant and pleasant and the days warmer both in reality and metaphor. you bloomed further into an alluring woman as your name day nears and possibly.. caused by the complete affection maekar is persistent and consistent in great lavish. the connection formed with your father has taken root deeply into two souls— only a ring to bind you both in vows beneath the gods remained as a last.

it shall take time maekar whispered one evening after ravishing you exactly how your preferences described, and patience will be of great tool in order to obtain the shared longing of bounding. and patience it shall be, but it does not mean he possesses little of the need to have a sort of indication for you to bare as his. in fact, it is large.

‘’twenty and two you soon will be, my summer born girl.’’ he smiles as both feet match in steps to your preferred activity of the day.. well second: a walk around the gardens.

‘’i carry right for a gift then, do i not?’’ a mirroring grin displayed on those lips he adores, an amused scoff leaving his own just before the pair of you cease to the quiet of the alcove.

maekar is silent, only the radiating softness reserved for you as an indication of his content for the moment. then his hands lay a necklace around your neck to clasp, heart shaped to your chest and cold of valyrian steel for a gift.

‘’..you carry my heart, sweet girl. the entirety of it.’’ he whispers, eyes on yours in reciprocated innocence of love. the locket paints a more fitted show of fulfillment, causing your own whisper to word:

‘’as do you, my heart.’’

it’s quite sickening even to the gods, how much adoration you and maekar harbored for one another— almost unnecessary of a wedding for it may not mean anything no longer but a celebration. half of this is a threat to baelor, the other of the blade soothing for he was the recipient of your time, is he not?

hours of the day by his study reading aloud to him the scrolls of study, messages from lords of the realm and books of shared interest. he does not rush the impending taking of ticking patience; baelor is determined, certain and assured to the fate he entrusts with the gods that favor will be to his side of the coin.

it is not a blamable excuse a man to express for you yourself entertain the gazes much prolonged in tethering confession, neither was effort placed to cease the touches of near brushed fingers when pages are turned nor were the kisses placed to end the night anymore clear of purity.

after all, whatever it was you felt for your father was meant a secret beyond the knowing of others— perhaps.. you’d merely find it within your flesh to indulge to the other without means of maekar’s perception. a true definition of sacred secrecy in bare bone, baelor is no capable of not humoring such deviance himself.

and so one evening where his control no longer pieced in whole: baelor tugs onto your wrist, bringing you towards proximity once more until his other hand rises in hesitating need to dominate— features etched in slight bit of restraint. wide lilac eyes watching his two-toned ones in a particular shade of conveyed desire, he inches it to trace your parted lips instead. slow, perhaps too slow with the gasps taken from lungs in shattered seconds.

lips finding solace in dragging them against the mellow of your skin, not kissing— just heedless drags to inhale your scent and feel just before the vile in his head whispers. thumb entering the heat your mouth surrounds until it pins your tongue in pressure where saliva gathers around the pad and a cloying gag rings baelor’s ear like a pleasant melody.

he regards you then with a particularly dire hunger, a mess by only his thumb to cause— the same thumb he takes away to suck clean of your taste. it’s filthy in every sense, repulsing and appalling yet here you are.. incapable of tearing your eyes at the scandalous act of almost rebellion against what you promised an oath to yourself was innocent curiosity. and your uncle knows, he’s always known that nothing was the latter at the quiet reciprocation of those moments you’ve created with him.

‘’it may be easier to deny yourself with a lie of my effect... yet you return regardless like a good girl.’’

a step, then two, until you fully allow yourself to flee from your uncle’s nauseating truth. lungs attempting for break at the constant barely breaths of composure, eyes of yours rimmed with tears that is hastily brushed before one last inhale— entering the banquet hall where your family sat in each seat, clueless that you’d been nearly sullied by baelor’s persistency. maekar takes your flushed form with a small pleased look, brushing it off as your hurrying. and in return, you instantly leaned over to press a small kiss to his cheek, the family regarding it as sinless affection— a faint murmur follows for his ear only.

‘’..i adore you, my heart.’’

and it is not a lie but an honest truth that you carried within your very soul. so taken with your father that it weighs more every sight you have of him. so sweet, so tender, and so flattering in senses of your adoration. but also a lie. a spuriously one sat beside maekar during the meal before hearing the footsteps of the same man that’s threatening to dissolve each abnegation of yours for him.

baelor eyes you lacking of shame; slow chewing and minimal responses while the pad of his thumb never lefts the curve of his lip like a prompting spear towards your remaining integrity. he revels in your uneasiness in a light of unusual vainglorious smug. how could he not when the gag echoes in his head like bells of the sept for blessed memoire— only his mimic in blasphemous dedication. a few more drags he recons, countable ones until the foundation of supposed indifference perish beneath your high dignity from the blade of baelor’s inkling turpitude. and then.. he’ll have you— gagging filthily around not just his thumb again before stringing moans from the pink sweetness of your lips.

the three following days were not much kind to neither the three of you. a shape of true targaryen customs indulge in secrecy the smallfolk could consider a sacrilegious act to the throne belonging of your family.

because while you wallow in growing despair of hardship to seclude the fabric of intimacy with maekar caused by your uncle’s evident pursuits, the brothers face their own difficulties of stationary dictating along with the silhouette of ticking dilemma. the fruit of the tree begins to rot.

the candle is merely a source of light maekar is indebted to for he’s able to examine the true fairness of your allure: lashes fan in the cheeks he caressed in careful touches, silver strands inherited from him and lips so entirely chaining of the remnants his soul left for him to owe. he stills with a particular certainty prompting his own mauve ones to remain on your now fluttering ones in softness— gods, it’s evident now, it is, truly by the nature of his palm pressing against your cheek with a look the realm would fail to associate as one of his. you merely held onto the wrist he nuzzled you with, still blinking slowly like dragons would in show of both faith and resolution.

‘’marry me.’’

an oath rather than a question— for maekar was not demanding but announcing beneath the eyes of the gods who watched with anticipating pressure of such vulnerability shared.

the silence on your end does not invoke fear in his chest, only furthers the easing touches of true affection while he continues to whisper:

‘’be my wife.. and we shall live together in summerhall for our lives. i will be good… gods know how if you have me as yours.’’

it’s blurry, his vision of your sweet face, not through his senses but by the tears that formed in those eyes of his— a quiet pleading for definite sole devotion. because for once in his life, maekar was definitive about one singularity who was just as certain of him.. and somehow the gods remained bias with someone else whose life had been woven with silver luck while his were stitched from the remainders of an almost.

you’re quick to sit and cuddle his head into your beating chest, touch so tender it only rends maekar more impuissant of his tears— which were brushed away while he holds onto that arm of yours.

‘’..why do you cry, my heart?’’ whisper against his temple, thumb still drying away the dampness, silent still in his crying.

‘’it’s alright.. i am here, am i not?’’ those words elicits a sob from his raw throat, burying his sentiment into your chest in true show of his coursed fragility. you allowed him quiet reassurances with presence and touch, feeling the anchoring weight of his fear and uncertainty manifest in each cry that falls.

‘’..you are all i have.’’

then, as careful as one could— feather-like blessing by the gods who’s no longer forsaken a man’s inhibitions— maekar feels the reverent kisses you press on his forehead twice, three in his weeping eyes, one in each cheek and long in the quiver of his lips— murmuring after not for air but to seal the kind of ritual you’ve effectuated.

‘’and yours i shall be.’’

his you are but maekar is not blind to matters piecing a foul puzzle of whatever jest it may be between you and his brother— he will not have it. especially not when he deems your eyes too entertaining of baelor’s across halls too often, moments stripped from him and now promised to another and most definitely not when he feels your hand losing hold the bind to your kinship’s knot.

‘’tell me.’’ he thrusts further into the heat your cunt offered, deflowering you more than what’s left of your dignity while the bed offered no less than a surface. maekar grips your neck tighter with a scowl now, seeing past the possessiveness to grasp at the crumbling fear he owns from abandonment.

‘’tell me, sweet girl— are you still mine or have i lost you to my own brother?’’

his hips digs into yours in lewd strokes that it tugs on the strings of your high, head thrown back before gasping as maekar pulls away— kneeling in between your thighs again before devouring the taste of your essence together. his silver hair disheveled and tugged by your fingers with a curled moan, legs trembling against his shoulders which merely caused him to flip you over to your front— sliding his cock back into your heat with a hand gripping the column of your throat.

‘’moaning so sweetly for me. you’re my sweetling, aren’t you? being so good for your father.’’

his perverted words has your eyes closing with broken sobs of shivering pleasure, so incredibly twisted from the arousal of both you and maekar— and the feeling of his cock fucking into your craving flesh.

he growls, turning your head to him with harsh thrusts and a finger into your mouth— lips breathing hard in groans to the shell of your ear.

‘’no, no— you keep your eyes open for me and watch how i fuck you like baelor wishes to.’’

and they’re glossed in both pleading and pleasure you’re rendered submissive beneath maekar, so so aroused at how he takes and takes whatever your body is capable of giving as if you’d ever deny him even. tongue pressed down by his finger, mirroring the same gag baelor’s perversion had emitted out of your sweet mouth. brothers they are, in more ways than both could ever ponder.

it’s visible now from clear of fog, the thinning of baelor’s discipline— incapable of swallowing excruciating ire that maekar tightens the chains of his dominion over the fruit of his own ardor.

so one stolen moment from the high sun’s rays of a benign day: he takes your hand into his own, spreading apart the stubborn yet willing fingers to press a metal into the flat of your palm. baelor’s eyes consumes each hesitance and every play of repressed itch to bite at the glistening offer before you both in temptation. he leans closer ‘til his breath caress the parting lips of yours until his own presses against the curve of your ear where the buzz in your spine doubles in fold from his other hand against— goosebumps raise in unpermitted while your body curls into his proximity.

baelor does not say a word, only kiss the slopes of your neck with certitude before leaving you panting with need. his feet whisking him towards elsewhere while yours remained, eyes skimming the metal he’s placed onto for you to hold— for you to ponder and for you a choice. the key to his own chamber.

a chant repeats in full circle of persuading oneself from evading a bite of the glistening fruit of provocation. feet wearing down the carpet of your chamber while your chest pants in effort to breathe out the clawing vile dragging the flag of resignation— tempting you to forget every valuable reason of validation as to not sink your teeth down onto the sweet flesh. a stomp, two before your hand finds the metal placed atop of your desk and have yourself in direction of awaiting penance in destination.

the moon offers a final caution in gentle caress, only for you to stab the key in place of sowing the dragon’s teeth. baelor meets your glare after the last ring of his door simmers with preparation to the tirade that quickly leaves your lips in obdurate tone.

‘’you are my demise. has shame taken leave of your thinking?’’

it is you that steps forward with a frown mirroring your father’s, teeth baring in show of carried jaundice.

‘’a question more fitting for you, i deem.’’

‘’a sinner yourself, yet you shame me for the manner i execute mine.’’ a finger of true indignation to his direction. baelor inhales at this unlike behavior of yours.

‘’you may name me whichever degrading title you perceive i merit… but i will not allow this foolish interest of yours bring ruin to what i have with my father.’’

hair tugged sharply by his hand in a tight hold, baelor’s barely restrained vexation is painted into the scowl he bares to his features. the yelp escaping your lips is brushed away by the looming shadow thinning the barrier of supposed detachment you harbored for your uncle.

‘’is that what you define this, hmm? foolish interest— i have gone against my own brother’s wishes, declined any other proposal of me in favor of keeping you close and forgetting mine own virtue of honor.’’

the gloss in your glaring eyes were telling enough, a hand gripping his own in your hair as you carried a sense of stubborn acknowledgement in regards to light of what is baring its flesh in bare. his proximity is intoxicating and provocative— thrilling the ardor beneath the boards of displayed jaundice. that drags live goosebumps into each rattling bones of baelor’s spine upon recognition of emerging requited ache. the descend of a single tear in those yielding eyes cements his final presumption— lips settling into a shattered exhale of euphoria from his within because now it was presented, unneeded of words but the parting of softness that your teary glare sufficient.

‘’marry me.’’

a vow rather than a query— for baelor was not seeking but compelling beneath the eyes of the gods who watched with identical anticipating pressure of such conviction shared.

brothers they were and brothers they remain, the coin now lands in circling motions of secondary wavered hesitance until it lays before the gods in plain veracity.

the silence on your end does not invoke fear in his chest, only furthers the motivation to cradle your cheek into the flat of his palm while he continues to whisper:

‘’be my wife and we shall rule over the seven kingdoms as one. gods know i will be good to you.’’

a tear, two and a couple that manifests the turmoil to the stitches of your very being. baelor only watches, his lips hovering over yours just enough for a choice— because whether you were capable of swallowing ragged veracity, baelor had always proposed you the latter. in uncountable manners than you would not allow honesty to spill into words.

you were crying now, fully in stripped state of fragility as you’d come to admission— surrendering into what you’ve considered and labeled as the primrose path of forbidden descent.

a choice he offers, and a choice you make.

lips finding his in your own resign that only sweetens the sordid act of betrayal to maekar— your father and his brother. it’s dizzying, the feel of having at last what was merely in theory, now molding into yours in truth.

he carries you into his bed, not once breaking the dance of lips together before you’re settled atop with both hands pressing your core into his own middle— sparking a sort of perverted frisson that both have longed to feel in seconds of clandestine. it’s filthy, both the sight and the mix of moans emitted at the friction of his clothed cock against your needy cunt. but baelor does not rush, only revels to each peeling of dignity washed away in pleasured connection.

his hand ascends to wrap around your throat, tongue entering your mouth with a groan while your own hands tug onto the leather of his belt— wanting him piece by piece for your own answer of desire. and he mirrors you, both bare of limited dignity by the second until the glint of gifted locket remains on your skin.

baelor hums to the metal and takes it into touch before the painted photo of his brother greets his eyes. it should have been the push to halt this treacherous act, yet somehow, he only sets it back to close— meeting your gaze to whisper:

‘’..you love my brother, do you?’’

it is an instant nod from you he receives, such certainty of sentiment you succumb into is admirable— truly that he, for once, murmurs the dagger residing within him in prolonged depth into a rare phrase aloud:

‘’as do i.’’

your back meets the sheets after, his lips marking over the blooming bruises maekar’s painted to your skin from previous nights of complex kinship. then your head is thrown to the pillows, stringed moan leaving your panting lips as baelor’s tongue flats into the pearl of your cunt— circling it in ruthless rhythms before indulging himself into you properly.

the sound of his perverse acts and the weight of your disloyalty all adds onto the crash of your first high. and it merely causes him to scoff, teeth biting a mark onto the flesh of your thigh before he climbs back for a searing kiss. the taste of sin strong against your tongue that it almost offers distraction from baelor’s finger filling your cunt.

the mewls dragged raw from your throat is exquisite in every thought he was quite sure it would be— even more delicious now that your flesh surrounds his relentless pace in wet slicks of unveiled lust. baelor’s much broader body shadows yours from above before it settles beside, instantly curling closer for a wistful wish of holding his strong arm— head resting onto his chest.

‘’shh..poor thing. i know.’’

he’s ruined you, entirely by his fingers yet it was adequate to have you fulfilled. his lips pecking onto the disheveled temple of yours, fingers digging onto the fabric of his clothing for stability futile of attaining. the sounds of utter pleasure envelops the walls of the chamber into an unholy song of promised undoing. and when your high settles into his teeth sinking finality to the very slope of your neck, baelor seals said debauchery with a murmur:

‘’pray to all the gods for whoever long it may offer comfort to this tumult of yours… i will have you as mine own wife before they answer.’’

maekar is not in need of further proof to the gloom speculation that prickles his spine with unavoidable abnegations— not when dreams are clear of meaning. a night of single amiss to your visit in his arms is copious reasoning to suspect his brother to each atrocities taking root to the already persisting putrid brotherhood.

he finds him before scheduled council meeting with a deeper motive in baying for blood. a firm grip to baelor’s leathered fabric in wear.

‘’what have you done to her?’’

‘’there it is then… the truth you can not word.’’

‘’you speak to me fucking clearly before i forget you are my brother.’’

baelor’s placid humor slashes his brother’s discipline, watering the parched fury.

‘’it seems you’ve misplaced your honor—‘’

‘’which honor do you speak of when it is my daughter that you lust after—‘’

‘’—the same one you possess each night you fuck her in your chambers.’’ baelor grabs his clothing just as harshly with a mirroring look of brotherly rivalry crossing a line bordered by desire.

‘’..you may think of me less for wanting her hand in marriage.. but you can not deceive me neither your own that it is not what you bare in mind each thrust you sheath into her cunt.’’ his words fueling maekar’s already roaring anger, scowled features still holding baelor by the edge of the court table along a tight grip to his brother’s leather.

‘’a niece she is to me, but a daughter to you— we are equally corrupt.’’

‘’she is mine, baelor— fucking mine and i will not permit even the thought of her to you.’’

‘’then let her choose.’’ baelor stared to his brother in provocation of fragile warnings. the two men still holding each other in harshness that it seemed as if brotherhood had fallen behind baring the shirt of nessus.

‘’..let her choose before our sire and we shall see exactly which of us is truly the merited one for the gods favor— and which is a farce.’’

and as if the gods could hear, the doors rattle close in warning of awaiting destruction as both baelor and maekar displayed in stances of having each other’s demise by their hands before they sire king daeron — who bore a look of great dismay towards their disheveled states. the walls of the council chamber began to sound almost overbearing as the three men kept their tongues. maekar’s the first to push his brother away with a grunt, fixing himself back to composure but not without a final glare.

‘’what is the meaning of this?’’ daeron’s question echoing the walls and reminding shame to both his sons.

‘’you fools have misplaced your senses— answer me!’’

‘’your firstborn son…. wants my daughter as his bride.’’

their father takes in baelor’s frayed calm before stepping forward.

‘’i am expected a second wife, am i not?’’ the accused responds with cool— sure of himself and his arguments.

king daeron regards him appalled; blinking back as if his heir had sputtered utter baseless phrases— then it settles, the half-truth of this chaos emerging.

‘’is that why your proposals are met in cold?’’

‘’proposals? what proposals?’’ maekar scowls further as a new branch of the truth is shed to light in his peripherals.

‘’..i have given you an heir as my successor. valarr is shaped for every demand a candidate— i marry for love now.’’

maekar’s step is halted when their father raises a finger his direction, eyes narrowed to baelor with perception sharp as a questioning blade.

‘’for love? baelor she is your niece—‘’

‘’i am aware, sire… but would you rather her hand some lord of the realm whose intentions are faulty or have her me as equal above my inherited seat?’’ he argues vaingloriously— carrying himself with certainty that gods are on his scale.

‘’and who’s to say your desires are not? you wish to defile her—‘’

‘’exactly how, maekar?’’ baelor stands tall, gaze equal of prob in their decaying brotherhood.

‘’..how would a man defile a woman whose abed in your chambers by her own choice? you speak for yourself and your own transgressions beneath the throne yet—‘’

the cold truth of whole stabs king daeron further of realization, turning his look of doubt towards maekar who’s chest rises and falls into a rhythm of a man unwilling to bend for his final aspiration in breathing form.

‘’you fucking dare.’’

‘’no lord would wed a sullied woman— let alone by her own father.’‘

‘’enough!’’ king daeron’s exasperation echoes the chamber in final warning of the looming doom just awaiting beneath a final word. his steps finds his proper seat with a sigh, watching his sons— grown boys of his arguing over what both deemed a right to own.

it’s difficult, much more now to conceal the favor of argument he harbors for his heir baelor— but the look on his fourth son, his last son maekar causes him to shake his head in defeat.

‘’..she is my daughter— my first daughter.. sire please.’’

‘’what would you have me do, maekar? your brother is right. no lord will wed her after your treachery—‘’

‘’i will. i will wed her. take her as my wife in summerhall— she is content with me. she will live a life of peace as mine.’’

a verity baelor himself unable of uttering for what footing does he stand in terms of love you carried deeply into each stroke of your soul for maekar? instead he raises his brows with a sigh— even finding himself taxed by the complexity of the unfortunate predicament. he’s to accept loss by now, baelor; even with the plain truth of his reasonings but the look his father sends before him in the head of the council table is telling in every sense. baelor’s chest wells with a kind of pride a man favored by all side is bestowed with self-proclaimed beatitudes— nodding his head in acceptance of the blessing his sire permits.

maekar sees it in full, not the prejudice of his supposed sire for his brother, but the complete annihilation to whatever brotherhood remained between him and baelor. a single tear symbolizes the final morale left within his depth, eyes regarding baelor in a light of raw deception.

the gods are cruel in truth to those whose fight had never been favored in their odds, because while maekar is stripped of his sole cause of living— you stood before the mirror with your maiden, preparing for supper, so entirely unaware that fate had erased every sense of possible fantasy in place of a newly course vicissitude.

‘’do you think those glazed apples are to be served for dessert? my palate is rather in search for them.’’

your maiden smiles, fingers occupied with looping each end of the corset you’ve favored to wear almost every break of days.

‘’if not.. you may always ask for them, princess. breathe in for me.’’

a chuckle leaves your lips, brows furrowing at her words you took in tone of a jest— eyes to your figure in the reflection.

‘’i am.’’

to that she nods, attempting to close the remaining loops before sighing. the sound captures your attention with a bashful look, watching her round to your front to fix.

‘’do you suppose i’ve been eating much more than i should?’’

the maiden quickly sends a reassuring look, shaking her head while placing the corset much more proper than it could possibly be.

‘’you may eat as much as you please, princess— you will remain a true beauty.’’

and somehow it’s comforting to hear, it was that the curve of your lips nearly grins— nearly, if only the look on her features and sudden touch to the cusps of your breast takes you back in ticked head to the side.

neither say a word, your tongue held in an innocent worry while hers gradually itch for the proper phrase. the maiden’s hand smooths to your front, the sternum area— the question she utters completely flips the scale of supposed definiteness placed by the gods where the coin lays.

‘’when did you last bleed, princess?’’

fin.

⌎⊰⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊱⌏

- out of the three children baelor conceived with his divorced wife jena: you were the only girl, the youngest and the least that resembled your brothers due to the pale lilac shade of your eyes and long silver locks with a a stripe of black that mirrored your elder brother valarr’s.

- you were nine when the separation happened; memories of the court room blurry and only thing you could remember was your mother packing every doll you owned and the crying of your brothers.

- the court had ruled jena in complete custody of you. it broke baelor in half but it did not discourage him from acting upon the fatherly role he persevered with regardless.

- in hindsight: the following decade of your life had been living with your mother jena, occasional visits from your brothers who recount stories and monthly financial support cheques from your father baelor who’s sent you multiple messages and gifts throughout the years.

- it is not that you disliked him.. perhaps the distance both physically and emotionally had taken toll in your mind caused by such a changing event at an early age.

- you wish to reconnect with your father, for a while now but something’s always hindered you from doing so: such as the fear of discomfort or your mother.

- so when the opportunity arises as summer arrives, specially now that you were no longer a minor— you took it despite the uneasiness of seeing the man who helped create you after a decade.

- valarr and matarys were reassuring you the entire travel to kingslanding. lovely brothers who grew up to be proper young men under baelor’s supervision.

- they carried your luggages with an excited grin, politely ordering the servants to tend after you as they fetch your father who was apparently taking a call in his study.

- baelor has never felt warmth in his chest as warm as it feels now that you stood before him all grown. the childlike features now developed into a young adolescent— each crevice of your skin breathtaking.

- ‘’my dear girl, all grown up now.’’

- the first two weeks of your summer stay had been nothing but absolute divine: spoiled rotten by not just your brothers, but specifically by your father baelor who seemed to have grown incredibly fond to the feel of your skin— brushing it off as your father still grasping onto the reality that you were back to him again.

- a hand on your thigh when he drives, cupping your neck while he allows you to shop around each store of your liking, gripping your hip when he speaks to others and entwined with yours while you walk.

- it’s all innocent; as innocent as the kisses he presses to the exposed skin of your shoulder late nights when you’re sitting in the kitchen stool drinking tea in your recently purchased nightgown, as innocent as the looks he gazes when you’re swimming in a two piece red bikini with your brothers in the pool, as innocent as the nipping to your neck that causes a small mewl that he smirks to and as innocent as the way he has you on his lap with every excuse possible— watching a film, in his study, cuddling in the couch, waiting for lunch or even by the porch late evening while he blows the smoke away from your face.

- ‘’you make father very happy, sweetheart. i’ve missed you so much.’’

- ‘’beautiful girl. when did you become so easy in the eyes?’’

- ‘’no boys, okay? father’s enough for you.’’

- father!baelor is getting in your head slowly through these gentle fatherly admissions. it is not to say his intentions were solely perverted— no, of course not. he truly did miss his little girl. but, it’s so difficult to not have his cock harden when your cheeks redden from the simplest compliments, it’s so hard to not have his cock throb at each realization that your chest have grown into swells so enticing, as tempting as the curves of your waist and the shape of your ass and thighs.

- valarr and matarys are both so happy to have you back that they do not suspect even the slightest bit of their father’s unusual eagerness to come home from work. they love their father, and if you were the reason to not have father!baelor be anymore stress with life, so it be.

- pervert!father!baelor has you in between his legs one evening in the couch while watching a film. your brothers out for the weekend to be with their friends— leaving you both in the big mansion alone.

- the little white cotton shorts and lace trimmed tanktop you wore pleases him along with how your head was resting in his chest. pretty lilac eyes focused on the movie, but your fingers fidgeting with the hand he has placed in the waistband of your short and slowly dipping beneath the fabric of your wearing.

- back to his chest: you merely hum to the kiss he press on your cheek, smiling to yourself and allowing the slow grazes of his fingers tracing patterns onto the expanse of your belly.

- father!baelor kisses your cheek again when you whine at the way his fingers now feel the swells of your chest below the tanktop— looking up to him with puzzled eyes that he only smiles to.

- ‘’shh..it’s okay, sweetheart. father just wants to feel you.’’

- ‘’you’ll let me, won’t you?’’

- ‘’make up for the years you were taken from me.’’

- pervert!father!baelor was groping your chest now, lips kissing your neck while he grunts to the soft moaning emitted by his disgusting acts— cock hardening again to the fantasy that was now becoming true.

- he peels the straps away to reveal you bare entirely. beard rough against the softness of your skin when he lays you in the couch and suck onto the areolas of your chest. fingers entwined with his while you watch your perverted!father with glossy eyes.

- ‘’..father, i don’t think we should—‘’

- he kisses your little doubts away with his own lips, humming as you sloppily kissed him back— he smiles to that. inexperienced little baby of his, swallowing the moans caused by his cock grinding against your clothed cunt.

- ‘’don’t you miss father too?’’

- is what your perverted father whispers before kissing you again, chest in his hand to fondle and cock in thrusts sooner or later to be raw into the wet flesh of your cunt.

- metal racks all draped with hanging variety of colours from sweet to seductive, much like the fabrics of silk and laces— penelope squeals upon catching sight of the newly released sets of lingerie.

instantly tugging you along with a thrilled look, your friend is quite swift with grabbing whichever had passed her standard of a proper intimate wearing.

“p.. we’re here to look for a dress, not their..”

“oh come on! we will look for a dress— but i need you to try these on for me!” your enthusiastic friend shoving an armful of provoking sets.

“wait—”

“go! and do not come out unless it’s for me to judge.” penelope states quite firmly before she has the door to one of the stalls closed without leaving room for an excuse.

you sighed first, glanced to your reflection second and ultimately fall weak into the thought of purchasing as much as one could— as much as your favorite gifter had generously given. even the sudden upbringing of him in mind rends your chest with such giddiness that it does not register to your head that the first pair of soft pink lace set was on display with a cheeky smile to waiting penelope.

her jaw opens with a huff of excitement, signalling a turn that you so graciously give.

“oh my god.. yes! yes! yes! go try the rest and hurry!”

laughing with a crinkled nose, her demand is obeyed for the next set in maroon satin, in black lace, white silk and baby blue, back to the shade of red until the last pair of burgundy beneath a sheer black robe.

her lack of expression and words sends an uneasy feeling, turning shy in assumption that it was too much— that it was beyond the perception of standard appropriate. but, penelope senses the mentioned worry with a swift whisper of hers in reassurance:

“holy.. you look incredible. truly.”

“really? it’s not.. i don’t know.. too—” shy with reddening apples.

“it’s hard to believe you’re not seeing anyone, that you’re buying this for yourself only.. wow.”

“oh stop it, p..”

“i promise! if my parents weren't so traditional.. i think i would have bent you over—” she adds in a tone of flatter, instantly thrown a bra in halt.

“penelope!”

“ow! okay.. i'll shut up.. so— all of them?”

“i guess.. yeah.”

“especially that one!”

- the bunny plushy on your bed propped up all properly is witness to how your carpet is stepped over and over in cycled walking of anxiousness. thumb bitten in between top and bottom teeth while the screen of your laptop awaits to turn it’s clock from six fifty-nine pm to seven.

sat in to the chair when the hour settles in, dressed in the very burgundy pair over the black see-through robe, a deep inhale is breathe out from your lips— the pink mask now over your face in concealing identity. then the invite button is pressed by a finger to @drgnblr.t for a private call as promised.

the camera puts your pretty self in the screen of baelor’s computer, his own showcasing just below his neck and white dress shirt with three buttons undone to have a peak of his chest.

“hi..” diffident in true tone.

“hello sweetheart. you look beautiful.” baelor responds which paints those cached cheeks of yours in similar color of what you wore.

“thank you.. do you like what i'm wearing? i bought it justtt for you, mr.”

“did you? what a good girl you are. thank you.”

“you’re welcome.. want me to do a twirl?”

“please. if you would be so kind.”

and so you turned for him, posing sweetly at the end with a flying kiss and wink over that pink mask of yours. baelor swears in nearing curse to how aroused you have him by such simple acts, sighs to himself as you sat back and fix that blonde wig of yours.

“what do you think?” asked so unawarely naive that he was restricting every degenerate impulse in order to not inflict discomfort neither fear to his sweetheart— to you. so instead, baelor hums in faux ponder to tease upon hearing those whines, following it with a coying low and deep praise:

“if i could say everything i'm thinking, i might scare you away, sweetheart. so we’ll settle with a simple: you look perfect, like an angel.”

- a supposed exclusive call with mr. generous that one friday of ultimate fond memory through giggling and amused but bashing conversation stringed through two hours of direct call— ended with a dear wave and a “bye mr.” and “bye sweetheart.”

mask peeled away to reveal the blushing cheeks and smiling lips, your screen indicating a notification sent by the same man just in communication with not passing three seconds ago.

1500$ sent by @drgnblr.t with an attached message : ‘words can not describe how happy you made me feel, sweet. if you can.. and want to, i'd like to talk again on call next friday. same time.’

tongue licking wet your lips upon the text, your heart pumps abnormally when the number of money sent catches your attention. finger dancing to type in answer.

@sweetmia.x : ‘don’t know, mr.. i have to be on live and earn coins.’

@drgnblr.t : ‘i'll pay double the amount you earn in one night, sweetheart. just tell me the price to have you all alone to myself again.’

@sweetmia.x : ‘really? (˶>⩊<˶)’

@drgnblr.t : ‘yes. so please?’

@sweetmia.x : ‘fine.. only because you’re so generous.’

@drgnblr.t : ‘not because i’m your favorite?’

@sweetmia.x : ‘sooo cocky!’

@drgnblr.t : ‘pink next week?’

@sweetmia.x : ‘yes, sir.’

@drgnblr.t : ‘good girl. see you soon, sweetheart.’

it’s comical the sensation from such unforeseen affiliation with someone who perhaps may be a killer or just a plain man seeking euphoria due to the lack of it in certain areas of grey in life— you just happen to throw said dice in landing of digits sufficient in obtaining which exact puzzle piece is necessary to cover a part of yourself in void.

baelor unknowingly fit right in.

- he’s a dream; a feverish, or perhaps a distant one more appropriate in judgement of the man whose objective seemed to be quite evident from the mark he’s placed the very moment your first call ended.

as described, baelor is a man of his word— every depiction carried through generational standard suit him as not only a sophisticated member of an elusive society, but as a man entirely.

this to say: the following friday arrives as swift as the disappointed reactions of your followers to the post uploaded to your blog in excuse of seeing who you favoured more in secret.

‘unfortunately, there will be no livestream again this week due to some technical issues i am currently fixing in order to proceed for next friday of fun together. wait for me my lovelies! mucccchhh love, sweet mia! x’

just right after, your masked is slipped on with the same blond wig and the requested pink slip on lace that accentuates the slopes of your shoulders— baelor’s quick to praise.

“don’t even need to remind you, don’t i?”

“remind me of what?” all playfully twirling the front strands with a finger, smiling beneath in wait.

“instructions. you’re perfect, sweetheart.”

and two fridays turned into three.

‘my mic is nottt working :( i wish we could finally spend some time together but i want my streams to be as perfect as i am! thank you all for being so so patient with me! missing all of you just as much! mia x’

fingers typing in the keyboard forming a reply to whom gathered every attention of yours. baelor in the other end of his computer dressed in a button up in color of your choosing— a rather delightful charm of yours to rival him with the same orders of wear.

@sweetmia.x : ‘ready, mr? or do you need more time to prepare?’

@drgnblr.t : ‘always prepared for you, sweetheart.’

@drgnblr.t sent 2000$ with an attached message : ‘for being my sweet.’

@sweetmia.x : ‘oh you’re just sooo kind to me, aren't you mr? i bet you missed me.’

@drgnblr.t : ‘call me right now and i'll show you how much.’

@sweetmia.x : ‘bossy too. comingg!’

three into four.

‘something came up today in college for finals, my lovelies. so super sorry :( and iii know that i promised for a stream because you’ve all missed me and i do too! i'll make it up for everyone, i swear it! here’s some pictures of my newly bought white nightie for compensation. muchhh kisses, mia x’

lips all curled in a barely contained frisson, you entered the call where baelor awaited you in the same dress shirt in black— your favorite, with three exact buttons undone that's shown by the camera of his laptop.. along with his face enclosed by a black masquerade mask that parallels yours but red with a feather as he had personally purchased from an artisan.

both in expression of complementing utter fondness for one another in what no longer resumes a call of two but now four hours worth of intimacy via cyber. baelor breathes in memory through carved pumping flesh of blood and you— allowing every smile, every lip bite and giggle so visible through each clock ticking of demonstrated and orchestrated display of trust.

“you know how good you make me feel, sweetheart.” baelor leans closer with a sported smirk, his hand groping himself beneath where he needs you most.

“do i? i don’t know mr. b.. i think i need to see..” whispered sultry with a tilted head, blonde wig brushed away in show of bare shoulder blades with a dainty silver chain of a crescent moon— free from the slim strap of the black lace nightgown he adores.

“really? maybe next week when we call again.”

“but.. can’t next week, mrrr! you know i have others to please.. they’ve missed me.” whined with an endearing pout for effect, speaking the truth in a mellow pill for baelor to swallow.

“after your live then. we’ll call and.. talk about whatever your pretty little self wishes to and perhaps.. i'll show you just how pleased i am with you.”

“okay.. fine— but only if i get money for shopping again.”

“whatever amount, sweetheart.”

the line ends after a ritual of blowing him a kiss and a small peak of your arousing body, baelor sending you a smirk with a ‘i'll see you in my dreams.’ bottom lip bitten in between a forming smile, your cell lights up in notification— quickly grabbing in thought of being sent his text, only to receive one from a friend formed through connections.

‘hey sorry i'm texting you so late but.. do you have a sec to talk?’

‘hi cate! no worries at all, what is it?’

‘do you remember when i brought up that one summer centre for kids during one of our conversations?’

‘yess. but, what about it?’

‘..i kinda told them i knew someone interested in working this summer with me..’

‘oh cool! who?’

‘..you.’

‘me?’

‘before you get all angry at me.. think about how easy the job would be AND the amount of money you’ll make!!’

‘urghh cate!’

‘pleaseee? it’ll only be a couple of weeks babysitting rich kids cause their parents are too busy working or want good reputation cause the centre is by this government shit idk.’

rolling your eyes at her pleading, you sighed within the realization of her words. it was indeed good money, besides your favorite doner’s generosity, it may do you well to spend time outside this summer. and so you replied:

‘fine. but only if my hours are the same exact shifts as yours.

‘FUCK I COULD KISS YOU! THANK YOUUUUU! i'll make sure to confirm with my boss.’

- days of awaited and anticipated summer has arrived at last with the heat bearing most of the city’s occupant in clothing nearly sufficient of saving over the hours of the sun spent in activities you could have also been a part of. instead, you were dressed in a pair of uniform white scrubs beneath the brown apron baring a small name tag of yours.

it isn't like the first four shifts were unbearable due to every corner of the grand and private centre echoing screams and high-pitched laughter of the children you were tasked to tend after with cate. huffing mentally the tugging of spoiled ones asking for more snacks after lunch, smiling instead of teeth being gritted while correcting those that had been naughty for attention and cooing away a furtive appeasing towards a certain redhead who happened to be quite the joy of those charging shifts of yours.

he was rather diffident upon the first few initial interactions, respecting the child’s boundaries whenever it is called for, yet remaining reassurance all throughout those moments in quiet but visible gestures. sooner or later, the redhead began to ease into your presence and the environment— gaining even the courage to initiate a talk.

all shy with his hands behind his back, you felt a petite and barely there tug to your apron one tuesday afternoon for your sixth shift; eyes round and so full of color that they nearly distracted you from leaning down with a smile.

“yes, baby? what can i do for you?’

“i.. want to play the piano over there please.”

“of course! do you want me to ask for miss cate to accompany you?”

“no.. i want you to sit beside me please?”

“alright. come on, let’s get you on those keys.”

the following three shifts were consisted of the very same children in care over interactive but brain stimulating activities before and after nap time and lunch.. and a flourishing flower of furtuitous glee.

the first being:

most have been tucked into their little places of rest while you gently stroke red strands to lulling in a certain corner, the boy growing a sort of connection that merely bloomed further at each day you nursed after his every unknown demand of an absent figure— polite despite so.

“feel so sleepy..”

“yeah? sleep now, baby. we’ll play some more when you wake.”

“promise, miss?”

“i promise, baby.”

the second more advancing in ease:

brush gliding in strokes of color in manners a child much too thrilled, the canvas wet with paint that each child of ages four to eight paint over with whichever object of inspiration they deemed interest in doing. doing rounds of checking with cate, you kneeled beside your favorite boy sporting an encouraging smile and whisper.

“good job, buddy. this looks really good.’

“really? you mean it, miss?”

“i do! you work on this and.. we’ll have a little secret snack before nap time, okay?”

head nodding in obedience with a similar smile, you pat his back gently before carrying on.

and the third one much more telling to the distinctly formed bond and may haps a warning from those above.

bag straps falling gently to the child’s shoulder, small fingers tugging at the apron of yours in ask of proximity that you so kindly kneeled down in offer— taken aback at the little arms curling for a hug, laughing before you reciprocated the act.

“i'll see you next time, okay?”

“yes! yes! can't wait to play with you again, miss!”

brushing back his red strands, lips in display of a smile while you murmur.

“we’ll play as much as you wish— even play some instruments too, baby. but, be good for now, okay?”

“i wish you were my sister. bye miss!”

eyes watching the boy run away in leaving you in a state of startle, it’s a few seconds to regain composure in returning at the unfinished job to assess after their dismissal.

unbeknownst to you, a pair of bi-colored gaze follows the very way you moved from the window— opening his arms for a big embrace at the running child of his.

“papa!”

“matarys! hello, my son— how was your day with that pretty lady?”

“great papa! can we get ice cream please?”

- it’s rather unusual this sense of belonging from baelor the very second he’s laid his eyes on you that one afternoon in collecting his youngest after a day of fun in the centre. he thinks to himself that perhaps it may be well to have himself rather than his driver or assistant pick up matarys every after visit.

taking in each sway of your hips after sending the redhead boy out the door with a petite wave and a ritual hug— grasping at the very matter of the growing bind between you and his son who happened to be very vocal in his carseat at the back.

“she even helped me with my painting, papa!”

“did she now? how very kind of her then.”

“we had a secret snack and she calls me a good boy for behaving so well too!”

“that’s great, matarys. do you know her name?”

“..i…don’t know papa, sorry..”

“that’s okay. maybe next time i pick you up you’ll tell me, hm?”

repeated farewell once more to your favorite kid in the entire centre; matarys hugs you tightly with a giggle and a wave, his little legs carrying him off to where baelor stood outside already memorizing the curve of your familiar form and glistening silver chain adorning your neck— smirk forming in curl upon an unforeseen crossing.

“good day?”

“we played instruments today, papa! and miss even promised to bring me a new toy car next time.”

“did you get her name for me, buddy?”

“oh..i forgot papa.”

“that’s alright. papa will find out himself.”

- screen lit in show of the impending red button, your blonde faux strands are swept off the expanse of skin displaying the baby blue dress all too sweetly-provoking. pink mask on per always before you confirmed the live.

comments instantly flooding one by one over the chatbox, it’s a relief off of your shoulders caused by the unspoken worry that the ‘break-not-so-break’ have been far too long from those who patiently awaited for your return.

@trueloverofyox : ‘mia welcome back!’

@wh6862 : ‘where have you been, sweet? we missed you!!!!’ sent 15$

@Boldmarkk : ‘why were you gone? we were worried you quit.’

@greatckc126 : ‘I missed seeing your body holy shit.’

@youmeus62 : ‘so beautiful in that dress. take it off!’ sent 50$

@DomdddyR : ‘how are you, mia? my beautiful babygirl.’ sent 36$

@revoluwtb_27 : ‘love that dress on you! still so gorgeous after being away and teasing us with only pictures!’

@Greenforges3876 : ‘you're still my favorite in this website even if you only do little lives!’ sent 83$

@drgnblr.t : ‘i bet you’re gorgeous up close, sweetheart.’ sent 500$

huffing almost the very second a certain comment catches your attention, you roll your eyes at baelor’s words before carrying on with interacting so falsely sweet personality that all indulge into by entertaining of continuous sending in both comments and coins.

a peeking message peels your attention for a split, eyes skimming along the words creating a certain puzzled sentiment of furrowed brows beneath with pursed lips and uneasy inkling.

message sent by @drgnblr.t : ‘pretty necklace, sweetheart. do you happen to be good with children?’

effort exercised in faux composure paralleling an animal gnawing it’s own limb caught by a trap, you carried on for an hour exact— shutting everything off as quick as you could, mask thrown away with a stuttered intake for air.

a reply was never sent, neither had you properly viewed his message; much too petrified in entertaining welcome the concept of being seen beyond the screen you permitted.

searching for a glass of cold water in hopes of calming effect, it’s swallowed with a heave for breathing after— your mother’s drunken body laying in the couch where slurred invitation for holding echoes your ear.

“mama.. why did you drink? you rarely drink..” a hand to brush messy strands, her face much visible now under the influence of liquor.

“my daughter.. my sweet pea— i'm sorry.”

“for what mama?”

“i only wanted what was best for you.. truly.”

“mama.. i’m not following what you mean.”

a second, two and an entire moment of just silence between a mother slowly rotting from culpability buried by the pretense of a good act in salvation of distancing what mattered to her most and a daughter whose mind begins to tether at the wavering.

“your father— i spoke with him.”

a laugh to her face is what she receives, much amused at your mother’s drunken altered reality.

“i have no father, mama. you made that quite very clear for as long as i could think—”

“no, sweet pea.. i lied— i.. wanted what was good for you. what i thought was better away from him and his monstrous family—”

“mama what are you saying?”

“i spoke to him… just today and i'm so sorry, baby girl.. i really am. please find it within you that everything i've done was to protect you and be there for you—”

“what..”

“your father.. he’s alive and he’s.. my former boss.”

- pacing the space of the office, baelor’s phone is pressed in call with his own proper lawyer with a hand in hold of his forehead caused by stress— the renowned man finds himself in a predicament of familial strings.

“it has been twenty or so years. why would she only contact me now?”

“i am not capable of giving you a proper response, mr. targaryen. but i will reassure you with the lack of proof that the child is yours.”

“no need for that. i know her daughter’s mine.. fuck. i can't have the public getting ahold of this fucking—”

“they won’t. i will make certain of it. what did she ask of you? overdue child support?”

“she’s asking for her daughter’s right in my inheritance.. she wants equal to my sons.”

“…right.”

“how are we going to fucking deal with this?”

“i will think this through with your private team, sir. we will get back to you swiftly once we’ve thought each possibility to tackle.”

phone discarded with force at the desk, baelor’s breathing parallels the threatening horror he’s inflicted himself to you by the message left just before. the connecting string of you and your favorite not-so-anonymous gifter, and his beloved sweetheart, may be tangled proufoundly fated than both ends perception.

fin.

⌎⊰⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊱⌏